THE RUSSIAN ARMED FORCES AT

THE DAWN OF THE MILLENNIUM

7-9 FEBRUARY 2000

Michael H. Crutcher, Editor

December 2000

 Editor

Michael H. Crutcher

*****

Composition

Christine Williams

*****

Cover Artist

Roberta Hill

The editor wishes to thank MG (R) William Burns, Dr. Marybeth Ulrich, Dr. R. Craig Nation,
Dr. Stephen Blank, Mr. Les Griggs, Colonel James Holcomb, Lieutenant Colonel Anthony
Paternostro, Major Joseph Borders, and Colonel (Retired) Lloyd Matthews for their significant
contributions to the success of the workshop and this publication. The editor assumes all
responsibility for any errors.

*****

The views expressed in this report are those of the participants and do not necessarily reflect
official policy or position of the United States Army War College, the Department of the Army, the
Department of Defense, or any other Department or Agency of the U.S. Government. Further,
these views do not reflect uniform agreement among the workshop participants. This report is
cleared for public release; distribution is unlimited.

*****

Comments pertaining to this report or requests for additional copies are invited and should be
forwarded to: Center for Strategic Leadership, U.S. Army War College, Carlisle Barracks, PA
17013-5049. Comments may also be conveyed by electronic mail to or by calling (717)-245-3226
or DSN 242-3226.

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 TABLE OF CONTENTS

FOREWORD . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . vii

IN MEMORIUM. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . ix

Part One: Domestic-Political Environment

Introduction

Marybeth P. Ulrich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 1

Russia’s Failed Democratic National Security State and the Wars in Chechnya

Marybeth P. Ulrich . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 5

The Russian Military, Politics and Security Policy in the 1990s

Mikhail Tsypkin . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 23

Environmental Issues and Russian Security

Odelia Funke . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 45

Do Russian Federation Health and Demography Matter in the Revolution in

Military Affairs?

Theodore Karasik . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 77

Economic Foundations of Rusian Military Modernization: Putin’s Dilemma

Steven Rosefielde . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 99

Part Two: The State of the Military

Introduction

Stephen J. Blank . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 115

Seduced and Abandoned: Russian Civil-Military Relations Under Yeltsin

Deborah Yarsike Ball . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 117

The Continuing Disintegration of the Russian Military

Dale R. Herspring . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 133

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The Politics of Russian Military Reform

John C. Reppert . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 147

New Structures, Old Thinking

Michael Orr . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 157

What Can the Military-Industrial Complex of Greater Russian Deliver

in the Next Decade?

Alexander Kennaway . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 169

Part Three: Russia’s International Situations

Introduction

R. Craig Nation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 189

Military Threats and Threat Assessment in Russia’s New Defense

Doctrine and Security Concept

Stephen J. Blank . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 191

Russia and Europe: All Quiet on the Western Front?

R. Craig Nation . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 221

Russia in the Caucasus: Sovereignty, Intervention, and Retreat

Pavel K. Baev . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 237

Russia’s Strategic and Military Interests in North and South East

Asia

Frank Umbach . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 259

Part Four: Russian Military Initiatives

Introduction

James F. Holcomb . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 321

The Russian Armed Forces, the Draft Military Doctrine, and the

Revolution in Military Affairs: The Oracle of Delphi and Cassandra

Revisted

Dr. Jacop Kipp . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 324

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The Russian View of Information War

Timothy L. Thomas . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 335

Nuclear Doctrine and Strategic Force Modernization

Christoph Bluth . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 361

Russia, Nuclear Weapons, and Strategic Arms Control

Stephen J. Cimbala . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 379

CONTRIBUTORS . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . 395

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 FOREWORD

This anthology is an outgrowth of a conference titled “The Russian Armed Forces at the
Dawn of the Millennium,” held at the Collins Center of the Army War College’s Center for
Strategic Leadership from 7 through 9 February 2000. The genesis for the conference was the
realization by several members of the staff of the Collins Center and Army War College
faculty that the U.S.-led NATO operation in Kosovo resulted in a significant shift of Russian
views on the United States and NATO. The conference also complemented our general
objective of examining the changing environment in which the United States—including its
armed forces—finds itself. The conference brought together over 50 individuals from
academia and the policy and intelligence communities to examine the current state of the
Russian military. Focusing primarily on the socio-political dimension of the military but not
ignoring the military-technical dimension, the presentations delivered during the conference
looked at Russia’s domestic environment, the state of the military, perceived threats, and
Russia’s capacity to generate responses to those threats.

Although the chapters in this anthology are organized into four sections, the conference
itself was conducted in seven panels. The first two panels examined how the Russian military
fits into the changing domestic political environment and the impact of Russia’s depressed
economic state on the military, with a key question being the ability of the economy to support
future military developments. The topic then shifted to the Russian military’s response to its
current environment, with the third panel focusing on the Russian approach to the revolution
in military affairs, the fourth on regional security and threat perceptions issues, and the fifth
on nontraditional threats to Russian security, including the dangerous state of the
environment. The sixth panel addressed the halting Russian efforts at military reform, while
the seventh looked at changing Russian military doctrine and strategy. The final morning of
the conference was dedicated to a lively discussion of the issues raised during the previous
two days.

The conference was conducted during the period between the appointment of Vladimir
Putin as Acting President at the end of 1999 and his election as president in his own right in
the spring of 2000. During the same period, the Russian military was conducting its
campaign in Chechnya. These developments made for a dynamic intellectual and polemical
environment as the conference speakers and attendees addressed a wide range of current
issues affecting the Russian military. There have been a number of dramatic developments
affecting the Russian military in the subsequent period, perhaps most obviously the tragic
loss of the Russian nuclear submarine Kursk and its entire crew. However, none of these
developments contradict the basic conclusions generated by the presentations and
discussions of the workshop.

I would like to commend all the authors for their contributions to a better understanding of
the issues, as well as the attendees for their valuable additions to the discussions throughout
the conference. Their efforts shed considerable light on the challenges faced by the Russian

vii
leadership as it seeks to determine the form and function of the Russian military in the years
ahead.

DOUGLAS B. CAMPBELL

Director, Center for Strategic Leadership

U.S. Army War College

viii
 IN MEMORIAM

Professor Alexander Kennaway

14 August 1923 - 1 May 2000

Alexander (“Sasha”) Kennaway was born in Vienna into a Russian émigré family, gaining
the advantage of speaking literary quality Russian as well as the language of his adopted
country. His family later moved to Britain, and Sasha graduated in Mechanical Engineering
at Cambridge in 1942. He joined the Royal Navy as Engineer Officer and served in the Arctic,
Mediterranean (where his ship was torpedoed & sunk), and in the Far East. After leaving the
Royal Navy in 1947, he served as a Lieutenant Commander in the Royal Naval Reserve,
studying Soviet naval technology.

For over two decades, Sasha worked in industry in a wide variety of chemical and
mechanical engineering posts, which included work on the development of artificial limbs.
From 1973, he was a visiting professor at the Imperial College of Science, London, and he also
lectured at Japanese and Chilean Universities.

From 1993, he was a consultant at the Conflict Studies Research Centre, Camberley,
writing and lecturing on the Russian military-industrial complex. He also visited many
factories and research institutes in the former Soviet Union as an adviser on conversion or
commercialization of defence industries.

The dynamism and insights that Sasha brought to our workshop in February 2000 were
but a sample of the depth of his knowledge and the liveliness of his conversation. He was
married to Jean for 27 years, and he leaves friends all over the world who value the privilege of
having known him.

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 Part One: Domestic-Political Environment

Introduction

Marybeth P. Ulrich
The chapters in this section address the domestic civil-military, social, environmental,
and economic contexts that affect the specific issues raised in subsequent panels. Each
author addresses the intersection of these issues and military policy. Marybeth P. Ulrich
looks at the fragile state of Russian democracy through the lens of the two Chechen wars,
concluding that Russia is clearly not acting as a democratic state in the conduct of its national
security policy. As evidence of Russia’s gradual democratic decline, Ulrich examines the
undemocratic nature of the Russian national security policymaking process, the connection
between strategic ends and undemocratic means in the conduct of the wars, and the general
undermining of democratic institutions in the pursuit of the alleged national interest. She
argues that the “democratic deficits” within the national security process have begun to spill
over into other policy arenas and threaten Russia’s potential for consolidating its democracy.
Ulrich analyzes both Chechen wars of the post-Soviet era, concluding that the conduct of the
second Chechen campaign was less restrained by democratic forces within Russia than the
first. Particularly troubling has been the complicit role of the Russian news media in the
second conflict coupled with the government’s crackdown on access to information about the
war. Ulrich documents the deviations from the expected behavior of democratic states in the
first war that continued unchanged into the second. Lack of accountability for war crimes,
atrocities against Russian civilians in the war zone, and a pattern of fabricating official
versions of the war characterized both wars. The ineffectiveness of levers within Russian civil
society to keep the government in compliance with the democratic principles of its own
constitution was also a common feature of Russia’s conduct in Chechnya in the past decade.
Ulrich’s focus on the conduct of national security policy in general, and the prosecution of an
internal conflict specifically, illustrate that cumulative democratic backsliding, justified in
the name of national security, can gradually weaken the fragile democratic structures of
transitioning states to the point of collapse.

Mikhail Tsypkin surveys the Russian military’s political influence in the general power
structure of the Russian government and more specifically within the realm of defense
policymaking. He paints a picture of a national security decisionmaking process that is
chaotic and lacking clear procedures for the military’s proper interface with civilian
policymakers throughout the post-communist era. Tsypkin outlines how Yeltsin preferred
personal control of the military over creation of accountable military and political institutions
capable of executing and participating in the formulation of sound national security policy.
His portrayal of the rise and fall of two larger-than-life personalities, Alexander Lebed and
Lev Rokhlin, highlights the difficulty of harnessing the forces of intrigue and power which
hold sway behind the scenes of Russian politics. Indeed Tsypkin’s chapter notably cedes little
relevance to the functioning of Russian civil society or a Russian polity in general in the

1
policymaking process. The absence of these significant influences in the conduct of the
government is a theme that permeates each author’s characterization of the domestic
political environment.

As the feeble struggle for military reform plods on and defense ministers, chiefs of general
staff, and competing defense policy bodies feud for influence in the policymaking process,
Russia limps from crisis to crisis. Tsypkin effectively analyzes two recent critical national
security policy decisions, the daring move to seize control of the Pristina airport in June 1999
and the selection of a strategy for the second Chechen War, as indicative of the military’s
undue influence in security policy. Tsypkin warns that this influence is unlikely to wane in
the future since it is fueled by an anti-Western mood that permeates all aspects of Russian
society and government. Furthermore, he argues that weak and fragmented Russian
political institutions, the lack of competent and visionary civilian political leaders in national
security affairs, and the tendency of Russian presidents to make decisions based on a
calculation of short-term self-interest, contribute to the present dominance of the Russian
military in security policy.

Dr. Odelia Funke argues that environmental issues are an ignored dimension of national
security interests and that Russia has treated both its environment and its population as
expendable, renewable resources. This has resulted in a situation in which Russia faces
immense environmental and health challenges, with profound implications for both the
military and society as a whole. Pointing out that if a country’s “citizenry is not healthy, the
state cannot be secure,” she underscores the impact of decades of environmental damage in
the Soviet Union and the Russian Federation. She cites increasing mortality, declining birth
rates, increased incidence of occupational and communicable diseases, and a declining
population that has since been noted with concern by President Putin himself; she also
underscores the pervasive and serious risks to the physical health and mental development of
Russian children. Her chapter points out that there were sound environmental laws under
the Soviet regime, but that these laws were virtually ignored. She also raises questions about
both the commitment and the ability of the Russian government to control ongoing pollution,
let alone tackle the expensive process of remedying past abuses. Finally, she notes the
potential for cooperation between the West and Russia in the environmental arena.

Dr. Ted Karasik argues that health and demographic problems pose significant
challenges not only to Russia’s current military capabilities but also to its ability to respond to
the demands and opportunities of contemporary and future revolutions in military affairs.
He cites a wide variety of factors that contribute to the current health and demographic
problems, including communicable diseases, environmental neglect, various types of
substance abuse, including alcohol, tobacco, and drug use. Other factors include substandard
public health systems—within the military and the rest of society—and a relatively low
regard for the welfare of citizens who comprise the “human capital” of society and the armed
forces.

Karasik also cites the current trend of declining population that could result, in the worst
case, in the Russian population being halved by mid-century. Other problems include a
military leadership that has not fully recognized the need for comprehensive military reform,

2
to include the elimination of disruptive practices such as the hazing of junior soldiers. All
these factors, Karasik argues, will limit Russia’s ability to respond to the types of conflicts it is
most likely to face in the near future—counterinsurgency and urban operations. He cites the
need for the Russian leadership to address health and demographic problems on a broad scale
in the society at large and within the military establishment.

Dr. Steven Rosefielde’s chapter reviews the economic challenges facing the new Russian
leadership. He argues that the new generation of Russian leaders is unlikely to adopt real
economic reform and the surrendering of real power that such a course of action would entail,
in large part due to culturally embedded forces that frustrated reform under the Yeltsin
regime. Rather, those in power will adopt a different path that is determined by elite
priorities and the existing economic system. Looking at the economic capabilities necessary
to support a military establishment, Rosefielde argues that Russia’s capital and labor assets
have deteriorated less than many assumed.

Consequently, Russia could rearm relatively quickly. However, Rosefielde argues that
the E-revolution in microelectronics and communications have barely touched Russia,
“leaving the nation far behind in a technological time warp.” He argues that there are two
options for Vladimir Putin, who is unlikely to opt for real reform, to choose from: (1) to remain
with Yeltsin’s “klepto-command” economy and continue to fall further behind the West and
even less capable nations; or (2) to return to Mikhail Gorbachev’s concept of a command
economy by disciplining the kleptocracy, exercising central controls, and using the power of
state contracting, largely for arms, to rehabilitate the economy. Rosefielde sees Putin as more
likely to adopt the latter course, largely because he does not harbor the hostility against the
old system that characterized Yeltsin and because such a course is feasible. Rosefielde sees
such a choice as protecting inefficient and obsolescent industries, further limiting the ability
of the Russian economy to compete on the world markets. Among Rosefielde’s projections is
one scenario in which Russia’s per capita gross domestic product in 2025 is roughly eight
percent that of the United States and only 11 percent that of the People’s Republic of China.
He concludes with the judgment that although Russia has the capability, motive, and perhaps
the will to rearm, it probably lacks the ability either to restore a command economy or
transition to competitive free enterprise. The result, according to Rosefielde, is that Russia is
likely to be a source of significant instability.

 Russia’s Failed Democratic National Security State

and the Wars in Chechnya

Marybeth P. Ulrich

Introduction

An examination of post-communist Russia’s pursuit of national security through the lens

of its behavior in the wars in Chechnya shows a clearly underdeveloped understanding of the
link between strategic ends and democratic means in the formulation and execution of
national security policy. Russian behavior across the two Chechen wars reveals a pattern of
willing deviations from the course of shoring up the nascent democratic institutions that are
critical for the eventual consolidation of democracy in Russia.

All democracies must balance the mandate to provide for the national security of their
people with their charter to protect and foster the liberty of their citizens. Indeed, these
sometime competing imperatives are at the core of a democratic government’s reason for
being. To sacrifice liberty in the pursuit of national security is to have failed in the most
fundamental mission of democratic government. Citizens of democracies accept the
limitations on their freedom that the rule of law imposes in exchange for the protection of
their individual rights and liberties.

Any decision or act that degrades the rule of law or that undermines the democratic
institutions established to preserve individual rights and liberties should be taken with the
utmost caution and reluctance. The primary national interest of a democratic state is to
protect the democratic values upon which it was founded. Only when the survival of the state
itself is threatened may such deviations be justified, and even then the leaders of a democratic
state who adopt such measures must be vigilant for the first opportunity to correct the
undemocratic course that is weakening the fabric of their democracy.

The national security institutions of democratic states are charged with achieving their
critical function in a manner that does not threaten the democratic character of the state.
National security professionals entrusted with achieving the national interests of democratic
states must balance the need to achieve specific strategic objectives with the concurrent
imperative that the means employed do not undercut the democratic values at the core of the
state.1 This democratic military professionalism pervades the national security apparatus of
democratic states and is exhibited in the manner of preparing national security plans,
observing the limits of participation in policy decisions, and actual conduct in wartime.2

This chapter argues that Russia has not been acting as a democratic state in the conduct of
its national security policy. The first Chechen War (1994-1996) and the second Chechen War
(1999-today) paint a telling portrait of the state of democracy in Russia at two critical

crossroads in the post-communist era. Each war serves as a sort of microcosm of the overall
democratic transition underway at the time of the conflict. The decisionmaking process,
leadership tendencies of individual political leaders, and conduct of the conflicts indicate a
general state of political-military affairs immune to the expectations of democratic polities
and political systems. The result has been an ad hoc stream of policy decisions that are flawed
by both the undemocratic nature of their formulation processes and their subsequent general
authoritarian quality.

The Russian state and society embarked on the second Chechen campaign in a different
place from the first, and will finish in a weakened position in terms of the democratic health of
national security structures. Democratic values and the fostering of democratic institutions
have come to mean less, while the pursuit of a strong state and the assertion of power in the
world or at least within Russia’s own sphere of influence have come to mean more—perhaps
at the cost of furthering the consolidation of democracy in Russia.

The Undemocratic Nature of the Russian National Security

Policymaking Process

The Russian national security policymaking environment during the first Chechen War
was characterized by very limited participation by the emerging democratic institutions and
elements of democratic civil society. Indeed, a secret war was carried out in late October and
early November 1994 against the rebel forces in Grozny. On 26 November 1994, Russian
regular army forces joined Russian mercenaries hired by the FSK (the successor to the KGB
and later renamed the FSB) in an attempted coup against General Dzhokhar Dudayev’s
government.3 This effort to secretly ally with internal opposition forces to crush Dudayev’s
independence movement failed miserably, forcing a move to the open use of force against the
Chechen rebels.4

In early August 1994, the Russian Security Council, the Presidential Commission on
Security, and the cabinet under Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin assembled to discuss
the Chechen policy. In the end, however, the decision to intervene specifically and the power
to make broad Chechen policy were taken over by the Security Council as part of a general
plan to boost the influence of Boris Yeltsin’s “security clique.”5 Some analysts hold the view
that the decisionmaking circle may have been even more limited. Though the Russian press
reported that the decision to disarm the Chechen formations by force was made at a
November 24, 1994, Russian Federation Security Council meeting, there are other reports
suggesting that such a meeting never took place and that whatever meeting did take place did
not include those opposed to the use of force in Chechnya.6

As Anatol Lieven points out, in 1994 nothing had yet replaced the top communist
institutions such as the Politburo and Central Committee in terms of alternative central
decisionmaking functions.7 The Security Council was a tool of the President in that it was
merely an advisory body comprised of members appointed by presidential decree who were
not accountable to anyone but the President. Its operations were not transparent and its

decisions were not subject to democratic oversight.8 In any case, Yeltsin ran the Security
Council in a pseudo-democratic style reminiscent of the Soviet Politburo. All members were
requested to vote in favor of a resolution to go to war in Chechnya without debating the issue.
When Yeltsin signed the final decree to restore “the constitution and law and order on the
territory of the Chechen republic,” the decision was kept secret from the nation.9

Meanwhile, the post-communist decisionmaking structures were frequently ignored or

circumvented, and efforts were made to limit participation of bodies potentially capable of
checking power in the policymaking process. Both the Duma and the Federation Council
(upper house of Parliament) resolved that the government should solve the matter peacefully.
But both parliamentary bodies proved to be powerless because Yeltsin did not issue a state of
emergency at the start of the war, an action which would have required the approval of the
Federation Council before Defense Ministry forces were deployed in the conflict.10

A brief look at the state of key national security institutions in the first Chechen War will
highlight a few of the “democratic deficits” within the Russian national security process that
marked this era. Democratization had not yet made great inroads into the conduct of the
Russian national security process. Yeltsin’s Chechen policy was promulgated via a
presidential decree issued on 9 December 1994. The decree cited Article 13 of the
Constitution, which prohibited the creation of armed formations aimed at undermining the
integrity of the Russian Federation. Although the military action was justified on
constitutional grounds, the Constitutional Court was bypassed in the policymaking process.11

In addition, at the time of the first Chechen War, the Defense Ministry was in effect a
pyramid of purely military staffs and administrations whose inner workings were hidden
from the public and beyond the control of the political leadership.12 Civilian control of the
security apparatus was not dependent on the performance of democratic institutions of
government, but on Yeltsin’s personal control and manipulation of information networks that
were directly subordinate to him.13 One analyst went so far as to define civilian control in
Russia at the time as “a monitoring system involving the timely delivery of critical reports to
the President, a system of guaranteeing that military personnel do not become insubordinate
and stage a putsch or some other such outrage.”14

However, this method of civilian control did not result in the uniform obedience of Yeltsin’s
commanders. Many commanders simply refused to send their units to the front, while others
spoke out openly against the war without retribution. One particularly egregious
transgression was the failure of President Yeltsin to halt the bombing of Grozny when he
ordered the shelling to cease on 27 December 1994. Yeltsin’s impotence as commander in
chief fueled speculation that a group known as “the party of war” was dictating policy in the
Chechen operation according to the preferences of the chiefs of the power ministries.15 This
influential group of Yeltsin’s inner circle included the ministers from the security forces,
former KGB officers with confidant status, and hard-line politicians. Other members of the
party of war included such figures as First Deputy Prime Minister Oleg Soskovets, who had
close links to the military and stood to benefit financially from war.16 Each member was
guided by his own interests and the shared view that a war in Chechnya might be the death
knell for a liberal agenda in Russia.17

7
 The Russian Duma’s parliamentary role in the national security decisionmaking process
in the first Chechen war was weak and generally ineffective. In the 1994-96 era
parliamentary control in Russia was at the stage of development where it was possible to
lodge complaints and conduct inquiries, but the body being investigated was not compelled to
respond in a substantive way. The Duma’s primary leverage within the national security
process, budgetary control, was largely unrealized. A key reason for the Duma’s inability to
exert real oversight over the military was that it lacked crucial information, such as budget
line items, essential to even knowing what activities the military was conducting. In
addition, the defense committees and the Duma as a whole were generally timid toward the
military. For instance, the issue of military reform—even after stunning defeat in the first
war—was largely avoided. Many observers regarded the Duma as irrelevant to the political
process as a whole. In a country that was largely being run by presidential decree, many
alleged that the Parliament was little more than a national debating club.

In general, Yeltsin’s circle of liberal reformers had faded from prominence by the time of
the first Chechen War. Those few who remained were marginalized or ignored, like human
rights adviser Sergei Kovalyev. Management of the first Chechen War indicated that those at
the top of the political power structure had a view of democracy that was limited to soliciting
the input of the polity only at election time. Even democrats held the view that once they came
to power they could decide what was best for the country, with little or no further consultation
with those who elected them. The decision to launch the first Chechen War revealed a return
to Soviet era practices evidenced by the complete indifference to public opinion and
democratic structures.18

Similarly, the decision to go to war for a second time in Chechnya was not the result of a
comprehensive consultation of the relevant actors in a democratic national security process.
Much of the decisionmaking process is still shrouded in secrecy, but early reports indicate
that the decision’s final shape reflected the preferences of then Prime Minister Putin and the
security establishment. In a February 2000 interview, former Prime Minister Sergei
Stepashin stated that political leaders in the Yeltsin government had started to develop a
strategy for dealing with the unstable territory back in March 1999. The strategy settled
upon before Putin was appointed Prime Minister was limited to the modest goals of sealing
Chechnya’s frontiers and establishing a buffer around the republic.19 However, once Putin
came to power he was persuaded by the arguments of key leaders in the security
establishment who rejected a limited approach. Although his predecessors in office lobbied
him to stick to the original plan, the generals seeking revenge for defeat in the first Chechen
War carried the day.20

Stepashin also called into question the link between the Moscow apartment blasts and the
decision to go to war. In a January 2000 interview with Nezavisimaia Gazeta he asserted that
Russian authorities had actually planned an invasion for August-September 1999—months
before either the apartment bombings or the invasion of Dagestan. Stepashin said that he
personally visited the Caucasus region when he was Prime Minister to oversee the
preparations of troops for the operation. Furthermore, he accused Putin of capitalizing on the
apartment bombings to whip up public support for the military action that the Kremlin had
already planned and to justify its expansion to include the storming of Grozny.21

8
 Like the first Chechen war, the Duma had no role in the authorization of the use of force in
Chechnya, nor was there any debate or participation among other formal and informal actors
in Russian society. There is little evidence that democratic institutions or specifically
designated actors in the national security process participated in a deliberative and inclusive
national security policymaking process before the employment of the military instrument of
power and a significant amount of Russia’s scarce resources.

What is at Stake and How Have the Wars Been Justified?

Democracies that engage in war normally have to make some effort to gain and sustain
public support for the action. This involves a process of education and justification to convince
the public that the war aims are worth the cost to society in terms of national treasure, lives,
and the sacrifice of liberty necessary to obtain the war’s objectives. An important difference
between the two Chechen wars has been how they were rationalized to the Russian people. In
the first Chechen War the focus was on whether or not Chechens should have the right to
independence. The picture was certainly muddied by the Chechens’ preference for armed
rebellion over peaceful negotiations and the undemocratic practices of the Dudayev regime in
Grozny.22 But many Russians differed with the government on the decision to mount a
full-scale military invasion to prevent independence, preferring that a political settlement be
pursued to resolve the crisis. Indeed, after defeat in the first Chechen War most Russians
were willing to allow Chechnya to go.23 In March 1997 the popular Moscow mayor, Yuri
Luzhkov, declared that it was time to grant Chechnya independence.24

However, the Russian government successfully framed the second Chechen War in terms
of a state—Russia—fulfilling its obligation to protect its citizens from terrorists.25 As Prime
Minister, acting President, and President, Putin consistently conveyed the government
message that the war was in line with the widely shared goal of combating international
terrorism, while insisting that the fight was purely an internal matter.26 Prime Minister
Putin explained to the American people in a November 1999 op-ed piece published in the New
York Times that “no government can stand idly by when terrorism strikes. It is the solemn
duty of all governments to protect their citizens from danger.” He went on to link the
“Chechen terrorists” to the same religious fanaticism that threatened US interests and to the
archenemy of America, Osama bin Laden himself.27

The framing of the second Chechen War in these terms has been a crucial component of
maintaining the support of the Russian people. The government’s orchestrated information
campaign is focused on convincing the public that the key components of its story are true.
However, the ongoing speculation that the Kremlin itself may have been responsible for the
August 1999 apartment bombings speaks to the lack of legitimacy that both the Yeltsin
government and its successor have with the Russian people. Russian scholar Stephen Cohen
remarked in a NewsHour roundtable airing in the midst of the second Chechen War that
“many very sensible people, people who are absolutely normal, have been led to ask the
question whether it was the Kremlin itself that set off those bombs inside Moscow. I mean

what kind of government would be suspected of such a thing?” He added, “And that’s the
political context in which this terrible war is unfolding.”28

The Information War

Lack of information and misinformation characterized the Russian government’s release

of news in the first post-communist Russo-Chechen War. For instance, it was often
impossible for families to find out information about servicemen who had been killed or
injured.29 However, for the most part the role of the press as a lever of democratic
accountability was largely hailed as a success story in the first war. The unflappable grit of
the press in its coverage of the war ensured that the earlier Chechen campaign would go down
in history as the first publicly reported and press-covered military operation in Russian
history. Television coverage enabled people to see the negative impact of government policy
for the first time and to draw their own conclusions about the wisdom of leaders who
promulgated such an ill-founded policy.30

Indeed, the Russian press directed the greatest criticism ever at the government over the
conduct of military operations. Media coverage splashed uncensored scenes of gore and
suffering, which helped to shape public opinion against the war.31 This occurred despite the
fact, according to the Russian human rights commissioner Sergei Kovalyev, that the Russian
government made its best effort to generate lies through its propaganda machine in order to
control the news from Chechnya.32 But the accurate accounts reported in many newspapers
and in news broadcasts “shredded the official fabrications,”33 and by the midpoint of the war
reporters agreed that the military was becoming more receptive to the press’s role and had
lifted the policy of harassment that characterized the relationship of the press and the
military at the onset of the conflict.34

In the second Chechen war, however, the combination of a media disillusioned with the
Chechen cause for independence and the Russian government’s stepped-up effort to win the
“information war” led to striking differences in press coverage from that of the first Chechen
war. First, the once dovish Russian news media that had prided itself on turning public
opinion against the first Chechen war with its objective and gutsy reporting—often
contradicting official reports—began the second Chechen War in the government camp. As
one Russian journalist noted, “Never since the appearance of free speech in Russia have the
authorities enjoyed such friendly support from the media as during the course of the current
Chechen war.”35

After the first war, Chechnya dissolved into a chaotic land of kidnappings and banditry,
lacking any semblance of control by a functioning central government. This led to
self-censorship within the press and the tendency of many journalists and news agencies to
serve as willing accomplices to the government’s “patriotic war.” Much of the media’s
support, of course, also reflected the views of the “oligarchs” who own them. The media’s
pro-government bias was also a measure of the popularity of the war among the Russian
people.36

10

 Meanwhile, in the course of its strategic planning for the second Chechen War Russian
military planners and government leaders made a conscious decision to correct one of its
greatest perceived deficiencies of the first war—the inability to win the war for public opinion.
Evidently, Russian information troops were acute students of NATO’s air war in Kosovo and
attempted to replicate the methods employed in Operation Allied Force to manage the flow of
information to the press.

The creation of a new government press center overseen by the Ministry of the Press was
the greatest manifestation of this new thinking. To keep military information officers “on
message,” a common glossary of terms was disseminated to include such instructions as
referring to Chechen fighters as “terrorists” and refugees as “resettlers.”37 At the daily
briefings the progress of the Army was favorably spun and the latest casualty accounts
detailed the always-low Russian Army losses and always-high Chechen terrorist losses, and
recounted the negligible effect of the war on civilians.38

The prosecutors of the war were concerned that some journalists might be eager to report
objective news from both sides of the conflict. These strategists decided that the best way to
prevent independent news coverage from turning the public against the war was to prevent
domestic and foreign media access to the conflict zone and to bully and otherwise intercept
and censor objective reporting to the greatest extent possible. Many journalists were
detained or subjected to tight Federal Security Service (FSB) surveillance to ensure that they
did not wander away from the close supervision of Russian military handlers.

The much publicized arrest and detention of Andrei Babitsky, a correspondent for the
US-funded Radio Liberty who had broadcast hard-hitting investigative reports from behind
rebel lines, drew the attention of the international press to Russia’s war on objective
journalism. Russian forces arrested Babitsky in mid-January 2000 and detained him for
several weeks in the notorious Chernokozovo detention center in Chechnya for allegedly
aiding the separatist rebels.39 Babitsky was still under investigation in June 2000 for
allegedly forging documents and is not permitted to leave Moscow.40

As Fred Weir reported in the Christian Science Monitor, “Journalists are apparently the
enemy.”41 At Russian military checkpoints soldiers confiscated videotapes and film while
scrutinizing reporters’ written notes. Since the war began, journalists have been
interrogated, arrested, and even ordered to undergo psychiatric tests—a dusted off tactic
from the Soviet era.42 In contrast to the first Chechen War, because of both the requirement
imposed by the government to limit reporting to the area controlled by Russian military units
and the fear of being subjected to kidnappings in Chechen territory, there was virtually no
reporting from Chechen-held territory.43 Human Rights Watch criticized Russian
authorities for harassing journalists and for imposing “arbitrary and obstructive regulations”
rooted in a desire to achieve a virtual ban on coverage of the war.44

Consequently, reports contrary to official government reports went uncorroborated by TV

images or newspaper photos and the government carried on with its strategy of denying any
reporting hostile to its preferred account of the war. For instance, when Amnesty
International (AI) demanded an official government accounting for the perceived

11
indiscriminate use of force against civilians in several incidents where AI had gathered the
specific testimony of eyewitnesses, one of Russia’s ambassadors simply issued a denial: “I
would like to draw your attention to the fact that your letter to a large extent consists of
episodes and events which are concocted [by] Chechen war propagandists, have not taken
place, or at least remain not independently confirmed.”45 The letter simply did not address
the specific incidents raised by Amnesty International.

However, by early January 2000 some cracks began to appear in the united front of the
docile domestic press corps. Some outlets began to react negatively to the government’s
overplaying of its “information war” hand and inability to admit even the slightest of setbacks
in the field. The official account of the war had been so grossly misleading that the
government’s reports finally began to lose credibility with the Russian media and the public.
For instance, as foreign news agencies in Grozny reported that 115 Russian soldiers were
lying dead amid the wreckage of their armored vehicles as the result of a Chechen ambush,
Russian defense officials denied that any battle had occurred at all.46

The Military News Agency, founded and staffed by former military information officers at
the time of the first Chechen war in an effort to bring down the wall between the news media
and the Defense Ministry, has been at the forefront of the domestic effort for accurate
reporting in the war.47

The most closely guarded information is that related to casualties. As of June 2000, the
official death toll in the North Caucasus region stood at 2,400 killed and 7,000 wounded since
the fighting began in Dagestan in August 1999.48 Other credible estimates place the real total
much higher. The estimate of the respected watchdog group on human rights in the Russian
army, the Committee of Soldiers’ Mothers, is usually two to three times the official number,
based on troop visits and information obtained from relatives.49 A certain amount of
underreporting in the official accounting system based on counting techniques also leads to
lower counts. Only soldiers who die on the battlefield are considered killed in action. Soldiers
who are wounded but later die in a hospital, or those whose bodies are never recovered, are not
counted as killed in action. 50 Bodies too badly damaged to be identified are not included, nor
are records kept on the number of troops missing in action.51

Another casualty counting technique employed from the era of the Soviet war in
Afghanistan is to spread the reporting of casualties from a single casualty-intensive event
over several weeks or months. The public discrediting of some such official figures has raised
the ire of government media manipulators. On 23 January 2000 Russia’s main commercial
television station, NTV, reported that it had been ejected from the military journalists’ pool
covering the war because it aired an interview of a Russian officer who described an attack on
a Russian column with large losses.52 Accounts of Russian troops themselves, Chechen
accounts substantiated by video footage in some cases, and the investigations of independent
reporters consistently painted a picture at odds with the official accounting. They confirmed
that Russian troops suffered heavy losses in the war.53

Many fear that the “information war” waged in the second Chechen War to control the flow
of information from the war zone was the beginning of a more comprehensive campaign to

12
control the media in all aspects of national policy. Prime Minister Putin created the new
Russian Press Ministry on the eve of the second Chechen conflict and appointed Mikhail
Lesin, a political ally openly determined to increase the central government’s control over the
media, as ministry head.54

The war in Chechnya proved to be a vehicle conducive to exerting broad control over the
press. Sergei Grigoryants, president of the Glasnost human rights fund, argued that “the war
in Chechnya came in very handy for this purpose. Citing strategic considerations and
Russia’s national interests, the Putin administration set new rules for the media to cover the
military campaign in Chechnya, and it will start applying these rules in everyday life too.”55

Many analysts fear that Putin’s heavy-handedness in Chechnya, the appointment of

former KGB allies as “presidential representatives” to oversee elected governors in the
regions,56 and efforts to exert greater control over the independent media are all part of a plan
to restore an authoritarian power center in the Kremlin.57 The arrest of independent media
baron and leading oligarch critic Vladimir Gusinsky clarified the comprehensiveness of the
anti-independent media crackdown and led many to note that Putin is distinguishing himself
from Yeltsin with his employment of pre-glasnost strong-arm tactics.58

A particular Soviet-era practice evident in the second Chechen War and beyond has been
the “repetition of obvious lies that the public is told to accept and pretend to believe. Public
acquiescence is then cited abroad as substantiation of the original lie.”59 Even the tactic of
attempting to commit critics to a mental hospital has been revisited with the government’s
harassment of Moskovsky Komsomolets reporter Aleksandr Khinstein in the midst of the
second Chechen War.60

Conduct of the War

In each conflict, both the Russians and Chechens have violated international norms and
treaties governing the conduct of war. Regardless of Chechnya’s disputed legal status in this
period, human rights groups such as Human Rights Watch/Helsinki consider the Chechens to
be obligated to uphold those human rights instruments to which Russia is a party. These
include, among others, the International Covenant on Civil and Political Rights, the
International Convention Against Torture and Other Cruel Inhuman or Degrading
Treatment or Punishment, and the Helsinki Final Act.61

Moreover, both sides were obligated to uphold Common Article 3 of the 1949 Geneva
Protocols. This agreement, governing internal armed conflict, states: “Persons taking no part
in the hostilities, including members of armed forces who have laid down their arms and those
placed hors de combat by sickness, wounds, detention, or any other cause, shall in all
circumstances be treated humanely, without any adverse distinction founded on race, color,
religion or faith, sex, birth or wealth, or any similar criteria.”62 Additionally the Organization
on Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) Code of Conduct, which obligates combatants
to ensure that the use of force by their armed forces “must be commensurate with the needs

13

for enforcement” and to “take due care to avoid injury to civilians or their property,”63 applies
to both parties.

Widespread and egregious human rights violations occurred in both conflicts on both
sides, but this chapter’s scope will focus primarily on the conduct of the Russian combatants
and government leaders that has been incompatible with democratic norms. Human Rights
Watch/Helsinki cited Russia in the first Chechen War for violating the accords listed above
through the indiscriminate shelling and targeting of civilians, torture, and the use of civilians
as human shields.64 Other misconduct documented by human rights organizations included
the systematic detention and mistreatment of males fleeing villages and using civilians as
barter in exchange for servicemen.65 Estimates of the number of civilians killed, many of
them ethnic Russians, ranged from 50,000 to 100,000, or five to ten percent of the 1994
pre-war Chechen population. 66 The inability or unwillingness of both sides to account for the
missing or to exhume mass graves contributed to the lack of precision of the various death
tolls.67

Of particular concern to many human rights organizations and democratic activists

within Russia and abroad was the parallel systematic failure to hold accountable those
responsible for the unlawful acts. Neither the Russian military nor Russian politicians
acknowledged the need to investigate or punish individuals who took part in indiscriminate
and disproportionate attacks against civilians during the hostilities.68

Indeed, the belief that there was no threat of being held criminally responsible for their
actions created a permissive environment that only encouraged the continuation of the
misconduct. This lack of accountability permeated every dimension of the conflict from the
political decision to use force to its actual implementation—all of which were policy decisions
that should have involved the input of civilians accountable to the public. While a small circle
of civilians within the government was responsible for the decision to use force in the first
Chechen War, the choice to implement “scorched earth” tactics was undertaken by the
Military High Command alone without the consultation or prior approval of the country’s
parliament, the executive political leadership, or the other institutions of the civilian
government.69 Such a pattern of behavior unchecked by democratic institutions and civil
society led to the spiraling cycle of human rights abuses in the first Chechen War, and it
seems to have continued unabated into the second.

Grave breaches of international humanitarian law have also characterized the second
Chechen War. Amnesty International issued a report in December 1999 alleging that
Russian forces carried out indiscriminate attacks or direct attacks on civilians. The report
also expressed the human rights’ organization’s concern over the manner in which Chechens
have been targeted by authorities in Moscow for harassment, detention, and deportation:
“The government has been involved in a campaign to punish an entire ethnic
group…’Fighting crime and terrorism’ is no justification for violating human rights.”70

In early December 1999, the Russian military issued a now notorious ultimatum to the
citizens of Grozny, warning that all who were still there five days later would “be destroyed.”
Due to a swift and outraged international response, several safe corridors were opened, but

14
few dared to use them.71 The air bombardments against Grozny did not let up prior to the
Russian takeover, and there were some reports that unguided incendiary weapons were used
against civilians huddled in basements hoping to ride out the attacks.72

Another short-lived order was issued in mid-January 2000 to round up all Chechen males
between the ages of 10 and 60 to send to holding camps reputed to be venues for widespread
torture and other abuses.73 This policy was another indication of the Russian government’s
view that the entire Chechen population was the target of its military campaign. Again,
international condemnation convinced the Russians to back off from the policy, but the fact
that it was promulgated certainly gives rise to significant concern about the ease with which
individual rights are sacrificed for expediency in wartime.

A British report from the war zone in early March 2000 detailed a 4 February Russian
attack on the refugee-swollen village of Katyr-Yurt. Russian forces subsequently attacked
convoys of fleeing refugees flying white flags killing 363 people who were purportedly told
that their escape route was a “safe corridor.”74 In addition, Russian television networks
broadcast film supplied by a German television station of mass graves filled with Chechen
fighters who had been tortured, mutilated, and killed execution style after their capture.75

The UN High Commissioner for Refugees estimates that children made up 30 to 40

percent of the estimated 240,000 refugees who had fled Chechnya into other parts of Russia or
the North Caucasus at the height of the conflict.76 It was widely reported that the refugees
were poorly provided for and were often subjected to extortion en route by Russian soldiers in
addition to frequently coming under fire. As a doctor in the Chechen town of Shali remarked,
“Last time one [Chechen] fighter was killed for every 170 civilians. This time the fighters are
better trained, he added, so more civilians will die for each dead guerrilla.”77

The US State Department’s annual Country Report on Human Rights Practices in Russia
highlighted the violation of human rights in its December 1999 report. Among the numerous
human rights violations attributed to the Russian government were the use of indiscriminate
force in Chechnya against civilians, the existence of military detention centers in the war
zone that held civilians in life-threatening conditions, and the raping of civilians by
government forces.78

The Council of Europe alleged that serious human rights violations and war crimes had
taken place in Chechnya, embarrassing Putin with the revocation of Russia’s voting rights in
the body on 7 April 2000. The motion stating that “Russia has violated some of its most
important obligations under both the European Convention on Human Rights and
international law” passed by a clear two-thirds majority and called for complete suspension of
Russia’s membership if evidence of “substantial, accelerating and demonstrable progress”
was not made immediately.79 On 26 June 2000, the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary
Assembly (PACE) reported that only 12 people have been prosecuted for alleged human rights
abuses by Russian forces in Chechnya. PACE President Lord Russell Johnston called the
number small compared to data on abuses documented by international human rights groups
and even official Russian numbers.80

15

The Effectiveness of Levers Within Civil Society to Uphold Democ­

racy

The ability of organized groups in civil society to exert countervailing pressure against the
government in the conduct of the second Chechen War has clearly declined from the limited
leverage that existed in the first. The government set aside the democratic process in the
pursuit of a self-proclaimed national priority, “to clear the terrorists from Chechnya.” All who
supported the effort and stuck with the program were considered patriots. All who wavered
were perceived to be guilty of treasonous acts. Grigory Yavlinsky, who supported the war’s
aims 100 percent but suggested that consideration of political negotiations be inserted into
the plan, was attacked by fellow “liberal” Anatoly Chubais as a traitor.81

One constant actor across the two cases that seems to have held its own into the second
Chechen War is the Committee of Soldiers’ Mothers. This activist group formed in 1988 as an
advocate for soldiers’ rights came into its own in the first Chechen War and is credited as one
of the key actors responsible for shaping public opinion against the Russian government’s
conduct in that war.82 The organization has remained active in the second Chechen War,
serving one of the few voices seeking to hold the government accountable for its practices and
tactics that negatively impact Russian soldiers—especially conscripts—and their families.

Memorial is another homegrown and respected human rights organization, which has
collected detailed evidence of war crimes by Russian forces in order to balance the official
story being told by the Russian media. Its field workers have been painstakingly
interviewing Chechen refugees arriving in neighboring Ingushetia as well as Russian
soldiers, who were shocked by the carnage they were ordered to inflict in Chechnya.83
Memorial attributes many of the worst offenses to paid mercenaries known as “kontraktniki”
and special police units acting with impunity in the war zone.

One particular voice in the government who refused to be muted during the first the war
was that of the Russian Chief Commissioner on Human Rights. Sergei Kovalyev tirelessly
and bravely pointed out the human rights abuses of his own government in the first Chechen
War with some real effect domestically. Although the Russian government largely ignored
Kovalyev’s vigorous protesting of Russian military conduct, he effectively used his position to
shape public opinion.

Oleg Mironov currently fills the human rights post, and he has broadly approved the
government’s large-scale military campaign in the rebel region of Chechnya.84 He has rarely
spoken out on human rights issues and even pronounced the highly repressive Belarussian
regime as being free from human rights violations following a recent trip there.85 In response
to human rights accusations from the international community, Putin appointed Vladimir
Kalamanov as special representative to safeguard human rights in Chechnya in February
2000. Human rights advocates widely regard the appointment as cosmetic, criticizing
Kalamanov for doing little more than accusing Western politicians of bias, rather than
investigating humans rights abuses.86

16

 Russian leaders believe that restricting the press directly and indirectly is justified for the
contributions such actions can make to restore confidence in the state. Indeed, this is the logic
behind Putin’s effort to build up the state media. Putin declared, “The state should have its
own media outlets to be able to bring the official position of the government through to the
public.”87 He added that the government was counting on the “talented support to be given by
the media to all the positive steps taken by Moscow.”88 Such an “accentuation on the positive”
may be morale-boosting to Putin’s administration, but obviously ignores the vast democratic
backsliding currently taking place in Russia.

Conclusion

From the perspective of Russian military and political leaders, the achievement of their
respective missions depends on maintaining public support for the war even at the cost of
sacrificing democratic principles. The ends are all-important—military victory and the
political success of Putin. The undemocratic means are tolerated as the requisite cost.
Military leaders argue the importance of restoring honor to the armed forces and boosting the
image (and budget) of the Russian military as essential institutional aims that are dependent
on success in the war. Indeed, Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev remarked at the inaugural
ceremonies for the Russian Information Center that “the actions of Russian soldiers and
officers should be covered to reflect the present-day momentum so as to make them feel
needed by society and to boost their morale.”89

For the political leadership, maintenance of public support for the war is itself a critical
political objective, which, as noted earlier, is considered by many to be the very reason for
initiating the conflict. The cumulative sacrifices of democratic principles, compromising of
various rights of free press and free speech, along with seriously limiting access to critical
information about the war are perhaps the most troubling developments surrounding the
politics and conduct of the second Chechen war.

The power structure, with the willing though manipulated support of the people, is short
sightedly pursuing the goal of reconfiguring post-communist Russia. The aim of Putin’s
Russia is to be a strong centralized state that stands up for its national interests in the face of
Western opposition, cracks down against terrorism, crime, and corruption, and regains its
“sense of pride and self-worth after a decade of economic dislocation and political drift.”90

This resurgent nationalism is a path inconsistent with the goal of creating a tolerant
society capable of peacefully resolving the differences of its diverse peoples through vibrant
democratic institutions instead of violent means. As Fred Weir observed, since the demise of
the Soviet Union, Russia has failed to offer its ethnic minority citizens an integrating
principle to motivate them to stay in the Russian Federation fold. He quotes a Russian major
as saying, “If we don’t take strong measures now, all this instability will spread.”91 Yet the
methods employed to save the integrity of the union are simultaneously tearing the fragile
fabric of Russia’s tenuous democracy by breeding intolerance and promoting cynicism
concerning the value of “democratic” institutions.

17

 If the crucible of war is a valid measure of the strength of democracy in a state, then Russia
has miserably failed this test twice in the post-communist era. The thoughts of a Moscow
editorialist captured this notion quite eloquently with the thought that October 1999 may be
remembered, like so many other infamous Octobers in Russian history, as the tragic month
when so many democratic institutions finally slipped away:

We have become inured to the idea that Russia commits horrors in Chechnya; that the media in
Russia serve not the public but the agendas of this or that intrigue or cabal; that the Russian
presidency is vested with enormous powers for a single man; that the Kremlin will, from time to
time, “backslide” on democratic principles or values; that the nation is ruled by a corrupt
nomenklatura. None of this bothers us as much as it might, or should. We are simply used to
these ideas. But there are degrees of war horrors, of intrigue, of corruption and of backslid­
ing—and in all of these areas, Russia is rapidly sinking. Not since the Soviet era have the media
been so cripplingly politicized—not even in 1996, when the media were unified against the Com­
munists. The sheer ugly corruption, Kremlin intrigue, and Chechnya have all long been threats
to national security, but never have all three looked so out of control. And when the elections
commission chief recently announced he feared for his life, it was barely even news. Stunned
and sullen, we again watch civilians being killed with a casual air in Chechnya; we watch the
government lie and the media follow; evenings we watch the worst sort of media smear cam­
paigns, pitting clans against clans while ordinary people watch in confusion; and we wonder: Is
92
there anyone out there who believes that we will soon have free and fair elections?

The editors of the Moscow Times captured an important truth—democratic institutions

that are not nurtured and protected from blows inflicted by those serving their self-interest
will crumble and be replaced by alternative governmental forms to democracy. Democratic
theory teaches us that democracy cannot be restored until all the various conditions that led
to its demise are repaired. This requires strong leadership focused exclusively on this end.
The post-communist Russian political environment has thus far proven incapable of fostering
or advancing such a leader or set of leaders. The undemocratic practices that have
characterized the promulgation of both Chechen wars justify their actions in the name of
national security. But the tactics and processes followed are gradually resulting in the
perpetuation of a state where democratic principles and rights are increasingly less secure.

Endnotes
1. Marybeth P. Ulrich, Democratizing Communist Militaries: The Cases of the Czech and Russian Armed
Forces (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 1999), pp. 10-11.

2. See Ulrich, chapter 3.

3. Sebastian Smith, Allah’s Mountains: Politics and War in the Russian Caucasus (London: I.B. Tauris,
1998), p. 137.

4. Stasys Knezys and Romanas Sedlickas, The War in Chechnya (College Station: Texas A&M University
Press, 1999), pp. 44-53.

5. Anatol Lieven, Chechnya: Tombstone of Russian Power (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998), p. 89.

6. Kneyzys and Sedlickas, pp. 53-54.

18

 7. Lieven, p. 95.

8. James Lawrence Turner, Russia’s War in Chechnya: Testing Democracy in the Crucible of War, Master’s
Thesis, University of Washington, 1997; obtained from the Defense Technical Information Center (DTIC).

9. Smith, p. 142.

10. Timothy L. Thomas, The Caucasus Conflict and Russian Security: The Russian Forces Confront
Chechnya (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Foreign Military Studies Office, 1995), p. 10.

11. Thomas, p. 12.

12. Pavel Felgenhauer, “Uncontrolled Generals,” Sevodnya, September 3, 1997, p. 2; “FBIS Foreign Media
Note: Kokoshin Appointments,” September 2, 1997.

13. Ulrich, p. 83.

14. Felgenhauer, “Uncontrolled Generals.”

15. “After Chechnya,” The Economist, January 14, 1995, p. 44.

16. Smith, p. 140.

17. Smith, p. 139.

18. Ulrich, p. 100.

19. Michael R. Gordon, “A Look at How the Kremlin Slid Into the Chechen War,” New York Times, February
1, 2000, p. A6.

20. Ibid.

21. Pavel Felgenhauer, “Defense Dossier: Terrorists Didn’t Start the War,” St. Petersburg Times, January
21, 2000.

22. Jack F. Matlock, former U.S. Ambassador to the Soviet Union, “Statement before the Commission on
Security and Cooperation in Europe,” March 6, 1996; The Chechen Conflict and Russian Democratic
Development (Washington: US GPO, 1996), p. 6.

23. OMRI Daily Digest, “Moscow Welcomes Election Results,” January 29, 1997.

24. Regina Lukashina, “Moscow Mayor Yuri Luzhkov Advocates the Acknowledgement of Chechnya as a
Sovereign Country,” RIA Novosti, March 6, 1997.

25. Yegor Gaidar, interview by Margaret Warner, “Inside View,” The Newshour with Jim Lehrer, January
19, 2000; Transcript # 6644.

26. Robyn Dixon, “Russia Justifies War in Chechnya to UN Chief,” Los Angeles Times, November 14, 1999.

27. Vladimir Putin, “Why We Must Act,” New York Times, November 14, 1999.

28. Stephen Cohen, quoted in “Russia’s Quagmire,” The Newshour with Jim Lehrer. September 29, 1999.

29. Ulrich, p. 87.

30. Tom Birchenough, “TV Has Role in Chechnya War,” Variety, February 27-March 5, 1995, p. 59.

19

 31. Valentina Starova, “Russian Press, Government Discuss Chechen Coverage,” UPI, February 28, 1995.

32. The Nation, “Botched Operation: Russian Troops in Chechnya,” January 30, 1995, p. 116.

33. Ibid.

34. Starova, “Russian Press, Government Discuss Chechen Coverage,” UPI, February 28, 1995.

35. Galina Kovalskaya as quoted in Peter Graff, “Once Dovish Russia Media Now Chechnya Hawks,”
Reuters, October 20, 1999.

36. Patrick Cockburn, “First Signs of Unease Over Plight of Refugees,” The Independent (UK), November 5,
1999.

37. Amelia Gentleman, “Truth Becomes First Victim in Russia’s Blitz Against Grozny,” The Guardian,
November 14, 1999.

38. Ibid.

39. Eve Conant, “Andrei Babitsky and Growing Concern About Press Freedom in Russia,” Voice of America,
June 22, 2000.

40. Ibid.

41. Fred Weir, “Hide-and-Seek with Russia’s News Minders,” Christian Science Monitor, January 18, 2000.

42. Robyn Dixon, “Journalists Under Pressure to Follow Kremlin’s Lead,” Los Angeles Times, February 8,
2000.

43. Yevgenia Borisova, “In Chechnya, a War Against the Press,” Moscow Times, January 5, 2000.

44. Dixon, “Journalists Under Pressure.”

45. Amnesty International, “Russian Federation: Chechnya, For the Motherland; Reported Grave Breaches
of International Humanitarian Law. Persecution of ethnic Chechens in Moscow” (London: Amnesty
International, December 1999), p. 7.

46. Patrick Cockburn, “Russians Losing the Propaganda War in Chechnya,” The Independent (UK),
January 17, 2000.

47. Ibid.

48. Anna Dolgov, “Russians Forage for Soldiers,” Associated Press, June 22, 2000.

49. Angela Charlton, “Chechnya Death Toll Climbs,” Associated Press, December 30, 1999; ibid.

50. Stasys Kneyzys and Romanas Sedlickas, The War in Chechnya (College Station: Texas A&M University
Press, 1999), p. 86.

51. Charlton.

52. Peter Graff, “Russian TV Stays Sidelined for Reporting Losses,” Reuters, January 23, 2000.

53. Owen Matthews, “Chechnya: ‘Like a Meat Grinder,’” Newsweek, January 30, 2000.

54. Robert Coalson, “Media Watch: Media Crackdown is Here,” Moscow Times, June 23, 2000.

20

 55. Dixon, “Journalists Under Pressure.”

56. Harry Kopp, “Putin, Perfectly Clear,” New York Times, June 26, 2000.

57. David Hoffman, “Putin Heads Down Familiar Path,” The Washington Post, June 16, 2000, p. 1.

58. Freimut Duve, “Is Putin Reneging on Glasnost?” Washington Times, June 24, 2000, p. B4.

59. Jim Hoagland, “Doing Things the Old-Fashioned Kremlin Way,” The Washington Post, June 26, 2000, p. 8.

60. Dixon, “Journalists Under Pressure.”

61. Human Rights Watch/Helsinki, Russia/Chechnya: A Legacy of Abuse, vol. 9, no. 2 (January 1997), p. 5.

62. Ibid, p. 6.

63. Ibid.

64. Ibid, p.2.

65. Ibid, p.4.

66. Paul Quinn-Judge, “Chechen Hell: On the Front Lines of Russia’s Brutal Battle for Control of the
Caucasus,” Time, December 6, 1999.

67. Human Rights Watch/Helsinki Watch, p. 6.

68. Ibid, p. 20.

69. Stasys and Kneyzys, p. 186.

70. Amnesty International, Russian Federation: Chechnya—For the Motherland, Summary, December
1999, AI Index: EUR 46/46/99.

71. Giles Whittell, “Pyrrhic Victory in a War Without End,” The Times (UK), February 2, 2000.

72. Pavel Felgenhauer, “Defense Dossier: Tactic Simply a War Crime,” Moscow Times, January 27, 2000.

73. The Washington Post, “Russia’s Softhearted Killers,” Editorial, January 14, 2000.

74. “Russians Killed 363 in Chechen Village—UK Paper,” Reuters, March 5, 2000.

75. Judith Ingram, “Concerns on Atrocities in Chechnya,” Associated Press, February 25, 2000.

76. Nick Wadhams, “Chechen Refugees Seek Normal Life,” Associated Press, January 23, 2000.

77. Quinn-Judge, p. 56.

78. US Department of State, “1999 Country Reports on Human Rights Practices,” February 25, 2000.

79. Crispian Balmer, “Russians Walk Out of Euro Body Over Chechnya,” Reuters, April 7, 2000.

80. “Chechnya: Council—Only 12 Russians Prosecuted For Abuses,” RFE/RL, June 26, 2000.

81. Moscow Times, editorial, “Is It Treason to Question War Aims?” November 16, 1999.

82. Ulrich, p. 101.

21

 83. Jeremy Bransten, “Chechnya: Prague Hearing Casts Spotlight on Rights Violations,” RFE/RL, May 31,
2000.

84. Reuters, “Russians Have Political Freedom but Little Else—Ombudsman,” January 27, 2000.

85. Sophie Lambroschini, “Russia: Putin Appoints New Ombudsman for Chechnya,” RFE/RL, February 18,
2000.

86. Ibid.

87. Robert Coalson, “Media Watch: Putin Expects Media Help,” Moscow Times, November 5, 1999.

88. Ibid.

89. Christian Caryl and Alexsey Simonov, “Access is the Key Problem for Journalists Reporting on the
Second Chechen War,” Index of Censorship, www.indexoncensorship.org

90. The Guardian (UK), editorial, “The New Nationalism: Russia’s Heir Apparent is On the Offensive,”
January 20, 2000.

91. Fred Weir, “Russia and Chechnya,” In These Times, (November/December 99), Johnson’s Russia List,
3623, November 13, 1999.

92. Moscow Times, “Editorial: Oct 1999: Democracy Fading Fast,” Oct 29, 1999.

22

 The Russian Military, Politics and Security Policy in

the 1990s.

Mikhail Tsypkin1
The ten years of post-authoritarian political development in Russia (counting from the
first free elections to the USSR Congress of People’s Deputies in the spring of 1989) have seen
an acrimonious debate about the role of the military in politics. The decade started with a
growing chorus of warnings about an imminent military intervention in politics, and is
ending without a reliable mechanism for constitutional control of the military. It began with
the attempts to make civilian influence a major factor in defense policy, and ends with the
military sometimes seeming to drive Russian security policy.

Just about everything that can aggravate civil-military relations has happened in Russia:

Civil-military crisis is most likely under two sets of conditions. First, military
and civilian organizations may fall out if either side concludes that the other, be
it due to mismanagement, denial of resources, or some other reason, is doing an
unacceptably poor job of safeguarding national security. A bungled war, a gross
discrepancy between defense budgets and security needs, heavy-handed civil­
ian interference in internal military decisionmaking, or creation of an anti-army
militia may spark this recognition. In a second pattern, military radicalization
follows governmental failure within the normal core of civilian jurisdiction. Mil-
itary leaders here come to perceive, usually after years of grief, that the politi­
cians and civil service are so corrupt, inept, or disorderly that the very survival
of the state they are sworn to defend is in jeopardy.2

Indeed, the Russian military is impoverished, suffered a humiliating defeat in the

Chechen war of 1994-96 and is not yet victorious in the second war in Chechnya, and has to
compete for resources with the better paid troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs, (to name
just the largest of the several militarized organizations in today’s Russia). The failure of the
Russian government in its civilian duties, along with its corruption and ineptitude, are
unfortunately not in doubt. Civil-military relations in Russia are obviously dysfunctional,
and Western political science tends to see military intervention in politics as a likely result of
this dysfunction.

The military’s political influence can be exerted in three domains: the issue of sovereign
power, defense policy proper, and societal choice (economic, technological, and socio-cultural
issues “loosely related to military security”).3 I will investigate the first two domains, that of
sovereign power and defense policy. The military influence in the domain of societal choice
has been minimal in the last decade. Under Vladimir Putin some tentative steps have been
made to reassert this influence, but since the picture is not yet clear, I will leave the issue of
societal choice out of this analysis.

23

 Another and very important subject largely left out of this paper is the role of the Russian
parliament, especially its lower house, the State Duma, in establishing constitutional civilian
control over the military. The issue of the Duma and civil-military relations is worthy of a
special study, because Russia’s legislators have passed a number of laws pertaining to the
military.4 At the same time, the Duma’s real influence on military affairs has been minimal.
This is true to the spirit of Yeltsin’s Constitution of December 1993, which minimized the role
of the Duma in general and in military affairs in particular. Even in budgetary matters,
where the Duma has been given considerable authority on paper, its real power is minimal.
This is because the government has routinely ignored the budgets (including the military
ones) passed by the Duma, and the Duma lacks an investigative arm capable of unearthing
the truth about how the government spends the money allocated by the Duma.

I will argue that the military has not been interested in seizing political power in Russia.
Despite its important role in the domestic balance of power, the military has suffered from
declining political influence during most of Yeltsin’s term in office. The military has been
much more successful in preserving, and even strengthening, its immunity from civilian
ideas on defense policy and has recently come to exert a growing influence on Russian security
policy as a whole.

The Background

Since the days of Mikhail Gorbachev’s perestroika, the main issue in civil-military
relations in the USSR, and then in post-communist Russia, has been how to build modern
“civilized” armed forces appropriate for a democratic state and society, and commensurate
with its real security requirements and available resources. A keen observer of civil-military
relations in Russia has noted that, unlike Americans, Russians have traditionally not feared
their military as a potential threat to democracy; rather, the military is seen as the bulwark
against external threats.5 This does not exclude fears of a military coup, which were rife
during the period 1989-1991. Most of the speculation on the possibility of a military coup in
the waning days of the USSR focused on a move by reactionary nationalist-communist
political forces with participation of some of the top generals. This was exactly what
happened on August 19, 1991, when the military as a whole refused to play the role that the
anti-Gorbachev political cabal hoped it would play. In fact, the military refused to play any
political role, which doomed the coup’s chances to succeed even in the shortest term.

The post-communist and post-imperial transitions have been slow to move the military
closer to the ideals of the proponents of military reform. Boris Yeltsin’s early approach to
military issues suggested that he was primarily interested in securing the armed forces’
support (or, at least, neutrality) in his struggle for power, first, against Mikhail Gorbachev,
and then, against the Supreme Soviet of the Russian Federation. Reforming the military was
going to be clearly secondary for Russia’s first president. Before the collapse of the Soviet
Union, Yeltsin had courted the top ranks of the military, even abandoning for some time his
call for the creation of a “Russian military,” something which had caused concern among
many officers.6

24

 A Committee of Defense and Security functioned in the government of the Russian

Federation as an embryonic Ministry of Defense, beginning in July 1990 and lasting until
March 1992, when the Russian Ministry of Defense was created.7 It was staffed primarily by
recently retired or discharged middle-rank military officers dedicated to the idea of drastic
military reform. Yeltsin would not fill the job of the committee chairman with any of these
reformers, and left it open until he found a high-ranking active duty officer, Colonel General
Konstantin Kobets, to fill the position. As the then Deputy Chairman of the Committee,
Colonel (ret.) Vitaliy Shlykov, commented in 1998, “We realized that Yeltsin needed at least
one general on his side, and that’s why Kobets was appointed, and [we realized] that there
would be no reform in the Armed Forces.”8

The reformers on the Committee of Defense and Security were planning to build a new
military for Russia.9 This military was supposed to respond to a democratic system of civilian
control, and be much smaller and less expensive than its Soviet predecessor.10 Yeltsin,
however, ended up inheriting the largest chunk of the armed forces of the USSR. In the first
months after the defeat of the August 1991 coup, Yeltsin had an opportunity to appoint a
civilian as the first minister of defense of Russia, but obviously preferred ensuring the loyalty
of the military high command by appointing a military officer. Thus, Yeltsin’s political ally
Colonel General Pavel Grachev became the Minister of Defense, and, as a gesture towards
those clamoring for more civilian control, Dr. Andrei Kokoshin was appointed as one of
Grachev’s first deputies, in charge of the defense industrial issues.

In the Soviet era, civilian control of the military was ensured by a mixture of a robust
system of subjective civilian control (that is, control implemented by denial of professional
autonomy of the military through “civilianizing” them) and a considerable measure of
objective civilian control (control by maximizing military professionalism and autonomy)
thanks to the inevitable professionalism of a superpower officer corps.11 In post-communist
Russia, both facets of civilian control have deteriorated. Throughout his term as president,
Boris Yeltsin has continued to court the military high command, although with sharply
diminishing returns. Yeltsin, through Grachev, would simply buy the loyalty of top officers
through generous promotions and by tolerating corruption. At the same time, the rapidly
progressing impoverishment of the middle rank and junior officers has widened and
deepened the chasm between Yeltsin’s generals and the rest of the officer corps. Thus, loyalty
of the Russian high command does not guarantee the loyalty of the officer corps as a whole.
Elimination of the institution of political officers and weakening of the political police (FSB)
have made civilian control over the officer corps even more tenuous.

The professionalism of the Russian officer corps has also been jeopardized. Lack of
funding has dramatically reduced the opportunities for training and exercises. There is little
future in being an officer. The impoverishment has forced many officers into second jobs and
into starting their own small businesses. As a result, they frequently neglect their military
duties with the connivance of their commanding officers, who know that their subordinates’
families simply cannot survive on what the government pays them (see Table 1), not to
mention that even these meager payments have been frequently delayed.

25

 Monthly Salary (in Poverty Line for Family of

Rank
Rubles) Three Per month
2,600 to 4,600 with
Lieutenant 1,354
regional variations
Lt. Colonel 2,135 Same as above

Table 1. Salaries of Russian Officers12

In discussing civil-military relations in Russia it is important to note that the term

“military” is, to a certain degree, misleading insofar as it projects an image of a monolithic
organization. Although command of the Russian military continues to be centralized, it is a
highly complex organization with its own diversified subcultures, interest groups, and
internal bureaucratic politics of high intensity, especially in view of the very limited financial
resources available. It is a simplification to view the military always as a single agent in
dealing with the world of politics at large, but for the sake of convenience and brevity I will
refer to “the military” unless the circumstances require me to be more specific about
personalities and interest groups within the military.

The Military and Political Power

Attempts to involve the military in politics have been going on practically since the
establishment of the independent Russian Federation. The most important episode was the
October 1993 constitutional crisis. Both sides in the conflict, the Supreme Soviet and the
president, appealed to the military. Initially, on September 21, 1993, the Ministry of Defense
spokesman proclaimed that the military was neutral in the political standoff.13 This posture
quickly changed to that of outward support for Yeltsin once the Supreme Soviet appointed its
own minister of defense and the Supreme Soviet’s supporters from a pro-communist
organization of ex-officers attacked a military installation in Moscow. Still, when the
Supreme Soviet’s supporters took up arms in Moscow and threatened the existence of
Yeltsin’s government, the military (that is, the top brass) acted quite reluctantly and only
after a considerable hesitation and pressure from Yeltsin.14 It was apparent to some in the
Kremlin that the military would be more willing to intervene on Yeltsin’s side if the public
were to demonstrate its support for such an action, and thousands of Muscovites duly took to
the streets to defend Yeltsin in response to the call of the Deputy Prime Minister Yegor
Gaidar.

All the noise and smoke from the tank guns shelling the building of the Supreme Soviet on
October 4, 1993, concealed the equally if not more crucial role played by the troops of the MVD
(Ministry of Internal Affairs) the previous day. While the military high command was
temporizing (General Grachev demanded a written order from Yeltsin to use the military
against the rebels), it was the MVD troops who prevented a potential disaster by saving the

26

national television center from falling into the hands of the Supreme Soviet.15 Still, once the
military was committed to battle, the outcome of the political struggle was no longer in any
doubt.

The military’s decisive role in the crisis did not translate into greater political influence
and fatter budgets—quite the contrary. And to add insult to the fiscal injury, Yeltsin
authorized a sharp increase in the number of MVD troops, financed and paid better than the
military and rivaling the ground forces in numbers.16 Why? It’s possible that once the
military had cast its lot with Yeltsin and helped him dramatically weaken the opposition,
Yeltsin felt less need for them and less to fear from them—thus, he reduced its funding. It is
also possible that the military’s reluctance to defend Yeltsin made him view the MVD troops
as more essential for his political survival. Perhaps Yeltsin wanted to preclude the military
from becoming a political force and therefore cut its budget and used the growth of MVD
troops as a useful counterweight to the military.17 In any event, it appears that, as a result of
the change of the Russian political and economic systems, the state has lost much of its control
over the nation’s resources, and the military has lost much of the political clout required to
obtain the lion’s share of whatever budgetary resources are available.

The lesson of the 1993 crisis, that the military is not a reliable or willing participant in
domestic politics and that the civilians are not grateful partners, apparently was learned by
both Yeltsin and the military. According to the then Minister of Internal Affairs General
Anatoly Kulikov, in March 1996 Yeltsin told his security chiefs that he was planning to
dissolve the Duma, but Minister of Defense General Grachev was not among them. Yeltsin
told the gathering that Grachev’s cooperation had been already obtained. However, once
Kulikov contacted him, General Grachev stated that he was completely unaware of Yeltsin’s
plan.18 The plan was then dropped by the president.

Boris Yeltsin did his utmost to ensure his personal control over the military, or at least to
deny the military’s loyalty to others, by creating a network of competing bodies with vaguely
defined responsibilities. One such body has been the Security Council of the Russian
Federation, which served as a collective smoke screen for Yeltsin’s decisions. The Defense
Council headed by Dr. Yuriy Baturin was created in 1996 to counterbalance the influence of
then Secretary of the Security Council General (Retired) Aleksandr Lebed and his protégé,
Minister of Defense General Igor Rodionov. With both Lebed and Rodionov out of the way,
Yeltsin removed Baturin and promoted the First Deputy Minister of Defense, Dr. Andrei
Kokoshin, to the positions of Secretary of the Defense Council and the State Military
Inspector. Within several months, Dr. Kokoshin became the Secretary of the Security
Council, and soon the Defense Council and the Military Inspectorate were abolished, with
their staffs joining the Security Council. With this shuffle, the Security Council was
becoming more than a simple appendage to the President’s staff. Eventually, Dr. Kokoshin
was fired, and the Security Council entered an era of irrelevance.19

The military has made no attempt as an institution to impose its will on the Russian polity
by unconstitutional means. The civil-military conflict was at its peak during the tenure of
General Igor Rodionov as the Defense Minister. As I will discuss later, Rodionov behaved as
an advocate of the officer corps, not as a cabinet member, and he did threaten the

27
government—but with the disintegration of the armed forces, not with a military coup!
(Without a civilian ministry of defense, civil-military relations tend to become aggravated
because every bureaucratic conflict between the Ministry and other government agencies,
such as the Ministry of Finance, the military’s most frequent scapegoat, becomes a
civil-military confrontation.)20

Nevertheless, the military card has been played indirectly in Russian politics since 1993.
The military has tried to enter civilian politics through constitutional means for the most
part, without an endorsement or backing by the armed forces. Prominent military
commanders have run for office, and political movements for retired and active duty military
have been created. In a couple of interesting cases, the military backed an organized effort at
political representation. In 1995, Minister of Defense General Grachev organized an attempt
to elect 123 officers (23 of them generals) to the Duma, and the command of the military
garrison in Volgograd ran a campaign to elect an officer as mayor and 24 other officers as city
council members. Neither attempt was a resounding success.21

For the most part, upon entering the political scene, prominent military personalities
rapidly lose their charismatic qualities and, at best, become run of the mill politicians. In
addition, “mass” movements do not actually go far beyond their organizing conferences. Such
were the cases of the last Soviet commander in Afghanistan, Colonel General Boris Gromov,
and the ex-Deputy Chief of the General Staff and Director of the Federal Border Service
General Andrei Nikolaev. Such was also the fate of the Russian Military Brotherhood, the All
Army Officers’ Assembly, and many other groups.

General Aleksandr Lebed

I will briefly discuss the cases of two officers that seemed for some time to defy this
pattern—first, because they achieved meaningful political successes, and second because
their actions and popularity suggested the possibility of an unconstitutional power grab by at
least some elements in the military. These cases are the political career of Lieutenant
General Aleksandr Lebed and the story of Lieutenant. General Lev Rokhlin, founder and first
leader of the Movement in Support of the Army, Military Science, and Defense Industry
(DPA).

General Lebed, in the imagination of quite a few journalists and scholars, was the best
candidate to become a “Russian Pinochet.” His chances of becoming Russia’s leader were
deemed so high in the West that the Rand Corporation published a book-length study of the
man.22 Lebed became a political figure while commanding the Fourteenth Army based in
Moldova, where he decisively ended the war between the government of Moldova and the
separatists of the Transdniestrian Republic. In his numerous interviews with the mass
media, Lebed successfully cultivated an image of an independent-minded, plain-spoken
soldier of the former empire. His relentless criticism of the powers that be in Moscow,
including General Grachev, culminated in statements (while still on active duty) against the

28

war in Chechnya (1994-1996). This behavior eventually got him “retired” from military
service, but not until he had become a popular and closely watched political figure.

Upon his retirement, Lebed settled in Moscow, successfully ran for the Duma from the city
of Tula, where he had been a division commander several years earlier, and established a
“mass” organization of veterans as an embryo of a future political party. Then Lebed deviated
from the pattern of mediocre political achievement of other military figures by mounting a
credible presidential bid in 1996. He appealed to a large segment of the nationalist electorate,
and he brought it to the Yeltsin camp in the second round of voting. It has been suspected
(although never proven) that Lebed’s campaign during the first round of presidential
elections received funding from the same political sources that supported Boris Yeltsin (i.e.,
the “oligarchs”), and that the deal between the first and second rounds, making Lebed (in
June 1996) the Secretary of the Security Council in exchange for his endorsement of Yeltsin,
had been cut well in advance.

The events of the next several months clearly demonstrated Lebed’s weaknesses as a
politician. Some of these were rooted in his personality, such as his boorishness and alleged
disloyalty to his aides, but others were obviously the result of his being a recently retired
military officer. He did not read at all well the map of the corridors of power in the Kremlin,
for example his attempt to sideline Yeltsin before acquiring any significant political allies.23
After doing his second (the first being delivering his voters) signal service to Yeltsin by
hammering out the peace agreement with Chechnya, Lebed was dismissed by the ailing and
seemingly powerless President Yeltsin in October 1996. At the time rumors abounded that
Lebed was preparing a military coup.24 Lebed may have given grounds for such rumors when,
in September 1996, he talked about a possible military “mutiny” because of pay arrears.25

In fact, it appears that he did not make any serious attempt to mobilize the military’s
support. And this is despite the fact that in September 1996 Lebed was reliably rated in an
opinion survey to be by far the most trusted political figure in Russia – with 34 percent of the
public expressing confidence in him and with the communist leader Gennady Zyuganov and
President Yeltsin distant second and third with 15 and 12 percent respectively.26 It was also
despite the fact that General Rodionov was appointed as Minister of Defense in July 1996 on
Lebed’s recommendation. What prevented Lebed, who had made no secret of his ambition to
lead Russia, from translating his popularity and powerful connections at the very top of the
Ministry of Defense into political power?

First, the Russian military, as suggested earlier, is a complex organization with its own
sharp internal rivalries and strong parochial loyalties. This factor quickly drove a wedge
between Lebed and Rodionov, when the latter proposed reducing the size of the Airborne
Troops (VDV), which had been treated preferentially by General Grachev, the former
Commander in Chief of the VDV. Lebed, a life-long VDV officer, ferociously and publicly
criticized Rodionov’s proposal as a “criminal document.”27 Also, Lebed was not necessarily
popular with all the top brass—he had just ordered a purge of a number of some, but by no
means all, generals connected with Grachev. Those remaining on active duty probably had no
desire to see Lebed’s further political elevation.

29

 Second, Yeltsin and his entourage successfully limited Lebed’s influence over the military.
Soon after he had become the Secretary of the Security Council, a draft bill was prepared in
the Duma by the Chairman of its Defense Committee General Lev Rokhlin regarding the
establishment of a Military Council within the Security Council. This bill would have given
Lebed vast authority not only over the military, but also over various security forces.28
Yeltsin rejected the draft bill and established a very different Defense Council, a body
separate from the Security Council. Lebed became just one of the Defense Council’s members.
Its work was to be supervised by the Defense Council Secretary Dr. Yuriy Baturin, a civilian
and Yeltsin loyalist. On top of this, Baturin was to chair the commission in charge of all
promotions of senior officers, much to Lebed’s chagrin, who in turn boycotted the meetings of
the Defense Council.29

Third, the military was well counter-balanced by the MVD with its growing Internal
Troops. In the undisciplined Russian government, Lebed quickly developed a bitter conflict
with the powerful Minister of Internal Affairs Colonel General Anatoly Kulikov. Initially, the
quarrel was over Lebed’s policy of negotiating peace in Chechnya. Subsequently, the conflict
escalated to the point of Kulikov’s accusing Lebed of high treason and Lebed’s private security
detail seizing an MVD undercover team trailing him.

Fourth, the Russian officer corps was not inclined towards the idea of the military taking
power. In their responses to a Russian survey of the officer corps conducted in 1994-95, when
asked to view the likelihood of three scenarios, 23 percent of the officers surveyed expected the
military to stay completely out of politics, 41 percent believed that the military might become
involved in solving “domestic conflicts” from time to time, and only 16 percent believed that
the military would take power.30 While the methodology of Russian surveys has been
frequently criticized, a survey of 600 field grade Russian officers, prepared by American
scholars and carried out in 1995, suggested that the Russian officers “are for the most part
democratic, not authoritarian.”31

Aleksandr Lebed continues to be a noteworthy political figure, but he owes his current
prominence much more to the political games of the oligarchs, who generously underwrote his
campaign for governor of the Krasnoyarsk Region, than to his influence among the officer
corps. His political movement, Chest’ i Rodina (Honor and Motherland), remains just a clique
of Lebed’s supporters, not a mass organization.

Lev Rokhlin And the Movement in Support of the Army

Lieutenant General Lev Rokhlin gained prominence as one of the few commanders who
performed well in the early stages of the First Chechen War. In 1995, he became a Duma
deputy as “number three” on the list of the “centrist” NDR (Russia Is Our Home) party
associated with then Prime Minister Victor Chernomyrdin. He was thereupon selected as
chairman of the Duma Defense Committee. He justified his decision to enter politics as
something that would benefit the military. Indeed, he ran for the Duma as one of the officers

30

 DATE ACTION

December
Elected to Duma as NDR deputy
1995

Proposes Igor Rodionov as Minister of Defense; advocates creation of

July 1996 Military Council under Lebed; accuses Pavel Grachev and five top
generals of corruption. Izvestiya accuses Rokhlin or corruption.

August 1996 Says the situation in the military is “explosive” because of pay arrears.

December
Supports reappointment of Rodionov as a civilian, after his retirement.
1996

April 1997 Reveals Russia’s clandestine shipments of weapons to Armenia.

May 1997 Criticizes Rodionov’s removal, but praises Sergeyev.

Sends personal appeal to Yeltsin, accusing him of failing the military

and starting the war in Chechnya. MOD says the appeal is meant to
push the military toward havoc. Sergeyev says “Rokhlin violated
June 1997 Russian laws aimed at preventing “political agitation” in the armed
forces and compared the appeal to Bolshevik agitation in the Russian
army in 1917.” Rokhlin calls for a mass movement to help the military
34

and defense industrythe Movement In Support of the Army (DPA)

The CPRF faction will not help NDR to remove Rokhlin as Chairman of
the Defense Committee. Rodionov supports the idea of DPA. Rokhlin
and Rodionov attack Sergeyev’s plan for military reform. CPRF
supports Rokhlin, who tours Russia, addresses leaders of defense
July 1997
industry, but complains that he was prevented from addressing generals
of the Leningrad Military District. Also slams the growth of MVD
forces, while the military is being reduced. Lebed says Rokhlin kept
Honor and Motherland out of future DPA.

Says DPA would call for Yeltsin’s resignation. CPRF: its activists are
August 1997
helping DPA establish regional branches.

Promises to bring together all opposition forces under DPA umbrella to

unseat Yeltsin; is expelled from NDR. DPA founding congress brings
September
2,000 supporters from 68 regions. Rokhlin threatens street protests,
1997
fears assassination. Government concerned that he is advocating
violent unconstitutional action.

Table 2. Timeline of Lev Rokhlin’s Political Activities35

31

designated to do so by Minister of Defense Grachev in his attempt to create a large military

faction in the Duma.32

Very quickly Rokhlin made a name for himself as a political figure by voicing loud
accusations of corruption against senior military officers (see Table 2). Then his accusations
escalated to include President Yeltsin, whom Rokhlin blamed for the miserable condition of
the military, especially payment arrears, and whose resignation he demanded. Rokhlin’s
confrontation with the government became particularly sharp after Igor Rodionov (whose
candidacy Rokhlin originally promoted)33 had been replaced as minister of defense by
General Igor Sergeyev, who finally began the military reform by implementing personnel
cuts. The cuts, combined with non-payment of salaries, created an atmosphere of acute
misery among the officer corps.

This timeline demonstrates that Rokhlin’s sharp radicalization coincided with the
removal of “his” defense minister and the beginning of real reductions of the armed forces.
DPA developed a considerable regional presence, something no other purported mass
movement for the military achieved, but it would have been impossible without the help from
the communists. There has never been any evidence that DPA organized protests among
servicemen, but the government was definitely worried. The Volgograd garrison, where
Roklhin had served as the commander of the Eighth Guards Corps, had been under
particularly close observation, and DPA activities there provoked considerable fear of the
authorities.34

In retrospect, the authorities’ nervousness over the possibility of some kind of a military
uprising under the leadership of the Movement in Support of the Army seems to be
unjustified. Whatever the private sympathies of military officers, most of them were fearful
of an open affiliation with DPA, especially at the time of cuts in the officer corps, when
political disloyalty to the regime could easily be punished by forced retirement. The threat
was particularly potent for middle rank officers, colonels and lieutenant colonels, who hold
the day-to-day command of the armed forces in their hands: these officers could already
anticipate retirement and full pensions within a few more years of service, and were not likely
to risk it.

Rokhlin may have hoped that mass discharges of officers would produce protests, but they
did not. For the most part, an officer discharged from active duty would travel to his chosen
place of residence and only there discover whether the government’s promise of his
discharge/retirement package (primarily housing) would really be forthcoming. By that time,
the officer would be far away from his garrison, and thus his fate would not serve as a catalyst
to discontent.35

Rokhlin designed the Movement in Support of the Army as a potentially broad political
movement, embracing not only the officer corps but all the sectors of the former Soviet
military-industrial complex. Thus, if successful, DPA would have involved a number of
officers in a radical anti-government movement. This would have damaged the chain of
command and reliability of the military as a political instrument, but would not have resulted

32

in a military coup because Rokhlin lacked allies at the very top of the chain of command,
especially after Rodionov’s replacement with Sergeyev.

By the time of Rokhlin’s death, the DPA was past its zenith. Rokhlin turned out to be a
talented organizer, but a somewhat naive politician. He failed to take into consideration the
internal balance of power in the CPRF between its relatively moderate leader Gennady
Zyuganov and true extremists such as Viktor Ilyukhin. He formed a close relationship with
Ilyukhin, thus strengthening the extremist’s hand in dealing with Zyuganov in the party and
in the Duma. The consequences followed soon: Rokhlin was removed as chairman of the
Defense Committee of the Duma, thus losing his bully pulpit as the spokesman for the
disgruntled officers. His removal could be taken only with the support of the communist
faction. The CPRF also began to distance its regional organizers from the DPA, which
undercut the latter’s all-Russian presence.

The selection of Rokhlin’s successor as the DPA leader underscored the degree to which it
became a radical political movement in which many retired officers participate rather than a
movement of active duty officers with a radical political agenda. There were three candidates
to replace Rokhlin. One was the retired Colonel General Vladislav Achalov, a prominent
Airborne Troops officer with the impeccable radical left credentials of plotting against
Gorbachev in 1991 and then being the defense minister of the rebellious Supreme Soviet in
1993. Another candidate was the retired Colonel General Al’bert Makashov, who had similar
credentials. The third was Viktor Ilyukhin himself, a former prosecutor and communist
firebrand. Unlike Achalov and Makashov, whose role in the Duma has not been important
(Makashov acquired notoriety for his anti-semitic pronouncements), Ilyukhin is an effective
politician. He chairs the Committee on Security of the Duma, and he conceived, together with
Rokhlin, the idea of impeaching President Yeltsin, and spearheaded this plan’s eventual
implementation that nearly succeeded in May 1999. Ilyukhin has no military credentials, but
he was elected chairman of the DPA and has kept this position until now.

The military has not been immune to the struggle for political power. The prevalent
pattern has not been an attempt by the military establishment to seize power for itself, or for a
civilian “front” for the military’s interests. Rather, politically ambitious officers have used
their military careers as a launching pad for their political futures. To be a success, such an
enterprise requires an alliance with an established political force. General Lebed’s weakness
was that he simply did not have such a force behind him—and his charisma, popularity, and
military connections did not help him. General Rokhlin attempted to establish such a
political force, but his first successes in this enterprise turned out to be his last.

Opposition politicians and ambitious military officers continue to measure each other up
in search for an alliance that may bring them to power. For instance, Chief of General Staff
General Anatoly Kvashnin once entered into all but open conflict with Minister of Defense
Marshal Sergeyev over the course of military reform; he also distinguished himself by
obtaining Yeltsin’s permission to send Russian paratroopers to seize the Pristina airfield in
Kosovo without asking Sergeyev’s permission, after which the hyper-nationalist-communist
opposition began to flatter him as a hero and possible “savior” of Russia.36 While an alliance
between the military and Russian hyper-nationalists has definitely been a threatening

33
prospect since the late 1980s, the probability of such an alliance becoming a potent political
force is not very high. The main reason for this is a failure of a large-scale organized
hyper-nationalist movement to materialize.37

Military and Security Policy

While the ability and inclination of the military to gain control of political power in Russia
has not grown in the post-Communist era, the military has somewhat strengthened its role in
the formulation of security policy during the Yeltsin era compared to the period of
Gorbachev’s perestroika. Gorbachev attempted, with limited success, to make the Soviet
military doctrine fit his “new thinking” security policy. This meant the introduction of such
changes as reasonable sufficiency, defensive strategy, and inadmissibility of any use of
nuclear weapons, all to be authored by experts from outside the military. This was quite a
break with the established (especially since the fall of Khrushchev) Soviet pattern of the
military’s unchallenged primacy in formulating the “military-technical” aspect of military
doctrine.The high command initially resisted these changes and greeted with fury
publications by civilian academic experts critical of Soviet military doctrine and strategy, as
well as the media revelations about the conditions of the conscripts (for example, the practice
of dedovshchina, or brutal hazing) in the Soviet armed forces.

Eventually, the military (or, to be precise, the upper crust of the officer corps) complied
with the General Secretary of the Communist Party’s demands to reduce conventional forces,
compromise on nuclear and conventional arms control (INF and CFE treaties), and change
military doctrine and strategy. At the same time, deep fissures emerged within the officer
corps. A minority of senior officers agreed with the thrust of civilian-initiated reforms of the
military, and a number of junior officers also supported such efforts and vocally proposed
reform ideas of their own. The majority, especially among the senior-ranking officers,
followed the ideas of civilians on military reform only reluctantly.

Yeltsin’s failure to appoint a civilian minister of defense was indicative of his reluctance to
encroach on the high command’s prerogative in formulating defense policy. It was also
symbolic of the failure of objective expertise to replace vested interests among the new
Russian elite in military and defense industrial issues. The civilian national security experts
who rose to prominence as critics of the Soviet military establishment during the Gorbachev
era had little knowledge of the extremely complex Soviet military-industrial heritage that
Russia had inherited. Academics in the Soviet era studied the military and defense industrial
issues of Western nations, and even then their conclusions were viewed by the military with
suspicion and they were kept out of the defense policy kitchen.38

Yeltsin’s government at times found it quite difficult to assert civilian control even over
such basic issues as the defense budget. This became quite obvious during General
Rodionov’s term as Minister of Defense (1996-1997). In the course of his one-year term
Rodionov became the first civilian Minister of Defense, since after several months in office he
reached the mandatory retirement age of 60. Rather than use his power to extend Rodionov

34

on active duty, Yeltsin allowed him to continue as a civilian. Even in mufti, however,
Rodionov resisted the attempts of the civilian authorities to control the direction of defense
policy. Rodionov, and those in the military who supported him, simply insisted that the
government provide the Ministry of Defense with all the resources that it requested in order
to carry out military reform; otherwise, no military reform would be carried out at all.
Rodionov’s resistance took the form of a very obvious civil-military conflict, because the
opposite view was held by a powerful civilian official, Secretary of the Defense Council Yuriy
Baturin. (The Defense Council membership consisted of President Yeltsin, and Dr. Baturin,
the Minister of Defense, the Chief of General Staff, and several top civilian officials.)

The “civilian” view was that the military had to learn to live with the resources available
and stop dreaming about the Soviet days of glory. As one prominent civilian analyst wrote in
the Russian Navy’s professional journal in the spring of 1997, “the gap between the MOD
requests for minimal funding of the existing structure of the armed forces and the existing
resources for defense financing have reached in the 1992-1996 period the size of five annual
defense budgets!” He added provocatively, “What kind of armed forces can be supported by a
nation with a GDP equaling that of Brazil or Mexico?”39

Rodionov incessantly and loudly complained about poor financing, refused to proceed with
military reform, embarrassed the Russian government by saying that the command and
control of strategic nuclear forces was dangerously degraded, and behaved as an ambassador
of the officer corps to the civilian government rather than as a member of that government.
After a year of this, President Yeltsin fired Rodionov.

While the term “national security policy” has become popular, Russia finds it difficult to
establish a national security policy capable of coordinating its diplomatic and military
instruments. For instance, while Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev focused in the early 1990s
on Russia’s relations with the West, the military’s top priority was extracting its assets from,
and preserving its bases, in the post-Soviet nations.

Yet, the question remains, what impact does the military have on the overall security
policy? How much influence do civilians have on the military policy? Let’s look at two recent
cases.

The Military and Russian Policy in the Kosovo Crisis

The most revealing recent case of the military in security policy formulation is the Russian
decision to seize control of the Pristina airport in Kosovo from NATO forces at the end of the
Kosovo campaign in June 1999. The plan was hatched in secrecy in the Operations
Directorate of the General Staff. The Minister of Foreign Affairs was not informed, so the
military claimed, in the name of operational security. Prime Minister Sergei Stepashin was
also left in the dark. Even the highest ranking Russian officer, Minister of Defense Marshal
Igor Sergeyev was informed only after the Chief of General Staff General Anatoly Kvashnin,
using his right of direct access to the President, had already convinced Yeltsin to sign off on

35

the operation. The Minister of Foreign Affairs denied to his Western counterparts the rumors
of the Russian advance on Pristina. The denial was probably sincere, because had the
Ministry of Foreign Affairs been consulted, they would have explained to the Russian
generals, who were ignorant of the nuances of international politics and law, that their
much-cherished plan was fatally flawed. Only 200 Russian paratroopers dispatched by road
from Bosnia seized the Pristina airport—too few to establish a serious presence in Kosovo.
Moreover, they could not be supplied by the Russian peacekeeping congingent in Kosovo. The
General Staff, of course, was aware of these problems; the seizure of the airport was supposed
to be only the first step of the operation, to be followed by an airlift of 2,500 Russian
paratroopers and supplies.40

The General Staff planners failed to appreciate several factors:

� Russia needed permission from three former Warsaw Pactnations (Bulgaria, Roma­
nia, and Hungary) for the overflight of their territories.

� Such permission in the post-Warsaw Pact world needed to be secured in advance

through diplomatic channels.

� There was no chance that the three East European nations in question, one of them
already a NATO member, and two aspiring to admission to NATO, would grant such
an overflight permit.

The result was the very thinly veiled anger of NATO, and an embarrassing demonstration
of the Russian policymaking chaos and military weakness. It appears from some reports that
those who planned the Pristina operation in the General Staff had a goal that, had it been
achieved, would have seriously affected Russian security policy: the goal was to establish a
Russian sector in the industrial northern and north-western parts of Kosovo with significant
Serbian population and in the immediate proximity of the Serbian border, which would have
enabled the Russian forces to cooperate with the Yugoslav military.41 Needless to say, an
acquisition of a pariah state as a strategic partner in an area of confrontation with NATO
would have cast Russia in a confrontational role with the West for a long time to come.

The roots of the Pristina plan lie in a quasi-monarchic Russian policymaking pattern,
bureaucratic and personality conflicts within the top echelons of the military, and the
mindset of the elites and the public. Despite the proliferation of different bodies which are
supposed to advise the president of Russia—such as the Security Council and the now
disbanded Defense Council—on matters of national security, Yeltsin made these decisions by
himself on the basis of reports by this or that courtier currently in the president’s favor.
General Kvashnin happened to be in the right place at the right time to offer his plan to
Yeltsin.

The Pristina operation gave Kvashnin a chance to score in a bureaucratic turf war against
Minister of Defense Sergeyev. The latter had been promoting a plan to establish the Joint
Command of Strategic Nuclear Forces, which would remove the control of these forces from
the General Staff and make their commander a powerful competitor to the Chief of General

36
Staff. The apparent goals of this reorganization were to centralize both operational and
administrative control of strategic nuclear forces and to further strengthen the preeminent
role of the Strategic Rocket Forces, which Igor Sergeyev had previously commanded.
Sergeyev apparently obtained approval of this plan from President Yeltsin, bypassing the
Chief of General Staff, who has ever since battled the plan and conducted a rumor campaign
against Sergeyev.42

While a strategic failure, the Pristina operation was a domestic public relations success,
and Kvashnin could count on some political benefits from it. Kvashnin’s name has become
associated with Russia “showing it” to NATO, while it fell to Marshal Sergeyev to negotiate
with the United States the real conditions of Russian participation in the Kosovo
peacekeeping operation, which were far less grandiose than the expectations of many in the
high command.43 This could not enhance the popularity of Sergeyev, whose program of
military reform resulted in the involuntary discharge of many officers. This lessened
popularity pleased Kvashnin and his supporters. Indeed, the rumors of Sergeyev’s imminent
dismissal and his replacement by Kvashnin as a more decisive figure intensified to such a
degree that by the beginning of the Chechen campaign in September-October 1999, the
official military daily had to speak up in defense of the minister.44

If we go beyond personalities, the Sergeyev-Kvashnin conflict represents a clash between

those in favor of radical military reform and those opposed to it. The latter continue to adhere
to a somewhat attenuated form of Soviet military doctrine; these opponents of reform think
that the West is a real threat to Russia and that it must be deterred by a combination of
strategic nuclear forces and sizable conventional forces. The former believe that the threat
from the West or from China is unlikely to arise in the immediate and mid-term future as long
as Russia maintains its nuclear arsenal. They believe that this allows for a breathing space,
during which money could be saved by reducing the conventional forces to the minimum
necessary for prevailing in local conflicts.

Finally, one may argue that the Pristina operation would never even have been conceived
if not for the anti-NATO hysteria in the Duma, the mass media, and the public. After all, the
real motivation behind the operation was to strengthen politically a certain faction of the high
command. Indeed, subsequent events have suggested that Kvashnin at least partially
achieved his goal, since planning for a Joint Strategic Command appear to be shelved for now.
Thus, Russian security policy at the end of the Kosovo crisis was strongly influenced by the
military, or, to be more precise, by a conflict within the Russian military. It appears that the
Kosovo experience is having a serious impact on the conduct of the present war in Chechnya.

The Second War in Chechnya

The Russian military campaign against Chechnya followed an incursion by the Chechen
warlords into the neighboring Dagestan and a series of still unresolved terrorist bomb
explosions in Moscow and other cities which the Russian government quickly attributed to
terrorists operating from Chechnya. In the beginning of the campaign, Prime Minister

37

Vladimir Putin explained its strategy: “To prevent involvement in the conflict of large masses
of people, which is the goal of the tactics of the bandits.” Further, Putin proclaimed the
Khasavyurt peace agreement with Chechnya of 1996 dead, and proposed a “temporary
quarantine” along the whole administrative boundary with Chechnya and elimination of all
Chechen guerrilla groups in Dagestan. If the government of Chechnya refuses to turn over to
Russia the “bandits,” they will be destroyed as soon as they “cross the administrative
boundary with Chechnya.” Then, economic sanctions should be introduced against
Chechnya.45

This plan of action appears reasonably well thought-out and could safeguard Russia’s
interests insofar as it appeared to avoid massive bloodshed among both the Russian troops
and the Chechen civilians. There is not a hint of a possibility of occupying the whole of
Chechnya. One may argue, of course, that the speech was an elaborate deception, meant to
reassure a Russian public mindful of the losses of the first war in Chechnya, and to lull
Chechen leaders into a false sense of security with regard to an imminent invasion. Still, the
plan described by Putin to the Duma rather closely corresponded to the so-called “phase one”
of the campaign, that is, occupation of the easily defensible part of Chechnya north of the
Terek River.46 According to a usually very well informed Russian analyst, after completing
“phase one” the government did not have a plan for a further advance, and Prime Minister
Putin and Minister of Defense Sergeyev initially preferred to stop there and start building the
“quarantine.”47 Indeed, the military even started building fortifications along the proposed
line of the “sanitary cordon.”48 Then on October 20, 1999 a meeting was held between Yeltsin
and the chiefs of the “power agencies”—the Ministry of Defense, FSB (Federal Security
Service), etc. At this meeting the decision was made to proceed with the “second phase” of the
campaign.49

The “second phase” violated each point of Putin’s original plan. Chechnya was to be
occupied, and all armed formations (not just the “terrorists”) were to be destroyed. This would
lead to the victimization and alienation of its population as a whole, which is likely to lead to
more terrorism and a long guerrilla war. In addition, Russia’s reputation in the West has
suffered, with possible negative consequences for the Russian economy and state. This
security policy resembles the Russian response to Kosovo, which was very much shaped by
the military; again, political considerations were ignored, direct appeals were made to
Yeltsin, and the desire to demonstrate the power of Russian arms to a receptive public has
reigned supreme. What could motivate the military in this case?

It has been reported that the “second phase” strategy has been pushed by the generals in
charge of the troops in the North Caucasus.50 There is obviously a desire on the part of the
military to settle scores with the Chechens for the defeats of 1994-96. In addition, a speedy
military victory would be highly beneficial for the careers of the generals involved; Major
General Vladimir Shamanov, commander of the Zapad group of forces in Chechnya, publicly
threatened a “civil war” if the politicians stopped the military from achieving complete victory
in Chechnya.51

A victory is especially important for General Kvashnin. He commanded the North

Caucasus Military District during the disastrous first war against Chechnya, something his

38
critics never fail to mention.52 Kvashnin not only covets Sergeyev’s job, he has to worry about
his own. Russian observers mention ambitions of another general, Viktor Chechevatov, who
has been recently moved from the command of the Far Eastern Military District to Moscow, to
assume the position of the Commander of the General Staff Academy. General Chechevatov
is an enterprising figure who ran for president of Russia in 1996, only to concede early in the
game in favor of Yeltsin. During the Kosovo war, he publicly offered to lead a group of Russian
volunteers to fight on Serbia’s side. Another possible candidate is Army General (ret.) Andrei
Nikolaev, who has become chairman of the Defense Committee in the new Duma.53 A
protracted “quarantine” was certainly less likely to impress the future new president of
Russia when it comes to awarding promotions to military brass. Many officers also complain
that in 1994-96 the politicians did not let the military “finish” the job, hoping that “this time”
the politicians will not interfere.54

Just as in the case of Kosovo, public support of the war against Chechnya must have
encouraged the military command, which initially was very cautious about casualties among
the conscripts, to proceed with an all-out war against Chechnya. The same estimation of the
public mood probably was responsible for Putin’s embrace of the new and bolder military
strategy, because a quick victory made him a serious contender for the Russian presidency.
Yeltsin may have hoped that a victory by the spring (as envisaged by the initial plan) would
have strengthened him against his political enemies and allowed him and his family an exit
from the political scene on favorable conditions. Thus the broad public and the elites
encouraged the military to shape the security policy in the North Caucasus.

The counterproductive shape the Chechnya campaign took, that of total war, is by itself
the result of the failure of the civilians to guide and implement a military reform. The
Russian generals feel satisfied that they are conducting a war according to all the precepts of
military science as they have been taught in the Soviet and now Russian military
academies—as if it were a war against NATO.55 The Russian military establishment has, by
and large, cocooned itself in its steadfast refusal to recognize the reality that Russia is no
longer a superpower and that its concerns should be with relatively small-scale insurgencies
(the whole population of Chechnya is well under one million people, smaller than the number
of men under arms in Russia).

While the threat of war was already hanging over Russia’s southern rim in the spring of
1999, the Russian military conducted its first major exercise in years. Named “West 99,” the
exercise’s mission was to repel a NATO attack on Belarus, and its scenario included sorties of
strategic bombers close to America’s shores! In the meanwhile, little if anything had been
done to prepare the Russian military for a limited counterinsurgency campaign that could
have bottled up the Chechen warlords, such as construction of garrisons. Once the war began,
the fear that the Russian forces in Chechnya simply would not survive winter in the field
reportedly influenced General Kvashnin to speed up the offensive.56

During the Kosovo campaign, the eagerness with which the Russian top brass embraced
the fanciful idea that NATO might very well attack Russia over her actions in the North
Caucasus is quite suggestive of their collective flight from reality. Having NATO as an enemy
is obviously more flattering to their self-image and professional standing, not to mention

39
potentially more fattening for the defense budget, than deflating their force posture and
mindset to deal with the real opponent. This strategic daydreaming has been codified in the
national security concept, which was approved in January 2000, and in the draft military
doctrine approved in October 1999. Both point in less than thinly veiled terms to the United
States and NATO as the main threats to “world peace.”57 The threats from Russia’s southern
rim are recognized as well, but with NATO supposedly at the gate, the profound reforms that
the Russian military needs will be delayed.

Conclusions

The Russian military has no tradition of aspiring to power. The officer corps would rather
pursue political influence needed for advancing its corporate interests and individual careers
by extending crucial support to a receptive political faction likely to win in a power struggle.
Throughout most of the Soviet period, save for a few crucial episodes, the military was
prevented from playing this role, but it also received highly preferential treatment from the
regime. 58 The Yeltsin years did not add to the military’s appetite for political power or its
ability to seize it. Tradition may be one reason. Another possible reason is the enormous and
unappealing complexity of running Russia, especially its economy. The Russian military is a
large and complex organization, usually split by personal and service conflicts in its top
echelons. With the demise of communism, the security services have lost much of their
intimidating power, but they can still spy on the military. The buildup of MVD Internal
Troops has created a significant counterbalance to the military’s coercive power.

Those individual military officers who aspired to political power discovered that their
military careers had not prepared them for the Byzantine world of politics in Moscow. They
made obvious mistakes, failed to gain allies, and were easily used and discarded by civilian
politicians. The military as an institution did not give them support. Still, every armed
conflict in the late 1980s and 1990s has produced its candidate for Napoleon. Afghanistan
produced Colonel General Boris Gromov; the conflict in Moldova, Lieutenant General
Aleksandr Lebed; and the first war against Chechnya, Lieutenant General Lev Rokhlin. As is
clear, defeat can produce charismatic military personalities as surely as victory. So far, the
generals fighting in Chechnya have provided an approving chorus to Vladimir Putin’s
political career, but a downturn in his fortunes may still present us with another spectacle of a
general eyeing the Kremlin.

The military started the decade very much disoriented by the impact of Gorbachev’s “new
thinking,” which was highly skeptical about the utility of military power in the modern world.
The “new thinking” died an untimely death probably as early as 1993,59 and the military
began to reassert its monopoly on defense policy and its influence on security policy as a
whole. By 1997, the military was disintegrating because of budget shortfalls. At that
moment, the inspiration for drastic and necessary force reductions came both from the
military (but from its most “unmilitary” service—the Strategic Rocket Forces, which is run
not by “real soldiers” but by highly skilled technical specialists like Marshal Sergeyev
himself) and from the civilian Andrei Kokoshin, first in his job as the Secretary of the Defense

40

Council and Chief Military Inspector, and then as the Secretary of the Security Council.
Military reform is by no means over, but the armed forces are at least no longer
disintegrating. It remains to be seen, now that the catastrophe seems to have been avoided,
whether the military will try to isolate themselves again from “civilian” ideas.

The military’s renewed influence on Russian security policy has been amply demonstrated
by Russian conduct at the endgame in Kosovo and during the current war in Chechnya. Why,
after years of criticism of the excessive military influence upon Soviet security policy, is the
military in the driver’s seat again? One reason is the anti-Western sentiment now pervasive
in Russian society. If the West is so threatening and treacherous, the military is a logical
choice to handle security policy. Moreover, military action, be it in Kosovo or in Chechnya, is
for the time being one of the very few emergency valves available to Russians battered again
by the twists and turns of their turbulent history. But the most important reason is the
weakness and fragmentation of the political institutions, primarily that of the presidency,
which has come to operate as a court system where decisions are based not on rational policy
analysis but on the whims and perceived short-term self-interests of the quasi-monarch.

Endnotes
1. This paper represents the views of the author and not of the Department of the Navy or any other agency
of the US government. The author wishes to express his appreciation for the support of this effort from the
Russia Area and East European Studies Program at the Paul H. Nitze School of Advanced International
Studies, The John Hopkins University, Washington, DC, 20036, and the Project on System Change and
International Security in Russia and the New States of Eurasia, supported by the Smith Richardson
Foundation.

2. Timothy J. Colton, Perspectives on Civil-Military Relations in the Soviet Union,” in Timothy J. Colton and
Thane Gustafson, eds., Soldiers and the Soviet State (Princeton University Press: Princeton, N. J., 1990), p. 9.

3. Ibid., p. 7.

4. For a study covering the period from 1991 until 1995, see Stephen J. Blank, Russian Defense Legislation
And Russian Democracy (US Army War College, Strategic Studies Institute, Carlisle Barracks, PA: August 17,
1995), http://carlisle-www.army.mil/usassi/ssipubs/pubs95/ruslegis/ruslegis.htm

5. Alexander Belkin, “Grazhdanskiy kontrol’: rossiiskie mify I real’nost’,” Grazhdanskiy kontrol’ nad
vooruzhennymi silami (Russkiy put’: Moscow, 1999), p. 108.

6. See Mikhail Tsypkin, “Will the Military Rule Russia,” Security Studies, vol. 2, no. 1, Autumn 1992, pp.
51-55.

7. Alexander A. Belkin, Civil-Military Relations and National Security Decision-Making, a paper presented
at a conference titled “National Security Decisionmaking in Russia,” Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey,
California, November 14-17, 1994.

8. Interview with Vitaliy Shlykov, June 2, 1998, Moscow, Russia.

9. Ibid.

41

 10. Yuriy Fedorov, “Voennaia reforma i grazhdanskiy kontrol’ nad vooruzhennymy silami v Rossii,”
Nauchnie zapiski, no. 7 (Moscow: PIR, 1998), p. 5.

11. See the analytical categories described by Samuel P. Huntington, The Soldier and the State (Cambridge,
MA: Harvard University Press, 1957), pp. 80-85.

12. Data derived from Vladimir Georgiev and Igor’ Korotchenko, “Opyat’ na golodnom payke,” Nezavisimoe
voenniye obozrenie, 8 October 1999 (electronic edition).

13. Radio Liberty Daily Report, September 22, 1993 (electronic version).

14. Boris Yeltsin, The Struggle for Russia (New York: Random House, 1994), pp. 272-279.

15. Ibid., p. 273; Alexander Korzhakov, Boris Yeltsin: ot rassveta do zakata (Moscow: Interbuk, 1997) pp.
166-170.

16. Nikolai Troitskiy, “Armiia dlya vnutrennego upotrebleniia,” Obshchaia gazeta, April 6-12, 1995.

17. This forms an interesting parallel to the events of 1957, when Khrushchev first used Marshal Gheorgiy
Zhukov to help him get rid of the “anti-party group.” and then sacked the marshal.

18. Andrei Kamakin, “Anantoliy Kulikov: ‘Ya v avantyurakh ne uchastvuyu’,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, July
23, 1999 (electronic version).

19. For details of the rise and fall of the Security Council under Dr. Kokoshin, see Jacob W. Kipp, Forecasting
Future War: Andrei Kokoshin and the Military-Political Debate in Contemporary Russia. Andrei Kokoshin:
Scholar and Bureaucrat (Fort Leavenworth, KS: Foreign Military Studies Office, January 1999); and Alexander
Golts, “V Vakuume,” Itogi, September 15, 1998 (electronic edition).

20. One Russian scholar believes that without a civilian Minister of Defense every conflict “between civilian
and military perspectives” turns into “interdepartmental struggle.” See Boris Jelezov, Defense Budgeting and
Civilian Control of the Military in the Russian Federation (Alexandria, VA: Center for Naval analyses, October
1997).

21. See Anatoliy Veslo, “Pavel Grachev reshil uluchshit’ Dumu svoimi podchinennymi,” Segodnya, 26
September 1995; Valeriy Kornev, “Voennye rvutsya k vlasti,” Izvestiia, September 29, 1995; Yuriy Golotyuk, “V
Volgograd pribyl predstavitel’ Pavla Gracheva,” Segodnia, 5 October 1995.

22. Benjamin S. Lambeth, The Warrior Who Would Rule Russia (Santa Monica, CA: RAND, 1996).

23. For some detail on Lebed’s attempt to knock Yeltsin out of the decisionmaking process, see Tatyana
Malkina et al., “Alexander Lebed ‘zapolnyaet vakuum’,” Segodnia, July 12, 1996.; and Yuriy Golotyuk,
“Razrabotan zakonoproekt ‘O Voennom sovete SB RF’,” Segodnia, 16 July 1996.

24. OMRI Daily Digest, 18 October 1996 and 24 October 1996.

25. OMRI Daily Digest, 25 September 1996.

26. OMRI Daily Digest, 25 September 1996.

27. OMRI Daily Digest, 18 October 1996.

28. Golotyuk, “Razrabotan zakonoproekt.”

29. Omri Daily Digest, 26 July 1996, October 7, 1996.

30. Alexander Golovkov, “Za kogo progolosuet leitenant Ivanov?” Izvestiya, 21 April 1996.

42
 31. Deborah Yarsike Ball and Theodore P. Gerber, “The Political Views of Russian Field Grade Officers,”
Post Soviet Affairs, 1996, 12, 2, p. 178.

32. Alexander Golts, The Role of the Military in Russian Domestic Politics: Crucial or Symbolic? A paper
presented at a conference, titled “Systemic Crisis and Security Policy in Russia,” April 6-7, 1999, Naval
Postgraduate School, Monterey, California.

33. OMRI Daily Digest, 8 July 1996.

34. OMRI Daily Digest, 27 June 1996.

35. Derived from OMRI Daily Digests and RFE/RL Daily Reports.

36. Yelena Serenko, “Coup Was To Start in Volgograd?” Novyye Izvestiia, April 29, 1998, translated in
FBIS-SOV-98-119.

37. Author’s interview with Alexander Golts, Moscow, October 1997.

38. Vladislav Shurygin, “Zvezdy generala Kvashnina,” Zavtra, 16 July 1999.

39. For more detail, see Tsypkin, “Will the Military Rule Russia?” pp.58-62, and Mikhail Tsypkin, “The
Politics of Russian Security Policy,” in Bruce Parrott, ed., State Building and Military Power in Russia And the
New States of Eurasia (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1995), pp. 26-27.

40. For a unique firsthand account, see V. Shlykov, “Rokovye proschety sovetskoi i amerikanskoi razvedok,”
Mezhdunarodnaya zhizn’, 1996, nos. 11-12, pp. 95-101.

41. S. Rogov, “Voennaia reforma v usloviyakh ekonomicheskogo krizisa v Rossii,” Morskoy sbornik, 1997, no.
3, pp. 11-12.

42. Leonid Velekhov, “Platsdarm,” Itogi, 22 June, 1999; Igor Fedorov, “Generalov tyanet na delo,”
Kommersant-vlast’, 22 June, 1999; Igor’ Korotchenko, and Vladimir Mukhin, “Rossiiskii desant operedil
natovskii kontingent,” Nezavisimoe voennoye obozrenie, 18 June 1999; Robert G. Kaiser and David Hoffman,
“Russia Had Bigger Plan In Kosovo,” Washington Post, June 25, 1999; Vladimir Grigor’ev and Inessa
Slavutinskaya, “Ne plach’, devchonka,” Profil’, June 21, 1999, p. 13.

43. Igor’ Korotchenko and Andrei Korbut, “Kompromiss mezhdu NATO I Rossiyei nayden,” Nezavisimoe
voennoie obozrenie, June 25, 1999.

44. See Mikhail Tsypkin, “Military Reform and Strategic Nuclear Forces of the Russian Federation,” The
Journal of European Security, forthcoming.

45. Matvei Pokatilov, “Shtabs-general,” Itogi, July 6, 1999 (electronic edition).

46. AFP, “Izvestia: Russia Maps Out Tank Invasion Of Chechnya,” September 23, 1999; Sergei chuprov,
“Komu eto vygodno,” Krasnaia zvezda, September 25, 1999; Vladimir Ivanov, “Neugodnyy Igor Sergeyev,”
Nezavisimaia gazeta, October 2, 1999.

47. Gosudarstvennaya Duma. Stenogramma zasedanii, no. 279 (421), September 14, 1999, pp. 5-6.

48. Ilya Kedrov, Andrei Korbut, “Genshtab natselen vesti voyska na Groznyy,” Nezavisimoe voennoe
obozrenie, 1 October 1999 (electronic edition).

49. Alexander Golts, “Protivostoyanie,” Itogi, October 19, 1999 (electronnic edition); Alexander Golts, “Na
shturm!” Itogi, November 2, 1999 (electronic edition).

50. Alexander Golts, “Katok,” Itogi, October 12, 1999 (electronic edition).

43
 51. Yekaterina Grigor’eva, “Federal’nie voiska podoshli k Groznomu,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, October 21,
1999 (electronic edition); Alexander Shaburkin, “Samoe trudnoe –vperedi,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, October 27,
1999 (electronic edition).

52. Golts, “Na shturm!”

53. Vladimir Gutnov, “Rossiia ne dolzhna opravdyvatsya za svoe stremleni pokonchit’ s terrorizmom,”
Nezavisimaia gazeta, October 4, 1999 (electronic edition).

54. Vladimir Ivanov, “Neugodnii Igor’s Sergeyev,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, October 2, 1999 (electronic edition);
Pokatilov, “Shtabs-general.”

55. Ilya Bulavinov and Ivan Safronov, “Ministrom oborony mozhet stat’ general Nikolaev,”
Kommersand-daily, February 4, 2000.

56. Alexander Shaburkin, “Na polputi k Groznomu,” Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, October 22, 1999
(electronic edition).

57. Golts, “Na shturm!”

58. Alexander Golts, “Russia Faces Betrayal From General Winter,” The Russia Journal, issue 35, October
25, 1999, .

59. “Kontseptsiya natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiyskoy Federatsii,” Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie,

January 14, 2000 (electronic edition); “Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoy Federatsii,” Krasnaia zvezda, October 9,
1999 (electronic edition).

60. For a more detailed treatment, see Tsypkin, “Will the Military Rule Russia?” pp. 42-44.

61. I elaborated this point in Mikhail Tsypkin, “Military Power in Russian National Security Policy,” in
Sanford Lieberman et al., eds., The Soviet Empire Reconsidered: Essays in Honor of Adam B. Ulam (Boulder,
CO: Westview Press, 1994).

44

 Environmental Issues and Russian Security

Odelia Funke

Introduction

How should we frame national security policies for the 21st century? Traditional
approaches to national security have assumed that other states are the principal source of
danger to national welfare and security, and that therefore national defense and security are
best served by being prepared for some form of aggression involving other states. As we
grasped the importance of economics for international politics, we incorporated economic
considerations as a key component into our security analysis. But there are several reasons
why our previous approaches were insufficient to capture political reality. The threat of
terrorism by non-state groups is one illustration that a focus on state institutions and power
relations is not adequate. Environmental issues, at the global, regional, and even state level,
constitute another dimension that is important to security interests.

Nearly three decades ago, Lynton Caldwell called for a realignment of our understanding
of security. He pressed for a reevaluation of the priority we give to environmental matters,
based on a recognition that humans are part of a biosphere, and that its integrity is critical to
human life and well-being.1 Giving priority to military expenditures and technological
developments without evaluating environmental consequences is not only an incomplete
strategy, it has led states to pursue avenues that are not sustainable over time and that are in
fact self-destructive. A more holistic approach to security—urged by the United Nation’s
Brundtland Commission,2 continued at the 1992 UN Conference on Environment and
Development in Rio, and supported by an expanding group of policy analysts, historians,
political scientists, natural scientists, and practitioners over the past 25 years—requires that
we incorporate environmental matters into our analyses. NATO too has embraced the
concept.3 We should consider the impact of elements such as the wealth and integrity of the
resource base, the health of the environment, population growth and migration, as well as
trade patterns and trends. Societies must learn to live within their ecological resources, or
suffer terrible consequences that will spill past their borders to the global commons.
Environmental consequences have to be part of the equation for calculating political and
economic health and stability.

Environmental, as well as political and economic realities, have a profound influence on

the military and its relationship to civilian authorities. These realities provide a context that
will support or undermine the military and its policies. The interconnected nature of
environmental and socio-political issues, and their intimate relation to technical and
strategic military concerns, are nowhere more evident than in the former Soviet Union. This
chapter will address security challenges Russia faces in light of environmental security
concepts. First the chapter reviews the environmental security perspective and the close
relation between the environment and a nation’s health and wealth. Then the discussion

45

turns to the environmental conditions in Russia, with a brief consideration of international

environmental security issues, including a discussion of Caspian Sea oil production.

An Environmental Security Perspective

First, it is appropriate to note that while the environmental security perspective has
gained broad support, it is not universally accepted.4 Some of the principal concerns have to
do with the implications for delineating security issues, and who will control the definitions of
and policy responsibility for environmental problems. Some are concerned that the military
will be diverted from its most important function—national defense—if it is embroiled in
environmental matters. This diversion could take the form of limitations on military choices
and actions relating to research, development, and acquisition because of environmental
consequences, or the draining of military resources to address environmental problems at
home or abroad. The diversion of resources can be direct, such as using military personnel
and equipment to address environmental problems, or indirect, such as funneling budget
allocations the military needs to nonmilitary concerns couched in strategic terms. Other
critics fear that the primary analytical issues pertinent to security will be confused or diluted
by a focus on environmental issues. They argue that those few environmental problems that
truly rise to the level of national security threats can be handled within the traditional
national security analysis framework. A parallel set of fears is raised by those who are
concerned that the military will co-opt environmental issues and distort priorities. They note
that defense activities are the source of much environmental degradation; they fear a
militarization of the environmental agenda and are suspicious of any genuine “greening” of
the defense sector. Some suspect that environmental matters will be put on the defense
agenda only as a way to guarantee continued access to funding that might—and should—be
reallocated for expressly environmental security objectives. Rather than relying primarily on
the defense establishment for important environmental analyses and programs, there should
be a shift in the national budget to provide funds to other entities to address important
environmental issues. From this perspective, strategic considerations should take
environmental resources and consequences into account, but we should not rely on the
defense establishment to handle this analysis or promote this kind of agenda. Adopting the
language and perspective of national security, these skeptics believe, encourages co-option of
an important agenda.

While the debate is undoubtedly not over, environmental security analysis has gained
legitimacy. One can find authoritative evidence over the past decade, from the White House
to the State Department to the Pentagon, that the U.S. government has begun to adopt this
broader perspective.5 If it is clear that our security policies must take environmental costs
and consequences into account that still leaves open the question of what role the military
should play in the analysis or solutions.6 It seems obvious that a successful integration of
environmental issues into the security establishment requires the participation and support
of the military. The military uses the environment directly to carry out its mission of testing
weapons and conducting training exercises. In the United States, we have made increasingly
greater demands on the military to be good stewards of the vast national lands entrusted to

46

their care. In fact, we sometimes rely on the military to safeguard endangered species as
animals flee to large installations to escape the encroachment of civilian developments. But
there is a larger set of activities the military can legitimately address because of their
expertise and their worldwide operations. Hence, advocates inside and outside of the defense
establishment believe the military should have an important role in environmental security
matters.7 On the other hand, environmental security in the U.S. has not been the domain of
any one establishment. It is a topic widely discussed in academe, in the public interest sector,
and across government agencies. For example, the U.S. Environmental Protection Agency
has signed agreements with other agencies (Defense, Energy, and State Departments) to
address issues affecting environmental security. The EPA has articulated its acceptance of
the environmental security perspective, with a corresponding intention to contribute to
security by managing the hazardous conditions that are a legacy of the Cold War; give
attention to global environmental issues; anticipate emerging issues at the national, regional
and global level; and enforce environmental treaties.8

If the national security problem necessarily entails an interconnected complex of

elements, with environmental impacts and carrying capacity being a major factor, what does
that mean for security analysis? A realistic assessment of national security requires a holistic
look, including environmental integrity, because a healthy environment is critical for the
economy, for the health and welfare of the people, and for overall stability of the society.
Indeed, the military strength of a nation relies on environmental qualities in several ways.
The wealth of a nation, which supports its ability to exert influence and to sustain a powerful
military, is built on its natural resource base. Nations have fought to control natural
resources, both to enhance overall wealth and to secure specific strategic materials under
domestic control. In the 20th century alone control of natural resources was the cause of a
dozen or more wars in addition to a broad range of conflicts that threatened regional peace.9

An environmental security approach broadens and deepens our analysis of state interests,
highlighting the complex interrelationship among the social, economic, ecological, and
political elements operating at the domestic and international levels. Political stability and
societal well-being are closely connected to environmental protection. Because pollution
itself can spread beyond borders, and because some consequences of environmental
degradation can cause major disruptions nationally and regionally, it is a matter of national
interest to minimize ecological damage not only domestically, but also internationally.

The environmental security concept is particularly useful for thinking about Russian
security goals and US policy toward Russia. From the Russian perspective, giving adequate
weight to environmental considerations would mean allocating more attention and resources
to environmental crises. It might also leaven suspicion and secrecy, and convince the
Russians to seek the Western assistance they desperately need for addressing chemical and
radiological contamination associated with military as well as industrial activities—even if
this entails providing information from previously classified sources. Foreign assistance in
the form of expertise, loans, or outright grants is likely to be quite limited in the absence of
information from Russia intended to assure donor governments about the nature of the need
and to provide ongoing assurance that the money is being used for the targeted purposes.

47

Scandals involving large amounts of diverted US funding to Russia in the early 1990s will
make donor governments especially cautious.

Based on an environmental security perspective, other nations will be more likely to

actively support Russian recovery and environmental restabilization. There are strategic
reasons for the West to help Russia control its chemical and nuclear materials, including
wastes. But even where economic or traditional strategic objectives are not obviously at
stake, other governments see a clear interest in the cleanup and security of dangerous
materials and the proper management of toxic materials. Western European neighbors
quickly realized, for example, that spending money on pollution controls in Russia makes
better economic sense than spending the same amount at home. The benefits of reducing the
horrendous pollution problems in Russia in some cases provides relatively greater
environmental benefits in Western Europe, while at the same time bringing significant
benefits to the Russian people and helping to insure social and political stability in that
country and, by extension, across Europe. Perhaps less obvious is that from an
environmental security perspective the health of the Russian citizenry is a security concern of
the United States and Western Europe. If a health crisis develops in Russia (some believe it
has already begun), it will dramatically affect economic and political as well as social
stability. With domestic instability, economic markets would likely collapse totally, and
pollution problems would spread even wider. Of immediate concern would be who controls
nuclear materials and weapons. But chaos would undoubtedly bring other troubles as well;
turmoil often spills across borders. Further, providing assistance for severe environmental
problems fits articulated Western values of promoting human health and natural resource
protection. Finally, adopting a more comprehensive approach encourages us to confront the
implications of trans-border problems and issues that cannot be solved individually. In a
frequently-cited article over a decade ago, Jessica Tuchman Mathews wrote about the shift in
our most fundamental concepts, noting that traditional lines separating nations, and
separating foreign from domestic affairs, are increasingly irrelevant to solving our problems.
She pressed for policymakers to recognize that our borders are porous and that security rests
“more and more on international—rather than strictly national—conditions.” Security in the
military sense, she continued, “remains important, but it is now only a part of the essential
equation.”10

A Clean Environment: Implications for Wealth and Health

The importance of environmental integrity for the security of a nation can hardly be
exaggerated. Reference has already been made to the importance of the natural resource base
to shape wealth. An abundance of resources can provide the basic materials needed for
existence—fertile lands to grow foods, metals and minerals to build what is needed for civilian
and military use, abundant water for consumption and energy, etc. It is axiomatic that
nations will seek to control fundamental resources and avoid dependence on other nations if
possible, not only for resources to feed the people, but also for resources that feed
sophisticated technologies, and most particularly those strategic resources required for
military research, development, and acquisition. The ability to provide for the people is an

48

ingredient of domestic stability, and resources undergird that capability. Natural resources
reduce the need for imports and are a source of both wealth and influence through trade with
other nations. Resources attract investment from foreign and domestic sources, and can
attract tourism, another source of domestic wealth.

But wealth from natural resources can only be realized if these resources are well
managed. This involves the efficiency with which the resources are tapped or extracted, as
well as how they are consumed, processed, and turned into products. We have become more
cognizant of the need to conserve precious resources. World oil and gas reserves, though very
large, are being consumed at a fast rate. Even “renewable” resources, such as clean water or
fish, are not inexhaustible. Russia has had an abundance of water resources for drinking
water, irrigation, transportation, and power generation. Yet Russia has allowed a shocking
deterioration of this vast wealth, leading to the disappearance of huge areas of once
magnificent water bodies, contamination of much of the surface water, and threats to
underground water sources. The United States is fast consuming deep aquifers of fresh water
to irrigate crops on desert plains; use rates now dramatically exceed the slow recharge rate.
Contaminated air and water have serious deleterious effects in both the long and short term.

Environmental degradation tends to create a downward spiral. The fate of the Aral Sea in
Central Asia provides an infamous example. The sea has been reduced in size by about
two-thirds, due to unsustainable cotton farming in the surrounding area, farming that
depleted the water sources feeding the sea and overused chemicals and pesticides. Not only
surrounding lands, but lands hundreds of miles away, are contaminated with salts, metals,
and chemicals, which were carried by winds from the exposed seabed. As the land became
drier and more depleted, the erosion and dispersion increased—7.9 million hectares of arable
land were degraded. These contaminants cause human illness as well as destruction of water
resources and wider land deterioration. Occurrences of typhoid fever there, for example, are
up to 29 times the regional average. Alarming rates of anemia in women and children have
been found in one area, as well as several-fold increases in viral hepatitis.11 Destruction of
fishing on the sea has caused additional collateral damage. Experts believe that the Aral Sea
is dead, its condition being so deteriorated that the process is no longer reversible.

If the citizenry is not healthy, the state cannot be secure. The health of the citizens should
be a fundamental goal of any state, so as to maintain the contentment as well as the capability
of the people. People are the source that keeps the institutions functioning, the most vital
asset. The future of the workforce, including the pool of people available for military service,
depends upon a continuing source of competent and physically capable individuals. A
widespread problem with neurotoxic chemicals, for example, could cause mental disabilities
and loss of intelligence and cognitive reasoning abilities that would in turn jeopardize the
intellectual reservoir upon which the nation depends to operate sophisticated industrial and
military systems.

Children are a particularly important asset, as they represent the future strength of the
nation. At the fetal and early developmental stages, their body systems are especially
vulnerable to toxins. Contamination can pass from the mother to child in utero
(contaminants can even leach out of mothers’ bones during pregnancy) or through breast

49
milk. Neurotoxins are very dangerous for the fetus and small child, as their systems cannot
successfully eliminate toxins. Proportionally, a toxin such as lead will do far more damage to
a fetus or child, not only because of body mass, but because their neural structures are
growing rapidly and are vulnerable.12

Some key indicators of national health are life expectancy rates, the prevalence of various
diseases, and the general health of children, including live birth rates. If these indicators or
other general health statistics show high rates of illness or death, surely this constitutes a
challenge to the nation’s security. Often health factors derive from environmental factors,
particularly the availability of clean drinking water, though contaminated air, soil, or food
can also cause severe problems. Environmental contamination can involve a complicated set
of cascading problems—for instance, contaminated water can lead to illness and death; it also
contaminates fish living in it, or other animals that drink from it, which creates problems up
the food chain. Water and sediments from contaminated water can affect crops and cattle,
and can be carried long distances to contaminate other places and life forms. Aside from the
drain on workforce power, widespread health problems pose a formidable cost to the nation in
the form of medicine, care facilities, rehabilitation, and so forth. The costs of identifying and
cleaning up these sources can be overwhelming—even when cleanup methods are available.

State of the Environment in Russia

Russia covers a vast area, with a rich store of natural resources. These resources have
been severely compromised through the practices of the past half-century or more. The
regime practiced no restraint or any stewardship, seemingly confident that the rich resource
base was inexhaustible—a tragically delusional attitude. Further, it appears that Russia has
similarly treated its people as an expendable, renewable resource. The government showed
virtually no concern for human life or welfare. Now they are reaping the results of this
dissociation from ecological and natural systems. In particular, Russia might be scraping the
bottom of its human resource cache. Some of the serious ecological and health problems may
not be reversible, or at least not for many decades or even centuries. The possibility of
depleting the stock of healthy, intelligent youth has direct relevance for the future of their
armed forces, particularly when seen in the context of the multiple crises facing the military.

Information about Russian environmental conditions can be somewhat confusing, for

several reasons. Many facilities fail to provide required emissions data, and data that are
provided are not deemed reliable. Reported monitoring data might vary over time, or in
different studies, or might not be representative. Some official health statistics
underestimate or ignore significant indicators of poor health. And while the press and other
sources contain important environmental descriptions and issues, the data relate to specific
areas or sources, so it is best not to rely too heavily on any single set of data. It is difficult to
generalize across all of Russia.

According to stories and studies coming out of the former Soviet Union since its breakup, it
is clear that environmental conditions have severely deteriorated. Russia is suffering the

50

consequences of a half-century of neglect and incredible mismanagement, followed by a

decade of inability to deal with many of the serious cleanup problems and ongoing insults to
ecological systems, even though they were recognized. There are serious threats to water, air
and soil across the country, with industrial areas and cities hardest hit. As one Moscow
newspaper said, “Russian cities are very polluted and it is hazardous to live in them; everyone
knows that.”13 And cities contain most of the population: 70 percent of the approximately 147
million (1998) Russian population lives in cities. The three largest cities, Moscow, St.
Petersburg, and Nizhniy Novgorod, account for almost 15 million of them.14 In many areas,
the environment is polluted, with dangerous levels of chemicals, including pesticides,
disease-carrying water, and polluted air. People are being exposed to a variety of pollutants
with dire health consequences. Most commercial enterprises are not in compliance with
Russian environmental standards; many facilities fail to provide required emissions data,
and the emissions data that are provided are not deemed reliable.15

There is a direct relationship between the large-scale release of toxins into the
environment and negative impacts on human health, both premature deaths and the onset of
a variety of illnesses. In the polluted industrial regions, morbidity rates for children under six
years old exceed that of children in less polluted areas by a factor of seven-to-five.16
Environmental problems across Russia pose a major risk to workers, who suffer occupational
illnesses, and also threaten the general public due to widespread contamination of air, water,
and soil. The deteriorating health of citizens is a direct and obvious cost of environmental
mismanagement. Disease threats that have increased in recent years (many associated with
contaminated water supplies) include tuberculosis, cholera, typhoid, hepatitis A and E,
dysentery, and asthma. The rate of environmentally related birth defects has risen, as has
infectious disease.17 Diseases resulting from compromised immune systems are increasing
because of chemical exposures and a deteriorating public health system. Contaminated food
and water cause diarrhea and other illnesses. Contamination is passed from mother to child
through mothers’ breast milk.

The disastrous state of environmental/medical affairs in Russia (and the former Soviet
republics) was documented in the early 1990s by Murray Feshbach and Alfred Friendly, who
tied environmental problems directly to health consequences.18 Other studies, cited in a
Central Intelligence Agency (CIA) report, have confirmed this linkage, finding that
health-related problems will continue to grow. For example, studies have found
environmental factors that contributed to an increase in developmental problems as well as
acute and chronic respiratory and gastrointestinal illnesses in children in several cities; high
rates of asthma, endocrine system problems, and chronic digestive diseases; 25 percent of
kindergarten children in one city with lead levels above that which causes impaired
intelligence; and an increase of waterborne diseases (e.g., cholera, dysentery) and
environmentally related birth defects. According to a Russian government report, air
pollution contributes to 17 percent of childhood and 10 percent of adult illnesses. The Russian
Security Council reported premature mortality and loss of labor potential of about 82,000
people in 1991 due to environmental causes. Losses from non-lethal environmentally related
illnesses are far higher.19

51

 A relationship between increased air and water pollution and increases in human
mortality and morbidity has been demonstrated. Soviet researchers concluded that acute air
and water pollution are related to occurrences of cancer and blood and liver diseases, among
other serious illnesses. Russia has the dubious distinction of being a modernized, “advanced”
nation, but with decreasing life expectancy rates. In Moscow, between 1970 and 1990,
residents had lost 10 years of life expectancy.20

Some of the problems have been widely broadcast in the West. As the USSR disintegrated,
horrendous stories emerged from far and wide. The fate of the once magnificent Aral Sea in
Uzbekistan and Kazakhstan, cited above, is the most infamous of the catastrophes that beset
the former Soviet states.21 But Lake Baikal, in Siberia, is another symbol of massive
environmental deterioration, though there is still hope of reversing the process there. Baikal
is the deepest lake in the world, and the eighth largest lake. It contained 20 percent of the
world’s supply of fresh water, and 80 percent of the USSR’s.22 Decisions to build a plant for
aircraft tires, over the protest of many, have resulted in large-scale pollution of this once
pristine water body. A pulp and paper plant continues to create serious pollution problems in
that basin. By the late 1980s, much of the surface water in the former Soviet Union was
classified as polluted. About one-third of the polluted wastewater in the USSR went totally
untreated. In Russia itself, about a third was treated to some extent, though not completely;
in other parts of the former USSR, treatment was at an even lower rate. The great majority of
major rivers have dangerous levels of pollution, including sewage. Water samples from 200 of
them showed 79 percent with bacterial and viral agents at dangerous levels. In 1988, the Ob
River in Siberia contained pollutant levels at 4,000 times the established health limit.23

Water pollution is the most pressing issue. All major Russian waterways are poisoned to
some extent; some are dying. Clean water, a precious resource that sustains ecosystems,
supports agriculture, and provides drinking water and fresh fish, is endangered in Russia. In
some areas, surface water is the primary source of drinking water, and these waters are
polluted; current rates of usage are unsustainable.24 Drinking water supplies all over Russia
have been severely compromised. Intestinal illnesses associated with contaminated drinking
water are frequently reported in urban areas.25 Experts estimate that less than one-half of
Russia’s population has access to safe drinking water; 69 percent of their wastewater
treatment systems have insufficient capacity. The Russian government stated that nearly all
water courses in the Volga watershed, which covers two-thirds of European Russia, do not
meet their standards. Municipalities are the primary source of pollution, with industry and
agriculture following.26 Water bodies surrounding Russia are likewise very polluted.27 The
fishing industry has been badly injured because of polluted waters, including a decline in the
lucrative caviar trade.28 In Siberia, according to one source, there are huge pollution levels
annually, and 40 million tons of pollution discharged to water bodies, including organics and
metal at levels 30 percent higher than the permissible level. The average life span in Siberia
is 16-18 years less than across Russia; tuberculosis and child mortality rates are significantly
higher than in the rest of the country.29

Poor air quality is another very serious problem. It is estimated that 30 to 80 percent of the
residents living in cities with annual concentrations four times higher than the maximum
allowable concentrations (MACs) have respiratory diseases. Average annual sulfur dioxide

52
concentrations at two to four times the MAC are associated with a 12 to 23 percent great
incidence of respiratory diseases.30 Over 200 Russian cities often exceeded prescribed health
maximums for annual concentrations for at least one pollutant in 1996. Eight cities exceeded
standards for three or more pollutants, and excesses were by a factor of 10 or more.31
Pollution from motor vehicles is becoming more of a problem in cities. Air quality also is
degraded.

Increased pesticide and fertilizer use has resulted in degraded soils as well as impaired
human health in Russian. Food quality is said to be generally poor. Man-made chemicals
have been widely misused and over-used, depleting the fertility of the soil and loading it with
dangerous levels of chemicals that persist over time. Farmlands have been badly damaged,
and crop yields have declined, making Russia more dependent on imports and further
draining scarce Russian capital while increasing national dependencies. By the mid-1980s
crop yields per acre were far below those in the United States. Nearly half of the arable land
was seriously threatened by erosion. And what the fields were producing was not healthy. A
late 1990 study claimed that only four of 432 farms studied produced healthy crops—or
farmers.32 Cattle also suffer from contaminated lands and water. Further, the Soviet regime
pushed farmers into marginal and fragile lands; excessive levels of nitrates are in up to 10
percent of the food.33 Mortality and morbidity rates also correlate to high pesticide use areas.
Children are especially susceptible. Russia has found that infant mortality rates are up to
twice as high as the norm where pesticide use is high.34 As the Soviet era was drawing to a
close, Feshbach and Friendly noted that 25 million acres of cropland were overloaded with
DDT, which was still being used in the USSR long after other nations banned it; that 40
percent of baby food was significantly contaminated; and that by the end of the 1980s,
pesticide poisoning deaths of Soviet farmers jumped 18 to 20-fold compared to the period
1976-85. The Soviet Health Ministry had data linking pesticide use to a wide variety of
pathologies, including anemia, tuberculosis, viral hepatitis, and acute upper respiratory tract
infections. Overuse of nitrates for fertilizer also has deleterious effects, particularly on
infants. It interferes with the oxygen supply to the brain and can even cause death.35

In some regions, children have dangerously high blood lead (Pb) levels, which affect
cognitive capabilities. Despite unequivocal human health data showing neurotoxic effects
from lead exposures, and the serious danger particularly to fetuses and small children,
Russia has still not banned leaded gasoline. In 1995, 5.7 thousand tons of lead were released
to the atmosphere in Russia. Of this, road transport accounted for almost 71 percent, the
metallurgical industry for about 12 percent, aviation and space for about 7 percent, and the
energy and fuel sector for about 7 percent. While total emissions from stationary sources
decreased 55 percent between 1992 and 1997, the estimates above show that little of the 1995
releases were from stationary sources.36 At the same time, Russia is increasing the number of
vehicles on the roads (by 250 percent between 1991 and 1997). In heavily congested areas,
ambient lead levels frequently reach four times the U.S. air quality standard.37 Mercury
contamination, present in some industrial areas, is another source of neurotoxic disorders
particularly dangerous for children. A study in St. Petersburg found children with mercury
levels 1.5-2 times higher than is typical for children in large Western cities.38

53

 Resources have been wasted, adding copious amounts of potentially valuable resources to
the environment as pollution. Energy is wasted through poor management and inefficient,
aged delivery systems. For example, oil leaks and spills have been fairly common. In Siberia,
oil pollution has done irreversible damage. One area has about 120 spills per year. One
newspaper cited a layer of oil eight centimeters thick that flowed for a week in one river.
Every year there are some 11,000 accidents along Russia’s main oil pipelines, which in total
are about 100,000 kilometers long. In 1977, there were 22,000 breaks in long-distance oil
pipelines and 33,000 breaks in on-site pipelines. Initial processing entails up to two percent
loss; in western Siberia by 1997, this had amounted to 100 million tons lost. Western Siberia
is estimated to have 2,000 km2 of contaminated land near oil and gas extraction sites. It is not
surprising that water bodies are also highly contaminated. The Ob River exceeds limits for oil
contamination by a factor of 500. Lake Samotlor (280 kilometers by 100 kilometers) in Siberia
was killed by the late 1980s from oil contamination.39 Foundries release valuable metals as
pollutants; metals dangerous to human health and the environment are found at very high
levels in surrounding soils.

We have heard continuing descriptions of the contamination from nuclear development

and wastes. The catastrophic failure of the nuclear power plant at Chernobyl, Ukraine, was a
dramatic illustration of the potential for environmental destruction with dire human
consequences, not only domestically but also internationally. Russia still has 47 of the older
commercial reactors in use that are thought to be dangerous.

Russia’s three military sites for plutonium production—Mayak (Chelyabinsk-65),

Tomsk-7, and Krasnoyarsk-26—are said to be highly contaminated, with wastes seeping into
and threatening water supplies; they have contaminated waterways, which have carried
pollutants to the Arctic Ocean, and in some places pollute agricultural products around the
rivers and ocean.40 The Mayak facility began in the 1940s as the center for collecting and
processing all nuclear waste generated in Russia, for military or civilian purposes. Two rivers
(Techa and Islet) from this area are said to be the most radiologically contaminated sites in
the world. And some sediments in this area are said to yield an hourly dose that is twice the
lethal level. From the late 1940s, in this region where 3.6 million people currently live, over
146 million curies of radiation were released over time; by comparison, 50-80 million curies
were released at Chernobyl. Human health effects in the area are serious, covering a range of
problems. Farm animals continue to graze on the river banks and drink the contaminated
water.41 Though nuclear waste storage is reported as full or at 95-99 percent capacity, and the
Mayak facility cannot adequately and safely process existing wastes, Russia’s Atomic Energy
Ministry pressured the Duma last summer to change the law and allow the import of spent
nuclear fuel from within the Federation for processing—as a money-making venture.42 While
the government is planning to import wastes, the Russian press has reported about the
overfilled storage facilities, the totally inadequate funding allocated (despite a decree going
back to 1992, it has been financed at 4.3 percent of the required amount), and the short time
frame for adopting emergency measures in order to avoid disaster.43

At Tomsk, processed nuclear waste has been pumped underground for long-term storage.
Weapons-grade plutonium is produced at Krasnoyarsk reactors and contaminated cooling

54

waters are released directly into the river. Reprocessed wastes have been pumped
underground. Krasnoyarsk is one of the 10 most polluted Russian cities.44

Until a few years ago, Russia disposed of radioactive wastes in the Arctic Sea, the Sea of
Japan,45 and the Northern Pacific Ocean.46 Nuclear cores disposed of in surrounding waters
have contaminated seas to the north and east of Russia. Under the 1992 Start II Treaty,
Russia agreed to dismantle part of its nuclear submarine fleet. Decommissioning of nuclear
submarines at naval facilities on the Kola Peninsula in the north and at Vladivostok in the
Far East has evoked international concern. Norway and Japan have been particularly
worried about long-term destruction of fishing waters. According to the Defense Intelligence
Agency, the Russian navy is storing thousands of spent nuclear fuel assemblies in inadequate
facilities on the Kola Peninsula. Over 30 leaking containers have been stored in the open
there for over 30 years.47 The EPA noted that fuels are being stored in vessels not designed for
this purpose off Murmansk, the largest population center north of the Arctic Circle. Fears of
mishap are growing in that area. In Vladivostok, there is currently a 10-year backlog in the
shipping and processing of spent nuclear fuel rod assemblies—of which there are 700—and
other nuclear wastes. There is a considerable backlog of liquid wastes and leaky storage
facilities, making a serious release quite possible. Far East naval bases are storing
submarine reactor cores in vaults.48 While these environmental threats from production and
storage are sobering, they do not take into account the very heavy price for nuclear testing,
much of which occurred in Kazakhstan.49

The Soviet Union produced chemical weapons from 1924 to 1987. These weapons were
stored at many sites throughout the USSR. Not all of these storage sites and bases are known,
and abandoned sites continue to be found in former Soviet territories. Toxic chemicals
produced during World War II were part of over 4.5 million chemical munitions. There are no
official data available about the fate of these chemicals. Of the postwar chemicals
manufactured, Moscow supplied 40,000 metric tons of toxic chemicals for destruction
between 1990 and 1992. But they had earlier dismantled and destroyed chemical production
facilities and chemicals, showing careless disregard for human and environmental
consequences. Methods of disposal included incineration, open explosion, burial, and
dumping of untreated materials in domestic and international waters. For example, they
used open burning to destroy approximately 2,000 metric tons of mustard gas at a site that is
now polluted with dioxins. At other facilities where chemicals were produced and/or
destroyed, concentrations of arsenic in the soil in the mid-1990s still exceeded maximum
permissible standards by a factor of 8,500 at one site and 10,000 at another. Once again, the
Volga River basin was a large-scale production area, and wastes were discharged directly to
the River.50 Russia dumped chemical munitions in the surrounding waters as well, though
some conclude that these pollutants will do only localized harm.51 But the production itself
claimed many lives and caused chronic illnesses, involving both workers and local residents.
And the toll among workers is continuing; according to one source, worker illnesses continue
to grow even many years after production has stopped. Children in one area studied in
1994-1995 had a complex of pathologies, including aging and intellectual degeneration.
Gastro-intestinal and nervous system disorders have also been found. Current plans to
dispose of the chemical weapons stockpiles, under the Chemical Weapons Convention, do not
address public health and environmental aspects of weapons production. One commentator

55
asserts that elimination cannot occur in ten years; it will take at least 15-20 years,
particularly since not all of the sites have yet been discovered.52

Many military facilities are contaminated with spilled and leaked petroleum products as
well. Of other hazardous wastes, Russia is said to have collected and stored 1,407 million tons
of toxic industrial and consumption wastes in various places (including dumps, target ranges,
warehouses, etc.) by 1996. In 1996, an additional 84 million tons were generated and 10
million tons were recycled.53 While we all recognize the potential danger of radioactive
wastes, it is worth noting that many toxic chemicals do not biodegrade, or have a half-life.
Safe recycling or disposal of these chemicals should be a very high priority.

The threat of catastrophic failure in a variety of environmental arenas poses a genuine

security threat to Russia, for example: depletion of once-abundant water supplies;
contamination of major waterways and bodies, including fish poisoning; contamination of
arable land; increasing mortality and morbidity, higher infant mortality rates, and lower life
expectancy rates; and contamination of international water bodies. These will constitute
challenges to economic viability and political stability in the coming years. Economic impacts
are near-term in the increased need for imports to substitute for reduced productivity of the
land and reduced fish stocks, and parallel reduction in income from exports that rely on fresh
water and arable land. Some Russian experts estimate overall economic losses from
environmental degradation at 10 to 12 percent of GDP.54 Deteriorated health of the people,
already serious, could soon become a crippling element.

Status of Environmental Programs/Action in Russia

Russian environmental standards are in theory sound. The problem does not appear to be
lack of recognition of the issues, nor has there been an unwillingness to set standards in this
complicated and controversial arena. Russia has long had strict rules on the books, some that
were developed many decades ago. The USSR Constitution guaranteed protection of the
environment and efficient use of natural resources, declaring environmental protection to be
one of the basic functions of the state. The Soviet Republics developed a set of rules in the
1950s and 1960s. The Law on Air Protection, for example, was enacted in 1960, and the Water
Code in 1972. The standards set were very stringent compared to those in many other
nations.55

The new Russian Federation was established in 1991. The 1991 Law on Environment and
Protection specifies government responsibilities and also citizens’ rights to have information
and to seek redress for environmental damages. The 1993 Constitution recognizes the
importance of the environment and natural resources. Another important aspect of the new
regime is decentralization. Regions now carry out much of the policy. They have the
authority and responsibility, and therefore they are the key to bringing about environmental
improvements. The framework of laws, codes, etc. sets minimal standards; regional
governments may set stricter standards.56 But regions mirror many of the same difficulties
as the central government, which critically impairs environmental protection.

56

 The scheme of national laws and institutions is extensive, but it does not equate to a
comprehensive or effective framework. Unfortunately, it appears that the Soviet, and
Russian, governments have never taken the rules seriously. According to the OECD report on
environmental performance, at least some inspection, licensing, and monitoring
requirements are being enforced. But data for compliance are incomplete; even if these data
are correct, big compliance gaps are evident.57 The rhetoric has always far exceeded the
willingness, or ability, to implement the standards. Those in power do not seem to take the
long-term sustainability of resources, or the health of citizens, fully into account. Surely
precious resources were not treated as security reserves in this nation that sacrificed so much
to security and defense interests. Cheap energy and the development of heavy industries
were given priority in the Soviet era. Environment crises were a rallying point at the breakup
of the empire, which demonstrated that the people were aware of and alarmed by the
crumbling environmental conditions. But the level of concern has not been sufficient to
sustain national commitment for the formidable tasks—and costs—of cleanup and
realignment of industries toward environmental protection. Pressing issues include the
protection of natural resources, including surface and drinking water, but also timber and
fisheries. Still looming is the cleanup of polluting facilities, and of the widespread industrial
pollution and pesticides that have contaminated the environment. Chemical and nuclear
stockpiles, from military and energy sources, beg for the implementation of safe handling
processes and facilities. And these awaiting problems from past practices are not all; there are
emerging new issues such as pollution from an increasingly consumer-oriented society,
increased auto emissions, and products from biotechnology.

One clear indication of the priority of environmental protection is the status and funding
of the national institutions that set and enforce policies. The question is whether
environmental issues have a strong voice at the highest levels of state policy-making, and
whether they have the resources to carry out the policies.58 What was a Ministry for
Environmental Protection and Natural Resources under the new Constitution was
downgraded in 1996 to the State Committee on Environmental Protection and the Ministry of
Natural Resources, a clear sign of the reduced importance of this issue at the national level.
Neither the central nor the regional governments have successfully implemented the legal
environmental framework. A couple of the regions, those less economically crippled, have
made some progress.

Activists and analysts offer various reasons for the relative impotence of the
environmental protection infrastructure in Russia.59

Economic Crisis. Among not only government officials but also the general public,
protection of the environment ranks surprisingly low on their list of concerns, particularly
given the evidence of concern with health consequences already emerging. (One 1994 public
opinion survey cited in a Russian study found that “80 percent of respondents associated a
decline in their health with pollution, and 68 percent believed pollution affected their
children’s health.”60) Environmental issues rank consistently below pressing economic
needs. Managers and government alike are looking for short-term measures rather than
longer-term environmental investments to bring about fundamental changes. With the
current economic crisis, the government does not have the will, capability, or funding to

57
articulate good policy and enforce it. The existing framework is largely ignored, without legal
or administrative consequences. Polls show that people are concerned about their health and
know some of the relationships between health and the environment, but they do not seem to
be willing to make the required tradeoffs. Government funding for environmental programs
is very low, less than 0.5 percent of their federal budget.

There is no money for cleanup. The military is a prime example. They have left
environmental hazards, including munitions, willy-nilly across the landscape. Even though
there has been a decline in production the past decade, there has not been a proportional
decline in emissions. Reasons given for this are that industries are cutting corners (including
turning off pollution controls) to save money and safeguard business. Companies hard hit in
the economic crisis cannot or do not comply; there is also widespread misreporting or simple
ignoring of requirements.61 Whether through need or greed, most facilities can effectively
ignore standards, as the government does not police them. The environmental agencies do not
have the funding to do effective national implementation and enforcement. Local committees
are said to be underfunded and overworked. Further, the system has a significant
disincentive in having the environmental agencies depend financially on the fees which are
paid for development activities. This reduces the willingness of these agencies to disapprove
or stop activities which fund their work, particularly given the woeful inadequacy of national
funding, in a time of economic crisis, investors are more wary of committing their funds.
Upgraded industries (cleaner technologies) are among the casualties, and there has been a
huge drop in the rate of new equipment acquisition since 1991.

Institutional Failure: Capacity. There are other aspects that go beyond economic
capability and incentive. The Russian bureaucracy is not implementing the environmental
protection system established by legislation. Politically, environmental institutions do not
have enough clout to bring about significant changes. There is little effective pressure for
strong environmental protection. While environmental issues have become more public, and
the press now airs some of the issues, there is a continuing lack of institutional capacity to
carry out the requirements of the legislative directives. Some note poor management skills
for environmental protection, and poor processes for oversight. Others note that while the
laws are protective, they might be unrealistically strict and unenforceable in the current
situation; still others argue that environmental agencies do not have adequate guidance for
implementing the laws. It is difficult to implement a system if the infrastructure is not in
place; for example, there are insufficient landfills to accept the wastes being generated.
Infrastructure refers not just to environmental institution, but also to elements such as a
legal framework to define and defend property rights and clear contracting practices.
Investors need these societal mechanisms to safeguard their assets, guarantee continuity,
and provide for settlement of disputes if necessary.

Institutional Failure: Corruption. Widespread corruption and bribes which hamper

implementation are another kind of basic organizational problem. A related complaint is that
environmental officials have ties to industries they regulate, and so do not enforce
compliance. Another systemic failure is that black markets for goods (e.g.,
chlorofluorocarbons for refrigerants, or CFCs) are rife, which means an evasion of the entire
government system. The black marketing carries compound damages. It often results in

58
polluting activities that the government does not have a chance to regulate, which can result
in resource depletion and also dispersion of contaminated goods. Black markets also
comparatively disadvantage anyone willing to abide by environmental requirements; they
feed a general context of lawlessness regarding environmental requirements. And black
markets exacerbate the financial poverty of the government by avoiding taxation.

The most serious criminal assessment, however, points to institutional crisis. Many
sources have described widespread, powerful criminal networks, with international
operatives. These mobsters, often with ties to the military, exercise broad controls in both the
economic and political realms; the consequences are widespread and crippling. Economist
Steven Rosefielde characterizes the pervasive nature of mobster control in Russia as a
“kleptocracy.”62

Western-style Consumerism. Western influences toward increased consumption patterns

have further burdened the system by adding significantly to some kinds of pollution. There
are more cars, and the auto is a significant source of pollution, especially since Russia has still
not banned leaded gasoline.

Ineffective Independent Organizations. The government is generally not responsive to

non-governmental organizations (NGOs). Despite the strength of the green movement as a
catalyst for change in the Soviet regime, its influence is now quite small. There is no tradition
of public philanthropy in Russia to support these organizations, and once the regime was
toppled and economic pressures rose, attentions turned elsewhere.

Stifling Environmental Activism. The government has not been content just to ignore
dissenting voices that call for more strident action environmentally. It has further retreated
from environmental protection by adopting intimidation techniques. It has jailed several
prominent environmental advocates on charges of treason, for disclosing information about
radioactive contamination resulting from government actions, especially in water bodies off
the north and east coasts. As noted in the Russian press, the government is not going after
those causing pollution, or the Mafia, or those importing hazardous and radioactive wastes
illegally, but it is targeting environmentalists. Strong industrial and military groups have
succeeded in having laws, even retroactive laws, passed by the Duma to promote secrecy.
This harkens back to the Soviet approach of declaring opponents and troublemakers to be
“enemies of the people,” a tactic used against at least one prominent opponent of Lake
Baikal’s environmental degradation in the 1960s, for example (enemies could be silenced or
executed). More recent arrests have not resulted in execution or internal exile, and the
Russian courts have shown an encouraging willingness to control the more repressive
government elements, but there is an obvious element of intimidation in efforts to eliminate
activism on at least some key issues.63

Power of the Military Elite. In addition to the economic crisis which places economic
recovery at the forefront, there is a separate politico-cultural element that exerts influence:
the military. The first war in Chechnya might have damaged that status severely, but the
recent more successful campaign seems to indicate that the military is still in favor. There is a
strong push toward secrecy and quieting any discussion that might discredit the policies or

59
the campaign.The military will undoubtedly see themselves as being at odds with
environmental activists in at least two ways: they will be competing for budgetary funds to
promote their agendas, and some of the most expensive and difficult environmental problems
were in fact caused by the defense establishment, which was primarily led by Russians during
the Soviet era. Those who fear Western involvement, and therefore fear sharing information
on the location and technical characteristics of Russian strategic facilities, advocate
increased secrecy.

The prognosis for substantial improvement in the near term is not good. Russians are
coping with an economic crisis which consumes their concerns. They do not appear to be
convinced that environmental issues are key to resolving the problems creating a national
crisis. They have had some success in eliciting assistance from other nations to safeguard and
process weapons materials, and to identify and address some other serious problems. But
these activities are far from adequate, given the scope of the environmental challenges. They
are not doing the difficult and grinding job of policing standards, installing pollution
prevention equipment, and adopting improved techniques. And they cannot stop production
of critical materials by outmoded, polluting facilities without the capital to replace those
operations. In keeping with a long (pre-Soviet) legacy of squandering their human capital,
they do not appear to fully appreciate the tremendous scope of the human toll that is likely to
be expended.

Further deterioration of the natural resource base and of the health of the people, together
with an ongoing crisis facing low-efficiency industries, poses a threat to Russian national
security. It could lead to a more severe bunker mentality, with a dangerous escalation of force
structure to protect a crumbling infrastructure, secure elite power, or divert citizens’
attention from bankrupt national policies. On the other hand, it could also lead to a
willingness to risk further assistance from other nations, most likely the richer West, to shore
up infrastructure and provide breathing room for addressing endemic, crippling problems.
After many years of undervaluing human resource capital, Russia has reached a critical
point. Failure to reverse the tide could lead to a catastrophic collapse of its human resource
reserves. The extent to which the military recognizes the seriousness of the issue is not clear.
But there are purportedly indications that the Russian military does take environmental
issues seriously, particularly given the economic constraints.64 And while many note the
diminishment of environmental activism, others note small but measurable progress in the
gathering of information and in influencing public authorities.65

Transborder Issues and Pollution

Many of the environmental problems that plague Russia are of international interest,
because of transboundary pollution. A nuclear disaster would quickly affect neighboring
countries. Heavily polluted rivers and dumping into the seas provide a less catastrophic, but
very real scenario for international concern. Russia borders on 14 other countries (close to
20,000 kilometers of shared border) and 13 seas. Sixty-two large and medium-sized
transboundary rivers flow from Russia, and 40 flow into Russia. Over 7,100 kilometers of

60

rivers border with other nations.66 The Volga River basin is responsible for 37 percent of
Russia’s polluted wastewater. It empties into the Caspian Sea, which each year receives 28
cubic kilometers of liquid waste, including 11 cubic kilometers or untreated wastewater.67
Aside from direct pollution consequences, other nations would be vitally affected by further
drastic deterioration and failures in Russian agriculture, clean water resources, or public
health. Member states of the former Soviet Union, except the Baltic states and Ukraine,
cooperate within the Interstate Ecological Council created by a 1992 agreement on
environmental protection. Eleven members generally meet annually to discuss and
coordinate issues, and create working groups to address common problems. There has been
support for the idea of an interstate center for environmental monitoring, but commitment
has floundered due to lack of funding.68 The Baltic states have a strong strategic interest in
having Russia’s major pollution problems resolved, especially those in northwest Russia.
Domestically these states are dealing with the legacy of environmental destruction
associated with Soviet occupation. They also fear the consequences of catastrophic
environmental failure in Russia.

The former Norwegian minister of foreign affairs identified a clear connection between his
government’s overriding goal of human health and the need to clean up radioactive and
chemical contamination in Russia. Norway wants these new security challenges to be an
important element in the further development of relations between NATO and Russia.69
Pollution from a nickel smelter on the Kola Peninsula has led to a bilateral agreement with
Norway. Some believe that Norway is dramatizing the threat of nuclear contamination from
Russian sources “to attract US and EU resources and expertise to assist with the massive
cleanup and containment tasks in the Kola Peninsula region.” But Norway has to temper its
alarms so as not to undercut their fishing industry; and the threat is therefore described as a
potential disaster which demands attention.70 Some Russians argue that the contamination
has been exaggerated, that the government is not guilty of hiding anything or of violating
agreements, and that problems are relatively minor.71 Norway does have genuine concerns,
particularly after Chernobyl, which are substantiated in the significant funding they have
provided to help clean up nuclear problems.72 In 1995, Norway launched a Plan of Action for
Nuclear Safety Issues, based largely on Russia’s priorities, to garner international support
for cleanup.73 Japan has similar concerns, and has funded construction of a facility to process
low level radioactive wastes in the Russian Far East.74

Central Asian states formerly part of the Soviet Union—Kazakhstan, Uzbekistan,

Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan and Turkmenistan—still rely on Russia for their stability. Russian
troops still help guard their borders, and alliance with Russia helps stabilize their domestic
structures. These countries are to a greater or lesser degree seeking some level of autonomy
within a continued alliance.75 Further destabilization of the Russian economy or political
infrastructure, brought on by a major environmental disaster, would destabilize those
regimes as well. Signs of such a possibility might push them to seek stronger alliances
elsewhere. Moves towards greater independence, especially involving closer ties with the
West or China, are likely to heighten security fears in Moscow, and increase regional tensions
dangerously. Emerging Russian regionalism brought on by political decentralization is a
factor here, according to the OECD study. Russian regional governments have developed

61

cooperative relations with border states, and play a significant role in environmental
cooperation in their areas.76

Of course these environmental security issues cannot be disentangled from other factors
in international relations. The availability of government or private sector-backed financial
investment from the international community typically hinges on political and economic
considerations more than environmental consequences. But even if the toxic effect of a
facility’s pollution is not directly of concern to investors, the inefficiencies of wasted materials,
the dysfunctions introduced because of increased occupational illness, the possibilities of
dealing with local or transborder opposition, and the uncertainties of operating in violation of
national standards are all pertinent concerns for investors, whether they be private investors
or other governments.

Both Russia and NATO should be interested in increasing technical assistance,

particularly when it can be accomplished by sharing already-developed research and tools.
Under the CCMS (Committee on Challenges of Modern Society), NATO has conducted
significant research pertaining to environmental protection that could benefit Russia.
Assisting Russia is in keeping with CCMS’s stated belief that cooperation on the environment
is a tool for both environmental improvement and peace. A 1999 CCMS study counsels a
comprehensive effort “to integrate environmental concerns into all other policy areas and
relevant institutions and contexts in order to at least manage, if not prevent, the security
impacts of environmental stress.”77 But how far can NATO go in helping Russia address its
environmental problems? NATO is at root a military alliance. Some (similar to domestic
critics of the “greening” of the military) judge that the structures of NATO are not well suited
for, or capable of, addressing nontraditional (‘soft’) security tasks, including environmental
challenges. Military institutions must be restructured and reoriented to address these newer
concerns. U.S. defense leaders do seem to intend such a shift in NATO, from defense of
territory to defense of common interests, defined to include elements beyond NATO territory.
Even at that, collective security organizations, built on the nation-state, may be ill fitted to
resolve environmental challenges, many of which are transnational in character.78 CCMS
reasons that because there is a close relationship between environmental problems and
security risks, a reality insufficiently appreciated in the past, cooperative ventures to address
environmental problems should be used as a tool to prevent conflicts and to reduce security
risks.79 How flexible NATO can become, without totally diluting the organizational
framework and perhaps undermining its strength, has yet to be seen.

The Arctic Military Environmental Co-operation (AMEC) agreement, signed in 1996 by

Russia, Norway, and the United States, is meant to foster sustainable military use of the
Arctic region. The EPA led an initial project, the construction of a prototype storage facility
for spent and damaged fuel assemblies from nuclear powered vessels. A Department of State
effort, the Northern European Initiative, in cooperation with Norway, Finland, and Sweden,
is seeking to better integrate Russia into the western international community. Under this
umbrella, the United States proposed helping Russia develop a safe-cask technology for
storing spent nuclear fuel now under civilian control. The European Union together with
Norway, Sweden, and Finland started the effort in 1998. Fuels now sitting in the two ships off
Murmansk will be safely stored when the project is completed.80 Russia participates with

62
seven other countries in the Arctic Council; the Council has an Arctic Environmental
Protection Strategy, and members have exchanged information for surveys, assessments,
and scientific analysis.81

Russian openness about environmental threats might be an important factor in the

coming years, as discussed earlier in the paper. Openness will, for the West, have legitimate
substantive as well as symbolic significance. However, some powerful factions in Russian will
undoubtedly oppose openness, both out of parochial interests relating to the internal power
balance, but also out of fear that the West will try to use information gained in the name of
environmental assistance for strategic purposes, to the longer-term detriment of Russian
global power and influence. To complicate the equation further, Western nations are more
likely to recognize their own interests in, and marshal domestic support for, addressing
problems related to nuclear waste or chemical weapons destruction than in those related to
nonmilitary problems. In knowing this, as surely they must, Russian leaders are faced with
the same need to maintain a delicate balance as Norway: how to stimulate enough fear to
receive assistance without creating unacceptable fear about purchasing Russian exports or
investing in Russian enterprises. But they face another difficult dilemma—whether to seek
funding for these domestically sensitive matters, since nuclear and weapons issues are more
likely to garner Western support, rather than seeking assistance for other pressing pollution
problems that do not raise security hackles internally. Openness is likely to be an essential
element to encourage investors to risk money in underwriting new, cleaner technologies and
expensive cleanup operations. But some kinds of cooperative ventures will draw heavy
criticism in Russia, and could fuel a debate that would be used by neo-nationalists,
communists, and conspiracy theorists to feed irrational fear for political purposes. The
alternative, a retreat into secrecy and suppression of dissent, will repel Western help, making
environmental crisis more likely and fuel chances for a more extremist government, or
perhaps political collapse.

A policy of openness and international cooperation has more promise, and should be
encouraged. It is not unprecedented in recent Russian/Soviet policy. The former Soviet
Union, and now Russia, has supported international environmental goals and agreements.
In fact, the Soviet government was quicker than the U.S. government in several cases to
promote international cooperative actions and endorse environmental treaties.82 Because it
was in their self-interest to do so is not suspicious; nations typically act within a range of
perceived self-interest. The United States and Russia have cooperated in addressing the
climate change issue. Russia is more enthusiastic about the carbon reductions in the Kyoto
Protocol than is the United States. Significant opposition exists in the United States because
of the huge estimated domestic costs for meeting the reduction goals. The Russians would be
able to sell excess reduction credits because their severe economic downturn has resulted in
reduced emissions there. Russia signed over 30 bilateral agreements and ratified over 25
regional multilateral, agreements on environmental protection in the 1990s. In addition to
those already mentioned, the United States and Russia have joined in numerous
environmental projects, such as air and water quality control at Lake Baikal, sustainable
forestry, biodiversity conservation, management of nature reserves, and environmental
education. Nordic countries and the European Union have worked with Russia not only on
nuclear cleanup, but on a wide range of environmental issues, including hazardous waste

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management, energy conservation, and waste water treatment.83 Russia has cooperated
with OECD countries, and signed an agreement with OECD in 1994, on implementing
environmental policies compatible with market-based economies.84 As noted earlier, Russia
signed the Start II Treaty in 1992. It is expected that Russia will sign the London Dumping
Convention of 1972 once the low level radioactive waste facilities are fully operational.85 It
would support long-term international stability and natural resource maintenance, and
therefore serve both U.S. and Russian national security interests, to encourage continued
cooperation toward the accomplishment of global environmental goals.

Example Situation: Caspian Sea Oil

Issues and options for development of Caspian Sea oil illustrate some of the complex ways
in which environmental security is intertwined with economic and traditional military
concerns and objectives for Russia and its potential allies.86 What is at stake? From a
geopolitical perspective, Russia has a strong interest in maintaining its hegemonic influence
in its own back yard and minimizing Western influence.

Developing the production of Caspian Sea oil could further strengthen alliances with
former Soviet states. Of course, mishandling the negotiations could further alienate Russia’s
neighbors. From an economic and strategic standpoint, Russia will want to maximize its
ability to control these valuable oil resources and advance the interests of its own oil
companies. For these same reasons, Russia has to favor using and expanding its existing
infrastructure for transporting oil. Russia should support development that will preserve
and protect other resources—for example, their fisheries, particularly sturgeon. Safe
extraction and transport processes should therefore be a priority, though neither an
underwater pipeline nor shipping across the Black Sea is without environmental risk.

Turkey has raised strong objections to further clogging traffic at the Bosporus, which has
suffered a number of major environmental disasters with the expansion of ship traffic.
Turkey has responded by issuing more stringent rules for transport through the Straits.
Russia has an interest in minimizing Turkish involvement and avoiding confrontation at the
Bosporus. The fact that Turkey is a strong Western ally would surely confirm concerns about
enhancing their role.

The former Soviet states involved in the oil negotiations have similarly complicated and
perhaps not entirely compatible issues to juggle. They want to keep on friendly relations with
Russia, but have an interest in a developing balance of power in the region to give them more
autonomy—but without antagonizing Russia. Ethnic and religious minority disputes must
be a factor in policymaking in any of these states, because of the tensions that exist within
their artificially created borders. Tensions have already broken out into violence in several
places as one group or another won ascendancy domestically and then struggled to establish
stable regimes. Corruption has been another barrier to establishing international
independence and trust.87 These states cannot underwrite the large capital investments

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themselves, so they seek reliable financial backing externally without jeopardizing their
independence. They then want to maximize extraction and transport efficiency in the future.

The West is also a player because Western nations and companies will be the source of
finance capital. Multinational companies competing among themselves and with regional
companies, will not necessarily promote the national goals of any Western nation. But they
have many interests in common with Western governments. A pipeline through Iran is
attractive to companies, for example, but not to the U.S. government.88 The U.S. government
has encouraged exploration and investment because this venture would provide access to
critical resources and act as a wedge to balance Russian power in the region while furthering
our ties with the former Soviet states. This goal must be tempered by a recognition of Russia’s
undeniable regional and financial interests in the Caspian. By promoting the financial
interests of Western companies, the United States would gain a vested interest in these
important strategic resources. The Caspian oil reserves are very large, but not nearly as
extensive as those in the Persian Gulf. It is not likely they can ever provide more than a
marginal alternative—but in any case, this source has its own political and strategic
complications. The United States will also be watching out for Turkish interests, especially
as they might compete with Iranian interests and help promote Azerbaijan independence.89
Finally, the United States will seek to influence choices so as to avoid routes through areas
with strong rebel or terrorist components. This would simultaneously present strategic and
environmental threats, leaving the oil and the pipeline route hostage to various unruly forces
and the vagaries of unsettled domestic struggles.

Long oil routes are essential to market the oil from the geographically isolated area.
Competing oil routes of course represent a control issue. The routes that entail graver danger
of oil spills, fires, pilfering, or terrorist attacks pose environmental as well as political and
economic risks. Terrorist attack anywhere along the routes would create spillover effects far
beyond the site. Concerns about ruptured pipelines across the vast expanses under the Black
Sea or between the Black Sea and the Mediterranean are both environmental and financial
considerations. Weighing the various interests involves geopolitical and strategic
calculations but also ecological factors. The point is not that environmental factors should be
foremost in strategic assessments or decisions. The fact is that ecological factors are a part of
each nation’s strategic concerns, with long-term, even permanent, implications for future
generations. These issues, including environmental consequences, are part of any rational
analysis of issues and options.90

Conclusions

The perspective promoted by the terminology of environmental security is not a call to

abandon national needs, nor to assess issues and choices separately from traditional strategic
and economic approaches. Rather, it offers a warning to take a more holistic and longer-term
perspective, and to consider an added set of elements. It has the benefit of focusing attention
on issues of mutual concern that require collaboration, rather than concentrating on what

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separates states. It provides, minimally, a different window on the same complex reality for
national security analysis.91

Significant issues and problems continue to limit progress on critical environmental

threats. How will these non-traditional threats shape Russian threat perceptions and their
response in shaping a future force structure? Considering the dire environmental conditions,
the widespread reports of toxins that can damage immune and nervous systems, the falling
birth rates, the falling life expectancy rates, the rising mortality and birth defects rates, and
increased rates of disease among the population—it is reasonable to fear not only
catastrophic strains on key natural resources but also on Russia’s human resource base.
Given the myriad problems facing the military (serious economic, ethnic, and morale
challenges, for example), if they also face a diminishing pool of healthy young men, it could
threaten the viability of their military force structure. If Russia perceives its largest internal
threat to be the collapse of important ecological resources and continued deterioration of
public health from imprudent and nonsustainable practices, it might be interested in
expanding cooperative arrangements for cleanup and the adoption of less polluting
technologies.

Internationally, both the United States and Russia have embraced some cooperative
action to preserve global environmental resources. Russia broke with its practice of secrecy
and suspicion to seek help from the West to manage some of its highly toxic materials. These
cooperative arrangements with former enemies must be particularly difficult as they also
constitute a blow to Russia’s national pride. Western nations, including the United States,
have recognized their self-interest, and made offers to assist in addressing chemical
demilitarization and containment of nuclear materials, and to provide financial and technical
aid for many pressing environmental problems. Consequently, Russia has reaped large
benefits from Western assistance across a broad set of environmental issues.

Substantial progress for Russia is far from assured, however. Even if there was massive
and effectively targeted assistance, the sheer size and scope of the problems are daunting.
In the current climate, investors are not confident about whom to trust and how to secure
agreements. The domestic economic and political situation is in turmoil, and investments
cannot be reasonably assured, so government and private sector investors are cautious about
risking the very large investments that significant environmental progress will require. At
multiple levels serious inadequacies discourage investors, including concerns about the
stability of the political system, the lack of a reliable banking system and clear property
entitlements, and pervasive control by mobsters, who appear to be connected throughout the
political, military, and economic power structures. It is difficult to have sufficient trust in
individuals or current institutions to embark upon multi-year funding for important
undertakings. And those controlling the funding for complex projects are said to lack the
competence to provide adequate oversight. Another aspect of this situation is that Western
governments often require projects in Russia to have extensive assessments or planning
conducted by Western companies, which depletes most of the money. Because Russia’s
post-Soviet government is decentralized, it might not be feasible to deal with the central
government to assess and manage projects. As noted earlier, at least some of the regional
governments have been addressing environmental problems. But governments, whether

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central or regional, have a difficult tension between attention to underlying problems and
concentrating on more immediate relief and interim solutions.

Finding knowledgeable, trustworthy officials who will maintain enduring authority and
policy continuity is perhaps not a reasonable goal. The assurances investors will expect might
seem too invasive in the still emerging nation—and internal risks for making assurances to
former enemies might be too high domestically. The military has already suffered a
significant social and political loss of power and prestige. They will be sensitive to perceived
national humiliation in the name of environmental/public health improvements, particularly
regarding those issues that touch upon their own mismanagement or excess. There are those
who want the public to believe that contamination of the north and east seas is largely
anti-Russian propaganda; they are undoubtedly poised to oppose the perceived threat of
further losses to pride and status. Western governments are torn between using investments
to sway factions toward moderation, or waiting until they have some assurance that
neo-nationalists, communists, or militarists will not dominate nationally. It is a delicate
balance; but waiting for moderate forces to prevail before offering assistance might give
further ideological ammunition to those who seek military solutions to perceived problems of
power loss.

The Russian military is likely to be cautious about cooperative arrangements. Given the
serious environmental problems, however, it is possible that some will see cooperative
ventures as a reasonable way to solve some otherwise unmanageable problems, and a way to
safeguard scarce financial resources for defense rather than public projects. The military
might welcome, or at least remain neutral about, involvement with the West in arenas where
current defense issues and past defense sins are not relevant. Recent moves to attack and
silence those revealing nuclear contamination information would seem to indicate that key
military leaders are likely to exert heavy influence to prevent disclosures that would
implicate the defense establishment in serious damage to the nation, or by inference to
prevent being held accountable for ultimately injurious actions it deemed in the national
interest.

U.S. and NATO policies over the past decade to share information and build relations
(military-to-military programs) with nations of the former Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact
could provide a bridge for a broader range of cooperative efforts. The more open NATO
appears to be, the less threatening it should appear to the Russians. Programs for
environmental protection—for example, detection and cleanup techniques for hazardous
waste sites used in Hungary and other former Eastern bloc nations at abandoned Soviet
military installations—might provide an excellent mechanism for improving relations
between east and west.92 Global environment issues such as greenhouse gases, ozone
depletion, and CFC phaseout, although difficult to resolve, can provide arenas for cooperative
problem-solving that go beyond individual state needs and strategies. If Russia can earn
carbon “credits” that it can sell to acquire much needed funds, it will make dealing with the
West on these kinds of issues all the more attractive. If the Russian defense establishment
can achieve a reasonable level of confidence that the West is not a significant strategic threat
to its sphere of influence, it can save its already crippled economy the massive defense
expenditures which rivalry requires. These funds can be diverted to other critical needs. The

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military is more likely to support peaceful collaboration if it receives assurances; these same
assurances would help moderate voices prevail over the neo-nationalists.

Western assistance from private or government sources should be tied to a framework of

accountability. The West should be explicit about minimum requirements and expectations.
Western nations, for instance, should warn against having their assistance result in a further
diversion of Russia’s GNP toward enhancing military force structure rather than addressing
socio-economic or environmental needs. This same logic would advise against using available
resources under NATO to support military capabilities in East Europe, both because of the
need to reassure Russia and as a way to focus Western resources on the more important
ecological problems in the former Eastern bloc nations. Similarly, the West should practice
restraint in pursuing influence in the former Soviet states, including how it pursues oil
interests in the Caspian Sea area. Mechanisms such as the Partnership for Peace and the
CCMS might be effective tools for collaborative efforts, despite NATO affiliation, as they have
a non-military focus and are therefore not as provocative. Support should concentrate on
specific agreements with clear objectives, which means that progress will at best be slow and
incremental. Projects addressing regional and local problems might prove more attractive in
several ways in that they are less likely to involve high political stakes, could minimize
national security fears and rhetoric, and increase the chances for continuity of leadership.
Where feasible, regional and local definitions of problems and accountability for solving them
are probably more reliable than dealing with transient national politicians. Projects that do
not rely on high technology solutions will be more affordable and transferable. Some issues,
such as safe disposal of spent nuclear materials, are necessarily negotiated at the national
level. In any case, public health needs will undoubtedly continue to put grave pressure on the
system. It will be very difficult to channel scarce resources to systemic improvements while
funds are lacking to help people suffering from deteriorating health conditions. However,
long-term environmental stability requires that attention be given to underlying conditions
and practices.

If U.S. and West European support is based on assurances that Russia will not divert its
own resources more lopsidedly to military expenditures, Russia’s willingness and ability to do
this will depend not only on plausible Western assurances that the West poses no threat, but
also on Russia’s security vis-à-vis regional issues and concerns. Regional threats will, of
course, shape Russian threat perceptions, and consequently their future force structure
planning. Russia’s legitimate concern for stability in former Soviet states will continue to
require military outlays, including helping these states patrol their borders and deploying a
credible force to prevent or combat insurgent forces. Is China a potential threat? Surely
Russia should not assume that its long border with China can go untended—particularly
since China is overcrowded and the neighboring part of Russia has vast expanses that are
very sparsely populated. This potentially tense situation will only worsen if Russia continues
to sell military technology to China. The West cannot afford to leave Russia in a position such
that its most attractive option is to help increase the military strength of its massive and
emerging neighbor to the south. Attention to environmental factors will not compete well
against border defense and ethnic conflicts. Further, if Russia is now openly considering the
adoption of tactical nuclear weapons as a viable option for conventional war in regional
theaters, one has to wonder whether it will also re-embrace chemical weapons as a

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reasonable, more affordable alternative for defense. While the West cannot determine this
dynamic, it can pursue policies that attempt to reduce tensions rather than encouraging
Russia’s political or economic isolation.

The history of the Soviet state and its legacy in Russia highlights the importance of
environmental integrity as a substratum of fiscal and human resources. Security concerns
drove Stalinist Russia to undertake Herculean efforts to modernize and secure its national
defenses, at incalculable cost to the people and ecology. The long-term ecological bankruptcy
of these policies is evident. But environmental policies in general and cleanup in particular
will have to be integrated into Russian priorities without totally abandoning these
modernization and defense goals. While environmental problems are not, and will not
become, the driving force in Russian domestic or international policy, they are an unavoidable
reality and will set limits on the future of the Russian state. We need to encourage those
forces which recognize the need to concentrate national resources on restabilizing the
ecological foundations of the state. The West must see this as a political and diplomatic as
well as a technical challenge. The effort needed to address the corrosive sources of
environmental deterioration could parallel the incredible determination marshaled by the
Russian people during Soviet industrialization.

Endnotes

1. See Lynton K. Caldwell, In Defense of Earth: International Protection of the Biosphere (Bloomington:
Indiana University Press, 1972). Caldwell wrote a number of other important works in subsequent years, urging
that we refocus our definition of security, and realign our policies, to take environmental realities into account.

2. World Commission on Environment and Development (Brundtland Commission), Our Common Future
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1990). The Commission concluded that an environmental crisis exists, one
that threatens national security and even human survival. It cautioned that this crisis has no military
solutions. See especially pp. 29-30.

3. In 1969, NATO created the Committee on Challenges of Modern Society (CCMS) as a forum for
cooperation on transboundary environmental issues. NATO is “increasingly concerned with non-traditional
threats to security, including the consequences of environmental change.” In late 1995, members decided to
conduct a study to summarize current knowledge on the links between environment and security. They noted
that “man-made environmental degradation, resource depletion, and natural disasters may have direct
implications for the security of the international community, and that a comprehensive threat assessment, a
risk analysis, as well as a prioritization of risks to international security were needed to address these
challenges.” See CCMS, “Environment & Security in an International Context,” Final Report (No. 232), March
1999, pp. 1, 4; hereafter cited as “CCMS Report.”

4. See, e.g., Thomas Homer-Dixon et al., “Environmental Scarcity and Violent Conflict: A Debate,”
Environmental Change and Security Project Report, Spring 1996, Issue 2 (Washington, DC: The Woodrow
Wilson Center, 1996), pp. 49-71; see also “When Are Environmental Issues Security Issues?” ibid., pp. 39-44.
Daniel H. Deudney and Richard A. Matthew, eds., Contested Grounds (Albany: SUNY Press, 1999) discuss the
adequacy of the environmental security concept in several chapters. For a clear and interesting categorization of
various positions about environmental security, see Stacy D. Van Deveer and Geoffrey D. Dabelko, “Redefining
Security Around the Baltic: Environmental Issues in Regional Context,” Global Governance, 5 (1999), pp.
225-229.

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 5. See, e.g., The White House, National Security Strategy of the United States, August 1991, which
recognizes the importance of a healthy environment for a healthy economy, and further, that the stress of
environmental challenges “is already contributing to political conflict.” It names addressing environmental
degradation among our strategic principles for the 21st century. Ambassador Mark G. Hambley, in a speech at
the National Defense University (NDU), August 8, 1996, noted that “the importance of the environment to the
health and well-being of each and every one of us has come to be recognized as a key priority for governments,
both domestically and internationally.” He cited a speech by then Secretary of State Warren Christopher, April
9, 1996, in which Christopher stressed that “our ability to advance our global interests is inextricably linked to
how we manage the Earth’s natural resources.” Christopher embraced the importance of integrating
environmental goals into US diplomacy. In addition to several speeches articulating this position, he sent a
memorandum to all Under and Assistant Secretaries on this matter, specifying areas in which they should
enhance efforts to achieve this goal. See “Official Statements and Documents,” Environmental Change and
Security Project Report, cited in n.4, Issue 2, pp. 77-80. The Defense Department now has a Deputy Under
Secretary of Defense for Environmental Security. At the August 8, 1996, NDU workshop, the principal
assistant to this Under Secretary emphasized the view of environmental security as “defending our future”; he
presented his vision to “transform the militaries of the world into environmentally sensitive organizations,” and
outlined a principle of peace and stability through enhancing the quality of life and of the environment. Gary D.
Vest, “Environmental Security: International Activities,” presentation at NDU workshop, August 8, 1996. For a
more recent statement see Kurt M Lietzmann and Gary D. Vest, “Environmental Security in an International
Context: Executive Summary Report,” Environmental Change and Security Project Report, Issue 5
(Washington, DC: The Woodrow Wilson Center, 1999). See, “Official Statements and Documents,” cited above in
this note, for statements about environmental policies by other officials .

6. Though the United States never corrupted its resource base in a way comparable to the Soviet Union, our
own legacy of contamination and even illegal activities in the name of defense have resulted in human injury and
left very sizable and expensive environmental cleanup problems. The US government budget recognizes
cleanup responsibility. In 1970 there was no environmental budget within the military. By fiscal year 1994,
DOD had a $5.9 billion environmental budget with about 10,000 environmental professionals. By 1999, even
with closing installations and reduced budgets, DOD’s environmental budget was about $4.2 billion, with about
8,000 environmental professionals. See Gary Vest, “U.S.—Russian Military Cooperation on the Environment,”
in Geoffrey D. Dabelko and D.J. Peterson, eds., The Toxic Legacy of the Cold War in the Former Soviet Union
(Washington, DC: Wilson Center Press, forthcoming).

7. Kent H. Butts, “Why the military is good for the environment,” Green Security or Militarized
Environment (Brookfield, VT: Dartmouth, 1994). Butts and other commentors have suggested various kinds of
contributions the military can make beyond a better maintenance of lands and stewardship of materials. The
military directs a large and sophisticated research component. This expertise might be directed toward
pollution prevention and mitigation, finding new ways to reduce the footprint of the military, whether it is
technologies for armaments, training activities, or the purchase, storage, and handling of materials on an
installation. Defense Department expertise might be employed for assessment and cleanup of hazardous sites.
Military liaison and training could be particularly effective with counterparts in other countries. The military
has already launched a sizable effort in military-to-military training and assistance on a bilateral and
multilateral basis to reduce toxic impacts on the environment. Perhaps the most controversial role for the
military is the use of peacekeeping forces to prevent or defuse environmental crises. While this deployment
might prevent or contain some of the catastrophic consequences of environmental degradation, such as the mass
movement of peoples or local conflicts, it is a seemingly endless set of tasks with high deployment costs and
(often) uncertain objectives.

8. EPA, “Environmental Security: Strengthening National Security Through Environmental Protection,”

September 1999 (160-F-99-001), pp. 1-2.

9. Stockholm International Peace Research Institute (SIPRI), “The Global Ecology,” in Warfare in a Fragile
World (London: Taylor and Francis, 1980); see also Arthur H, Westing, “Global Resources and International
Conflict: An Overview,” in Global Resources and International Conflict, ed. Arthur H. Westing (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1986).

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 10. Jessica Tuchman Mathews, “Redefining Security,” Foreign Affairs, 68 (Spring 1989), pp. 162-177.

11. EPA, “Environmental Security: Strengthening National Security Through Environmental Protection,”
September 1999 (160-F-99-001), p. 1.

12. Effects of environmental pollutants are much more grave for children than studies on average adults
indicate. Children should not be thought of as little adults; their bodies and susceptibilities are qualitatively
different. Pesticides and other chemicals that the adult body tolerates can kill or do permanent damage to a
child.

13. Sergey Morgachev and Mikhail Sergeyev, “Hazard as the Norm,” in Moscow Kommersant-Vlast, May 11,
1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990512001243.

14. OECD, Center for Cooperation with Non-Members, Environmental Performance Reviews: Russian
Federation (Paris: OECD, 1999), p. 39.

15. Ibid., p. 50.

16. Ibid., p. 161.

17. There has been a series of dysentery and cholera epidemics in cities such as St. Petersburg. See CIA,
“The Environmental Outlook in Russia,” [U] Intelligence Community Assessment (ICA 98-08), January 1999, p.
16; (hereafter cited as “CIA Report”). Typhoid outbreaks have occurred in Chechyna and other places, and there
has been an increase in hepatitis A; both of these diseases are generally associated with contaminated water.
See DIA, “Infectious Disease Risk Assessment: Russia, European (West of and Including the Ural Mountains),”
[U] DI-1812-34-99, pp. 4 and 9; and DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, European (West of
and Including the Ural Mountains),” [U] DI-1816-18-99, June 1999, p. 8.

18. Murray Feshbach and Alfred Friendly, Jr., Ecocide in the USSR (New York: Basic Books, 1991).
.

19. CIA Report, pp. 2, 16-18. Deterioration of health nationwide might result in outbreaks of unfamiliar
illnesses. For instance, the Oblivsiy District reported that children were being attacked by an unknown disease
that affects soft brain tissues. They believed that the source was a substance used in treating wood, which
triggered a virus. A food and swimming ban was put into effect. Sergey Trofimov, ITAR-TASS, July 16, 1999,
trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990716000401.

20. Feshbach and Friendly, pp. 8-9. Current reports from the Russian press are alarming; but they provide
only a spotty picture and therefore are not generalizable. A study conducted in Gatchina Rayon by the state
public health center reported an increase in deaths of more than 25 percent between 1991 and 1996, with a
dropping birth rate during the same period. L. Grigoryeva, “Ecology, Safety, Life,” Gatchinaskaya Pravda,
March 30, 1991, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990507001337.

21. Uzbekistan seems unable or unwilling to change its self-destructive cotton farming, upon which the area
now depends, but which has sucked life from the sea and a vast area. Kazakhstan has decided to attempt
recovery of part of the northern shore area by building a large earthen dike to separate it from the rest of the sea.
They hope to rebuild a portion of the precious resource.

22. Feshbach and Friendly, p. 113.

23. Feshbach and Friendly, pp. 113-114.

24. OECD, pp. 83-84.

25. A DIA study states that in a 1996 countrywide test, 22 percent of the drinking water failed to meet
government standards because of chemical contamination, and 9 percent failed with microbial contamination.
DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, European” (see n. 17), p. 7. Another DIA study gives

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comparable failure rates, but with much larger microbial contaminant percentages for the 1996 countrywide
study; see “Infectious Disease Risk Assessment: Russia, Far East (East of Lena River),” [U] DI-1812-35-99, June
1999, p. 4.

26. CIA Report, p. 8.

27. For a summary of problems in various seas, see OECD, pp. 179-189.

28. E.g., DIA, “Infectious Disease Risk Assessment: Russia, European” (n. 17), p. 11, notes an increase of 36
percent in one infection from raw fish consumption in the Dneiper River watershed in the late 1980s. The
infection has been found in other major rivers.

29. This perhaps corresponds to having 40 million tons of pollutants discharged into Siberia’s rivers and
lakes annually. Sergey Rykov, “One Spark Could Reduce Lake Samotlor to Ashes,” Moscow Komsomolskaia
Pravda, April 9, 1997, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19970423001275.

30. OECD, p. 58. Coal production decreased 39 percent between 1990 and 1997. For other air data and
issues, see pp. 55-72.

31. CIA Report, pp. 8-9. Feshbach and Friendly’s numbers are even more alarming. They reported that 68
cities regularly measure air pollution at 10 times or more the maximum level. And the residents, almost
one-seventh of the population, have illness at 1.5-2 times or more than the national average. They noted that
125 cities have a 10-fold excess of maximum level of some pollutant, meaning that 40-50 million people are
exposed to threat. Feshbach and Friendly, pp. 8, 201.

32. Feshbach and Friendly, p. 50.

33. CIA Report, p. 13.

34. Feshbach and Friendly, op. cit.: 2.

35. According to a Soviet Health Ministry study, there was a 68 percent increase in still births from 1980 to
1984 where pesticides were intensively used in Armenia. Feshbach and Friendly, pp. 2, 68-70. The 1999 CIA
Report also notes that poor soil conditions are widespread, and soil is degraded due to the agricultural practices
of overusing fertilizers and pesticides. See CIA Report, p. 13.

36. OECD, p, 57.

37. CIA Report, pp. 9-10.

38. CIA Report, p. 16.

39. Sergey Rykov, p. 161.

40. CIA Report, p. 8; DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, Central,” p. 8.

41. Paula Garb, “Nuclear Environmental Attitudes and Activism in Chelyabinsk (Russia) and Hanford (the
United States): More Similarities than Differences,” in Dabelko and Peterson. Thomas Nilsen asserts that every
year Mayak releases into the local environment the equivalent of one-half of the radioactive contamination
released by the Chernobyl accident. See Nilsen, “Naval Nuclear Waste Management in Northwest Russia,” in
Dabelko and Peterson, eds.

42. FBIS trans. “Segodnia” newscast, Moscow NTV, August 26, 1999, FBIS Doc. ID: FTS19990826000306.
This report attacked the Atomic Energy minister for being involved in financial intrigues with the nuclear
industry; he was also said to be the one responsible for the design of the Chernobyl plant. The justification of
income for waste handling was deemed short-sighted, for this scheme would bring “a huge burden of financial
and economic problems that will haunt us for dozens, hundreds, and even thousands of years.”

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 43. Yuriy Banko, “Will Russia’s North Become an Ecological Disaster Zone? The Quantity of Radioactive
Waste from the Northern Fleet Exceeds All Norms,” in Moscow Nezavisimoe Voennoye Obozrenie, October 1-7,
1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19991014001457.

44. DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, Central,” p. 8.

45. A physicist (Soyfer) previously arrested for his disclosures, reported that there has been a 60-fold
increase of nuclear contamination at the bottom of the Chazhma Bay in the Sea of Japan, but that in general
levels in the Sea of Japan are significantly lower than in the Barents and Northern Seas. The scientist also noted
that a submarine which sank in the Sea of Japan in August 1985, 9 months before Chernobyl, could have
provided a warning if it had not been kept secret. Chernobyl had levels 10 million times higher than the Sea of
Japan. “Scientist Warns of Bay’s Nuclear Contamination,” trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990813001074, from
Moscow RIA News Agency, August 13, 1999.

46. Russia began radioactive waste dumping at sea in 1959 and continued until the 1990s. Reactor parts
and spent nuclear fuel probably pose the greatest danger. Multiple reactors have been dumped in various
coastal waters, with and without fuel; more than 17 ships containing radioactive waste and other contaminated
items were sunk off shore. Russia has been open about this dumping; the claim is that there has been no
dumping since 1993. See OECD, p. 183. Over 130 nuclear-powered submarines are no longer in active service;
some are partially dismantled. None of these has been decommissioned responsibly, in full compliance with
requirements. Their conditions are not exactly known, but they are deteriorating. See Thomas Nilsen.

47. Nilsen.

48. DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, European,” p. 8; and “Environmental Health
Risk Assessment: Russia, Far Eastern,” DI-1816-19-99, June 1999, p. 8. There are also waste sites on land, such
as the abandoned factory for cobalt manufacturing. The site has radioactive cesium-137; water contamination is
posing health threats, including the loss of teeth. “Disused Cobalt Factory Still Causing Pollution,” trans. FBIS,
Doc. ID: FTS19990808000342, from Kirill Pozdnyakov, Moscow NTV, August 8, 1999. EPA, p. 4.

49. The human effects are chilling; the death rate in Kazakhstan is still growing. For a consideration of
some of these data, see Kaisha Atakhanova and Gabdolla Kulkebayev, “Fallout from Nuclear Weapons Testing:
Public Health and Citizen Activism in Kazakhstan,” in Dabelko and Peterson.

50. Lev A. Fedorov, “Implications of Chemical Weapons Production, Storage, and Destruction in the Former
Soviet Union,” in Dabelko and Peterson. Fedorov presents a useful and clear account of these important issues.

51. CIA Report, pp. 18-19. The localized harm includes hurting and killing some commercial fishermen, who
came in contact with leaking munitions. Russian TV announced that 40,000 tons of toxic agents are stored in
Russia. By treaty, destruction was scheduled to start by the end of 1999, but only 1.7 percent funding was
allocated. Regional leaders were upset by the situation and expected the federal government to do more.
“Chemical Weapon Stockpile Headache for Russian Regions,” trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FATS, from the “Military
Secret” program on Moscow RenTV, October 14, 1999. Abandoned munitions are also a problem at a number of
facilities in Russia; e.g., a minefield was found in the Murmansk regions, and has not been fully cleaned up or
secured: “Many Explosives Found at Former Murmansk Military Base,” trans. FBIS, Doc. ID:
FTS19991005001098, from Moscow NTV, October 4, 1999.

52. Fedorov; and Jennifer Adibi, “Citizen Activism on Chemical Weapons Issues in Russia and Implications
for the United States,” in Dabelko and Peterson.

53. DIA, “Environmental Health Risk Assessment: Russia, European,” p. 5.

54. CIA Report, p. 2.

55. OECD, pp. 50-51. By comparison, the United States founded the Environmental Protection Agency and
started developing a comprehensive set of laws in the 1970s.

73

 56. OECD, pp. 44-45.

57. See, e.g., OECD, p. 80. In discussing licenses for water use (extraction and waste water discharges),
which each enterprise is required to have, OECD found that “Out of a total of some 54,000 water users, 37,000
have received licenses or confirmation of their licensee’s rights…. In 1996, about 15,000 compliance inspections
were carried out and 13,980 violations were identified…. In many cases, waste water discharge permits are
based on pollutant concentration, thus leading to greater water use in order to dilute the pollutants.”

58. A recurring issue in the United States over the past decade or more is whether the EPA should have
cabinet status. It is instructive to note that, after several years of intense debate and maneuvering, the issue was
abandoned, largely because of a Congress hostile to the leadership and policies of the Agency. Nonetheless,
hostile political forces have not been able to significantly undermine funding for the U.S. EPA. Despite its
second-class status within the ranks of federal agencies, the EPA has continued to have powerful leverage
through its work force, its underlying statutes, and funding levels to carry out the responsibilities. This has not
been the case in Russia, where national legal requirements lack the fiscal or political backing to implement and
enforce them.

59. See, e.g., CIA Report; OECD; D.J. Peterson, Summary of Meeting, “The Environmental Outlook in
Russia: An Intelligence Community Assessment,” March 29, 1999, Environmental Change and Security Project
Report, Issue 5, pp. 35-36.

60. CIA Report, pp. 16, 18.

61. See, e.g., T. Izotova, “Pay for Fresh Air,” Ozerskiy Vestinik, Feb. 3, 1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID:
FTS19990506001574. This article reports that the legal principle that polluter pays for exploitation of natural
resources is routinely ignored over 50-60% of the time. The writer also notes several problems of vanishing,
abused resources in his city area, including forest depletion, contamination of water resources, lack of sewage
treatment, and an inadequate city dump.

62. Steven Rosefielde, “Economic Foundations of Russian Military Modernization: Putin’s Dilemma,”
chapter 5 in the present book.

63. A renowned physicist, specializing in oceanography, was arrested and charged with treason, his
passport revoked, and apartment searched, because he was active with a foreign environmental organization.
The Defense Ministry had stopped financial support for the Pacific Ocean Institute, where he conducted
research, but it continued, at least in part because of cooperation with Americans. A Russian official admitted in
an article that there is “a tendency to expose so-called ‘environmental campaigners’ who pass on information
about Russian territories polluted by nuclear and chemical waste.” His article is clearly critical of the
government’s action and seems suspicious that any laws really were violated. Oleg Zhunusov and Yekaterina
Glebova, “The Case of the ‘Environmentalists,’” Izvestia, July 14, 1999, (also covered in ITAR-TASS), from FBIS,
Doc. ID:FTS19990713001255. See also “Case of Environmentalist Soyfer Detailed,” in FBIS, Doc.
ID:FTS19990715000376, trans. from Moscow Segodnya, July 14, 1999.

64. See Vest, in Dabelko and Peterson.

65. E.g., Jennifer Adibi.

66. OECD, p. 174. For example, municipal and industrial waste waters travel to the Baltic Sea; four paper
mills near Kaliningrad alone release .4 million cubic meters of untreated waste water per year. Industrial and
municipal waste and agricultural runoff have heavily polluted the Black Sea; see p. 179.

67. OECD, p. 180.

68. OECD, p. 175.

74

 69. Cited in VanDeveer and Dabelko, “Redefining Security Around the Baltic,” p. 231. This article discusses
a broader array of regional environmental security issues relating to Russia and the Baltic states.

70. Geoffrey D. Dabelko and Stacy D. VanDeveer, “European Insecurities: Can’t Live With ‘Em, Can’t Shoot
‘Em,” Security Dialogue, Vol. 29(2), p. 183.

71. Capt-Lt Sergey Vasilyev, “Passions Over the North: Our Nuclear Safety Disturbs Everyone, But
Especially the West...” Moscow Oriyentir, May 1, 1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990920000056; second part
of same article, Moscow Oriyentir, July 1, 1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990927000066.

72. “Russia Cleans Up Nuclear Base With Norwegian Money,” trans. FBIS, Doc. ID: FTS19990906000339,
from Marianna Maksimovskaya, Moscow NTV, September 6, 1999. See also Agnar Kaarbo, “Russian
Radioactivity Could Reach Norway in Hours,” Oslo Aftenposten, September 7, 1999, trans. FBIS, Doc. ID:
FTS19990910000598; “Norway Funds Radioactive Fluid Waste Dump in N Russia,” by FBIS, Doc. ID:
FTS19990910001040, from Vladimir Anufriyev, Moscow ITAR-TASS, September 10, 1999. A
US-Norway-Russia plan called for upgrading Russia’s only low level radioactive waste facility (in Murmansk) to
accommodate decommissioning; as of 1990, that expansion was 90 percent complete. EPA, p. 3.

73. The Plan of Action focuses on nuclear safety improvements, economic incentives for increasing business
contacts with Russia, increasing military-to-military contacts and cooperation, and closer political cooperation.
See Sverre Stub, “International Assistance: Opportunities and Stumbling Blocks,” in Geoffrey D. Dabelko and
D.J. Peterson.

74. EPA, p. 3. Japan paid about $20 million to finance a processing plant for low-level liquid radioactive
waste in Russia’s Far East; see OECD, p. 184.

75. Dianne L. Smith, Breaking Away from the Bear; Report (Carlisle, PA: Army War College, Strategic
Studies Institute, August 3, 1998). See also David M. Crowe, “The Kazaks and Kazakhstan: The Struggle for
Ethnic Identity and Nationhood,” Nationalities Papers, Vol. 26(3), 1998.

76. OECD, p. 174.

77. CCMS Report, p. 151. “There is a need to intensify efforts in order to address environmental stress, its
consequences, and their impact on the potential incidence or escalation of conflict.”

78. Dabelko and VanDeveer, “European Insecurities,” pp. 177-190.

79. CCMS Report, pp. 150-157.

80. EPA, p. 4-5.

81. OECD, p. 176.

82. Michael Renner discussed some of the actions showing promise for future cooperation in security-related
matters. Going back to the 1950s, the Soviets initiated cooperative agreements for restraint among nuclear
powers, which helped lead to a limited test ban treaty in the 1960s. In the 1980s, Gorbachev instituted
unilateral moratoriums on nuclear testing and some weapons, reduced force size, and announced the
destruction of chemical weapons stockpiles—which the United States did not quickly reciprocate. See Renner,
“National Security: The Economic and Environmental Dimensions,” Worldwatch Paper 89 (May 1989), pp.
53-55.

83. OECD, pp. 200-201. In 1998, there were 174 international projects addressing Russia’s radioactive
waste. A Task Force under the Barents Council counted more than 250 projects underway in the Murmansk,
Arkangelsk, and Karelia areas alone. Also in 1998, Japan was considering 20 joint projects and studies costing
billions of dollars to improve energy efficiency and reduce greenhouse gases; pp. 184-196.

75

 84. OECD, pp. 173-174

.

85. EPA, p. 3
.

86. “The environmental security issue of scarce energy resources is nowhere more complicated than in the
Caspian Basin, where other environmental variables influence the exploration, production, and transport of oil
throughout this ethnically, regionally, and politically diverse region.” Kent Butts and Arthur L. Bradshaw, Jr.,
eds., Caspian Sea International Environmental Security Game, (Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army War College, Center
for Strategic Leadership, 1991): p. 2.

87. For example, in the early 1990s, Kazakhstan attracted significant Western investments, up to about
40% of all coming into the former Soviet republics. But the complex dependencies on Russia, government
corruption, and failure to develop privatization programs, all discouraged investors by the mid-1990s. This in
turn hampers Kazakhstan’s ability to develop domestic industries. They are using oil to entice Western
investment. See Crowe, pp. 413-14.

88. Iran, which also borders on the Sea, is a very active player in the negotiations. Like Turkey, Iran is a
major regional player which was not part of the former Soviet sphere. Iran seeks to gain a strong role in the
Caspian oil market to secure both its financial and strategic interests in this region.

89. The United States will probably seek to diminish Iranian involvement for ideological reasons, even if
that provides a less attractive solution from an economic or environmental perspective. But seeking to deal with
Iran is still possible, and might open a path to better relations.

90. The Caspian is the largest inland body of water in the world; it contains over 40 percent of the world’s
fresh lake water. Development itself will exact big environmental costs separate from the routes selected.
Harvesting the resource will involve substantial pollution; but there will also be stresses brought by the parallel
increase in human activities that accompany oil production and distribution operations. Parts of the Caspian
Basin are already experiencing degradation. The Volga, e.g., is discharging contaminated waters into the Sea,
and the water quality has been declining. The current rising of the Sea level and consequent coastal inundation
is another factor damaging surrounding ecologies. See Butts and Bradshaw, pp. 34-72.

91. As Sverre Stub of Norway’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs has written, “We want to demonstrate that giving
higher priority to long-term environmental needs and to sustainable development also contributes to social and
economic development, to democracy, and to regional stability and reduced tension….Cooperation in the
environmental field as well as in political arenas contributes to confidence-building and is a stabilizing factor
within and among nations.” See Stub, “International Assistance: Opportunities and Stumbling Blocks,” in
Geoffrey D. Dabelko and D.J. Peterson.

92. By 1999, there had been over 70 environmental projects or activities between the U.S. military and
former Soviet and Warsaw pact states. See Vest, in Dabelko and Peterson.

76

 Do Russian Federation Health and Demography

Matter in the Revolution in Military Affairs?

Theodore Karasik1

Introduction

The Russian Federation (RF) is in the middle of a health and demography crisis, and the
consequences for the Russian military have been and will continue to be enormous.2
Environmental problems inherited from Soviet times lurk behind much of the current public
health problem.3 Radioactive contamination is rife at several defense and military industrial
sites throughout the Russian Federation.4 Chemical contamination by dioxin is largely to
blame for the decline in life expectancy for both sexes. There also is an interrelated and
unprecedented surge in infectious and parasitic diseases that, when combined with existing
high levels of alcohol poisoning, drug abuse, and violent death, is contributing to a lowered life
expectancy.5 The Russian population will decline by 800,000 to a million people a year until
2010, when the total may be no more than 138 million.6 Alcoholism, drug abuse, sexually
transmitted diseases (STDs), malnutrition, and various chronic and infections diseases may
result in a third of the adult population becoming infertile. The incidence of tuberculosis (TB)
in Russia is skyrocketing, as is the number of HIV and AIDS cases. The growing number of
Russian AIDS cases reflects a sharp rise in sexual promiscuity and hard-drug abuse that
reaches into the armed forces.7 Several questions must be asked: How sick will the population
be in subsequent years? Will the Russian population be able to have children? Will their
offspring also be sick? These are key questions in understanding the future social and
economic health of the Russian Federation as an economic and geopolitical power.

But these questions also relate to whether falling health and demographic statistics will
affect the Russian armed forces in the near future. So much of the shrinking Russian
population may soon be so ill that long-term solutions to military problems will be
inconceivable. This raises a number of questions: What kind of troops will Moscow have if
they are not only smaller in number and physical size but suffering from serious illnesses?
How can Russian health and demography affect Moscow’s ability to think about the so-called
Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA)? These questions are a fundamental component in
understanding Russia’s ability to organize, train, and equip a reliable military force for the
foreseeable future.

The Decline In Russian Health And Demographic Trends, 1990-2015

In the mid-1990s, the population of Russia was 148.3 million. By 2015 it is expected to be
as low as 138.4 million, and possibly even down to around 131 million. With more recent
statistics and projections on fertility rates, the lower projection seems likely, especially

77

combined with higher mortality rates as tuberculosis and AIDS grow through 2005. On this
trajectory, a projection of 80 million by 2050 is not out of the question. Population declines for
the Russian armed forces would be enormous, affecting Russian policy in a number of ways by
limiting capabilities to respond to internal and external security threats.

With the population declining at such rates, the health of each individual at the margin
becomes even more important. With fewer children being born, the reproductive health of
their mothers becomes the key for healthy offspring. The rates of major illnesses in the
Russian Federation lead to more negative projections. Cancer and heart death rates for 15- to
19-year-olds are double the U.S. rates. For teens, suicides in Russia are also about double
those of the United States. In addition, high rates of alcoholism and tobacco use among the
entire population are likely to be a burden on a decaying public health system.8

Russia’s shrinking population took its largest post-Soviet drop in 1999, with decreasing
immigration on top of a surplus of deaths over births. The official population in 1999 was
145.6 million, down by 0.49 percent or 716,900 individuals during the first 11 months of 1999
compared to the same period in 1998. Besides extraordinarily high death rates and a low
birth rate, decreasing immigration and an aging population are behind the latest phase in
Russia’s health and demographic crisis. A total of 1,117,000 Russians were born from
January through November of 1999, as against 1,953,000 deaths, while during the same
period in 1998, 1,179,900 people were born as opposed to 1,815,100 deaths. Immigration to
Russia, mainly from the Commonwealth of Independent States countries, slowed over
1998-1999. The flow of immigrants slid from 478,600 people during the first 11 months of
1998 to 341,500 people during the same period of 1999. The drop in the first 11 months of 1999
of 716,900 people, or 0.49 percent, was almost double the decrease of the same period in 1998
of 365,600 people. Clearly, this trend is not new, as Russia’s population was 148 million in
1990 and subsequently fell 0.02 percent in 1992, 0.2 percent in 1993, 0.04 percent in 1994, 0.2
percent in 1995, and 0.3 percent each in 1996, 1997 and 1998.9

The Russian population is negatively affected by the trend of excess of deaths over births
along with declining immigration from the near abroad. The official report states that births
in the first five months of 1999 are much less than in the same period of 1998 (507,300 versus
531,100, respectively), that deaths in the first five months of 1999 are much more numerous
than in the first half of 1998 (903,000 versus 844,400), and that net immigration is much less
as well for these periods (53,300 versus 129,300). Thus, the net population growth in 1999 for
the first five months was minus 342,400.10

Overall, the demographic crisis in the Russian Federation serves not only as a brake on
the radical transformation of the Russian armed forces, but it is also deeply rooted in the
social fabric that reform by itself is unlikely to change. And this pattern—one very different
from other countries—almost certainly will limit the ability of Russian society to reform the
post-Soviet Russian army. The epidemiological situation will be difficult to reverse, but
attempts to do so are being made by the MOD in traditional Russian ways. And health
problems, reflected in both falling life expectancies and declining populations, might make it
difficult for the Russian Federation to bounce back strategically.11

78

Historical Health and Demographic Trends and the Russian Military

Of the approximately 10 RMAs and 18 major technological advances recorded in the

history of warfare,12 health has played a role in determining the pace and scope of military
manpower and technological innovation. 13 Through these RMAs, armies with technological
and organizational innovations who avoid large casualty rates succeeded only with strong,
reliable, cunning recruits and soldiers.14 One way to measure Russia’s ability to cope with the
demands of unhealthy soldiers is by exploring changes in military medical services in the 19th
and 20th centuries.

Only in the early 19th century did St. Petersburg try to establish medical care for
unhealthy soldiers in the Imperial Russian Army because of major battlefield losses suffered
from major changes in military knowledge. Nicholas I (1825-1855) introduced reforms in the
military medical system that attempted to bring care to Russian soldiers, but these attempts
failed. Only by the time of Alexander II (1855-1881) and General Miliutin’s reforms did
military health care finally show an improvement. With the influx of trained medical
personnel, the advantages of improved evacuation by rail, the designation of unit
stretcher-bearers, and the creation of division-level field hospitals, wounded and sick soldiers
stood a far better chance of survival than 20 years before. Yet, tainted drinking water and
recurring difficulties with bad food and field hygiene created for troops a greater likelihood of
falling ill than becoming a casualty in war.

Medical aid did counter large battlefield losses. In comparison with the Crimean War, the
changes in medical aid to a sick and poorly trained military had improved dramatically. For
instance, medical aid to the sick and wounded during the Russo-Turkish War from 1877 to
1878 was significantly better than in the Crimean War thanks to improved staff training,
evacuation procedures, and field hospitals, thus allowing wounded soldiers a substantially
higher chance of survivability. By the beginning of the 20th century, medical services during
the Russo-Japanese war were the only organization that did not collapse during the
campaign. The high death rates in the Imperial Russian armed forces were the result of the
organization, economy, and training system of the army itself.15

Under the Soviets, health care capabilities spread with the increasing state
industrialization, which provided a steady stream of fresh recruits.16 The Soviet soldier, it
was argued, was “a force to be reckoned with in world affairs” due to its formidable potential
on the field of battle. Edward Luttwak offered a variant of this argument almost 15 years ago,
when he warned readers against “delusions of soviet weakness.”

[D]runkenness is no doubt pervasive in the[ir] . . . armed forces.But the Russians have

always been great drinkers. Drunk they defeated Napoleon, and drunk again they defeated
Hitler’s armies and advanced all the way to Berlin.17

Yet this objection, too, now appears overtaken by the scope of military revolution and
change in the 21st century. It is clear that both the Soviet Union and the post-Soviet Russian
Federation failed to develop innovative operational concepts despite increases in the
capability to provide medical care in the field, particularly in World War II and Afghanistan.18

79
Operation Desert Storm in the Persian Gulf and Operation Allied Force over Kosovo may
have offered us glimpses of the next face of war: the hi-tech, information-intensive combat
that drive today’s debate on RMA. While a debilitated Russian populace is unlikely to support
a revolution in military affairs, Russia as a nuclear power must muster the intellectual and
physical strength to participate in technological advancements. In an ill country, raising the
necessary soldiery and specialists to conduct nuclear and high-technology warfare may be a
challenge in itself.19 Drunken soldiers may have succeeded in their European campaigns in
the past, but they would fare rather less creditably today in electronic warfare and
information operations. More important, though, a debilitated Russian populace will be
hard-pressed to finance the expenditures and investments that a meaningful revolution in
military affairs would demand, particularly in the defense industry.

If Russia cannot support a full-fledged revolution in military affairs in the next decades, it
may still be able to field a large conventional force, a force that would perhaps enjoy
overwhelming capabilities by comparison with a number of neighboring states or armed
factions in the Russian Federation. But this type of an armed force would have little capacity
for projecting military power far beyond its borders no matter how courageous or
casualty-tolerant the Russians happened to be.20 According to Stephen Blank, successful
adaptation to revolutionary military conditions requires not just advanced weapons,
concepts, and tactics, but also advanced tools, people, and organizations to sustain them.21
Countering Professor Blank’s arguments is James Kraska, who states, “For the most part, the
presence of soldiers in areas of combat is becoming superfluous. The advent of high
technology war has introduced weapons where destructive capacities utterly dwarf the
strength of human soldiers, reducing heroism largely to statistical survival, and making the
weapons themselves the decisive factor in military conflicts.”22 Kraska’s argument may be
wrong since technologies, especially information operations, demand greater competence and
stamina from human operators. Military success depends on soldiers that are healthy and
developing physically in a normal manner. As the Russian Federation delays in fixing the
health of their forces, the more its forces will fail to function in modern warfare.

Growth in Adolescent Health Problems: 1990 - 2005

At the start of 1998, there were 19.2 million adolescents in the Russian Federation
accounting for 13.1 percent of the population. They represent the generation of Russians born
in the period of the highest birth rate (1980-1987) of the last 35 years. In the immediate
future these adolescents will be responsible for an increase in the number of people of working
age and for the population’s rejuvenation. By the start of 2006 the number of 16-29 year olds
will increase by 3.4 million compared to 1998, or by 11.6 percent, and their share of the entire
able population will increase by 1.6 percent to 36.1 percent. At the same time, a gradual
decrease in the number of adolescents will begin, and continue up to 2013. During this time
adolescents will decrease from 10.7 million persons to 8.5 million persons (21 percent).23

Morbidity involving temporary and permanent incapacitation is growing in the Russian

Federation. The frequency of initial certification of disability reached 91 per 10,000 adults in

80

1995, compared to 50.5 in 1985 and 77.8 in 1993. In 1998 this trend not only persisted but
intensified. Growth of morbidity and disability in children is especially troubling. Morbidity
has grown by a factor of 4.5 among newborn infants and 203 among children. Retarded
mental and physical development is noted increasingly more often in children. According to
the Ministry of Health, around 80 percent of children in Russia’s schools are now suffering
from chronic diseases.24

Parental absence, according to Russian analysts, hurts Russian family health by

contributing to physical and psychological decline in the Russian armed forces. One parent
was absent for one out of every five families with children. In the overwhelming majority of
cases (94 percent) these were families raised by a mother in the absence of a father. The
probability of one or both parents dying increased from 10.7 to 16.2 percent. In 1997, around
31 million people, or 20.8 percent of the population, had monetary income below the poverty
line.25

For some recruits, an imbalanced diet is seen as the main reason for a weakening of health
in the young generation of Russians. People are consuming less meat, milk and eggs, and the
diet is vitamin-deficient. Hypotrophy or substandard weight is around 12.5 percent of
draftees.26 In the 1990s the health trends among adolescents 15-17 years old were the worst
among all population age groups. In this case growth of overall morbidity occurs for
practically all age groups of diseases due to accelerated transition of acute forms into
recidivist and chronic, and growth of primary chronic pathology of internal organs. The
occurrence of diseases of the circulatory system among adolescents increased over the last
five years by a factor of 2.4, while diseases of the endocrine system eating disorders, and
disturbed metabolism and immunity increased by a factor of 2.2. Diseases of the
skeleto-muscular system and connective tissue as well as tumors increased by a factor of 2.1,
diseases of the urogenital system increased by a factor of 1.9, and infectious and parasitic
diseases increased by a factor of 1.8. Due to the worsening health of adolescents, the fitness of
draftees for military service has been noted as steadily declining. According to data of the
Russian MOD, a whopping 20-30 percent of examined draftees were unfit to serve for health
reasons.27

Lyudmila Sukharayeva, deputy director of the Russian Academy of Medical Sciences,

believes that up to 80 percent of school graduates have chronic illnesses, based on up to eight
diagnoses. Cardiovascular and gastrointestinal diseases have been encountered twice as
often and spinal diseases three times more often in teenagers in recent years. The number of
stunted children has tripled in the 1990s. Around 20 percent of school graduates were
underweight for their age in 1997. If one adds to this fact that health care is in decline and
health education in families is poor, then it becomes understandable why only a few draftees
remain fully fit for service in the Russian armed forces. One analyst notes that “the Army is
no health resort,” and serious childhood illnesses that are concealed from military medical
personnel can seriously affect combat conditions.28 Clearly, the health of Russian military
personnel is one of the main factors preventing readiness in the Russian armed forces.
Disease prevention is the most important component of troop health care, and
epidemiological oversight will become critical.

81

 Another factor is the morbidity rate resulting from the harmful health effects of
environmental and social conditions in Russian military service. When a future conscript has
to check in to the local draft board, his age, education, family condition, and specialty are the
first things he is asked. These question have significance—the airborne assault troops do not
take draftees from broken homes since the rigors of training demand top performance from
recruits.29 Next, the report from the military medical commission is delivered to the draft
board and the recruit. According to statistics, a shocking one in three is unfit for service in the
ranks because of chronic and psychological illnesses.30 Almost 40 percent of young men have
been raised in disadvantaged families.31 Each year, according to the Russian military, 70,000
cannot be enlisted because of psychological problems, and some 1,500 are returned from the
army within the first three months of service.32 Major General V.N. Pulitin, chief of the
Organizational-Mobilization Directorate of the General Staff, asserted:

The most serious problem is faultless selecting those suited by health for army service. That is
far from easy to do, given the catastrophic deterioration of the health of our young people. Suf­
fice it to say that the draft commissions deemed more than 31 percent of the conscripts unfit for
military service last fall for the first time. It is expected that the citizens fit for military service
with slight limitations among the young replacements being sent into the ranks today will be
more than half. The situation will hardly change for the better in this regard since RF govern­
ment Decree No. 1232 of 22 October of last year has changed the Statute on Military Physical Ex-
amination, and raised the requirements for the health of citizens being drafted. There is
another aspect as well. Because the so-called adolescent medicine that existed under the USSR
has been disrupted, while the new system replacing it is developing very slowing for a number of
objective reasons, there has been frequent instances, the further from Moscow, that a young per­
33
son has his first medical exam when he registers for that draft.

Thus, the draft has become a critical test for the health of teenage Russian males. The
Russian Federation’s largest cities such as Moscow and St. Petersburg have not been the
main suppliers of conscripts. Moscow provides about 5,000 young men with 70 percent
serving in and around Moscow while another 30 percent go to the Northern Fleet or the Far
East military district.34 According to the Chief of Staff of the Siberian Military District,
Lieutenant-Colonel Aleksandr Morozov, “There will be nobody to call up for the armed
forces.” According to Morozov, in 1995 and 1997, the call-up revealed 34 percent and 43
percent to be medically deficient, respectively, based on the health crisis in youth morbidity.35
Now, there are 20 cities in Siberia that are not fit to live in, including Bratsk, Angarsk,
Nizhnevartovsk, Kemerovo, and Barnaul.36

Funding has been insufficient to rectify the health plight in the Russian armed forces
resulting from weakened recruits. In 1998, the plan was to allocate R690 million for health
care, but only 22.5 percent of that amount (R155 million) was provided. The planned amount
to be allocated for medical property and equipment was R600 million, as compared with the
R62.7 million.37 Each year, more than 40,000 injured military personnel are admitted to
hospitals. Injury is the cause of loss of almost one million days of combat training. Injuries
thus inflict considerable economic loss not only from treatment expenses but also lost
training.38

Water, a critical component in operating any armed force, is frequently polluted in the
Russian Federation. In 1997, more than 250 military units experienced a water shortage.

82
More than 150 military units have microbiological indicators for their water which do not
meet government standards. 39 Communal living conditions have also affected health.
Investigations of the sanitary-epidemiological service show that in 170 military units
established standards of billeting were violated. With a power shortage and consequent
unsatisfactory operation of boilers and emergencies in the heating networks last winter, the
standards temperature level was not observed in barracks in more than 130 military units.
This led to a substantial increase in the number of those suffering pneumonia. About 60
percent of the baths and laundries do not meet sanitary and technical standards, and 95
percent of bath and laundry combinations are not provided with disinfecting chambers to
prevent skin diseases and lice infestation.40

Intellectual capabilities, including the pursuit of higher learning, are a critical asset that
the Russian armed forces needs desperately to participate in innovative thinking. Putilin is
opposed to using education as a deferment for service since the army needs soldiers who are
healthy and smart. He states:

Judge for yourself: 85.9 percent of the people registered for the draft are not subject to
conscription for various reasons in 1999. Of those, 12.8 percent have health limitations, and 9
percent have outstanding or incomplete criminal sentences; of the remaining 64 percent, the
overwhelming majority are studying at educational institutions at various levels. The figures
speak for themselves. Of course, the large number of students not called for military service
lowers the educational potential of the army and navy. The share of citizens with higher and
secondary education has declined by more than 20 percent over the last ten years, and was a
little over 70 percent in 1998. There are problems in this regard with manpower acquisition
for the military units training junior commanders and specialists.41

Clearly, these health exemptions lower the number of eligible able-bodied soldiers.

Critical Factor: The Spread of Infectious Diseases in the Russian

Armed Forces

In January 1999, N.N. Lyubimskii and N.I. Lyshenko clarified how the level and structure
of morbidity due to infectious disease has changed among men serving in the Russian armed
forces between 1992 and 1997. They also aimed to determine responses for anti-epidemic
work considered important for maintaining manpower.42 They showed that there were
interesting diseases differences within the Russian Federation military based on types of
diseases spread and why. Amazingly, members of the Russian military are at a lower risk of
contracting an infectious disease than are members of the Russian population. However,
compared with the Russian population as a whole, regular soldiers and sergeants are at a
greater risk of contracting shigellosis and intestinal infections caused by other pathogens and
parasitic diseases. This fact comes not as a surprise to military physicians, and it may be
explained by the fact that transmissions of these diseases are greatest in the armed forces. 43
Simultaneously, despite such factors associated with the epidemic process as densely packed
accommodations, close contact, and intermingling of groups being more prominent in the

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armed services than in the rest of Russia, members of the military are at lower risk of
development of acute respiratory infections. The most likely reason for this phenomenon is
that respiratory infection has more to do with the infection process than with the frequency of
contacts. 44

Under the conditions of military units, while mixing and switching soldiers in their
deployments, the absolute number of infectious sources with which susceptible individuals
come into contact is generally less than among the civilian population, while the landscape of
pathogens responsible for acute respiratory infections is much more sparse. The likelihood
that a specific soldier will, over the course of a year, develop multiple infections with an aerial
transmission mechanism is therefore significantly lower in military units than it is among
the civilian population.45

The traditional leaders among infections in the Russian Federation army and navy are
acute respiratory infection, angina, hepatitis A, shigellosis, and acute intestinal infections. 46
These have been accompanied by an increase in the morbidity due to venereal diseases,
hepatitis A, parasitic diseases, and other infections. In 1992-1997, the relative prevalence of
recorded morbidity due to venereal diseases increased by a factor exceeding 5.5 (from 0.48
percent in 1987 to 2.63 percent in 1997), while the relative prevalence of morbidity due to
parasitic diseases increased by a factor exceeding 1.2 (6.49 percent versus 8.06 percent,
respectively).47

Influenza and other acute respiratory infections accounted for 84.4 percent of morbidity
due to infectious disease in 1987-1991 versus 78.6 percent in 1992-1997. An increase in
morbidity due to acute respiratory infections is observed in nearly all the Russian Federation
armed forces with the exception of the strategic rocket forces. It was highest in the air defense
forces. In 1995-1997, the increase in morbidity due to these infections practically stopped. 48
However, a rise in morbidity due to angina was noted in 1989-1995.49

Intestinal infections between 1992 and 1997 represented 3.64 percent in 1987-1991. The
risk of contracting intestinal infections while in the armed forces increased by a factor of 1.19
from 1987-1991 to 1992-1997. The increase in morbidity was observed only in the navy,
where the relative risk was about 1.24. In the other branches of the Russian Federation
armed forces, the risk of morbidity due to intestinal infections decreased. The decrease was
most evident in the air defense forces (by a factor of 2.03-2.04) and in the air forces (by a factor
of 1.66-1.71). The relative prevalence of morbidity due to shigellosis and acute intestinal
infections caused by other pathogens remained steady in 1974-1992 but increased after those
years.50

On average, the morbidity rate due to active tuberculosis among military personnel
accounted for 0.182 percent of all morbidity due to infectious disease in 1992-1997 versus
0.220 percent in 1987-1991. The risk of contracting tuberculosis in the armed forces in
1992-1997 was practically the same as in 1987-1991. Up to 65 percent of conscripts contract
tuberculosis during their first six months. 51

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 Finally, venereal disease has increased since 1987. For the armed forces, figures for the
past five years show an 11-fold increase in the number of draftees showing up with syphilis,
unfit for service.52 The risk of contracting venereal diseases in 1992-1997 was 3.16 to 3.17
times higher than in 1987-1991. Before 1993, the rise in multiyear morbidity was
characterized as exponential. In 1995-1997, morbidity stabilized due to a decline in
gonorrhea throughout the armed forces. 53

In the Russian armed forces, the risk of contracting hepatitis A between 1992-1997
decreased by a factor of 1.20-1.21 compared to 1986-1991. During the same period, the risk of
contracting hepatitis A while in the Russian ground forces decreased by 1.21-1.21, the risk in
the air force decreased by a factor of 2.067-2.07, and the risk in the air defense forces
decreased by a factor of 1.49 –1.51. In the strategic rocket forces, the average level of
morbidity due to hepatitis A remained unchanged, whereas in the navy it increased by
2.67-2.68 during outbreaks in 1994-1995. Overall, the outbreak of morbidity due to hepatitis
A “was a clear response” to troop involvement in Afghanistan.54

Morbidity due to a parasitic disease in the navy during 1987-1991 was significantly higher
than in the armed forces as a whole. The greatest increases in morbidity were observed in the
strategic rocket forces, with an increase by a factor of 2.43, and in the navy an increase by a
factor of 1.79. 55 Morbidity due to parasitic diseases may be reduced further by intensifying
public health programs and oversight of military personnel’s bathing and laundry conditions. 56

Venereal and parasitic diseases and TB are characterized by a relatively close

relationship between the level of morbidity and the social changes in the Russian Federation.
But there is no evidence to suggest that acute intestinal infections or hepatitis A are linked to
social changes in the Russian Federation.57 Examinations reveal that 20.7 percent of young
recruits, 14-16 percent of military personnel who had served three months or more, and 8-11
percent of military personnel serving under contract were immunodeficient.58

Psychological Trauma: Draft Dodging and Hazing

In January 2000, the Russian MOD announced that hazing had dropped ten percent and
draft dodging was down 30 percent. Draft dodging dropped due to two programs, “Give
Yourself Up” and “Runaway,” that began in early 1999.59 But some preliminary findings
from the General Staff’s analysis of the 1999 conscription campaign reveal that many
potential draftees could not be enlisted for a variety of reasons: almost one in three had poor
health; one-tenth had either alcohol or drug abuse problems; and another 40 percent were
brought up in “problematic families.” Another 40,000 young men were estimated to have
dodged the draft altogether.60 Most of this effort to resist service, totally apart from health
issues, may be seen later in the psychological stress of training when immune systems
become weakened and infectious diseases can attack the body. 61

According to the Russian General Staff, the autumn 1998 draft period went rather well.
The armed forces reportedly inducted 158,000 young men, 110,000 of whom went on to the

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army and navy. The 110,000 was enough to meet the military’s needs. The other draftees
were sent to military units fielded by the country’s various security ministries, including the
Federal Border Service and the troops of the Interior Ministry. The General Staff claimed
that the quality of the 1998 biannual draft had even improved somewhat over past years.62

Even if the General Staff claims are true, however, the Russian military continues to face
monumental morale and personnel problems in both its conscript and professional forces.
Defense Ministry statistics released at the close of 1998 revealed, for example, that crime and
suicide rates in the armed forces continue to rise, while the number of noncombat deaths—a
major problem for more than a decade now—has declined only slightly. Between Chechnya 1
and 2, approximately 500 servicemen were killed on active service in 1998, the Defense
Ministry said, compared with 600 in 1997. More than 800 soldiers, meanwhile, were said to
have died in off-duty incidents in 1998, compared with approximately 1,000 in 1997. The
number of suicides had reportedly risen to approximately 350 in 1997. Some 60 percent of
those committing suicide were officers.63

Former Russian President Boris Yeltsin’s 1996 pledge to ban hazing had been directed not
merely at improving the army’s professionalism, but also at addressing widely held concerns
among the Russian population over the dismal conditions confronting the Russian
Federation’s conscript soldiers. Brutality in the barracks—“hazing”—has been a
much-publicized phenomenon in Russia since before the Soviet Union’s dissolution, and there
is little reason to believe that the current military leadership has made any significant
progress in this area. 64 Indeed, a secret General Staff study reportedly concludes that the
incidence of hazing is rising in the armed forces as part of a more general increase in the
army’s criminalization.65 Other sources have reached similar conclusions. The Soldiers’
Mothers Committee, a Moscow-based group which seeks to improve life for Russia’s conscript
soldiers and an active participant in the anti-war movement in both Chechnya 1 and 2,
asserts that conditions for the conscript army have sunk to their lowest level since the 1991
dissolution of the USSR. Meanwhile, the Russian Military General Prosecutor’s Office,
reports that outside of the Chechen wars and their aftermath, 57 soldiers died and nearly
3,000 were injured during the first 11 months of 1998 as a result of hazing. But an advocate
for soldiers’ rights puts the figures much higher, claiming that some 2,000 Russian soldiers
die each year either directly or indirectly as a result of hazing. Many of these deaths were
suicides reflecting poor social and health conditions.66

Statistics, however, cannot fully reflect the impact on the recruit mentality. Declining
military budgets and a more general demoralization of the armed forces have greatly
worsened as substandard living conditions for many of Russia’s soldiers continues. Brutality
in the barracks—a feature throughout Russian history—also continues to take its toll on
Russian conscripts, while Russian MOD efforts to address such problems have generally been
inadequate. The result has been a series of publicized incidents—some of them involving the
death or murder of conscripts through war, physical exercise, or lack of basic
necessities—that have further discredited the military leadership and reinforced fears
among those being asked to serve in Russia’s armed forces.67

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 Reports such as the above suggest why a large number of Russian youths are avoiding the
military draft.68 Rather than ensuring that life in the armed forces improves for the Russian
Federation’s conscripts, however, the Defense Ministry appears to be more intent on tracking
down draft dodgers and deserters. In January 1999 the military prosecutor’s office
announced that military authorities had arrested nearly 1,000 such soldiers in a major
four-day operation aimed at locating and apprehending up to 700 deserters.69 Significantly,
there is an effort to recruit more teens by conscription when not all or even half may be
healthy enough to form the present or future Russian armed forces.

Analyzing Russian Military Responses in Chechnya 1 And 2 Based on

Health Trends and Medical Aid

Since the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991, the Russian Federation’s ability to field
forces has declined. While the Soviet Army entertained global ambitions, the 21st century
Russian Army’s conventional forces now find themselves containing an insurrection in a
small region within the nation’s borders that is an almost overwhelming challenge due to
health, recruitment quality, and technological constraints. Moreover, health and medical aid
in urban and rural combat is a particularly acute problem that the Russians have had to
contend with for the past 200 years.

Lessons from Chechnya 1 and 2 reveal that the Russian military has tried a network of
specialized facilities, both front and rear, to render aid to the wounded and ill, beginning with
the front. The experience of military operations in Chechnya 1 showed that specialized
medical aid—such as participation of highly-skilled specialists, use of unique equipment and
supplies, and treatment at a progressive military hospital—would be mandatory if soldiers
were to survive Chechen combat conditions. There is convincing proof of the need and ability
to deliver aid with the goal of treating the wounded and ill in the urban setting particularly in
battles for Grozny. The need is dictated by modern combat surgical trauma, marked by severe
combined and multiple wounds. In both Chechnya 1 and 2, surgical groups were formed
according to the layout of the battlefield.70

The lethality of severe wounds was lower by a factor of two, although the frequency of
these wounds decreased by only 2.1 percent. The average length of treatment of these wounds
was 90 days and discharge from the armed forces was 63 percent, leading to a sharp loss in
personnel. In November 1996, at a meeting of the Scientific Medical Council of the
Chief-Military-Medical Administration of the Russian Federation Ministry of Defense,
participants agreed that the Chechen war can be seen as a model of a large-scale emergency
situation creating a dilemma as to whether to evacuate casualties or treat them in place.
Subsequently, adjustments were made to treat in place rather than evacuate.71

In Chechnya 1, the Russian rear services built a tent city with some 3,000 heated tents,
114 mess halls, shower and bath units, and vehicle wash points. The rear services also
brought a shower and laundry train forward to Mozdok. Frontline troops seldom were able to
use the laundry and bath facilities. As result, skin diseases and lice were a problem among

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combatants.72 Many operational lines of communication also had rest stops containing mess
tents and heating tents.73

Food service is another indicator of attempts to reform the health deficit. Russian
planners decided to provide 150 percent of the normal ration to each soldier. This would
exceed 5,000 calories and included a daily 300 grams (10.5 ounces) of meat, 50 grams (1.75
ounces) of heavy cream, and 30 grams (1.05 ounces) of cheese. Field bakeries were
established on each of the main axes of Mozdok, Vladikavkaz, and Kizlyar. Later, when the
north Grozny airfield was captured, the Russians positioned three field bakeries there with a
daily capacity of 18 tons of bread.74 However, Russian forces had trouble delivering rations to
the forward fighting positions. KP-125 and KP-130 mess trailers would get stuck in mud in
and around Grozny. In addition, fuel and water trucks had to accompany the mess trailers to
help pull the mess trailers through mud and were frequent targets for Chechen snipers.75
Often troops at forward positions had to eat dry rations.76 Troops that needed the extra
calories the most often were not given even the minimum daily requirement. Clearly, the
initial plan to provide 5,000 calories per day went widely astray, primarily due to inadequate
transport.77 Finally, clean drinking water was a high-demand item, but delivery of clean
water forward often proved too difficult. Individual water treatment took too long to work,
and dirty water created conditions where viral hepatitis and cholera spread quickly.78

Urban warfare in Chechnya produced a different distribution of casualty types. Red Cross
statistics for limited conflicts usually reflect 23 percent wounded from mines, 26 percent from
bullets, 46 percent from shrapnel, 2 percent from burns and 3 percent miscellaneous. In
Grozny, there was a higher percentage of burns and the majority of wounds were caused by
mortar fire. Most fatalities and lethal head and body wounds were from sniper fire. Whereas
the normal ratio of wounded to killed is 3:1 or 4:1, urban warfare in Grozny featured a
statistical reverse in that three were killed for every wounded. Snipers presented a problem
for medical evacuation, and frequently the wounded could not be evacuated until nighttime,
thus leading to increased deaths.79 Moreover, in Chechnya 1, and presumably in Chechnya 2,
bullets made for the M-16 and Russian 5.45-caliber bullets inflicted great injury due to their
high initial speed, making treatment and healing more difficult.80

Finally, medical support is another critical factor in combat receiving increased attention.
Russian military care of the wounded was usually well planned and executed once the patient
reached the battalion aid station. Three weeks prior to the Russian incursion in Chechnya 1,
the Russian Army established and trained special emergency medical treatment
detachments in each military district. Four of these detachments deployed to Chechnya to
support the maneuver units and supplement their TO&E medical units.81 The Russian
military used their normal conventional war evacuation system and usually employed
ground medical evacuation as the quickest and safest form of evacuation. Each maneuver
company was reinforced with a physician’s assistant, while each maneuver battalion had a
medical doctor plus the ambulance section. Surgeons, anesthetists, and additional nurses
manned the regimental medical post.82 Wounded were normally evacuated to the regimental
medical post by makeshift armored ambulances (BTR-80s), since the Chechens fired on the
soft-sided ambulances. Forward medical stations and hospitals needed to be dug in or
deployed in basements, as the Chechens also shelled these. Patients requiring more

88
extensive medical care were evacuated by MEDEVAC helicopter and aircraft.83 Forward air
evacuation was not used much, particularly after the Chechens shot down several
MEDEVAC helicopters. The fighting in Grozny proved the need for a specially designed
armored ambulance.84

The Russian military’s record in disease prevention in Chechnya 1 was nowhere near as
impressive as their handling of the wounded. Russian soldiers frequently lacked clean
drinking water, clean clothing, hot rations, and washing facilities. Personnel suffered from
viral hepatitis, cholera, shigellosis, enterocolitis, diphtheria, malignant anthrax, and plague.
One combat brigade had 240 simultaneous cases of viral hepatitis. Since Russian field units
were down to 60 percent strength or less at this time, a brigade might be able to muster 1,500
personnel. According to some sources, four percent of the sick worked in food handling or
water distribution.85 An outbreak of diphtheria may have also been a result of Chechnya 1.86

Psychiatric casualties are higher in urban combat. Most of the fighting in Chechnya 1 and
2 was in cities ranging from Grozny itself to smaller cities to towns. A Russian military
psychiatrist surveyed 1,312 soldiers during combat.87 The survey found that 28 percent were
healthy and the other 71 had some type of psychological disorder, with 46 percent suffering
from depression. The percentage of troops with post-traumatic stress was higher than in
Afghanistan, thereby reflecting the impact of urban operations.88 Consequently, the Russian
military noted that they should have rotated units frequently to allow the soldiers to bath,
sleep, train, and readjust. This would have required much larger reserves than were
available.89 Pharmacological substances have an important place in helping to insure an
acceptable level of military professional work under extreme conditions. The use of
pharmacological substances is aimed at specific “syndrome” targets, i.e., combat stress,
physical and psychological fatigue, and the negative consequences of the effect of climate and
habitation factors.90

Interesting is the difference between the Russian Federation armed forces’ health
situation and Chechen citizens’ morbidity. Since Chechnya 1, Chechen health facilities have
been destroyed, while citizens’ health has been undermined by stress and undernourishment.
Intestinal infections, lice, scabies, tuberculosis, hepatitis, and respiratory infections have
spread. Most of the hospitals and medical assistance and obstetric facilities do not operate
because there are no personnel, medicine, or equipment. In Grozny, where 80 percent of the
republic’s entire health care base was concentrated before 1993, many facilities remained
closed in 1999.91

However, in comparison with the Russian armed forces and the need to help and feed
soldiers, the effectiveness of Chechens to treat combatants plus feed, clothe, and rest their
fighters helps them stay healthier. Chechens commute on their own accord to rest and eat
after several days of fighting in both urban and rural environments. The ability to move
between the front and the rear gave the Chechens the upper hand in combat health care,
including the digging of latrines and washing of hands.92 Both for Chechen civilians and the
fighters, war-related injuries have been the most common cause of death. However, there has
been an increase in communicable diseases, neonatal health problems, and nutritional
deficiencies. The impact on health services has adversely affected the management of people

89
with chronic, non-communicable diseases.93 For instance, 90 percent of the children in
Gudermes district suffer from various forms of tuberculosis.94 Hepatitis, scabies, and
pediculosis are also present. TB is the most common problem, and up to 60,000 IV doses of
tuberculin were prepared for injection to fight the disease.95 Polio outbreaks have been
growing. Only partial analysis of the Chechnya area reveals 137 cases in the nine months
between March and November 1995 in addition to the approximately 150 cases in 1994.96
These numbers far exceed those of the Russian Federation as a whole. Not only do these
numbers reflect the prevalence of disease in a war zone but a collapse in modern health care.

When thinking about how technological and organizational innovation influences

warfare, one has to admire Chechen resolve. Despite the fact that 30 percent of Chechnya is
considered to be ecologically dangerous territory, Chechnya is able to field a large enough
force to create havoc with the hierarchical Russian military. However, since the early 1990s,
there have been about 15,000 small crude oil production facilities that produce some two
million tons. In the first years of oil production after de facto Chechen independence, when
the processing technology was imperfect, light distillate was dumped underground through
special wells. As a result, a huge oil field of one million tons has emerged under
Starozavodskii raion. When Chechens search for water, petroleum springs up through the
residue and soil. This oil waste seeps into the Sunzha, Argun, and Terek rivers, polluting the
entire region and its ecosystem. Oil wells are also igniting by accident and on purpose with
estimates of up to 300 tons of oil perishing daily with flames reaching 1.5 kilometers into the
atmosphere.97 Moreover, one of the key problems in Chechnya, and Grozny in particular, is
the lack of potable water and a sewage system. All wastes have been dumped into the Sunzha
River since the sewage system ceased to function in 1993.98 A large amount of poisonous
chemical substances, including tetrachloride, are entering the Chechen watershed. The fear
is that the waste will flow into the Caspian Sea.99

Chechnya has a wide depository of nuclear and chemical waste. The Grozny chemical
combine remains a danger area where 27 containers of radioactive cobalt are located in an
underground vault. Three people have already died from trying to open one of the
containers.100 Radioactive waste is buried to the northeast of Tolstoy-Yurt and to the south of
Vinogradnoye village. The burial site, covering more than 12 acres and containing solid
radioactive waste—including cesium and cobalt isotopes, was once considered safe from
sabotage.101 Chlorine clouds pollute Chechnya. Tank cars with a capacity of 60 tons of
chlorine solution with oil were detonated, sending clouds of toxic gas over the countryside.102
Chechnya is a wasteland equal to or beyond most parts of the Russian Federation.

Conclusion

The Russian Federation’s efforts to craft a modern military establishment on par with
that of the United States or other advanced nations faces a number of challenges. While the
deteriorating health and demographic situation in the Russian Federation seldom attract
much attention, their consequences are very likely to prove critical to an understanding of the
future of the Russian armed forces, more so even than many of the events which now garner

90

headlines. Although some health and demographic problems appear to occur less often in the
armed forces than in the population at large, the military will have to expand its health care
system at a time when there is increasing demand for health care services for the civilian
population. This competition for medical resources will be another impediment to Russia’s
efforts to develop a truly modern military establishment.

In no small part, this is because the type of wars Russia will likely fight in the future will
require healthy soldiers who are fully capable of operating high-tech equipment and
exercising clear thinking. Environmental conditions that impair the physical or mental
development of Russia’s children today cannot but have a serious impact on their physical
and intellectual capabilities as future soldiers, as pointed out by Dr. Odelia Funke in this
volume. Moreover, because Russia’s environmental and health problems are not amenable to
easy or quick solutions, and the wars of the future are likely to be counterinsurgency actions
or to take place in an urban setting, soldiers will likely require expanded health care. The
increase in disease among Russian forces fighting in Afghanistan is but one example of these
problems. This demand for increased health care will come at a time when the authorities are
trying to devote available resources to modernization and, at times, to increased military
operations such as those in the Northern Caucasus.

Russia’s thinking about its military will have to change as well. For example, the Russian
armed forces are too ponderous to fight effectively in Chechen-style urban combat unless, of
course, they resort consistently to massed fire techniques that result in significant civilian
casualties and the destruction of the cities being fought over, Stalingrad-style. The
combination of soldiers who are both physically and mentally less capable and inappropriate
organizational and technological models creates potential weaknesses that can be exploited
by a skillful enemy.

Moreover, even if the Russian Ministry of Defense wholeheartedly embraced military

reform, it would be difficult economically for Russia to maintain a large contract or
professional force. New technologies are likely to be highly expensive to develop and place
into production in numbers sufficient to equip a large force. With such multiple demands, it
may be beyond Moscow’s ability to feed, clothe, equip, and train a modern and effective force of
500,000 to one million men in contemporary conditions.103 Thus, ensuring that Russia can
respond to its huge health demands while incorporating the developments stemming from a
contemporary revolution in military affairs is a multi-faceted challenge. Beyond the
technological and organizational advances that must be made and incorporated, Russia must
address health and demographic issues on a broad scale. It must address the fundamental
and underlying causes of the deteriorating health of the Russian population as a whole to
ensure the future human capital that is required for a military establishment, but it must also
develop a new attitude and a new approach to maintaining the health of those already serving
the country in the military.

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Endnotes
1. I wish to thank Professor Murray Feshbach of Georgetown University for his guidance in the early stages
of this project. I would also like to thank the RAND Arroyo Center, particularly Tom Szayna and Dave Kassing,
for their support.

2. Julia DaVanzo and David Adamson, Russia’s Demographic Crisis: How Real Is It? Santa Monica, CA:
RAND, CF-124-CRES, 1996; Paul Goble, “Russia: Analysis From Washington—Demography And
Development,” RFE/RL Analysis, 2 August 1999.

3. Murray Feshbach and Alfred Friendly, Jr., Ecocide in the USSR: Health and Nature Under Siege, New
York: Basic Books, 1992; Murray Feshbach, Ecological Disaster: Cleaning Up the Hidden Legacy of the Soviet
Regime, New York: Twentieth Century Fund, 1995; Murray Feshbach, “Environmental and Health Problems in
the Former Soviet Union: Does it Matter to the United States?” Post-Soviet Prospects, vol. 6, no. 2, August 1998,
downloaded from http://www.csis.org/ruseura/psp/pspvi2.html; D.J. Peterson, Troubled Lands: The Legacy of
Soviet Environmental Destruction, Boulder: Westview Press, 1993.

4. Ibid.

5. Laurent Chenet, et al., “Alcohol and Cardiovascular Mortality in Moscow: New Evidence of A Causal
Assocation,” Journal of Epidemiology and Community Health, vol. 52, no. 12, December 1998, pp. 772-774.

6. Murray Feshbach, “Dead Souls,” The Atlantic Monthly, January 1999, via Johnson’s Russia List
(Hereafter JRL).

7. Even drug use and the spread of AIDS are beginning to appear in elite Russian forces. In the former
Dzerzhinskii Division now the (OMON of the MVD), heroin use and several cases of AIDs have emerged. See
“Soldiers in the Elite Dzerzhinskii Division Have Infected Each Other With AIDS,” Moskovskii komsomolets, 3
February 1999, p. 1.

8. Murray Feshbach, “A Sick and Shrinking Nation,” Washington Post, 24 October 1999 via JRL.

9. Oksana Yablokova, “Population Takes Biggest Plunge Yet,” Moscow Times, January 26, 2000 via JRL.
For 1990-1998 figures, see Theodore Karasik, USSR Facts and Figures Annual, Gulf Breeze, Florida: Academic
International Press, vol. 17, 1992, pp. 111-112; Theodore Karasik, Russia and Eurasia Facts and Figures
Annual, Gulf Breeze, Florida: Academic International Press, vol. 18, 1993, pp. 67-68; Theodore Karasik, Russia
and Eurasia Facts and Figures Annual, Gulf Breeze, Florida: Academic International Press, vol. 20, 1994, p. 3;
and Theodore Karasik, Russia and Eurasia Facts and Figures Annual, Gulf Breeze, Florida: Academic
International Press, vol. 21, 1993, p. 135.

10. According to Feshbach: “Keeping these data in mind, then, if one uses the total fertility rate (TFR) to
project the population, usually the medium scenario assumes that mortality will not worsen nor
improve–although in the case of Russia that it will improve is to me somewhat a heroic assumption. Thus, using
as a model the TFR projection for West Germany prepared by the Population Reference Bureau (PRB) in
Washington, in 1985, its impact, and the analogy for Russia of various levels of the TFR in 3 assumptions of first,
a dramatic increase in the period 2007-2027, second, an improvement to simple reproduction of 2.1 in the same
projected period, and third, constant at 1.3 children per women over her reproductive years. Nothing sufficient
to raise the Russian TFR to 2.5 in the future can be anticipated, and even with a 2.5 TFR, PRB’s chart yields a
figure of 62 million (equal to the population of West Germany in 1982) only by 2102 or so, 50 years after the point
of concern. Russia likely will not even return to 2.1, the level for simple reproduction of the population. With
reproductive health of women so poor (75% of women have a serious pathology during their pregnancy), it may
not even hold at 1.3. There are numerous other reasons for a reduced TFR: stress, the choice to have no or very
few children, forced migration, poverty of a large portion of the population wherein malnutrition of young
women can affect their ability to have children or the fetus is weak, and dramatic increases in sexually
transmitted diseases and their impacts on reproductive potential, tuberculosis spreading throughout the

92

population, dramatic increases in anemia among pregnant women, fetal losses due to spontaneous abortions,
etc. Thus, using the PRB illustration for West Germany made in 1985, assuming mortality stays at a constant
level (already a problem for Russia, as it is again increasing after a dip of several years), and increases in 2
scenarios to 2.1 or to 2.5 during entire period, 25 years, 2002- 2027, the chart shows the population future. It
should be noted that the TFR in the Russian Federation has never exceeded 2.194 (in 1987) since 1960. But if it
declines to 1.3 and holds steady at that point, then the implication is that in 2052, the population of West
Germany would be about 55 percent of its then current level of 1982, or a drop of 45 percent in that period. Thus,
using this proportion, the analogy for Russia where the TFR has been dropping steadily to 1.23 in 1997, already
below 1.3, and is not likely to be any higher (not only for demographic reasons, but also for health reasons
assuming for the moment that economic stresses are not exacerbated), then the population of Russia will drop to
80 million persons (146.0) x (.55)=(80.3) by mid-century.” See Murray Feshbach, “A Comment on Recent
Demographic Issues and a Forbidding Forecast,” JRL, August 4, 1999.

11. Job C. Henning and S. Enders Wimbush, The Impact of Demographic Crisis on Russia’s Future
Economy, McLean, VA: Hicks & Associates, Inc., May 1999.

12. Andrew Krepinevich and A.J. Bacevich, “Cavalry to Computer: The Pattern of Military Revolutions,”
The National Interest, no. 37, Fall 1994, pp. 30-42; Phillip L. Ritcheson, “The Future of ‘Military Affairs’:
Revolution or Evolution?” Strategic Review, vol. 24, no. 2, Spring 1996, p. 31; and Clifford J. Rodgers, ed., The
Military Revolution Debate: Readings on the Military Transformation of Early Modern Europe, Boulder, CO:
Westview Press, 1995, pp. 152-153, 163-164.

13. Richard Hellie discusses the staffing of the military from the ranks of serfdom as a source of conscription.
See Enserfment and Military Change in Muscovy, Chicago: University Press, 1971. David Saunders and Hugh
Seton-Watson discuss the formation of military colonies under the direction of Arakcheev’s command during the
reign of Alexander. See Russia in the Age of Reaction and Reform 1801-1881, London: Longman, 1992; and Hugh
Seton-Watson, The Russian Empire 1801-1917, Oxford: University Press, 1967. Both of these general histories
give good accounts of specific battles, particularly during the Napoleonic War of 1812 and the retreat of the
Grand Army. Seton-Watson discusses the numbers of casualties but omits any mentions of health and
demography as a general military trend, instead revolving his discussions around generals and strategy. The
same approach is taken for discussions of the Decembrist uprisings of 1825, with a focus on the executions of the
officers involved. David Ralston’s Importing the European Army: The Introduction of European Military
Techniques and Institutions to the Extra-European World, 1600-1914, Chicago: University Press, 1990, omits
any discussion of medical care. See also Nikolaus Basseches, The Unknown Army: The Nature and History of the
Russian Military Forces, New York: Viking Press, 1963; and Elise Wirtschafter’s From Serf to Russian Soldier,
Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1990.

14. Ritcheson, p. 32.

15. John Shelton Curtiss, The Russian Army Under Nicholas I, 1825-1855, Durham, North Carolina: Duke
University Press, 1965, p. 250. See Bruce W. Menning, Bayonets Before Bullets: The Imperial Russian Army,
1861-1914, Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 1992, p. 82.

16. For a good review of Soviet-era medical corps and training, see Amnon Sella, The Value of Human Life in
Soviet Warfare, New York: Routledge, Chapman and Hall 1992, pp. 11-31.

17. Edward N. Luttwak, “Delusions of Soviet Weakness,” Commentary, January 1985, pp. 32-33.

18. Stephen Blank, “Preparing for the Next War: Reflections on the Revolution in Military Affairs,”
Strategic Review, vol. 24, no. 2, Spring 1996, pp. 17-25; Amnon Sella, pp. 11-31.

19. Heroin use in the Strategic Rocket Forces has become a problem in the 12th Main Directorate which
supervises tactical nuclear weapons. See Deborah Ball, “How Safe is Russia’s Nuclear Arsenal?” Jane’s
Intelligence Review, vol. 11, no. 12, December 1999, p. 11.

93

 20. Nicholas Eberstadt, “Russia: Too Sick to Matter?” Policy Review, June & July 1999, no. 95 via
http://www.policyreview.com/jun99/eberstadt.html. Eberstadt quotes John C. Reppert, “The Russian Military
and New Approaches to Warfare,” unpublished paper, Workshop on Russian Military Innovations, SAIC
Strategic Assessment Center, McLean, VA, January 12, 1999. Reppert argues that even if Russia cannot
institutionalize its own RMA, it may be able to react with some effectiveness against RMA by other states
through asymmetric responses by disrupting its opponents’ information systems. For information technologies
and RMA, see Paul K. Van Riper and F.G. Hoffman, “Pursuing the Real Revolution in Military Affairs:
Exploiting Knowledge-Based Warfare,” National Security Studies Quarterly, vol. 4, no. 3, Summer 1998, pp.
1-19.

21. Stephen Blank, “Preparing for the Next War: Reflections on the Revolution in Military Affairs,” pp.
17-25. See also Ritcheson, pp. 31-40; and Krepinevich and Bacevich, pp. 30-42.

22. James Kraska, “The Uninhabited Future of Military Operations,” National Security Studies Quarterly,
vol. 4, no. 1, Winter 1998, pp. 86-90.

23. B.P. Brui, V.I. Dmitriyev, and M.M. Balygin, “Some Medical, Demographic, and Social Aspects of
Adolescent Development,” Zdravookhraneniye rossiiskoi federatsii, March-April 1999, no. 2, pp. 41-47.

24. N.F. Gerasimenko, “The Health and Public Health Crisis as a Threat to the Country’s National
Security,” Vestnik rossiiskoi akademii meditsinkikh nauk, April 1998, no. 4, pp. 58-62.

25. Brui, pp. 41-47.

26. “Interview with Dr. P.I. Melnichenko, chief public health physician of the RF Ministry of Defense,”
Krasnaia zvezda, May 25, 1999, p. 1.

27. Brui, pp. 41-47.

28. Andrei Glushkov, “What Worries the Military Physician?” Chelyabinskii rabochii, October 30, 1998 as
cited from FTS19981105002022, November 5, 1998.

29. In Chechnya 2, the objective of obtaining a divorce to avoid a male offspring’s induction has become a way
to avoid the draft. With each draft, about 25 percent of the armed forces’ personnel is replaced. In the spring
draft last year, a presidential decree called for 168,776 men to be drafted, of whom 120,900 were destined for the
armed forces. The rest were sent to other units like the border guards. See Celestine Bohlen, “Mothers Help
Sons Outwit Draft Board In Wartime Russia,” New York Times, January 30, 2000, p. 1.

30. P.M. Shalimov et al., “Automated System for Integral Scoring of Functional Reserves of Military
Personnel,” Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, May 1999, vol. 230, no. 5, pp. 45-51; “Russian Army Still Concerned
About Conscript Quality,” FTS19991005001099, October 5, 1999.

31. Vladimir Mukhin, “Results of Draft Campaign: Troops Manning Plan Met 100 Percent,” Nezavisimaia
gazeta, January 20, 1999, p. 2.

32. ITAR-TASS, February 16, 1998 as cited in FTS19980216000859.

33. Vadim Kufeld and Vladimir Mukhin, “A Campaign Against Illiteracy From the Military Commissar in
Chief,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, May 21, 1999, no. 9, pp. 9, 12.

34. Ivan Sas, “Has Mobilization Begun? “Fall Draft Will Take Place in Conditions Approximating to Combat
Conditions,” Segodnia, October 2, 1999, p. 2; ITAR-TASS, 22 October 1999 as cited in “Caucasus Situation May
Affect Military Draft,” FTS19991023000049, October 23, 1999.

35. RIA, February 27, 1998 as cited in “35 Percent of Siberian Draftees Unfit for Military Service,”
FTS19980227000994, February 27, 1998.

94

 36. N.F. Gerasimenko, pp. 58-62. Yet, there is the suspicion that many diseases are invented, stories told,
and officials bribed to avoid service. So, to what degree are those figures translated into “fact” when a recruit
reports for the draft? See Petr Sukhanov, “Draft Gathers Momentum. First 20 New Recruits Already Serving in
Presidential Regiment,” Nezavisimaia gazeta, November 4, 1999, p. 2.

37. “Interview with Dr. P.I. Melnichenko, chief public health physician of the RF Ministry of Defense,” p. 1.

38. Ibid., p. 1.

39. “Poor Living Conditions Harm Health,” Krasnaia zvezda, October 9, 1997, p. 2.

40. Ibid., p. 1.

41. Kufeld Mukhin, “A Campaign Against Illiteracy From the Military Commissar in Chief,” pp. 9, 12;
Nikolai Grachev, “The Army and Society: We Discuss the Draft Military Doctrine: Let’s Not Lose the Best,”
Krasnaia zvezda, November 13, 1999, p. 2.

42. N.N. Lyubimskii and N.I. Lyshenko, “Selected Trends in Morbidity in the Armed Forces,”
Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, January 1999, vol. 320 no. 1, pp. 46-53.

43. Ibid.

44. Ibid.

45. Ibid.

46. Ibid.

47. Ibid.

48. Ibid.

49. Ibid.

50. Ibid.

51. Ibid.

52. Feshbach, “A Sick and Shrinking Nation,” October 24, 1999.

53. Lyubimskii and Lyshenko, pp. 46-53

54. Ibid.

55. Ibid.

56. Ibid.

57. Ibid.

58. Yu. I. Yakima et al., “Experience in Using an SW Treatment Unit for Prevention of Immunodeficiency in
the Presence of Acute Respiratory Diseases,” Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, May 1999, vol. 230, no. 5, pp. 58-59.

59. ITAR-TASS, January 10, 2000 as cited in “Less Bullying, Draft-Dodging in Russian Army,”
FTS20000110000692, January 10, 2000.

60. RFE/RL Newsline, vol. 3, no. 15, Part I, January 22, 1999.

95

 61. Lyubimskii and Lyshenko, pp. 46-53.

62. Nezavisimaia gazeta, January 20, 1999 via RFERL.

63. AP and ITAR-TASS, December 1, 1998 via RFERL.

64. For an overview of hazing and its mental aftermath in both Tsarist and Russian armies, see Stephen J.
Blank, “Valuing the Human Factor: The Reform of Russian Military Manpower,” Journal of Slavic Military
Studies, vol. 12, no. 1, March 1999, p. 83; and Elise Wirtschafter, From Serf to Russian Soldier, Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1990, p. 93.

65. Moskovskii komsomolets, February 19, 1999 via RFERL.

66. Christian Science Monitor, February 1, 1999 and ITAR-TASS, February 22, 1999 via RFERL.

67. Nezavisimaia gazeta, December 23, 1998; Washington Post, December 29, 1999 via RFERL.

68. Medical deferments provide an increasingly popular way out; according to recent statistics, more than
30 percent of draft-age men are excused for medical reasons. The high rate is usually explained by the
deteriorating health of the male population generally, but it may also be due to efforts by concerned mothers.
According to a recent account, one mother stated: “Get your own checkup before your son is called up to the
medical commission. Please, please, remember, if he has any medical complaints, get them documented—send
him to as many clinics as you can. I know what they will say at the draft board; they will say that he is healthy,
that you bought the medical records. Believe me, I know plenty of doctors who want to send your sick son into the
armed forces. There is not a disease, ailment or injury that some parents cannot fight. Hepatitis A, B, C, it
doesn’t matter: six months. Spinal disorders. I am glad somebody mentioned that. If it is a third degree, then it
can be a deferrable disease. Migraines? Accompanied by fainting? Get it checked. It can be deferrable. Ulcers?
Beware of radical imported medicines. They are so effective they can clear away the scar tissue, and you don’t
want that.” See Celestine Bohlen, “Mothers Help Sons Outwit Draft Board In Wartime Russia,” New York
Times, January 30, 2000, p. 1.

69. ITAR-TASS, February 22, 1999.

70. I.M. Chizh, “Organizational Aspects of Specialized Medical Aid to Military Personnel,”
Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, March 1999, vol. 320, no. 3, pp. 4-10.

71. Ibid.

72. Mikhail Shchepakin, “The Rear and Chechnya,” Armeiskii sbornik, June 1995, p. 20.

73. Ibid.

74. Ibid, pp. 20-21.

75. Lester W. Grau and Tim Thomas, “Soft Log and Concrete Canyons: Russian Urban Combat Logistics in
Grozny,” Marine Corps Gazette, October 1999 via http://call.army.mil/call/fmso.

76. According to Grau and Thomas, dry rations are similar to the old U.S. Army C-rations. There are three
types of dry rations. The first contained a can of meat, some crackers or toast, some jam, and a tea bag. The
second contained two cans of meat mixed with oatmeal. The third contained a can of meat and a can of
vegetables or fruit. See Lester Grau, The Bear Went Over the Mountain: Soviet Combat Tactics in Afghanistan,
London: Frank Cass, 1998, p. 5.

77. Grau and Thomas.

96

 78. P.I. Ogarkov et al., “Epidemiological Characteristics and Laboratory Diagnosis of Hepatitis Virus in
Federation Military Forces on the Territory of the Chechen Republic,” Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, August
1996, p. 48.

79. Novichkov, p. 23; Lester W. Grau and William A. Jorgensen, “Handling the Wounded in a
Counter-Guerrilla War: The Soviet/Russian Experience in Afghanistan and Chechnya,” US Army Medical
Department Journal, January/February 1998, pp. 2-10.

80. NTV, April 25, 1996 as cited in “Chechen War Creates New Military Study of Bullet Wounds,”
FTS19960425000820, April 25, 1996.

81. N.N. Novichkov et al., Russian Armed Forces in the Chechen Conflict: Analysis, Results, and
Conclusions, Moskva: Holweg-Infoglove-Trivola, 1995, p. 131.

82. Ibid., p. 132.

83. Ibid., p. 134.

84. Yuri Savvin, “The War Life,” Armeiskii sbornik, March 1995, p. 45.

85. Lester W. Grau and William A. Jorgensen, “Viral Hepatitis and the Russian War in Chechnya,” U.S.
Army Medical Department Journal, May/June 1997, pp. 2-5.

86. I.T. Handy, S. Dittmann, and R. Sutter, “Current Situation and Control Strategies for Resurgence of
Diphtheria in Newly Independent States of the Former Soviet Union,” Lancet, no. 347, 1996, pp. 1739-1744.

87. V.S. Novikov, “Physiological Guarantees of Military Recruits in Armed Conflict,” Voyenno-meditsinskii
zhurnal, no. 4, April 1996, pp. 37-40.

88. Ibid., pp. 37-38.

89. Ibid., p. 39.

90. V.A. Varfolomeyev, “Principles of Pharmacological Correction of the Combat Capability of Personnel
under Extreme Conditions of Activity,” Voyenno-meditsinskii zhurnal, March 1999, vol. 320, no. 3, pp. 65-71; I.I.
Kozlovskii et al., The Pharmacology of Military Stress: Results from a Moscow Conference, Moskva: 1996.

91. Tatyana Batenyeva, “Chechnya Should Get Well. Medical Aid Will Have to be Provided in the Liberated
Regions,” Izvestiya, December 22, 1999, p. 3.

92. John Arquilla and Theodore Karasik, “Chechnya: A Glimpse of Future Conflict?” Studies in Conflict &
Terrorism, vol. 22, 1999, p. 210; Michael Specter, “Commuting Warriors in Chechnya,” New York Times,
February 1, 1995, p. 6.

93. Consultation on Applied Health Research in Complex Emergencies, Geneva and New York: World
Health Organization, October 28-29, 1997.

94. ITAR-TASS, January 11, 2000 as cited from “Various Forms of TB Widespread in Chechnya,”
FTS20000111000226, January 11, 2000.

95. ITAR-TASS, December 20, 1999 as cited in “Work Ongoing to Fight Diseases in Chechnya,”
FTS19991221001230, December 21, 1999. But there is no guarantee that this strain will be eradicated.

96. Murray Feshbach, “CIS Post-Soviet Prospects,” via http://www.csis.org/htmtl/pspvi2.html.

97. Valerii Menshchikov, “A Bucket of Water Costs 1,000 Rubles in Grozny,” Moskovskaya pravda,
September 16, 1995, pp. 1,8; ITAR-TASS, November 2, 1999 as cited in “Chechen Site Holds N. Caucasus’

97
Radioactive Waste,” FTS19991102001770, November 2, 1999; RIA, November 30, 1999, as cited in “Five Oil
Wells Still Ablaze in Chechnya,” FTS19991201999318, December 1, 1999.

98. Menshchikov, pp. 1, 8.

99. Rezonansi, November 9, 1999 as cited in “Chechen Catastrophe From Bombing,” FTS19991214001461,
December 14, 1999; ITAR-TASS, December 24, 1999 as cited in “Chechen Hostilities Blamed for River
Pollution,” FTS19991224000830, December 24, 1999.

100. ITAR-TASS, September 24, 1999 as cited in “Dangerous Radiation Source Found in Chechnya,”
FTS19990925000751, September 25, 1999.

101. ITAR-TASS, November 2, 1999 as cited in “Chechen Site Holds N. Caucasus’ Radioactive Waste,”
FTS19991102001770, November 2, 1999; ITAR-TASS, November 29, 1999, as cited in “Chechen Site Holds N.
Caucasus’ Radioactive Waste,” FTS19991129000132, November 29, 1999.

102. RIA, December 10, 1999 as cited in “Toxic Cloud in Chechnya: Rebels Detonate Chlorine Tank,”
FTS1999121000813, December 10, 1999.

103. It is important to note that U.S. forces also undergo readiness and morale problems that could have
health consequences affecting the capabilities of American forces, especially in urban combat. See Walter F.
Ulmer, Joseph Collins, and Owen Jacobs, American Military Culture in the 21st Century, Washington, DC:
CSIS, 2000; and Carl Builder and Theodore Karasik, Organizing, Training and Equipping the Air Force for
Crises and Lesser Conflicts, Santa Monica, CA: RAND, MR-626-AF, 1995.

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 Economic Foundations of Russian Military

Modernization: Putin’s Dilemma

Steven Rosefielde

Introduction

It was broadly agreed among discussants at the conference titled “The Russian Armed
Forces at the Dawn of the Millennium” that the Kremlin has fallen on hard times. No one
disputed that Russia’s gross domestic product has roughly halved since 1989, that
unemployment is in the high double digits; that income inequality has widened, that
population figures have plummeted, or that the military is in disarray. Nor is there any doubt
that the debacle was caused by some mix of bad western advice, domestic political ineptitude,
and audacious corruption.1

It is equally evident that Russia’s failed transition has impaired its national security. The
Kremlin retains ample nuclear forces, and continues some high tech weapons programs, but
its conventional armies, command control, training, and readiness are crumbling. Moreover,
Moscow is clearly behind the power curve in the Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA) and
Information Warfare (IW).

This reversal of fortune has greatly diminished Russia’s power to influence and subdue.
The military cannot project its forces abroad, and was barely able to quell the insurrection in
Chechnya; its historical spheres of influence in Eastern Europe, the Baltic, the Ukraine,
Azerbaijan, and the Caucasus region are in jeopardy.2

What will Russia’s new helmsman do? This essay explores the economic factors governing
Vladimir Putin’s choices in an effort to assess the probable course of the military
modernization initiative he claims to support. The emphasis throughout will be on the
deterministic power of economics, rather than on the traditional question of Chto delat’?
(What ought to be done?). The Kremlin does not need a tutorial on what to do. It knows
perfectly well that it should radically restructure property rights, install the rule of law,
protect free enterprise, and adopt a defense strategy that simultaneously stabilizes peace,
and efficiently deters external intrusions on its sovereignty. But it won’t. The same
culturally embedded forces that led Yeltsin to sacrifice the development of generally
competitive market capitalism to the higher purposes of annihilating his enemies and
empowering kleptocracy are likely to dominate Putin’s actions. It is these factors which will
govern the magnitude and character of Russia’s military modernization in the years ahead,
not vice versa. Putin will not adopt an optimally functioning market as the best strategy for
safeguarding national security, restoring its superpower, and advancing the cause of global
tranquility. He will take a different path co-determined by elite priorities and the economic
system they entail. As promised, he may restore Russian conventional capabilities to near

99

the Soviet level, but this will not suffice. It will leave the nation vulnerable to superior
technological forces and to a waning position in the global economic hierarchy. These somber
prospects could make Russia a vortex of instability in an increasingly volatile Eurasian/Asian
security environment, prompting Western policymakers to consider whether Moscow’s
intractable economic weakness warrants shifting from the Cold War idealist doctrine of
mutual deterrence to strategic independence in order to better cope with intensifying global
disorders.

Russia’s Military-Industrial Potential: Capital And Labor

Economics imposes three distinct kinds of restrictions on Russia’s military power. It

determines the nation’s productive potential, demand for defense services, and efficiency.
The steep decline in post-communist defense activities was prompted by the second of these
factors, a drastic reduction in demand. Yeltsin virtually eliminated new weapons orders for
most systems during his first administration, and kept procurement low thereafter. The
disintegration of production linkages associated with the breakup of the Soviet Union, and
subsequent economic restructuring also had an impact, as did neglect of the capital stock.
These developments led many to surmise that Russia has sustained an irreversible decline in
its military-industrial capabilities. The first order of business therefore in assessing the
Kremlin’s military modernization prospects is to ascertain whether the foregoing conjecture
is correct.

The data show that Russia’s capital and labor assets have deteriorated to a lesser degree
than supposed. Moscow can’t re-achieve Soviet levels of arms procurement soon, but it could
come surprisingly close, especially if parts suppliers in the Commonwealth of Independent
States cooperate. Figure 1 clarifies one aspect of this important matter, illustrating postwar
trends in new capital formation and the fixed capital stock. New capital formation refers to
current investment expenditures on installed assets and incomplete construction projects
intended for use in the production of future goods and services. It is a “flow,” an addition to
past investments, not a total measure of productive capital assets, and is valued here in
constant ruble prices. The figure reveals that new capital formation excluding housing
(“productive investment”) fell continuously during the 1990s from a benchmark of 100 to 19 in
1996, a decline exceeding 80 percent. Half of this decrease is explained by Russia’s economic
hyperdepression, the rest by the reduced share of new gross fixed capital formation in gross
domestic product (GDP) from levels nearly treble America’s to a figure only 50 percent
higher.3 Since industrial production, including military machine-building also fell
drastically over the same interval, many analysts infer that the capital stock diminished at
an equal rate, thereby reducing Russia’s military industrial capacity catastrophically. If, as
Abram Bergson’s estimates suggest,4 Russia’s capital stock (not the USSR’s) was 92 percent
of America’s in 1990,5 assuming proportionality the ratio should have fallen to 17.5 percent in
1996, precluding any significant challenge to U.S. military dominance for decades.6

Official statistics report, however, that Russia not only somehow managed to avert a
calamitous collapse of its capital stock, but it achieved a modest advance. The top line in

100

 Figure 1. New Russian Capital Formation and

Capital Stock Growth 1990-1996: Index 1190=100

110
106

100 Capital Stock

100

90
85

80 82

70

60
51
50
45
46 New Capital
40 Formation (NCF)
34
31
30 37
25

20 25
22
19
NCF Excluding
10
Housing

0
1990 1991 1992 1993 1994 1995 1996

Sources: Rossiiskii statisticheskii ezhegodnik, statisticheskii sbornik,

Goskomstat Rossii, Moscow 1997, p. 421; Steven Rosefielde, “Russia’s Productive
Capital Stock: Trends and Prospects,” Table 4.

Figure 1 shows that fixed reproducible productive assets (including unsold inventories,
semi-finished goods, and materials) grew at one percent annually during the 1990s. Using an
index with a basis of 100 in 1990, the capital stock increased to 106 in 1996, and 109 in 1999.
This miracle is mostly real, but also partly illusory. The preservation of the stock in the face of
plummeting current production is a reflection of the nature of the beast. Most of the fixed
capital stock was previously produced, and is affected only by current repair, maintenance,
and decommissionings. If existing assets are kept in service and in good repair, then there is
no reason for them to contract. And, of course, any new capital formation, no matter how

101

small compared with prior annual investments, will cause the stock to grow. From this
perspective a one percent rate of annual fixed capital stock growth isn’t astounding, and the
low level of current arms procurement should properly be interpreted as an indication of
Russia rearmament potential, with several important caveats.

The official capital stock data presented in Figure 1 have not been adjusted for
decommissionings, that is, establishments and durables removed from active service. Nor
has any allowance been made for physical deterioration (depreciation) and the underfunding
of repair and maintenance. Fixed capital stocks age and gradually lose their value, even if
they are properly maintained. Part of this depreciation is physical, and part is attributable to
obsolescence, the reduced ability of equipment to produce goods people currently demand.
Capital stocks are commonly adjusted for both types of losses by amortization accounting,
where statisticians estimate the historical rates at which fixed assets lose their value, and
apply this information to compute the “net” capital stock. The series reported by the Russian
government, and reproduced in Figure 1, does not do this, and should be discounted to more
accurately appraise the Kremlin’s military-industrial rearmament capacity. Information on
Soviet era amortization rates is available to perform a crude mechanical adjustment, but is
less helpful than it might be because these rates don’t reflect current conditions. On one
hand, present amortization rates should be higher than before because equipment has been
under-maintained, while the emergence of markets has accelerated obsolescence. On the
other hand, as incomes fall fewer people are able to afford high cost substitutes like foreign
imports, thus extending the services lives of old equipment. It is impossible therefore to
precisely compute the size of Russian’s net capital stock. The McKinsey Global Institute
plausibly suggests that it is 75 percent of the 1990 level today, given the product mix favored
by the “new Russians.7 A figure closer to 90 percent is probably appropriate for the old Soviet
product mix, including military procurements. Although, the capital stock has been
under-maintained, enterprise managers are reported to have carefully wrapped and
lubricated idle equipment, thereby largely preserving the options of the Soviet era.

This appraisal takes account of structural changes and technological improvements

contributed by new capital formation during the 1990s. Table 1 presents data on
compositional changes in the Russian industrial capital stock. It reveals that the old Soviet
capital structure remains in place. The largest component is still machine-building and
metalworking, which is more than treble the light industrial sector. The only shift has been
an increase in the capital shares of the electricity and fuels sectors, representing a rational
response to foreign demand, but no quantum change in Russia’s core productive strategy.
Likewise, the McKinsey Global Institute, after undertaking detailed sectoral studies, found
that embodied Russian industrial technologies haven’t been significantly modernized. The
E-revolution in microelectronics and telecommunications have barely touched the Kremlin’s
domains, leaving the nation far behind in a technological time warp. From a relative
standpoint, Russia today is probably more poorly positioned to integrate itself into the global
market system than it was a decade ago. During the Cold War, experts estimated that Soviet
technology was 10 to 20 years behind the West.8 Now the figure is more like 30 years. Other
things being equal, this implies that while Russia should be able to produce between 55 and
90 percent of the weapons procured by the Soviet Union in 1990, depending on the CIS’s

102

participation, manufacturing, and weapons technologies will almost certainly have fallen
seriously behind the Western standard, diminishing their military effectiveness.9

Table 1: The Composition of Capital by Industrial Sector (Year-end; at

Balance Prices; Billions of Rubles)

1980 1985 1990 1995 1996

Electricity 14.8 14.2 13.6 15.1 17.4
Fuels 12.4 14.6 17.5 22.7 20.9
Ferrous Metals 7.6 7.2 6.9 6.2 6.3
Non-Ferrous 4.9 5.0 4.9 5.4 5.6
Metals
Machine 26.3 26.9 27.2 22.3 22.8
Building &
Metal Working
(MBMW)
Chemical 9.0 8.8 8.3 8.9 8.4
Forest 6.0 5.6 5.1 4.3 4.4
Products
Woodworking
Construction 5.8 5.3 4.6 4.5 4.4
Materials
Textiles 3.5 3.2 3.8 2.1 2.1
Foods 6.5 6.0 6.0 5.7 4.8
Source: Rossiiskii statisticheskii ezhegodnik, statisticheskii sbornik, Moscow,
1997, Table 7.12, p. 295.

The same story holds broadly for Russia’s labor force, including military industrial
employment. Both have suffered substantial attrition and qualitative decline. In 1990 there
were 75.7 million Russian job-seekers, which the American demographer Stephen Rapawy
projected would rise to 81.4 million in 1998.10 Adjusting this figure upward to account for his
underestimate of actual migration brings the figure to 82.6 million laborers, who should have
been available for work in 1998.11 The actual figure, however, has turned out to be 73.1
million according to the Russian Statistical Bureau’s (Goskomstat’s) survey compilation.
Somewhere along the line 9.5 million workers who should have been in the labor force in 1998

103
mysteriously disappeared! And even this number is an underestimate because it doesn’t
include the transfer of Russian soldiers from military service to the civilian sector. All told
there are 11.3 million fewer laborers supporting production than there should be. Some 3.9
million died prematurely; 3.1 million men and 0.8 million women.12 The remaining 7.4
million are mostly discouraged workers, that is, individuals who find the prospects of
employment so hopeless that they inform employment surveyors that they aren’t looking for
work.

Russia’s labor assets accordingly have diminished in roughly the same proportion as the
“net” fixed productive capital stock. Its labor force is 13.4 percent less than it should be, and
5.1 percent less than 1990.13 The situation with respect to military-industrial employment is
more obscure. This has always been a tangled subject. Rapawy reports that there were 16
million workers in the machine-building and metalworking sectors in 1985, which should
have been enough to encompass the 10 million military machine-building employees
estimated by Western intelligence.14 According to Vitaly Vitebsky, Deputy Director of
Russia’s military-industrial complex, in an interview with the author in June 1999, this
figure has fallen to 400,000! Judging from the 54 percent decline in industrial production
during the 1990s, Vitebsky’s disinformative statistic is probably less than one-tenth the real
number, but there is no reason to doubt that attrition rates have been very high, with many
key workers resettling abroad.15 This must be considered a serious constraint on Russia’s
rearmament prospects, at least in the short run.

The health of Russia’s workforce should also be considered a significant negative factor.
This is most strikingly reflected in the premature death statistics. Nearly 4 million workers
perished before their time during the 1990s, and soaring death rates prefigure a continuation
of the trend. The mortality rate (per 1000 people) was 11.2 in 1990 and surged to 15.7 by 1994
before leveling off at an abnormally high level. Alcoholism, narcotics addiction, and
contagious diseases are at near epidemic levels, and Harley Balzer reports that almost 50
percent of Russian school children are mentally or physically handicapped.16 The quality of
labor has been similarly impaired by drastic budget cuts and failure to modernize Soviet-era
curricula. And ominously, birthrates are plummeting. There were 1.3 million newborns in
1998, nearly 700,000 fewer than in 1990.17 Deaths in the same year exceeded births by nearly
three-quarters of a million people, and even Russian demographers are predicting the
situation to worsen. The official Demographic Yearbook of Russia is forecasting that the
population could decline 11.8 million from 146.5 million at the end of 1997 to 134.7 million in
2010,18 and Murray Feshbach even more dramatically is predicting a further drop to 80
million by 2050.19 If his prognostication is right, Russia’s labor productivity will have to rise
almost 50 percent above the 1990 level for it to have any chance of rearming to the Soviet
standard.

All these woes do not preclude Russia’s military-industrial resurgence. There are
approximately 17 million idle, roughly 21 percent of the labor force, who could be mobilized for
civilian and military industrial activities, if Putin successfully primes the economic pump.20
Labor is largely fungible and retrainable over the medium term, and re-achieving Soviet-era
levels of arms procurement with the Kremlin’s diminished capital stock is not unthinkable.
But it would be a considerable exaggeration to say that the breeze is blowing Moscow’s way.

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Military-Industrial Potential: The Systems Factor

The productivity of capital and labor partly depends on their embodied technologies,
skills, maintenance, the purposes to which they are put, and the economic system used to
harness these potentials. The technologies and skills bequeathed to Putin by his Soviet
predecessors were designed to achieve specific objectives with a “command” model that
severely restricted individual scope and initiative in education, employment,
entrepreneurship, management, finance, production, distribution, and transfers, so that
resources could be dependably allocated to preferred ends. The approach was dictatorial. The
sovereign chose the program, charged his deputies with devising tasks, and appointed
supervisors to issue assignments and oversee their implementation. The chief attraction of
this system was the subordination of the population to the goals of the leader. The main
drawback from the state’s viewpoint was the distortion of microeconomic decisionmaking.
Stalin and his successors forbade private ownership of the means of production,
entrepreneurship, negotiated prices, and competitive markets, substituting plan directives,
price-fixing, and hodgepodge bonus incentives that thwarted efficient factor allocation,
production, finance, and distribution. “Red Directors” fully understood that the command
model sacrificed consumer welfare for state power, contenting themselves with incremental
improvements like profit-seeking and leasing aimed at minimizing microeconomic losses.
Mikhail Gorbachev, however, upset the applecart, aping Deng Xiaoping, and derivatively
Hitler’s infamous financial advisor Hjalmar Schacht.

Gorbachev’s program of radical economic reform as he embodied in Perestroika was to

reverse the “braking” effect of mounting microeconomic inefficiencies embedded in the
command model, and reinvigorate communism by optimally mixing markets and planning.21
The West misconstrued this intention, assuming that he really wanted to abandon
communism for competitive market capitalism. But he never aspired to destroy Party rule or
the command model. He merely wished to radically redesign the system so that he could
achieve the dynamism of capitalism with the authoritarian macro-control of communism.
Deng was having some success along these lines, and Hitler had previously shown the way.
He believed it could be done, but he was a reckless navigator who destroyed the Soviet ship
before reaching the other shore.

Unchastened, Boris Yeltsin spent his eight years in power trying to salvage Gorbachev’s
authoritarian agenda (dressed up as usual in democratic rhetoric) by displacing the
Communist Party as the de facto sovereign, and replacing it with a kleptocracy that retained
the command mentality of subordinating the public’s interests to the leaders’ agenda, while
creating corrupt markets to enrich his cronies.22 He smashed Communist Party power by
abolishing the remnants of central planning, freeing enterprises from ministerial micro
supervision, dismantling wage and price-fixing, disestablishing the state foreign trade
monopoly, partially transferring ownership in most enterprises to workers, managers, and
outside shareholders, and promoting entrepreneurship; actions perceived in Washington as
empowering consumers. But this didn’t happen because Yeltsin never had any intention of
subordinating the state to market control. Politics, not economics, was to be in command, just
as it had been under Communism, but with a twist. Instead of harnessing markets to bolster
the efficiency of state programs, Russia’s new institutions were designed as an engine for

105
transferring state assets and conferring “rents” (unearned government largesse) to the
post-communist elect. Many Western analysts were elated. They likened Yeltsin’s “new
Russians” to American “robber barons” like Rockefeller, Harriman, and Hill, failing to notice
that 19th century Western industrialists, for all their faults, were dedicated to advancing the
productive efficiency of their enterprises, whereas Russia’s kleptocrats aspire only to live
parasitically off their wealth and non-competitive contracting, while ruthlessly repressing
upstart competition. These dysfunctional practices are described in the literature as
“asset-grabbing,” “asset-stripping,” and “rent-seeking.” They are the hallmarks of a special
type of command economy—kleptocracy—driven by the logic of plunder rather than
entrepreneurial wealth creation, and reflected in the halving of Russia’s GDP, and a decade of
hyperdepression.23

Yeltsin led Russia into a blind alley. As long as his klepto-command system prevails, it
does not matter what the size, characteristics, and condition of the Federation’s capital assets
and labor force are. Russia will not be able to recover, modernize, and rearm; and as it falls
ever further behind its rivals it will become increasingly vulnerable to foreign domination and
dismemberment. Putin can choose to follow in Yeltsin’s footsteps, contenting himself with
lavish personal corruption. But he has two other alternatives, one illusory, the other real. He
could immediately use his authority to re-nationalize the means of production, confiscate
other unearned assets, redistribute these funds to productive entrepreneurs, build
competitive markets, and end audacious corruption by instituting the effective rule of law.
This is what Western “liberalizers,” ever since Lenin seized power in 1917, have been
recommending and asserting would spontaneously occur. But every serious Russian
economist knows that it is utterly fantastic. Russia’s elites might rhetorically agree to such a
social contract, but they would never abide by it. At best they will embark on a treadmill of
reform to improve the performance of the klepto-command system. There will be much
fanfare, but little tangible progress.

Putin’s other alternative is to jettison Yeltsinism, returning to Gorbachev’s conception of

command by gradually disciplining the kleptocracy, and harnessing the state’s contracting,
market regulatory, financial, and directive controls to maximize output through the full
employment of labor and capital. This can easily be accomplished by adopting Franklin
Roosevelt’s strategy of pump priming. Putin merely has to reinstate government contracts
canceled by Yeltsin for goods from enterprises with idle capacities, financed with credits from
the state bank, or through deficit budgetary spending. Wages and other incomes earned by
rehires will reinvigorate aggregate effective demand, as John Maynard Keynes explained
long ago, and their employment taxes can be applied later to the repayment of the national
debt. Western institutional advisors from the IMF and World Bank have generally opposed
this solution because it entails reconsolidating the command model, substituting the
contracting tactics of Schacht for Soviet-style administrative command planning. They
rightly reason that it makes little difference whether rearmament or the production of other
Soviet-era goods is achieved through contracted procurement programs or plan directives.24

But there is no reason for Putin to find this reprehensible. He doesn’t hold a grudge
against the Communists as Yeltsin did, and he shouldn’t feel obliged to over-indulge
kleptocracy. Of course, he probably doesn’t grasp how easy it would be to initiate a rapid

106
Schachtian recovery, but if he carries out his rearmament pledge he will learn by doing. Idle
production capacities in the military-industrial complex can be brought back on line quickly,
and millions rehired. Re-attaining the Soviet standard as has already been discussed will be
more arduous. Lost capital will have to be slowly replaced, and workers and parts suppliers
who exited the military-industrial complex will have to be re-attracted or supplanted with
new recruits. The closer economic activities in Soviet vintage firms approach old capacities
(their production possibilities), the tougher the sledding will become. And the restricted
competitiveness of Schachtian contracting will perpetuate most of the inefficiencies of
administrative command planning. Clearly, the option of perfect competition would be
better. But given the realities of the Russian system and culture, Putin is likely to find the
Schachtian devil’s bargain attractive. Significantly diminished unemployment, humming
business activity, and improved military prowess should quiet his critics and make him a hero
in most Russians’ eyes.25

Structural Militarism

The case for rearmament can be enhanced moreover by recognizing that the preferred
Western strategy of rapid competitive market transition will necessarily intensify the
obsolescence of Russia’s capital stock and labor skills. Moscow can produce large numbers of
horses and buggies with its inherited assets, but it can’t produce new millennium cars. Its
capacity for manufacturing high tech weapons, consumer goods, and investment goods is
comparatively small; from the standpoint of optimality, this capacity should not be pursued to
the exclusion of Soviet era alternatives, as the “shock therapists” advise. This disregard for
salvaging aspects of the Soviet legacy has been a prominent feature of Yeltsin’s radicalism,
and Putin can make points by seizing neglected opportunities.

None of these advantages, however, mean that rebuilding Russia’s Soviet-era mass
armies will have decisive security and economic benefits. Although rearmament pump
priming is better than Yeltsinism, it is also a dead end for two reasons. First, it keeps Moscow
shackled to the command paradigm. The microeconomic efficiency costs of a Schachtian
market-based procurement strategy, while probably less than Gorbachev’s mixed version of
administrative command planning, will be substantial, putting the Kremlin at a serious
disadvantage in any protracted contest with the West, and perhaps with China as well.26

Second, Vitaly Shlykov, former cochairman of the Russian Defense Council and GRU
overseer of the military-industrial complex, contends that these losses will be compounded by
“structural militarization,” that is, an institutional propensity for over-building
military-industrial capabilities in preparation for winning a “total” war.27 His seminal
insight here is that rearmament won’t just mean revving up idle capacities; it will lead to the
restoration of exorbitant strategic reserves, redundant capabilities, and heavy locational
dispersion costs that will starve military and economic modernization. Instead of scaling
defense forces to the level of the current probable threat, as the West does, the Russian
military industrial complex prepares for every contingency, a mind-set which causes
extravagant waste. For example, during the Soviet period steel and aluminum production

107

vastly exceeded internal requirements, with surplus output being reprocessed, or added to
the overstocked war mobilization strategic reserve. These peacetime excesses served the
Soviet Union well in the Second World War, but if resumed tomorrow will constitute a
tremendous economic burden that goes far beyond the hoary guns versus butter debate
because much of the redundant procurement capacities are likely to have no military value in
future conflicts.28

Putin cannot afford this extravagance. The command model is inefficient enough in itself
without having to shoulder the additional burden of structural militarization, yet this is
precisely what Shlykov predicts will happen, severely constraining Russia’s development and
growth prospects at a time when America and China are surging ahead. Figure 2 illustrates
Moscow’s dilemma. It shows that if Russia’s per capita GDP grows between 1995 and 2025 at
the rate of the late 1990s, its living standard and military economic potential will be dwarfed
by all the other great powers.29 Not only America’s, but also China’s per capita income will be
more than ten times Russia’s. Forecasts of these kinds, of course, are not chiseled in stone.
Perhaps the Kremlin will do better, and China’s heated growth will decelerate. Putin’s
rearmament pump priming itself should give Moscow a temporary respite. However, the
broad picture is basically correct. The command model, whether Schachtian or Soviet, is
inferior, and won’t allow Russia either to keep up with the RMA and the IW revolution or
prevent the other great powers from leaving it economically in the dust. Since culture and
politics almost certainly prevent Putin from switching to Western free enterprise, try as he
might Russia is likely to remain trapped between a rock and a hard place—unless of course
the West and China unilaterally withdraw from the security competition.

Strategic Independence

Economic and cultural forces thus appear to be fundamentally reshaping the foundations
of post-Cold War security policymaking. Throughout the Cold War, American leaders
appeared to believe that it was too costly and dangerous to strive for security independence,
settling instead for doctrines of mutual deterrence and superpower parity. Whenever
expensive defense programs like “Star Wars” were proposed, many persuasively argued that
they would exacerbate the “arms race” and be overwhelmed by Soviet countermeasures.
Whatever merits these old arguments might have had, the collapse of the Soviet Union and
the dismal decade of Yeltsinism have proven that the Russian military-industrial complex
cannot cope with sustained competition at any level of intensity. This creates the possibility
for the United States of a radically new implicit or explicit security doctrine based on strategic
independence. Instead of assuming that some form of parity, achieved through bilateral force
reductions (despite the ever present risks of deception) always minimizes the danger of great
power conflict, America finds itself in a position to exercise flexible superiority by building
forces like national ballistic missile defense which countervail the Russians regardless of the
procurement strategy they choose to adopt. By incorporating strategic independence in our
doctrine, and demonstrating the capability from time to time, we should be able to tutor Putin
into restricting rearmament pump priming to levels legitimate for the Federation’s security.
And this principle by extension may hold us in good stead in managing the destabilizing

108

threats emanating from South Asia, China, North Korea, and perhaps later Japan, if events
trigger a nuclear arms spiral involving these nations and Russia. The economic feasibility of
strategic independence of course does not make it wise, but the novel concept does appear to
deserve thoughtful consideration.

Figure 2: Great Power Per Capita GDP Growth, 1995-2025

$45,000

America
$40,000
42,167

$35,000

$30,000
China 29,534

26,977
$25,000 Europe
21,939 24,662

$20,000 Japan 21,939

19,418

$15,000

$10,000

4,531
$5,000 Russia 3,372

2,935
$0
1995 2025

Sources: Steven Rosefielde, Principles of Comparative Comparative Economic Systems: Foundations of

Wealth and Great Power in the 21st Century, draft text 2000, Chapter 15. The underlying data are mostly from
United Nations, Human Development Report 1998, New York: Oxford University Press, 1998. The projections
are extrapolated from the trends from 1995 to 1999.

Chaos Theory

The possibility that America may have a strategic independence card, because Russia can
neither make Schachtian command work efficiently nor transition to a market economy,
conflicts with Western economic idealism. Although few today are prepared to argue that

109
command economies are as good or better than free enterprise, there is a deep-seated
reluctance to concede that this means Russian-type economies will always underperform.
Without any basis in competitive theory, many appear to believe that all systems can be
modified, allowing lagging economies to converge to a common high frontier. It is therefore
important to draw attention to the fact that the gap between rich and poor nations has been
persistently widening throughout the postwar era and that there is no evidence to support the
notion that all types of market economies succeed equally.

Economic performance corresponds much better with the revolutionary diversity of

mathematical chaos theory, where multiple systems coexist in various states of order and
unpredictability rather than converging to a unitary ideal as rational expectations theorists
contend.30 Historical economic systems replicate themselves like Mandlebrot fractals, even
though they are internally buffeted by chaotic turbulence and unpredictable sequences of
disequilibrating events. Their specifications can evolve gradually, as the Soviet Union did for
three decades after Stalin’s death, or in quantum leaps (Yeltsinism), and occasionally they
can transform or perish in response to external shocks, chaotic or otherwise. The hypothesis
that the Russian command paradigm will persist for the next quarter century, from the
perspective of chaos theory, thus means that neither internal nor external perturbations will
be sufficient to constructively transform the dominant culture-driven pattern.31 Russians are
not unreasonable. The behavioral patterns they prefer, like asset grabbing, asset stripping,
and rent seeking, or authoritarian command, just do not happen to be compatible with the
efficiency axioms of Adam Smith’s invisible hand. Their conduct is no stranger than the
idealist notion that people everywhere eschew privilege and scrupulously adhere to the
principles of fair play.

Chaos theory also provides some insight into the conditions under which strategic
independence should be preferred. The crucial factor is chaotic turbulence. If the
environment is mostly well ordered and stable, then strategic independence is superfluous
and potentially destabilizing. If, however, it is volatile, as the threat of Russian rearmament
and Asian/Eurasian nuclear rivalries suggest, then strategic independence may be the lesser
evil.

Conclusion

Russia has the capability, motive, and perhaps the resolve to rearm, but it probably lacks
the ability to either devise a command model which can militarily subdue other great powers
or permit Putin to transition to competitive free enterprise. As such, given the mounting peril
of an Asian/Eurasian arms spiral and the risks of conflict elsewhere on the Federation’s
periphery, Russia should be viewed as a potential vortex of international security
destabilization that probably can be better managed through an implicit or explicit policy of
strategic independence than the obsolete Cold War concept of superpower parity.

110

Endnotes
1. OECD Economic Surveys, Russian Federation, Paris, March 2000; Janine Wedel, “Tainted Transactions:
An Exchange”, The National Interest, No. 60, Summer 2000, pp. 98-110; “Harvard, the Chubais Clan and
Russia’s Ruin,” The National Interest, No. 59, Spring 2000, pp. 23-34.

2. Perhaps in frustration, Russian armed forces resorted to terror attacks on civilian populations with
vacuum bombs. For a graphic documentary, see “Chechnya,” broadcast by the BBC, March 9, 2000.

3. Steven Rosefielde, “Russia’s Productive Capital Stock: Trends and Prospects,” paper presented to the
National Intelligence Council, Workshop on Russia’s Capital Structure, Rosslyn, VA, February 1, 2000, Table 6.

4. Steven Rosefielde, “Comparative Production Potential in the USSR and the West: Pre-Transition
Assessments,” in Steven Rosefielde, ed., Efficiency and Russia’s Economic Recovery Potential to the Year 2000
and Beyond, Ashgate, Aldergate, 1998, Table 7.A6, p.131. Bergson’s data form the core, and were updated with
supplementary information.

5. Russia’s share of the Soviet capital stock was 62 percent. Narodnoe khoziaistvo, 1990, p.290.

6. Allowing for the growth of America’s capital stock during the Nineties increases the disparity.

7. Unlocking Economic Growth in Russia, Moscow: McKinsey Global Institute, October 1999.

8. Ronald Amann, Julian Cooper, and R.W. Davis, The Technological Level of Soviet Industry, Yale
University Press, 1977. Ronald Amann and Julian Cooper, Industrial Innovation in the Soviet Union, Yale
University Press, 1982.

9. Despite the drastic decline in new capital formation, the share of investment in aggregate Russian GDP is
still officially greater than in America. However, discrepancies between savings and investment statistics cast
doubt on the Federation’s national income share data.

10. Stephen Rapawy, “Labor Force and Employment in the U.S.S.R.,” in Gorbachev’s Economic Plans, Vol.1,
Joint Economic Committee of Congress of the United States, Washington, DC November 23, 1987, Table 1,
pp.194-195, Table 5, pp.202-203, and 187-198. For further details see Stephen Rapawy and W. Ward Kingkade,
Estimates and Projections of the Labor Force and Civilian Employment in the U.S.S.R.: 1950-2000, U.S. Bureau
of the Census, Center for International Research, CIR Staff Paper, No. 45, Washington DC, September 1988.
Rapawy’s labor force estimates pertain to the Soviet Union. The Russian Federation’s civilian labor force for
1990 is taken from current Goskomstat data reported by the United Nations. The estimate for 1998 extrapolates
this figure using Rapawy’s trend line for the Soviet Union. United Nations Economic Commission for Europe,
Economic Survey of Europe, 1999, No.1, New York, 1999, Tables B5 and B6, pp.210-211. For a fuller discussion
of this complex topic, see Steven Rosefielde, “11.3 Million Russian Job-Seekers are Missing! The Civilian Labor
Force and Unemployment in the Russian Federation,” Europe-Asia Studies, December 2000.

11. The Bureau of the Census’s predicted migration for the Russian Federation was an inflow of 900,000
settlers between 1990 and 1998. The actual figure was 2.1 million immigrants higher. W. Wade Kingkade,
“Demographic Prospects in the Republics of the Former Soviet Union,” in The Former Soviet Union in
Transition, Vol.2, Joint Economic Committee, Congress of the United States, May 1993, Table 11, p.813. United
Nations Development Programmme, Human Development Report 1998, Oxford University Press, New York,
1998, Table 41, p.2000. “Russia’s August Crisis Changes Migration Patterns,” Transition, Vol.10, No.4, August
1999, p.10 and the underlying Table 3: Net Migration by country for the FSU States, 1989-1997(updated to
1998) with data provided by Tim Heleniak. The labor force adjustment entailed is computed using the labor
force participation rate for Russia in 1990, 50.6 percent.

12. For a fuller accounting see Steven Rosefielde, “11.3 Million Russian Job-Seekers are Missing! The
Civilian Labor Force and Unemployment in the Russian Federation.”

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 13. Rapawy’s estimates for the Soviet Union, adjusted for Russia using the Soviet labor force participation
rate of 50.6 percent, indicates that the Federation labor force in 1990 was 77.0 million, 3.9 million more than the
figure for 1998. The 5.1 percent estimated decline is computed from these numbers, but readers should note that
it may be distorted in either direction by differences in the definition of employment used by the American
Census Bureau and Goskomstat.

14. See Rapawy, “Labor Force and Employment in the U.S.S.R.,” p. 200. The precedents for inclusion and
exclusion are contradictory. The Soviet defense budget as we now know excluded weapons, but military
hardware, based on William T. Lee’s calculations, were included in the ruble statistics on MBMW. See William
T. Lee, The Estimation of Soviet Defense Expenditures for 1955-1975, Praeger, 1977, and Steven Rosefielde,
Underestimating the Soviet Arms Buildup, 2nd edition, Transaction Press, 1987, and Rosefielde, “Soviet
Defense Spending: The Contribution of the New Accountancy,” Soviet Studies, Vol. 41, No.3, October 1989. Igor
Birman, “Velichina Sovetskikh Voennykh Raskhodov: Metodicheskii Aspekt” (1990), reports that 4 million
workers in the Soviet nuclear weapons sector, plus space based mirrors for laser warfare, were excluded from
Goskomstat’s MBMW statistics. The figure was confirmed by Emil Ershov when he was a statistical chief at
Goskomstat. Also see William Lee, CIA Estimates of Soviet Military Expenditures, Errors, and Waste, AEI,
Washington, 19995, p.151, note 25.

15. According to Rossiya, there were 2.7 million workers in Russia’s military industrial complex in 1997.
See Wilhelm Unge, The Russian Military-Industrial Complex in the 1990s - Conversion and Privatization in a
Structurally Militarized Economy, FOA, 2000.

16. Michael Ellman, “The Increase in Death and Disease under ‘Katastroika,’” Cambridge Journal of
Economics, Vol.18, 1994, pp.329-255; and Ellman, “Transformation as a Demographic Crisis,” in Salvatore
Zecchini, ed., Lessons From the Economic Transition: Central and Eastern Europe in the 1990s, Kluwer
Academic Publishers(OECD), Dordrecht, Netherlands, 1997, pp.351-371; G.A. Cornia and R. Paniccia, “The
Transition’s Population Crisis: An Econometric Investigation of Nuptiality, Fertility and Mortality in Severely
Distressed Economies,” Most, No.1, 1996; Murray Feshbach, Environment and Health Atlas of Russia, Center
for Post-Soviet Studies, MD, 1994; Feshbach, Ecological Disaster: Cleaning up the Hidden legacy of the Soviet
Regime, The Twentieth Century Fund Press, New York, 1995; Judith Shapiro, “The Russian Mortality Crisis
and Its Causes,” in Anders Aslund, ed., Russian Economic Reform at Risk, London: Pinter, 1995, pp.149-178.
Shapiro shares Ellman’s belief that stress caused Russia’s excess death. Her model comes from the
‘biosociopsychological’ approach to understanding the sources of illness, and the term stress is not considered a
vague reference to “ills of modernity.” She does not consider the situation in Russia to be “apocalyptic” (as does
UNICEF ICDC, Public Policy and Social Conditions: Regional Monitoring Report, No.1, Florence 1993) and
dismisses Nicholas Eberstadt’s analogy to Operation Barbarossa or the Seige of Leningrad as “absurd” based on
the evidence through 1992, but perhaps the new evidence will alter her opinion. Also see Nicholas Eberstadt,
“Demographic Disaster: The Soviet Legacy,” The National Interest, Summer 1995, pp.53-57.

17. The Demographic Yearbook of Russia: Statistical Handbook, State Committee of the Russian Federation
of States, Moscow, 1997, Table 2.1, p.51.

18. Ibid, Table 8.1, p.549.

19. Murray Feshbach, “A Sick and Shrinking Nation,” Washington Post, October 24, 1999, p.B7.

20. Rosefielde, “11.3 Million Russian Job-Seekers are Missing! The Civilian Labor Force and
Unemployment in the Russian Federation” Table 8.

21. Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika: New Thinking for Our Country and the World, New York: Harper &
Row, 1987, pp.17-25.

22. The Deputy Director of the Ministry of Science and Technology Education told me gleefully in 1992 that
the destruction of communism was a bonanza, a once-in-a-century opportunity to plunder neighbors and become
fabulously rich.

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 23. For another interpretation of Russia’s residual command economy, see Clifford Gaddy and Barry Ickes,
“Russia’s Virtual Economy,” Foreign Affairs, Vol.77, No.5, September/October 1998, pp. 53-67.

24. If properly advised, Putin can mollify Western institutional advisors by pump priming without
rearmament, although given the size of the military-industrial complex the approach will generate smaller
returns. “Conversion” rarely works, and cannot be expected to provide substantial compensation.

25. If Putin carried out a successful pump priming campaign, he would be in a better position to proceed
further by embracing Western-style transition. But it would be a mistake to conclude that because he could, he
will. At the end of the day, Putin will find himself back at square one, with a more marketized variant of
Gorbachev’s command regime, handicapped by entrenched kleptocracy. Like his illustrious predecessor, he will
have to choose once again between gradualism and “shock therapy;” between the risk of elite sabotage, and the
perils of anarchy. Cf. Harvey Sicherman, “Yeltsin’s Legacy and Putin’s Plans,” Foreign Policy Research Institute
(E-Notes) January 18, 2000[[email protected]].

26. Michael Pillsbury, China Debates the Future Security Environment, Washington, DC: National Defense
University Press, 2000. The office of the Secretary of Defense is reported to be increasingly concerned about
China’s rapidly increasing military-industrial technological capabilities. See “Asia 2025,” International Herald
Tribune, March 20, 2000.

27. Workshop on Russian Strategy for the Third Millennium, Stockholm: FOA, March 20-21, 2000.

28. Lennart Samuelson, a Swedish economic historian and archival scholar who has closely studied what he
calls Russia’s “mobilization” model concurs with Shlykov’s judgment, and argues that Stalin’s war preparedness
saved Russia during the Second World War. Samuelson traces the concept to the Czarist advisor Ivan(Jan)
Bloch in the 1890s, documenting the broad adoption of total war mobilization doctrine in Western Europe during
the ensuing 60 years. See Rot koloss pa larvfotter-Rysslands Ekonomi i Skuggan av 1900-Talskrigen, SNS
Foriag, 1999, and Samuelson, Plan’s for Stalin’s War-Machine: Tukhachevskii and Military Economic Planning,
1925-1941, New York: MacMillan, 1999.

29. Dollar measures of comparative economic size, whether computed through the exchange rate or with the
purchasing power parity methodology, do not accurately reflect production potential of priority sectors in
command economies. Although Russian consumer goods continue to be inferior, and mostly unmarketable in
the West, the quality of its weapons is much closer to world standards, and its mass procurement capabilities are
prodigious.

30. Benoit Mandelbrot, Fractals: Form Chance and Dimension, San Francisco: W.H. Freeman, 1977;
Mandelbrot, The Fractal Geometry of Nature, New York: W.H. Freeman, 1982. Robert Devaney, An Introduction
to Chaotic Dynamical Systems, 2nd ed., Menlo Park: Addison-Wesley, 1989; Devaney, Chaos, Fractals and
Dynamics, Menlo Park: Addison-Wesley, 1990; James Gleicks, Chaos: Making a New Science, New York: Viking,
1987; Heiz-Otto Peitgan, Hartmut Jurgens, and Dietmar Saupe, Chaos and Fractals: New Frontiers of Science,
New York: Springer-Verlag, 1992; Ilya Progogine and Isabelle Stenders, Order Out of Chaos: Man’s New
Dialogue With Nature, New York: Bantam Books, 1998.

31. Stefan Hedlund, Russia’s “Market” Economy: A Bad Case of Predatory Capitalism, Padstow, U.K., 1999.

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 Part Two: The State of the Military

Introduction

Stephen J. Blank
Russia is now entering the second year of its second Chechen war. Like its predecessor,
this war was supposed to be terminated quickly and victoriously by the Russian army; and, as
happened in the first Chechen war, this forecast proved to be completely inaccurate. This
ongoing military failure points to the continuing inability of the Russian military
establishment, including the defense industry, to come to terms with post-Soviet reality.
Each of the chapters contained in this section reflects the varying degrees to which military
reform has or has not come to terms with current realities, either succeeding or failing to
make the transition to a new era. In retrospect, we can observe that one of the signal failures
of the Yeltsin era was the overwhelming neglect of military affairs by the government.
Yeltsin and his officials did not so much demilitarize the armed forces as they let it
decompose. As a result, the social pathologies of the armed forces—hazing, corruption,
brutality, politicization—that began under Gorbachev and Yeltsin have flourished since
1991. As Dale Herspring and Deborah Ball indicate, the basic organism of the armed forces is
now a very sick one, and, given Russia’s poverty and structural defects that make military
reform a difficult and often unrewarding challenge to political leaders, few good solutions are
in sight.

As John Reppert shows, the armed forces and the political leadership have both decisively
failed to deal with the requirements of reform and adapt their thinking and force-sizing
requirements to present military challenges. Nor have they figured out how to transition to a
professional army or to build forces capable of fighting in a high-tech environment. Although
there has been some substantial progress in creating force packages to wage the second
Chechen war, as demonstrated by Michael Orr, such measures have not dealt effectively and
perhaps could not deal effectively with the macro-strategic problems plaguing the armed
forces. A readiness to rethink traditional strategic verities, verities that survived due to the
enormous isolation of the Soviet Union from Western thinking and were then embedded in
social and cognitive structures that are difficult to uproot, has proven to be missing in the
armed forces.

Moreover, as Alexander Kennaway forcefully reveals, the defense industry (and perhaps
industry as a whole) has shown itself utterly unable of coming to terms with contemporary
requirements for engineering, marketing, product design, and a host of other requirements
that could make Russian products competitive either commercially or militarily. As a result,
Russian industry is unable to cope with contemporary challenges, the armed forces cannot
obtain the weapons it needs and wants, and both still believe that Russia will be bailed out by
government orders or that it must be prepared to fight traditional superpower coalitions and
wars. Thus neither the armed forces nor the defense industry are ready for the challenges

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presented by the current Chechen war and the bitter infighting in military and industrial
circles for resources. The scapegoating for these failures that has already begun can only
further weaken an already dangerously enfeebled and sick patient.

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 Seduced and Abandoned: Russian Civil-Military

Relations Under Yeltsin1

Deborah Yarsike Ball

“All the signs of a social crisis in the military are evident.”

—Armeiskii sbornik, journal of the General Staff of the

Russian Armed Forces, January 1997

When Michael Howard published his now classic book Soldiers and Governments over 30
years ago, the overriding issue in the field of civil-military relations was how to create a
military force that was strong enough to defend the nation from external aggression while
simultaneously preventing it “from crushing internal liberties?” More succinctly, “How could
the armed forces and their leaders be prevented from acting as an independent and usually
decisive factor in politics?”2

Current civil-military relations in Russia have turned Howard’s concern on its proverbial
head. The question is no longer how can the civilian leadership keep the military out of
politics, but how can the military keep the civilian leadership from politicizing the armed
forces? Numerous articles have been published in Russia that openly discuss the
politicization of the military and the disastrous effects it has had on both society and the
combat readiness of the armed forces. A remarkably candid essay in the General Staff
Journal Armeiskii sbornik, for instance, notes that in the beginning of the 1990s, the official
government position was that “the army stood outside of politics.” Leaders “called upon the
army to guarantee stability and order in society ... but this did not diminish the level of
combat readiness of the armed forces.”3 The article contends that this lofty talk gave way to a
reality in which the army was called upon to become involved in social and political activities
to the detriment of both it and society: “The army’s participation did not promote a settlement
of the contradictions and conflicts, but exacerbated them.” Moreover, these activities,
culminated in the “inglorious war in Chechnya [which] only exacerbated destructive
processes in the military [and created] disastrous conditions in the formerly powerful and
combat effective army.”4 These quotations refer, of course, to the first Chechen war, but the
use of the military to resolve political disputes characterizes the second Chechen war as well.

Another example in which the misuse of force was contemplated occurred in June 1996
when Yeltsin considered calling off the Presidential elections out of fear that he would lose.
Yeltsin’s plot required the support of the troops of the Ministry of Internal Affairs (MVD), but
he ultimately scuttled the plan after the MVD’s Minister, Anatoly Kulikov, declared that he
could not guarantee the loyalty of his troops in this particular action.5

This politicization of the military—using the military for political purposes—in

combination with the abysmal state of the Russian military, has led a number of analysts to
suggest that the military has asserted undue influence in the political arena and may possibly

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stage a coup.6 I do not agree. Although the military’s deplorable economic situation and loss
of prestige certainly provide a motive, it is highly unlikely that the Russian military will
employ force to rectify perceived unjust treatment. The Russian military today manifests no
sign of wanting to stage a coup or becoming involved in high politics. The reason is that the
Russian military was well socialized in the Soviet era and still retains its sense of
responsibility to society.

Yet, although the military is responsible in the sense that Samuel Huntington, in his
classic volume, The Soldier and the State, defined professional responsibility, the Yeltsin
leadership, both intentionally and through neglect (or what might be termed malign neglect),
undermined the military’s sense of corporateness and expertise—Huntington’s two
additional key components of a professional army.7 When officers are forced to seek second
jobs to survive, for example, they no longer feel part of a unique community because their
organization is not adequately providing for their well-being. Their level of expertise also
declines because outside work prevents them from honing their special skills. The many
social problems pervading the military also prevent them from focusing on their profession;
the effort required simply to find food and winter clothing for their troops can be almost a
full-time occupation.

Yet, the military is unlikely to stage a coup because the first component of
professionalism—a sense of responsibility to authority and belief in civilian rule—is a more
important factor than corporateness and expertise. Resorting to violence can yield uncertain
results and is a difficult task to undertake. To be sure, there are individuals in the civilian
workplace and the military who resort to force after feeling betrayed by their organization,
but staging a military coup depends on many people, not just a few disgruntled individuals.
Moreover, Russian military officers do have options. They can leave the military, remain in
the military (and misuse or abuse the system), or simply accept their current status. Most
proponents of the coup theory tend to ignore that the officers have choices.8

But even if the military does not stage a coup, the current situation in Russia is dire,
producing enormous repercussions for state-building in Russia. In order for the state to
create effective institutions that can extract resources, whether it be taxes, manpower, or
support, and serve the needs of its citizens so that they in turn are willing to comply with the
rules of the state, the citizens must view the newly created institutions as legitimate.
Unfortunately, as Gordon B. Smith points out, “Russia is confronting, at its most
fundamental level, a problem of state-building.”9 The Russian government is not meeting the
basic needs of its citizens, and this is certainly evident in the microcosmic world of the
military.

This chapter will describe the government’s inability to create modern, effective political
institutions followed by an assessment of the military’s sense of responsibility, corporateness,
and expertise. The military still feels responsible to society, but the other components of its
professional demeanor are eroding. The result is a military that can no longer adequately
provide for the security of Russia.

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Russia as a Failing State

At the core of the failure of the post-communist Russian government is its failure to create
modern governing and policymaking institutions.10 Policymaking is a multi-step process
involving policy formulation and decisionmaking, implementation, and outcome. The most
important policies in Russia under Yeltsin were issued in the forms of presidential decrees
rather than by a consensus of lawmakers. Legislators were frequently kept in the dark about
government policies and the very institutions they were expected to supervise. In the area of
defense policy, for instance, the Duma committees charged with making decisions about the
military and providing oversight frequently did not possess vital information about the
organizations they were assigned to oversee. Mikhail Zadornov, Chairman of the State
Duma’s Budget Committee in 1997, complained that the draft budget contained “no article on
the strength of the armed forces because the government would not tell the legislators how
many personnel were under arms.”11 The Duma’s Committee on Defense had access to a mere
11 lines out of 128 that dealt with defense issues in the 1996 budget. Needless to say, there
can be no serious formulation of policy and no informed decisions on the policy
recommendations of others when incomplete information is made available.

Something akin to an interagency process that considers options, analyzes outcomes, and
reaches a consensus so that the policies chosen are for the good of the country and not for the
good of a particular organization or a few individuals is essentially non-existent in Russia. To
be sure, who prevails in an interagency forum, such as in the United States, is often a function
of individual personalities and personal ties. This is the nature of politics. But the
individuals involved must build a consensus through the strength of their arguments as well
as their connections.

In Russia, the only connection that appears to matter is to the one on top. As Stephen
Blank notes with regard to the Yeltsin presidency, “Each interested agent either acts on his
own, runs to his boss, or with his boss appeals to Yeltsin, who, like a Tsar, maintains final
authority.”12 This not only creates a situation in which policy is formulated as a result of
personal jockeying and personal relationships, but, when President Yeltsin was absent or
medically incapacitated, there was no formulation of policy at all. As a result, the country was
virtually paralyzed. Nowhere was this problem more apparent than in the functioning of the
Defense Council which Yeltsin created in July 1996 to deal with the issue of military reform.
Despite Yeltsin’s insistence that military reform be addressed, the Defense Council managed
only to engage in acrimonious discussions, most notably between its secretary Yuri Baturin
and then Defense Minister Igor Rodionov. A meeting had been called for January 8, 1997,
that was to be chaired by Yeltsin with the hope of resolving the internal disputes. However,
Yeltsin’s poor health led to the meeting’s cancellation. The meeting was postponed numerous
times while the military sat idle with no direction.

The days of the Baturin-Rodionov clashes are over, and military reform has proceeded
further under Minister of Defense Sergeyev, but the reforms have been primarily
administrative rather than the deep restructuring so badly needed. The Air Force and Air
Defense Forces have been consolidated, the number of military districts is being reduced from
eight to six,13 and the military districts themselves are being reorganized in an attempt to

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make sure that the districts of the power ministries—the MOD, MVD, and Border
Guards—coincide.14

Developing common districts for all the power structures is an important step, as it will
eliminate needless duplication of resources; it is expensive to maintain excessive logistical,
administrative, and technical support. Also, a single coordinated command structure within
a region will lead to better use of the forces, depending on the nature of the military response
required: war, a domestic hostage situation, domestic conflict, terrorism, and so on.

Despite recent exercises to test this concept—i.e., the August 1998 command post exercise
in the Caucasus region and the April 1999 Far East military district exercise (the latter being
the first time the MOD commanded all other power forces in a district)—the evidence
indicates that the actual implementation of this plan has a long way to go.15 The reason for the
delay is partially financial. In the short term it costs money to lay off people and become more
efficient.

The continued bickering between Defense Minister Sergeyev and Chief of the General
Staff Kvashnin has also contributed to the hold-up. Sergeyev’s two-year old proposal for a
unified Strategic Nuclear Command is still in the “discussion” phase. Kvashnin opposed the
plan and Yeltsin refused to make a decision about which side to support. It remains to be seen
whether President Putin will be more decisive in this arena. In any event, that serious reform
is needed to improve combat efficiency is recognized by the Russian people as well. In a 1999
poll conducted by the Public Opinion Fund, over half the respondents (51%) stated that the
Russian army was unable to ensure the country’s security and two-thirds (64%) of the
respondents felt that army reform was badly needed.16

To compound problems still further, even when a decision is made by the leadership, the
implementation stage of policymaking is undermined by the absence in Russia of the rule of
law and the inability of agencies to effectively implement policies.17 As far as policy outcomes
are concerned, the press has provided a relatively accurate assessment of the government’s
effectiveness or lack thereof. However, the press’s limited access to the Chechen war as well
as the government’s blatant misuse of the press in the 1999 Duma elections point to a press
that is far less independent than previously thought. In fact, as acting President, Putin
authorized subsidies to 2,500 local newspapers totaling 6 million dollars. This raised
concerns that Moscow is trying to influence or even assert control over the press nationwide.18
Even on those issues where it is able to report candidly, there is no real accountability because
laws to ensure compliance either do not exist, are contradictory, or are not enforced.
Ministers and heads of agencies are susceptible to corruption because even if the press reports
corruption, there are no reliable or impartial bodies equipped to investigate serious
allegations, let alone initiate prosecution. It is thus tempting to conclude that the Russian
government exists in name only.19

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The Russian Military’s Sense of Responsibility to Society

Some believe that Russia’s feeble institutional structure gives the military a certain
leeway that may eventually culminate in its posing a direct threat to civilian rule in Russia.20
I argue that despite the poor treatment of the military by the political leadership, the military
is a professional organization that has internalized the civilian leadership’s instructions of
the past 80 years that civilians should run the country, allowing the military to serve the
country in its area of expertise, namely, the defense of the nation.

When the military was called upon to storm the White House in Yeltsin’s 1993 showdown
with Parliament, the military initially refused to obey the orders of their commander-in-chief
because they did not think it appropriate to resolve domestic political disputes with force. In a
private meeting between Yeltsin and 30 officers from the elite Vympel and Alfa units on the
morning of October 4th, “nobody uttered a word” when Yeltsin inquired whether they were
“prepared to fulfill the President’s order?” Even after posing the question in a different way,
“Are you refusing to obey the President’s order?” he was met with dead silence. Of course, the
troops eventually did storm the Parliamentary building, but only after Yeltsin met the
military’s demand to put his order in writing.21 The military had borne the brunt of the
public’s wrath for quelling domestic disputes in Tbilisi (1989), Baku (1990), and Vilnius
(1991) and refused to be the object of blame yet again for decisions made by the political
leadership.

Others have pointed to the military’s attempt to beat NATO peacekeeping troops in the
race to Pristina in the summer of 1999 as further evidence of the military acting
independently in the political arena. Although many key government officials were kept in
the dark, such as Prime Minister Stepashin, Foreign Minister Ivanov, and the President’s
special envoy to the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia, Viktor Chernomyrdin, it was Yeltsin,
himself, who approved of the dash to Pristina by approximately 200 Russian soldiers. Yeltsin
gave his permission directly to the Chief of the General Staff, Anatoly Kvashnin, who in turn
gave General Viktor Zavarzin the nod to proceed.22 Thus, the dash to Pristina was not a rogue
military operation, either at the field level or at the headquarters level.

Further evidence of the military’s acceptance of civilian rule and its responsibility to serve
the state is found in the ease with which defense ministers leave their posts once relieved of
their duties. All Russian defense ministers have left their posts without any hint of
extra-constitutional resistance to the state. This stands in stark contrast to the recent events
in the Ivory Coast where the Minister of Defense staged a successful coup after being
dismissed. Civilians control military appointments in Russia, and this is accepted by the
military. If either Sergeyev or Kvashnin were fired tomorrow, they would both abide by the
decision and leave their posts.

The recent draft of the new Russian military doctrine was produced as a result of close
coordination with the civilian leadership. Unlike most decisions made in Moscow, the
document appears to have been produced by an interagency group comprised of 14 ministries,
agencies, and military research institutes.23 Moreover, the military doctrine was drafted

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with the new national security concept in mind, thereby ensuring that the civilian view of the
world and future threats would be represented in military doctrine.

Some have pointed to the large number of military officers who ran in the December 1995
Parliamentary elections as evidence of the military’s inappropriate involvement in politics.24
Although the military fielded 123 candidates, they were working within the democratic
process and not against it. Unlike the previous Parliamentary election wherein Defense
Minister Pavel Grachev discouraged military candidates, this time around the minister
encouraged officers to run. The large number of officers running for office signified a marked
increase in political activism by the nation’s arms bearers, raising fears among observers that
democracy would give way to Bonapartism. But, as I argued then, those fears were
unfounded.25 The dire economic situation drove many officers to seek elected office. Having
long been the darlings of the Soviet economy, the officer corps was especially hard hit with the
demise of the Soviet Union. Politicians were not delivering on their promises to improve the
military’s lot once elected. As Krasnaya zvezda observed, “You can count on your fingers the
number of [parliamentary] deputies who actually care about the military.” The military
decided to field a large number of candidates not to subvert the democratic process, but to
advance its own interests within that process.

In the recent 1999 Parliamentary election, only 38 candidates from the military ran for
office, considerably fewer than in 1995.26 The reasons for the reduction are as yet unclear, but
may be a result of the military’s relatively unsuccessful attempts to gain office in 1995,
leading them to believe that it is not an avenue worth pursuing. Alternatively, given the
military’s low prestige in society and dearth of strong, respected military leaders at the top,
the political parties may have seen no benefit to having a “military man” at the head of their
ticket, something they all had desired in the previous election.

Undermining the Military’s Sense of Corporateness

A sense of unity and belonging to a group that adheres to the high standards set by the
profession is the second criterion of professionalism. As Huntington states, “This collective
sense has its origins in the lengthy discipline and training necessary for professional
competence, the common bond of work, and the sharing of a unique social responsibility.”27
The economic and social problems prevalent in the Russian military are eroding the sense of
corporateness among the Russian officer corps. Every individual has numerous
responsibilities and plays a number of roles in society. The officer is not only a professional
military man, but a father and husband as well. When the economic situation creates tension
among these various roles, then the officer may feel less responsibility to the professional
organization that is not living up to its social contract and thereby not allowing him to take
adequate care of his family. The poor economic situation in the military is causing the officer
corps to behave less than responsibly toward his military organization.

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The Social Ills of the Russian Military28

Health Issues. The health problems prevalent in Russia obviously affect the military as
well. Most statistics focus on the conscripts, but the officer corps is also deeply affected. The
military recognizes that healthy personnel are a key component of combat readiness, but it is
operating in a larger environment that lacks the basic requirements for good health: quality
water is not available in all the regions of the RF, food is frequently contaminated, heat and
electricity are often turned off because of insufficient funds. The military has seen a dramatic
increase in the number of its personnel requiring treatment for serious ailments such as
cardiovascular disease and malignant tumors.

The number of oncological illnesses has risen at military medical institutes to 23,000
patients per year. But the military is a mirror of the larger society in which it resides: “One
out of five Russian inhabitants suffers from cancer in one form or another!”29 The number of
cases of tuberculosis has doubled in the armed forces from only a few years back. In response,
the Main Military Medical Directorate (GVMU) has developed a six-year program to combat
TB in the army. The goal of this program is to reduce the rate of illness by 10 percent
annually. The goal of reducing TB by 10 percent suggests that the military is using the same
type of vaccine that is used only in underdeveloped countries. Given limited resources, in
particular the unavailability of needles, it is questionable whether the military will be able to
achieve its objective of reducing the rate of illness in servicemen by even 10 percent.30

Psychiatric disorders have also increased among servicemen. The last two years alone
have witnessed a 19 percent increase among officers. Among the central causes given for such
problems are the stressful state of conditions for families trying to make ends meet in Russia
as well as alcohol and drug addiction. Most astounding is the report that suicides accounted
for 27 percent of all military fatalities in 1998.31 Conscripts commit more suicides (60%) than
officers and warrant officers (40%), but the number is quite large for both groups.32 These are
astonishing statistics that would never be tolerated in a developed nation.

Hazing. Dedovshchina or hazing is a well-known problem in the Russian military. What

appears to be a new phenomenon in the post-Soviet era is that the practice of dedovshchina is
being conducted not merely by the senior conscripts but by commissioned officers as well. In
one instance, lieutenants with “brains, inflamed by alcohol, suggested the only option for
solving all their problemsit was necessary to beat up their subordinates…. As a result, six
men were severely beaten up.” In another instance, an officer serving in the Caucasus
“slammed” [a private’s] neck so hard that he fractured the soldier’s laryngeal cartilage.33 But
the military leadership at times seems baffled over the large number of youth who avoid
military service as well as the large number of deserters. They claim that “Russian citizens
have lost their sense of responsibility for the country’s safety” and that rather than
encouraging the youth to join the military, “it has become fashionable ‘to save the boys from
the horrors of the barracks.’”34 The practices that take place in the barracks are indeed
horrific. The practice of dedovshchina has long been routine in the Russian military.
Dedovshchina encompasses much more brutality than the usual fraternal practice of
humiliating the incoming class by having them clean toilet stalls, run outside without clothes,

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consume great quantities of alcohol, and possibly even endure some paddling. Conscripts are
beaten up with fists and shovels and often require hospitalization. Rape is not an uncommon
occurrence. The treatment is so ignominious that many cannot cope and commit suicide.
Having heard intimate details of the practice of dedovshchina, other youth undertake
extreme measures to avoid military service including self-mutilation. Although
dedovshchina is not a new phenomenon in the Russian military, it appears to have worsened
since Soviet times.

Housing and Salary. A social contract that guaranteed officers housing, wages, and
medical care for their family, as well as a pension, existed between the Soviet military and the
state. These benefits were expected to continue for Russian officers. Russian officers have
inherited the legal right to these same benefits, but unfortunately this right exists primarily
on paper. Officers go for months without receiving their wages, and often the money they do
receive is inadequate to support their families. One reason the money is insufficient is that
there is not enough housing for officers’ families, and they have to pay rent if they are even
sufficiently lucky to find an apartment. General Yakovlev, head of the Strategic Missile
Troops, recently acknowledged that over 16,000 officers do not have permanent housing,
which means that they cannot retire for fear of not ever receiving housing.35

A survey I conducted in the summer of 1995 of 600 Russian field grade officers in twelve
regions of Russia revealed that the majority of officers (67%) were dissatisfied with military
service. When asked how they viewed the overall economic situation in Russia at the time,
93% viewed it as very bad or fairly bad. Perhaps more significantly, when the officers were
asked whether their material well-beinga phrase that encompasses salary, health care,
housing, and other benefits discussed abovewould have been better if the Soviet Union still
existed, three-fourths of the officers said they would indeed have been better off under the old
system. One-fifth of the officers believed their material well-being would have been the same.
Unfortunately, four years later, the figures probably remain dismal because many officers
today are destitute with little hope for improvement, whereas in 1995 there was still some
hope of economic progress in the not-too-distant future.36

Officers Leaving the Military. Rather than seek to subvert the political system, the best
officers choose to leave the military, resulting in an enormous shortage of young officers in the
military: “They are tired of roaming from one place of service to another and of bad housing
conditions and are lured by good prospects and better payment in commercial and other
civilian structures.”37 The Strategic Missile Troops appear to be especially susceptible to
losing good officers because they have coveted electrical engineering skills that can command
high wages in the private sector. A recent article by the military journalist Aleksandr Golts
tells of three highly qualified electronics officers who transferred to Moscow from their unit in
Chita and were immediately offered jobs in private industry, which they accepted.38

Officers who leave before finishing their tour of duty do not appear to face any criminal
proceedings. During the first Chechen war, the military reported 557 cases in which officers
refused to go to Chechnya. There were reports of proceedings against a handful of
officers—11 to be precise—but the cases do not appear to have been brought to any
conclusion.39 For a variety of reasons, the officers disobeyed orders to serve in Chechnya. And

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they probably understood that there was little legal recourse on the part of the military.
Loyalty to the military has certainly waned since the Soviet days.40

Officers Seek Second Jobs. Those officers who remain in the military tend to engage in
practices that undermine their sense of corporateness and loyalty to the organization, the
very traits so necessary to ensure proficient command of the units. The impact on the military
is dire. As a result of their economic plight, officers are either compelled to seek additional
work outside the military or engage in illegal activities (more on this below). The
ramifications of this cannot be underestimated. There can be no order in a military where
situations prevail in which an officer, moonlighting as a taxi driver, picks up one of his
sergeants who can afford the ride as a result of illegal activities. Combat effectiveness and
morale are undermined when the officer spends his time thinking about how to raise money to
feed his family rather than focusing on military matters. Chaos reigns in the barracks
because there is no one around to hold the troops accountable. Accordingly, combat
cohesiveness and effectiveness is thoroughly undermined.

Crime. Crime is an enormous problem in the military, and it is not bounded by rank. From
the top generals to the conscripts crime is rampant. Embezzlement is common, including the
sale of weapons, munitions, and any other military property. Military personnel sell
Stinger-type weapons, air-to-ground missiles, tanks, and planesbasically anything that
can be moved. Even honest officers condone the behavior because they often have no other
means to pay their troops. Organized crime has penetrated the armed forces, and former
army officers are apparently prominent in various Mafia organizations as well.41 The
Minister of Defense, Igor Sergeyev, admitted that in 1997 roughly 18,000 officers were
charged with criminal activity. The activities and behavior of senior officers have been
particularly corrupt. They not only inappropriately use conscripts to build dachas for
themselves, but have developed businesses where they profit by using conscripts to build
dachas for others. In the early 1990s, 300 generals built dachas in the suburbs of Moscow
using military conscripts and stolen material.42 Prior to becoming the Defense Minister,
General Rodionov publicized corruption among his fellow flag officers. Among the many cases
he discussed was the disappearance of $23 million received by the Defense Ministry’s budget
chief, Vasili Vorobev, from the sale of ammunition to Bulgaria.43 To date, no charges have
been brought against Vorobev.

It should be noted that some officers commit crimes for personal aggrandizement, while
others will go to great lengths to obtain food, clothes and other essentials for their troops.
Thus it is difficult to assign the same classification to all crimes. I would argue, however, that
the overall effect is the same.

The Impact on Conscripts. Taking care of the soldiers is the hallmark of a professional
army. In the Russian military, the officers are more like babysitters and watchdogs because
the quality of the conscripts is abysmally low. This leaves insufficient time to develop and
enhance their military expertise.

Drug Abuse. Drug abuse has become an enormous problem in Russia. The number of drug
users has increased roughly 250% between 1993 and 1998. In the past ten years, there has

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been a twelve-fold increase in the number of deaths attributed to drug abuse, while the
number of drug-related deaths among children “increased by a factor of 42!”44 Young people
between the ages of 18 to 25 years comprise 80 percent of the drug addicts, and it is precisely
this age group from which people are called to serve in the military. Drugs appear to have
replaced alcohol as the choice substance of abuse. According to a recent report, “The number
of children who are addicted to narcotics is six times more than the number of the persons in
the same age group who drink alcoholic beverages.”45

The rate and scale of the spread of narcotics in Russia point to an epidemic and the
military has not been able to shield itself from this injurious activity. Statistics on criminal
activities indicate that more than half of the soldiers apprehended with drugs in their
possession began to use them for the first time during their military service.46 The Russian
Defense Ministry’s main newspaper notes that drug use in the military reflects the drug
problem throughout Russian society. “Despite the tightening of measures to keep ‘pot lovers’
out of the draft, their penetration into the army ranks continues.”47 The military’s claim that
it has tried to keep drug addicts out of the army is disingenuous. First, it admits to not having
a system to identify the addicts and root them out.48 At the same time, the military
acknowledges that it conscripts teenagers even if there are many needle markings on their
arm: “If a person has pricked veins, that still is not a reason to reject him or her for military
service.” Unless it can prove that the youth in question is an addict rather than a casual drug
user, the military conscripts the youth.49

Why No Military Coup?

Given the poor state of the Russian military, many analysts have inquired why it has not
staged a coup. The reasons are numerous. David Mendeloff argues that although the officer
corps has a strong motive to stage a military coup, they do not have the capability to carry one
out as a result of the many difficulties facing the military itself.50 Stephen Meyer’s response
to this query was, “What military?” Meyer believes that the military has been too fractured
along too many dimensions to act as a cohesive unit capable of carrying out a coup.51 I would
also mention four additional factors. First, the military does not possess the expertise to
develop better solutions to improve the economic and social well-being of the citizens in
Russia. Second, although the military feels its status in society has declined and that it is
worse off than during Soviet days, other groups in society have experienced the same
decline—notably Russian scientists. The military, possibly recognizing that other
professional groups have experienced a similar loss of status in society, most likely views its
lot as a result of the demise of the previous system, to which most members do not desire to
return. Third, polls indicate that while the military does not fully support capitalism, but in
fact prefers a mix of socialism and the free market, the vast majority supports democracy and
its concomitant rule by civilian leaders.52 Fourth, some in the military have benefited from
the enormous and pervasive corruption and may not desire change.

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Independent Military Action

To be sure, there are instances where the military has acted on behalf of its own interests
without having its actions sanctioned by Moscow. For example, when suppliers cut off
electricity to units because the military had failed to pay the bill, the units have taken over
the power stations to restore the electricity. This happened twice in Chita in 1994, in the
cities of Borzinsk and Chernyshevsky, and happened as recently as October 1999 in the
region of Altay where an armed detail from a nearby Strategic Missile Troops division seized
the local power station.53 They occupied the building, confiscated the keys, and kept the
operating staff out for several days. In Latvia in 1994, a local official had the Latvian militia
surround a Russian army compound because he wanted evidence that retiring servicemen
had obtained residency permits. Three Russian generals arrived to negotiate the situation,
but the local official, acting brazenly and foolishly, had them arrested. (He had the audacity
to think he could do as he pleased in his own country.) Russian troops were immediately
placed on alert and notified the Latvian government that the troops would be ready to enter
the country in 15 minutes. The incident was resolved swiftly, as the local official who was
heady with independence was fired. Finally, General Lebed’s actions in Moldova appear not
always to have been sanctioned by the top civilian leadership, though the complete details
on that war remains to be uncovered.

Conclusion

The dissolving sense of corporateness and expertise has had enormous consequences for
the military as a whole. The poor conditions and lack of pay in the military have led to
serious officer and enlisted manpower problems. Most companies, battalions, and regiments
in the land forces are below the required manpower levels. This results in a loss of fighting
effectiveness. Aleksei Arbatov, a member of the Duma and staff member of the Duma
Defense Committee, wrote a penetrating analysis of the spiraling adverse effects of the
abysmal social conditions in the military in 1995, which is as true today as it was then: poor
social conditions “undermine army morale. Officers have to work without enlisted men and
take their places, and the soldiers who are conscripted have to do double duty. The result is
more harassment of subordinates and increased draft evasion.”54

The number of desertions has increased as well. Officers and conscripts deserted the
military in the first Chechen war. Within the first year of the war, many left because they
were not receiving their salaries.55 Moreover, as reports filtered out about how the units
were quickly cobbled together, had little training time as a unit, and were thus ill prepared to
fight, mothers came to Chechnya to retrieve their sons. In the second Chechen war—the
popular one—the number of draftees evading service has increased sharply. Although
mothers need to have “intimate knowledge of arcane regulations” and to be willing to move
their families, they are doing this and taking any other necessary actions to keep their sons
out of the war.56

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 Moreover, the quality of the troops and officers serving in Chechnya is of less than
professional quality. Top military officers are accepting bribes to spare local civilians’ homes
from shelling and looting, while the Chechens are buying arms from Russian soldiers, which
they then use to fight them.57 The Kafkaesque nature of both Chechen wars is truly
frightening.

Thus, while the Russian military has no desire to stage a coup, the political leadership’s
irresponsible treatment of the military and the military’s failure to reform itself has created
an army that has lost its unique identity and its fighting expertise. It should have come as no
surprise to the West that the new Russian military doctrine stresses the importance of
nuclear weapons to ensure the survival of the Russian state, for it cannot expect to fight a
major power successfully using conventional means.

Endnotes

1. This article was written under the auspices of the U.S. Department of Energy and the Lawrence
Livermore National Laboratory under Contract W-74-05-Eng-48. The views expressed here are those of the
author and not the Department of Energy, Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, or the U.S. government.

2. Michael Howard, Soldiers and Governments, London: Eyre and Spottiswoode, 1957, p. 12.

3. Sergei Budra and Viktor Kutishchev, “Nishchaia armiia—golodnye ofitsery,” Armeiskii sbornik, January
1997, p. 24.

4. Budra and Kutishchev, p. 24.

5. David Remnick, “The War For the Kremlin,” The New Yorker, July 22, 1996, pp. 46-48.

6. Robert H. Epperson has no doubt that the military’s behavior has been inappropriate, asking: “Why has
the Russian military decided to intervene in politics?” See “Russian Military Intervention in Politics
1991-1996,” The Journal of Slavic Military Studies, vol. 10, September 1997, p. 90.

7. Huntingon’s defined a professional officer as one having a sense of responsibility to society, a sense of
belonging to a unique community (corporateness), and expertise in a specialized skill. For a more detailed
explanation of these concepts, see The Soldier and the State, Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1957, pp.
7-18.

8. See Kimberly Marten Zisk, “Institutional Decline in the Russian Military: Exit, Voice and Corruption,”
PONARS Policy Memo No. 67, September 1999.

9. Gordon B. Smith, ed., State Building in Russia, Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1999, p. 3.

10. Smith offers a more sanguine view of Russia’s state-building record under Yeltsin than I myself hold. It
remains to be seen whether President Putin tries to build effective institutions rather than destroy them.

11. “How Many Russians Are Under Arms?” Monitor, February 6, 1997.

12. Stephen J. Blank, “Towards the Failing State: The Structure of Russian Security Policy,” Conflict
Studies Research Center, November 1996, p. 1.

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 13. The Siberian and the Trans-Baikal Military Districts have been merged, now comprising the new
Siberian MD. The Volga and the Ural Military Districts are expected to be merged into a single Volga-Ural MD.

14. For a concise summary of the current state of military reform, see Mark Kramer, “Russian Military
Policy and the Nuclear Dimension,” in Dick Clark, ed., U.S.-Russia Relations, Washington, DC: Aspen Institute,
August 1999, pp. 35-42.

15. Deborah Yarsike Ball, “Spurred by Kosovo, the Russian Military is Down But Not Out,” Jane’s
Intelligence Review, 11, June 1999.

16. Mariya Lokotetskaya, “Russians for Army Reform, Against Troops Cuts,” RIA Novosti, February 26,
1999, translated in FBIS, February 28, 1999.

17. David Satter asserts that “it is virtually impossible in today’s Russia to distinguish legal from criminal
business. At the same time, criminals, in many respects, have replaced the judicial system, collecting debts,
settling disputes, and enforcing contracts....” See “Russia’s Lost Sense of Morality,” Prism, April 18, 1997.

18. Michael R. Gordon, “A Russian Press Beholden to Many,” New York Times, March 17, 2000.

19. Maria Latynina states that “during the 1990s the central government has disappeared, leaving behind
only a web of personal relationships that sets the boundaries within which government and business operate. At
the lower levels, these relationships evolve into organized crime; at the top, they develop into organized
corruption. Quoted in Blank, “Towards the Failing State,” p. 3.

20. Stephen Blank, “State and Armed Forces in Russia: Toward an African Scenario,” in Anthony James
Joes, ed., Saving Democracies: U.S. Intervention in Threatened Democratic States, Westport, CT: Praeger
Publishers, 1999, pp. 167-196

21. I am grateful to John Reppert for a valuable discussion on this point.

22. Natalya Kalashnikova and Andrei Smirnov, “Defiant Gesture for Domestic Consumption,” Sevodnya,
June 14, 1999; trans. in CDPSP, 51, no. 24, 1999, p. 1.

23. Alexander Sergounin, “How New is the New Russian Military Doctrine?” PONARS working paper.

24. Epperson, p. 91.

25. Deborah Yarsike Ball, “Russian Elections and the Red Army,” Washington Times, May 13, 1996.

26. Mark Kramer, “Reform, Stagnation, or Decay? Civil-Military Relations and the Army’s Role in
Post-Communist Russia,” forthcoming in Comparative Political Studies.

27. Huntington, p. 10.

28. Much of this discussion on the social ills in the military is taken from Deborah Yarsike Ball, “Social
Crisis in the Russian Military,” in Mark Feld and Judy Twigg, eds., Russia’s Torn Safety Nets: Health and Social
Welfare During the Transition, St. Martins Press, 2000.

29. Petr Altunin and Ivan Ivaniuk, “Voennaya meditsina obsluzhivaet bolee 6 millionov patsientov, no ee
glavnyi prioritetmeditsina voiskovaya,” Krasnaia zvezda, June 4, 1999, p. 1.

30. Ibid., 1.

31. Ibid., 1.

32. Alexander Ovchinnikov, “Statistics and Basic Trends of Suicide in the Russian Armed Forces,” Noviye
Izvestiya, March 12, 1998, translated in Current Digest of the Post-Soviet Press (CDPSP) 50, no. 13, 1998: p. 13.

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 33. “Boys Beaten Up By Seniors and Fathers Too. By Their Commanders,” Komsomolskaya Pravda, March
5, 1998, trans. in FBIS, March 6, 1998.

34. V.M. Zakharov, “Military Education in Russia: How to Reform It?” Military Thought, vol. 6, April 1997,
p. 48.

35. Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie, December 17-23, 1999.

36. For a more complete discussion of the Ball Survey, see Deborah Yarsike Ball, “The Unreliability of the
Russian Officer Corps: Reluctant Domestic Warriors,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, vol. 8, May 1996; and
Deborah Yarsike Ball and Theodore Gerber, “The Political Views of Russian Field-Grade Officers,” Post Soviet
Affairs, vol. 12, April-June 1996.

37. V.M. Zakharov, “Military Education in Russia: How to Reform It?” Military Thought 6 (April 1997): 48.

38. Alexander Golts, “’Bol’shogo brata zovut TsKP,” Itogi, November 30, 1999.

39. “Former Subordinates Respect Valeryi Mironov,” Kommersant-Daily, April 8, 1995, trans. in FBIS.

40. Aside from the fact that an officer probably could not get away with disobeying an order to serve in the
Soviet days, it is unlikely that they would have desired to do so as their sense of corporateness was stronger.

41. Chris Donnelly, “Prospects for Reform of the Russian Armed Forces,” July 30, 1999, unpublished ms.

42. John M. Kramer, “The Politics of Corruption,” Current History, vol. 97, October 1998, p. 331.

43. Richard F. Staar, “Russia’s Military: Corruption in the Higher Ranks,” Perspective 9,
November-December 1998.

44. “Drug Abuse in Russia: A Threat to the Nation,” Rossiiskaya gazeta, March 3, 1998, p. 3, translated in
CDPSP 50, no. 10, 1998, p. 1.

45. Irina Zhirnova, “U opasnoi cherty,” Krasnaya zvezda, July 8, 1999, p. 1.

46. “Drug Abuse in Russia,” p. 1.

47. Altunin and Ivaniuk, p. 1.

48. “Drug Abuse in Russia,” p. 1.

49. Zhirnova, p. 1.

50. David Mendeloff, “Explaining Russian Military Quiescence: The Paradox of Disintegration and the
Myth of a Military Coup,” Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 27, no. 3, 1994.

51. Stephen Meyer, “How the Threat (and the Coup) Collapsed: The Politicization of the Soviet Military,”
International Security, vol. 16, Winter 1991/92, pp. 5-38.

52. Ball and Gerber.

53. Artem Kudinov, “Altay Power Outage Posed ‘Serious’ Security Threat,” Moscow Kommersant,
November 10, 1999; trans. in FBIS, November 10, 1999.

54. Aleksei Arbatov and Gennady Batanov, “What Kind of Army Can We Afford?”Moskovskie novosti,
October 1-8, 1995; trans. in CDPSP, 47, no. 40, 1995. p. 13.

55. Krasnaia zvezda, August 23, 1995.

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 56. Celestine Bohlen, “Mothers Help Sons Outwit Draft Board in Wartime Russia?” New York Times,
January 30, 2000.

57. Yevgenia Borisova, “Chechen Villages: We Bribe Generals,” Moscow Times, January 15, 2000.

131

 The Continuing Disintegration of the Russian

Military1

Dale R. Herspring
“There were virtually no units which were combat ready in 1997.”
— Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev

Introduction

All indications are that in spite of the very public role being played by the Russian military
in Moscow’s efforts to subdue Chechen rebels, the situation inside the Russian armed forces
—both in terms of material and personnel—is continuing to deteriorate. Indeed, the situation
is so bad that unless the Kremlin is prepared to allocate greater resources to both reforming
and modernizing the Russian military, it could soon find itself incapable of conducting combat
operations on a significant scale.

In arguing the above proposition, I plan to address two broad topics. First is the question
of the material situation within the armed forces. Second, I will address some of the personnel
issues that seem to plague the Russian military. To some this discussion may seem at bit
tedious and repetitive. I would argue, however, that it is impossible to discuss the role of the
military without understanding in some depth just how serious the situation is within
Moscow’s armed forces. As those who have spent time either working in or analyzing military
issues know, turning around a military force that is in the kind of shape that the Russian
armed forces finds itself in will not be easy. It will take considerable time and effort. The
lead-time on many weapons systems exceeds five years from planning to production, and
convincing a new generation of young Russians to serve in the armed forces will likewise be
very difficult. Finally, I will take a look at the long-term implications of this situation for the
future of national security policy in Russia.

The Material Situation Facing the Russian Military

Despite Defense Minister Marshal Igor Segeyev’s comment on July 19, 1999, to the effect
that Russia’s armed forces are “combat ready, controllable, and capable of ensuring the
military security of the country,” the fact is that the material situation facing the Russian
military is nothing short of disastrous.2 Its equipment is outdated, and its budgetary
situation gives no reason to believe the situation will improve any time soon. Indeed, the
situation appears to be so bad that with the exception of some of its airborne troops, its
conventional troops are in disarray.

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 Everywhere one looks, the Russian military is beset with problems. The key issue facing
the army for the past ten years has been money.3 Every year since 1993 it has seen its
budget cut and cut again. This would not be so bad if the military actually received the
money it was promised. More often than not, however, it has had to try and run itself on
empty promises. For example, in 1993 the shortfall was one billion rubles, in 1994 it was
12.2 billion, in 1995 it was 6 billion, and in 1997 it was 34.4 billion.4 The military has been
arguing for a budget share of at least 3.5 percent, but even were the armed forces to get a
budget that large, there is no certainty that they will not be treated as in the past—by
receiving only a portion of what they had been promised. To make matters worse, the
Kremlin’s decision to send 3,600 soldiers to Kosovo — not to mention the 100,000 that were
sent to Chechnya—is straining the military budget even further. It was necessary to come
up with an additional $50 million just to cover costs for the Kosovo operation in 1999.

These constant budget shortfalls have had a cataclysmic impact on the military as a
whole. Consider weapons. Because of cutbacks in weapons purchases (only two combat
aircraft were purchased in 1995 compared to 585 in 1991), by 1998 only 30 percent of all
weapons in the Russian inventory were modern—while in NATO countries the number
stood at 60-80 percent.5 If current conditions continue, by 2005 only five to seven percent of
weapons will be new, thereby relegating Russia’s military to the status of a Third World
country’s.6 Moscow’s worry about weapons does not end with the need for new weapon
systems. Existing equipment is also in bad need of repair. Sergeyev noted as recently as
April 1998 that 53 percent of all aircraft, as well as 40 percent of their anti-aircraft systems,
helicopters, armored equipment and artillery, were in need of repair.7 The navy is in even
worse condition, with more than 70 percent of its ships in need of major repairs.8 The tragic
loss of the submarine Kursk in the Barents Sea in August 2000 was only one indicator of the
serious problems facing the military.

Equipment problems have had a disastrous impact on Russian combat operations. For
example, in its losing war in Chechnya, the army discovered in 1994-95 that it did not have
enough money to carry out these costly operations. It was necessary to take money out of the
regular budget, thereby further worsening the army’s ability to meet is budgetary
commitments. The situation was so bad that the boots and winter hats worn by Russian
troops in the first Chechen war were paid for by a bank in Moscow—the army simply did not
have the money to buy such “luxuries.” Furthermore, because of a lack of modern weapons,
the military is continuing to rely on weapons and shells from an earlier time—some going
back as far as World War II—in its war against the Chechens.

The financial situation deteriorated to the point that by 1997 almost all government
meteorological stations had stopped passing critical weather information to the military,
and former Prime Minister Chernomyrdin had to sign an order forcing power stations to
keep supplying military installations with power even if they had not paid their electricity
bills. In spite of this action, on July 20, 1999, it was reported that a local electricity supplier
in the Far East cut off power—because the Russian military had not paid its bills. As a
consequence, radar units were unable to monitor the country’s air borders and troops not
only lacked electricity but were also temporarily out of water since it had to be pumped. This

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was at least the third time that sensitive military installations have found themselves
without power because of unpaid bills.

As far as equipment is concerned, the situation is not likely to get better any time soon. On
February 8, 1999, Marshal Sergeyev told an audience at the Air Defense University in Tver
that the Russian armed forces would not start receiving new weapons until the year 2005.
Until then, existing weapons would have to be repaired and updated. This does not mean that
weapons production has stopped. There are estimates that by the end of 1999, Russian arms
exports could reach the handsome sum of 5.7 billion dollars.9 As far as Rosvooruzheniye, the
country’s official arms export company, is concerned, it expects to double or triple its exports
in the next four or five years. Even South Korea has indicated an interest in buying Russian
submarines and Mi-17 helicopters as a way of helping the Russians pay off their debts to
Seoul. The problem for the Russian military, however, is that it doesn’t have the money to buy
weapons. It must sit and watch as Russian companies turn out weapons and equipment that
instead of going into its inventory head for China or the Middle East or some other part of the
world.

This lack of money has also hurt training, a critical activity in any military. If soldiers
don’t train, their ability to carry out missions goes down very quickly. The army has not
conducted a single division-level ground forces operation since 1992.10 Compared with 1991,
training funds are down 90 percent.11 Similarly, Russian pilots are lucky if they get in 25
hours flying a year, compared with the 150-200 that is standard among NATO countries.12
And that number was cut by 10-15 percent again during 1999.13 According to Russian
sources, pilots often spend more time sweeping runways than they do in the air. The situation
among pilots has deteriorated to such a degree that 2,000 young pilots were assigned to the
infantry, armor, artillery, and communications troops. There were no aircraft for them to fly
and, in any case, no fuel for the aircraft even if they did exist. In addition, many of the pilots
are working part-time as cab drivers. It is now a common sight to see soldiers begging for
money on the streets of Moscow.

Moscow made much out of the West-99 joint military exercise, and it evoked considerable
interest on the part of some in the West, especially when Russian bombers flew close to the
Norwegian coastline. In fact, it was primarily a command and staff exercise. While better
than nothing—it involved a number of ships, planes and troops–it fell far short of the kind of
exercises the Soviet Army carried out in the past. Besides, reports from senior Russian
officers to the effect that “the ground forces have the utmost of seven combat-ready divisions”
do not inspire much confidence in the Russian Army.14 By the end of 1999, one expert claimed
that out of a 1.2 million-man army, only 100,000 were combat ready.15

Recognizing just how bad the situation is, the Duma passed a resolution in 1998 noting
that “the Army and the Navy have virtually ceased to do combat training, and the amount of
damaged equipment is increasing,” a statement with which almost no one close to the Russian
military would disagree.

In spite of that resolution, however, the reality is that with the exception of some elite
units—i.e., airborne troops and those engaged in peacekeeping operations—the vast majority

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of Russian soldiers receive little or no training. As a result, they are in no position to carry out
combat operations. If the Russian army were called upon to go to war (especially if the
operations were large-scale and offensive), given its lack of training the cost in terms of
human life would be tremendous.

As far as the most recent operations in Chechnya are concerned, pictures from Russian TV
suggest that all of the equipment being utilized by Russian forces is at least five to ten years
old—and some even older. Recently, for example, it was revealed that the Russians were
firing Scud missiles at Grozny. In addition to the questionable military utility of such
weapons, one has to wonder why the Russian military decided to make use of such
cumbersome and outdated weapons—unless there was nothing else available.

The country’s senior military officers understand fully the extent of the problem.
Nevertheless, the training situation will not be getting better any time soon. As Marshal
Sergeyev put it,

Eighty percent or more is spent on maintaining the armed forces, while combat training is
funded from what is left—whatever can be scraped together, is allocated for combat training,
16
and that is obviously insufficient for maintaining combat readiness.

The situation is so bad that the Russian military has faced problems in feeding its troops.
Sailors have starved to death because of the military’s inability to feed them. Forces stationed
in the far north have also been gradually withdrawn, and those stationed in Russia proper
have often been told to pick mushrooms or berries to supplement their diets. The reality is
that “Russian soldiers are surviving mostly on bread and stocks of vegetables.”17 The problem
was brought home even more clearly in March 1999 when a young soldier armed with an
automatic weapon broke into a food store. When he was captured, the soldier confessed that
he “was really hungry.”18

For someone familiar with the Soviet Army during the Cold War, it is hard to grasp just
how chaotic the situation is within the Russian military. This is especially evident when it
comes to personnel issues.

The Personnel Situation Facing the Russian Military

One of the key personnel problems aggravated by the “creeping disintegration” of the
military is discipline. Take, for example, the issue of crime. At one point, observers could talk
of “Prussian-style” discipline in the Russian/Soviet military. This writer can remember
having seen many cases where Soviet soldiers and sailors were subject to the most brutal
discipline and behaved almost like mechanical puppets. While some crimes probably
occurred, they were largely limited to senior-level corruption, such as officers using soldiers to
build dachas for themselves. Soldiers might not have been the most efficient, and they might
have taken whatever they could from the state, but by and large the amount of crime within
the military was limited.

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 Over the past ten years, however, discipline has deteriorated to the point where the
prosecutor’s office has a full-time job pursuing those guilty of the most serious forms of crime;
for example, murder. In this regard, the chief military prosecutor noted in 1997 that some 50
soldiers were shot by their fellow servicemen. And this was just the number of individuals on
guard duty who shot each other! He further reported that by March 1998 another ten had
died in the same way. And the problem is continuing to grow. In the Far Eastern Military
District in May 1998, four soldiers reportedly shot and killed their commanding officer. Even
more alarming has been the spate of shootings at nuclear weapons facilities. The situation
became so serious that on October 20, 1998, President Boris Yeltsin ordered an inspection of
troops at a nuclear weapons production facility.19 In fact, from 1997 to 1999 the Russian
military dismissed 20 soldiers who had access to nuclear weapons because of “psychological
problems.”20 By October 1999, the Duma was expressing concern over the level of crime in the
military, noting that the situation was “alarming and in need of emergency measures.”21

Part of the reason for the increase in crime is related to both alcohol and drugs, the latter a
relatively new phenomenon in the Russian military. In 1996 there were only 256 drug
offenses in the Russian armed forces. In 1998 there were 605, and the vast majority of those
who took drugs began their habit while serving in the armed forces. Even more upsetting was
the fact that there was a 2.4 percent increase in drug-related incidents in the Strategic Rocket
Forces—among those troops who have charge of the country’s nuclear weapons!22

The AIDS virus also appears to becoming a serious problem in the Russian military. In
early 1997, for example, the prosecutor of the Moscow Military District claimed that there
were 128 cases of HIV, which was up from 32 for the entire period from 1993 to 1996.23 And
there are no signs that the situation will get better any time soon. As late as January of this
year, top military leaders were complaining about the quality of soldiers being sent to Kosovo
because of their alcohol and drug problems as well as their criminal pasts.24

As far as the overall number of deaths in the army is concerned, during 1997 some 521 died
as a consequence of criminal activity. The same source reported that an investigation was
under way concerning a major theft of fuel. “This is the most notorious case of 1998. But it’s
too early to give any details. The investigation is still going on.”25

During 1997, 487 soldiers committed suicide, an increase of 57 over the previous year.26
Another source reported that between January and April 1998 another 132 committed
suicide.27 While the cause of these suicides is unclear, most observers believe that factors
such as poor food and working conditions and the widespread hazing of recruits are the
primary causes. Insofar as the latter situation is concerned, this is a long-standing problem.
Rather than exerting close personal supervision over enlisted personnel, Russian officers
have traditionally relied upon more senior conscripts to keep the junior ones in line – a
practice referred to as dedovshchina. The problem, however, is that the more senior
conscripts, called Deds, have brutalized many of the junior ones—to the point that a number
of them have committed suicide. Others have been killed. For example, as recently as May
1998 a young soldier was buried in the southern Russian city of Budennovsk. He had been
beaten to death because he refused to mend an older conscript’s soccer shoe. The army
understands the problem, but it would require a major change in the way Russian officers and

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NCOs are trained and acculturated for the problem to go away. There is little indication that
the high command is prepared to make these kinds of fundamental changes. Overall, during
the first 11 months of 1998 “57 soldiers died and 2,735 were injured from hazing.”28

Suicide is also a problem among officers. Sixty percent of all suicides were committed by
officers. In October 1998, for example, a major and a lieutenant colonel committed suicide in
Moscow. An investigation revealed that their families were starving, and both officers knew
that if they committed suicide their monthly pension would be paid to their families when it
was due—in contrast to the paycheck delays of weeks and months faced by those on active
duty.29

Conventional crime also remains a serious problem in the Russian military. The Russian
Defense Ministry reported on December 1, 1998, that about 10,500 crimes and criminal
incidents had been reported in comparison with about 10,000 the previous year—and this in a
military that was being downsized to 1.2 million.30 As far as incidents of bribery were
concerned, they had risen 80 percent, and there was a 44 percent increase in cases of physical
violence.31 Stealing from military installations has also reached crisis proportions.
According to Admiral Vyacheslav Popov, the commander of the Northern Fleet, it has become
so bad that “combat capability is being undermined and lives of servicemen are being
jeopardized.”32

Lack of discipline also led to a number of accidents—in fact their number appears to be
increasing. According to the Mothers’ group, which seeks to protect conscripts, during 1997
some 1,046 soldiers either took their own lives or were killed in accidents. And there is no sign
of a let-up in such incidents. In February 2000, some 6,000 23-millimeter aircraft cannon
shells exploded during a fire on an air force base, while in Volgograd at the same time, some
2,000 tank shells exploded. Then in June at least two dozen soldiers were killed at an
ammunition depot near Sverdlovsk. In all these cases, negligence was listed as the cause.

While not necessarily a result of a lack of discipline, accidents also seem to be waiting to
happen when it comes to the country’s nuclear submarines. Around 100 of them are tied up
waiting to be dismantled, just in the Northern Fleet. There are an additional 57 tied up in the
Far East. Some of these ships were decommissioned 25 years ago. Most experts believe it will
take approximately ten to 12 years to unload the nuclear cores from all of the submarines.33
The problem is that meanwhile, these submarines are sitting in salt water and rusting, with
their nuclear cores on board. Investigatory bodies sent out from Moscow reportedly
discovered that it was easy to walk aboard some of these decommissioned submarines
unchallenged—because there were not enough sailors for guard duty. Indeed, there are many
reports of officers being forced to perform guard duty because of personnel shortages.

Meanwhile, it was reported that 50,000 young men evaded the draft in 1997, while more
than 12,000 conscripts went AWOL rather than endure the brutality of barracks life. Moscow
military authorities themselves estimate that there are almost 500 deserters living in
Moscow alone.34 Around the country, there are estimates that some 40,000 men are hiding
from the army.35

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 Problems have not been limited to enlisted personnel. According to Sergeyev,

commanders in the Russian army have been guilty of some 18,000 serious breaches of
military discipline. In a number of cases, this involved the issuance of illegal orders.36 On
July 1, 1999, it was reported by Russian prosecutors that 17 army generals and navy admirals
were found guilty of corruption during the preceding year. Most upsetting, they noted that
the incidence of such crimes is rising.37 Furthermore, there were 818 reports in 1998 that
officers had assaulted and battered their subordinates—a doubling of the cases reported the
previous year.38 A year later the Military Prosecutor reported that the number of known
cases of bribery rose 82 percent from 1993 to 1999.39

All of the information available suggests that the personnel situation will not get better
any time soon. Take, for example, the kind of individual who is now entering the Russian
military. The quality of recruits is deteriorating steadily. Some 40 percent of new conscripts
have not attended school nor held a job in the two years prior to their military service.
Furthermore, one in 20 had a police record and others were “drug addicts, toxic substance
abusers, mentally disabled, and syphilitics.” Some 71,000 individuals who had committed
crimes were not drafted, but some 20,000 who had been given suspended sentences were
drafted—much like the old American practice of giving a young man the option of jail or the
military. As one source put it, “An ever greater proportion of conscripts are coming from lower
social strata and from the impoverished countryside.”40

The situation among junior officers is also getting worse. Not only are such individuals
resigning their commissions at an alarming rate, but competition among candidates for
officers’ schools (which once was very intense) has dropped sharply. In 1989, for example, it
was 1.9 applicants per space to only 1.35 in 1993.41 By 1999 it was even lower. In fact, some
educational institutions will accept every applicant just in order to fill their vacancies—and
this when the number of such establishments is being reduced from 101 to no more than 50!
Furthermore, by 1996 more than 50 percent of all junior officers had left the service as soon as
their obligation was finished in order to enter business.42 Why should they remain in the
military when they are paid about $100 per month doing a job that requires heavy physical
work and has all of the physical discomforts that go with it? Poor salaries, an insecure future,
inadequate family quarters and supporting institutions, with prestige at an all-time low, all
take their toll. As of June 1, 1998, there were 110,000 men on duty and 160,000 discharged
servicemen without housing.43 Indeed, providing an idea of just how bad this situation is, the
Defense Ministry reported in 1997 that the shortfall in junior officers was equivalent to the
number of those graduating from all military educational establishments annually.44 Some
19,000 officers under the age of 30 left the military during 1998 alone!45 By 1999 it was being
reported that 10 percent of all officer posts in the army were vacant.46

Given the problems facing the military, it is not surprising that morale is also at an
all-time low. Not only do few of the professionals see any future in the military, Pavel
Felgenhauer, the highly respected Russian commentator on military affairs, has reported
that senior military officers have begun to openly tell journalists that Marshal Sergeyev is not
fit to command the Russian army—another development that would have been inconceivable
during the Soviet period.47 Even more troubling from the Kremlin’s standpoint are the
questions being raised concerning what officers would do if called upon to support Moscow

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internally. In 1995, for example, a survey was conducted of some 600 field grade Russian
officers. The survey showed that questions concerning the army’s reliability were pervasive
throughout the officer corps.48 “Officers were particularly adamant in their opposition to
using the military to quell a separatist rebellion in one of the regions of the Russian
Federation.” Only seven percent supported such an action. In addition, when asked if they
would follow Moscow’s orders if one of the republics declared independence, 39 percent
“admitted that they probably or definitely would not follow orders.”

Reliability continues to be a problem, as indicated by the tendency of Russian officers to

“threaten” political authorities openly. The clearest case was that of General Vladimir
Shamanov, commander of the Western Group of Forces in Chechnya, who warned that if
Moscow ordered the army to stop its activities in Chechnya, “there would be a massive
defection of officers of all ranks from the armed forces, including generals.”49

To make matters more difficult, the government has now decided to increase the amount
of taxes soldiers pay, a decision that cannot but further lower morale. For example, in the
past, military officers did not pay an income tax. Now they must not only pay income tax, they
are being deprived of benefits such as free travel and a 50 percent discount on housing. In
addition to not being paid on time, officer pay has not been indexed for inflation for over two
and a half years. Such a situation has obvious implications for Moscow’s ability to ensure that
its troops obey its orders in a crisis situation, especially if it led to a serious internal
confrontation.

Cohesion (?) in the Russian Military

The problems that beset the Russian military will have—in fact, already are having—a
major impact on Russian civil-military relations. There has long been a misperception in the
West that the Soviet military was highly politicized. Much depends on how one defined the
term “politicization.” One commonly accepted definition in the West refers to the effort by a
party-state such as the former USSR to inculcate a particular political point of view in the
minds and hearts of its troops. In this sense, the Soviet military was very politicized. Political
officers and indoctrination lectures were all part of the life of the Soviet soldier.

There is, however, another type of politicization. It has to do with the involvement of
military officers in politics. In this sense, Western military officers have been much more
politicized than Soviet military officers—one need only spend time as a Congressional staffer
in Washington to note how politicized many senior American officers are!50 Russian and
Soviet officers were far more isolated from civilian society and, with the exception of a few at
the very top, seldom became involved in the political process.

Since the end of the Soviet Union, this apolitical stance on the part of Russian military
officers has broken down. Names of former Soviet (and Russian) generals such as Alexandr
Rutskoi, Boris Gromov, Alexandr Lebed, Albert Makashov, and Andrei Nikolayev have
become household terms among those who follow politics in Moscow. All have taken the

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plunge into politics with varying degrees of success. As far as civil-military relations are
concerned, this has had the effect of increasing the possibility that at some point Russian
generals may move directly into the political realm.

As far as the military itself is concerned, the increased involvement by senior military
officers has had the effect of further undermining cohesion as generals begin to view
themselves as political actors and sometimes find themselves on different sides of issues.
After all, just because they wear (or wore) uniforms, it does not follow that all generals think
alike, as some Western analysts seem to believe.

I am not suggesting that the Russian military is about to intervene directly in the political
process. The Russian military is too split internally to engage successfully in a coup—unless,
of course, such an action was not resisted by the country’s political authorities. In such a case,
a coup would succeed, but if the past few years are any indication, the chances of a “peaceful
coup” succeeding would appear small indeed. On the other hand, if—as this writer would
anticipate—an attempt by a general to seize power were resisted, military units would
probably find themselves on different sides, thereby raising the danger of a civil war. At a
minimum, a battle between military units would undermine further Moscow’s ability to
retain central control over many of the regions that currently make up Russia.

The greater danger facing the Russian Army in this writer’s opinion comes from the
increasing need by senior officers to make deals with local and regional authorities. When a
U.S. ship visited Vladivostok in 1989, this writer asked a senior Russian admiral to describe
his most serious problem. He responded by noting that it was trying to feed his sailors. He
regularly made deals with local agricultural enterprises whereby he traded the labor of his
sailors for a part of the produce. The need to interact with local authorities has increased over
time because units in places like Vladivostok cannot count on Moscow to provide them with
the materials they need. As one observer noted, “Many commanders no longer believe that
the state is able to feed its troops and have begun to try to do it themselves.” For example, the
commander of a Northern Fleet nuclear submarine went to the city fathers of Bryansk to
request 10 tons of potatoes to feed his crew since he could not count on the military to supply
them.51 These increasingly close ties between the country’s military officers and local political
and economic authorities have serious implications for the nature of civil-military relations in
the country.

Another possible scenario is the continued disintegration of the military into the world of
chaos and crime. What else can one expect from hungry and mistreated soldiers? Instead of
deciding to support local warlords, they may decide to take matters into their own hands and
seize local foodstuffs or take over running the area where they are stationed themselves.
Ex-soldiers—especially paratroopers—are already playing an abnormally significant role in
organized crime. After all, since crime among officers and men within the Russian military
has already reached epidemic proportions, it is not too difficult for these individuals to make
the transition to organized crime. Needless to say, such a scenario would have the most
serious implications for the safety of Moscow’s nuclear weapons.

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 Reading official Russian military reports, one could easily get the impression that the
reform process within the Russian military is well advanced and that its problems will soon be
solved. If fact, if the reader were to count the number of times the phrase “military reform”
has been mentioned in Soviet military circles during the past five or six years, I suspect he or
she would discover that it was mentioned literally thousands of times.

For our purposes, the most important, ambitious, and controversial plan is the one the
Russian high command claims is currently being implemented. Designed under Marshal
Sergeyev’s leadership, but with heavy political influence in the background, this plan divides
military reform into two stages. The first lasts until the year 2000.

In the first stage, the military will be reduced to 1.2 million troops. In order to reach this
number, thousands of troops are being discharged. The maximum number of generals (in
both the military and all other paramilitary units) is being cut to 2,300. A way will have to be
found to pay those who are discharged, since Russian law requires that soldiers who are
forcibly discharged receive a hefty separation allowance.

This proposal also calls for the position of Commander in Chief of Ground Forces—one of
the most powerful in the Russian Army—to be abolished. It has been replaced by a Ground
Force Main Department, as the military districts have been raised to the status of an
operational strategic or territorial command. This latter change currently is being
implemented and will lead to the discharge of thousands of officers and soldiers. For example,
some 961 Army aviation pilots and 1,134 flight and ground technicians were discharged in
1998.52 The first stage also calls for the introduction of more mobile forces, and the Russians
appear to be working in that direction, although progress in this area lags behind the others
for lack of the necessary funds.

The plan also calls for combining the Air Defense and Air Force into one service. This
process is already well underway. Some 125,000 air force personnel were discharged in 1998.
In the meantime, a number of redundant offices and organizations were disbanded in an
effort to save money. As far as junior officers are concerned, this new plan is making the
situation worse. General Kornukov, the commander of the now combined air force and air
defense forces made his priorities clear when he observed with regard to new graduates of
officer schools,

We had 415 pilots, and 365 of them were dismissed. This is painful, we feel bad about it. But our
aim was not to lose first-class pilots who are 25-30 years old. We should keep them, and we are
53
letting younger and less experienced people go.

While one can certainly understand Kornukov’s reasoning, his decision to let so many
junior officers go will only exacerbate an already serious problem.

While all of these changes are taking place, Russia is placing primary reliance on nuclear
weapons. Such weapons are cheaper than conventional systems, and easier to maintain. The
danger, however, is that by going to a “launch on warning” system, even greater reliance is
placed on Moscow’s command and control systems as well as its missiles. Unfortunately, both

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are deteriorating. There is a serious danger that these antiquated warning systems could
misread the situation and lead the Kremlin to believe it is under attack when such is not the
case. The Russians have begun to upgrade their missiles with the introduction of the Topol-M
ICBM, although there have been problems in tests. Even with the Topol-Ms in the Russian
inventory, the nuclear balance will not be seriously affected. Missiles are only as good as their
command and control systems.

Stage two of the reform plan calls for even more ambitious changes. Space forces may be
combined with the air force, military academies will undergo major changes both in terms of
curriculum and numbers, and there are suggestions that the military will be divided into
conventional and strategic nuclear forces. This latter option will inevitably lead to a blurring
of service lines (each has both kinds of forces), and opposition on the part of old-line military
and navy officers is already evident.

The fact is, however, that while officials in Moscow have made much of the military’s
reform plan, one can find even more articles written by both military and civilian observers
which describe in considerable depth the nature of the problems facing the armed forces—as
this article has demonstrated. My point is simple: even if the reform process were to succeed,
it will be decades before the problems noted above can be successfully addressed. It is for this
reason that I do not take the new draft military doctrine too seriously. It is a statement of
Russian military frustration vis-à-vis the West and especially the United States. I doubt that
its adoption will significantly change the situation in which the Russian military currently
finds itself.

It is hard to be optimistic when looking at the situation facing the Russian military today.
President Yeltsin gave the impression that he neither understood nor cared about the state of
the armed forces. Rather, he tolerated the military and if anything seemed more interested in
the country’s internal security organs. After all, the latter are especially trained to deal with
domestic violence, and if the collapse of the East German military demonstrates anything it is
that one cannot take the willingness of the country’s armed forces to put down internal
disturbances as a given.

As far as the reform process itself is concerned, it is true that for the first time the country
has the outlines of a plan and appears to be trying to implement it. The problem, however, is
that the military is continuing to fall apart in the process. As the West knows only too well,
downsizing is a very expensive process.

President Vladimir Putin has suggested on several occasions that he wants to rebuild the
armed forces. Furthermore, there have been press reports suggesting that the more
outspoken position taken by Russian generals in pushing for a decisive solution to the
Chechen war shows that “the Russian military appears to be exercising, at least temporarily,
serious political clout.”54 While the budget for the year 2000 indicates that spending on
national defense will rise by 50 percent to $5.3 billion,55 past practice suggests that the
military will be lucky to receive a fraction of what is promised. Assuming the Putin
government does carry through with its promise, for the first time the military will be in a
position to begin some work on modernization—a big if. In any case, it is clear that he and the

143
country’s military leaders have their work cut out for them. Rebuilding the military’s
infrastructure will take billions of rubles—and considerable time. As far as the personnel
issues are concerned, the only answer would seem to be a professional military. As Murray
Feshbach’s analysis of the health and demographic situation in Russia demonstrates, the
Kremlin simply won’t have the numbers of recruits to ever again field the kind of mass armies
that were standard in the past.56 But such reductions will require tremendous amounts of
money. There is no lack of will on the part of the military leadership in this area—they would
love to move toward a professional military, but it is simply too expensive. Furthermore, as
Steve Blank has pointed out, “Defense reform, to be meaningful and lasting, entails a
comprehensive reform of the state.”57 Until the state has put its house in order, little will
change within the military.

The bottom line is that while the Russian military has not yet collapsed, all indications are
that unless the Putin government decides to make some major investments in it, its collapse
may not be too far off.

Endnotes

1. An earlier version of this chapter appeared under the title, “The Russian Military Faces Creeping
Disintegration,” Demokratizatsiya, (Fall 1999).

2. “Rising Drug Use in the Russian Armed Forces,” The Monitor, July 20, 1999.

3. In normal Russian fashion, reference to the army means all services unless otherwise indicated.

4. “The Sword of Crisis Over the Military Budget,” Oriyentir, February 1999, no. 2 in WNC Military Affairs,
February 1, 1999.

5. Mikhail Rastopshin, “Russia: Damage and Casualty Effect of Advanced Weapons,” Technika i
Vooruzheniye, no. 2, February 1998, in FBIS, March 27, 1998.

6. “Conversation Without Middlemen,” Moscow Television, September 14, 1995 in FBIS CE, September 18,
1995, p. 19.

7. “Defense Chief Describes Army’s Woes,” The Monitor, April 9, 1998.

8. “Russia Tries to Save Military,” AP, July 2, 1999.

9. “Russian Arms Exports Reach Record High,” AFP, July 22, 1999.

10. “Armed Forces Manpower Shortage Threatens Country’s Security: Politicians May Come to Understand
this too late,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, February 1966, in FBIS CE, March 13, 1996, p. 1.

11. “Russia’s Red Army Has Lost its Roar,” Christian Science Monitor, June 2, 1997.

12. “Russian armed forces in critical shape,” Reuters, April 20, 1998.

13. “Lack of Funds Impedes Combat Training Plan,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, June 4, 1999, in WNC
Military Affairs, July 1, 1999.

14. “Russia Needs More Soldiers to Balance NATO Commander,” ITAR-TASS, March 12, 1999.

144

 15. “While Combat Readiness put at less than 10 percent,” RFE/RL, October 8, 1999.

16. “Russia’s Sergeyev on Military Reform,” Moscow Mayak Radio Network, February 23, 1998 in WNC
Military Affairs, February 28, 1998.

17. “US Gunning for Red Army,” Moscow Times, December 17, 1998.

18. “Hungry Russian Soldier Raids Food Shop at Gunpoint,” ITAR-TASS, March 23, 1999.

19. “Yeltsin Orders Probe of Security for Nukes,” Washington Times, October 21, 1998.

20. “Russia Fired 20 Nuke Soldiers on Mental Concerns,” Reuters, October 11, 1999.

21. “State Duma ‘Alarmed’ Over Army Crime,” ITAR-TASS, October 21, 1999, in WNC-Military Affairs,
October 22, 1999.

22. “A Stoned Army: The Spread of Drug Addiction in the Military is Threatening the Defensive Capabilities
of the Nation,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, June 4, 1999 in WNC Military Affairs, June 24, 1990.

23. “Rising Drugs in the Russian Armed Forces,” Monitor, July 20, 1999.

24. “Top Russian Military Unhappy with Servicemen,” Interfax, January 3, 2000 in WNC Military Affairs,
January 4, 2000.

25. “Interview with Yuriy Demin, Russian Deputy Prosecutor General and Chief Military Prosecutor,”
Argumenti i Fakti, March 25, 1998 in WNC Military Affairs, March 28, 1998.

26. Suicide Rate in the Military Remains High,” RFE/RL, June 23, 1998.

27. “Duma Says Over 2,500 Soldiers Died in Russia in 28 Months,” ITAR-TASS, June 10, 1998.

28. “Russia’s Army Faces Battle Within its Ranks,” Christian Science Monitor, February 1, 1999.

29. “Armed Forces Crime Figures for 1998 Announced,” Interfax, Dece mber 1, 1999.

30. Ibid.

31. “But Armed Forces Still Wracked by Social Ills,” Monitor, July 19, 1999.

32. Ibid.

33. “Over 100 Nuke Submarines Require Unloading of Spent Fuel,” ITAR-TASS, March 4, 1999; “Nuclear
Waste Dumping Has Long History,” Monitor, July 16, 1999.

34. “Moscow Military Urges Deserters to Return,” The Monitor, March 6, 1998; and “Russian Military
Conscripts at Risk,” Monitor, May 14, 1998.

35. “The Russian Army, Reeling from the War in Chechnya and Facing Brutality within its Ranks, has
Found a New Enemy: Itself,” Transitions, November 1998.

36. “Defense Minister Worried About Crime in the Military,” Monitor, March 11, 1998.

37. “Generals, Admirals Convicted of Corruption,” RFE/RL Report, July 6, 1999.

38. “Russian Military Plagued by Abusive Officers,” Monitor, June 18, 1999.

39. “Economic Crime Rising in Armed Forces,” REF/RL Daily Report, October 8, 1999.

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 40.. “The Russian Army, Reeling From the War in Chechnya and Facing Brutality within its Ranks, Has
Found a New Enemy: Itself,” Transitions, November 1998.

41.. “Officers! Russian Federation of Ministry of Defense Information Publishes Date on Armed Forces’
Officer Corps,” Rossiiskaia gazeta, August 26, 1996, in FBIS CE, August 31, 1995, p. 31.

42. “Yevgeniy Podkolzin: ‘I am Proud of the Airborne Troops,’” Zavtra, December, 1995, in JPRS-Russian
Military Affairs, February 7, 1996, p. 19.

43. “Impeachment Commission Views Army Discipline,” Sovetskaya Rossiya, November 5, 1998, in WNC
Military Affairs, November 7, 1998.

44. “Sergeyev ‘Confident’ Military Reform Will be Successful,” Moscow INTERFAX, June 21, 1997, in FBIS,
June 21, 1997.

45. “Russian Army’s Woes Outlined,” Monitor, December 14, 1998.

46. “Russian Army Continues to Lose Officers,” Monitor, October 13, 1999.

47. Pavel Felgenhauer, “Defense Dossier: Army Morale at a New Low,” Moscow Times, March 12, 1998.

48. Deborah Yarsike Ball, “The Unreliability of the Russian Officer Corps: Reluctant Domestic Warriors,” in
Kathleen Bailey and M. Elaine Price, eds., Director’s Series on Proliferation, November 17, 1995
UCRL-LR-114070-9, p. 19.

49. “Usually Silent, the Military Urges Hard Line on Chechnya,” New York Times, November 7, 1999.

50. This became clear to the author during the two years he spent as a staffer on the House Armed Services
Committee.

51. “Yevgeniy Primakov Promises to Solve Troop Financial Problems at Assemblies of Armed Forces
Leaders,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 13-19, 1998 in WNC Military Affairs, December 1, 1998.

52 “Trend: Ground Troops Reform Will Not Be Reduced: Attempts Are Being Made in Russia To Establish a
New Territorial Command And Control System,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, March 20-26, in WNC
Military Affairs, April 14, 1998.

53. “Russian Air Force Chief Interviewed,” Moscow NTV, June 22, 1998 in WNC Military Affairs, June 25,
1998.

54. “War Gives New Clout to Russian Military,” Washington Post, December 5, 1999.

55. “Defense Spending to Get Boost Next Year,” RFE/RL Daily Report, December 6, 1999.

55 Murray Feshbach, “What a Tangled Web we Weave: Child Health in Russia and its Future,” Science
Applications International Corporation, July 1998.

57. Stephen Blank, “State and Armed Forces in Russia: Toward an African Scenario,” in Anthony James
Joes, ed., Saving Democracies, New York: Praeger, 1999, p. 171.

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 The Politics of Russian Military Reform

John C. Reppert
Debates and infighting over Russia’s military reform
are at the very center of domestic politics.
1
—General-Lieutenant Lev Rokhlin

Although “military reform” has been a central aspect of Russian security policy since the
founding of the modern Russian State in 1991 and has been a matter of active political debate
throughout the past eight years, it is still the source of considerable confusion regarding both
goals and accomplishments.

Duma Deputy Alexei Arbatov has provided the best comprehensive definition of what
“military reform” was meant to be in regard to its political intentions:

The commonly accepted meaning of the term “military reform” in Russia (in particular as pro­
vided by the draft law “On The Military Reform” elaborated by the Russian parliament in the
spring of 1997) is a combination of political, economic, legal, military, technical, and social mea­
sures designed to qualitatively transform the armed forces of the Russian Federation, other
troops and military formations, military executive agencies, and defense production organiza­
tions so they can provide a sufficient level of national defense within the limits of available re-
sources.

It should be emphasized that “military reform” implies a more comprehensive framework than
“reform of the armed forces.” The latter term is mostly confined to the doctrine and strategic
missions, structure, composition, force levels, combat equipment, and training of the armed ser­
vices and armed forces of the Russian Ministry of Defense (MOD). “Military reform” includes
comprehensive reorganization of troops and formations, defense industries and war mobiliza­
tion assets, the recruitment system and social security for the military, the division of power and
authority among the branches of the government on military matters, the financial system for
funding defense and security, the organization of the executive branch and the MOD itself for
2
implementing defense policy, military build-up (or build-down) and force employment.

Whatever failings we may wish to attribute to military reform in Russia, we cannot blame
them on the lack of a comprehensive approach and an ambitious agenda.

While the focus of this paper will be on the armed forces, it is important to understand that
this element of reform was intended to be but one portion of a far more comprehensive shift in
security structure and policy. Unfortunately from the perspective of the reformers, the efforts
to better integrate the various military formations of the Russian Federation (the Ministry of
Internal Affairs, the Federal Security Bureau, and the forces of the Ministry of Emergency
Situations, to name but a few) with those of the Ministry of Defense have produced few
results. Likewise, the ambitious plans put forth by First Deputy Minister of Defense Andrei
Kokoshin on how the military-industrial complex (VPK) of Russia would be slimmed down,
modernized, and focused on the needs of the future have likewise been unachieved. Arbatov’s

147

final point on the reorganization of the Russian government as a critical part of the overall
concept of military reform has not only failed to be realized, it has not yet been realistically
addressed.

Politics of Reform of the Russian Armed Forces

What then can be said about those efforts at reform focused specifically on the Ministry of
Defense? As is the case for the larger issue of military reform, much confusion exists in the
West (and in Russia) on the more specific issue of reform of the Russian armed forces.

While no one would argue that the Russian armed forces of 2000 are not dramatically
different than the Soviet Armed Forces of the late 1980s, there is widespread divergence of
views as to whether the changes are the result of reform within the armed forces, or simply
the result of failure to adapt to new conditions. While describing the extent of change in the
last decade exceeds the scope of this chapter, two authoritative capsule comments illustrate
the point.

A prudent American defense policy cannot rest on theories of Soviet motivation, but must re­
spond to the facts of Soviet military capabilities. These are that the Soviets have more than 200
ground divisions, roughly 1,400 ICBMs, over 50,000 tanks, and more than 8,400 tactical air-
3
craft.”

The Russian Armed Forces has 24 divisions plus 13 training units, 771 ICBMs, about 15,500
4
tanks, and fewer than 2,000 tactical aircraft.

Therefore, acknowledging the obvious that significant changes have taken place, there are
two basic issues to be examined. The first is whether the Russian armed forces recognized the
need to reform and developed appropriate plans to achieve the needed changes. The second is
whether the changes of recent years are the result of or even related to any plan for reform
that had been developed.

The initial driving force behind the transformation of the Soviet/Russian army needs to be
seen in light of the momentum created in the late 1980s and not exclusively in the post-Soviet
period. The period of rapid change began from the four Rs. As a result of dramatic changes in
the political landscape internationally and within Russia, the Army had to be Relocated,
Reduced, Restructured, and Reequipped. While reform was not a totally alien concept to the
armed forces, in this case it was made more difficult because of the speed with which it had to
be accomplished and the fact that it was not in response to any alleged or acknowledged
deficiency in the existing armed forces or any failure to perform on the battlefield. It was an
imperative created by colossal changes in the environment within which the military was to
operate. Let’s discuss each of the four Rs in turn.

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Relocation

The first of the imperatives, Relocation, emerged as a shaping force on December 7, 1988,
when then Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev announced the beginning of a unilateral
withdrawal of some portion of Soviet forces based in Eastern Europe at a U.N. speech. The
validity of this pledge was looked at with some skepticism by Western national security
leaders, as reflected in this reaction by U.S. Secretary of Defense Richard Cheney:

While the United States encourages the evolution of the Soviet Union toward a more open soci­
ety, a Soviet Union demonstrably dedicated to democratic principles, we cannot react unilater­
ally to Soviet initiatives that are not yet implemented or to proposals which, if implemented, can
easily be reversed. . . . It is, therefore, clear that despite the dramatic changes occurring in the
Soviet Union and the Soviet leadership’s declaration of benign intentions toward the Western
5
democracies, Soviet military capabilities continue to constitute a major threat to our security.

The machinery of the Soviet General Staff, however, began the immediate task of looking
for new homes for the forces being withdrawn. While this withdrawal proved over time to be
real, it was both difficult and expensive. But in this case, as opposed to later efforts by the
Russian armed forces to relocate forces within the former Soviet Union, the Soviets found
adequate financial support to both facilitate and accelerate the announced policy. Germany
was the most generous in providing necessary funding to allow the forces to return swiftly to
the Soviet Union. This assistance was especially attractive in light of Gorbachev’s next
challenge to the West, “We will deprive you of an enemy.”

The decision to withdraw a significant number of Soviet forces unilaterally from the
Eastern European states of the Warsaw Treaty Organization (commonly referred to as the
Warsaw Pact) was clearly a leadership-driven policy and not one based on military
correlation of force considerations or explicit pressure from the host countries for Soviet force
redeployments. In April 1985, the first month of Gorbachev’s six-year presidency, the life of
the Warsaw Pact had been voluntarily extended by its members for another 20 years. Thus,
internal politics in Moscow was the determining factor in this major relocation and
rebalancing of forces in Europe.

By 1989 Russian and Chinese negotiators had agreed on a new level of cooperation along
their long common border, permitting both sides to significantly reduce the large troop
concentrations that had built up there. Specifically, Gorbachev pledged during a visit to
China in May 1989 to reduce Soviet forces along the Chinese border by 120,000 men.6 The
Chinese quickly began to reciprocate with comparable reductions of their own.

By 1990 another major consideration emerged that would affect and complicate the
relocation challenge. The newly approved Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty
included specific limitations on quantities of treaty-limited equipment (TLE) which could be
deployed in certain geographical areas. While this in itself did not legally limit the number of
troops deployed in those areas, the reductions in tanks, artillery, armored combat vehicles,
combat helicopters, and fighter aircraft logically limited deployed armed forces. For the
Soviets and later the Russian armed forces, this was particularly important in that it affected
their ability to redeploy the forces from Eastern Europe or the Chinese border into the flank

149
regions, primarily the Transcaucasus Military District to the south where, they argued, the
greatest threat to their national security existed. This problem was further exacerbated by
the demise of the Warsaw Treaty Organization in 1990, requiring the total withdrawal of the
1,000,000 plus Soviet forces that Gorbachev had begun to reduce only two years earlier.

Were that not enough, the final redeployment challenge came about as a result of the
demise of the Soviet Union itself in December 1991 and the decision in the spring of the
following year to break up the Soviet armed forces, withdrawing virtually all stationed forces
and those which had been redeployed from Eastern Europe to the Baltics, as well as specific
elements from the Transcaucasus, Central Asia, Moldova, and even Ukraine and Belarus.
These movements also had to accommodate the constrictions imposed by the 1990 CFE
Treaty zones.

Unlike moves from Eastern Europe, these relocations had to be accomplished without
foreign funding, an exception being the withdrawal of forces from the Baltics, which was
largely underwritten by the West. One example of this difficulty was the removal of an
airborne regiment from Moldova in 1992. While the Russians were resisting relocating their
“14th Army” commanded by General-Lieutenant Alexander Lebed from the Transdniestr
portion of Moldova, they were willing to move an independent airborne regiment from the
Moldovan capital of Chisinau, which was, ironically, commanded by Lebed’s younger brother.
In December 1992, the move was accomplished over protest by those involved when the
regiment was flown to a remote location in Siberia, where it was presented with construction
materials for its new barracks and storage facilities. The regiment urged to swiftly get about
constructing them in the midst of the Siberian winter.

While the frequently heard Russian claim that thousands of officers are still without
housing as a result of the sequential relocations is misleading, it is clear that the two major
barriers to a more effective relocation strategy have been finances and the CFE Treaty of
1990. The Russians have repeatedly sought to modify the CFE Treaty to allow greater
deployments in flank areas, arguing that there was no longer any confrontation between the
two armed blocs (NATO and Warsaw Pact) that the Treaty had been conceived to constrain.
Though this was in part acknowledged by concessions in Vienna this past year, the
deployments of Russian forces to fight the conflict in Chechnya have again raised concerns
that Russia is acting outside the bounds the revised treaty imposes.

Reduce

As in the case of the relocation of forces, the clear starting point for dramatic reductions in
the Soviet armed forces can be traced to President Gorbachev’s speech to the U.N. in
December 1988. There he pledged to reduce the Soviet military by 500,000 men. Of these,
200,000 were to come from the Far East, 240,000 from west of the Urals (including the 50,000
he announced were to be withdrawn from Warsaw Pact countries), and 60,000 from the
Southern borders.7 The base from which these reductions would be achieved was reflected in
a Gorbachev speech in London April 8, 1989. Here he reported Soviet strength at 4,258,000

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(apparently excluding 490,000 construction and railway troops, which were said to not
receive military training).8

Parallel to this significant manpower reduction was the surge of bilateral and multilateral
arms control agreements from 1987 to 1992 that eliminated one class of weapons for the two
superpowers and placed significantly lower levels on many others. These included the
Intermediate Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty of December 1987, which resulted in the
elimination of all Soviet and American intermediate range nuclear missiles. This was
followed by the Conventional Forces in Europe (CFE) Treaty, which capped numbers of tanks,
artillery, armored combat vehicles, combat helicopters, and fighter aircraft in the area from
the Atlantic to the Urals. A next step was the START II Treaty of 1992 (still not ratified by the
Russian Federation), which would cut strategic systems by half. Also, while having less
impact on combat capabilities or plans, the 1997 agreement on eliminating all chemical
weapons had major potential budget implications for Russia.

Ultimately, the drive to reduce the armed forces was defined by the decisions regarding
relocation and restructuring, but even more by demographic and economic realities. With the
demise of the Soviet Union, Russia lost access to the manpower-rich regions of Central Asia,
where large numbers of recruits had been inducted in the 1970s and 1980s. Even more
important, the collapse of the new Russian economy led to inconceivable reductions in the
defense budget, which not only foreclosed the option of the 5 million man army of the past, but
also precluded options then proposed to move quickly to a highly professional all-volunteer
force.

While the economic pressures on the military are commonly associated with the
post-Soviet period, it is well to understand that this too was a work already in motion. This
process can also trace its modern roots back to a unilateral initiative by President Gorbachev.
In early 1989, Gorbachev announced that Soviet defense spending was to be reduced by 14.2%
in the 1991 budget.9

The graphic representation of this financial factor can be seen best in Western estimates of
Soviet/Russian defense spending. The budget for defense spending announced by the Soviets
in May 1989 indicated that they would spend $120 billion at current exchange rates on
defense. (Most Western estimates were higher.) Ten years later, the budget with additions
during 1999 was estimated to be closer to $5.5 billion at current exchange rates a figure not
challenged in the West except in terms of purchasing price parity advantages enjoyed by the
Russians.

In personnel terms, the Ministry of Defense says the period of reductions has ended. The
Russian military now stands at 1.2 million, and Minister of Defense Sergeyev has repeatedly
said there are no plans to go below this number. However, it is important to realize that the
Russian armed forces did not drop by 75% as a result of a well thought-out plan. They fell in
part because the draft system is badly broken, and large numbers of eligible young men evade
military service. They also took large reductions when the talented young officers decided the
grass was far greener outside of military service. None of these fundamental problems has yet
been effectively addressed.

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Restructuring

While initial efforts at the next imperative, Restructuring, were made in the late 1980s
with the collapse of the Warsaw Treaty Organization, this process became a decisive
determinant as a result of two dramatic events of the early 1990s. The first case was the
demise of the Soviet Union and the subsequent decision to allocate those portions of the Soviet
Army stationed on the territories of a number of former Soviet republics (Russia, Ukraine,
Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Uzbekistan) to those states and their new national
armies. The second was the new doctrinal tenet that the emergent Russia state had no
enemies.

The first of these developments resulted in organizational chaos since the original Soviet
military districts and other structures had not been organized exclusively along republic
political boundaries. For instance, the Transcarpathian front was divided between Ukraine
and Moldova, with air support for the front assigned to one nation and artillery to another.
The dispute over allocation of ships and assets of the Black Sea Fleet between Russia and
Ukraine dragged on for seven years.

This division was further compounded by the considerable ambiguity surrounding the role
and creation of a Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) armed forces. Many former
Soviet officers at the time of the breakup of the Soviet Union envisioned this as a NATO-like
military structure with an integrated command and control, with the independent states
being largely responsible for administration and logistics. The serving Minister of Defense of
Russia, Marshal Shaposhnikov, made his own bet on the future in 1992 in giving up his
Russian assignment as Minister to become CIS Joint Armed Forces Commander-in-Chief.
Within less than a year even the most casual observer had concluded that the CIS did not and
would not have joint armed forces, and even the optimistic Shaposhnikov was exploring new
career options.

The second of these factors—the doctrinal declaration that Russia had no foreign
enemies—meant that the Russian army no longer had a rationale or budgetary justification
for the large tank armies and armored formations, which had been designed against NATO
capabilities. This aspect of the military reform package caused irritation within the armed
forces and friction with certain elements of society. On one level, military schools were
required to revise instruction and exercises against conflict with NATO forces. In fact, for
several years in the mid-1990s they conducted exercises at higher-level schools in which the
opposing forces were identical to their own in structure and doctrine with questionable
training value. At the larger public level, a series of critics of military spending (even at the
dramatically reduced levels) argued in the press that a nation with no foreign enemies
requires no armed forces.

The subsequent events of NATO expansion, NATO operations in Kosovo, and the “fight
against international terrorism” in Chechnya have allowed the Russians in 2000 to issue a
revised National Security Concept and a revised draft military doctrine that once again
acknowledge the existence of foreign enemies, thus freeing the military to again adjust
instruction and exercises at its schools. As Putin noted shortly after being appointed Prime

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Minister, “Several years ago we fell prey to an illusion that we have no enemies. We have paid
dearly for this. Russia has its own national interests and we have to defend them.”10

By the 1996 presidential election campaign in Russia, Yeltsin introduced another

dramatic element in restructuring by firmly stating that the state was committed to creation
of an all-volunteer armed force within the next five years. Russian officers, who by this time
had gained considerable insight into the realities of volunteer forces through contacts with
Western armies, were supportive in concept, but universally skeptical that the Russian state
would provide the necessary resources. By 1998 they and the members of the Duma had
convinced the President to stop including this ambitious conversion policy in public
statements, and by 1999 it was officially acknowledged as a distant goal. However, having
observed the army’s performance in Chechnya, Acting President Putin was once more raising
the question of a professional force in early 2000.

The few steps in the direction of a volunteer force are worth noting. In one manifestation,
it significantly increased the number of women in the armed forces as officers “recruited”
their own wives to serve at the promised higher pay and benefits. A single episode observed
by the author suggests that these volunteers may have been capable, but were probably not
deployable. An impressive firing demonstration of individual and crew-served weapons at
the 2nd Division outside of Moscow was concluded ceremonially by having the BDU-clad
volunteers in the firing positions remove their helmets to reveal long hair flowing over their
shoulders. They then emerged to shake hands with observers, stepping from the trenches in
high heels, since “the Russian Army doesn’t have boots for women.”

Three others concepts of restructuring emerged in the mid-1990s. The first was to
combine elements and services of the armed forces to create a more efficient management
system. The second was to restructure the Military Districts to better match the various
federal structures, such as the Ministry of Internal Affairs. The third was advocacy for a
major internal restructuring of the armed forces based on the introduction of western-style
noncommissioned officers.

After heated debate within the Ministry of Defense, the first of these concepts was realized
in part on March 1, 1998, when the air force and air defense forces were legally merged into a
single organization. A continuing effort on behalf of Minister of Defense Sergeyev to
consolidate all of Russia’s nuclear forces into a single agency is still being stiffly resisted by
the General Staff. The effort to restructure the Military Districts has met with partial success
under Sergeyev. The Siberian and Transbaykal MDs were merged in 1998, while a final move
to bring together the Volga and Ural MDs is underway. This step would go far in aligning the
Ministry of Defense and the other power ministries geographically for more integrated
control, although further restructuring of the Ministry of Internal Affairs and the Border
Guards would still be required.

Despite intense interest expressed by each of the successive Ministers of Defense and
Chiefs of the General Staff, as well as a host of service chiefs, virtually no progress has been
made on the issue of creating a Western-style NCO corps. While the reasons are complex, a
few basic factors can illustrate the problem. The simplest is that if you wish to attract and

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retain qualified NCOs, you have to be willing to pay them. No Russian defense budget has yet
included that option. A second factor is that the Russian army is structured to have officers
perform many of the functions assigned in other armed forces in the West to NCOs. Any
introduction of large numbers of NCOs would require parallel reductions in the officer corps.
The officer corps has rejected this strongly for obvious reasons. Finally, the creation of an
NCO corps requires a well-constructed long-term plan and program. This would involve a
structure allowing increased responsibility with rank, a school system paralleling the officer
schooling system, and a relationship between officers and NCOs that would allow both to
succeed through cooperation.

Reequipping

The drive to Reequip the forces was the result of two independent variables. The first was
the proposed restructuring to change the army from an armor-heavy force to a light, mobile,
agile structure designed to fight small conflicts along the border of Russia (or the former
USSR). The second was the ongoing “Revolution in Military Affairs,” which premised its
development on movement toward information warfare, vastly improved intelligence, and
precision weapons.

The move to “lighten” the forces became public with the withdrawals from Eastern Europe
in 1989. The Soviets announced that they would lighten their tank divisions by changing
from a structure consisting of three tank regiments and one motorized rifle regiment to two
and two.11 This transformation was greatly accelerated by the limits the CFE Treaty placed
on the five categories of combat equipment. The Soviets quickly implemented change. For
instance, largely in response to the Treaty, the Soviets announced that between January 1989
and November 1990 they had reduced tanks in the Atlantic-to-Urals regions from 41,580 to
20,725.12

Reequipping has always been listed as the final stage of military reform, in part because of
the clear cost implications for a dramatically reduced Russian defense budget. This has led in
recent years to a running struggle between Minister of Defense Sergeyev, former Commander
of the Strategic Rocket Forces, who has stated his preference for devoting virtually all major
end equipment procurement dollars to the new TOPOL-M missile to update the strategic
forces—and Chief of the General Staff Kvashnin, who has argued for investment in
conventional technology. For the past two years Sergeyev has prevailed, and the Russian
armed forces have deployed 10 new TOPOL-M’s to their force each year, as conventional
procurement has languished.

Russia’s President has said that the government will increase the arms procurement
budget by 50% in 2000, thus offering an opportunity to partially satisfy both parties and to
respond to real conventional equipment losses in Chechnya.13

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Conclusion

In all fairness to the Russian armed forces, they have dramatically adjusted their size and
activities to the changes in their operational environment and the cuts in their budget.
Unfortunately, the vast majority of steps they have taken along the path prescribed by the
four R’s have been unrelated to their own developmental concept.

A recent development may have interesting implications for the future of military reform
in Russia. General Nikolayev was selected in February to become the new Chairman of the
Duma Defense Committee. This was this same General Nikolayev, then assigned to the
Ministry of Defense in 1992-93, who was the father of the initial comprehensive program for
reform of the Russian military and particularly the reform of the Ministry of Defense. In a
conversation in Moscow weeks after Nikolayev had received his new appointment, the author
reviewed with him the status of the military reform to which he had given birth. Nikolayev
expressed near total dismay with the havoc wrought upon the Russian armed forces in the
name of reform. He stated that getting the program back to the original intentions was to be
one of his highest priorities.

As the Chairman of the Defense Committee, he will have an opportunity to influence the
budget, which has been the greatest constraining factor on change. He will receive further
support for his efforts through the new National Security Concept, which renews the
justification for a more capable and diverse military capability.

However, the challenges faced by Nikolayev and the new President of Russia are more
than formidable. Russia’s army has been relocated, but not necessarily in the optimal way to
use their limited military resources. The army has been drastically reduced, but often
through the process of allowing their best and brightest young officers to leave to pursue more
financially rewarding positions. Further, the conscription system, which supplied the
enlisted manpower for the armed forces, is seriously flawed and may not be salvageable. The
achievements of restructuring have been most modest, and the absence of material
acquisition and funds for training have further constrained the few benefits that the steps
taken to date might have been expected to bring. Finally, the big budget item in the reform
program is re-equipping, where the Russian armed forces have made no progress at all. They
are, if anything, even less mobile and agile than they were in 1991. They have lost a
generation in R&D, not to mention acquisition, of modern military weaponry. They have been
reduced politically and practically to an armed force strained to the limit in battling some
10,000 irregulars in Chechnya, while brandishing their vast nuclear arsenal in order to hold
any external enemies at bay.

The leadership of the Ministry of Defense cannot be congratulated on achieving reform,

but deserves praise and even gratitude for maintaining the armed forces under governmental
control at a time when neither officers nor enlisted personnel were adequately fed or paid.
They have worked hard to preclude proliferation of their weapons of mass destruction, even
though foreign buyers were available with desperately needed cash. They have maintained a
centrally controlled and coherent military force that offers the new Russian leadership the

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opportunity to accomplish what they failed to do in the first decade of national existence, but
the challenges remain immense and time to move forward is increasingly limited.

Endnotes

1. Arbatov, Alexei. Military Reform in Russia: Dilemmas, Obstacles, and Prospects. Cambridge, MA: Center
for Science and International Affairs, 1997, p. 1.

2. Ibid., p. 4.

3. Annual Report to Congress by the Secretary of Defense, Fiscal Year 1988, Washington: Government
Printing Office, 1987, p. 23.

4. The Military Balance 1999-2000, London, 1999, pp. 111-116.

5. Richard B. Cheney, Soviet Military Power, U.S. Government Printing Office, September 1989, p.5.

6. The Military Balance 1989-90, London: IISS, 1989. p. 29.

7. The Military Balance 1989-90, p. 29.

8. Ibid., p. 30.

9. Ibid. p. 17.

10. Will Englund, “Putin’s Past May Point to Repression,” Baltimore Sun, January 2, 2000, p. 1.

11. The Military Balance 1990-91, p. 33.

12. Ibid. p. 33.

13. “Russia Plans to Increase Arms Budget by 50%,” The Wall Street Journal, January 28, 2000, p. A16.

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 New Structures, Old Thinking

Michael Orr
This paper examines force restructuring in the Russian armed forces, especially in the
ground forces over the last decade. Progress or stagnation in force structuring provides a
useful indication of the reality and status of military reform generally. Russians frequently
make a distinction between “military reform” and “reform of the armed forces.” Military
reform is a fundamental reassessment of a state’s defense policy and requirements, affecting
government, society, and the economy as a whole; reform of the armed forces is the
reorganization of the armed forces to meet these changed requirements. Military leaders
sometimes use the politicians’ lack of interest in military reform to justify their slowness in
reform of the armed forces, but a study of restructuring demonstrates that there is a great
deal which could have been accomplished by the generals without waiting for the politicians
to move and which would have increased the efficiency of the armed forces significantly.

Restructuring of the Russian armed forces is driven by two major forces: internal or
technical and external or geopolitical. The internal or technical consideration is the
Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA), which pre-dates the establishment of the Russian
Federation. Soviet military scientists concluded that the RMA would require slimmer, more
mobile forces, in which greater firepower and improved C3I capabilities would compensate for
reductions in size. In the ground forces these structural changes were expressed in

Figure 1. Ground Force Structures: Two Models

ARMY CORPS

DIVISION BRIGADE

REGIMENT BATTALION

BATTALION

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experiments with a chain of command, which ran corps-brigade-battalion rather than
army-division-regiment-battalion (Figure 1).

It is significant that these changes would have required deeper reforms to be effective
because of the higher standards of leadership and training which would have been required in
these new formations. The external or geopolitical force was the end of the Cold War and
collapse of the Soviet Union and Warsaw Pact, with Russia’s consequent reduced world status
and resource base. These demanded rapid, in fact, over-hasty troop withdrawals from
Eastern Europe and saw the loss of many formations to newly independent republics.
Obviously, all the NATO and Warsaw Pact armed forces were subject to some of these
pressures, but I would argue that Russia faced the greatest pressure and was the worst
equipped of all to face that pressure.

In particular, during the period in which General Grachev was Minister of Defense
(1992-1996), the Russian approach to restructuring was driven by a refusal to confront
reality—it was an attempt to retain as much of the Soviet system as possible, with its roots in
a mass-industrial warfare mobilization capability, and insofar as there was discussion of
change, it was over-ambitious and remained merely words. For example, it was proposed to
create a new structure to be called “the Mobile Forces.” Their creation would have benefited
Grachev’s own branch of the service, the airborne forces (VDV), but would have stretched
Russian defense resources even more thinly.

As a result, Soviet-style structures were left in place without the demographic and
economic resources to sustain them. By the middle of the 1990s Russian military formations
were becoming a hollow shell, illustrated by the fate of the divisions brought back from
Eastern Europe. Having been “Category A,” First Strategic Echelon forces, they returned to
Russia at reasonably high manning levels, approximately 12,000 men in motor rifle divisions
and 8,000 in tank divisions. At the time of the first Chechen War their strengths had shrunk
to 7,000 - 8,000 men in motor rifle divisions and 3,000 - 4,000 in tank divisions. By 1997
strengths had fallen even lower; some tank divisions could hardly raise 2,000 men and apart
from some formations in the north Caucasus and parts of the so-called “peace-keeping
divisions” manning levels were so low that hardly a formation in the Russian ground forces
could be considered combat effective.

The consequence of this failure to adapt structures to realities was seen in the first
Chechen War. “Composite units” were created in every military district for deployment to
Chechnya (see Figure 2). Divisions struggled to raise a “composite regiment” and were able to
do so only by bringing in individual reinforcements from all over the district. To raise a
composite battalion of naval infantry in the Baltic Fleet, men reportedly were drawn from
over 100 ships and establishments. Men were posted without any regard for their military
specialities; radar operators might be expected to become snipers overnight. With no time to
train together these hodgepodge units were thrown into battle, meeting a series of tactical
disasters.

It was obvious that reform and restructuring could not be delayed any longer, and a new
defense minister, General Igor Rodionov, was appointed. Rodionov, from his position as head

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of the General Staff Academy, had developed the only effective critique of the existing system
and the best-founded proposals for change. His period in office will probably be seen as a
failure, but an honorable one. He proposed controversial changes but was quickly shown that
he would not get political or financial support to introduce them and retreated into his

Military District

Division

Individual &
Sub-unit
Reinforcements Composite Chechnya
Regiment

Figure 2. Mobilization for Chechnya, 1994-95

bunker. Restructuring was an obvious indicator of his problems. Rodionov tried to reduce the
bloated ground and airborne forces but was met with an uproar, Yeltsin vacillated, and
restructuring did not happen.

After less than a year Rodionov was made a scapegoat for Yeltsin’s inability to face the
consequences, especially the financial consequences, of military reform. His successor,
General Igor Sergeyev, has introduced the first major steps to restructure the Russian armed
forces. Most of Sergeyev’s program is based on Rodionov’s ideas. The difference between the
two men can be summed up by a quotation from each of them. Rodionov said that military
reform was the “process of bringing the entire defense activity of the state into conformity
with the new political, economic, and social changes in policy”. Sergeyev said, “I see military
reform as the implementation of proposals approved by the president.” Whereas Rodionov
thought that the pace of reform should be influenced by the need to protect the welfare of
personnel who might be made redundant or relocated, Sergeyev has been more willing to
make cuts and changes, whatever the cost to individual servicemen. He has also sought to
change the balance of power within the armed forces by promoting the interests of his own
service, the Strategic Rocket Forces.

This last tendency is most clearly demonstrated in the restructuring of the armed services
since 1997. All space-based forces have been absorbed into the Strategic Rocket Forces. After

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the national air defense forces (PVO) had lost their anti-missile component, the remainder
was amalgamated with the Air Force, reducing the number of armed services to four. These
changes were not too difficult to justify in military terms; other countries had never found it
necessary to make national air defense a separate arm of service, and in procurement terms
alone having two separate air forces was very wasteful.

It is less easy to justify the abolition of the main command of the ground forces. The
ground forces are the largest of the Russian armed services and had always carried most
weight in Ministry of Defense politics. Both the Minister of Defense and the Chief of the
General Staff have almost always been drawn from the ground forces. It is therefore difficult
to see why this large and important branch of the services should be expected to do without a
professional head. The ground forces are now controlled by a directorate, not a main
command, and by a director, not a commander-in-chief.

In addition, the military districts were reorganized (see Maps 1 & 2). The Siberian and
Transbaikal MDs were amalgamated into a new Siberian MD in 1998. The Volga and Urals
MDs were to have amalgamated in 1999 but the process seems to have been delayed until
2000 and had not begun at the time of writing. (Some cynics have suggested that in parts of
the Ministry of Defense military reform means restructuring the Volga Military District).
More importantly the military districts are supposed to take on such new responsibilities as
“operational-strategic” or “operational-territorial commands.” This gives their headquarters
operation status rather than administrative status. Each is responsible for a strategic sector
of Russia’s borders; in theory, all forces within that sector, whether Ministry of Defense or
others, should come under control of the command, which is itself subordinate to the general
staff. In practice, the details are still unclear, and it is uncertain how much authority the
general staff and military districts will possess over non-Ministry of Defense forces in
peacetime. The second Chechen war is the first test of the system, with the North Caucasus
Military District controlling operations through a Joint Forces Grouping headquarters.

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 MAP 1

MAP 2

KEY TO MILITARY DISTRICTS: FE = Far Eastern; LE = Leningrad; MO =

Moscow; NC = North Caucasus; SI = Siberian: TB = Transbaikal; UR =
Urals: VO = Volga; VO-UR = Volga-Urals

161
 At the moment, the situation appears to be that there are four Russian armed services but
only three main commands and that the intention is to go on to a system of three armed
services, probably based on land, sea, and air forces. However, the picture is not totally clear,
with the relationship between the Strategic Rocket Forces and the Air Force in such a system
not having been explained.

It could be argued that raising the SRF’s status fits the new Russian military doctrine,
which stresses the value of nuclear forces in deterring even conventional conflicts. However,
an examination of the personnel appointments made by Sergeyev shows that he has been
concerned to end the ground forces’ traditional domination of senior appointments in the
Ministry of Defense and General Staff and replace it with SRF primacy.

Within the ground forces Sergeyev has made the deep cuts which Rodionov proposed. The
order of battle has been drastically reduced, but the formations which remain are better
manned, and a number of “permanent readiness formations” have been created. The first of
these was a new 3rd Motor Rifle Division created in the Moscow Military District from
elements of two under-strength tank divisions with large drafts of personnel from elsewhere.
These permanently ready forces are supposed to have 100 percent of their wartime
equipment list and 80 percent of the wartime manpower strength even in peacetime, and to be
capable of deployment within a few days. By 1999 it was claimed that three ground force
divisions, four ground forces brigades and three airborne divisions had achieved this
standard. In addition, a number of regiments in other divisions have been allocated
permanent readiness status. These reduced-strength divisions are said to require 30 days
notice to mobilize as a whole, though the permanently ready regiments should be deployable
earlier. Finally, there is a mobilization reserve of formations requiring 90 days’ preparation
to be ready for war.

This is certainly a more rational structure, apparently modelled on the old Soviet pattern
of three levels of readiness. We shall have to see how it will stand up in times of emergency.
Two case studies from 1999 suggest that problems remain.

Deployment of the Russian Contingent in Kosovo (See Figure 3)

The first point of interest is what did not happen. A permanent readiness formation was
not deployed. Instead a totally new formation was recruited and sent to Kosovo to serve in
KFOR. The reason for this is that conscripts, under the regulations then applying, could not
be sent to serve in a “hot spot” outside Russia unless they volunteered for service. This
illustrates the problem of trying to form permanent readiness formations in a conscript army.
Instead, it was necessary to recruit the contingent from serving and reserve soldiers and pay
them a substantial dollar allowance.

We should also note that the final deployment did not match Russia’s original proposal to
raise a force of about 10,000 men. Russia could not recruit or pay a force on the larger scale,
which meant that it was unable to claim its own sector within KFOR.

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 Figure 3. Creating the Russian Kosovo Force Contingent

Figure 4. Mobilization for Chechnya 1999

New
Military
Recruits
District

Combat &
Service Support Permanent Readiness
Training
Reinforcements Formation (Unit)
Camp

Individual Replacements CHECHNYA

Deployment for the War in Dagestan and Chechnya (See Figure 4)

This was an even stiffer test of the armed forces reforms, and I will touch on only some of
the most relevant points here. The mobilization and deployment represented a great
improvement on the chaos of the first Chechen war. The permanent readiness units which
provided the basis of a force of 57,000 Ministry of Defense troops and up to 40,000 men from
the Interior and other ministries have proved to be a much more coherent force than in
1994-95. The permanent readiness units received sub-unit reinforcements to improve their

163
combat capability, but individual replacements were required on a much smaller scale than
in 1994. The deployment timetable allowed more time for shakedown training, while
command post exercises and some field exercises over the last two years had improved staff
work and coordination. However, there were some serious snags in the deployment, largely
because of the weakness of a conscription-based manning system for supposedly permanently
ready forces. Again the problem was the presidential decree limiting service in a “hot spot” to
those who had served in the armed forces for at least 12 months and who had volunteered. If
that system had been retained it would have been impossible to deploy the force. Both
limitations were abolished, but then in response to public concern a new limitation of six
months service was introduced. The requirement to volunteer was not restored. It was
necessary to return conscripts with less than 6 months service from the area of deployment.
In some units this caused serious problems. The new 3rd Motor Rifle Division suffered
particularly because it was raised two years before from almost nothing and thus had
replaced a large proportion of its conscripts in the spring of 1999.

Maintaining a significant force in Chechnya is likely to prove as great a problem as

deploying it. A force of 57,000 men represents about a fifth of the total ground forces’ strength
and will absorb almost all the permanently ready units. The VDV now has about one man in
three deployed in Chechnya or in a “peacekeeping role” in the Balkans or elsewhere in the
Caucasus. This represents a significant “over-stretch” of Russian manpower resources.
Training assets and budgets will be eaten up in preparing the Chechen force and in training
individual and sub-unit replacements. The VDV has been able to conduct some rotation of
battalion groups since the beginning of 2000, while the ground forces started to pull back
units in March. It has been suggested that a permanent garrison of a motor rifle division and
an MVD brigade will be required in Chechnya, and some military districts have been training
units to form part of this new formation. However, it would be overly optimistic to believe that
the Russian force in Chechnya can be reduced to this level in the immediate future without
allowing the rebels to re-build their strength and counter-attack. On the other hand,
maintaining a larger force will not only be financially expensive but is likely to cause morale
problems.

Russian deployments in both Kosovo and Chechnya demonstrate the inadequacies of the
traditional Soviet-style force structure in the type of operations which actually face the
Russian armed forces. A decade of debate and argument has left the ground forces with a
force structure which mixes the traditional army-division-regiment-battalion and the new
corps-brigade-battalion chains of command. If anything, recent years have seen a shift away
from the latter system, with some corps disappearing or being converted back to armies and
brigades being disbanded or converted into regiments within divisions. The justification for
this seems to be a concern to preserve the capacity to mobilize conventional forces for a
protracted war.

In essence the problem is how best to achieve force sustainability and how to balance the
tooth-to-tail ratio. The traditional Soviet approach favored limiting tactical and logistic
independence at the tactical level in order to maximise flexibility at the operational level of
command. Small tactical units, which could be reinforced with operational assets when
necessary and replaced when exhausted, were best suited to this requirement. However, in

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lower intensity operations such as peacekeeping or counter-insurgency more self-sufficient
tactical units and sub-units are required. In particular the battalion level of command
becomes more significant, requiring greater logistic autonomy. This was recognized during
the Afghan War, but the institutional conservatism of the Russian armed forces and their
fixation with major war, particularly the threat of a war with NATO, delayed real change.

The unhappy experience of composite units in the first Chechen war was the result of
trying to make do with the old structures. By 1999 the ground forces had developed a concept
of “temporary operational groupings” (Russian: Vremennye Operativnye Gruppirovki, or
VOG), which represent a more considered attempt to adapt peacetime organizations to the
realities of active service. Figures 5a-c illustrate three different levels of VOG, depending on
the scale of operations. The Russian contingent in Kosovo is an example of the third type of
VOG, formed by sub-units from more than one formation. VDV divisions provided battalions
to operate under a newly-formed brigade headquarters (compare Figures 3 and 5c). In this
case battalions were not deployed intact but were raised with a cadre from an existing
battalion, fleshed out by volunteers from other units. It is significant that these battalions,
once deployed, are often referred to as “tactical groups” because they have been reinforced
with additional combat and service support elements to give them considerable
self-sufficiency.

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 The operational groupings in Chechnya have been on a larger scale and have involved
several branches of the armed forces. Besides Ministry of Defense units from the ground
forces, airborne forces, naval infantry, and air force, all the other “force ministries” (internal
troops, border guards, railway troops, etc.) have contributed elements. Reflecting this, the
title “Joint Force Grouping” (Russian: Ob’edinennaya Gruppirovka Voysk or OGV) has been
used. As shown in Figure 6 the OGV has controlled a varying number of subordinate
groupings, each with its own sector of responsibility. Originally there were three of these,
Northern, Western, and Eastern, but as operations developed a Southern grouping was
created to command a force inserted near the Georgian border of Chechnya, while the
Northern grouping became the Groznyy grouping to control operations within the city. (It was
subsequently renamed the Central grouping after the fall of Groznyy, when it became
responsible for operations in the Argun valley).

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 The ground forces’ contributions to the OGV have been based on regimental and battalion
“tactical groups.” These are all-arms groupings, with strong artillery components (often a
mixed rocket & tube artillery unit) and sometimes an army aviation element. The base units
have been drawn from permanent readiness formations and units from most of the military
districts. Once deployed in Chechnya, these tactical groups have been allocated sectors of
responsibility and have been able to plan fire support for their operations with considerable
autonomy. Previously commanders at this level would have been able to organize fire support
only within the context of a plan drawn up at the operational level of command. Tactical
groups have been shifted between joint force groupings with much greater flexibility than the
old army-division-regiment structure would have allowed.

This structure of joint force groupings and regimental or battalion tactical groups more
closely resembles the corps-brigade-battalion structure, though the joint element is new. It
may well form the basis for a major restructuring of the Russian armed forces after the war.
The General Staff will push for powers to coordinate and even control all Russia’s armed
forces, which would be exercised at regional level through military district headquarters
(operational-strategic or operational-territorial commands). Within the ground forces some
restructuring at the operational-tactical and tactical levels is likely, but its outlines are not
clear. One possibility is that there will be only minor changes in peacetime unit TO&Es. In
this case, as in the present Chechen campaign, an improvised or temporary command
structure would be created as required in times of emergency. Alternatively, a looser and
more flexible structure could be created in peacetime, which would be closer to that required
on operations. A key element in such a scheme would be to free operational units and
formations of the burden of administrative and training tasks under which they presently
suffer. From military district to divisional level and lower, Russian headquarters have to
combine administration and operations to a far greater degree than in most western armies.
In particular, they have heavy responsibilities for conscription and basic training, which
detract from their operational readiness. Separating recruitment and basic training from
preparing for operations would greatly improve the Russian army’s capability for force
projection.

Conclusions

A study of Russian force structuring over the last decade is a valuable monitor of the
meaning and progress of military reform in the country. Restructuring, like reform generally,
has been too slow and often nonexistent. The guiding principle seems to have been that
expressed by General Tretyak in 1988: “Any changes in our army should be considered a
thousand times over before they are decided on.”

Reform and restructuring have been affected and distorted by rivalries between services
within the Ministry of Defense and between the MOD and the other force ministries.
Interservice rivalry is not a purely Russian phenomenon, but it is rarely so bitter as in Russia.
In other states a more open debate on defense matters and the greater number of actors in the
decisionmaking process act as a check and balance to interservice politics.

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 The most hopeful course for restructuring within the ground forces is to try to match
peacetime force structures with those required on operations and to separate operational and
administrative functions. However, achieving such changes will require a mental flexibility
that has not been obvious in the Russian military to date. In particular, the leadership will
have to review their ideas of the nature of future wars and the roles of armed forces.

Finally, change in top-level structures and the drive and resources to make change happen
lower down will depend on the new political leadership. Key decisions, such as the role of the
General Staff in the central control of all Russia’s armed forces, whether the General Staff is
subordinate to the Ministry of Defense or not, and how the armed services are to be structured
within the Ministry of Defense will be made by the new president. We can be reasonably sure
that Vladimir Putin has a greater capacity to concentrate on an issue than his predecessor
and probably a greater interest in security policymaking. However, in the field of defense
policy as in all others, Putin’s ultimate objectives remain an unknown factor.

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What Can the Military-Industrial Complex of Greater

Russia Deliver in the Next Decade?1

Alexander Kennaway

Motives for the Current Program of Rearmament

Well before Russian President Yeltsin resigned, many statements by the leaders of
Russia, including then acting Prime Minister Putin, pointed Russia back to the concepts of
the Soviet state. This was especially true in the military and defense industries in order to
reassert her position as a Great Power, and, as the nationalists and Communists see it, to
save Russian civilization itself.2 If that view is maintained by Putin as president, the time for
genuine cooperation with the West is probably over and will be increasingly being replaced by
another era of cold war wariness, suspicion, and hostility. These are the old, traditional,
introspective, defensive Russian attitudes which, it has to be said, the West has done not a
little to fuel and reinforce. From a Russian perspective, NATO ignored the sensitivities and
interests of a once powerful nation when its economic and military basis collapsed.
Gorbachev insists that he received a promise that NATO troops would not replace Soviet
forces in central and eastern Europe when he sanctioned their withdrawal, an act for which
Russian extremists still regard him as a traitor to the Motherland. Those extremists,
supported by many ordinary people as well as those in positions of leadership, believe that
NATO is deliberately exploiting Russian weakness to impose its will on the world, citing as
evidence NATO expansion, recent military and political events, such as those in Iraq and
attacks by Turkish forces on Kurds in Iran. The NATO attack in Kosovo persuaded them of
the falsity of the Solana doctrine of NATO, holding that it is a defensive alliance working to rid
Europe of terrorism, arms and drug smugglers, and local wars leading to mass exodus of
refugees and epidemics. The stated intention of the NATO Parliamentary Assembly to
redefine as “not illegal within the UN Charter” its self-declared humanitarian armed
crusades has, not unexpectedly, rekindled Russian resistance to, and suspicions of, the West.

Currently, the Russians view the world as unipolar, that is, one run by and in the interests
of the United States. This is a phrase that we will hear many times. The West’s
blatant—from the Russian point of view—exercise of its power in the key industries of gas and
oil rekindles Russian perceptions that the capitalist West, through the multinational
corporations, is set to steal, or buy far too cheaply, her natural resources. This extends to
accusations that the West is determined to reduce Russia to the status of a colony whose
commercial role is to supply raw materials and to be forced to import Western technology.
However, this argument conveniently overlooks a century-old Russian inability to design and
make engineered products for civilian purposes that are adequate for its own use, let alone
that are competitive on world markets. Illogical as the exploitation perspective may be, it has
led to more than one rejection of Western offers to invest in Russian industrial operations,
both military and civilian, with the aim of making them competitive. The European Union

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and the World Trade Organization also are accused of policies aimed at excluding Russia from
world trade in civilian markets. The only unregulated international trade is in arms, and
Russia is pursuing it with increasing vigor and competence, regardless of the potential
dangers to herself or others.

It is also true that the voluminous and highly publicized Western economic and financial
advice aimed at creating a free market economy in Russia was inappropriate to Russian
conditions. It was very largely responsible for the theft of important state assets by a small
number of people who seized the opportunity to become immensely wealthy and politically
powerful. It will take many a year for the Russian economy to recover from this Western-led
folly, admittedly implemented without apparent reluctance by leading Russian politicians
and “bankers.” In spite of the exaggerations, it is small wonder that Russian trust in Western
commercial, financial, and political institutions has evaporated.

Newton’s Third Law—“To each action there is an equal and opposite reaction”—also holds
true in international affairs; we fuel each other’s paranoia. The Russians claim to believe that
the West, led by the United States, is conspiring to destroy Russia by all possible means.
Given such a belief, it is not hard to understand the current Russian return to strident
nationalism backed by increased military expenditures and a hardening of their
international negotiating stance. To many of us, it seems unlikely that any Western
administration is intellectually or politically capable of devising or implementing a successful
conspiracy, especially among such a disparate set of nations that comprise NATO, each with
its own anxieties and internal preoccupations. Nevertheless, we have squandered our
opportunities of the past decade; it will be much harder now to build mutual trust and
cooperation with Russia in a range of measures essential for assisting in developing a strong,
stable and developing Russia which will be less of a danger to its own people, its neighbors and
the West.

President Putin’s message to the nation “on the edge of a new millennium,” however,
presented a completely different and far more encouraging picture of his own current
thinking. Nowhere did he repeat ideas such as the unipolar world allegedly desired by the
United States in order to dominate the world and crush Russia. There was not a single threat
to the West, no blame attached to the West for Russia’s current plight. On the contrary, he
presented a stark, truthful analysis of Russia’s present situation, blaming its own
deficiencies. In a clever, irresistible remark he stated that while one must not dismiss the real
achievements of the Soviet regime, its fundamental failure was its inability to create a
dynamic society in which people could look forward to planning a better life for themselves
and for their children, enjoying freedom as individuals and as entrepreneurs in economic
affairs. He did point out, correctly, that one cannot apply Western theories or practice, lock,
stock, and barrel; Russia will have to find her own way and has barely begun. Russia’s
greatness is based not primarily on its armed forces but on its people, intellect, resources,
culture, and history. In order to approach the standard of living of an individual Portuguese,
he said, will take a decade of genuine reform and the integrated, sustained, and
well-managed application of those human and physical resources. It will take far longer to
reach the current standards of living of a Frenchman or an Englishman. He recognized that,
without foreign investment in the real economy, progress will be very slow indeed. For

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progress to come about, a sea change is essential in creating the right conditions. The Russian
people are accustomed to a strong government, but he is against an imposed official ideology
or government interference in spheres where that is unnecessary. The government has
created a Strategic Center to attack the social, economic, and security issues; he emphasized
the need to reduce the gray economy, corruption, and crime. He castigated the legal
authorities for the “limp” way they have approached these issues.

As a statement of intent it cannot be faulted. It reminds me of Juan Carlos of Spain,

intended by Franco as his successor in running a fascist state, but who emerged from the
shadows as his own man determined to lead Spain to achieving a functioning democracy and
market economy.

Putin’s problem lies in finding enough competent, willing, and enlightened people to carry
through his program in the real world. This will entail a slow but thorough restructuring of
the apparatus of government and of every social, educational and economic activity. One’s
experience is that there are very few such people in the apparatus, science, and industry,
especially in the military-industrial complex. Too many of them fall back on the only
experience they know and trust, that of the past. The “New Russians” are as little to be
trusted as any “Get-rich Quick Johnny” in the West. They know how to make money for
themselves, not how to serve their country.

Putin’s statements as Prime Minister and President are inconsistent; and it remains to be
seen which wins. I have to say that his latest statement reads as the heartfelt words of a very
sincere man who has observed the scene and thought about it deeply.

Reading the Trend Lines

It would be foolish, however, to speculate overmuch on Putin’s words. One must work on
the basis of all other evidence to date, including consideration of Russia’s past behavior. The
declared intention by Russian leaders to provide a counter-weight to the imbalance of forces
provides another basis for their decision to strengthen their armed forces and the defense
industries, financing the latter by a more vigorous drive for arms exports and to form
alliances against the United States. Military and defense industrial linkages will grow
between Russia, China, India, and other countries on the Pacific Rim and in the Islamic belt.
It is becoming clear from their actions that the “people of power” have turned significantly
against involvement by foreign powers, whether in direct financial investment or in
managerial control, despite the fact that the latter could provide the essential expertise to
lead the civilian economy upward.

There also is much recent evidence that people in government and those who may aspire to
the presidency or senior office are not going to put into liquidation the loss-incurring sectors of
the economy nor will they reduce the share of R&D, design institutes, and production
facilities devoted to military and space activities. In the foreseeable future, the old structures
and managerial systems and attitudes of the Soviet past will continue, coupled with the

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post-Soviet opportunities to amass wealth and power that were made possible by the
unregulated rush to “privatize” firms that could be milked by crude or ingenious means.
These conditions continue to benefit a small number of people who operate at every level,
federal, regional, and city; they may be in positions of political authority or they may own or
direct commercial organizations. In the present circumstances there is little point in trying to
decide who controls whom. The outcome of these struggles is yet to be decided. It varies from
place to place, industrial sector to sector, among the so-called “power ministries,” and
between them and the presidential administration.

One cannot rationally talk of “market reform” or of a “transition economy” in Russia, and
one can do so only with caution in most of the other countries of the CIS. Other former
COMECON countries have fared better; some, such as Poland, Hungary, and Estonia, are
well on the way towards genuine improvement. The absence of the desire, will, and ability by
industrial leaders to embark on the necessarily long and hard road toward a thriving and
profitable economy is closely linked with, and indeed is produced by, political attitudes.

The nature of the Russian government itself is also significant. In Soviet Russia
(post-Stalin), the General Secretary was first among equals; in the Russian Federation,
however, his successor, the President, is supreme. The constitution provides for a
super-presidency whose occupant can and does rule on caprice, ignoring the Duma and
Federal Council, frequently dismissing and replacing the Prime Minister and ministers of
government. The presidential administration employs 2,500 people; any strategic thinking
and decisionmaking that is done at the federal level of government is done there. It is an
expensive copy of the old central committee of the Communist party, which advised the
General Secretary and Politburo, who made the final decisions. The present “government” is
similar to the Soviet Council of Ministers, composed of functionaries who are supposed to
carry out the instructions of the presidential administration. The Prime Minister is simply
the chief administrative officer. Under Putin, the government was even more subservient to
the President than before. No wonder Russia survives its frequent, abrupt changes. It is
doubtful if any presidential candidate will attempt to amend the constitution to reduce the
powers of the President. For this reason it is likely that Russia will continue to be governed in
ways that have changed little down the centuries.3 Yeltsin, it will be remembered, anointed
Putin on the occasion of his appointment as Prime Minister in the summer of 1999, as
Yeltsin’s chosen successor to the Presidency. He was almost unknown at the time, but the
second Chechen war of the 1990s has pushed his rating in the opinion polls to heights
previously unknown in the post-Soviet period.

Putin’s statements in the last months of 1999 demonstrated the hard line set out above.
He will try to accelerate economic union within the CIS, thus seeking to replace competition
in arms exports by, for example, Ukraine and Kazakhstan with cooperation on the old Soviet
model. He announced increased allocations to the military, as well as the defense R&D
institutes and industries, and further efforts to finance them through exports of arms and
transfer of weapons technology. His intentions are to use the military-industrial complex
(MIC) as the engine to revive all other sectors of the economy.4 Based on his record in 1999,
Western expectations of reforms toward a genuine free-market economy, internal democracy,
or detente with the West are likely to be disappointed.

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Current State of the Defense R&D and Design Institutes

The size, number, and division of labor between research, development, design, and
production organizations remain as they were in late Soviet times. We consider them to be
inefficient, unwieldy, and in need of drastic slimming and rebuilding if they are ever to be
profitable or capable of creating competitive civilian products. But that is not the prime
objective, if indeed it ever was; conversion is dead. No one talks about it, and the sums
allocated to that end in the federal budget are mere tokens. The real issue is whether any
serious effort was made over the decade to convert the institutes, design bureaus, and
factories away from military toward profitable and competitive civilian production. I
conclude that it was all a bluff, mere talk. The West wasted its time and money sending
industrial experts to help with the job. But we did gain something; our people saw what those
factories are really like and experienced first hand the abilities and deficiencies of the
directors, managers, and work force. I, for one, found it illuminating. Having looked for some
decades at Soviet weaponry which performed well, I had assumed that they must be made in
factories that more or less resembled ours. It was a surprise to find that the Russians
produced good stuff in such awful factories. But the reconciliation of these opposites is to be
found in their indifference to cost, rework, and all else except the quantitative (apparent or
real) fulfillment of the Plan. Conversion means what it always meant in Soviet times, the
ability of the MIC to turn out products either for military or for civilian use and/or for the
products to have dual functions like tractors to pull ploughs or pull tanks out of a ditch. Many
Russian political, industrial, and military leaders have gone on record to confirm that it
means this and no more. The MIC remains the core of their economy.

R&D and Design Institutes. Most of them are separate from MIC factories. The factories
are exactly what their title suggests, purely manufacturing facilities with none of the other
functions deemed in the West to be essential to a commercial organization based on
manufacture. The number of R&D and design institutes probably lies between 400 and 600;
this figure may exclude civilian higher educational establishments that accept military
research contracts and prepare scientific and technical graduates who may enter the defense
field. These institutes have always attracted the brightest graduates in natural sciences,
mathematics, and engineering. In 1991 they employed around 1.8 million of the total number
of 2.7 million qualified scientists and engineers in the Soviet Union, with over 80 percent
remaining in the Russian Federation. According to official statements, current employment
in defense R&D is now well below 750,000, following the continued reduction of orders and
funding. People are, with the approval of their directors, seeking part-time work elsewhere so
that they may remain available for military work when it comes. Actual funds received for
R&D in 1998 were 2.61 billion rubles.5 Simple calculation of numbers, probable wages, and
costs shows, however, that the official figures for financial allocation are much too low. They
remain unbelievable, like most Soviet and post-Soviet numerical data.

Conversations with directors of formerly closed nuclear science and engineering

laboratories disclose that the best of them are unworried by financial constraints. They
receive extra allocations as well as state bonuses. One, from a nuclear teaching and research
establishment, observed: “We are so important we can ignore the state budget and taxes.” On
the other hand, visits show that many of them are indeed very run down. Some of the huge

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office and laboratory establishments once fully occupied are now almost empty, with floors
remaining unlit in winter and therefore presumably unoccupied. Some rent ground floors to
small private firms, some of which are run by former graduate employees of the military;
others are just ordinary shops or offer financial and software services. It does not occur to the
authorities to concentrate these institutes. They apparently prefer to leave them empty
awaiting another expansion.

The ones I visited earlier in 1999 invited their pensioners to talk to me. They ranged in age
from 60 to 85; all were bright, involved in innovations and supervision of PhD students. An
enjoyable, well-informed discussion on the future lines of science and technology ensued. The
heads of departments and the general directors varied in ability. Some were talkative, rather
colorless, repeating outworn dissertations on their pet ideas. Most of these were of no interest
to us. Some were merely fantasies, such as the ground effect plane that I was first shown in
1989 when it was most secret. It was developed to carry heavy equipment across a marsh or
river and has so far as I could see no other use, even if a large machine could fly in combat
conditions. Others, like the radar antenna with no moving parts, existed only as a laboratory
model; on a working scale it would be prohibitively expensive, with the claimed reduction in
maintenance cost not justifying the expense. But it was indeed a very clever idea. Other ideas
discussed were, contrary to their inventors’ assertions, neither original nor ahead of Western
devices and equipment of which the institutes had never heard. One economy measure has
been the isolation from Western technical and scientific papers and personnel. As a result of
this and the reduction in funding, the research projects chosen are rarely going to achieve
their stated objective of putting Russia ahead. A very few had some attraction to me as a
former research worker, but evoked no commercial or military interest at home. As a
practical man, I shared that view. It is not enough to be clever; one has to be clever to some
useful purpose.

All these visits confirmed my previous experiences and knowledge of the Soviet system.
With unlimited resources they set up several research units in the same field, to which the
military provided a military scenario and then asked the research units, in competition with
each other, to dream up ideas that would put them ahead of their opponent in that scenario.
This procedure of course resulted in much free thinking, from which the military chose that
course which suited them best. Presumably the rest remained unfunded, but they lived on in
the minds of their creators. Over the years, these people used to try them on visitors,
including Westerners, to enlist support, which was rarely forthcoming. The Russian military
was wise in rejecting them! I for one was surprised that people with a good track record could
produce such impractical ideas; but then I had also met similar people in the best universities
in the United Kingdom. Every good scientist must be allowed one bee in his bonnet, it seems.
I formed the impression that the old brainstorming habit had not died. Nor should it. We
could do with more of it ourselves.

I conclude that the Russians are perfectly capable of producing some useful, imaginative
science along with a mass of mediocrity and impracticable fantasy. Russian mathematicians
and physicists are very good, and in a military environment they and the military design
engineers are capable of excellent original solutions to difficult problems. Putin stated on his
visit to the cruiser Varyag in October 1999 that nearly 180 new types of weapons had been

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issued during 1999 to the armed forces. This shower of new weapons came in spite of all their
claimed shortages of funds.6 They have been ingenious at finding software solutions to
overcome their lack of decent and advanced electronics. Many of their ideas work along
different lines than ours and may be better and also cheaper to produce, provided they are
made in our advanced factories—not in theirs. They can also make excellent products in
small numbers, but there is rarely a military or civilian factory that does not degrade an
excellent concept when attempting to mass produce a commercial product such as is needed
for a modern army or civilian market.

Current State of the Defense Factories. Of all the large arms designers and producers,
Russia is surely the last to be able to deliver systems in the required quantities and time scale
along the lines of the U.S. “Star 2000”. For that reason alone I find it hard to conceive that the
Russian armed forces will match the United States in its ability to fight an almost
casualty-free battle. However, their more conventional equipment will continue to sell well to
third world countries.

The best performers (for example, in aircraft and personal weaponry) have their own
design departments; their market research has relied on their own armed forces and research
units, who have so far served them well. Such items, including both tactical and strategic
(Topol M) missiles, are as good as the best in the world.

The number of factories directly working in military production is estimated by different

official Russian sources to lie between 2,500 and 1,760, officially stated to employ 2.7 million
workers in 1997.7 The industry was reported by Krasnaya Zvezda on August 3, 1996, to be
producing at 22.9 percent of their total 1991 output (14.3 percent of the former level of
military equipment and 27.1 percent of civilian products). The figures also showed that the
total output of the MIC factories was split, with one-third to the military and two-thirds to
civilian output during those years. More recent reports, in 1998, placed the military output at
15 percent and the civilian at 16 percent of the 1991 figure. Thus the utilization of the
factories had dropped by a further 30 percent, attributed to a 41 percent drop in civilian
output. This drop was almost certainly due to greater reliance on imported goods. Putin, in a
recent speech, claimed the combined figure rose by 6 percent, but six percent of what is
unclear. If it refers to the actual output, then it is now merely 1.06 times 15.5 percent of the
1991 output, i.e., 16.4 percent, not a very impressive amount. If he meant a rise of six
percentage points, as so many unmathematically trained people often do when speaking thus,
then that restores the output reduction experienced from 1996 to 1998, a much more
impressive rise. Whatever the figure, the improvement was caused by the devaluation of the
ruble in August 1998 and the consequent reduction of expensive imports.

These factories, of course, are supported by a wide range of firms not included in the MIC
count, such as sub-contractors whose defense orders may be only a small proportion of their
business activity. The metal extraction industries and energy generation stations also supply
the defense industries, but they are excluded from the figures just presented. Published data
suggest that these firms continue the old Soviet practice in one form or another of supplying
the defense and other state organizations with materials and energy at reduced prices. A

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considerable proportion of their output is still conveyed as barter in lieu of paying taxes; we do
not know how the amounts conveyed are carried on the books for valuation purposes.

Let us try to test the data to see if the factories can be sustained on current performance.
The MOD allocation to procurement is 5.97 billion rubles,8 to which one might add a
maximum of $2 billion for arms exports (which equals 6-10 billion rubles in 1997-98 values
and 50 billion rubles in post-August 1998 values). The procurement figure, of course, relates
to the value of purchases for the Russian Federation MOD. Starting from September 1998,
the military income of the MIC factories from exports might reach an annualized value of 50
billion rubles, deducting a generous share for Rosvooruzheniye, the State export sales
organization. Of course, we have to add in the civilian production of these factories, which is
roughly equal to, and perhaps slightly above, their military output. But we do not know for
certain whether the official figures quoted above, which show rough parity between the
civilian and military output of the MIC, are in physical or monetary terms. Assuming the
latter, because it is the only data we have, a rough estimate is therefore 106 billion rubles in
today’s values for the total income of the MIC factories. Even if no account is taken of
amortization, maintenance, other overheads, and the bartered taxes paid to the state from
the MIC, these sums are inadequate to sustain the factories, their workers, and dependents.
There must be further subsidies from non-budgetary sources. We may therefore conclude
that:

� Even if the MIC factories, the best in the Russian Federation, can continue their
modest post-August 1998 increase in production and sales of civilian goods and sus­
tain their exports (provided they are for cash), they cannot be sustained and pre-
served for a future expansion of military orders by the Russian military unless they
continue to receive significant subsidies or are reformed.

� Procurement for the armed forces is but a small proportion of their total income, a
significant comment on the state and prospects of the armed forces. Averages, how-
ever, do not represent the realities factory by factory. Obviously those with good ex-
port prospects fare the best. Russia also exports a significant amount of nuclear
products, material, and technology, most of which presumably is not included in the
figure for machinery exports.

The MIC factories can turn out vast quantities of extremely effective weapons, given the
political will to task them and to provide the means, and provided that one disregards the real
costs of supply. The factories by our standards are managed purely to drive forward the
planned output and are mostly poorly laid out. Some of their equipment is good to adequate
but the ancillary tooling, control systems, and drives are often primitive. Moreover, the work
force and its managers are untrained and indifferent to a regime of high-quality,
low-rejection, low-cost, and profitable manufacture. For these reasons the MIC factories are
inefficient, with high waste and a high rejection rate in production.

The McKinsey Global Institute studied ten representative sectors and then published a
report analyzing some aspects of Russian industry.9 Their conclusions are that Russia is in a
dire economic situation, with labor productivity averaging 19 percent of the U.S. levels,

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ranging, for example, from 7 percent for cement to 38 percent for software. Productivity has
halved from 30 percent in 1992 to 15 percent in 1999 in the old Soviet factories. New assets, it
turns out, are surprisingly unproductive. It does not surprise me. The report, strangely for
such a management consulting firm, overlooks many key factors, especially that of poor
management, which also bears hard on competitiveness, sales, reject rates, and productivity
(none of which are properly defined in the report). Many Soviet military factories were awash
with high-quality imported production and laboratory equipment. Some of it formerly lay in
the corridors in packing cases, other machines were lying idle, their parts covered with dust
and sometimes broken.

I was told that the work force resented fully automated equipment because it meant that
their traditional craft skills would be unused. Though it is a widespread view in Russia,
shared elsewhere, that modern equipment is essential and sufficient to rendering such
factories fully competitive, this view overlooks the cultural impediments in the absence of
which, they could turn out competitive products at a profit according to the Western or
Japanese model. Reequipment could follow in due course and be paid for out of profits.
McKinsey’s assessment of average productivity is confirmed by this author’s experience in
Russian military factories in the electronic, instrumentation, and mechanical engineering
fields. Their managers and work force do not have the right attitudes toward work,
commerce, design, and manufacture. These weaknesses, together with the poor physical
features of the military factories, ensure that they are even more unsuitable than their
Western competitors for “conversion,” i.e., shifting to making and selling civilian products
that would be competitive on a world market. The understandable pride of the designers and
researchers in their military output has, unfortunately, led them to denigrate the skills
needed to create world-class civilian products. This is another handicap for the improvement
of a manufacturing sector that remains the only one organized to produce what they regard as
“high-tech” civilian products.10 These products satisfied the populace in Soviet times; with
better-quality imports now too highly priced for most people, they will again command a place
in the domestic market. But the regime has so far set its face against closure or drastic
reorganization of the bankrupt works that have no profitable future judged by the norms of a
free-market economy.

The military share of the federal budget for 1999 projected an expenditure of 145.6 billion
rubles. There are advantages in making preliminary assessments of military expenditures as
a share of the federal budget rather than of GDP. The first is that the budget is more or less
transparent and defined, which is by no means true of the Russian GDP. As a measure of the
health of the economy, Soviet and post-Soviet data relating to GDP and other calculations of
output and performance are far from providing a reliable measure.11 GDP is therefore not a
reliable device for determining if the intended expenditure on the military (or anything else)
can be afforded and sustained without damage elsewhere to the economy. Second, the
allocations from the state budget provide a guide to the intentions and priorities of the
President, to the mood of the State Duma, since it has to pass the budget, and lastly to the
bargains struck, at least on paper, between the politicians and the General Staff.

The 2000 federal budget of around 800 billion rubles provides 145.6 billion rubles ($5.7
billion at current exchange rates) for the total military budget, amounting to 18 percent of the

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federal budget. In 1999, 25 percent of the military allocation was to be spent on R&D,
replacement, maintenance, and decommissioning of military hardware. In 1998, according to
Colonel-General Lyuboshits, 14.1 percent of the military budget was to be divided as follows:
3.2 percent on R&D, 7.3 percent on purchase of military equipment, and 3.6 percent on capital
construction (presumably civil engineering and buildings). The Russian armed forces have
not purchased much new major equipment in recent years. General Lyuboshits observed that
R&D actually received only 12.5 percent of the planned expenditure; i.e., 0.4 percent of the
slated military budget. According to other data the numeric sum came to 2.61 billion rubles.
This sum by itself could not pay for the 800,000 people claimed to be working in defense R&D.
But the defense institutes did receive large non-budgetary funds.

One also has to make some adjustments to arrive at the true expenditure on defense. A
downward adjustment is necessary, since the military received less than was budgeted;
according to Colonel-General Lyuboshits it was 87%. An upward adjustment is needed to
bring it into line with NATO standard budgeting practice by including many items that
NATO includes but Russia does not, for example, internal troops, border guards, and military
education outside military academies. Then there are the “non-budgetary funds” which
enable the government to top up expenditures where it desires from undisclosed sources.

So far as the defense economy is concerned, Russia’s leaders have, after 10 years of
floundering, abandoned all pretense of “conversion” or reconstruction of the MIC to make it
efficient, profitable, or contributory to the national economy. This will also be treated in the
old Soviet way; direct foreign collaboration, essential to its improvement, either will not be
offered or will be refused. The potentially electable candidates for the presidency, their chief
administrators, the regional governors, and nearly all of the city mayors as well as the
directors of important enterprises, especially those of the MIC, are all of one mind. The only
way they know and trust to survive, to re-create the vision of Russia as a great power, is to
employ more rigorously the old Soviet ways within a system that retains the old Soviet
structure and modus operandi, along with a few new elements. That which was lost with the
breakup of the USSR they will work hard to re-create through an economic union of the CIS.
If successful, this would put together the old connections between suppliers and users in the
commercial chain, especially in the MIC, where they will seek collaboration and work to
prevent the present moves toward competition among the defense industries of republics
such as Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan. They will, at the same time, expand the
opportunities for personal gain, for benefiting the MIC and the state monopolies that have
been opened by the crude forms of capitalism, and for the genuine improvements in export
promotion they have learned in the last decade. This applies with full force to the export of
arms. Trade Minister Fradkov said that arms exports rose over 80 percent in
January-August 1999 compared with 1998 and now account for about 40 percent of all exports
of machinery.12 This claim is unlikely to be sustainable on a year-to-year basis.

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Making Russian Arms Industries Competitive: The Western Model?

We have our own experience in the West of the consequences of reducing demand for
military equipment on the defense industries. It was not in the interests of Western
shareholders to switch workers from military work to attempt to compete in civilian markets
where they were unlikely to succeed in capturing a profitable share from competent,
well-established firms. The reasons were clear: they lacked the commercial abilities, that is
experience in perceiving market needs and designing products giving equal or better value for
the money. They had after all been notoriously high-cost suppliers to the defense
departments. This culture was ingrained in the staff and work force and would be difficult to
change, especially within the same corporation. This is true even when people work in a
successful, innovative, entrepreneurial market economy.

Consequently, different solutions to the problems of redundant employees, equipment,

and plant were chosen by the directors. These included:

� Massive lay-offs, accompanied, especially in the United States, with its laudable leg-
islation, by paid retraining and help in finding alternative employment and reloca­
tion.

� Mergers with other defense firms, nationally and internationally.

� Closures of plant accompanied by sale at auction of plant, which other businesses

could put to better use or sell the land and buildings for other purposes.

All these steps are typical and sustainable in an advanced, enlightened market economy.
In Britain, for example, the defense industries over roughly five years contracted from
750,000 employees to half that figure. This presented only a regional—not
national—problem of unemployment, which was addressed by energetic steps in cooperation
with the national and regional authorities, such as substituting other kinds of employment.
The net job loss was small by comparison with the losses of over 2 million that had
accompanied the closure of Britain’s sunset industries, admittedly over a longer period. At
present, total British unemployment is running just above one million out of a potential work
force of 27 million. The social costs were and still are high, but the national economy is
healthy enough to sustain them.

The Russian defense industry shares all the faults and deficiencies of Western arms
builders, and to an even higher degree. But for many reasons it cannot adopt most of the
West’s solutions, especially over the short term. Not least is the plight of the several hundred
one-company towns. Without military orders they stagnate, becoming breeding grounds for
disease, crime, and social unrest. The USSR had no means of supporting movement of labor;
this is still true. In the interests of stability, this issue should be high on the Russians’ list for
treatment.

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What Might Have Been Done?

In my view, a sensible program should have been carefully planned and carried out
without haste, moving from one step to the next only after having reviewed progress. By
today, good progress could have been made. Given that the design offices and factories of the
MIC are the best of their manufacturing industries, an objective and realistic audit of their
potential capabilities would provide a useful new start, and it should be matched by a
identification of the most essential industrial and consumer goods required within the
country. This would provide a reasoned basis for a program of import substitution, saving
foreign currency as well as providing work. If no design offices exist in or near the chosen
factories, a small design contingent might be relocated.

Russian experience shows the folly of pushing military engineers to design something they
have never done before, especially in the civilian field. Competent design must be based on
evolutionary experience and not, as the Russians have always done, by copying a foreign
product that is already on the market or starting from a clean sheet with no experience.
Kokoshin, once in charge of the MIC, wrote that an aircraft factory was asked to design a
machine to package macaroni. After a few years they gave up the attempt. I have myself seen
in the Leninets electrical works in Leningrad their designs for simple things like a coffee
grinder and a coffee maker. The former failed the most elementary safety checks at the
Consumers’ Association English Laboratory, while the latter resembled a tabletop 110mm
mortar which would not have found room in the cramped Soviet-legacy kitchens. It would
also have been much more expensive than the foreign ones entering the country. Russian
military designers think that the civilian field is beneath them, little appreciating the wider
range of conditions and attributes required to compete against experienced and successful
firms.

The best way to make progress would have been to invite a competent foreign firm to
collaborate, contributing its designs under license, importing skills and components where
necessary, and exporting finished goods or assemblies to their other operations. This would
profit both partners. We tried this in Russia in Belarus during the middle 1990s. But the
local firms failed dismally to produce even simple components within the required tolerances,
and consequently the foreign firms immediately lost interest in any form of collaboration. It
was essential for the chief engineer to stand over the inspection bench and check it all for
himself since it was such an important test order. In no case did he bother. This has been the
experience of foreign firms in Russia since the 1880s. That of Ford USA in the 1930s is a
well-documented catalogue of totally unacceptable Russian performance. As a result, Ford
was accused by Stalin of deliberately sabotaging the program. Without foreign supervisors at
every stage, the work will not succeed.

The most effective way of getting decent designs is to hire a senior design engineer from a
foreign firm specializing in the chosen product range. Another way is to ask USAid or the
British equivalent, the British Executive Service Overseas, for a retired specialist to come on
a voluntary basis. If such a person, familiar with available materials, production systems,
and conditions of transport and use, were placed in charge of an existing design team,
something competitive would result in less than a year and could be put into production. The

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team would of course have had to do its own market investigations. It would ascertain the
limitations of available engineering materials, and its analysis should initiate the essential
program of widening the range and ensuring consistency of properties that are today absent.
The team with its marketing, sales, design, prototype shop manufacturing, and purchasing
facilities should be notionally insulated from the rest of the operation, ensuring lack of
professional contamination and a cost structure restricted to that which is essential to the
task, thereby excluding general overheads from the rest of the plant, which of course would
ensure failure from the outset. Success would bring income and genuine profits. Some people
at the deputy general director level would indeed work for failure. Therefore the general
director must be on the side of such work and receive support from the highest authorities.
Our work in Belarus failed for precisely the lack of will to stop the sabotage instituted by the
Red Directors. The MIC and the Republic suffered, but the aim of preserving its sacred
mission as a “Soviet republic” intent on joining Russia was maintained.

The team concept commended above could be implemented in several organizations

simultaneously. They would need rigorous monitoring from the ministry responsible for the
MIC as well as from abroad. Success might provide a surplus which could slowly pay for more
general improvements, for example, buying decent cutting tools and power factor correctors.
Improvements in layout and physical structure could be made by many of the idle workforce.
They may or may not be paid, but they would remain on the books to retain their access to the
social services of the factory. The staff and workers would learn by doing and by example;
classroom training need be minimal and should be conducted by the foreign executives, who
may be able to improve the training in local technical colleges and “universities” in Russia.
What I have seen of current Russian handbooks and training in management is lamentable.

As profitability, productivity, and other essential indicators improved, it would become

possible to organize a long-term program for closing the worst design offices and factories
which have no prospects for a profitable future. The state budget would benefit, subsidies
would disappear relatively quickly, and natural resources and energy would be used more
efficiently and profitably. Old but basically adequate machine tools would be available
cheaply to new, perhaps innovative, small businesses, and they might even be modernized
with an enhanced sales value. Small and medium sized firms might occupy space vacated
within the old factories and offices, thereby sharing in the funding of overhead expenses. This
is what has occurred in Britain to some of the factories vacated by defense firms.

Such a program, if successful, could serve as a model to be followed by others. Any

competent Western industrial engineer, given the authority comparable to that of a Western
CEO and supported by the minister, could probably make a typical defense factory profitable
within two years. With improved performance, the resulting products would be refined
slowly to enable them to compete in export markets, first in the third world, second in the old
“socialist camp,” and last in the “far abroad” of the advanced capitalist world.

I see no other way for the Russians, or for that matter the Ukrainians or others in the CIS,
to achieve their ambitions of providing significantly more engineered goods for domestic
consumption or for export. Such improved performance would, of course, spill over into the
military aspect of the MIC. For that reason Russians do not believe that we would carry it out.

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But we probably would run that risk because it is likely to raise the standard of living of the
ordinary Russian and therefore raise his stake in peaceful development, as well as increase
his exposure to and trust in Western experts. Furthermore the Russians will rearm anyway,
even at the cost of frustrating a rise in popular standards of life. Perceived foreign intentions,
the need for Russian “self-respect,” and available funds—rather than the efficiency and
profitability of arms manufacture—determine issues of peace or war; whether foreign
intentions are perceived to be hostile also determines the volume of arms produced. It is
arguable whether Russia has been motivated for most of this century by an exaggerated
defensiveness or by expansionist aggression. Such collaboration as outlined here would
slowly but surely reduce Russian suspicions of foreign intentions toward them. It might be
possible for Russia to finally achieve industrial and economic success through a revitalized
MIC.

What Is Russia’s Likely Future?

Such a program has no chance of implementation unless Putin understands it and can get
people to put it into practice. Otherwise, to be realistic, the time for it has regrettably passed.
We—and the Russians—have misused the decade of opportunity. The Russian authorities
are unwilling to adopt such an approach for reasons set out above, as well as some others.
These include the feeling that “big is not only beautiful” notably contributing to Russian
pride, but that “big is also effective.” That is the only way they know how to manage.
Consequently, defense firms are encouraged to merge. In Soviet times aircraft firms offered
their own concept airplanes to the MOD in competition with each other, relying on the blat
(“who you know in high places”) method to win.

They believe that such assets as buildings, land, and equipment are valuable and to be
cherished, even hoarded, even if they make no profit now or in the foreseeable future and
require continuing subsidies. This belief applies to obsolete, stagnating factories as well to
equipment which suffers years of neglect. An example of this illness was related to the author
by a deputy Minister for Science in 1993: “We have built the world’s largest heated, indoor
ship-testing tank; it is a world treasure, the West must provide funds to support it.” It did not
occur to him to ask whether we needed or could afford it.

Land is sacred according to a tradition spanning a millennium and more: it belongs

communally to “the people,” it may be allocated to individuals or families, but they do not own
it. Therefore it can neither be sold nor rented to foreigners. Only one or two provincial
governors and city mayors have taken the opposite view and rented land to foreign firms, for
49 years in one case, hoping that before the end of the lease a federal law will legitimize this
step. Changes of use of land and buildings in Russia are also rare. Unlike ours, Russian state
organizations in education, R&D, design, and manufacturing mostly remain frozen from
inception. The well-known Antonov plant in Kiev is a case in point. In contrast, the main
offices of Tupolev in Moscow are pleasantly modernized. These domestic habits, almost
totally lacking a conception of property rights, inhibit change and genuine entrepreneurial

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spirit or even adequate managerial methods; Russian attitudes to foreigners make things
harder still.

Russians and foreigners alike have a concept that Russia is rich in land. This led them to
think it could be squandered and misused without thought. The sprawl of Russian cities
provides some evidence. A recently retired Minister of Agriculture, however, pointed out that
this was not the case. Actually, he observed, Russia is short of productive arable land. He
calculated that it amounts merely to 0.25 hectare per capita (just over 0.6 acre).

The specific deficiencies of the MIC also apply with even greater force to manufacturing
industry in general. Several observations are in order. The separation of functions between
research, development, design, and manufacture prevents the interplay that we find
essential within an integrated, multi-disciplinary project team. Whereas some of their
theoretical work is outstanding, this separation, together with the hierarchical system,
allows the perpetuation without challenge of inadequate or even erroneous theoretical bases
underlying design. This weakness, as can be seen in the redundant spoilers on some aircraft,
resulted in costly remedial work.

The experience of their qualified scientists and engineers (QSE) is quite narrow. Their
basic education on a theoretical level is no worse than the best of ours, but their so-called
“advanced training for the improvement of qualifications” is more of a formality than a bona
fide opportunity for bringing them in touch with new methods and knowledge. This criticism,
of course, is often applicable to continuous professional training in the West. Secondly QSEs
in factories rarely do what we would call professional technical work; they are more concerned
with “fire-fighting,” trying to cope with day-to-day problems and shortages. This is now
readily admitted by some objective Russian commentators.

The organization and system fails to provide the integrated data on a project team basis
that we regard as essential for the creation and production of high-quality products and for
flexible, rapid-reaction production aimed at continuous cost reduction and all-round
improvement. It is interesting to note the recent intentions to apply the ISO 9000 series of
quality assurance to the MIC. In all probability, however, they will be applied blindly, and, as
before, slavish adherence to paperwork routines will take the place of proper technical
thought and activity. This characteristic has been noted before; Baedeker’s guide to Russia,
published in English for the first time in 1914, had this to say:

Alongside of admirable achievements in all spheres of intellectual activity, we find also a great
deal of merely outward imitation of western forms, with a tendency to rest content with a veneer
of western culture and a stock of western catchwords. Side by side with the unquenchable desire
for scientific knowledge, which shuns no sacrifice and is constantly drawing new elements from
the lower classes, there is only too often a total inability to put into practice and to make effectual
use of what has been learned. Fancy and emotion are much more widely developed in the soul of
the Russian than true energy and joy in creation.

This is a very contemporary description.

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Ambitions

The Russians will probably be very slow to apply a real quality assurance approach. I
suspect that the workers will continue to make and inspectors reject, as at present. Nor will
the buyer concern himself with the improvement of the performance of their suppliers.
Current arrangements to re-create the old MIC among republics and the agreements within
groups of regions to buy from each other’s existing products will also restrict competition and
hence quality.

The MIC is to be reorganized into five agencies, according to R. Popkovich, until early
December 1999 the chairman of the State Duma’s defense committee.13 These five are:
aircraft/aerospace; naval; explosive devices; conventional weapons; and strategic missiles. In
terms of export, the first is probably the most lucrative, especially if it includes the air-borne
missiles. Izvestiia, in an article under the headline “Everything for the front,” reports that the
Governmental Commission for Military-Industrial Policy has increased the year 2000
defense budget by 1.5 times.14 Prime Minister Putin gave Ilya Klebanov, his deputy, just one
week to determine the priorities for weapon development. The MOD announced that money
would not be cut for the Strategic Missile Forces (Defense Minister Sergeyev was their chief);
manufacture of light weapons, armored personnel carriers, tanks, and aircraft would be
increased. Zinoviy Pak, the Director of the Ordnance Agency, stressed the importance of
high-precision weapon systems, space reconnaissance, and communication systems. The
Izvestiya article comments that right now such major reallocation toward the military is
impossible and that the intentions put Russia on the threshold of a mobilization economy. Its
sub-head states, “The Government has bitten off more than it can chew.”

Other reports show that MIC elements are, as in the West, combining to survive. For
example, 120 factories and institutes are planned to move under the umbrella of the new
international financial industrial organization FIG Granit, involving the known firm CIS
United Anti-Aircraft Defense Systems. But most of the 120 barely survive. One closed
enterprise assembled up to 1,000 S-300 complexes a year, now only 10-20. A single complex
costs over $100 million.15 The Moscow radio-technical factory, which makes locators, is
practically at a standstill and has debts of 440 billion rubles. In spite of this, it will not be put
into liquidation. It rents space to a defense systems company, a private company employing
100 people. In early 1999, the author visited this place and some similar institutes—they look
like ghost towns. Another possible member of the planned association Granit is the
well-known Almaz design bureau, which created the S-300P system. Other mergers are
planned; one, between two aircraft firms, MIG-MAPO and Sukhoi, is still unresolved, with
both Sukhoi and MIG-MAPO resisting the loss of their independence.

Consequences Of Russian Policies

Russia will continue to feel justified in its assessment that the West is hostile and bent on
destroying it and its “civilization.” It rejects our good advice along with the bad. It will
consequently strive to revive the MIC along the existing lines and provide the means for it to

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sell more arms abroad and to increase its share of domestic market for civilian goods. It will
redouble its emphasis on science and technology aimed at military applications. It will
continue to modernize its armed forces and rely on its strategic rocket forces in, as it sees it,
the ongoing geo-political struggle, and to foreign involvement in Russian affairs, such as in
Chechnya. It will find the resources necessary for this program by increased exports of arms,
oil, gas, and other minerals and semi-finished goods such as metal scrap, rolled steel and
aluminum billets.

It will strengthen its military links with, and arms sales to, other third world countries,
which it sees as unsympathetic to an American-dominated world. These are China, India,
Indonesia, Iran, Iraq, South Korea, Libya and subsequently the smaller former colonies of the
West including Cyprus. It will continue offers to former Warsaw Pact allies such as Bulgaria
and Slovakia as well as NATO members such as Turkey, Hungary, and the Czech Republic.

Russian arms exporters have learned a lot recently. They have created operational,
maintenance, and training manuals in English and other languages, established training
centers to support Kilo submarines, sold and supported fighter aircraft and missiles in India,
and are currently establishing a maintenance base in Hungary to service upgraded MIG
fighters. They are commercially flexible, selling arms to satisfy old Soviet debts; accepting
bartered goods for arms; offering to recently joined NATO countries ammunition to NATO
standards cheaper than they could get from domestic or West European sources; modernizing
old Soviet deliveries of MIG planes and other products in collaboration with Israel. They have
mastered the processes of bribery, kickbacks, and other financial games that profit the rulers
of the buying countries as well as the Russian sales organization itself. They are selling
weapons (for example, to China) while extending the right to make deviations from Russian
designs, to improve and further develop them. (Eventually, China will sell in competition
with them.) Russia also engages in selling what it calls weapons technology; presumably this
means the designs, manufacturing and other know-how. In 1999 this new trade is claimed to
have earned $500 million.

The world’s arms market is, however, shrinking, if slowly. Russian arms exports are
unlikely to raise enough funds to sustain their defense industry while providing for increased
demands of their own. They are still outsold by experienced and competent American,
British, and French companies. Moreover, they will face increased competition also from
Israel. However, they claim that in 2000, they have secured arms exports to the value of $3
billion. This, if true and paid in cash, would be a considerable rise over the present estimated
figure of $2 billion. Any product or service paid for in goods is admitted to be worth only 30
percent of its original value once the proceeds are converted to cash.

But if the goal of such sales is simply provision of a good show on Independence Day,
support for the ruling military governments, and the ability to put down rebellion and to
prosecute local wars, then Russian arms sales will do well enough. Furthermore, as better
quality dual-use technology proliferates within the MIC, that technology, too, will become an
attractive package to offer to other countries, particularly to states formerly comprising the
Soviet Union. In this way not only will the CIS become a credible replacement for the USSR,
but so will its arms exports become more credible, effective, and profitable than those of the

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USSR. In this way Russian leaders intend to promote their own influence in the world and to
confound what they perceive as unipolar American intentions.

Political Consequences

If my reading of current Russian intentions (i.e., prior to Putin’s January 2000

Presidential address) is even approximately right, what will be the internal political
consequences? The move toward reunification of the economy and the defense forces via the
CIS is the opposite of what some observers have feared: the breakup the Federation. A return
to hard-line nationalism and a real revitalization of the armed forces would unify all the
strident voices from the extreme right through the nationalists to the Communists, and it
would maintain a continuous internal appeal to “patriotism” while using some catch phrases
borrowed from the Western financial world to mollify Russia’s creditors. Simultaneously, the
quasi monopolies of oil, gas, mineral, and energy firms will receive every support from the
state to extend their economic power and therefore the political influence of Russia in the
newly independent states and Eastern Europe, the Balkans, and further afield.

This policy also suits the top benefactors from crony capitalism at every level. They will
probably come to an agreement with the state to repatriate some of their overseas earnings in
order to finance the subsidies to the MIC, military, agriculture, and the rest of the
loss-incurring organizations. Some regions may be allowed to collaborate with foreign States;
these may include the Far East with the Pacific Rim countries, the south with Turkey, Iran,
and Iraq. The fortunes of the present small middle class may improve through professional
services and improved pay to the bureaucracy and the military.

As in Soviet times, however, the interests of the common people will come last. The regime
will try to pacify the masses with occasional and judicious handouts for increased pensions
and minimum wages, even at the expense of printing money in a controlled fashion. Yet,
there will be no revolution. Its potential leaders will have joined the fat cats, and the
administration has pinched their programs. Recent history does not provide examples of
revolutions organized from the bottom. Emelyan Pugachev in the 18th century led the last
significant revolt from the bottom in Russia.

The evolved regime will be basically Soviet, but, having learned much concerning
commerce from abroad, it could, as before, survive for decades. With regard to Putin’s
Millennium Address, it is surely the duty of the West to take it at face value and to do
everything to help his program. This does not mean giving credits, but practical assistance,
especially in changing attitudes and improving competence in every sphere of Russian life.
This can only be done by building trust, through practical cooperation from world-class firms
with their Russian operations staffed by people the Russians can respect. If we fail to act in
this way, if we continue to offend Russian susceptibilities and to ignore her legitimate
interests, we will be encouraging a slow return to some evolved adaptation of the Cold War,
with all the deprivations for the Russian population and the military risks to the rest of the
world that such a course entails.

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Endnotes

1. Disclaimer: The opinions expressed in this paper are those of the author and not necessarily those of the
UK Ministry of Defense.

2. They take seriously Samuel Huntington’s thesis regarding “The clash of civilizations,” which is not the
case in the West.

3. See Alexander Kennaway, “Continuity and Conflict in Russian Government,” Conflict Studies Research
Centre, Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, September 1999.

4. Speech on board the Varyag, October 28, 1999, Morskoy Sbornik, no 11, 1999, p. 1.

5. Nezavisimoe voyennoe obozrenie (hereinafter NVO), March 26-April 1, 1999, no. 11, pp. 4, & 22-28,
January 1999.

6. See note 3.

7. Some Western sources, such as the CIA, estimated that the USSR MIC employed between 12 and 16
million people, which, with hindsight, was probably an overestimate. D. Steinberg, quoted in Duchene, Paper
2.3 of the book The Soviet Defense Enigma (1986), reduced his estimates from 6.5 million down to 4 million for
1982. A figure frequently used in Russia today is that the Soviet MIC consisted of 2,700 factories. Since others
say that roughly half of them were within the present Russian Federation this figure is probably about right.
This estimate is not only of historical importance but is especially significant since the Russian Federation
intends once more to reunite the old MIC within the CIS.

8. NVO, January 22-28, 1999 and March 26 - April 1, 1999.

9. McKinsey Global Institute, “Unlocking Economic Growth in Russia,” October 1999. The ten sectors
studied are steel, cement, oil, dairy, confectionery, residential construction, food retailing, general merchandise
retailing, hotels, and software.

10. Washing machines, kitchen equipment, TV, radios, floor cleaners, and the like.

11. Fudge factors include: (1) a huge unofficial economy which, by definition, is incalculable. Estimates vary
between 40 and 70% of total activity; (2) over-estimates of trade based on barter, IOUs, and other non-monetary
means of account; (3) under-estimates of monetary transactions made in order to reduce taxation; (4) slanted
data either way given by regional and city authorities to bolster demands for support from the federal budget,
and international bodies offering loans, credits, and grants; (5) over-estimates of activity designed to attract
foreign direct investment; (6) poor definition of elements that are conventionally included in more settled and
transparent foreign economies; and (7) deliberate concealment by the state.

12. Interfax, October 27, 1999.

13. A. Khvorov, “VPK to be divided into agencies,” Krasnaia Zvezda, July 8, 1999, No 150, p. 1.

14. Izvestiia, October 7, 1999, p1. Presumably, the 2000 defense budget increase means from a base of 100 to
150.

15. This strikes the author as unreal.

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 Part Three: Russia’s International Situation

Introduction

R. Craig Nation
During the years of Soviet power, Moscow was fond of boasting that no problem in world
politics could be resolved without taking its own position into account. A highly codified
foreign policy doctrine wrapped in the arcane categories of Soviet Marxism-Leninism only
partially disguised the imperial ideology of a dominant world power. The Soviet Union
aspired to play a leading role in all major world regions, and its engagement in a variety of
regional conflicts through the 1970s and 1980s was an important source of discord with the
West. Though ideological affinity with international communism (often interpreted as a
variety of anti-colonialism) won the Soviets some adherents in developing regions, the key
source of whatever influence they were able to garner was usually military power.

In the first years of its post-communist transition, under the direction of Foreign Minister
Andrei Kozyrev, the new Russian Federation downplayed competitive regional engagement
(at least in areas outside the post-Soviet space) in the hope of reinforcing cooperation with the
West. The precipitous loss of stature that accompanied the process of change, however,
quickly gave rise to a backlash against policies of accommodation that seemed to neglect
Russia’s own national interests. Under the direction of new Foreign Minister Evgenii
Primakov beginning in 1996, Russia adopted a much more competitive approach to regional
affairs. Primakov’s prescription for international redress included a strong emphasis upon
the cultivation of regional leverage and strategic allies as sources of influence.

Today’s Russia cannot aspire to the role of a global power. Domestically troubled and
without economic clout, it has no choice but to reduce radically the extent of its international
engagements. Its regional priorities are presently focused in the former Soviet areas
immediately contiguous with its own borders (the “Near Abroad”), and in adjacent power
complexes that represent either long-term threats or prospects for mutually beneficial
interaction (in particular Europe and East Asia). Once again, in large measure due to a lack of
positive alternatives, military means have become an essential source of leverage—whether
asserted via outright interventions or “peacekeeping” deployments, an intimidating
diplomacy of force, or aggressive arms transfer and military assistance packages.
Competition for influence in critical regions is a source of friction between the new Russia and
the West, and a potential source of confrontation.

The chapters in this section outline the shifting contours of the Russian approach to
security into the tenure of new President Vladimir Putin and examine regional engagement
in Europe, in the Far East, and in the post-Soviet Northern Caucasus and Transcaucasus.

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 Stephen Blank begins by summarizing official perspectives on security as presented in the

new Russian national security concept and military doctrine. He notes that both documents
express a much more acute sense of threat perception than comparable documents that have
preceded them. The most significant response to heightened threat perception that has
emerged from current Russian security discourse is a new reliance upon an assertive
deterrence posture and warfighting scenarios including the use of tactical nuclear weapons.
These are dangerous and destabilizing commitments, intended to support a policy of
engagement inspired by an outmoded doctrine of derzhavnost’, or great power chauvinism,
that greatly exceeds Russia’s means and that works to frustrate the difficult but essential
task of basic reform.

R. Craig Nation looks at the evolution of Russia’s European policy. He argues that despite
the concerns expressed in Moscow over NATO enlargement and the implications of the
Alliance’s engagement in the Kosovo crisis, the security environment along Russia’s western
borderlands is essentially benign. Though the Russian Federation cannot aspire to join key
Western institutions any time soon, NATO and the European Union are anxious to engage
Russia in a common process of adaptation to post-Cold War realities. In order to make that
engagement a reality, Russia will have to grow beyond an inherited strategic culture that has
consistently achieved consensus by focusing on real and imagined external threats.

The assessments of Russian engagement in the Caucasus and the Far East presented by
Pavel Baev and Frank Umbach are considerably more somber. Baev suggests that in the
Caucasus, and along its entire southern tier, Russia’s reach has come far to exceed its grasp.
The Second Chechen War may be regarded as the very symbol of Russia’s clumsy attempts at
redress. Though it has created some short-term domestic advantages for the Putin team, it
has also left the country isolated internationally and is effectively unwinnable. As a
protracted low-intensity conflict, the contest in Chechnya will represent a source of
considerable instability in the Northern Caucasus and Transcaucasus for some time to come.
Umbach emphasizes the decisive shift in the balance of power that is transforming Russia’s
relations with China in the Far East. The rhetoric of Sino-Russian “strategic partnership”
disguises the reality of China’s steady rise to the status of a dominant regional power, a
reality with unsettling long-term implications for Russia itself. In both cases objective trends
point toward an inexorable process of decline and retreat.

All of the contributors make note of the gap between Russia’s ambitious regional
aspirations and the weak material base upon which those aspirations rest. This imbalance
imposes a certain caution upon Russian policymakers, but it is also a potential source of
danger. Over-reliance upon military instruments of power can have unintended
consequences. One example is the case of Russian arms transfers to China, which secure
short-term material advantage and political leverage at the expense of strengthening a
long-term strategic rival. Another is Russia’s “dash to Pristina” during the culminating
phase of the war in Kosovo, where competitive angling for influence in the context of a volatile
regional contingency brought both sides to the brink of an undesired confrontation. Positive
engagement is a much better option for Russia and its key international partners, but, as all
of the authors agree, it is not an option that will be easy to pursue.

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 Military Threats and Threat Assessment in Russia’s

New Defense Doctrine and Security Concept

Stephen J. Blank
Generals have told me that we must build a monument to Clinton because the campaign over
Kosovo drastically changed political attitudes here. Now there is no more opposition to the idea
that Russia should restore its military potential.

—Russian Military Correspondent Alexander Zhylin

Introduction

In October 1999 Moscow published a draft defense doctrine and in the following month a
draft of the national security concept. That concept was then revised and given the official
imprimatur in January 2000. A revised and official version of the military threat will be
published during the spring of 2000. Because those publications have an official and
normative (if not juridical) character, their content and unusual sequence of publication
possess crucial significance. They aroused considerable interest due to their provisions on
nuclear use and their frank postulation of the United States and NATO as the source of rising
military and political threats. This essay focuses on those threat assessments which underlie
whatever justification may exist for the use of nuclear weapons or for any other defense policy.

Background: The Security Concept, the Draft Defense Doctrine, and

Their Context

Because of these documents’ importance, their content, threat assessments, and the
context of those assessments merit careful scrutiny. The draft doctrine states its purposes in
its very opening.

Russian Federation military doctrine (henceforth military doctrine) represents a systemized ag­
gregate of fundamental official views (guidelines), concentrated in a single document, on pre-
venting wars and armed conflicts, on their nature and methods of waging them, and on
organizing the activities of the state, society, and citizens to ensure the military security of the
Russian Federation and its allies…. Military doctrine elaborates on the 1993 “Basic Provisions
of RF Military Doctrine” and, as applied to the military sphere, concretizes guidelines of the RF
National Security Concept. It is based on a comprehensive assessment of the status of the mili­
tary-political situation; on a strategic forecast of its development; on a scientifically substanti­
ated determination of current and future missions, objective requirements, and real capabilities
for ensuring RF military security; and on conclusions from a systems analysis of the content and
nature of modern wars and armed conflicts and of the domestic and foreign experience of mili­
1
tary organizational development and military art.

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 The character, importance, and centrality of the threat assessment of the draft doctrine
and security concept ensure that both documents (and particularly their threat assessment)
emerge from continuing intense political struggles over the definition of the threats. These
struggles are so highly charged because the winner in these struggles then gains decisive
leverage over doctrine, strategy, policy, and resource allocation.

These assessments are developed through an ongoing “ordered ferment” that constantly
assesses the nature of war, its characteristics, potential threats to Russian security, and
desirable replies to those threats. Since this debate remains largely, though not exclusively,
confined to officers within the General Staff, the Ministry of Defense, and the key national
security officials in the leadership stratum, the issues under debate are matters of high
politics and political struggle within the military leadership and highest levels of the
government. Indeed, the ongoing debate over a revised national security and defense
doctrine to replace that of 1993 had begun by 1996. Once the government announces an
official doctrine based on the threat assessment and outlines ensuing policy requirements,
that doctrine should then determine the policies and strategy to meet those threats and
defend Russia. But discussion and controversy clearly continue, since the draft doctrine was
sent back for revisions in February 2000.

All these documents appeared under very inauspicious conditions. Russian military
apprehensions have grown with the collapse of Russian power, the augmentation of American
and NATO power, Kosovo, the Anglo-American bombing campaign against Iraq, the
Revolution in Military Affairs (RMA), and the onset of information warfare and information
operations (IW and IO, respectively). The NATO operation in Kosovo was the last straw since
it united many of the most feared military and political elements of threat.2 Authoritative
spokesmen like Defense Minister General Igor Sergeyev, and Deputy Chief of the General
Staff Colonel-General Valery L. Manilov who chaired the doctrine’s editorial “collective,”
admitted that Kosovo led to revisions of the draft doctrine. Manilov also admitted that there
were enormous differences of opinion among those charged with preparing the draft doctrine,
with the published draft doctrine representing the fifth attempt since 1997 to draft a doctrine.
Not surprisingly, he claimed the draft doctrine’s “supertask” was to ensure unanimity among
everyone concerning the threats, nature of contemporary war, and policy recommendations
presented therein.3

It is important, therefore, to understand exactly what threats Kosovo posed or ratified in

the minds of the Russian military-political elite and what the final unanimity concerning
threats signified. According to Harvard University Professor Celeste Wallander, Kosovo
presented or confirmed the following negative assessments of NATO enlargement.

For Russia all the hypothetical security concerns of the past decade are the threats of today.
NATO is now closer to Russian borders, and is bombing a non-NATO state. Even before NATO’s
new strategic concept, the alliance’s development of Combined Joint Task Forces offered ways
for the alliance to employ forces outside the constraints of Article 5 (self-defense). NATO’s
changes, combined with its determination to use force against non-members, threatens Russia
because political turmoil in the former Soviet Union increases the likelihood of NATO involve­
ment near and perhaps even in Russia. Moscow has long feared that expansion of the alliance

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 could radicalize or destabilize neighboring countries, sparking internal splits or civil wars that
could drag in Russia—a role it neither wants nor can afford.

Unfortunately, NATO-Russia cooperation failed to address these concerns even before Kosovo.
After Kosovo, it is difficult to see what kind of cooperative relationship NATO and Russia can
have. For one thing, the air strikes (as viewed from Russia-SB) violated several principles of the
NATO-Russia Founding Act—primarily NATO’s commitments limiting its right to use force and
promising the settlement of disputes by peaceful means. Russians interpret the ongoing mili­
tary campaign absent UN Security Council approval as NATO’s drive for unilateral security in
Europe. NATO’s new Strategic Concept adopted at the 50th anniversary expanded the alli­
ance’s mission to include non-NATO Europe as a potential area for further NATO use of force.
While the Concept recognizes the role of the UN Security Council, it does not require that NATO
4
obtain [a] UN mandate for actions beyond the alliance’s border.

Clearly these are largely political threats that if carried out would reduce and even
potentially marginalize Russia’s role in European and even Eurasian security processes. But
they are not, for the most part, military threats against Russia or its vital strategic interests.
However, this assessment, while correct as far as it goes concerning Russian perceptions of
Kosovo’s importance, does not go far enough. Conversations with Russian military leaders
and military-political analysts indicated to the author that they see Kosovo as presenting
serious military threats to Russia’s military-political interests.

For example, by 1999 Russia had come to see itself “as being under threatened or actual
information attack, even if not to the same extent as its friend Serbia. Western reactions to
the ‘anti-terrorist’ operation in Chechnya is a case in point,”5 even though this perception
actually preceded that operation. Military leaders and analysts also argued that NATO’s
Kosovo operation represented the template of future NATO operations against Russia or its
vital interests in the “near abroad” as outlined in NATO’s April, 1999, strategy concept.6
Again, that perception preceded Kosovo, but the latter cemented and seemed to validate it.

A central element of that Russian perception is that NATO harbors designs of

enlargement and unilateral out-of-area operations in both the Balkans and the Caucasus,
areas that are regarded as more or less equally vital areas of Russian national interests.
When NATO Secretary-General Javier Solana told a NATO conference in September 1998
that both those regions were troubled areas from which NATO “cannot remain aloof,” he was
not merely reiterating ideas he had already voiced publicly, he was confirming the expansive
threat assessment held with increasing conviction in Moscow.7 His subsequent statement
that “we are not condemned to be the victim of events that lie beyond our control—we can
shape the future,” seemed to prove NATO’s—and especially Washington’s—hegemonic
aspirations.8

While official policy as embodied in the documents under examination here had not yet
fully crystallized, the trend by 1998 was moving (at least in leading military circles) toward
public acceptance of the expansive threat assessment found later in the documents of
1999-2000. The following statement of November 1998 by Colonel General Yuri N.
Baluyevskii, Chief of the General Staff’s Main Operations Directorate, indicates a desire to
portray the military-political threat as growing and that it must be met by military means,

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but it also reflects the concomitant pressure not to go beyond the more optimistic line enforced
by the 1997 security concept. Baluyevskii observed that,

A deepening of international integration, formation of a global economic and information space,

and increased acuteness of the competitive struggle by world centers of strength for consolidat­
ing and expanding spheres of influence are among the main trends of the military-political situ-
ation. Views on [the] use of military force have also changed. Despite this, however, its role as
an important factor in the process of achieving economic and political objectives has been pre-
8
served.

Yes, large-scale threats to Russia are basically hypothetical in nature. They can and must be
neutralized by political means with reliance on the state’s military might, and first and foremost
on combat-ready strategic nuclear forces and general-purpose forces with precisely functioning
command and control, communications, intelligence, and early-warning systems. At the same
time, with a diminished probability of a major war being initiated and with the main emphasis of
interstate contradictions [being] transferred from the area of ideology into the sphere of politics
and economics, there has been a significant growth in the danger of outbreak of armed conflicts
where escalation can lead to their expanded geographic scale, an increased number of partici­
pants and development into a local and then a regional war. Therefore the Russian Armed
Forces must be ready both to localize and neutralize them as well as to carry on wide-scale mili­
9
tary operations.

These remarks clearly outline the armed forces’ and General Staff’s desire to have it both
ways, to conform to policy while registering the sense of expanding threats, the need for a
large army, and the importance of the military factor as an instrument for resolving
non-military problems as well as actual conflicts and wars. They just barely stay within the
confines of the 1997 security concept that the military resented because it stated that the
main threats for now and the foreseeable future were not military but “are concentrated in the
domestic, political, economic, social, environmental, information, and spiritual spheres.” The
1997 concept also cited the particularly critical state of the economy.10 There is no doubt this
approach “unsettled” military commanders. General Leontii Kuznetsov, CINC of the Moscow
Military District, publicly stated that the main provisions of the 1997 Security Concept
wrongly cited the low probability of large-scale war within the next few years. Kuznetsov
complained that civilians had reinserted the statement there that Russia’s army should be
prepared only for conducting regional and local wars which he had removed from the original
draft. Instead, Russian troops should prepare for large-scale aggression. The Kremlin, he
lamented, accepted the draft “without his amendments.”11

“Worse” than this was the fact that the 1997 concept expressly invoked the availability of
numerous political mechanisms and avenues for resolving disputed issues. Thus,

There has been an expansion in the community of Russia’s interests with many states on prob­
lems of international security, such as countering the proliferation of weapons of mass destruc­
tion, settling and preventing regional conflicts, countering international terrorism and the
drugs business, and solving acute ecological problems including nuclear and radiation security.
This significantly increases the opportunity to ensure Russia’s security by non-military
12
means–-through legal treaties, political, economic, and other measures.

This posture presented Russian armed forces as more of a burden than an asset, and one
whose priority had shifted from preparing for the previous total war template to the more

194
extreme areas of the spectrum of conflict, namely nuclear deterrence, IW, and space war at
one end, and preparedness for small-scale, local and even internal conflicts, at the other end of
the spectrum.13 While that posture met the desiderata of President Yeltsin, his national
security teams of 1997-98, and the Defense Minister, General Igor Sergeyev, former CINC of
the Strategic Nuclear Forces, it assuredly did not conform to the General Staff’s views on the
threats facing Russia and the military forces needed to counter them. Their view emerges
from another example of pre-Kosovo threat assessments, an article that also appeared in
November 1998 under the authorship of lower-ranking but knowledgeable members of the
General Staff.

This article, written as the crisis in Kosovo was nearing its zenith, lambasted NATO for
desiring to act unilaterally out of area and impose a new world order by bypassing the UN and
the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE). It accused NATO and
specifically the United States of trying to go beyond the Washington Treaty and convert the
alliance into an offensive military bloc that was expanding its “zone of responsibility” by
punitive, military means.14 The authors charged that,

At the same time, it is not unlikely that NATO could use or even organize crises similar to that in
Kosovo in other areas of the world to create an excuse for military intervention since the “policy
of double standards” where the bloc’s interests dictate the thrust of policy (the possibility of the
use of military force in Kosovo against the Yugoslav Army and simultaneous disregard for the
problem of the genocide faced by the Kurds in Turkey, the manifestation of “concern” at the use of
military force in the Dniester Region, Chechnya, and Nagorno-Karabakh) is typical of the alli­
15
ance’s actions (emphasis added).

The authors went beyond this hint that the war in Chechnya was already on the agenda to
forewarn NATO openly of Russia’s likely reaction to an operation against Serbia. Rather
than accept a NATO-dictated isolation from European security agendas and the negating of
organizations like the UN and OSCE, Russia would act because this crisis provided NATO
with an opportunity to project military force not just against Serbia but also against Russia
itself. This was because the main objective of NATO enlargement was perceived to be to
weaken Russia’s influence in Europe and around the world. Therefore the following scenario
was seen as possible: “Once our country has coped with its difficulties, there will be a firm
NATO ring around it, which will enable the West to apply effective economic, political, and
possibly even military pressure on Moscow.”16 Specifically,

When analyzing the development of events in the Balkans, parallels with the development of
events in the Cauca sus invol un tarily suggest themselves: Bosnia-Herzegovina is
Nagorno-Karabakh; Kosovo is Chechnya. As soon as the West and, in particular, NATO, has re­
hearsed the “divide and rule” principle in the Balkans under cover of peacekeeping, they should
be expected to interfere in the internal affairs of the CIS countries and Russia. It is possible to
extrapolate the implementation of “peacekeeping operations” in the region involving military
force without a UN Security Council mandate, which could result in the Caucasus being wrested
from Russia and the lasting consolidation of NATO’s military presence in this region, which is
far removed from the alliance’s zone of responsibility. Is Russia prepared for the development of
this scenario? It is obvious that, in order to ensure that the Caucasus does not become an arena for
NATO Allied Armed Forces’ military intervention, the Russian Government must implement a
well defined tough policy in the Balkans, guided by the UN charter and at the same time de-

195

 fending its national interests in the region by identifying and providing the appropriate support
17
for this policy’s allies.(emphasis added)

Clearly we were warned here that Moscow would intervene in Kosovo along with Serbia in
the event of an attack, and, second, that it was ready to use force in Chechnya not just against
secession and terrorists, or whatever threat Chechnya presented, but to forcefully oust NATO
from the Caucasus, an area that remains insofar as these authors and those for whom they
spoke are concerned, exclusively part of Russia. The fact that NATO went ahead and
intervened in Kosovo, probably not even understanding such warnings which probably were
lost in the background noise of the Kosovo crisis, only confirmed for the General Staff its view
of the threats to Russia and the unilateral measures it had to take, e.g., landing in Pristina,
and attacking Chechnya to reorient defense policy and force structure. It was essential for the
General Staff that it do so to reorient threat assessments and thus subsequent defense policy
in the direction that these documents then took. If one then adds the threat posed by the
pending U.S. decision about theater and national missile defense (TMD and NMD), which
Russia regards as a threat to the very basis of strategic stability worldwide, then the reason
and context for subsequent Russian statements and policies become much clearer.

The Content of the Draft Doctrine and Security Concept

The security concept’s nuclear provisions state that a vital task of the armed forces is to
exercise deterrence to prevent nuclear or other aggression on any scale against Russia and its
allies. Thus, Russia extended deterrence to its allies, presumably the CIS members.
Likewise, “Nuclear weapons should be capable of inflicting the desired extent of damage
against any aggressor state or coalition of states in any conditions and circumstances.”18 The
concept also stated that nuclear weapons use would become possible “in the event or need to
repulse armed aggression, if all other measures of resolving the crisis situation have been
exhausted and proven ineffective.”19 The security concept tailors nuclear use to the particular
threat at hand as implied by its phrases “aggression on any scale, nuclear or otherwise” and
“to the desired extent of damage.”20 Key officials, e.g., Deputy Defense Minister Vladimir
Mikhailov, confirm this interpretation of the conditions for nuclear use, thereby proclaiming
limited nuclear war as Russia’s officially acknowledged strategy in response to many
different kinds of contingencies.21

In this context, Russian nuclear weapons serve two crucial, but not necessarily
complementary, functions. First, they deter a wide range of phenomena across the spectrum
of conflict that could conceivably threaten Russia. Second, they are also warfighting
instruments that are to be used in a wide range of actual conflict situations, including even
small-scale operations.22

These documents’ nuclear provisions also clearly relate to NATO’s Kosovo operation.
Officers and analysts told the author in June 1999 that Kosovo led doctrine writers to include
contingencies for deploying tactical nuclear weapons (TNW) in conventional threat
scenarios.23 In December 1999, General Vladimir Yakovlev, CINC of the Strategic Nuclear

196

Forces, admitted this, attributing the new strategy to Russia’s economic crisis—where
nuclear forces receive about half the funds they need—and new regional proliferation threats.

Russia, for objective reasons, is forced to lower the threshold for using nuclear weapons, extend
the nuclear deterrent to smaller-scale conflicts, and openly warn potential opponents about
24
this.

Russia would also continue to replace old arms with new Topol-M intercontinental
ballistic missiles. The foregoing statements illustrate as well the belief that Russia can use
nuclear weapons for the purpose of de-escalating conflict situations and wars.25 These
remarks also illustrate some of the “threat context” animating the formulations in these
documents, amplify the security concept’s intentions, and suggest that TNW will be the
weapon and/or deterrent of choice for many of the smaller-scale contingencies that Russia
fears. Russian doctrinal statements also represent the latest iteration (or plateau) of a debate
going back at least to 1993 over nuclear first-strike use against certain kinds of conventional
attacks on Russian interests and targets.26

Conforming to the security concept, Yakovlev tied the new posture to the multiple threats
facing Russia. He stated that nuclear weapons serve the political function of deterring
“possible aggression of any intensity” to convince everyone to desist from using aggressive
power methods against Russia.27 Like virtually every other senior commander and
military-political analyst, he invoked Kosovo as a justification. NATO’s campaign convinced
Russia, he said, that Washington and other NATO allies were rehearsing methods of warfare
that will be the basis for future wars to which Russia must adjust. The General Staff shares
this belief that Kosovo is a template of future NATO strategy.28 Yakovlev asserted that,

The massive use of aviation and long-range precision weapons; electronic countermeasures; and
integrated use of space information assets—all these approaches have become a firm part of U.S.
military threats beginning with Operation Desert Storm against Iraq in 1991. Moreover, the
primary targets in the course of the conflict were clearly specified; key installations of the eco­
nomic infrastructure, elements of the state and military command and control system, and lines
of transportation. NATO’s eastward enlargement not only radically altered the force ratio in
theaters of military operations, but also permitted a number of kinds of tactical and opera­
tional-tactical weapons to perform strategic missions previously set aside for Pershing II missile
29
complexes and cruise missiles.

Therefore, the draft doctrinal/security statements on nuclear issues are a fundamental

aspect of Russia’s adaptation to future war. Yakovlev and the Russian leadership are equally
adamant about blocking U.S. efforts to build ballistic missile defense (BMD), which they
regard as a threat to the foundations of strategic stability between Moscow and Washington
and a violation of the 1972 ABM Treaty.30

The defense doctrine and the security concept, as well as published statements by
authoritative officials and spokesmen, also invoke a broad range of political-military threats,
many of which directly emerge out of NATO enlargement, Kosovo, and the Anglo-American
Iraqi operation of 1998-99. NATO enlargement and its strategic repercussions constitute the
most significant of the military-political threats. Apart from political or military-political
threats, we also can identify three specific military threats displayed in Kosovo and Iraq that

197
particularly trouble Russian leaders: IW and IO, the use of high-tech precision weapons in a
primarily aerospace and long-range offensive (what the Russians call contactless war), and
BMD.

These documents’ threat assessments also portray the United States and NATO as
threats in and of themselves, formulations that serve two purposes. They justify and shape
the increasingly anti-NATO and anti-American political orientation of the military and
government. And at home they are the essential pillars of the General Staff’s unprecedented
resolve to define and control Moscow’s entire national security policy, gain higher status, and
garner more resources for defense. Indeed, Sergeyev stated that the forthcoming officially
revised defense doctrine examines 12 new external threats and 6 new internal ones that have
appeared recently.31 Inasmuch as only two years have elapsed since the old security concept
and its official threat assessment, this remark tells us how much of the threat assessment we
are now reading has been fabricated out of a sense of paranoia to justify obtaining more
resources from the government. Or, in other words, threat assessment is a major aspect of the
military’s resource-seeking proclivities as well as a justification of its status in Russian
politics and the quest to retain Russia’s global standing.

Consequently, the new security concept repudiated its 1997 predecessor’s optimistic and
supposedly scientifically substantiated, high-level, official prognosis of no direct threat by
stipulating the rising possibility of direct aggression against Russia.32 The security concept
and draft doctrine invoke NATO and the United States as the authors of growing threats,
seek to define international affairs mainly in terms of the threat U.S. unipolarity poses to
Russia’s espousal of a multipolar world, expand parameters for nuclear first-strikes, urge
vastly increased defense spending, and argue that defense spending should be returned to the
Soviet basis, i.e., calculations based upon the military’s self-proclaimed needs, not Russia’s
actual capabilities.33 These documents thus provide a kind of official imprimatur to the view
that increasingly saturates the Russian media portraying American and Western-inspired
actions as threats to Russia’s very existence.

Western alleged misdeeds include: attempting to force inappropriate reform medicine down
Russia’s throat while failing to give real help to the ailing economy; stealing Russia’s markets,
including blocking the sale of arms and nuclear technology; endeavoring to turn Russia into an
economic colony, a provider of cheap raw materials and a market for dumping; inciting Ukraine
and other CIS states against Russia; trying to limit Russian influence in the Transcaucasus and
Central Asia with a view to controlling energy sources and transit routes; encouraging Balts and
others to repress Russian minorities; establishing military and political hegemony through the
expansion of NATO and the crushing of such Russian friends as Iraq and Serbia; perhaps even
encouraging the disintegration of the Russian state (hence the increasingly vociferous condem­
34
nation of anti-terrorist actions in Chechnya).

Signifying the greater militarization of assessments and thinking about national security,
the official security concept also replaces the word “defense” (oborona and its derivative
adjectives) in the 1997 concept with the word “military” (voennyi and its derivations).35 Thus
the new documents not only conflate political and military threats, strongly suggesting the
need to respond to the former by military means, they also reflect the increasing
remilitarization of the “discursive practice” of thinking about Russian security.36

198

 This mode of thinking about military-political and specifically military threats appears
prominently in these documents and in public statements by leading military and political
spokesmen and analysts. Sergeyev, Manilov, and the Chief of Staff, General Anatoly
Kvashnin, argue that until and unless NATO recants over Kosovo and gives Russia a veto
over its operations, the threat of more Kosovo-like crises and operations will remain, freezing
Europe (and Russia) into permanent insecurity.37 This essentially political threat will endure
and govern defense policy.

Russian military leaders charge that Kosovo, as aggression against sovereign Serbia,
breached the UN charter and bypassed the UN, that NATO’s claim to use force unilaterally
could trigger an international and global catastrophe, and that NATO also overturned
European politics and security by negating concepts of territorial integrity and the right to
self-determination. In their view, this allowed Washington to intervene abroad under the
pretext of human rights and place a “bomb” under the structures of world politics.38 Kosovo
also damaged nonproliferation efforts because it convinced other governments that they
could deter Washington only by obtaining nuclear weapons or other weapons of mass
destruction (WMD).39

Kvashnin openly stated that any enlargement of NATO is at Russia’s expense and that
European security is a zero-sum game: “We will view NATO’s further practical actions for
eastward enlargement and for annexing Central and East European states to it as a challenge
to national security.”40 Sergeyev went even further, saying that,

The approaching of NATO’s infrastructure to Russian borders is a direct increase of NATO’s

combat possibilities, which is unfavorable for our country in a strategic sense. We will regard
the approaching of NATO’s tactical aviation to Russian borders as an attempted nuclear
41
threat.

Sergeyev here reiterated and even expanded Yakovlev’s threat assessment. He also
showed how far he would go to expand deterrence against NATO in discussing the parameters
of what the armed forces now call expanded deterrence.42

His remarks evoke expanded deterrence with a vengeance. But they are not far removed
from Kvashnin’s harsh rhetoric that reads more like a late 19th century treatise on
realpolitik—wherein alliances “annex” states to themselves—than a discourse on our times.
Like Manilov and Yeltsin, Kvashnin demands an all-European security system based only on
the OSCE’s framework. That supposedly would assure Moscow of an exclusive zone of
influence in the CIS and equal status with Washington and NATO.43 Kvashnin’s justification
is simple: NATO’s enlargement extended its zone of responsibility 650-750 kilometers
eastward, substantially reducing the warning time Russia would have before an attack.
Russia’s nuclear weapons, not to mention its conventional ones, are therefore insufficient as a
deterrent.44

Despite this implicit belief in the ineffectiveness of Russia’s nuclear deterrent, Kvashnin
also takes for granted the need to extend nuclear deterrence to unspecified allies. Of course,
few states might want such an alliance since Moscow apparently is ready to risk nuclear war
even in small contingencies on their behalf. Neither does anyone anywhere in Russia spell

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out the criteria for becoming a Russian ally and enjoying this extended deterrence, an
omission that in itself is a sign of how dangerous and slipshod the new approach to security
issues is. The contradiction between simultaneously affirming the ineffectiveness and
potency of Russia’s nuclear systems’ apparently eluded Kvashnin and other elites as well.
But this ambivalence reflects key strategic dilemmas. Indeed, if any of Russia’s neighbors or
enemies went nuclear that would intensify the burden on an already overstressed nuclear
force and pose a serious threat to vital Russian interests.45

In December 1999 Sergeyev also characterized NATO enlargement, in and of itself, as a

threat to global and European collective security and world politics. He particularly stressed
the deployment and use of NATO forces out of area without UN or OSCE sanction as a threat
that devalues confidence-building measures, arms control treaties, and security (probably
having in mind the CFE Treaty and the strategic weapons agreements).46 Kosovo duly
became a moment of truth for Russia that rendered efforts to work with NATO towards equal
security “totally worthless.” It also follows that the nightmare scenario of NATO supporting
secessionist or anti-Russian movements in the CIS is now a staple of threat assessments,
including the doctrine and security concept.47 After all, such threats, manifested in NATO’s
support for the Kosovo Liberation Army (KLA) and supposedly backed up by NATO’s tactical
aviation and tactical/operational-tactical missiles, could appear as attacks against either
Russia’s nuclear missiles or their command, control, communications, and intelligence (C3I).

Consequently military leaders express the fear that NATO’s continued existence in its
present form will intensify Europe’s dependence upon Washington, precluding any hope of a
solid pan-European security system. As Manilov, like Kvashnin, insists,

There has to be a search for a “European identity,” and the “European factor” should be strength­
ened in dealing with the USA. This means establishing a pan-European security system serving
48
the interests not only of two, five, or seven states but absolutely all European countries.

These remarks in favor of a European Security and Defense Identity (ESDI) neatly
illustrate this conflation of political and military threats and the armed forces’ efforts to direct
foreign policy on European security issues.

Sergeyev’s strictures against NATO also stress Kosovo’s impact regarding IW and IO.
These two phenomena carry a many-sided threat, and are cited for doing so in the new
security concept as well as in official briefings given to foreigners.49 Implicit in these
publications, briefings, and many Russian writings is the understanding of an ongoing RMA
wherein the nature of war has changed or is undergoing a revolutionary transformation.
Contemporary war typically displays new components that must be taken into account in
constructing armed forces. And those components include all aspects of the art of war on
display in Kosovo, prominently including IW and IO.

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Threat Assessments in the Draft Doctrine and the Security Concept

The draft doctrine, security concept, and associated military-political commentary paint a
very alarming picture. Because military elites clearly view Kosovo as a template of NATO’s
future operations, they charge that NATO’s Strategic Concept destabilizes the strategic
military situation and the entire structure upon which the defense of Russian interests and,
supposedly, world peace rest.50 The draft doctrine, security concept, and their authors’ threat
assessments also demonstrate the General Staff’s determination to realize the
countermeasures it and political leaders suggested to NATO enlargement.

The mélange of political and military threats and recommendations for policy in the draft
defense doctrine tell us that it is, first of all, a blueprint for a total national security policy, not
just defense policy. As such it represents the General Staff’s effort to seize the rudder of the
ship of state with regard to national security. The discernible resemblance of both documents’
portrayal of military-political threats illustrates the primacy of the General Staff’s vision of
the threat. The draft doctrine postulates the following external military-political threats:
territorial claims upon Russia; intervention in its internal affairs; attempts to infringe upon
or ignore Russian interests in resolving international security issues and oppose Russia’s
strengthening as a center of a multipolar world; armed conflicts, especially near Russia’s
and/or its allies’ borders; creation and buildup of forces and troop groupings that disturb the
balance of forces near Russia’s or its allies’ waters; expansion of military blocs and alliances
against the interest of Russia and/or its allies’ military security; introduction of troops
without UN Security Council sanction to states contiguous with and friendly to Russia;
creating, equipping, supporting, and training armed groups abroad to redeploy them for
attacks upon Russia’s and/or its allies or against installations and structures on Russia or its
allies’ borders; operations aiming to undermine global and regional security or stability,
including hindering the operation of Russian state and military C2 systems, systems
supporting the functioning and combat stability of nuclear forces and missile attack warning,
ABM defense, and space surveillance systems; hindering the operation of nuclear munitions
storage facilities, power plants, chemical installations, and other potentially dangerous
installations; information operations of a technical, psychological, and other nature against
Russia and/or its allies; discrimination against Russians abroad; and international
terrorism.51

This all-encompassing list of military and political threats portrays NATO, not only in its
enlarged form, as a threat in and of itself and shows deep concern for the use of IO and IW in
all their guises against Russia. Russia believes IO and IW can be used to unhinge the basis of
military control over weapons, political control and governance over the state, and overall
social stability.52 Given the centrality of nuclear weapons to Russian strategic policy and the
criticality of proper C3I for their deployment and use, any weapons that strike at that C3I
network obviously are seen in the worst possible light.

Hence the draft doctrinal/security concept’s threat assessments in many ways evoke
Soviet precedents. By publishing the draft doctrine before the security concept that it is
supposed to concretize, the General Staff sought to preempt and dominate debate on national
security policy. No other approach to potential threat assessments and policy

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recommendations would command a public platform.53 For the first time Russian doctrine
clearly articulates Soviet-like perceptions of growing Western threats. The causal links
between the military’s dominance of threat assessment, its recommendations for defense and
foreign policy, and its unilateral efforts to define the volume and direction of defense spending
recall Soviet practice.

The concurrent military operations in Pristina and Chechnya, as predicted above, further
sharpen the doctrine’s anti-Western animus and serve three related goals. The first goal is to
forestall NATO’s further enlargement in scope or mission. Russia still rejects NATO
enlargement on principle and regards further NATO expansion in territory or mission as
intolerable. Pristina and Chechnya forcefully illustrate how Russia plans to resist either kind
of enlargement, especially in the Caucasus.

Second, Pristina, Chechnya, and the threat assessment forcefully and directly reply to
U.S. policies in Kosovo, NATO’s attempts to exclude Russia from the Balkans, and its
implications for future warfare. Moscow’s premeditated war with Chechnya serves the
second goal of forcefully suppressing threats of secession from Russia that may become
aligned with foreign, and probably NATO, support, as in Kosovo, and deter NATO
participation in those wars, once again particularly in the Caucasus. High-ranking military
commentary explicitly yokes together internal secessionist threats with that of U.S. and/or
NATO enlargement and implies that they are already joined together as a single composite
threat. Therefore the strongest possible military action is urged to resist those converging
threats.

The doctrine’s third goal is to reorient the domestic and defense agenda and preserve
Yeltsin and now his successor, Vladimir Putin, in power.

Accordingly Manilov charged that,

Actually, today the internal threat, that is associated with terrorism that is covered by Islamic
phraseology, has become extremely exacerbated. That threat does not have anything in com­
mon either with Islam or with national-ethnic problems. Its roots and primary sources are out-
side Russia…. The pragmatic conclusion is as follows: we cannot weaken external security while
54
placing the emphasis on internal security. Or vice versa.

He also listed new threats present in the new documents that are not listed in the 1993
doctrine:

Attempts to ignore and all the more so infringe upon Russia’s interests in the resolution of inter­
national security problems and to oppose its consolidation as one of the influential centers of the
modern world. As you know, that’s what happened when the United States and NATO made the
decision to bomb the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia. Or [another threat is] the creation, equip-
ping, support, and training of formations and groups on the territory of other states with the goal
of their transfer for operations on the territory of Russia and its allies. Specifically, that is what
happened with the manning, equipping, training, and financing of the Chechen terrorist forma­
55
tions that committed aggression against Russia in the North Caucasus.

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 Kvashnin also listed these items as threats as they are contained in the draft defense
doctrine.56 These primarily political and psychological threats now justify the military
response of a major buildup of conventional weapons. Putin too linked foreign and domestic
threats, even invoking the domino theory, and charging that the Chechen threat was part of
an overall attempt to detach whole territories from Russia and CIS governments on behalf of
an international Islamic project. He stated that,

What happened this summer in Dagestan should not be seen as some particular, local occur­
rence. Combine in a single whole Dagestan, the incursions of the gang elements from Afghani­
stan and Tajikistan, and the events in Kyrgyzstan. What was happening—we will call a spade a
spade—was an attempt at the military and political assimilation of part of the territory of the
former Soviet Union…. A rebellious self-proclaimed state supported by extremist circles of a
number of Islamic countries had in these four years (NOTE: Since the Khasvayurt agreement of
1996 ending the first war with Chechnya. Author) fortified its position on the territory of Russia.
A self-proclaimed state which, in the intentions of these extremist circles, was to have become
Greater Ichkeria from the Caspian to the Black Sea, that is to have seized all of the Caucasus,
cut Russia off from the Transcaucasus, and closed the route into Central Asia. Dagestan was, af­
ter all, to have been merely the first step…. So the danger for our country was extremely high.
We really could have lost Dagestan and quit the Caucasus. And subsequently in the very near
future, we would have had, in accordance with the domino principle, attempts by the interna­
tional terrorists to detonate the situation in Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, the Volga region. We
must not close our eyes, these attempts could well have been successful. Centrifugal trends in
the relations of the federal authorities and particular regions of the country are still strong on
the territory of Russia. And it would not then be a question of today’s anti-terrorist operation,
which some overseas and Russian politicians consider incommensurate. It would be a question
of truly broad-based combat operations, a call-up of reservists, and the transfer of the entire
57
country absolute to a war footing.

Kvashnin also echoed the draft doctrine and 1997 security concept in noting that direct
military aggression is presently unlikely. However, potential external and internal threats
have been preserved “and in a number of regions are intensifying.”58 This parallels the
revised and now official security concept’s line that “the level and scope of the military threat
are growing,” an unprecedented statement in Russian Federation official documents.59
Kvashnin also took a strong line towards these perceived threats. For him, the principal
threats facing Russia are:

� Territorial problems connected to the absence of precise juridical borders;

� Intervention in Russian Federation affairs, including encroachment on state unity

and territorial integrity;

� Attempts to ignore or infringe upon Russian Federation interests in resolving inter­

national security problems;

� The appearance and escalation of armed conflicts, particularly near the borders of
the Russian Federation and its allies;

� Creation and buildup of troop groupings that disturb the balance of forces near those
same borders;

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 � Expansion of military blocs and alliances to the detriment of Russian security; and

� Actions aimed at undermining global regional security, etc.60

While this list parallels Manilov’s list as well as the draft doctrine and the security
concept’s assessment, Kvashnin, as stated above, assessed any enlargement of NATO as
being at Russia’s expense and claimed that European security is a zero-sum game.61
Kvashnin’s response to the enlargement threat—extending deterrence to the CIS—is also not
a new departure and reflects a continuing policy trend. Preliminary discussions on doctrine
in 1997 took extended deterrence in the CIS for granted. Secretary of the Security Council
Yuri Baturin’s January 1997 reform plan stated that Russia, when confronting local wars
that expand into large-scale conventional wars due to outside intervention, reserves the right
to use nuclear weapons as first strike and preemptive weapons. This allegedly limited first
strike would putatively regain escalation dominance and force a return to the status quo.62
Obviously this formulation closely anticipated the language of the security concept and its
optimistic belief that Moscow could launch and control a supposedly limited nuclear war.

Kvashnin also strongly argued that Russia’s exclusion from NATO means that NATO
ignores Russian security interests. NATO’s benevolent intentions are irrelevant because its
capabilities are what matters, and they are, in the Russian view, awesome and growing.
Kvashnin similarly invokes NATO’s defiance of the OSCE and UN in Kosovo as an example of
the growing trend towards using force unilaterally out of area and of NATO’s attempt to
dictate European security by force. Hence, he, too, saw Kosovo as a moment of truth for
Russia. He also invoked the threat of proliferation in the Middle East, blaming Israel, not
Iran or Iraq for it. Yet, his public response to this problem is purely dialogue with potential
proliferators, this being the official Russian position.63 Though Russia shares Washington’s
unease about proliferation, he dismisses the likelihood of Third World states having the
requisite technology to constitute a threat in the near future and rejects ballistic missile
defense (BMD) because it would undermine arms control and the reduction of strategic
weapons.64 His statement follows the official line in regard to BMD, but it also suggests
indecision concerning the desirability of fighting proliferation or the best method of doing
so.65

Kvashnin’s reasoning also suggests that Russia refuses to believe in the reality of the new
proliferation threats even though the Rumsfeld Commission’s findings in 1998 demonstrated
that new proliferation threats are already a fact of life and multiplying in ways previously
unforeseen and undetected either by Moscow or Washington.66 Or Kvashnin may be
attempting to conceal the fact that Russia is assiduously proliferating dual-use technologies
and systems to China, Iran, India, and perhaps other states as well.67 Given Russia’s past
record as nuclear proliferator, one might be pardoned for suspecting that Russia, like China,
is not totally unhappy to see at least certain states gain nuclear weapons and reduce the reach
of U.S. military power.68

Statements by Sergeyev and the Minister of Foreign Affairs, Igor Ivanov, now follow the
same line as Kvashnin, Manilov, the security concept, and the draft doctrine concerning the
linked foreign and internal threats sponsored by or emanating from the United States. On

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November 12, 1999, Sergeyev for the first time linked internal and external threats, claiming
that U.S. interests are best served by a continuing smoldering war in the North Caucasus. In
his view, that would force Russia to weaken itself through major exertions to localize the
conflict.69 Furthermore, he claimed, Kosovo showed that NATO’s new strategy relies on the
use of force. That strategy “is an attempt to defy Russia’s positions, to oust it from the
Caspian region, the Transcaucasian area, and Central Asia.”70 Four days later Ivanov wrote
that,

The question often raised in Moscow is whether Kosovo and Chechnya are links in a chain of
steps toward the creation of a one-dimensional, NATO-centered world. Is Chechnya being used
as a smokescreen for preparing NATO to assume the role of a world policeman, for undermining
the fundamental components of strategic stability and reversing the disarmament processes?
Has the anti-Russian campaign over Chechnya been launched to force Russia out of the Cauca­
sus, and then out of Central Asia? And these are by no means the only concerns that have arisen
in Russian public opinion with respect to the action—or sometimes, the lack of actions—of our
71
Western partners.

Accordingly, the draft defense doctrine and the security concept reek with a sense of
pervasive and linked internal and external threats. Sergeyev’s article on the foundations of
Russia’s military-technical policy in December 1999 reinforced that outlook. Here he listed as
internal threats not just Russia’s horrible socio-economic crisis and the constraints that this
crisis put upon modernizing and restructuring of the armed forces, but also the “aggravation
of international relations, regional separatism, and regional extremism which create
favorable conditions for the outbreak of internal armed conflicts.”72 Consequently the main
foreign threats to Russia that derive from its weak global military position and that represent
a threat to its sovereignty and integrity include,

� Negatively developing trends in the entire system of international relations as ex-

pressed in the striving by the United States and NATO for military resolution of po­
litical problems and bypassing of the UN and OSCE;

� The strengthening of unfriendly military-political blocs and unions (i.e. the U.S. alli­
ance system) “and the broadening of their sphere of influence and zones of responsi­
bility” with the simultaneous intensification of centrifugal forces within the CIS;

� The outbreak and escalation of armed conflicts in proximity to the borders of Russia
and the CIS;

� “The sharp escalation of the scale of international terrorism against Russia and its
allies, to include the possible use of OMP [weapons of mass destruction];”73

� The increasing gap between those leading military powers who are breaking away
from other states and the growth of their capabilities for creating a new generation
of military and military-technical weapons; this trend triggers a qualitatively new
phase in the arms race and significantly changes the character, forms, and composi­
tion of military operations; and

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 � Territorial claims on Russia from neighboring states. This is most powerfully ex-
pressed in NATO’s “expansion to the East and their aggression against Yugoslavia,
as well as the events in the Northern Caucasus.”74 Here Sergeyev, too, linked do­
mestic and foreign threats, recklessly conflating them to formulate his assessment
and justify his political-military agenda.

The draft doctrine and security concept echo this inflated threat perception. They both
begin by polarizing two opposed tendencies, U.S.-led unipolarity and Russian-led
multipolarity, as determining “the status and prospects for development of the present-day
military-political situation.”75 Accordingly the basic features of the military-political
situation are as follows. While there is a diminished threat of world war, including nuclear
war and the development of mechanisms for safeguarding international peace regionally and
globally, doctrine writers nevertheless discern the formation and strengthening of regional
power centers, national-ethnic and religious extremism, and separatist tendencies
associated with those phenomena.

Although there are economic, political, technological, ecological, and informational

trends favoring a multipolar world and Russia’s equal position in it, Russian leaders clearly
believe that Western policies, and the policies of other countries associated with
proliferation, are working to circumvent international law and threaten Russia. Hence
military force and the resort to violence remain substantial aspects of international
relations, a favorite justification of the military for their policy aims.76

According to the draft doctrine, those negative trends foster the escalation of local wars
and armed conflicts, strengthened regional arms races, proliferation of WMD and delivery
systems, aggravated information contestation (protivoborstovo in Russian), and expanding
transnational threats: crime, drug trafficking, terrorism, and the illegal arms trade.77 These
actual and potential threats create basic destabilizing factors of the military-political
situation.

Those destabilizing factors are support for extremist nationalist, ethnic, religious,
separatist, and terrorist movements and organizations (Chechens or the KLA in Kosovo); the
use of informational and other non-traditional means and technologies to attain destructive
military-political goals; diminished effectiveness of international security organizations,
particularly the United Nations and the OSCE; operations involving military force in
circumvention of “generally recognized principles and rules of international law [and]
without UN Security Council sanction”; violation of international arms control treaties, e.g.,
the United States’ intention to amend or withdraw from the ABM treaty.78

Russia’s active foreign policy and the maintenance of a sufficient military potential,
including nuclear deterrence, presently avert direct and traditional forms of aggression
against Russia and its allies. Nonetheless “a number of potential (including large-scale)
external and internal threats to Russia and its allies’ military security remain and are
strengthening in a number of directions” (emphasis in the original).79 The original draft
security concept went further, reflecting the General Staff’s preeminence, charging that the
combination or sum total of specific internal and external threats which encompass all the

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threats arising out of Russia’s socio-economic catastrophe “can present a threat to Russia’s
sovereignty and territorial integrity, including the possibility of direct military aggression
against Russia.”80 Likewise, “the spectrum of threats connected with international
terrorism, including the possible use of weapons of mass destruction, is widening.”81 Much of
this language obviously paralleled Kvashnin’s and Sergeyev’s views.82 Although the final
version of internal and external threats listed in the official security concept is both broader
and more specific in detail, interestingly, this language was left out except to cite the growing
level and scope of the military threat.83 In this context the armed forces’ warnings of a
nightmare scenario of NATO support for an ethno-secessionist (and, in Russian eyes,
necessarily terrorist), anti-Russian movement are not surprising.84

Fusing Internal and External Threats

The scope of internal military threats that these documents outline also deserves
attention because the manner of its presentation permits the fusion of internal and external
threats described by Sergeyev, Manilov, Kvashnin, Putin, et al. As the other military forces
have proven unable to cope with these threats in Chechnya, the draft doctrine and security
concept now also strongly imply the use of the regular armed forces for those other forces’
domestic mission.85 This new set of missions is an extremely dangerous risk for the army and
government because of the incompatibility of police functions and missions with those of the
regular army. But in so stressed a state as Russia where both the MVD and the armed forces
are already thoroughly criminalized, placing the army in the domestic line of fire is
apparently the only alternative. Here Russia is flirting with the risk of state failure.86 The
progression from linking internal and external threats to fusing foreign and domestic
missions in a single organization automatically entails many great risks and was probably
taken without the requisite forethought about its implications. Although it makes a nice
logical progression, in practice such policy decisions already represent a confession of failure
or of despair at the absence of usable effective police or military power inside Russia, a point
all too tragically evident in Chechnya in 1994-96 and again today.

We should note that this fusion of internal and external threats also continues previous
Leninist and more recent military-political arguments invoking IW to link external and
internal threats of aggression and subversion from within.87

The draft doctrine’s internal threats comprise:

� Attempts at a violent overthrow of the constitution;

� Separatist ethno-national, terrorist movements seeking to disrupt state unity and

Russia’s integrity or to destabilize the internal situation there;

� Planning, preparation, and accomplishment of actions to disrupt and disorganize

the activity of state governmental organization;

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 � Attacks on governmental, military, economic, and information infrastructures;

� Establishment, equipment, training, and functioning of illegal armed units; un­

lawful proliferation of weapons usable for terrorist or criminal actions; and

� Organized crime, terrorism, smuggling, and other unlawful acts on a scale threat-
ening Russian military security.88

While Putin altered the draft of the security concept to put more emphasis on internal
threats and crime, the document as a whole exudes the Soviet sense of pervasive and
all-encompassing threats.89

After laying out a comprehensive description of those internal threats, the revised
security concept then addresses the foreign threats. It is noteworthy that their order of
presentation represents a full-blown attack on the United States. These threats are:

� States’ desires to bypass organizations of security like the UN and OSCE;

� Weakening Russian influence in the world;

� The strengthening of military blocs and alliances, particularly, NATO’s eastward

expansion;

� The possible emergence of military bases and presences “in the immediate proxim­
ity of Russia’s borders;”

� Proliferation of nuclear weapons and their delivery vehicles, weakening of integra­

tive processes within the CIS;

� The outbreak and escalation of conflicts near the borders of Russia and/or the CIS
states; and

� Territorial claims on Russia.90

The revised concept also lists as threats attempts by other states to prevent a
strengthening of Russian positions in world affairs and hinder the exercise of its national
interests in Europe, Transcaucasia, Central Asia, and the Middle East. The latter region
was added due to Putin’s intervention, signifying renewed Russian interest in playing a key
role there.91 A new note crept into this document because of Kosovo and perhaps belatedly as
a result of the Indo-Pakistani nuclear tests of 1998. Moscow seems to show more concern, if
not fear, of nuclear proliferation. Perhaps Pakistan’s supposed support for the Chechens
and Taliban forces in Afghanistan and its nuclear status now give Moscow pause. Thus, the
new security concept warns expressly against the aspiration of a number of states to
strengthen their influence in world politics, including the use of proliferation.92 Not
surprisingly, then, the security concept cites terrorism as a serious threat.

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 Information threats are also rising. They grow out of states’ (i.e., the United States) desire
to monopolize the global information space “and expel Russia from the external and internal
information market.” The development of concepts of IW fit in here as well.93 Finally, the
rising military threats are attributable, as in the draft defense doctrine, to NATO’s
highhanded unilateralism in expanding its scope and missions in Kosovo without
international agencies’ sanction.94

All these threats, including increased intelligence subversion of Russia are growing as the
Russian military remains at a “critically low level” of training and faces block obsolescence of
its technical base. Moscow also even sees cultural threats from abroad, not to mention the
standard litany of transnational threats, narcotics, crime, etc.95 These precepts are shared by
the military and were concretized in the official doctrine that was published on April 24, 2000
(too late for discussion here), representing a revised version of the draft doctrine which we
have discussed here.96

Signs of Continuing Debate

Because they are supposed to be authoritative documents, both the defense doctrine and
the national security concept are obviously the subject of enormous political maneuvering,
much of it hidden from view. However, the struggles leading up to publication of both of these
documents evidently continue. For the first time the navy has been allowed to publish its
draft of a naval strategy, and Putin went out of his way to focus on critical challenges
confronting this service.97 Evidently the navy has won its constantly reiterated point that
there is such a thing as a separate naval strategy (if not doctrine), thereby upgrading to some
degree its status in Russian military policy.98 Clearly there was a struggle over these issues.
In October 1999, Eduard Shevelev, a leading naval theorist and Vice-President of the
Academy of Military Sciences, wrote to the MOD, fearing that the navy was being ignored in
the new doctrine.99 This upgrading evidently occurred to some degree at the expense of the
army, i.e. ground forces, which have yet to reclaim their special status in the MOD that
Sergeyev and Yeltsin abolished in 1997-98. As a result of this struggle, Admiral Viktor
Kravchenko, Head of the navy’s main headquarters, announced plans to create a Russian
naval presence in all the world’s major waterways including the Mediterranean Sea. Heavy
cruisers will regularly be posted there. Design and construction of fifth-generation ships is
underway, and work on the naval strategic nuclear forces is “being conducted as a priority.”
This means that by 2005 the Russian navy will carry 55 percent of Russia’s strategic nuclear
forces. Moreover, present tests of SLBM RSM-50s are intended as possible responses to the
United States’ expected withdrawal from the 1972 ABM Treaty and subsequent construction
of an American national missile defense system.100

Kravchenko’s observations correspond to the revised budget program for military

spending in the year 2000. According to that program, there will be a 50 percent increase in
defense spending, 80 percent rise in spending on R&D, and a 70 percent increase in the state
order. Future defense spending will reflect major increases in aerospace systems;
microelectronics; electro-optical systems; new strategic, tactical, and miniature nuclear

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weapons; the first Borey class nuclear submarines armed with the new SS-NX-28 SLBM,
other naval systems; C3I technologies for IW; and nuclear weapons. Spending on naval force
development will double to bring new ships on stream by 2008. Current plans also include
increasing strategic naval forces to 55 percent of the total by 2005.101 Other large-scale
programs are also now being announced.102

Putin also apparently participated in this struggle by decreeing changes in the draft
security concept and publishing them in the revised version in January 2000. They are
designed to strengthen the security concept’s emphasis on fighting terrorism and crime,
provisions that if taken to their logical end, mean following Yeltsin’s line of strengthening the
Ministry of Interior Troops (VVMVD) and FSB at the expense of the army, or, alternatively
engaging the army even more in domestic “counterinsurgency” operations, which it has never
liked.103 Yet, as suggested above, there is no alternative. The replacement of the MVD CINC,
General Vladimir Ovchinnikov, with an army general, Vyacheslav Tikhomirov, suggests an
attempt once again to bring the MVD’s forces up to snuff, but one that probably cannot
succeed for all the usual reasons—lack of funding, corruption, inter-service rivalry, etc.

Analyzing the Threats

These threat assessments are notable for their pessimism, pervasiveness, and expanded
scope. They are significant weapons in the internal political struggle to direct military reform
and appropriations. Yet, fundamentally, many of them are essentially psychological
projections of threats to Russia’s vision of itself and/or political and diplomatic threats more
normally the province of the government and Ministry of Foreign Affairs. They expose the
exaggerated but prevalent ideas in many quarters concerning Russia’s place and prospects in
world affairs. While they clearly flow from the sense of outrage at being disregarded in
Kosovo as cited by Wallander, they also reflect the inability to come to terms with Russia’s
limited ability to contribute now and for the foreseeable future to international and European
security. They also are a convenient refuge from the reality that Russian policy did nothing at
all to contribute to a peaceful outcome in Kosovo before March 1999, and were notably
obstructive of Western efforts to do so. While the United States and its allies contributed their
own share of follies and misdeeds throughout this crisis, it is Moscow, not Washington, that
has attempted to have one standard for Europe and another for its projected exclusive zone of
influence in the CIS, an outcome that is clearly unacceptable to those states and Europe, not
to mention Washington. Thus many of the fears and threats that Moscow projects due to
Kosovo owe at least as much if not more to Russian policies and policy failures than they do to
so-called Western “aggression.”

For example, another widely feared threat is that NATO’s enlargement will isolate and
marginalize Russia as a serious player, let alone a great power, in areas of historic influence
and dominance. The idea that Russia will cease to be counted as a great European and global
player on a par with Washington terrifies many elites, even if the younger generation is
allegedly—though this is unproven—more reconciled with contemporary reality. The
determination to play a global role on a par with the United States or the belief that Russia “is

210

entitled” to such a seat at the “presidium table” of world affairs dies very hard, indeed too
hard.104

This great power mystique of Derzhavnost—a kind of objectively fated quality that Russia
is somehow by definition a great power and must be seen and treated as such by all, lest it fall
apart—pervades even the most routine diplomatic and political statements.105It also has
been the most consistent justification of the anti-reform groups ever since the Decembrist
Movement in 1825. This mystique has played such a role because of the profound conviction,
going back to the Tsars, that in a multi-national empire and state like Russia, any reform
could put the whole system and state at risk. Functionally speaking, Derzhavnost is
essentially the most recent contemporary manifestation of the deeply rooted Tsarist idea that
the state and the empire are identical and inextricable concepts.106

For instance, at a recent meeting of the Academy of Military Science on future war that
Sergeyev attended, its director, Retired General Makhmut A. Gareyev, one of Russia’s
leading thinkers and a former Deputy Chief of Staff, stated openly that,

One of these unifying factors is the idea of Russia’s rebirth as a great power, not a regional power
(it is situated in several large regions of Eurasia) but a truly great power on a global scale. This is
determined not by someone’s desire, not just by possession of nuclear weapons or by size of terri­
tory, but by the historical traditions and objective needs in the development of the Russian soci­
ety and state. Either Russia will be a strong, independent, and unified power, uniting all
peoples, republics, krais, and oblasts in the Eurasian territory, which is in the interests of all hu­
manity, or it will fall apart, generating numerous conflicts, and then the entire international
community will be unable to manage the situation on a continent with such an abundance of
weapons of mass destruction. In the opinion of the president of the AVN [i.e. Gareyev himself],
107
there is no other alternative.

Gareyev’s perspective, widely shared across the entire Russian military-political elite,
also logically entails the precept, enshrined in official policy documents, that Russia must
expand territorially and politically as a central pole of the multipolar world if it is to survive at
home.108 Putin has embraced this notion, not just by stressing integration with the CIS as a
priority, but by his observations that if Russia were to grow stronger, those states would
naturally gravitate to it because they are Russia’s natural allies. Prominent statesmen like
Yevgenii Primakov and Andrei Kokoshin also share a revisionist agenda concerning the
territorial settlement of 1989. And they are hardly alone in their thinking.109 The
distinguished Finnish diplomat and historian, Max Jakobson, observes that virtually
everyone he meets in Russia expects the reintegration of the CIS into Russia.

The public flaunting of such delusions, revisionism, and anger at the post-1989 European
status quo has long saturated the Russian media. However, it not only intensifies Russia’s
inability to devise realistic national security policies or threat assessments but fuels
neighboring states’ constant fear and negative perceptions of Russia. Derzhavnost’s
prevalence also reflects the failure to consummate democratic reforms. It profoundly distorts
the perceptual lenses through which Russian elites see themselves and other states, as well
as broader trends in world politics, creating a self-centeredness that cannot—or that refuses
to—understand why a blighted state and economy do not carry as much weight as much as the
United States does.

211
 Nevertheless, it is clear that adherents of these views remain blind to the way in which
provocative Russian actions have brought about Russia’s worst nightmares. Russia wants
status, not responsibility, and indeed it cannot comprehend its own substantial responsibility
for its currently unfavorable international situation.110 Naturally, so archaic and
dysfunctional an outlook will generate an over-ambitious policy and expansive threat
assessment.

For example, even though economic conditions rule out the possibility for power projection
forces, the new security concept openly states that,

The interests of ensuring Russia’s national security predetermine the need, under appropriate
circumstances, for Russia to have a military presence in certain strategically important regions
of the world. The stationing of limited military contingents [the same term used to describe
forces in Afghanistan] (military bases, naval units) there on a treaty basis must ensure Russia’s
readiness to fulfill its obligations and to assist in forming a stable military-strategic balance of
forces in regions, and must enable the Russian Federation to react to a crisis situation in its ini-
111
tial stage and achieve its foreign policy goals.

This is an open call for stationing forces in CIS countries for Russia’s benefit, thereby
restoring the former military unity of the Soviet Union. Such stationing would resemble a
permanent military occupation, albeit under an organizational scheme often described as
being the son of the Warsaw Pact—hardly a coalition of equal allies. Apart from all the other
unanswered questions in that paragraph, the fact that Moscow could take for granted the
need to publicly state its need for a higher degree of security than its supposed allies enjoy
epitomizes the strategic insensitivity that still defines too much of Russian policy.

Thus, NATO’s enlargement in both scope and mission threatens some of Russia’s most
basic foundational myths. It undercuts the cherished belief of the reformers of 1991 and their
acolytes that the Russian people and Boris Yeltsin, not NATO’s steadfast resistance to Soviet
power, destroyed the Soviet Union. Second, NATO enlargement equates the Soviet system
with Russian imperialism and strikes at the very tenacious Russian myth that Russia
suffered more than anyone else did, or at least as much as other peoples, from the Soviet
system. This Russian version of Dostoyevsky’s “egotism of suffering,” or what Freud called
the “narcissism of small differences” is very deeply ingrained now among many members of
the elite alongside of the older notions of state and empire being equivalent concepts. Thus an
enormous propaganda campaign making Russia the victim in the Chechen campaign is now
underway. Competitive victimization, almost by definition, cannot serve as a realistic basis
for assessing either threats or opportunities in the international arena. By conflating Soviet
power with Russian imperialism, NATO and partisans of NATO enlargement also reveal
their skepticism as to the extent and durability of democratic rule in Russia.

NATO enlargement, seen from Moscow, is hostile even to what Russians believe are
voluntary, foreordained integrationist tendencies in the CIS that would preserve what
Russians perceive as the positive ties of the old empires. It allegedly denigrates the extent to
which Russia has refrained from inciting its co-nationals in the CIS and Baltic states and
from following Serbia’s example under Slobodan Milosevic.112 Russia has flouted basic
democratic agreements with Europe on the use of the military at home and civilian

212

democratic control of these forces, has tried to restrict the OSCE from the CIS at every
opportunity, and wages “economic wars” and makes other threats against its neighbors—all
actions which show it still does not behave as European states think a state should act. The
foregoing realities continue to elude Russian thinkers, as does the fact that they cannot play a
role equal to that of the United States. As the Finnish Institute of International Affairs’
Russia Beyond 2010 report recently stated,

In the realm of foreign and security policy, Russia is not committed to the principles of demo­
cratic peace and common values. Its chosen line of multipolarity implies that Russia is entitled
to its own sphere of influence and the unilateral use of military force within it. Russia refuses to
countenance any unipolar hegemonic aspirations, in particular it will not accept security ar­
rangements in which the United States seems to have a leading role. As a solution, Russia pro-
poses a Europe without dividing boundaries which will, however, require a buffer zone of
militarily non-aligned countries between Russia and NATO. Russia’s idea of Europe’s new secu­
rity architecture is therefore based on an equal partnership of great powers and supportive
geopolitical solutions—not on common values accepted by all, nor on the right of every small
state to define their own security policy. The above summary of recent Russian developments is,
113
in every aspect, practically in opposition to Finland’s and the EU’s fairly optimistic goals.

Conclusions

The strategy of limited nuclear war and first-strike use of nuclear weapons, as a backup to
a deterrence policy and the singling out of the United States and NATO, are the most
prominently reported negative aspects of these documents. But the deeper trends that
undergird those strategies and policies are equally, if not more, disturbing. The draft
doctrine, security concept, and Russian military policy as shown in Pristina and Chechnya
highlight forces and factors that are much more troubling and structurally threatening than
the temporary absence of usable conventional forces.

First of all these documents and policies reinforce the bitter truth that there has been no
military reform and little or no democratization of the entire edifice of defense policy
including its cognitive structures. A government that could start internal wars three times in
six years and do so, as in the most recent case, mainly to win elections and give the General
Staff a larger share of control over defense policy is a permanent threat to its own people, even
more than to its neighbors and interlocutors.114

The absence of democratization and reform is evident in several aspects of the documents
analyzed above. They conflate political and military threats, conflate internal and military
threats, support use of the army for purposes of domestic repression, postpone true military
reform and professionalization to some unknown date, maintain, if not increase, the already
high economic burden of militarization, continue to conceal that burden’s dimensions from
society’s elected officials, and insist that the army must be ready for deterrence and defense
on all azimuths and against all-encompassing threats across the entire spectrum of
conflict.115

213

 These documents also demonstrate the ascendancy of the trend that sees threats
everywhere and postulates military control and military-like thinking over all aspects of
national security policy and military answers to political challenges. These documents also
reveal a military-political elite that cannot come to terms with the realities of Russia’s
shrunken estate or the status quo, and who therefore are constantly acting in ways that, to
put it mildly, unsettle their neighbors and interlocutors. The self-centered mystique of
Derzhavnost and the deeply entrenched Leninist axiom that international security is a
question of who does what to whom (kto-kogo) rather than a mutual opportunity for gain for
all players remain among the greatest impediments to Russia’s internal and external security
and to its ultimate democratization and prosperity.

The greater danger here is not necessarily that a nuclear provocation will occur, it is
rather that the military institutions and government have yet to devise a strategy and policy
based on reality. Instead they continue to chase after fantasies of recovering a lost status and
of being a military-political global superpower. The deeply embedded notions of international
security as a zero-sum game, of the militarization of politics, and of the pervasiveness of
threats from all sides, are axioms deployed first of all for domestic advantage and to obstruct
reform. When juxtaposed to the absence of coherent controls and institutions to formulate
and direct defense policy, these axioms are an invitation to disaster.

These documents and the security consensus that lies behind them represent only the
latest manifestation of Russia’s continuing failure to become a true democracy at peace with
itself and the world. As long as this unrealism and pre-modern structure of politics governs
the discourse and practice of Russian security policy, continuous internal unrest is the best
scenario we can predict for Russia. But experience shows that this unrest does not remain
bottled up in Russia. The war in Chechnya is now accompanied by threats against Tbilisi and
Baku as well as attempts at military-political union in the CIS.

Thus Russia’s refusal or inability to adapt to reality presages a continuing struggle in the
CIS and other unsettled areas like the Balkans. Every time in Russia’s past when state power
in Russia fragmented, the whole region within which it acted was engulfed in instability if not
conflict, and foreign armies either were tempted to invade or were dragged into the quagmire.
Thus these documents are ultimately a confession of bankruptcy and of despair. If Russia
perceives everything around it as a threat whose origins lay outside Russia, then the
temptation to avert domestic reform will continue to strengthen and breed still more internal
unrest and instability. Nor will any outside attempts to help be appreciated or accepted.
Absent a reliable defense policy or defense force and following an elite that seems hell-bent on
rushing to the brink of a precipice, Russia’s elites remain fixated on military threats that for
the most part do not exist outside their own fantasies. Thus they show themselves utterly
unable to come to grips with the new but real threats to the security and stability of the sate
and the society.116 If this situation continues without a break then the Russian people, if not
their neighbors and partners, will evidently also be thrown over the edge as Russia falls into
an economic, ecological, demographic, and possibly even nuclear abyss.

214

Endnotes
1. “Voennaia Doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii: Proekt,” Kransnaia Zvezda, October 9, 1999, p. 3.

2. Celeste A. Wallander, Russian Views on Kosovo: Synopsis of May 6 Panel Discussion, Program on New
Approaches to Russian Security, Harvard University, Davis Center for Russian Studies, Cambridge, MA, April,
1999; Policy Memo No. 62, Moscow, “Nezavisimoye Voyennoye Obozreniye,” in Russian, November 19-25, 1999,
Foreign Broadcast Information Service, Central Eurasia (henceforth FBIS SOV), December 6, 1999; Oksanna
Antonenko, “Russia, NATO, and European Security After Kosovo,” Survival, 41, no. 4, Winter 1999-2000, pp.
124-144; Roland Dannreuther, “Escaping the Enlargement Trap in NATO-Russian Relations,” Survival, 41, no.
4, Winter 1999-2000, pp. 145-164; Viktor Gobarev, “Russia-NATO Relations After the Kosovo Crisis: Strategic
Implications,” Journal of Slavic Military Studies, 12, no. 3, September, 1999 pp. 1-17; Col. A.B. Krasnov (Ret.)
“Aviatsiya v Iugoslavskom Konflikte,” Voennaia Mysl, no. 5, September-October 1999, pp. 71-74; and as told to
the author in conversations with Russian officers and analysts in Helsinki and Moscow, June 1999 (henceforth
Conversations).

3. “Novaya Voyennaya Doktrina Rossii—Adekvatnyi Otvet na Vyzov Vremenyi,” Kransnaia Zvezda,

October 8, 1999, p. 1; “Shestaya Versiya,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozreniye, October 29, 1999, pp. 1,4, FBIS
SOV, December 6, 1999.

4. Wallander, pp. 3-4.

5. Charles J. Dick, “Russia’s 1999 Draft Military Doctrine,” Occasional Brief, Conflict Studies Research
Centre, Royal Military Academy, Sandhurst, Camberley, Surrey, UK, no. 72, November 16, 1999,p. 4.

6. Conversations.

7. Dick, pp. 4-5.

8. Ibid.

9. “Interview with Colonel General Yuriy Nikolayevich Baluyevskiy, “ FBIS SOV, November 9, 1998.

10. Moscow, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, in Russian, December 26, 1997, FBIS SOV, 97-364, December 30, 1997.

11. Deborah Yarsike Ball, “Spurred by Kosovo, the Russian Military is Down but Not Out,” Jane’s
Intelligence Review, June 1999, p. 17.

12. FBIS SOV, December 30, 1997.

13. Ibid.; Christopher Bellamy, “Spiral Through Time: Beyond ‘Conflict Intensity,’” Occasional Papers,
Strategic & Combat Studies Institute, no. 35, London, 1998, pp. 14-15.

14. Moscow, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, in Russian, no. 42, November 6-12, 1998, FBIS SOV,
November 9, 1998.

15. Ibid. (Author’s emphasis).

16. Ibid.

17. Ibid. It bears mentioning that the “extrapolation” spoken of applies as well to the independent states of
the Transcaucasus, thus revealing an involuntary hint of the continuing neo-imperial mindset of the General
Staff-author.

18. Moscow, Nezavisimoe Voyennoe Obozrenie in Russian, January 14, 2000, FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

215

 19. Ibid.

20. Ibid.

21. Nezavisimaia Gazeta, in Russian, October 12, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 12, 1999.

22. Ibid., FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

23. Conversations.

24. Martin Nesirsky, “Russia Says Threshold Lower for Nuclear Weapons,” Reuters, December 17, 1999.

25. Ibid., FBIS SOV, October 12, 1999, FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

26. “Osnovnye Polozheniia Voennoi Doktriny Rossiiskoi Federatsii (Izlozhenie),” Kransnaia Zvezda,
November 19, 1993, pp. 3-8.

27. Nesirsky; see also, Moscow, Interfax, in English, November 26, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 26, 1999.

28. Moscow, Yaderny Kontrol, no. 6, November-December 1999, in Russian, FBIS SOV, December 24, 1999.

29. Ibid.

30. “Russia Rejects changes in ABM Treaty,” Reuters, March 4, 2000.

31. Stephen Blank, “Russia Rises to Perceived Threats,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, February 2000, pp.
24-27, Moscow, RIA, in English, February 4, 2000, FBIS SOV, February 4, 2000.

32. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

33. Ibid., Voennaia Doktrina, pp. 3-4.

34. Dick, p. 5.

35. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000, FBIS SOV, December 30, 1997.

36. This term, taken from the French philosopher Michel Foucault, 1927-84, denotes the manner in which
discussions about concepts are structured by the initial definition of those concepts. Thus, e.g., the word
“security” is always defined in narrow military terms and in terms of military threats.

37. Moscow, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, in Russian, no. 45, November 19-25, 1999, FBIS SOV,
November 19, 1999; Belgrade, Politika, in Serbo-Croatian, December 23, 1999, FBIS SOV, December 24, 1999;
Moscow, ITAR-TASS, in Russian, October 18, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 18, 1999.

38. Conversations.

39. Ibid.

40. FBIS SOV, November 19, 1999.

41. FBIS SOV, December 24, 1999 from Belgrade, Politika, December 23, 1999.

42. Ibid.

43. FBIS SOV, October 18, 1999; FBIS SOV, November 19, 1999.

44. Ibid.

216

 45. Stephen Blank, “Proliferation and Counterproliferation in Russian Strategy,” and Remarks on Russia,
Proceedings from the Conference on Countering the Missile Threat: International Military Strategies, February
22, 1999, Washington, DC: Jewish Institute for National Security Affairs, 1999, pp. 127-149, and 41-45,
respectively.

46. FBIS SOV, December 24, 1999, from Belgrade, Politika, December 23, 1999.

47. Conversations, “Kontseptsiya Natsional’noi Bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe

Obozrenie (Internet version) November 26, 1999 (henceforth cited as Kontseptsiia), Nesirsky. It should be
pointed out, too, that Yakovlev’s warnings about nuclear use pertain to exactly this kind of scenario.

48. Moscow, ITAR-TASS, in Russian, October 18, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 18, 1999.

49. Conversations, FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

50. Conversations.

51. Voennaia Doktrina, pp. 3-4.

52. Timothy L. Thomas, Information Technology: US/Russian Perspectives and Potential for
Military-Political Cooperation, Foreign Military Studies Office, Fort Leavenworth, Kansas, 1999, at
http://call.army.mil/call/fmso/fmsopubs/issues/infotech.htm.

53. Conversations, Novaia Voennaia Doktrina, p. 1, Moscow, Vek (Electronic Version), in Russian,
November 26, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 29, 1999.

54. Novaia Voyennaia Doktrina, p.1.

55. Ibid.

56. FBIS SOV, November 19, 1999.

57. Moscow, Vek (Electronic Version), in Russian, November 26, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 29, 1999.

58. FBIS SOV, November 19, 1999.

59. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

60. FBIS SOV, November 19, 1999.

61. Ibid.

62. Moscow, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, in Russian, January 22, 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-015, January 24, 1997.

63. FBIS SOV November 19, 1999.

64. Ibid.

65. For an examination of the ambivalence of Russian elites concerning proliferation see Michael Beck,
“Russia’s Rationale for Developing Export controls,” eds. Gary K. Bertsch and Suzette R. Grillot, Arms on the
Market: Reducing the Risk of Proliferation in the Former Soviet Union, New York: Routledge, 1998, pp.37-38, 49;
Moscow, Mirovaia Ekonomika i Mezhdunarodne Otnosheniia, in Russian, no. 7, July 1998, pp. 50-60, FBIS
SOV, August 28, 1998.

66. EXECUTIVE SUMMARY of the REPORT of the COMMISSION TO ASSESS THE BALLISTIC
MISSILE THREAT TO THE UNITED STATES, July 15, 1998, Pursuant to Public Law 201, 104th Congress,

217

Report of the Commission To Assess The Ballistic Missile Threat To The United States, Appendix III,
Unclassified Working Papers, Pursuant to Public Law 201, 1998 (henceforth, Executive Summary).

67. Stephen Blank, “Russia as Rogue Proliferator,” Orbis, 46, no. 1, Winter 2000, pp. 91-107.

68. Larry M. Wortzel, “Ballistic Missiles and Weapons of Mass Destruction: The View From Beijing,”
Proceedings from the Conference on Countering the Missile Threat, International Military Strategies
(henceforth, Proceedings), Washington, DC: Jewish Institute for National Security Affairs, 1999, p. 193; Ken
Alibek and Stephen Handelsman, “Is Russia Still Preparing for Bio-Warfare?” Wall Street Journal, February
16, 2000, from the Pentagon’s Early Bird press selection for that day .

69. Moscow, Interfax, November 12, 1999.

70. Ibid.

71. Igor Ivanov, “West’s Hypocrisy Over Chechnya,” Financial Times, November 16, 1999, p. 19.

72. Moscow, Kransnaia Zvezda, in Russian, December 9, 1999, FBIS SOV, December 8, 1999.

73 . Ibid.

74. Ibid.

75. Voennaia Doktrina, pp. 3-4, FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

76. Ibid.

77. Voennaia Doktrina, pp. 3-4.

78. Ibid.

79. Ibid.

80. Kontseptsiia.

81. Ibid.

82. FBIS SOV, November, 19, 1999, FBIS SOV, December 8, 1999, FBIS SOV, December 23, 1999.

83. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

84. Conversations.

85. Voennaia Doktrina, pp. 3-4, FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000, FBIS SOV, February 4, 2000.

86. Stephen Blank, “State and Armed Forces in Russia: Toward an African Scenario,” in Saving
Democracies: U.S. Intervention in Threatened Democratic States, ed. Anthony James Jones, Westport, CT:
Praeger Publishers, 1999, pp. 167-196.

87. One finds similar conflation in China’s perception of its threat environment, and it certainly carries over
from the Leninist and Stalinist belief in capitalist encirclement whenever there are internal enemies of the
socialist project. Denny Roy, “China’s Threat Environment,” Security Dialogue, 27, no. 4, 1996, pp. 437-448.

88. Voyennaya Doktrina, pp. 3-4.

89. Ibid.

218

 90. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

91. Ibid.

92. Ibid.

93. Ibid.

94. Ibid.

95. Ibid.

96. Moscow, Nezavisimaia Gazeta (Electronic Version) in Russian, February 5, 2000, FBIS SOV, February
7, 2000.

97. Moscow, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, in Russian, November 19, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 19,
1999, The Jamestown Monitor, November 24, 1999

98. “Presidential Bulletin, FBIS SOV, December 27, 1999.

99. Moscow, Kransnaia Zvezda, in Russian, October 19, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 19, 1999.

100. Moscow, RIA, in English, December 17, 1999, FBIS SOV, December 17, 1999, Moscow, RIA, in English,
November 23, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 23, 1999.

101. Moscow, RIA, in English, November 23, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 23, 1999, Moscow, ITAR-TASS, in
English, November 23, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 23, 1999, Moscow, Interfax, in Russian, November 23, 1999,
FBIS SOV, November 23, 1999, Moscow, Russian Public Television First Channel Network, in Russian,
November 17, 1999, FBIS SOV, November 17, 1999, Moscow, Kommersant, in Russian, November 24, 1999,
FBIS SOV, November 24, 1999, Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia to Emphasize Replenishing Spy Satellite Fleet,”
Defense News, October 25, 1999, p. 6, Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia to Emphasize Electro-Optics in Future
Projects,” Defense News, November 22, 1999, p. 22, Christopher Foss, “Russia Develops MEADS Lookalike,”
Jane’s Defence Weekly, October 21, 1998, p. 18, Moscow, Interfax, in English, April 25, 1999, FBIS SOV, April 25,
1999, Moscow, Interfax, in English, August 31, 1999, FBIS SOV, September 1, 1999, Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia
Set to Invest More to Modernize Weapons,” Defense News, December 13, 1999, p. 22, Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia
Seeks to Catch Up With West in Microelectronics,” Defense News, December 13, 1999, p. 8, Vladimir Isachenkov,
Douglas Barrie and Simon Saradzhyan, “Russian Air Force to Improve Tactical Strike Capability,” Defense
News, December 6, 1999, p. 5, Moscow, Radiostantsiia Ekho Moskvy, in Russian, November 2, 1999, FBIS SOV,
November 3, 1999, Moscow, ITAR-TASS, in Russian, October 28, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 28, 1999, Moscow,
Interfax, in English, October 27, 1999, FBIS SOV, October 27, 1999, Moscow, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, in Russian,
July 8, 1999, FBIS SOV, July 8, 1999, Richard Staar, “A Russian Rearmament Wish List,” Orbis, 43, no. 4, Fall
1999, pp. 605-612, Richard Staar, “Funding Russia’s Rearmament,” Perspective, 10, no. 1, September-October,
1999, pp. 1-2, 8-10.

102. Ibid.

103. FBIS SOV, January 14, 2000.

104. Dmitri Trenin, “Transformation of Russian Foreign Policy: NATO Expansion Can Have Negative
Consequences for the West,” Nezavisimaia Gazeta, February 5, 1997, Foreign Broadcast Information Service,
Observations and Analysis (henceforth FBIS-FMN), February 12, 1997, Sergey M. Rogov, “Russia and NATO’s
Enlargement: The Search for a Compromise at the Helsinki Summit,” Center for Naval Analyses, Alexandria,
VA, CIM 513/ May 1997, p. 10. This was also the dominant theme of Russian presentations at the Biennial
Conference of European Security Institutions, January 22-24, 1996, in Moscow. See also Sergei Rogov et al.,
Security Concerns of the New Russia, Volume II, Alexandria, VA: Center for Naval Analysis, 1995, p. 34, where

219

this demand is made explicitly; and Lena Jonson, “In Search of a Doctrine: Russian Interventionism in Conflicts
in Its ‘Near Abroad,’” Low Intensity Conflict & Law Enforcement, 5, no. 3, Winter 1996, p. 447.

105. Thus Russia’s ambassador to Seoul, Evgeny Afanasiev, speaking apropos of Moscow’s new treaty with
North Korea, observed, “Being a global and regional power, Russia will continue to positively involve itself in a
peaceful resolution of the turbulent situation on the Korean peninsula….” Seoul, The Korea Herald (Internet
Version), in English, January 7, 2000, FBIS SOV, January 6, 2000.

106. Theodore Taranovski, “Institutions, Political Culture and Foreign Policy in Late Imperial Russia,” in
Catherine Evtuhov, Boris Gasparov, Alexander Ospovat, Mark Von Hagen, eds., Kazan, Moscow, St. Petersburg:
Multiple Faces of the Russian Empire, Moscow: O.G.I., 1997, pp. 53-69; Richard Wortman, “Ceremony and
Empire in the Evolution of the Russian Monarchy,” ibid., pp. 32-37.

107. “Geopolitika i Russkaya Bezopasnost’,” Kransnaia Zvezda, July 31, 1999, p. 2.

108. Moscow, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, in Russian, September 23, 1995, FBIS SOV 95-188, September 28, 1995,
pp. 19-22, Andrei Kokoshin, Reflections on Russia’s Past, Present, and Future, John F. Kennedy School of
Government, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA: Strengthening Democratic Institutions Project, 1998, p. 31,
is an excellent example of this pervasive mentality. At the time he was Deputy Defense Minister and soon after
Secretary of the Defense Council Vassily Krivokhiza, Russia’s National Security Policy: Conceptions and
Realities, Richard Weitz, trans., John F. Kennedy School of Government, Harvard University, Cambridge, MA:
Strengthening Democratic Institutions Project, 1998, p. 32; Alla Iaz’kova, “The Emergence of Post-Cold War
Russian Foreign Policy Priorities,” R. Craig Nation and Stefano Bianchini, eds., The Yugoslav Conflict and its
Implications for International Relations, Ravenna: Longo Editore, 1998, p. 112.

109. Kokoshin, Institutions Project, 1998, p. 31, is an excellent example of this pervasive mentality. Moscow,
Rossiiskaia Gazeta, in Russian, November 6, 1996, FBIS SOV, 96-217, November 8, 1996, Address by Y.M.
Primakov to the OSCE Permanent Council, Vienna, September 20, 1996, p. 2, transcript made available by the
Embassy of the Russian Federation to the United States.

110. Robert Legvold, “The ‘Russian Question’,” in Vladimir Baranovsky, ed., Russia and Europe: The
Emerging Security Agenda, Oxford: Oxford University Press, for the Stockholm International Peace Research
Institute (SIPRI), 1997, p. 67, Sergei Medvedev, “European Security After the Cold War: A Rejoinder,” Security
Dialogue, vol. 24, no. 2, pp. 319-320, writes, “In the years to come Russia will stay a suspended, yet constant
security threat on the edge of Europe; a nuclear power and still a major military force with unclear intentions,
complicated domestic policies, with multiple interest groups influencing foreign and security policy, producing
scores of refugees and migrants, raising security concerns of the CIS states and Eastern Europe, and finally
unable to cooperate with the West on security issues.”

111. IS SOV, January 14, 2000.

112. Dannreuther, pp. 153-156.

113. Finnish Institute of International Affairs, Russia Beyond 2000: The Prospects for Russian
Developments and Their Implications for Finland, Helsinki, 1999, pp. 1-2. Emphasis is supplied.

114. Stephen Blank, “Vladimir Putin and Russia’s Armed Forces; A Faustian Bargain?” forthcoming,
Brown Journal of World Affairs.

115. Interestingly enough, a great deal of the threat environment depicted in these documents corresponds
to some analyses of China’s “threat environment.” Roy, pp. 437-448; and Major General A.F. Klimenko,
“International Security and the Character of Future Military conflicts,” Voyennaya Mysl’, no. 1,
January-February, 1997, p. 6.

116. Sergei Medvedev, “Former Soviet Union,” in Paul B. Stares, ed., The New Security Agenda: A Global
Survey, Tokyo: Japan Center for international Exchange, 1998, pp. 75-116.

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 Russia and Europe: All Quiet on the Western Front?

R. Craig Nation

Russia and the West

The most significant threats to the security and survival of the Russian state have nearly
always emerged from across its exposed western border. In 1609, 1708, 1812, and 1941
foreign armies pushed along the high road to Moscow (on two occasions briefly reaching their
goal). After 1948, the NATO alliance, eventually armed with a considerable nuclear arsenal
and conventional power projection capacity, once again came to embody, as viewed from
Moscow, an objective, Europe-based threat. The goal of “joining” Europe, first articulated in
the early years of the 18th century by Peter the Great, was a recipe for competition between a
physically potent but economically weak and socially fragile Russia and a considerably more
prosperous and dynamic West. This juxtaposition, and the sense of strategic exposure that it
has encouraged, has always been at the core of the Russian security dilemma. It has been
brought to the fore again, with considerable force, by the Soviet apocalypse.

The Russian Federation that emerged in 1992 was stripped of nearly all the elaborately
constructed defenses that its Soviet predecessor assumed as a natural right. The USSR was a
force unto itself in international affairs, and it left behind few, if any, real allies. Soviet
military power was the product of an extraordinary mobilization that could not be maintained
indefinitely. Under the successor regime of Boris Yeltsin, the new Russian armed forces were
drawn into domestic political struggles as an ally of the “party of power.” They were partially
discredited as a result, starved for funds, and in effect allowed to languish by a mistrustful
leadership for whom international stature was not a high priority. With the collapse of the
Warsaw Pact, the central European buffer bought so dearly during the Second World War
was swept away. Simultaneously, declarations of independence in the Baltic states, Ukraine,
Moldova, the Transcaucasus, and Central Asia led to the surrender of nearly all the territorial
acquisitions of Russia’s imperial and communist leaders from the 17th century onward.
Viewed in conventional terms, the breakup of the USSR was a strategic disaster.
Accompanied by economic meltdown and widespread social demoralization, it left Russia
ill-prepared to engage with a victorious and assertive Euro-Atlantic community.

Yeltsin’s reform-oriented supporters originally sought to address the growing imbalance

of power through bandwagoning association with a triumphant West. According to new
foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev, Russia’s transition would make it an integral part of an
enlarged community of Western states stretching “from Vancouver to Vladivostok,”
committed to a strategic partnership with the United States, but without sacrificing the
prerogatives that geographic stature, cultural tradition, and economic potential made its just
due.1 These were extravagant hopes, and they were soon proven to be vain. Suspicion of
Russian intentions and concern for its long-term potential were too deeply rooted in Western
policy establishments to dissipate overnight. Russia was too big and too troubled to integrate

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into existing Western institutions without fundamentally changing their nature. At the
same time, Russia’s reduced stature made it difficult for her to attract substantial concessions
in exchange for strategic alliance. For its own part, Moscow yearned for a symbolic parity
with the leading Western powers that her underlying power indices did not justify or in fact
permit.

Russia’s unprecedentedly rapid retreat from great power status has reduced her
importance in the context of Western grand strategy. But with over 20,000 nuclear warheads,
the world’s largest national repository of strategic raw materials, a critical geostrategic
location at the core of the Eurasian heartland, and the status of a permanent member of the
UN Security Council, the great northern kingdom remains too important to ignore.

Russia and NATO

The core of Russian concern over current Western security policy in Europe has been the
strategic evolution of the Atlantic Alliance. Between 1948 and 1989, central Europe was
transformed into something like a prepared battlefield for the third world war. In spite of
intense militarization, however, the Soviet Union’s western marches were relatively stable.
NATO’s intentions, declared and in fact, were strictly defensive. Moscow’s greatest concern
was not a conventional military threat, but rather the potential spillover effect of instability
within the Warsaw Pact, of the sort so dramatically manifested in Hungary in 1956,
Czechoslovakia in 1968, and Poland in 1980-1981. The Soviet glacis in central Europe, built
around the 20-plus divisions of the Group of Soviet Forces in Germany, was a sure guarantee
against external aggression. As an offensively configured force, it also provided significant
leverage against the West in an ongoing geostrategic competition. On these terms, and
despite chronic wrangling, Moscow could coexist comfortably with a hostile but essentially
passive NATO.

The nearly simultaneous demise of the Warsaw Pact and the Soviet Union seemed to leave
NATO as an alliance without a mission. That lack was remedied by the Alliance’s evolution
through the 1990s, including a new activism embodied by a commitment to “out of area”
conflict management and peacekeeping missions, an ambitious agenda for eastward
enlargement, and the expressed intent to take on the role of a comprehensive, pan-European
collective security forum.2 These trends have led the Alliance toward an “open door” policy of
expansion, significant engagements in Bosnia-Herzegovina and Kosovo, and the
promulgation of a New Strategic Concept in April 1999 that embraces a wide range of new
responsibilities.3

The new NATO remains a work in progress, but several things about its changing
character are already clear. NATO is and will remain the central element of a post-Cold War
European security architecture. It continues to serve as the critical anchor for American
power in Europe. It is committed to an assertive agenda for monitoring and enforcing security
norms in Europe and its environs, and it will continue to expand into Central and
Southeastern Europe, albeit at a pace and to an extent that have yet to be determined. Nearly

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all of these dynamics are perceived in Moscow to run directly contrary to long-term Russian
interests, including the desire to recoup lost influence and regain great power stature in areas
immediately contiguous with the Russian frontier.

The original aspirations of Soviet reformers in the Gorbachev era were summed up in the
popular phrase the “Common European Home.”4 So certain was Gorbachev of the declining
relevance of force in an interdependent world, of the need for cooperative forums for the
pursuit of mutual security, and of his country’s essentially European vocation, that he was
willing to accept widely disproportionate arms reduction agreements and unilateral
concessions (eventually including the peaceful release of the central European satellite
states) in order to bridge the East-West divide.

Inability to realize these aspirations over the first decade of post-Soviet reform may be
ascribed to two causes. The first, and the most essential, is the travail of transition within
Russia itself. The corrupt, demoralized, quasi-authoritarian, and war-torn regime that Boris
Yeltsin has bequeathed to his successors has little that is positive to contribute. Until such
time as its internal demons are laid to rest it will be condemned to watch from the sideline as
the European project unfolds.

The second cause is Western policy itself, which also shares responsibility for the failure to
engage Russia effectively. The United States in particular, though it has maintained a
rhetorical commitment to “partnership,” has not succeeded in sustaining proactive policies
designed to bring Russia into the Western camp. Growing friction has instead given rise to
bitter recriminations and resistance to Western leadership. The Russians’ institution of
choice as the foundation for a new European security order has been the Organization for
Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), where the Russian Federation is fully
represented and U.S. influence is to some extent diluted, and whose idealistic charter (the
1990 Charter of Paris) is grounded in the premises of mutual security.5 NATO’s activist
agenda has effectively precluded any possibility for the OSCE to evolve in this direction. In
place of an inclusive but weak and unthreatening OSCE, whose main function would be to
provide a forum for dialogue and consensus-building, the Western community has elevated
an ambitious, U.S.-led, only partially representative, and militarily robust NATO bloc that
bears the legacy of adversarial relations inherited from the Cold War.

Viewed in its own terms, the perpetuation of the Atlantic Alliance makes perfect sense.
NATO remains Europe’s only militarily credible security forum, and the ideal of Atlanticism
that it represents works in the best interest of both America and its European partners. To
the extent that the Alliance helps guarantee peace and stability in the continent as a whole,
and in particular among the states of the central European corridor working their way
through the rigors of post-communist transition, its evolution and enlargement may be said
to serve Russia’s best interests as well. Moscow has not shared these conclusions, but its
concerns have in fact been less focused upon the existence of the Alliance as such than its
changing role in U.S. grand strategy.

The Alliance’s evolution has been multidimensional. It has included a redrafting of the
Alliance’s core security concept, reorganization of the integrated command structure, and a

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commitment to proactive security management and preventive diplomacy, including out of
area peacekeeping and peace enforcement deployments. Serious efforts have been
undertaken to strengthen the organization’s European pillar, including closer working
relationships with the Western European Union (WEU) and the European Union, the
Combined Joint Task Force concept allowing for the creation of Europe-led and U.S.
supported coalitions of the willing acting under NATO auspices, and encouragement of a
stronger European Security and Defense Identity under the NATO umbrella. There has also
been a considerable evolution in the national military doctrine and force posture of key
member states, and openings to the new democracies of eastern and central Europe through
the mechanisms of the Euro-Atlantic Partnership Council (formerly the North Atlantic
Cooperation Council) and the extended Partnership for Peace program. Russia has expressed
displeasure with nearly every aspect of NATO’s transformation, interpreting the new NATO
as an instrument for perpetuating U.S. hegemony in Europe and for intimidating a
temporarily weakened Russian rival. Under Kozyrev’s direction, much of this criticism was
intended primarily to placate domestic critics. Disgruntlement became much more focused
and substantial with Evgenii Primakov’s accession to the Foreign Ministry in 1996. The real
precipitating event in the transformation of Russian threat perception, however, has been the
emergence, since the mid-1990s, of a positive agenda for NATO enlargement.

So far as the decision to enlarge can be reconstructed, it seems to have derived from a
meeting of U.S. President William Clinton with Lech Walesa of Poland and Vaclav Havel of
the Czech Republic at the Holocaust Museum in Washington during April 1993; to have been
embraced by a small group of presidential advisors and pushed through the interagency
process behind the scenes; and to have been promulgated as administration policy without
any kind of public debate or consensus in place at the January 1994 NATO ministerial in
Brussels.6 Domestic political motives played a large part in moving the decision forward, but
the commitment to expand obviously contained important symbolic and strategic
implications. Territorial adjustments and shifts in spheres of influence normally follow
decision in warfare; the absorption by the NATO alliance of what had formerly been a Soviet
buffer zone seemed as clear a vindication as one could desire of the West’s claim to “victory” in
the Cold War. No great power can be expected to rejoice when a potentially hostile military
coalition moves closer to its historically exposed frontiers, and from the Russian perspective
this was precisely what NATO enlargement amounted to. The symbolic implications were
especially resented. Russia has consistently argued that it was its own leaders who took the
initiative to end the Cold War, and asserted that a tacit agreement not to expand NATO into
the area of the former Warsaw Pact was an integral part of the negotiations that allowed for
the peaceful unification of Germany. The strategic implications for Russia were regarded
with dismay, and opposition to NATO enlargement became a rare point of consensus across
the badly fragmented Russian political spectrum.

It is not clear that any amount of Russian agitation could have reversed the momentum of
enlargement once the process had been set in motion. In the event, Moscow’s immediate
reactions to the enlargement agenda reflected the general confusion and lack of direction that
have characterized nearly all aspects of her tortured post-communist transition. In August
1993, during his first visit to Warsaw as Russian president, Yeltsin stated publicly that Polish
membership in NATO would not run counter to Russian interests (an assertion that was

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subsequently reiterated by Foreign Minister Kozyrev).7 The rest of the foreign policy
establishment, however, was quick to correct the presidential “misstatement.” Thereafter
Russian officials were consistent in condemning enlargement as a threat, a betrayal of the
trust that made possible a peaceful winding down of Cold War tensions, and an attempt “to
consolidate victory in the Cold War” at Russia’s expense.8

What Russia could do about the accession process once it had begun was quite another
matter. The various countermeasures that were at various times suggested—to break off
arms control negotiations, to adopt a more demanding stance in the Conventional Forces in
Europe (CFE) talks, to increase support for Cuba and other anti-American regional powers, to
cultivate strategic partnership with the People’s Republic of China, to use economic
instruments and other sorts of pressure to block a second round of accession possibly
including Ukraine and the Baltic states—were by and large rejected as unfeasible, or as steps
toward self-imposed isolation.9 As a result of Russia’s critical weakness the battle of
enlargement had in effect been lost in advance, and “to wave one’s fists in anger after the fight
is over is nothing more than an empty gesture.”10 The only viable course, summarized by
Kozyrev’s successor Primakov as “keeping damage to a minimum,” was to go on record as
opposed to enlargement while simultaneously accepting a limited engagement with NATO in
the hopes of maintaining some kind of leverage and influence.11 On this less than promising
foundation, Russia moved to discuss the entangling commitment of what would become the
Russia-NATO Founding Act.12

Serious negotiations on the Founding Act began in January 1997, and concluded with the
signing ceremony of May 27, 1997. Despite Russian efforts to make the agreement as formal
as possible, the Act was not a legally binding document, but rather “the fruit of compromise
resulting from reciprocal concession” containing “numerous ambiguities.”13 The document
itself consists of a preamble and four thematic sections devoted to principles, mechanisms for
consultation, areas for cooperation, and political-military issues.14 The preamble states the
long-range goal of building a new NATO reaching out to a democratic Russia, emphasizing
that henceforward neither party will view the other as a potential enemy. In the section
devoted to principles, explicit mention is made of the U.N. Charter, the Universal Declaration
of Human Rights, the Helsinki Final Act, and additional OSCE documents, thus placing
NATO-Russian cooperation in the larger framework of ideas and institutions associated with
a nascent cooperative security regime. The key mechanism for cooperation defined by the
agreement is the NATO-Russia Permanent Joint Council (PJC), which is tasked to convene
monthly on the ambassadorial level and bi-monthly on the level of foreign and defense
ministers. The weight that the PJC is expected to carry is, however, left unclear, and it is
expressly stated that neither side will have the right to exercise any kind of veto power. The
document names a wide range of areas where cooperation is deemed to be possible, including
conflict prevention, joint peacekeeping operations, exchanges of information, nuclear
security issues, arms control, conversion of military industries, disaster assistance, and the
fight against drug trafficking and terrorism. The precise responsibilities of the Council in
regard to these themes are not specified.

The final section addresses the military-security issues occasioned by NATO’s eastward
expansion, including its impact on the conventional balance of forces in Europe, prospects for

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the permanent basing of NATO forces on the territory of new members and a related build-up
of military infrastructure, and the issue of nuclear weapons. A number of implicit trade-offs
and compromises paved the way for agreement in these sensitive domains. The question of
conventional force limits was left to be fixed by the ongoing CFE negotiations. An American
“Three Nos” pledge (no need, no intention, no plan) was offered to reduce concerns about the
stationing of nuclear weapons. This amounted to little more than a pious declaration of good
intentions, but both sides were willing to live with it on the basis of a shared conviction that
“any such stationing would make very little military sense.”15 NATO managed to insert a
statement of approval for the modernization of military infrastructure, deemed necessary to
permit the deployment of joint forces in a crisis, and in exchange offered a pledge to refrain
from permanent deployments of large military contingents. Russia achieved some
face-saving concessions, but in the end NATO gave up almost no option in which it was
seriously interested, maintained a strict definition of the Act as an informal and non-binding
arrangement, and reiterated the assertion that Russia was receiving nothing more than a
consultative voice. If damage limitation was Moscow’s first priority, the results must have
been disappointing.

The essence of the Founding Act has been described as “the commitment to develop
consultation, cooperation and joint decisionmaking, including an enhanced dialogue between
senior military authorities.”16 In the first year of its existence the PJC made some progress
toward achieving these goals. It organized regular high-level consultations, and convoked
expert groups and working sessions on a wide range of issues such as peacekeeping, civil
emergency planning, nuclear issues, the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction,
retraining of retired military personnel, air traffic safety, and arms control. A NATO
Documentation Center on European Security Issues was opened in Moscow in January 1998,
and negotiations on reciprocal Military Liaison Missions were concluded successfully.
During June 1998 a conference was convened in Moscow to commemorate the first
anniversary of the Founding Act and explore areas for further collaboration.

Collaboration under the aegis of the Founding Act did not disguise Russia’s more
fundamental opposition to NATO enlargement, and hopes to block further rounds of
expansion. Nor did NATO demonstrate any willingness to meet Russian demands for more
substantial cooperation, including an expanded role for the PJC in Alliance planning and
decisionmaking.17 Consequent disillusionment should not be underestimated. Gregory Hall
describes Russia’s “consistently and resoundingly negative” reactions to the limitations of the
PJC as the foundation for a “shift in orientation away from the West.”18 The PJC nonetheless
seemed to be demonstrating its relevance as a forum for dialogue and association. Foreign
Minister Primakov evaluated the experiment cautiously but fairly in remarking, “The past
year has shown that we are able to cooperate on the basis of constructive engagement and
confidence, and we have achieved quite a lot.”19 If the PJC was both promising and in some
sense necessary, it was also inevitably fragile. In the course of 1999, the frail sprouts of
Russia-NATO collaboration were nearly swept away by the storm provoked by NATO’s
decision to intervene militarily in the Yugoslav province of Kosovo.

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Russia, NATO, and the Kosovo Crisis

The emergence of the Kosovar Liberation Army as the armed wing of Kosovar Albanian
resistance to Serbian oppression in 1997-1998 should not have come as a surprise. A decade of
egregious violations by the Serbian government of Slobodan Milosevic had left Kosovo’s
Albanian majority deeply embittered, and the failure of the strategy of passive resistance
crafted by shadow president Ibrahim Rugova was clear. Western capitals were nonetheless
caught unprepared as violence in the province escalated through the summer and autumn of
1998. Original U.S. condemnations of the KLA as a “terrorist” organization were discreetly
set aside in favor of a campaign of coercive diplomacy designed to force Milosevic to pull in his
horns.20 When this campaign failed to produce the desired results, the United States and its
NATO allies, acting through the Alliance, sought to impose a settlement with a campaign of
graduated bombing strikes. Milosevic’s reaction to the air strikes was to up the ante by
moving to expel the Albanian population from Kosovo en masse, thereby provoking a major
humanitarian disaster and directly challenging NATO’s credibility. The Alliance, perhaps
unintentionally, found itself locked into a full-scale air war with disruptive strategic
implications.

Russian objections to NATO’s intervention in the Kosovo conflict were concerned more
with precedent than with the outcome on the ground. Although Moscow has often positioned
itself as a supporter of the Serbian position in the protracted Balkan conflict, it has not been
willing to make meaningful sacrifices, or to court substantial risks, in support of its erstwhile
ally.21 In Kosovo, however, the example of unilateral intervention by NATO on behalf of one
side in a civil conflict within a sovereign state, without UN or OSCE approval, in the name of
an extremely broad and easily manipulated doctrine of humanitarian intervention, and in
direct defiance of Russia’s express preferences, posed special challenges.

In the first phase of the conflict Russia distanced itself from the NATO initiative and
denounced it unambiguously, pillorying the United States as a “new Goliath” for whom “force
is again the only criterion of truth.”22 With the appointment of Viktor Chernomyrdin as
Russian special mediator in May, however, hostile rhetoric was moderated, and
Chernomyrdin ultimately played an essential role in bringing about a negotiated resolution.
But Russia’s concerns remained intact. Russian engagement, including the search for a
compromise solution acceptable to NATO and tolerable to Belgrade, and willingness to
participate in the UN peacekeeping force, were born, like acquiescence in NATO
enlargement, less of enthusiasm than of a desire to limit damage.

Continued frustration was revealed by Moscow’s decision to draw an airborne company

out of Bosnia-Herzegovina to occupy Pristina’s Slatina airport on June 11-12, 1999, in
advance of the arrival of the Kosovo Peacekeeping Force (KFOR) contingent, a high-risk
grasp for leverage after repeated requests for a Russian zone of occupation had been flatly
rejected. The incident could easily have led to an armed confrontation between Russian and
NATO forces—a measure of the risks involved in the strategic cat-and-mouse game being
played out between Russia and the West in the Balkan conflict zone. Though the Pristina
incident was resolved diplomatically, Russia emerged from the Kosovo conflict highly

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concerned about its strategic implications, frustrated over its own presumed marginalization
in the peacekeeping operation, and finding its relations with NATO in shreds.

In retrospect, Russia’s objections to Western policy in Kosovo have been consistent and
intense.23 The decision to intervene militarily in defiance of Russian protests is first of all
excoriated as an example of the extremely low regard in which Moscow is held in Western
capitals. The issues in Kosovo were not unambiguous—if Serbian repression was extreme, it
came in response to real provocation, and in no way could the United States or its major
European allies be said to have vital interests at stake. Unilateral intervention, in defiance of
Russia, was the result nonetheless.

Simultaneously, the Kosovo problem is portrayed as an integral part of a policy continuum

where Russia’s own national interests are directly at stake. The issue is “what Europe itself
will become in the new century, with whom and in what direction it will evolve.”24 Moscow’s
greatest fear is the emergence of a consolidated western Europe subordinated to the United
States and divided from a weak and isolated Russia by a central European “gray zone”—an
enlarged Euro-Atlantic community from which Russia would be effectively excluded. To
thwart movement in that direction Russia wants to ensure that the states of the central
European corridor remain a bridge for interaction between East and West rather than
becoming a cordon sanitaire promoting isolation or containment.

Russia is a traditional Balkan power, and it has close cultural ties and political
associations in the region. Southeastern Europe is in fact perhaps the only European area
where Russia can still hope to play the role of a major power. Moreover, deeply rooted
instabilities guarantee that local actors will need to rely upon sources of external sponsorship
for the foreseeable future. Engagement in the Balkans is widely viewed as a critical
foundation for Russia’s entire European policy. NATO’s unilateral intervention in the Kosovo
conflict, inspired by what Viktor Kremeniuk calls the effort “to create a Europe where Russia
has no place,” has therefore been interpreted by analysts on all sides of the policy spectrum as
a direct challenge to Russia’s vital interests.25

The precedent of unilateral action outside the U.N. framework is also disturbing. The
Security Council veto remains one of the few levers of power that a weakened Russia is able to
call on to shape the international environment to its advantage. Well prior to the Kosovo
crisis the United States had consistently maintained that NATO could not be constrained by
an absolute requirement for a U.N. mandate, that under certain circumstances independent
action might be required, and that NATO must reserve the prerogative to act of its own
volition if necessary. The U.S. position was not uniformly supported even by its closest allies,
however, and it was usually assumed that such action would be forthcoming only in special
circumstances. In the case of Kosovo, much of the pressure for precipitous action was
self-imposed through ultimatum presented to Serbia at the Rambouillet negotiations. In
Moscow, the precedent established by NATO’s unilateralism was immediately interpreted as
a direct challenge to national prerogatives.

Moscow has also portrayed the Kosovo conflict as a “trial run” for a strategic worst-case
scenario—the use of NATO, operating from forward bases obtained in central Europe as a

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result of the enlargement process, as a tool for military intervention in a conflict on the
Russian periphery, or within the Russian Federation itself. NATO is now depicted in much of
Russian strategic discourse as “the primary and by far the most serious threat not only to
Russian national interests but also to the very existence of the Russian Federation as an
independent and sovereign state.”26

The efficiency and effectiveness of NATO’s air war against Yugoslavia only served to
reinforce Moscow’s heightened threat perception. Though it seems that Yugoslav
conventional forces were not degraded by the air offensive nearly to the extent originally
estimated and that without effective Russian mediation the war could have become much
more protracted and difficult, NATO had demonstrated its capacity to function effectively as
a warfighting alliance.27 Its conduct of the air war was technically impressive, and its
overwhelming technological edge left Serbian infrastructure virtually without defense. If
Operation Allied Force was intended to intimidate, it certainly achieved its purpose.

Russian reactions to the Kosovo crisis have been conditioned, like all of Russian foreign
policy in the recent past, by national weakness and limited options. Moscow did not have the
capacity to prevent a decision for the use of force. Once that was recognized, Russia’s goal
became to limit damage and avoid isolation. NATO’s own strategic miscalculations were of
some service in this regard. The original choice for limited bombing strikes had been
premised on the assumption that after two or three days of punishment, Milosevic would see
that discretion was the better part of valor and cave in to Alliance demands. When this
scenario did not play out, Russia’s influence in Belgrade became a more significant asset in
the search for a negotiated solution. Chernomyrdin’s diplomatic initiatives were critically
important in paving the way for a compromise peace, but even here Russia was able to glean
precious little advantage from its contribution. Its core demand of a Russian zone of
occupation in Kosovo was refused, the role to which it was consigned under KFOR was
modest, and it was made clear to all that NATO would call the shots on the ground inside the
occupied province. Once again, short of frustrated withdrawal accompanied by a loss of any
and all influence, the Russians had little choice other than to accept whatever limited
presence was allowed. Their more significant reactions would come in parallel domains, and
in a longer-term perspective.

The Aftermath of Kosovo

In August 1998 Russian financial markets collapsed, shattering hopes for a long awaited
economic recovery and discrediting the liberal reform policies pursued by the Yeltsin
leadership. In March 1999, NATO began its air attacks upon the Federal Republic of
Yugoslavia, and in the summer Russia launched a new military offensive against its own
rebellious southern province of Chechnya. On New Year’s Day 2000, Yeltsin resigned his
position as Russian president, and in March 2000, acting president Putin was formally
elected to a five-year term. Putin’s popularity had soared on the wings of public support for
the military crackdown in the northern Caucasus, widely perceived as a long overdue gesture
of national reassertion after a lengthy phase of subordination and decline. The conjuncture of

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these events—the discrediting of liberal reform as a consequence of fiscal collapse, the

transformation of threat perception provoked by the events in Kosovo, the accession of a new,
more dynamic and assertive Russian leader, and Russia’s resurgence in Chechnya—has
given form to a new climate of relations between Russia and the West with sobering military
and strategic implications.

In the months following the Kosovo imbroglio the Russian Federation issued the texts of a
new national security concept and national military strategy. Although they had been in the
making for at least a year prior to their issuance, the texts clearly coincided with the
reformulation of priorities that accompanied the Kosovo experience. The first draft of
Russia’s new military doctrine was released in October 1999, several months prior to the
release of the draft national security concept, which it is technically intended to support.28
The curious inversion of the logical sequence—releasing a doctrine before its concept—has
been interpreted by some as an attempt by the General Staff to exert influence upon the
process leading to a finalization of the Security Concept. Whether or not this is the case, in
their current versions (the documents are not definitive and are subject to revision) both
statements are essentially complementary. They reflect a competitive, “statist”
interpretation of Russian national interests and represent a clear rejection of the liberal
policies that inspired Russian foreign and security policy at the outset of the Yeltsin era.29

The first variant of a national security policy articulated by the Kozyrev foreign ministry
in February 1992 had placed the emphasis upon Russia’s aspiration to join the ranks of the
“civilized” West.30 The 1993 version of a Russian military doctrine abandoned the traditional
Soviet disavowal of first-use nuclear options, but it did not single out external threats for
special mention.31 Yeltsin’s 1997 national security concept was more outspoken in asserting
the need for a “multipolar” world order, but this concept presumed Russia’s role as a major
world power acting in concert with its peers. The 1997 concept downplayed external threats,
emphasizing the primacy of internal dilemmas born of poor economic performance, social
frustration, and the slow pace of reform.32 In sharp contrast, the revised concept, formally
approved by Acting President Putin on January 10, 2000, highlights external threats, and
specifically cites NATO unilateralism as a menace to world peace.33

The most challenging military initiative to emerge from the texts is a new emphasis on the
role of Russia’s nuclear forces, both as a foundation for deterrence and as a means for
prevailing in theater contingencies where vital interests are deemed to be at stake. In the
1993 military doctrine, first use of nuclear weapons was accepted in the case of attack by a
nuclear-armed adversary, or by a state allied with a nuclear power, and in the event that the
“existence” of the Russian Federation was deemed to be at risk. The 2000 version sanctions
the first use of nuclear weapons to “repulse armed aggression” by a conventionally armed
adversary, even if that adversary is not bound by alliance to a nuclear-armed ally. These
assertions are unfortunately not mere rhetorical flourishes. Russia maintains a large tactical
nuclear arsenal, and in June 1999 Russian military exercises simulating a response to
conventional attack against the Kaliningrad enclave culminated with a Russian
counterattack spearheaded by tactical nuclear weapons.

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 President Putin was propelled into power by the impetus of the “short, victorious war” in
Chechnya, and he has publicly committed to a doubling of the military budget, stressing the
importance of rebuilding the foundations of Russian military power, both nuclear and
conventional. The road back to military credibility will be a long one for the Russian
Federation, but in the wake of Kosovo and with the impulse provided by a new, more dynamic
national leader, the commitment seems to have been made. If President Putin succeeds in
revitalizing the national economy, Russia could aspire to reemerge as a significant military
competitor in a 10-15 year time frame.

In the meantime, Putin’s military initiatives have been accompanied by reassuring

rhetoric towards both Europe and the United States. Russia remains engaged with SFOR
and KFOR, and it has cautiously revived its dialogue with NATO under the aegis of the PJC.34
On March 5, 2000, Putin remarked to the BBC’s David Frost that he “would not rule out” the
possibility of Russia’s eventually joining NATO, prompting NATO Secretary General George
Robertson to respond that “at present Russian membership is not on the agenda.”35
Negotiations leading toward a revision of the Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty (CFE)
were carried on despite the distractions of Kosovo and Chechnya, and on Putin’s watch they
have been brought to a successful conclusion (though Russia remains in violation of the
accords due to its engagement in Chechnya).36 The Russian Duma has also been brought
around, after lengthy delays, to ratify the START II strategic arms control treaty, albeit with
significant conditions concerning the U.S. commitment to national ballistic missile defense.

Putin has repeatedly asserted his desire to improve relations with Europe, and there is no
reason to doubt his sincerity. The European Union is Russia’s largest trading partner, with
over 45 percent of total trade, and interaction is on the rise. It is also the single most
important source of direct foreign investment in Russia. Russia ranks sixth among EU
trading partners, and in key sectors such as energy its role is critical.37 Over half the grants
made under the EU’s TACIS program are earmarked for the Russian Federation, and many
(in the areas of military training, nuclear safeguards, chemical weapons conversion, and
crime prevention) are security-related. The EU signed a Partnership and Cooperation
agreement with Russia on the island of Corfu in 1994, and in 1998 a Russia-EU Partnership
Council was created. As a member of the OSCE, the Council of Europe, the Euro-Atlantic
Partnership Council, and NATO’s PJC, Russia is already integrated into Europe’s
overlapping institutional structure and does not risk isolation. For all these reasons and
more, Russia cannot afford a decisive break with the West and it is not in her best interests to
pursue or provoke one.

The halcyon days of “strategic partnership” are nonetheless a thing of the past. Kosovo
has posed a significant challenge that Russia will seek to counter by a long-term commitment
to rebuilding the foundations of national power, including military power. The severity of
military repression in Chechnya has weakened the Western commitment to assist Russia.
Efforts to rebuild a positive NATO-Russia relationship are important, but will inevitably
remain fragile. Meanwhile, Western engagement on behalf of the new independent states is a
source of aggravation and concern, which in strategically sensitive areas such as the Baltic,
the Crimea, and the Transcaucasus will continue to generate friction. Tension between the
United States and its key European allies could also play a role, should Russia opt to revive

231
past Soviet efforts to leverage trans-Atlantic disagreements to its own advantage.38 Mutual
distrust, Russia’s commitment to national resurgence, and a series of unresolved issues have
created a strong foundation for a renewal of tensions.

All Quiet On the Western Front?

NATO’s adventure in Kosovo and Russia’s second round of fighting in Chechnya have
probably put to rest, for the foreseeable future, any hopes of making the Russian Federation a
functioning part of a recast Euro-Atlantic security order. The new line of division that will
separate the Russian Federation and the West, including the “gray zone” in central Europe,
but also the fault line between Russia and the U.S. European and Central Commands,
stretching through the Caucasus and Caspian Sea into distant Central Asia, will remain a
volatile and potentially conflict-prone corridor where a traditional politics of force may be said
to have a future as well as a past.

Numerous countervailing tendencies make it unlikely, however, that inevitable friction

will sweep out of control. Russia is nowhere near to being in a position to contemplate the use
of force outside the immediate vicinity of its frontiers to gain decisive strategic advantage.
The interests of its dominant oligarchy do not include suicidal confrontation with great power
rivals that it cannot hope to defeat. Military impotence may be rhetorically decried as
intolerable, but military effectiveness is a function of many attributes—including social
cohesion and morale, leadership, economic viability, technological sophistication, and
national purpose—that post-Soviet Russia has not been able to sustain. The currently
preferred option of increased reliance on the nuclear option is an essentially defensive (one
might even say desperate) expedient that is highly unlikely to increase Moscow’s
international leverage. Such commitments will make Russia more dangerous, but not
necessarily more powerful. In cases where Russian and Western interests have clashed,
Moscow has not been able to maintain consistent alternative policies. Weakness and a
concomitant lack of alternatives have pushed it, almost inexorably, toward policies of
accommodation.

Relative weakness need not be considered intolerable from the perspective of Russian
national interests. One of the more daring assertions associated with Mikhail Gorbachev’s
“New Thinking” was the claim, made in sharp contrast to the entire history of Soviet
approaches to security affairs, that the Soviet Union did not really confront imminent
external threats. Though this emphasis has been reversed in the most recent formal
evaluations, the logic that underlies it remains valid. Despite Moscow’s heightened threat
perception, the Western powers harbor no aggressive intent against the Russian Federation.
The new democracies and new independent states of central and eastern Europe have no
desire to become platforms for aggression. They are preoccupied with the quest for
association with the West, and their fondest hope is not to confront Russia, but rather to turn
their backs upon it. Among the myriad problems with which today’s Russian Federation
must attempt to cope, the threat of conventional invasion across its exposed western flank is
not particularly salient. The critical, if not criminal, weakness into which its armed forces

232

have been allowed to descend is tolerable for that very reason. Barring extreme and
improbable provocations, all should remain quiet on Russia’s western front.

But will it? An unfortunate consequence of Russia’s protracted crisis of transition has
been considerable confusion about where its real national interests lie and how best to pursue
them. Under Yeltsin, Russia was consistently deferential to the West on key foreign policy
issues. The two widespread perceptions shared by elites and the public at large, that little of
value was obtained in exchange for considerable concessions and that in fact the Western
powers have pursued a cynical policy aimed at weakening Russia and holding her down, have
come to represent a real political force that Yeltsin’s successors will not be able to ignore.
Russia’s great power tradition makes it difficult for her to accept a subordinate role in matters
touching upon vital interests, and the recent past has seen numerous confrontations where
Russia has defined those interests in such a way as to directly conflict with Western purposes.
Neither Russia nor the West has the slightest interest in pushing matters to the point of
confrontation. But when contingent powers define important interests in mutually
contradictory ways, when they are constrained to answer to volatile public opinion, when they
find themselves subject to contradictory counsel including important hawkish lobbies
advancing a politics of force, and when they struggle to manage complex regional
contingencies where neither side is in complete control of events—then unintended
worst-case outcomes are always possible.

The most salient short-term threats to Russian national interests lie along the
Federation’s southern flank. The most pressing long-term security dilemma may well
concern relations with China in the Far East. On the European front, although flash points
are not lacking, security challenges are likely to be much less pressing. Russia’s relations
with the Baltic states will remain strained, but they are unlikely to generate open hostilities.
Since 1997, Russia has sought to shift the emphasis of its policy in that region from
intimidation to engagement.39 Ukraine is an unstable polity in its own right, and though its
relations with Russia have improved, not all divisive issues have been overcome. For the time
being, however, Moscow has signaled the intention to work on improving relations with Kyyiv
within the context of respect for Ukrainian sovereignty and territorial integrity.40 The status
of the Transdniester Republic remains unresolved, but it is not an issue that anyone desires to
go to war over.41

The decisive fact is that, despite its own critical weaknesses, Moscow confronts fewer
direct challenges on its western marches at the present moment than ever before in its
history. The West should take account of this relatively benign regional security environment
in crafting its own policies and in interpreting the harsher edges of Russia’s current strategic
discourse. The Putin leadership has made clear its desire to pursue a pragmatic relationship
with the United States and its European allies. The case of Chechnya, though tragic, does not
threaten the West. Russia’s motives in this conflict combine cynical political calculations
with an understandable preoccupation with domestic order and territorial integrity. Russia
will continue to angle for influence in the post-Soviet space, but it is not in a position to use
force to achieve its goals. The “nuclear card” in Russia’s current military doctrine bespeaks
weakness, not strength. For its part, Russia needs to recognize that Kosovo more closely
resembles a strategic aberration than a model for future international crisis management.

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Even the process of NATO enlargement, if it is pursued gradually and in the context of a
stable and positive NATO-Russian relationship presided over by the PJC, need not become
unmanageable.

The goal of a Europe whole and at peace, embedded in a stable Euro-Atlantic community
and open to cooperation with its neighbors, does not threaten Russia. It is in fact a vision that
works very much in Moscow’s best interests. In coming to terms with the consequences of
reduced national stature, the new Russia finds rhetorical self-assertion to be one obvious
coping mechanism. The Western powers, however, must also come to terms with the
implications of their own advantages. These advantages are not primarily
military—Russia’s strategic vulnerability in the post-Cold War period is a product of
domestic collapse, not purposeful Western striving for superiority. The West’s strengths are
grounded in democratic values, stable institutions, economic dynamism, and social
consensus—all attributes that the new Russia must aspire to achieve in its own right if the
post-communist transition is to be deemed a success.

Given the current balance of power, deference to Russian sensitivities in areas where vital
interests are perceived to be at stake need not be interpreted as appeasement. The
overarching goal, on both sides, should be a managed relationship in which a resort to force to
resolve differences is precluded. Despite current frictions and the new, more assertive
leadership style in Moscow, in the European theater at least, it remains a viable goal.

Endnotes

1. Andrei V. Kozyrev, “Russia and Human Rights,” Slavic Review, vol. 51, No. 2, Summer 1992, pp. 282-296.

2. See Lawrence S. Kaplan, The Long Entanglement: NATO’s First Fifty Years, Westport, CT: Praeger, 1999.

3. “Consensus and NATO’s New Strategic Doctrine,” Defense Report, April 1999.

4. G. Vorontsov, “Ot Khelsinki k ‘obshcheevropeiskomu domu’,” Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnie

otnosheniia, no. 9, 1988, pp. 40-45.

5. Charles Krupnick, “Europe’s Intergovernmental NGO: The OSCE in Europe’s Emerging Security
Structure,” European Security, vol. 7, no. 2, Summer 1998, pp. 30-51.

6. Jonathan Eyal, “NATO’s Enlargement: Anatomy of a Decision,” International Affairs, vol. 73, no. 4, 1997,
pp. 706-710; and James M. Goldgeier, Not Whether But When: The U.S. Decision to Enlarge NATO, Washington,
DC: Brookings Institution, 1999.

7. Kozyrev asserted that “Russia will have no objection if NATO does not take an aggressive stance in
respect of Russia. This [Polish membership in the Alliance] is a matter of Poland and NATO.” Cited from Vasilii
Safronchuk, “NATO Summit Seen As Shame for Russia,” Sovetskaia Rossiia, July 9, 1997, p. 3.

8. See S. Rogov, “Rasshirenie NATO i Rossiia,” Morskoi Sbornik, no. 7, 1997, pp. 15-19.

9. Igor Maslov, “Russia and NATO: A Critical Period,” Mediterranean Quarterly, vol. 9, no. 1, Winter 1997,
pp. 1-15 and Aleksei Podberezkin, “Geostrategicheskoe polozhenie i bezopasnosti Rossii,” Svobodnaia mysl’, no.
7, 1996, pp. 90-97.

234

 10. Iu. P. Davidov, “Rossiia i NATO: Posle bala,” SShA: Ekonomika, politika, ideologiia, no. 1, 1998, p. 3.

11. Primakov’s remark cited from S. Kondrashev, “U nas svoe litso, i my nigde ne skatyvalis’ k
konfrontatsii,” Izvestiia, December 23, 1997, p. 3. See also Alexander A. Sergounin, “Russian Domestic Debate
on NATO Enlargement: From Phobia to Damage Limitation,” European Security, vol. 6, no. 4, Winter 1997, pp.
55-71; and for a summary of the preferred Russian strategy N. N. Afanasievskii, “Rossiia-NATO: Kurs na
sotrudnichestvo,” Orientir, no. 7, 1997, pp. 9-11.

12. For a broad evaluation of Russian perceptions, see J. L. Black, Russia Faces NATO Expansion: Bearing
Gifts or Bearing Arms? Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 2000.

13. Youri Roubinskii, “La Russie et l’OTAN: Une nouvelle étape?” Politique etrangérè, vol. 62, no. 4, Winter
1997, p. 553.

14. For the text in English and Russian see “Founding Act on Mutual Relations, Cooperation and Security
Between NATO and the Russian Federation,” European Security, vol. 6, no. 3, Autumn 1997, pp. 158-168, and
“Osnovopolagaiushchii Akt o vzaimnykh otnosheniiakh, Severoatlanticheskogo dogovora,” Krasnaia Zvezda,
May 29, 1997, p. 3.

15. Hans-Henning Schroeder, “... it’s good for America, it’s good for Europe, and it’s good for Russia ...”:
“Russland und die NATO nach der Unterzeichnung der ‘Grundakte,’” Osteuropa, vol. 48, no. 5, May 1998, p. 447.

16. Fergus Carr and Paul Flenly, “NATO and the Russian Federation in the New Europe: The Founding Act
on Mutual Relations,” Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics, vol. 15, no. 2, June 1999, p. 99.

17. Articulated in A. Kvashnin, “Rossiia i NATO zainteresovany v rasshirenii voennogo sotrudnichesta,”

Krasnaia Zvezda, September 4, 1998. See also the critique in P. Ivanova and B. Khalosha, “Rossiia–NATO: Shto
dal’she?” Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnie otnosheniia, no. 6, 1999, pp. 5-15.

18. Gregory B. Hall, “NATO and Russia, Russians and NATO: A Turning Point in Post-Cold War East-West
Relations?” World Affairs, vol. 162, no. 1, Summer 1999, p. 25.

19. Cited in Kav’er Solana, “NATO-Rossiia: Pervyi god stabil’nogo provizheniia vpered,” Novosti NATO, vol.
2, no. 2, April-May 1998, p. 1.

20. R. Craig Nation, “US Policy and the Kosovo Crisis,” The International Spectator, vol. 33, no. 4, October
1998, pp. 23-39.

21. See V. K. Volkov, “Tragediia Iugoslavii,” Novaia i noveishaia istoriia, no. 5, 1994, pp. 22-31; and Craig
Nation, “La Russia, la Serbia, e il conflitto jugoslavo,” Europa, Europe, vol. 5, no. 4, 1996, pp. 171-192.

22. A. Matveyev, “Washington’s Claims to World Leadership,” International Affairs, vol. 45, no. 5, 1999, p.
53.

23. See the evaluations in Dmitri Trenin, ed., Kosovo: Mezhdunarodnie aspekti krizisa, Moscow: Moskovskii
Tsentr Karnegi, 1999.

24. V. Kuvaldin, “Iugoslovenskii krizis i vneshnepoliticheskaia strategiia Rossiia,” Mirovaia ekonomika i

mezhdunarodnie otnosheniia, no. 9, 1999, p. 22.

25. See Kremeniuk’s comments in “Balkanskii krizis i vneshnepoliticheskaia strategiia Rossiia,”

SSha-Kanada: Ekonomika, politika, kul’tura, no. 10, October 1999, p. 42. This roundtable discussion provides
an interesting survey of Russian perspectives on the Kosovo problem.

26. Viktor Gobarev, “Russia–NATO Relations After the Kosovo Crisis: Strategic Implications,” The Journal
of Slavic Military Studies, vol. 12, no. 3, September 1999, p. 11.

235

 27. For the controversy over the effectiveness of NATO’s air campaign inside Kosovo see “The Kosovo
Cover-Up,” Newsweek, May 15, 2000, pp. 22-26.

28. For the text see “Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii: Proekt,” Krasnaia Zvezda, October 9, 1999,
pp. 3-4.

29. See Celeste A. Wallander, “Wary of the West: Russian Security Policy at the Millennium,” Arms Control
Today, vol. 30, no. 2, March 2000, pp. 7-12.

30. See the text in International Affairs, no. 3, April-May 1992.

31. See the text in Izvestiia, November 18, 1993, pp. 1-4, and, for a good contemporary evaluation, James F.
Holcomb and Michael M. Boll, Russia’s New Doctrine: Two Views, Carlisle, PA: U.S. Army Strategic Studies
Institute, 1994.

32. “Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii,” Rossiiskaia gazeta, December 26, 1997,
pp. 4-5.

33. “Kontseptsiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossiiskii Federatsii,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie,

January 14, 2000, and “Russia’s National Security Concept,” Arms Control Today, vol. 30, no. 1,
January-February 2000, pp. 15-20.

34. Susan LaFraniere, “Russia Mends Broken Ties With NATO,” Washington Post, February 17, 2000, pp.
A1, A23.

35. Cited from http://www.stratfor.com/CIS/commentary/0003080103.htm.

36. Jeffrey D. McCausland, “Endgame: CFE Adaptation and the OSCE Summit,” Arms Control Today, vol.
29, no. 6, September-October 1999, pp. 15-19.

37. Heinz Timmermann, “Russland: Strategischer Partner der Europeischen Union? Interessen, Impulse,
Widersprüche,” Osteuropa, no. 10, 1999, pp. 991-1009.

38. For a recommendation to this effect, see Iu. P. Davydov, “Rossiia-NATO: O poiskakh perspektivy,”
SshA-Kanada: Ekonomika, politika, kul’tura, no. 1, 1999, p. 21. Commenting upon Russian opposition to a
revision of the ABM treaty, U.S. Secretary of Defense William Cohen has noted: “Thus far, I believe the
Russians have devoted themselves to trying to divide the [European] allies from supporting the United States.”
Cited in Christopher R. Marquis, “Cohen Says Missile Defense System Requires Support of Allies,” New York
Times, July 26, 2000, p. A3.

39. Graeme P. Herd, “Russia’s Baltic Policy After the Meltdown,” Security Dialogue, vol. 30, no. 2, 1999, pp.
197-212.

40. The best account of this relationship is Anatol Lieven, Ukraine & Russia: A Fraternal Rivalry,
Washington, DC: U.S. Institute for Peace, 1999. See also a Russian perspective on a key regional issue, E.
Cherkasova, “Sevastopol’: Esche raz o territorial’noi probleme,” Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnie
otnosheniia, no. 9, 1999, pp. 108-114.

41. Andrew Wilson, “Conflict Resolution After the Cold War: The Case of Moldova,” Review of International
Studies, vol. 25, 1999, pp. 71-86.

236

 Russia in the Caucasus: Sovereignty, Intervention,

and Retreat

Pavel K. Baev

Introduction

Russia enters the second decade of its post-Soviet history disillusioned by the results of
transition, weakened in every dimension of state power, and alienated from the West. Ten
years of democratic and market reforms have brought little more than societal disorientation,
declining living standards, mass impoverishment, and corruption at every level of the state
bureaucracy. As a result, a new effort to transform the state into a dynamic modern entity
will have slim chances of success.

Ten years is enough time to establish that Russia represents a case of failed transition.
Many crossroads have been encountered, and a series of poor choices has led the state into a
blind alley. This trajectory deserves systematic analysis for a number of reasons, but our
concern is more specific: the failure of Russian reforms means that the attempt to create an
integrated European security system has been utterly unsuccessful.

The grand design originated by Mikhail Gorbachev’s vision of a “Common European

Home” sought to link a broadly defined Eastern Europe to the major inter-state institutions of
the West. Massive organizational and bureaucratic obstacles were presumed to be
manageable, because fundamental compatibility was guaranteed given the advance of
democratic and market reforms in the East. The first doubts sprang up in the autumn of
1993, when the conflict between the executive and legislative powers in Russia was resolved
by the use of tanks. The first Chechen war engendered more concerns; they were, however,
brushed aside in mid-1995 by the leaders of the West, who opted for unconditional support of
President Boris Yeltsin, pictured as the champion of democratic transition. The crisis over
NATO enlargement in 1996-1997 revealed that disagreements between Russia and the West
were more than just tactical or emotional. The war in Kosovo made it clear that Russia was a
force working against the rest of Europe, with only limited and conditional options for
cooperation. And the second Chechen war has confirmed that the emerging Russian state is
fundamentally incompatible with the security structures under construction in the West.

This incompatibility has been determined by the failure of Russian reforms. It is

manifested by the ways in which Russia and the West have proceeded along diametrically
opposed paths in attempting to resolve the complex problems surrounding such issues as the
changing status of sovereignty, the humanitarian agenda, the development of international
law, and the use of military force. In the West, the general trend is towards delegating vital
aspects of state sovereignty to the interstate level (despite the habitual slips towards
unilateralism in U.S. policy), while the humanitarian agenda is acquiring a higher priority,

237

becoming a major justification for the use of military force. In Russia, the deepening crisis of
the state makes the strengthening of sovereignty the top priority. The humanitarian agenda,
in contrast, has become progressively less important, with military force perceived as the key
instrument of state power.

The area where the West has been most ready to elevate the humanitarian agenda above
sovereignty, and to use military force in pursuit of its goals, is the Balkans. Russia has
demonstrated its choices most vividly in the Caucasus. This turbulent region, which includes
seven republics and two krai in the North Caucasus (all of them parts of the Russian
Federation) and three states (Armenia, Azerbaijan, and Georgia) in the Transcaucasus, will
be the focus of the analysis in this paper.

Our analysis begins with a discussion of the interwoven problems of sovereignty,

territorial integrity, secessionism, intervention, and their impact upon Russia’s policies in
the region. The results of the effort to reform military structures are examined next. We go on
to traditional geopolitics and the contemporary geo-economics of oil in the Caspian Sea area
and then to the phenomenon of regionalism on the sub-state level, with emphasis upon the
military dimension. Finally, the impact of the second Chechen war will be assessed. The
paper concludes with a glance at possible developments over the next 3-5 years.

Russia in the Caucasus: The Macro-Political Level

Russia has pursued a proactive course in the Caucasus since the collapse of the Soviet
Union in late 1991, being up to mid-1994 the dominant external power in the region. The
West has in most cases had few reliable instruments and resources to influence developments
in this remote corner of Europe and has had to accept the fact of Russia’s dominance. But
Moscow has never been able to develop a consistent strategy for the Caucasus. Its ad hoc
policy has suffered from lack of sustained political attention, poor central coordination,
competing bureaucratic agendas, shallow expertise, and plain incompetence. What is more,
ever since the start of the first Chechen war in late 1994, Russian policy has been weakened
by an insufficient and shrinking resource base. This has not only created a gap between
political aspirations and capabilities, but also established a trend of declining Russian
influence.1

The trajectory of Russia’s involvement in the Caucasus and the shifting combination of
ideas behind it are remarkably shaky. Moscow’s first choice in early 1992 was a “hands-off”
approach that prescribed minimal engagement with the clear intention to distance itself from
troubled areas. That was typical not only for the Caucasus but for the whole post-Soviet
space, where three violent conflicts (Nagorno-Karabakh, Transdniestria, and Tajikistan)
erupted at some distance from Russia’s borders. The first priority for the Russian leadership
at that moment was pushing forward economic (and, particularly, fiscal) reforms. The
concept of sovereignty was used as a justification for going as fast as possible, without asking
the opinions of the affected neighbors. It is revealing that even at this point, with Russia
publicly embracing new democratic values, neither the leadership in Moscow nor public

238

opinion at large was particularly concerned about the humanitarian dimension of the
conflicts, which in Tajikistan reached a catastrophic level.

The period of disengagement did not last long. In the second half of 1992 Russia undertook
several interventions in the post-Soviet space, focusing particularly on the Caucasus. Two
key factors contributed to the shift: the presence of troops (over which Russia had assumed
control) in the conflict areas and the spread of hostilities closer to or even inside Russia’s
borders. Russia’s newly formed Defense Ministry recognized the impossibility of troop
withdrawals from such hot spots as Transdniestria and Abkhazia, and was eager to pursue a
more proactive course. The political leadership resisted this pressure, but also saw the risk of
a spillover of violence from critically unstable Georgia and Azerbaijan into the Russian North
Caucasus. The result was several interventions framed as “peace” operations and aimed at
securing a termination of fighting.

This crucial shift in policy did not amount to a complete turnaround, since Moscow avoided
embarking on a neo-imperial course immediately. The main priority was in fact stabilization
of the immediate neighborhood (and first of all the Caucasus) and the Russian periphery,
rather than an aggressive promotion of national interests. The notions of sovereignty,
territorial integrity, or, for that matter, secession did not play much of a role in the planning
for those interventions, the major concern being to create a military setting that could bring
an end to violence and provide for a sustainable peace. Russia was not particularly keen to
restore its own sovereignty over Chechnya, and convinced the Georgians to accept the status
quo in South Ossetia. Again, the humanitarian agenda was seen as a secondary
consideration in conflict termination. The plight of some 50,000 Ingush refugees from the
Prigorodny district was neglected, for example, since backing the North Ossetian militia
appeared to be the surest way to stop the hostilities.2

Further changes in policy towards a more self-assertive and proactive course started to
appear in early 1993. This new course aimed at instrumentalizing operations already
underway in order to consolidate Russia’s sphere of influence, and using power projection to
subdue unruly neighbors.3 Internal unrest in Georgia was suppressed in the autumn of 1993,
but Tbilisi had to accept Russian military bases. The “peace” operation in Abkhazia was
established in June 1994 and acknowledged by the UN. Simultaneously, Russian Defense
Minister Pavel Grachev put pressure on Azerbaijan to agree to another “peace” operation that
should have guaranteed the cease-fire in Nagorno-Karabakh that he had personally
negotiated in May 1994. The indisputable success and relative ease of the interventions
launched after mid-1992 were certainly factors in encouraging adoption of a “hegemonic”
policy. Perhaps a more important driving force was the sharp conflict in Moscow between
President Boris Yeltsin and the Parliament. Yeltsin saw that active interventionism was
popular among the people and helped secure him the support of the military. He and able to
harvest the results when the crisis in Moscow culminated in early October 1993.4

A policy aimed at establishing Russian dominance over the Caucasus involved a more
meaningful and politically loaded interpretation of sovereignty—but only Russia’s own. The
sovereignty and territorial integrity of the three Transcaucasus states (and other recently
emerged countries in the “near abroad”) were taken as pro forma notions, in a manner that

239
recalled the “big-brotherly” attitude to Eastern Europe once defined by the Brezhnev
Doctrine. In an attempt to consolidate its control, Russia was able to use diplomacy in
combination with military instruments, but failed to develop a positive peace-maintenance or
peace-building approach. Conflicts remained frozen and none of the negotiation channels led
toward a resolution of the refugee problem that dominated the humanitarian agenda.

Taking its own sovereignty increasingly seriously, Moscow could hardly afford a relaxed
attitude toward quasi-independent Chechnya any longer. Since early 1994, various special
operations were launched aimed at bringing the mutinous republic back into the Russian
Federation. They led to a series of embarrassing failures, necessitating a massive use of
military force. Although the decisionmaking process leading to intervention was muddled
and the justifications provided were shaky, the first Chechen war was an absolutely logical
development given a Russian policy aimed at establishing control over the Caucasus. It also
became a watershed in the implementation of that policy, accelerating the erosion of Russia’s
influence and determining its inevitable retreat.

Space limitations do not permit a detailed description of the first Chechen war, but four
aspects of the conflict are particularly relevant to our analysis. The first is the depletion of
power resources, particularly the military muscle needed to maintain a hegemonic role in the
Caucasus. Not a single new intervention in the region was launched by Moscow after late
1994. The second is the “discovery” of the humanitarian agenda by Russian policymakers.
Unfortunately, when they tried to act on the agenda by pouring money into reconstruction of
“liberated” Chechnya, they found a bottomless barrel. The third aspect is the new freedom of
maneuver opened up for Azerbaijan and Georgia as Russia sank into the Chechen quagmire,
combined with the increased attention that the states of the Transcaucasus began to receive
from the West. Finally, there is the sudden revelation of Russia’s internal weakness,
including the fragility of state institutions and a lack of societal cohesion. The central elite
saw the danger not so much in the possibility of other regions following the Chechen example,
but rather in the possibility of the Russian state itself disintegrating under the pressure of
events.

This latter perception was strengthened by Russian defeat in the first Chechen war, which
came soon after the presidential elections in mid-1996. President Yeltsin’s second term saw
steady erosion of federal links driven by rampant corruption and a chronic crisis of state
finances.5 Deep worries among the ruling elite about the sustainability of the hybrid
democratic-authoritarian regime were translated into a strong emphasis on the concepts of
sovereignty (threatened by growing dependence upon and deepening conflict with the West)
and territorial integrity (threatened by Chechnya). Russia even became more sensitive to the
similar concerns of its neighbors, but when it tried to put the squeeze on Abkhazia and other
secessionists (whom it had backed earlier on), the predictable discovery was that they were
not controllable (although very much adept at manipulating the “master”).6

These fears, perhaps often irrational but nevertheless absolutely real, were greatly
exacerbated by the August 1998 financial meltdown. Russia was barely able to restore any
sort of political normalcy under Prime Minister Evgenii Primakov, once the war in Kosovo
erupted. Moscow’s initial reaction to this conflict, which by no means touched upon its

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national interests, was dictated least of all by its “brotherly” attitude towards Serbia, and
only to a degree by hostility towards NATO, an attitude that had been revitalized by the
NATO enlargement crisis. Russia assumed a strongly negative stance in Kosovo primarily
due to fear of the precedent of the violation of territorial integrity – a precedent that could be
called upon to justify interventions closer to or inside Russian territory. While Moscow
gradually moved towards a more flexible position on Kosovo, the fundamental perception of a
threatening international environment and an urgent need to strengthen its own sovereignty
remained, paving the way to the second Chechen war.

Before we examine this most recent disaster, several other pieces of the Caucasian puzzle
need to be fitted together. On the most general level, however, the analysis boils down to one
conclusion: throughout the 1990s, Russia and the West were moving in opposite directions
regarding the issues of sovereignty and intervention. The West, with NATO at the forefront,
gradually arrived at the conclusion that under certain circumstances state sovereignty could
be overruled and, if needed, challenged by military force in order to uphold a broadly defined
humanitarian agenda. In the opinion of some analysts, this amounted to a “revolution in
international affairs.” 7 From this perspective, Russia has clearly become a
“counter-revolutionary” force. Its point of departure was a remarkably relaxed interpretation
of the idea of sovereignty, but by the end of the decade a commitment to reinforcing
sovereignty had become a foundation for policy. Russia has failed to achieve a profound
understanding of the humanitarian agenda and remains obsessed with traditional security
challenges, which indeed do threaten the very existence of this troubled state.

The Caucasus and Russia’s Military Reform

Since Russia’s main and preferred policy instrument in the Caucasus has been military
force, the posture of the Russian armed forces has been one of the key policy determinants.
Since the August 1991 coup, the Russian leadership has seen the need to reform the Soviet
military machine. It has given all sorts of pledges and promises in this regard, but at the turn
of the century the results are less than modest. This crude assessment cannot be elaborated
upon here,8 but the impact of various military developments in the Caucasus on Russia’s
efforts at reforming the army is worth a closer look.

It would be grossly unfair to claim that nothing has been achieved in reforming the
Russian military during the entire decade. Suffice to point out that at the start of the year
2000, the Russian armed forces are four times smaller than ten years ago. They are also
deployed nearly entirely inside the state borders, except for groupings in Armenia, Georgia,
Moldova, and Tajikistan, which together add up to less than 20 percent of the mighty Group of
Soviet Forces in Germany in the mid-1980s. Admittedly, the rapid withdrawals from
Germany, Eastern Europe, and the Baltic states were necessitated by massive external
political pressure. It is also true that most of the numerical cuts have been achieved by
default rather than by design. Nevertheless, some reforms were implemented and they have
made a difference.9

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 Several factors working at cross-purposes with an agenda for change have created a
vicious circle of military reform. An inconsistent and uncommitted political leadership,
combined with the natural reluctance of the military bureaucracy to reform itself, has
constituted one of these factors. Budgetary pressure to cut military expenditures and the
need to make substantial investments in reforms have constituted another. Mid- and
long-term designs for military modernization have clashed with an urgent need to address
current shortages. The desire to maintain a potent strategic deterrent (driven by a steadily
growing inferiority complex) has come into conflict with the need to maintain combat-capable
conventional forces. All these conflicts have impacted in specific ways upon Russian
involvement in the Caucasus.

Up to the end of 1993, while seeking to secure the Army’s loyalty, the political leadership
in the Kremlin was willing to give the top brass carte blanche in proceeding with reform. The
only imposed priority was to keep withdrawals from Germany and the Baltic states on
schedule. It was only in 1994 that Defense Minister Pavel Grachev produced blueprints for
Rapid Reaction Forces and emergency plans for beefing-up the front-line North Caucasus
Military District. Since early 1994, however, the Yeltsin entourage concluded that the loyalty
of the military was no longer a crucial issue, and the military budget was cut dramatically.
Grachev had no chance to implement his vision and began to encounter the problem of
overextension.10 When in the fall 1994 he came under pressure to move troops into Chechnya
(and also faced pressure from corruption investigations), Grachev concluded that a “short,
victorious war” might be the answer to his problems.

The first Chechen war, particularly after the disastrous assault on Grozny beginning New
Years Eve of 1995, became such a drain on resources that the military had to reach deep into
its strategic reserves. The policymakers, despite securing new loans from the International
Monetary Fund in mid-1995, were not inclined at all shift budget priorities in favor of the
financing of the war.11 The Defense Ministry was not even able to compensate for combat
losses and had to postpone indefinitely all reform plans. Grachev was sacked
unceremoniously in early 1996, saving him the further humiliation of having to accept
responsibility for the defeat.

New Defense Minister Igor Rodionov instantly saw the urgent and massive need to reform
the defeated army. Being an honest professional, he also believed that his arguments would
convince the political leadership to provide the necessary resources. By the spring of 1997,
however, he became desperate, went public with several alarmist statements, and was duly
sacked with few achievements on the reform front to his credit.12 His successor Marshal Igor
Sergeyev has learned the lesson, and has never ever asked for extra funds. Sergeyev’s plan for
military reform, drafted urgently in the summer of 1997, was composed of nothing more than
several long-overdue structural changes (like merging the Air Force and Air Defense Force
and reducing the number of Military Districts) and numerical paper-cuts.13 But he also had a
grand design for military reform, centered on prioritizing the strategic forces and integrating
them into a single command.14

Sergeyev moved cautiously but steadily to implement his master plan despite the political
and economic turmoil in Russia in 1998 and early 1999.15 The financial crisis of August 1998

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strengthened his argument that the strategic triad is more cost-effective than conventional
forces. NATO’s impressive air campaign against Yugoslavia gave him a chance to emphasize
Russia’s need for a secure nuclear deterrent first of all, and to claim credit for the
modernization of its key ground component, which indeed was well on track.16 An important
consequence of this reform was that the conventional forces were left to repair the damage
from Chechnya on their own, with barely enough resources to pay salaries. Natural shrinking
of the Ground Forces inevitably led to reductions in the Russian military presence in the
“Near Abroad,” and presaged complete withdrawals in a not too distant future, but Sergeyev
preferred not to emphasize that perspective. He did, however, take special care to cut down
the Airborne Troops in view of their questionable political loyalty.17

Most of the top brass, the General Staff in particular, were strongly opposed to Sergeyev’s
reform course, seeing clearly the threat of a fatal deterioration of conventional forces.
However, they were unable to build a convincing counter-plan, since all their proposals
tended to turn into the blind alley of requests for more funds and resources. The first
opportunity for the General Staff to push forward its agenda came in the summer of 1999 with
the Chechen invasion into Dagestan. The political leadership in Moscow, unable to leave that
provocation unanswered, ordered a restoration of the status quo ante. While this limited
operation was conducted very much along the lines of the previous campaign (assembled
units of paratroopers and Interior Troops with limited air support, poor coordination, and
heavy losses),18 the military commanders soon discovered two significant differences. First,
they became aware that by relying on strong support from the local population they were
actually able to win. Second, they found that the war could be popular with the Russian public
and that newly appointed Prime Minister Vladimir Putin was attentive to their requests and
arguments.19

Seeking to capitalize upon these shifts, the General Staff rushed to finalize plans for a new
campaign against Chechnya, at the same time intensifying political lobbying for a “military
solution” of the aggravating problems in the North Caucasus. Terrorist attacks in Moscow,
Buinaksk, and Volgodonsk helped to set the military machine in motion, and that, in turn,
helped the top brass advance their cause in Moscow. On October 5, 1999, the military
leadership presented the Security Council with a new draft military doctrine, which set the
main guidelines for the buildup of the armed forces during a transitional period of unspecified
length. The document contains no mention of military reform. Moreover, it is not entirely
consistent with the text of the new national security concept, which was delivered
simultaneously.20 The revised concept, approved by Acting President Putin in January 2000,
places strong emphasis on nuclear forces, but also identifies terrorism as a major challenge.21

The military leadership (General Aleksandr Kvashnin, the Chief of the General Staff,
could perhaps be named specifically), according to all evidence, once again expects that a
small war will provide for a big increase in resources available for the armed forces and thus
make painful cuts and restructuring unnecessary.22 Indeed, the state budget for 2000,
approved by the State Duma in mid-December 1999, allocates up to a third of all expenditures
to defense, prescribing specifically an increase of 40 percent (up from about 15 percent) in the
share of acquisitions in the military budget.23 But the second Chechen war has become such a
drain on military resources, significantly above the average for the previous war,24 that the

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extra funds provided by the state cannot compensate. The military machine spends more
than it receives, and thus is forced to feed off of its own vital elements, which inevitably leads
to further degradation. This downward spiral can hardly last through the year 2000, since
the breakdown threshold within the armed forces is at a very low level.25

The presidential election of late March 2000 marked a political watershed beyond which
tough and radical decisions on reforming military structures cannot be postponed.26 One
important precondition here is an end to the war, but accepting another defeat might destroy
newly restored but highly fragile morale and cohesion in the armed forces. The new political
leadership can enforce unpopular steps upon the top brass (one example is the abrupt
dismissal of Generals Gennady Troshev and Viktor Shamanov, who had acquired high
political profiles, in early January 2000; removal of Kvashnin might also be in the cards), but
it needs to maintain its commitment to military reforms. The dilemma of ending an
unwinnable war without accepting defeat further complicates the formula of military reform,
where key variables are high costs, low resources, stubborn internal resistance, and
uncertain political will.

Geopolitics and Geo-economics of Oil

Caspian Sea oil is widely considered to be one of the core interests, if not the main issue,
driving Russia’s policies in the Caucasus. Indeed, the timing of the first Chechen war
coincided so strikingly (albeit, perhaps, not as strikingly as Putin’s rise to power in Moscow)
with the signing of the so-called “contract of the century” in Baku that no other evidence
appears to be needed. However, while not denying the importance of energy resources, it is
essential not to overplay this factor. A number of reservations can be introduced in order to
avoid the trap of a singular explanation.

To start with, the oil factor was not present at the time of the shift of Russia’s policy
towards proactive interventionism, and was barely visible during the consolidation of a more
self-assertive course in 1993. It was certainly not taken into consideration when the decision
on the withdrawal of Russian troops from Azerbaijan was made in 1992 and implemented by
mid-1994. Russian diplomacy, viewing President Gaidar Aliev as an old Soviet friend, was
taken by surprise by his swift dealings with the international consortium. It also found itself
out of step with Russian companies such as LUKOil, who secured for themselves modest but
valuable shares in the long-term concessions on oil production and transportation.27 The
Russian Foreign Ministry tried to build up a legal argument about the uncertain status of the
sectoral division of the Caspian Sea, but despite numerous official protests it failed to slow
down efforts to exploit Caspian resources.28

Oil was probably a consideration in the muddled decisionmaking that led up to the first
Chechen war in late 1994, influencing the opinions of Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin
and Foreign Minister Andrei Kozyrev.29 However, it would be a huge oversimplification to
present it as the only determinant.30 What is established beyond doubt is that during the
phase of most active fighting in January-May 1995, both federal forces and the Chechen

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fighters did their best to spare the oil infrastructure from destruction.31 That allowed Russia
to organize a special company (UNCO) for managing the oil sector in Chechnya, and to
resume production of oil in the autumn of 1995.32 It also allowed the new Chechen
government, immediately after the victory a year later, to proclaim a state monopoly on oil
production and to re-launch the oil business.

For its own part, the Russian government immediately initiated serious bargaining over
tariffs for oil transit and responsibilities for maintaining infrastructure. Back in the autumn
of 1995, the international oil consortium had made the decision to transport so-called “early
oil” from Azerbaijan along two routes: through Georgia to Poti, and through Chechnya to
Novorossisk. The Russian Fuel and Energy Ministry, headed at that time by Sergei
Kiriyenko, was eager to prove that despite losing control over Chechnya, it remained capable
of honoring its commitments. What was considered to be at stake here was certainly not the
profits from transporting early oil, but rather the pending decision about the construction of a
strategic pipeline, which would carry the bulk of Caspian Sea oil to world markets.33

In both the West and in Russia the year 1997 saw a boom of traditional geopolitical
analysis, with the state-centric notions of “power” and “control,” and prescriptions concerning
“balances,” applied to the Caspian area.34 In these perspectives on the geopolitics of oil,
Russia was depicted as a declining power which would seek to exercise control by opening or
closing the pipelines, thus causing major turmoil on world markets.35 That dramatic picture
was devalued by the fact that in the second half of 1997 the world market indeed slid into
turmoil, but without any help from Russia. One of the side effects of the Asian “boom to bust”
cycle was a sharp decline in oil prices. The consequences were not immediately obvious,
either for Moscow, which was spared the worst until August 1998, or for Azerbaijan and
Georgia, where hopes for a shower of gold remained high. But the policymakers in Russia,
perhaps preoccupied by non-stop government reshuffling, had visibly lost interest in
constructing a geopolitical balance in the Caucasus.36

As world oil prices dropped below $15 per barrel (and briefly below $10 per barrel), experts
began to ponder whether the production and transportation of Caspian Sea oil was
cost-effective. At that point classical geopolitics had to give way to modern geo-economics,
and Moscow showed surprising responsiveness to this new logic.37 It was not the corrupt state
bureaucrats, nor the disoriented academic experts, but the consolidated oil interest groups
that advanced the new thinking. The key assumption has been that demand on world
markets in the next decade would not be sufficiently high to justify the delivery of oil from the
Caspian in quantities comparable to the North Sea. Supply will have to be limited, and
Russia can directly influence the ways in which it will be limited. If Moscow is able to
complete reasonably quickly the stumbling project for delivery of Tengiz oil from Kazakhstan
to Novorossisk, the international consortium will have to put its projects for developing the
Azeri oilfields and building strategic pipelines on hold.38

Work on the Tengiz-Novorossisk pipeline has indeed been accelerated, and the Russian oil
companies and “their” sectors of government have visibly lowered the priority of projects with
Azerbaijan, though from political quarters complaints about growing U.S. penetration have
continued.39 Although oil prices in 1999 climbed back to levels above $25 per barrel (and even

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as high as $30 per barrel), the geo-economic perspective has not been significantly altered. It
is all too clear that price increases have been achieved by limiting production in the OPEC
countries,40 and that the arrival of Caspian Sea oil in significant quantities (plus the
foreseeable lifting of sanctions against Iraq) will inevitably push them downward. The
Russian blueprint certainly has certain weaknesses, related first of all to its reliance upon
tanker traffic through chokepoints such as the Bosporus.41 One way to overcome this problem
might be to use the pipeline system in Romania, Bulgaria, and Greece. Modernization in
these countries would be much cheaper than high-risk new construction in eastern Turkey.

These mid-term calculations have essentially removed the oil factor from security
considerations in Moscow related to the North Caucasus, and to Chechnya more specifically.
Indeed, from the first days of the second Chechen war, the oil infrastructure in the republic
was a priority target for Russian artillery. No one in government circles in Moscow has
mentioned plans for constructing a new railway and pipeline through Dagestan (as drafted in
1997) in order to open a secure line of communications to Baku; such an investment is now
perceived as unnecessary. When in the backrooms of the OSCE summit in Istanbul in early
December 1999, Turkey, Azerbaijan, and Georgia—embraced by President Clinton—signed
an agreement on construction of the Baku-Ceyhan pipeline, Western media presented it as a
crucial geopolitical defeat for Russia.42 Russian commentators, on the contrary, remained
remarkably unmoved, pointing out that the money for the huge construction project would be
hard to raise. Overall, Russia’s geo-economic approach to the great game in the Caspian
centers on playing Kazakh oil against Azeri oil. Unlike the war in Chechnya, this policy is not
unreasonable and may well pay off, unless Moscow undercuts its own policy with
bureaucratic squabbling or by failure to manage regional discontent.

Russian Regionalism: The Military Dimension and the Caucasus

It has become a well-established academic axiom that the growth of the political and
economic weight of Russia’s regions, driven by a shift of control over various resources from
the center to the periphery, fundamentally changes the character of this formerly
hyper-centralized state. Suffice to point out that during the December 1999 parliamentary
elections all major competitors saw the key to success in support from the regional governors.
The pro-government non-party called Yedinstvo (Unity) was able to collect about the same
number of votes as the Communist Party precisely because most governors had chosen to
embrace it. The presidential elections, however, appeared to challenge the regionalist axiom.
Vladimir Putin was elected without any specific program but with the central idea of
restoring a strong state, and the regional elites subscribed to that idea with few reservations.
Re-centralization or “vertical integration” is certainly a key element of Putin’s presidency,
but the limits for implementing any specific initiative toward this end might be much more
strict than the new leader would want them to be. Even a maximum concentration of political
will and the mobilization of the power structures would hardly be enough to reverse the
development of regionalism, which most probably will remain a dominant trend.

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 The military dimension of this sweeping regionalization is, however, much less certain,
and its specific features in the North Caucasus in particular deserve a closer look.43 One
important feature here is that from a regional perspective, the military is just one part of the
“power structures,” which also include Interior Forces, Border Troops, and various law
enforcement agencies, all of whom share the same problem of under-financed reform.

A simple juxtaposition of accelerating regionalism, on one hand, and a steady weakening

of the power structures, on the other, provides grounds for the conclusion that a gradual
disintegration of such structures is inevitable. Several factors facilitating the breakup of the
Armed Forces and other power structures into regional elements can be listed to support this
conclusion.

� Acute shortage of centrally distributed resources. The most apparent element of the
problems is non-payment of salaries and accumulation of arrears. There are also
others, including lack of uniforms, poor supply of food to many remote garrisons, un­
paid electricity bills, deficits of spare parts, and a collapse of logistics. Obviously, it
is the Army, with its technically complicated weapon systems and high consumption
of material resources, that is most affected by this factor.

� Erosion of command and control systems. Most of the communication systems that
secure the integrity of the power structures were built in the 1980s or before and
generally rely on 1970s technology. Poor maintenance of these systems makes them
increasingly unreliable, while the transport infrastructure shows increasing fric­
tion. Distances in Russia are becoming effectively longer and communications
poorer. Moreover, one needs to remember that most of the power structures have ab­
solutely no access to computer networks.

� Indigenization of personnel. In Soviet times, all power structures employed systems

of cadre rotation, which were expected to guarantee weak local loyalties and firm
central control. The costs of systematic rotation have now become prohibitive. Offi­
cers and bureaucrats cannot afford the costs of moving, housing remains a major
problem, and even the draft is increasingly conducted locally. Russian army and
Border Troops units deployed in Tajikistan, Armenia, and some other states are par-
ticularly affected, and risk turning into lost legions.

� The interests of regional leaders. By privatizing elements of the power structures lo­
cated on their territories, republican presidents and regional governors can
strengthen their power base and secure their domains against internal or external
troubles.

The combination of all these factors inevitably poses the question: Why has the
regionalization of power structures proceeded so slowly? Indeed, even before Putin’s drive
towards vertical integration, not a single element had fallen completely outside central
control. Even the August 1998 meltdown, which might have been expected to destroy the last
integrity of the power structures,44 has had very little visible impact. One may refer to
historical traditions of centralism, to professional ethics, and to corporate loyalties, but such

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explanations do not appear to be sufficient, particularly if we take into consideration the
profound and lasting identity crisis in society as a whole. In fact, in seeking to explain the
slowness of regionalization, we need to look closer at the interests of the regional elites.

It is easy to identify the interests of these elites in taking control over certain elements of
law enforcement, particularly those related to: (1) the personal security of the leaders; (2) the
fight against hostile organized criminal elements; (3) promotion of one’s own “shadow”
business; and (4) influence over the outcome of elections. These interests, however, are quite
limited. For instance, in the majority of regions the leaders are not confronted with any mass
unrest and do not perceive it as a potential threat to stability. The governors and presidents
by and large see no need to employ power instruments against their respective parliaments
(unlike the crisis in Moscow in September-October 1993), since the regional elections
generally tend to produce conformist legislatures.45 The regional elites so far have not
contemplated any use of power in their relations with Moscow (intrigue and bribery work in
most cases) or vis-à-vis one another, Chechnya being the exception that confirms the rule.

While the reasoning above might seem to be a touch theoretical, the resource factor is
empirical and tangible. Even with their new political self-sufficiency, the regional leaders
have diminishing financial and material resources under their control. While many of them
are required to supply (and thus “domesticate”) military and other power units on their
territories (some are even glad to do so), they are able to calculate that the real costs of
supporting regional armies are prohibitive. This is particularly the case with technically
complex military assets such as air defense or naval systems, which require sophisticated
maintenance. The extreme level of complexity (plus high level of risk) that is typical of
nuclear weapon systems ensures that regional leaders will dare to make references to them
only in order to attract public attention.46

Among the power structures that regional elites might find most suitable for meeting their
security challenges, the Special Rapid Reaction Units (SOBR) of the Ministry of Interior
should perhaps be mentioned first. These professional elite units have equipment and
weapons for tactical combat operations, and have received valuable combat experience in
Chechnya.47 Military SPETSNAZ units, and airborne and marine brigades may also find
themselves increasingly disconnected from Moscow and involved in regional power plays.
These parts of various power structures might be linked to or backed by local paramilitary
formations such as Cossack units, or even to criminal groupings.

In electoral battles outside the center, a gradual merger of local political, power, and
military elites is developing, particularly in heavily militarized regions (Kamchatka,
Murmansk, and Kaliningrad). The North Caucasus, with its interconnected ethnic conflicts
and cross-border criminality, is a particularly important area in this regard. The political
elites there, facing a clear and present danger from violent conflicts inside their respective
domains or in the neighborhood, focus their efforts on asserting control over the power
structures and turning them into political instruments.

The two biggest and most genuinely Russian regions in this area—Krasnodar and
Stavropol krai—are turning increasingly nationalistic and authoritarian in their political

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orientation. By 1997-1998, Stavropol krai already had its own policy towards Chechnya,
aimed at erecting a fortified border, which did not always correspond with federal
preferences. In order to achieve this aim, the regional leadership invested serious efforts in
rehabilitating military units withdrawn from Chechnya, often using Cossack organizations
for building special relations. The leadership of North Ossetia is eager to provide facilities for
military units, seeking to consolidate its status as Russia’s forward base and exploit it for
building a position of power vis-à-vis Ingushetia and for advancing reunification with South
Ossetia (formally a part of Georgia). In the messy elections in Karachaevo-Cherkessia in May
1999, Vladimir Semenov (a retired general and former commander of Russian Ground
Forces) achieved victory not least due to his strong ties with the power structures.

Overall, the privatization of various power structures, first of all the military, by the
regional elites in the North Caucasus contributes to a further growth of instability in the area
and increases the risk of violent conflicts between the regions and between competing
political forces and ethnic groups.

The Second Chechen War

It may be wasted effort to attempt to analyze a disaster in the making, but the exercise
cannot be avoided given the topic of this chapter. What makes speculation about the possible
consequences of Chechnya slightly more plausible is the obvious fact that we are now in the
middle of a replay of the war of 1994-1996. As result, both observers and actors should
already be familiar with the plot and the outcome. The inevitable first question is, therefore,
how could Russia fall into the same trap twice?

The answer, with the same inevitability, points to the specific circumstances that gave rise
to the second conflict, which for our purposes will be limited to three. First, the political
leadership and, more specifically Yeltsin’s entourage, needed a patriotic war to secure the
transition of power to their chosen successor. Second, the top brass desperately wanted
revenge for the humiliating defeat in the first Chechen war, which undermined the integrity
of the armed forces. Third, public opinion demanded punishment for terrorists and an end to
the Chechen threat. Taken together, these three driving forces determined the beginning of
the war and also its character, at least during the initial and middle stages.

The main causes of the war, therefore, lay outside the Caucasus. There were also,
however, at least two regional dynamics that have had an impact on the character of the
operation and have accounted for certain differences from the previous war. One of them is
the position of Dagestan. During the first Chechen war, this republic was generally quite
sympathetic towards the Chechens, helping them to keep supply routes open though without
actively opposing federal forces.48 The end of the war, however, provoked a deep
destabilization within Dagestan, partly driven by internal factors (corrupt leadership should
be named specifically), but also by the cross-border activities of uncontrolled armed
groupings. The intrusion of Chechen units, headed by Shamil Basaev, into Dagestan in the
summer of 1999 radically changed the character of its relations with Chechnya. Dagestanis

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of all ethnic groups provided every possible support for Russian troops, which, perhaps, was a
major factor in their success. Dagestan has remained hostile towards its troublesome
neighbor since the beginning of the second Chechen war, and has even refused to accept
refugees.

Another important difference is the position of Georgia. During the first Chechen war, it
was perhaps the only CIS state that openly supported the Russian invasion. Besides personal
animosity between Georgian President Edvard Shevardnadze and Chechen leader Dzokhar
Dudaev, the key consideration in Tbilisi was certainly about Abkhazia. This mutinous
republic had won in the secessionist conflict of 1992-1993 with the help of Chechen fighters
(headed by the same Basaev), so Georgia expected that Russia’s victory over Chechnya would
pave the way to getting Abkhazia back. It did not happen that way, but in 1997-1998 Tbilisi
established better relations with Chechnya, seeking to isolate Abkhazia from its key ally.
With the beginning of the second Chechen war, Georgia became very critical of the Russian
operation, stopping well short of providing support to the Chechens but demanding the
withdrawal of Russian troops from its own territory.

Russia launched military operations in the autumn of 1999 in a very different way from
December 1994, when it attempted a non-violent intervention, modeled after earlier “peace”
operations.49 It would be wrong to assume that Moscow had learned some lessons from NATO
operations against Yugoslavia. What really made the massive use of firepower in the second
Chechen war possible is the absence of political restrictions, which, in turn was a logical
consequence of a militant shift in public opinion.50 It was not that difficult to keep the war on
what appeared to be a victory track for a few weeks (particularly with tight controls over
television broadcasting), until the December parliamentary elections. But the contours of a
familiar deadlock had appeared by the end of the year, and the warmakers in the Kremlin
recognized that time was working against them. Hence the surprise resignation of President
Yeltsin on the last day of 1999, which permitted moving the date of the presidential elections
forward by three months. A series of minor military disasters (particularly the tragic defeat
of an airborne company in early March) convinced acting President Putin that even three
months could be a long time. Even the most hawkish generals knew that the army did not
have the stomach for a prolonged guerrilla war. Serious choices had to be made during the
summer.

We can organize the options available to Putin and the top brass along two avenues: going
for peace and going for victory (a middle-of-the road course, with tighter control over
“liberated” Chechnya and more strikes against the defiant mountain areas would invariably
lead to prolonged and increasingly unpopular guerrilla warfare that could only end in another
defeat). Going for peace while the Russian troops still had the upper hand and opening
negotiations with Chechen President Aslan Maskhadov from a position of strength was a way
to preempt this disaster and agree on a draw, which would be praised by the West. The
problem with this avenue was not only that Putin’s credibility was at stake, but that the top
brass would cry betrayal. Politically, the war escalated out of control. What was started as an
election war, has become an existential issue of national consolidation and revival.
Compromises on such matters are not only hard to achieve, they are quite often deadly for the
politicians with the courage to propose them.

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 Going for victory was in many ways the most attractive, logical, and feasible proposition.
Whatever the lessons of the 1994-1996 campaign (and, for that matter, of Afghanistan and
Vietnam), the second Chechen war was not unwinnable by definition. It was just unwinnable
in the existing political and military framework. Going for victory meant changing the
pattern on all levels, from the bottom up.

On the tactical level, the federal forces experienced few difficulties in rolling over the
plains and lower hills of Chechnya behind an artillery firewall, but stopped short before the
mountains and around Grozny. Several battalion-size airborne assaults were successfully
performed (including one to block the road from Chechnya to Georgia), but their
sustainability in wintertime was limited. Street battles in well-fortified Grozny resulted in
significant casualties and required concentration of forces, which allowed the Chechens to
carry out several surprise attacks in Argun, Gudermes, and other places. At the moment of
this writing, Grozny is destroyed and captured, the battles in the mountains have subsided,
but the tactical deadlock is apparent. The federal forces have lost the initiative, and it can
only be regained by a change of tactics going much further than the threats from Russian
commanders to treat every Chechen male in the age group 10-60 as a suspect, thus coming
fairly close to conducting ethnic cleansing.

Two military approaches might make a difference: carpet bombing and massive mining.
So far, Russia has used its airpower in Chechnya on a much more limited scale than NATO
did in Kosovo (partly due to weather conditions) and has suffered more losses. Except for
some close combat support from Mi-24 helicopter gunships, bombing has had more
psychological than tactical effect.51 The use of all-weather long-range aviation (first of all, the
Tu-22M) for thorough bombing of mountain valleys could deny the Chechens any safe areas.
Multi-layer mining of the openings of these valleys into the plains might deny rebel fighters
freedom of maneuver. Conveniently, Russia has not signed the Anti-Personnel Mines
Convention and has huge stockpiles of mines.

On the operational level, which traditionally has been the main focus in Russian military
planning, certain improvements are evident compared with the previous operation.52 While
the army again has to bring to Chechnya composite units of different divisions, it has been
able to achieve a much better interoperability between its various branches and closer
cooperation with the air force. While constituting only about half of the 100,000-strong
grouping of federal forces, the armed forces have established a leading role for themselves,
and organized an efficient interaction with Interior Troops and various other elements. The
operation, although numerically twice as large as the maximum force level in mid-1995, is
generally better supplied.

All these improvements, however, do not amount to a winning posture. Chechen

counterattacks since early January 2000 (and particularly in March) have exposed a lack of
coordination between the military and the Interior forces. The necessary rotation of
personnel has brought inexperienced troops into the battles (for example, the OMON unit
ambushed outside Grozny in early March had arrived in Chechnya only a few days prior).
Supply has started to deteriorate. While military commanders try to present the capture of
Grozny as a decisive victory and appear to be determined to chase the enemy into the

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mountains again and again, such exploits will hardly bring a victorious end to the war any
closer than in mid-1996. A more promising plan might be to retreat to a defensive line along
the River Terek and turn the stretch of territory between it and the mountains into scorched
earth. All the main urban centers in Chechnya are located within this belt of land, and they
would need to be systematically destroyed, perhaps by strategic bombing. If the enemy still
controls the mountains (with the valleys heavily mined), it would not matter much, since the
fighters would hardly be able to attack Russian positions. Some 300,000 people would have
to be expelled from the territory, but in fact this job is already half done. The wider
consequences of such a “victory” (to say nothing about the international reaction) are,
however, problematic.

Through the Fog of War53

The second Chechen war has become the single most important variable determining the
direction of Russia’s policy in the Caucasus and an important determinant of Russia’s own
future. There are several options available for the Russian leadership, but none of them is
low-cost and low-risk. President Putin and his new team are certainly inclined to keep the
war on the low-intensity level as long as possible, but time for making crucial choices and
space for military-political maneuver is limited. Keeping the military operation on the same
track (with minimal soft-heartedness), and promising victory, is in fact a familiar road to
disaster. Another defeat could deliver a devastating blow to the integrity of the armed forces
and provoke their fragmentation. What is worse, it might become deadly for Russia itself,
because the continuing existence of this clumsily structured, poorly governed, critically
weakened and utterly disoriented state cannot be taken for granted.

If Putin opts to turn away from the warmaking course and open negotiations with
President Maskhadov (perhaps expecting that Russia’s still solid superiority on the
battlefield would translate into a position of political strength), he might find his popular
support much diminished. One way to prevent such an outcome might be to ensure that
Shamil Basaev and “Emir” Khattab (or at least one of them) are physically eliminated,
which would be a more important counter-terrorist result than destroying Grozny. As for a
compromise formula, the question of independence for Chechnya might again be postponed
for five years, as was done in the Khasavyurt Accords. Semi-independent Chechnya would
remain weak and ruined in the medium term, and incapable of becoming a troublemaker in
the region. The top brass would probably oppose this “betrayal,” but firing Kvashnin would
not be difficult. In fact, it could be quite helpful for starting meaningful military reforms. A
much more difficult task would be to demobilize public opinion, to play down the theme of
eliminating the “nest of terrorism” without silencing patriotic enthusiasm. With all their
skills at manipulating public opinion and with all media resources under control, Putin and
his team might still find it hard to prevent deep public disappointment and disillusionment.

Putin also could opt for a real military victory by applying scorched-earth tactics and
leaving only northern Chechnya alive (perhaps returning the Shelkovsky and Naursky
districts to Stavropol krai and leaving only the Nadterechny district to Chechen

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collaborationists). International pressure does not seem to have much of an effect on his
policy choices, and the West does not seem to be vitally interested in making Chechnya the
central issue in its uneasy relations with Russia. Taking into consideration Russia’s political
re-nuclearization, Putin’s newly built image as a tough and decisive leader, and the public
quest for a total victory, we cannot even exclude the option of delivering a tactical nuclear
strike on Grozny as means to eradicate this symbolic center of the problem. Even without
such a radical solution, Russia can achieve a military victory in Chechnya, but the inevitable
result would be the wide and violent destabilization of the North Caucasus. Ingushetia,
overcrowded with refugees, would become another “base of terrorism” and possibly the next
target. Dagestan, with its ethnic divides and totally corrupt leadership, is ripe for internal
conflict (in fact, the Chechen invasion in summer 1999 was a consolidating factor, but only a
short-term one). Krasnodar and Stavropol krai, facing permanent instability at their
borders, would privatize military assets on their territory and develop a proactive foreign
policy on the regional level, building alliances with Ossetia, Abkhazia, and maybe even
Crimea.

It is all too clear that the second Chechen war, convenient as it may be for electoral politics,
praised by generals, and supported by public opinion, is a huge strategic mistake. Seeking
desperately to find a road to national revival and unity, Russia has chosen not just a blind
alley but a slippery slope to national catastrophe. This troubled and disoriented state cannot
reinvent itself as a dynamic authoritarian power, and will have to go through many painful
retreats, starting in the Caucasus.

Endnotes
1. My more detailed analysis of the features of Russia’s Caucasian policy and its evolution up to the end of
1996 can be found in Pavel Baev, Russia’s Policies in the Caucasus, London: Royal Institute of International
Affairs, 1997.

2. Deploying troops to North Ossetia and Ingushetia in October 1992, the Russian commander of the North
Caucasus Military District ordered one armored unit to move inside Chechnya, but no attempt to follow up on
this move was undertaken when the unit was blocked near the border. See Valery Tishkov, Ethnicity,
Nationalism and Conflict in and after the Soviet Union. London: Sage, 1997, p. 179.

3. Suzanne Crow deserves credit for an early diagnosis. See Suzanne Crow, “Russia Asserts Its Strategic
Agenda,” RFE/RL Research Report, December 17, 1993, pp. 1-8.

4. An insightful analysis of Yeltsin’s political style can be found in Lilia Shevtsova, Yeltsin’s Russia: Myths
and Reality. Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, 1999. For my examination of the
military aspects of the October 1993 crisis, see chapters 1 and 3 of Pavel Baev, The Russian Army in a Time of
Troubles, London: Sage, 1996.

5. For a good analysis extending up to the August 1998 crisis, see Michael McFaul, “Russia’s Privatized
State as an Impediment to Democratic Consolidation,” Security Dialogue, June 1998, pp. 191-199, and
September 1998, pp. 315-332.

6. For a more detailed examination of this shift in Russia’s attitude, see Pavel Baev, “Russia’s Stance
Against Secession: From Chechnya to Kosovo,” International Peacekeeping, vol. 6, no. 3, Autumn 1999, pp.
73-94.

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 7. See James Gow, “Kosovo and the Revolution in International Affairs,” Security Dialogue, September
2000.

8. I examined the range of options available to the Russian leadership in this regard (failing to envisage the
second Chechen war) in the report Russian Military Development: “Muddle Through” from 1992 to 1998 and
Beyond, FFI Report 99/01229, Kjeller, March 1999. Earlier assessments can be found in chap. 3 of my book The
Russian Army in a Time of Troubles, 1996.

9. For a sympathetic view, see Benjamin Lambeth, “Russia’s Wounded Military,” Foreign Affairs,
March-April 1995, pp. 86-98.

10. See Michael Orr, “Peacekeeping and Overstretch in the Russian Army,” Jane’s Intelligence Review,
August 1994, pp. 363-364.

11. See Vitaly V. Shlykov, The Crisis in the Russian Economy, Carlisle Barracks, PA: U.S. Army Strategic
Studies Institute, June 1997.

12. Soon after, the Council on Foreign and Defense Policy presented a solid report entitled “Military Reform
for Russia,” with a long menu of guidelines. See Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 25, June 1997.

13. Alexei Arbatov interpreted these half-measures as a promising start. See Alexei Arbatov, “Military
Reform in Russia,” International Security, Spring 1998, pp. 83-134.

14. One voice of criticism for the neglect of the forces necessary to guard against real security threats
challenges belongs to Aleksandr Lebed. See his article “The New Step in Military Reform Is Pregnant with
Strategic Error,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 20, 1998. An expert view in favor of Sergeyev’s
plan is presented by Sergei Rogov, “Russia and Nuclear Weapons,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, December
11-17, 1998.

15. See Mark Galeotti, “Uniting Russia’s Nuclear Forces,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, April 1999, pp. 8-9;
and “Nuclear Weapons First in Russia’s Defence Policy,” Strategic Comments (IISS), January 1998.

16. The culmination of this nuclear trajectory was the meeting of Russia’s Security Council on April 29,
1999, where three secret resolutions on development of various components of the nuclear complex were
adopted. The Council, however, did not give Sergeyev carte blanche for implementing his plan for the merger of
the land, naval, and air elements of the nuclear triad under one command. See Sergei Sokut, “Russia’s Priority
State Interest,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, May 7-13, 1999.

17. See David C. Isby, “Russia Looks to New Breed of Blue Berets,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, May 1998, pp.
5-8.

18. For a good overview of the early phase of the operation, see Dmitry Nikolaev, “Seizing the Initiative,”
Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, September 10-16, 1999. Alexei Arbatov, a member of the State Duma Defense
Committee, in an interview with Radio Liberty on 17 September 1999, spoke after visiting the area of operations
in Dagestan about poor combat performance and heavy losses.

19. The first clear signal from Putin came on September 17, 1999, when he chaired a meeting of the
Military-Industrial Commission in Severodvinsk, setting the goal of increasing production for the armed forces.
See Igor Korotchenko, “Turning Towards Defense Industry,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, September 24-30,
1999.

20. The obvious discrepancy is that the national security concept ranks internal ethno-national conflicts as
the main source of the security threat, while the military doctrine ranks them in last place. See the article by
Vadim Solovyev in Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 26 – December 3, 1999.

21. For the text, see Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 2, January 14, 2000.

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 22. See “Chechnya and the Status of the Russian Army,” Voennyi Vestnik, no. 6, Moscow: Interregional
Foundation of Information Technologies, October 1999.

23. See Andrei Korbut, “The War in Chechnya Requires a Growth in Military Expenditures,” Nezavisimoe
Voennoe Obozrenie, December 17-23, 1999.

24. The size of federal forces, generally estimated at about 100,000, is nearly twice as large. The use of
combat supplies is far more intensive, and—a matter of no small importance—all war bonuses are paid nearly on
time.

25. See David Filipov, “In the Trenches, Out of Date,” Boston Globe, January 10, 2000.

26. In my highly approximate calculations from late 1998, every month lost to the reforms necessitates the
additional cut of about 30,000 in the total strength of the armed forces. Overall, that means that the
economically sustainable level for 2005 now reaches as low as 500,000.

27. See Rosemarie Forsythe, “The Politics of Oil in the Caucasus and Central Asia,” Adelphi Paper 300,
London: IISS, 1996.

28. See Henn-Juri Uibopuu, “The Caspian Sea: A Tangle of Legal Problems,” The World Today, June 1995,
pp. 119-123.

29. An insightful analysis of this decisionmaking can be found in Emil Pain and Arkady Popov, “Chechnya,”
in Emil Pain and Jeremy R. Azrael, eds., US and Russian Policymaking with Respect to the Use of Force. RAND,
1995. See also Roy Allison, “The Chechenia Conflict,” in Roy Allison and Christoph Bluth, eds., Security
Dilemmas in Russia and Eurasia. London: RIIA, 1998.

30. Such views may be found among Russian liberals, for instance, Yuri Afanasyev, “Aggression Is an
Economic Category,” Moskovskie Novosti, December 25, 1994; as well as among Western experts, as in Elaine
Holoboff, “Oil and the Burning of Grozny,” Jane’s Intelligence Review, June 1995, pp. 253-257.

31. Anatol Lieven begins his excellent analysis of the first Chechen war with the picture of an oil refinery
outside Grozny: “The rows of gargantuan machines, entwined with huge pipes like the arms of monsters and
demons, stretched away into the distance until they vanish into the December mist.” See Anatol Lieven,
Chechnya: The Tombstone of Russian Power, New Haven: Yale University Press, 1998, pp. ix-x.

32. See Valery Yakov, “Behind-the-Curtain Struggle for the Chechen Oil Is Escalating,” Izvestiia, November
8, 1995.

33. See Vladimir Razuvaev, Russian Interests in the Caspian Region: The Energy Dimension. SWP-IP 2956,
Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik, Ebenhausen, May 1996; and John Roberts, Caspian Pipelines, Former Soviet
South Project Paper, London: RIIA, 1996.

34. The most influential work here is certainly Zbigniew Brzezinski, The Grand Chessboard: American
Primacy and Its Geostrategic Imperatives, New York: Basic Books, 1997. For earlier expert views, see John
Mitchell, Peter Back, and Michael Crubb, The New Geopolitics of Energy, London: RIIA, 1996. For more recent
reflections from Turkey, see Nur Bilge Criss and Serdar Guner, “Geopolitical Configurations,” Security
Dialogue, September 1999, pp. 365-376.

35. See, for instance, Dan Morgan and David Ottaway, “Drilling for Influence in Russia’s Back Yard,”
Washington Post, September 22, 1997.

36. See M.A. Smith, “Geopolitical Challenges to Moscow in the Transcaucasus,” Conflict Studies Research
Centre, Paper F67, September 1999.

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 37. For a lack of such responsiveness see the series of articles by Dan Morgan and David Ottaway in the
Washington Post, October 4, 5, and 6, 1998. Another typical example is Paul Goble, “New Moves on the Caucasus
Chessboard,” RFE/RL Features, April 16, 1999.

38. My interpretation of this geo-economic thinking benefited from discussions with Willy Olsen, head of the
planning department of STATOIL, as well as from his presentation at the conference, The Caucasus: Ethnicity
Geopoliticized? Oslo, NUPI, May 1999.

39. For a criticism of shallow geopolitical schemes, see Dmitry Trenin, “Realpolitik and Real Politics,”
Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, October 1-7, 1999.

40. The debates around the annual OPEC meeting in March 2000 in Vienna were centered on the issue of
how to increase production in order to stabilize prices at the level of $ 25 per barrel. No enthusiasm for further
complicating this balancing act by adding new oil streams was registered.

41. This problem, much emphasized by the Turks, was highlighted by an accident in the last days of 1999,
when a Russian tanker sank nearby the Bosporus.

42. See, for instance, William Safire, “Great Game’s Victims,” New York Times, December 9, 1999; Seth G.
Jones, “Growing US Influence in Russia’s Periphery,” Chicago Tribune, December 15, 1999; Simon Montefiore,
“This Isn’t Just the Battle for Grozny, but a Battle for Britain,” Daily Telegraph, December 20, 1999.

43. For my first attempt at analyzing this phenomenon, see the chapter “Regionalization of the Federal
Power Structures,” in Tracey German, ed., Moscow, the Regions and Russia’s Foreign Policy. Conflict Studies
Research Centre paper E103, Royal Military Academy Sandhurst, June 1999.

44. See, for instance, Hannes Adomeit, “The Military Dimension,” in Russia’s Futures: Medium Term
Scenarios, Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik (SWP) and Conflict Prevention Network, October 1998, pp. 31-34.

45. For an excellent overview of the political trends in the regions, see Nicolai Petrov, ed., Russia’s Regions
in 1998, Moscow: Carnegie Center, 1999.

46. Indeed, Alexander Lebed’s half-serious open latter to Prime Minister Kiriyenko in July 1998, in which
he offered to take the ICBM base in Uzhur under Krasnoyarsk krai jurisdiction since the government had not
paid the officers’ salaries for five months, made many headlines in the international media. For Lebed’s
objections against the plan to integrate the nuclear triad, see “New Step in Military Reform Is Pregnant with
Strategic Error,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 20, 1998.

47. For an insightful picture of SOBR performance in Chechnya, see Anatol Lieven, Chechnya: Tombstone of
Russian Power, New Haven and London: Yale, 1998, pp. 50-55.

48. The dramatic hostage-taking incident in Kizlyar-Pervomayskoe in early 1996 did not significantly
change attitudes. The key meeting between Alexander Lebed and Aslan Maskhadov, where the agreement to
end the war was reached, was held in Khasavyurt, Dagestan.

49. For my more detailed analysis of that campaign, see Pavel Baev, “Conflict Management in the Former
Soviet South: The Dead-End of Russian Interventions,” European Security, Winter 1997, pp. 111-129.

50. I developed this argument in a presentation for the Swedish Defence Research Establishment,
December 15, 1999, Stockholm. For the text, see Johnson’s Russia List, no. 3701, December 22, 1999. See also
Pavel Baev, “Will Russia Go for a Military Victory in Chechnya?” PONARS Policy Memo Series no. 107, Harvard
University, February 2000.

51. For my analysis of the experience of the previous war, see Pavel Baev, “Russia’s Airpower in the Chechen
War: Denial, Punishment and Defeat,” Journal of Slavic Military Studies, June 1997, pp. 1-18.

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 52. For a substantial, even if too complimentary, analysis of the operational side of the initial phase of the
second Chechen war see Vladimir Bochkarev and Vladimir Komoltsev, “Russian ‘Mountain Storm’: Analysis of
the Combat Experience in Chechnya,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 7, February 25, 2000.

53. I used this title for the concluding chapter of my book The Russian Army in a Time of Troubles, London:
Sage, 1996. It has, unfortunately, become relevant again.

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Russia’s Strategic and Military Interests in North and

South East Asia1

Frank Umbach

Introduction

The evolution of Sino-Soviet/Russian relations from an antagonistic militarized standoff

in the 1960s to a nascent partnership at the beginning to the 1990s to a declared “strategic
partnership” today is a vitally important development in a rapidly changing East Asian
environment. It has significant security implications for the region itself as well as for global
affairs.2 It must be remembered that in 1969 (after a long series of border clashes) and the
beginning of the 1970s, the Soviet political and military leadership was seriously
contemplating a preemptive or even a preventive nuclear attack on China’s nuclear forces
and facilities.3 In addition, Khrushchev’s successors began an expensive, long-term military
buildup of Soviet conventional armed forces in the Far East, particularly along the border
with China, from roughly 20 divisions to about 40 in the early 1970s to 52 in 1982.4 Although
negotiations were held from 1969 to 1978 to improve the bilateral relationship, the general
political environment remained unchanged and even deteriorated with the Soviet invasion of
Afghanistan in 1979. Beijing consistently held to three preconditions for normalizing the
bilateral relationship: (1) withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan; (2) reduction and
withdrawal of troops from Mongolia and along the Sino-Russian border; and (3) cessation of
Soviet support of the Vietnamese invasion of Cambodia.

Against that historical background, Gorbachev’s strategic reassessment of the Soviet

Union’s status in world affairs after 1985-1986 also opened the perspective for an
improvement in the bilateral relationship with China. Concrete steps for demilitarization in
the Far East and the joint border followed only in 1988-1989, including the removal of Soviet
SS-20 intermediate-range ballistic missiles, drastic force reductions, and an agreement to
hold bilateral negotiations on military Confidence-Building Measures (CBMs) in the border
region.

Since the end of the Cold War and the beginning of the 1990s, a radical break with the past
and the historical mutual mistrust has taken place, leading to the announced strategic
partnership in April 1996. A number of strategic, political, and economic factors have led both
sides to strengthen further their bilateral relationship during recent years. Both sides fear a
“new world order” dictated by the United States with its overwhelming military superiority
and political leverage in world affairs. However, the Sino-Russian relationship, and in
particular its manifestations in increased Russian arms exports and military-technology
transfers to China, has also raised suspicion and mistrust in East Asia and especially in the
United States.5

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 Russia’s new interest in East Asia and efforts to strengthen its relationships with India
and other Asian countries were the result of a reorientation of its foreign policy in 1993 away
from Kosyrev’s one-sided and romantic pro-Atlantic foreign policy, which, in the view of its
increasing critics in domestic affairs, did not reflect Russia’s objective geopolitical national
interests as a Eurasian power.6 After the demise of the Soviet Union, Moscow found itself
isolated and excluded from such activities as the Korean Energy Development Organization
(KEDO) and the Korean peace talks. In short, Russia had ceased to be a military and political
superpower in Asia, and it was confronted with serious domestic problems and foreign policy
challenges in Europe (e.g., NATO’s expansion to the east).

Against this background, tendencies toward a more assertive Eurasian foreign policy
were strengthened in January 1996, when Yevgenii Primakov became the new Russian
Foreign Minister. Geopolitical and geostrategic challenges in its Western theater, NATO’s
eastward expansion, and perceived U.S. efforts to undermine Russian influence in Central
Asia and other neighboring regions provided the impetus for a strategic convergence between
Russia and China.7 Both sides promoted a multipolar world and a desire to establish a new
political and economic order. They also shared, and continue to share, an interest in
preventing fundamentalist Islamic groups and national separatist forces from achieving
greater power and influence in their own countries or neighboring states, such as the
Caucasus, Central Asia, or China’s Western Xinjiang province. Furthermore, increased
Russian energy exports to satisfy China’s rapidly increasing consumption (by a factor of three
to six) provided another strong incentive on both sides to improve the bilateral
relationship—especially for China given its intent to become the next superpower.
Simultaneously, Russia’s Asian military presence in the post-Cold War era has diminished
substantially. The old Soviet security alliances with North Korea, Vietnam, and India are
now defunct and have been replaced with new cooperation and friendship treaties which do
not include any automatic security and defense obligations for Russia.

As viewed from outside, Russia presently faces not so much a military threat from China
or others, but is confronted with a serious socio-economic crisis in its Far East regions, with
implications for its future federal system and sovereignty. The following analysis will pay
special attention to a wider definition of security in the context of Russia’s strategic and
military interests in East Asia. Hence, the socio-economic situation in Siberia and the Far
East will be analyzed in some detail, followed by discussion of Russia’s relations with China
politically, economically, and militarily (including its increased arms exports). Attention also
will be given to the regionalization of Russia’s foreign and security policies in North Asia and
Southeast Asia, the latter with a special focus on Russia’s arms export policies during recent
years.

Regionalization, Disintegration, and the Impacts on Siberia and the

Russian Far East8

With the end of the Cold War, Russia has often drifted back to forms of militarism,
assertive nationalism, and suspicion of the West. Historically, those tendancies are hardly

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surprising. Throughout modern history, prolonged transormations of political and economic

structures structures with decaying institutions and regime changes often have caused
domestic instability, leading even to international conflicts and wars.9 While old institutions
have collapsed, new and democratic institutions have yet to be consolidated in Russia.
Moreover, Russia’s historical ambivalence toward the West and Europe as well as its latent
inclination to seek its own Slavophilic ”third way” are deeply rooted in her political culture.

Originally, the creeping devolution of power from the center to the periphery was a result
of the unplanned decay of a hyper-centralized state rather than the product of constitutional
agreement. Because such regional power is unprecedented in Russian history, the set of
arrangements that produced an element of stability may now generate something quite
different in the future. There is a very real danger that the decentralization, fragmentation,
and regionalization processes underway will be established to such an extent that the
stability of the unitary federation could be placed at risk. The risk is not so much that Russia
will implode like the former Soviet Union, but rather that it would cease to function because it
lacks viable institutions of both regional and central government and because of the varying
vested interests of the political and economic elites in Moscow and the regions. At the same
time, the division of powers between the center and the regions is so vaguely defined that it
produces ongoing battles of vested interests, resulting in a continuous political crisis.10

Russia’s federal structure has been a major source of political friction, leveraging, and
competition over the last several years. The most contentious issue between the federal
government and the regions has been the division of power between them, especially as
regards tax and budgetary issues. Such disputes have been resolved mostly on an ad hoc
basis, with the federal government signing more than 40 separate treaties delimiting
authority between it and individual regions, in spite of constitutional provisions and laws
providing for a uniform regime applying to all regions. The federal government has been
largely unable to enhance its legitimacy in the competition with regional governments, a
situation preventing any dramatic and sustained improvements in its revenue base and or
redistribution of revenues for nationally significant purposes.

Contrary to the views of many politicians and experts in Moscow, regionalization can be
seen as a normal part of the democratic evolution of Russia. This evolution dilutes the
traditionally autocratic and hyper-centralized Russian power structure, which includes some
constitutional arrangements and other features probably unconducive to a functioning
liberal democracy. The democratization has, to some extent inevitably, produced little
dictators who have in some cases seized local power through non-democratic means and then
misruled. That, however, is explicable in a country with little tradition of a pluralistic
democracy and a real federal structure. The great majority of Russia’s political elite
(particularly in Moscow) perceives the decentralization and regionalization processes as a
negative phenomenon often equated with separatism.11 Hence, they have paid only lip
service to regional autonomy rather than genuinely accepting federalism. Both the elite in
Moscow and the regions have almost no experience in creating a federalist state either from
below or from the top. They largely do not see and understand the
regionalization/decentralization processes as an opportunity to build a real and viable federal
or confederated state from below. Furthermore, they overlook globalization trends in

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economic-political affairs, which are strengthening those processes—regardless of what
Russia is doing. Thus, while Russia is already on the way to a confederated state in economic
affairs, politically it is quite a different situation. In this regard, there is another gap between
traditional tendencies to maintain a strong unified, federal state and the economic trends of
globalization, which favor further decentralization and regionalization in the future.

During the last decade, the Russian economy has become increasingly fragmented,
thereby undermining the effectiveness of policies designed for nationwide effect and
requiring the central government to develop highly differentiated regional policies. This is
more necessary than ever because socio-economic development during recent years has
resulted in increasing differences between the regions. Each has quite different
characteristics in terms of its political and economic profile. The increasing diversity of
decisions by regional leaders will make it even more of a challenge for the central government
to devise any single policy for the entire country in the future—no matter who is governing the
Russian Federation. Meanwhile, the differentiation often has become even greater between
the regions than between them and Moscow. Accordingly, the impact of the Russian financial
crisis has been felt in varying decrees throughout the Russian Federation, and the economic
crisis has prompted a further shift in decisionmaking away from the center and toward
provinces. Hence some of Russia’s 89 regions have announced various emergency plans to
cope with the rapidly deteriorating situation in the absence of direction from the federal
government. However, although the center-periphery relationship has been redefined by the
regionalization processes, by bitter inter-clan rivalries and governmental disarray, and by
“robber barons” appropriating vast assets across Russia as a by-product of the deepening
crisis, most of Russia’s regions have not really become economically and politically stronger.
Although most of Russia’s regions seem rather weak and are still dependent on Moscow, local
power structures seem to be very strong when they are united and can count on local support.

Given the overall economic crisis and the inability of the central government to provide the
regions with the means to survive, local governments have been forced to reorient their
attention to more prosperous neighbors. This has been particularly true in the Russian Far
East, which has been forced to create ties with neighboring states. The result so far, however,
is very mixed and somewhat disappointing.

Siberia and the Far Eastern region (the latter consisting of the Primorski and Khabarovsk
regions, the Sakha-Yakutia Autonomous Republic, and the provinces of Amur, Magadan and
Sakhalin, totalling some 8 million population) with their core maritime provinces had for
many years remained closed and isolated zones, with virtually no contact with China and
other nations in the Asia-Pacific region. With their political, economic, and cultural isolation,
they were destined to be a military outpost fully dependent on Moscow for the supply of
material resources, energy resources, and all major daily necessities. According to its status
as a special restricted military zone, the Far East economy “was not integrated into the
economic activity of the region, and it absolutely did not submit to any economic laws.”12
Although Siberia and the Russian Far East have enormous potential energy resources, the
region has faced a severe energy and food crisis during recent years.13

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 With the end of the Soviet Union and the beginning of economic reforms, both regions lost
practically all the economic and financial privileges they had enjoyed during the “good” times
of the Soviet era. At the beginning of the 1990s, bilateral trade with China saved the Far East
from economic catastrophe, provided it with goods necessary for economic survival in
turbulent times of transformation. With the economic collapse, the region returned to the
economic autonomy it enjoyed after the revolution of 1917 and the beginnings of the 1930s
within the “Far Eastern Republic.” Although President Boris Yeltsin initiated—in 1992—the
Far East Regional Development Program, which later became part of the federal program
titled “The Economic and Social Development of the Far East and Transbaikal Regions in the
Years 1996-2005,” the ambitious program never materialized in a way the government
promised. In 1996, real financing was just 35 percent of what was planned, and target
projects were financed at only 13 per cent of what was originally intended. In subsequent
years, financing was further reduced.14 In this light, it is not surprising that political
resentment in Siberia and the Far East is often directed against Moscow, the party of power,
and the left opposition.15

Since that time, Siberia and the Russian Far East regions have been forced to open to
neighboring states and regions which provide numerous opportunities for economic and
cultural cross-border relationships. However, no lasting conditions for positive cooperation
and exchange with neighboring countries in Asia could be established. In addition, the
percentage of unprofitable industries in the Far East increased from 22.7 percent in 1992 to
63.8 at the beginning of 1996.16

During recent years, despite the enormous energy resources in the region, no significant
domestic or foreign investment has been made in the region’s energy industry due to the lack
of a coherent legal framework with transparent rules for domestic and foreign investment or
joint ventures, the presence of widespread corruption and organized crime, and other
obstacles.17 In 1997, foreign investment in the Far East stood at just $140 million—only 3
percent of the Russian total (Moscow has 67.4 percent).18 This was down from the previous
figure of $191.4 million (6.8 percent).19 Specific Far East problems, such as local political
instability, widespread organized crime and corruption, and separatist tendencies add
additional dimensions to the general political instability, the absence of a rational legal base
for business transactions, and high levels of crime across Russia.20 Although Siberia and the
Far East have half of the world’s coal deposits and almost a third of its oil and gas deposits, it
needs massive foreign investment not only to exploit these resources but also for the creation
of a modern business infrastructure, including communications and transportation systems
at international and regional levels.21 Against the background of failing financial resources
from Moscow and the lack of substantial foreign investment, Primorski Krai experienced the
most significant decline in economic activity and living standards in Russia.22 Vladivostok, a
city of 700,000 inhabitants on the Sea of Japan, has become notorious, for instance, as a
symbol of the worst of provincial poverty, isolation, and political feuds in a Russia where
democracy often took a back seat during the 1990s. The controversial governor of the
Primorye region, Yevgeni Nazdratenko, has taken over private business, seized control of the
press and judiciary, and pumped government budgets dry, including the Vladivostok
municipal budget.

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 At the same time, organized and institutionalized crime, including cooperation among the
Russian mafia, Japanese Yakuza and Chinese Triads organizations is creating a potential
security problem of regional dimensions. Moreover, this interplay is not confined to East
Asia, but has security implications for Europe itself. The Russian federal government is
either powerless to combat organized crime or, more often, is linked to or even part of it. This
is one of many cases illustrating convincingly why the West must stop thinking only in terms
of narrowly defined dimensions of European security instead of Eurasian security and even
wider.

Political groups in the regions that seek to secure certain advantages for themselves in the
budget, tax, and other spheres will continue to inflame tensions between regions and the
federal government for their own purposes. This will inevitably aggravate political
instability caused by other factors. Hence regionalization and decentralization have
important consequences for the political and economic stability of Russia as well as for its
prospects for a return to economic prosperity. In light of the present Chechen war, former
Prime Minister Primakov—in contrast to many Russian officials associated with former
President Boris Yeltsin—had already warned in 1997 that separatism remains a serious
security challenge and that Russia is far from united. He argued repeatedly as foreign and
prime minister that Russian diplomacy’s major tasks include the maintenance of that
country’s territorial integrity.23 Russia’s national security concept of December 1997, to some
extent the new one of January 2000,24 and its new foreign policy concept25 (in contrast to
Russia’s newly published military doctrine of April 200026 to the draft military doctrine of
October 1999,27 which focus much more on external security challenges28) have stressed more
than ever that Russia’s main security challenges arise primarily from internal instability
rather than from external security threats (despite Russia’s firm opposition to NATO’s
extension to the east).29

However, separatism as an extreme form of decentralization and regionalization still

seems primarily a concrete threat in the North Caucasus rather than in other Russian
regions. Most of Russia’s regions are still seeking greater autonomy within a larger Russian
Federation rather than independence. Nonetheless, this drive for autonomy leads to greater
competition and rivalry rather than cooperation. In general, secessionist tendencies have
stemmed not primarily from ethnic or historic roots but from Moscow’s failure and inability to
meet its obligations in the view of the regions. Against the background of the increasing
diversity of Russia, there seems to be an increasing asymmetric federation which will
complicate the center-periphery relationship even further. At the end of 1998, only 10
territories accounted for nearly 60 percent of Russia’s total exports, and the leading 20
regions accounted for almost 40 percent of imports. Furthermore, nine regions have
concluded no agreement with foreign partners, while 11 Russian regions (led by Tatarstan)
have exercised their right to open representative missions abroad. Regarding taxation, only
10 regions out of 89 are self-sufficient (net donor regions) while all the others are either net
recipients or “depressed regions.”30 However, Primorye is in fourth position (after Moscow,
St. Petersburg, and Kaliningrad Oblast) in the number of joint ventures with a share of
foreign capital.31

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 Whether widely discussed plans of consolidating Russia’s 89 regions into 10, 12, or 25-35
bigger regional administrations might really be adequate to stop the fragmentation and
disintegration remains uncertain as long as Moscow does not address the real origins of these
macro processes and as long as it favors strong top-down control over the regions. Russia’s
present military operations in Chechnya, for instance, apparently following no mid- or
long-term political design for a political and economic stabilization of the North Caucasus,
might backfire and fuel an extreme “Islamization” which Moscow claims it is preventing. The
rise of eight multi-regional associations or supra-regional groupings, organized by the leaders
of the regions themselves, now indicate that they play a large role in both domestic and
foreign affairs—a trend which will intensify further. Seen in this light, the present Chechen
war might rather accelerate the fragmentation and disintegration processes under way,
including those in the Russian Far East. Furthermore, it is necessary to remember that in the
not-so-distant past the region was a semi-autonomous political-economic system on the
periphery of both the Russian and Chinese empires.32 At the very least, Russia’s transition to
a federated or confederated system will remain a very difficult and lengthy process with
inherent unpredictability for Russia and neighboring countries and regions.

Of particular concern are Russian demographic trends in general and in the Russian Far
East vis-à-vis China in particular. If current Russian population trends continue, the
number of teenagers in the Russian Federation will be smaller in 2001 than it was in
1959—the year in which the birth deficit from World War II casualties cast the greatest
shadow over the USSR. The present mortality rate in Russia is almost twice as high as its
birth rate, which is one of the lowest of the world. As a result, Russia’s population is shrinking
by about 2,500 every day—a decline of nearly 750,000 people per year.33 In 15 years, Russia’s
population is likely be reduced by more than 22 million people.34 By 2050, Russia’s population
may fall to between 80 and 100 million. Other factors involved include high emigration and
slowing immigration, divorce, abortion (about 70 percent of all pregnancies since 1994—one
of the highest rates in the world), suicide (now 40 per 100,000, again one of the highest in the
world), birth defect rates, and widespread diseases, the latter owing to the lack of a basic
health infrastructure and environmental catastrophes.35 All these factors contribute to the
alarming demographic trends that have wide-ranging economic and political implications for
Russia and its armed forces.36 Death rates in the first half of 1998 were, for instance, nearly
30 percent higher than they had been at the end of the 1980s. Overall life expectancy fell in
1997 to under 67 years, and for males to about 61 years. Similar mortality crises in the past in
Germany, Spain, Japan, and South Korea were in one or another way the direct result of wars
or civil wars—not peacetime phenomena. According to analytical forecasts, although the
Russian Federation was the world’s sixth most populous nation in the Soviet Union’s final
days, it will rank no higher than ninth in the world by 2020. Life expectancy then will be lower
than that of 125 of the world’s 188 countries. According to Russia’s State Statistics
Committee, in 1999 the population of the Russian Federation fell by another 716,900 (or 0.49
percent). That decline, Russia’s largest since the breakup of the Soviet Union, was due to
worsening economic conditions, rising rates of alcoholism, and poor medical treatment.37 By
2016, Russia’s population may have fallen by another 8 million. At present, Russian women
have on average only 1.24 children—1.11 fewer than the rate needed to maintain the
population.38 By the middle of the century, Russia could lose half of its population, which
ultimately could lead to severe political instability.39

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 Such an outcome will also increase competition for manpower between the Russian
military and the Russian economy. It creates additional difficulty (besides financial
problems) for the military to maintain its current force level, and it becomes more difficult for
the economy to recover from its present problems. It also means that Russia’s political elite
and military establishment must learn how to make the most efficient use of and husband its
scarce human resources, which Russia has never had to do in its military history.

These demographic trends may raise numerous new security challenges. The further
emigration of working-age Russians from northern and eastern regions of the Russian
Federation, for instance, can seriously undermine the successful exploitation of its natural
resources and erode economic conditions for the socio-economic and demographic
stabilization of affected regions. At the same time, the concentration of foreign immigrants in
regions of high-unemployment along the border with China endangers social and political
stability. According to Russian sources, the population in the Far East grew from 1.6 million
in 1926 to 4.8 million in 1959, to 6.8 million in 1979, to 7.9 million in 1989, and finally to 8.057
million in 1991.40 After 1991, however, people in the Far East started to immigrate to
Russia’s central regions. The most serious losses were registered in the Magadan region (9.9
percent) and in Chukhotka (13.4 percent) due to the sharp deterioration in the economic
situation and declining living standards.41 As Odelia Funke has pointed out, the average
lifespan in Siberia and the Far East is 16 to 18 years less than elsewhere in Russia, while the
incidence of diseases such as tuberculosis and child mortality rates is significantly higher
than in the rest of Russia.42

Official Russian sources vary significantly on the number of Chinese living in the Russian
Far East, with figures varying between 150,000 and two million.43 According to these official
Russian sources, every year up to 500,000 Chinese laborers immigrate into the Russian Far
East from China’s northern provinces. The number of foreign citizens who are illegally
staying on Russian territory may have already exceeded one million.44 Although the
cross-border flow of people has created numerous economic incentives and even though the
number of illegal border crossings (e.g., attempted entries on forged passports, visa regime
violations, and deportations), such as in Primorski Krai, declined from 1994 to 1998, Chinese
immigration has raised security concerns and socio-economic fears among the political elite
and the public in the Russian Far East.45 Nonetheless, according to First Deputy Interior
Minister Valery Fyodorov, more than 500,000 Chinese have entered Russia in recent years, of
which 350,000 entered through non-visa tourist exchanges. Most of these people do not
return to China but stay in Russia.46 Thus, while 800,000 people—10 percent of the
Khabarovsk territory population—left in recent years, they have been replaced by Chinese
and Koreans. In this light, a “peaceful capture” and “peaceful invasion” seem already to be
under way: “These people are already a political force to be reckoned with in the context of the
territorial economy and politics.”47 Furthermore, cross-border smuggling of non-ferrous
metals, oil, drugs, and illegal firearms have reached alarming rates, which ”clearly
jeopardizes national security.”48

Eventually, Russia may be confronted with serious Chinese demands that it open its vast
and scarcely populated Far Eastern provinces (only 8 million Russians live between Siberia’s
Lake Baikal and Vladivostok on the Sea of Japan) to Chinese immigration. On the Chinese

266
side, the population density is already in some places ten times higher than that experienced
by the 32 million Russians east of the Ural Mountains, and it is increasing 20 times faster
than the population on the Russian side.49 Each Russian per kilometer of the mutual
Russian-Chinese border is facing 63,000 Chinese nationals on the other side. The Primorski
Krai region, with its 2.2 million residents, for instance, is confronted by 70 million Chinese in
the neighboring Heilong-jang province.50 While the Russian Far Eastern population has
decreased 8 percent since 1989 to 7.4 million, across the border China’s Manchurian
population increased by 13 percent over the same period.51

The demographic pressure from China on Russia will increase even further in the future.
China’s rapidly growing active labor force (people aged between 15 and 59) will reach more
than 115 million by 2010 (from 100 million today), representing nearly 70 percent of the
Chinese population near the Russian border—forming an enormous pool of surplus labor.
These demographic trends will add new dimensions to the excess labor pool that will increase
as a result of the privatization of inefficient state-run sectors of China’s economy. At the same
time, Russia’s present population in Siberia and the Far East will fall from 32 million to just
10 million if current demographic trends continue.52 Against this background it is not
surprising that the populist governor of Primorski Krai, Yevgeni Nazdratenko, deported
9,500 Chinese in 1994-1995 and 2,000 more in 1996 as a part of “Operation Foreigner,” which
boosted his popularity.

1999-2000
2000 Change from a
Population
Population Year Earlier
Growth
Russia 145.5 million -0.54 percent -784,500
China 1.3 billion Approx. 2 percent +25,000,000

Source: “Russia’s Dwindling Population Ensures Rigid Foreign Policy” Stratfor.Com,

April 13, 2000 (Internet: www.stratfor.com/CIS/commentary/0004130155.htm), here p. 4.

Table 1. Demographic Trends in Russia and China: A Comparison (2000).

Russian mistrust of China may also be explained by the fact that the boundary between
Russia and China is not merely an international border, but also an intercultural boundary,
which, however, has become increasingly porous. Given the deteriorating economic situation
of the last years, Chinese migration has resulted in increasing job competition. Their work
quality, discipline, special skills, and lower costs of employment make them very attractive
for Russian companies. Working 11 hours a day and six days a week, their employment in
some cities and border districts—areas desperate for investment and job opportunities—has
more than tripled during recent years. The average hourly cost of an industry employee is
just 56 cents—half that of Guatemala, and even lower in comparison to the $2.69 in South
Korea (1998) and $10.12 in the United States.53 The widespread feeling of vulnerability and
insecurity on the Russian side might even increase if cross-border economic cooperation and

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joint ventures (such as the Tyumen River free trade area) do not produce positive benefits for
the Russians in the near future. The pressure of population and the need for arable land, raw
materials, and especially energy and water resources54 may constitute powerful motives for
Chinese expansion into the empty spaces of Russia’s Far East. Russia, it should be recalled,
seized the Far Eastern territories in 1858 and 1860 in the unequal treaties of Aigun and
Beijing. Although both countries signed a border agreement in 1999, China never explicitly
accepted those treaties as inviolable. Vladimir Y. Portyakov, the deputy director of the
Institute of the Far East at the Russian Academy of Sciences, stated in 1996:

There is a deeply ingrained negativist attitude in the region toward the center’s policy, which ap­
parently does not reckon with the specific conditions of the Far East and particular federation
components, and is therefore not effective enough in addressing the region’s problems.… The
feeling that the Far East is politically isolated from the rest of Russia, compounded by a weaken­
ing of day-to-day human and economic contacts with it, with a simultaneous expansion of such
contacts with East Asian countries and the United States, point to the emergence of a sub-ethnic
group in the Far East which is seeking maximum independence, its subordination to the center
55
being purely formal.

Those existing fears are fueled by China’s “undisguised aspirations” to participate in

developing the resources by exporting its large workforce not just to the Russian Far East, but
also to Siberia. A Chinese magazine, for instance, estimated the present manpower shortage
in Siberia and the Russian Far East at 50-80 million people, with an additional work force of 8
million needed for economic development. Against this background of worrisome Chinese
reports, Vladimir Portyakov wrote:

Very indicative is China’s interpretation of the ‘mutual supplementarity’ of Russia and China,
when the northeastern part of China, with a territory of 1.9 million sq km and a population of
110 million, is assigned the ‘lofty mission’ to help, primarily by work force, develop Siberia and
the Far East with their 12.76 million sq km of territory and a population of less than 33 mil-
56
lion.

Resettlement programs to move Russians into the region, however, are probably
unrealistic. For example, Primorski Krai Governor Yevgeni Nazdratenko recently demanded
the relocation of 5 million Russians from European Russia to the Far East to balance the
demographic trends on both sides of the border,57 but a lack of funds and similar problems in
other Russian regions mean nothing is likely to be done.

A New “Strategic Alliance” with China vis-à-vis the West and the
United States?

In a joint statement in April 1996 at the fourth Sino-Russian summit since 1992, Russian
President Boris Yeltsin and Chinese President Jiang Zemin announced their intent to build a
“strategic partnership” between their countries.58 The new “equal partnership” is, as Grigorii
Karasin, Russia’s Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs, explained, “directed at strategic
cooperation in the XXI century and can be characterized as long-term intergovernmental ties
of a new type which is not directed against third countries, as fully satisfying the vital

268

interests of our nations, and as assisting peace and security in the APR [Asia-Pacific Region]
and in the entire world.”59

One year later, in April 1997, another statement explained indirectly the strategic
partnership as an anti-hegemony clause expressing opposition to efforts to enlarge and
strengthen military blocs in Europe and East Asia such as NATO and the U.S.-Japanese
security alliance.60 Officially, however, they rejected an alliance to offset growing U.S. global
influence.61 They had already agreed to the Russian sale of two advanced Sovremenny guided
missile destroyers (armed with modern MOSKIT anti-ship cruise missiles) and other modern
high-tech weaponry to China, which raised alarm on the U.S. side.62 In the autumn of 1997,
both sides reached a breakthrough in efforts to demarcate the eastern section of the
Sino-Russian border for the first time in the 400-year-long history, although their short
western border of just 50 kilometers remained under negotiation.63 However, it seems that
Russia made far more concessions to China than vice versa. For instance, Russian members
of the joint demarcation commission accused China of creating artificial sandbars on the bank
of the Amur River in order to lay claim to the Bolshoi Ussuriisky and Tabarov islands.64
However, these controversial issues failed to dim the light of the overall climate of friendship
and amity, and both sides also signed at their autumn 1997 meeting in Beijing a framework
agreement to construct a $12 billion, 3,000 kilometer gas pipeline from Siberia to North
China that would run from Irkutsk province through Mongolia and China to South Korea.65

In 1998, with increasing frustration and suspicion towards the West, both sides issued
declarations about joint commitments to a multipolar world, showing broad agreement in
their opposition to economic sanctions against India and Pakistan for their development of
nuclear weapons. They also made clear their opposition to any use of force against Belgrade
for its policies in Kosovo. But with U.S. President Clinton’s visit to Beijing, the Russian press
also highlighted the huge difference and asymmetry in trade between China and Russia ($6.8
billion) and between China and the United States (roughly $60 billion).66 Furthermore, the
“peaceful invasion” of Primorye and other Russian Far East territories continued. Thus a
Russian article warned:

If Moscow doesn’t find a way of stopping Siberian’s migration, fails to supervise the cheap and
skillful Chinese workforce, and fails to attract Japanese, American, and South Korean invest­
ments, Chinese will surely settle the abandoned Siberia. In absolute accordance with Den
Ciaopin’s theses, the Chinese people will build up its strength at first and then recall the humili-
th th
ations it was subject to in the 19 and early 20 centuries by imperialist countries of the world
67
(Russia included) and decide to correct the historic wrong.

Furthermore, the catastrophic socio-economic situation during the winter 1998-99, with
severe food and energy shortages, highlighted the vulnerabilities of Russia’s regions in the
Far East.68 In 1999, NATO’s military intervention in the Kosovo conflict and the unfortunate
bombing of the Chinese embassy in Belgrade further strengthened the Sino-Russian
relationship vis-à-vis the United States.69 Symbolically, the Russian armed forces were
holding their biggest military exercise (West-99) since the mid-1980s, which, as Dmitri
Trenin has stated, “for the first time in a decade designated NATO as the enemy.” Moreover,
the Russians gave a visiting high-level Chinese military delegation unprecedented access to
Russian nuclear bases.70 However, as Bin Yu has argued, “Kosovo was not as significant a

269
unifying force between Beijing and Moscow as one might think.... China viewed the Yugoslav
case as not affecting the fundamentals of China’s national interests. Beijing’s foreign policy
community was even advising top leaders to distance China from the Milosevic regime.”71
But the fateful embassy bombing changed the picture. Finally, the Kosovo conflict posed
opportunities—challenging to be sure—for Moscow and Beijing to strengthen their bilateral
relationship. It also created an opportunity for China’s PLA to double almost the 1999
defense budget through additions in the summer of 1999. In August 1999, the sides signed an
agreement to sell 40-60 advanced SU-30MK fighters to China after several years of difficult
negotiations.72

China also supported and defended Russia’s indiscriminate warfare in Chechnya, while
Moscow supported China’s position on Taiwan and Tibet. Both sides were frustrated by their
inability to stop the NATO campaign in the United Nations and declared again, in the light of
their own problems with ethnic separatism, that state sovereignty, state unity, and
territorial integrity were still the most important components of international law and
politics. These important components had also been highlighted during their “Shanghai
Five” meeting with Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan in August 1999 in the midst of
an ongoing hostage crisis, with roughly 1,000 Islamic gunmen holding up to 100 people,
including four Japanese. This event demonstrated dramatically to both sides some of the new
security challenges both countries face, such as rising Islamic fundamentalism, cross-border
terrorism, smuggling of firearms, and drug trafficking.73 Understandably, security was a key
issue at the summit. The Shanghai Five leaders supported an initiative to create a
nuclear-weapons-free zone in Central Asia and to establish a broader “conference on
cooperation and confidence-building measures in Asia.” 74 But this meeting, too,
demonstrated a Russia in decline. Until 1998, Russia and Central Asian countries had
formed “joint delegations” for negotiations with China. On this occasion, the Central Asian
states decided to hold negotiations with Beijing independently “without looking at Russia for
approval. In other words, they decided to bet on a stronger and more stable partner.”75
Additionally in 1999, Russia and China repeatedly warned the United States against
developing BMD and TMD umbrellas (the latter together with Japan and possibly Taiwan),
claiming that this development would threaten all nuclear and non-proliferation treaties
(particularly the Anti-Ballistic Missile and Comprehensive Test Ban treaties).76

In October 1999, the Russian and Chinese navies conducted their first joint naval activity
since 1949. In the same month, both sides began the process of implementing the agreed
demilitarization of their joint border by creating a 100-kilometer wide demilitarized zone on
each side. A month later, they held their third round of General Staff discussions.77 Both
sides also have increased their military and non-military cooperation, including the areas of
space science and technology.78 Reportedly more than 1,000 Russian technology projects
have been initiated since the autumn of 1999.

But even though the Moscow-Beijing axis seemed to be strengthening with each year79 in
the light of new common regional and global interests in their foreign and security policies,
they are not interested in forming a real military alliance because their positions still do not
coincide perfectly.80 Moreover, Yeltsin felt it necessary to remind the West that Russia “has a
full arsenal of nuclear weapons.”81 But this action only revealed again Russia’s political

270
weakness and its international position as a faltering world power. Moscow seems desperate
for China’s support to demonstrate to the United States that it is still a great power in world
politics. China—itself an aspiring world power—focused a December 1999 meeting with
Russian representatives on the border agreements, showing that it is capable of playing the
Russian card any time it sees deems it advantageous.

However, Beijing was “immensely shocked,” confused, and irritated by former Russian
President Boris Yeltsin’s resignation on New Year’s Eve 1999 after he paid a brief visit to
Beijing earlier in the month.82 Obviously, Moscow did not inform Beijing in advance as part of
their claimed “strategic partnership.” The lack of forewarning also signals a severe failure of
Chinese intelligence. Meanwhile, China seemed to be concerned over Putin’s much more
cautious China policy and his intention to strengthen Russia’s ties to the West, to the
European Union, and even to NATO, intentions which are somewhat at odds with Russia’s
former omnidirectional foreign policy. According to various Chinese and Russian sources,
Putin had promised Beijing to visit China as the first of his foreign visits, but he scheduled
several foreign visits to Europe and Central Asia before going to China. It was only in the
summer of 2000 while on the way to the G-8 meeting in Okinawa that Putin held a real
summit in Beijing, and then flew to Pyongyang to restore bilateral relations with Russia’s
former ally, North Korea. In Beijing, both sides declared again their strong opposition to U.S.
plans to create a national missile defense shield, instead proposing a global monitoring
system for the early detection of missile launches.83 Reportedly, China offered Russia a
long-term cooperation pact and sought Russian support for scenarios of applying military
force against Taiwan. However, it is hardly in Moscow’s interest to become directly involved
in this potential hotspot in the Taiwan Strait.84

Furthermore, Putin has begun to modify his China and East Asia policies to the detriment
of China at a time when Beijing seeks to establish closer relations with Moscow.85 Despite the
ongoing arms flows and weapon technology transfers to China, becoming too close to China
may not be in Russia’s long-term strategic interests, as Putin seems to realize. He might also
have recognized the implications of China’s forthcoming admission to the World Trade
Organization (WTO), which will draw away even more potential resources and foreign
investment. China’s admission to that body will also simultaneously further strengthen
China’s position in their bilateral relationship as long as Russia itself is not able to join the
global trade organization.86 Hence it may further widen the gap between major trading
partners (including China) and those countries such as Russia which are still outside the
WTO.87

Moreover, Putin’s unilateral proposal to develop a joint missile defense system for Europe
with NATO and the United States caught Beijing by surprise. It provoked the Chinese to
remind Moscow of the “common interests of all countries.” China also declared its objection to
any changes to the ABM treaty, including those from the Russian side.88 In this light, the
joint statement on ABM, issued by both presidents during their Beijing summit in July 2000,
seems to be an attempt by both sides to restore rather than to deepen their strategic
relationship as regards U.S. missile defense plans and a revision of the ABM treaty.89 This
was not the first instance of such reassurances, however. Earlier, during the Moscow visit of

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China’s Defense Minister Chi Haotian in January 2000, Moscow had to reassure China by
confirming “unconditional adherence to all agreements reached during earlier summits.”90

As important as the political and socio-economic situation in Siberia and the Russian Far
East may be, the future of Russian-Chinese relations and the place of China in Russia’s
strategic calculations probably depends not so much on Russian domestic developments as on
the geopolitical and geostrategic evolution of China’s domestic, foreign, and security policies.
This reflects the fact that Russia is already the junior partner in the Sino-Russian
relationship. In both countries, socio-economic conditions and problems could create serious
security challenges that extend beyond their own borders and have unpredictable
consequences. Indeed, the disintegration of either of the two countries cannot be excluded,
although I still believe that total collapse, for either country, is—for numerous reasons—a
rather unlikely possibility. Perhaps most importantly, both states have a tradition of a strong
state and center, and efforts to overcome separatism and disintegration could lead to the
creation of a new and highly authoritarian state in either country, which could provoke new
tensions and contradictions in their mutual relationship.

Furthermore, despite eight years of independent statehood, Russia has failed to come to
terms with its reduced stature in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet superpower and failed
to define a new role and identity for itself on the world stage. Its actions often seem to reflect
an obsession with denying the United States the unipolar hegemony Moscow suspects it of
seeking. Therefore it has favored a multipolar world by establishing a virtual strategic
partnership among Moscow, Beijing, India and others.91 Those Russian strategies are
intended to play off Western and Asian interests with the goal of increasing Russia’s influence
on the world stage. Over the last year, both Russia and China also emphasized their
opposition to U.S. plans for an antimissile defense system that threatens their nuclear
retaliatory capabilities and could force them into a new and expensive arms race they cannot
win. Nonetheless, there are a number of limitations and obstacles to a lasting strategic
partnership in the 21st century.92 While both cooperate in Central Asia to combat Islamic
fundamentalism and terrorism and to counterbalance the United States, they also compete
for foreign investment and the region’s energy resources. Even in Europe and in the territory
of the former Soviet Union, China follows its own strategic interests, which do not always
overlap with those of Russia, as the Yugoslav conflict demonstrated in 1999. The
Chinese-Ukrainian relationship is a good example of the lack of a real joint strategic agenda
between Moscow and Beijing beyond the arms trade, joint energy projects, and countering the
United States.93Moreover, Primakov’s and Putin’s recent Eurasian orientation and the
proclaimed strategic partnership between Russia and China, initiated in April 1996, is in
many respects more a tactical alliance than a real military alliance, which is not in the
China’s interest (the word “alliance” is not even used by China).94 China has repeatedly made
clear that the essential quality of their bilateral relations is not of an alliance type, is not
directed against any other third party, and, moreover, does not present a threat to other
states.95 Characteristically, the Chinese side always speaks about a strategic cooperative
partnership with Russia, not about a real strategic partnership. It indicates a different and
ultimately narrower and more limited definition of their relationship.96 Furthermore,
Chinese experts have also warned against “closing our eyes to the numerous difficulties….of
the Sino-Russian relationship.”97 As a Chinese expert has admitted:

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 Side by side with deepening bilateral relations, there has arisen an anti-China undercurrent in
Russia, which spreads such allegations against China as “population invasion,” “economic pene­
tration,” “military challenges” and “geo-strategic contradictions.” It has affected somewhat the
expansion of bilateral relations. Yet this frenzy remains, after all, only a tributary and is mixed
up with many factors of Russian domestic politics. The mainstream in Russia’s China policy still
considers China as a reliable partner and gives top priority in Russian foreign policy to the ex-
98
pansion of relations with China.

Furthermore, current bilateral trade activity and prospects for increasing it to $20 billion
by the year 2000 (as was agreed to by both sides during their April 1996 meeting in Shanghai)
are rather poor. Total bilateral trade in 1996 was $6.77 billion, declining to just $5.5 billion in
1998. China’s bilateral trade with the United States and Japan, by contrast, is more than 10
times that with Russia. In several years during the 1990s, one-third of the total bilateral
trade between Russia and China was related to the Russian export of high-tech weapon
systems and transfers of military and dual-use technologies. Between 1991 and 1997, China
spent almost $6 billion on Russian weapons.99 The economic investment of companies in both
countries is limited. While Chinese companies invested just $140 million in Russia, Russian
businessmen mobilized $220 million for investment in China.100 China has also not given
Russia any economic preference vis-à-vis the West. Thus the Chinese awarded the tender for
the famous Three Gorges dam project to French and German contractors, despite Russian
offers.

7.68

8 6.77

6.12
7
5.46 5.48 5.5

5 3.8

0
1993 1994 1995 1996 1997 1998 1999
Year

Table 2. Sino-Russian Trade 1993-1999.

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 Although Russia and China have concluded an agreement on the demarcation of their
joint border, China could at some future date redirect its energies towards the north and seek
revision of the boundary—particularly if the Taiwan problem is “solved,” (which is unlikely if
a military “solution” is excluded). Hence, it can be argued that Russia should have a strategic
interest not only in stability and peace in the Taiwan Strait but also in the independence of
Taiwan—which is not the case. Arguably, China has never accepted the loss of 1.5 million
square kilometers of its territory to Tsarist Russia in the 19th century by “unfair treaties.”101
Even after the successful demarcation of the border with China, Russia will remain
suspicious concerning China’s future intentions and the “creeping occupation” of the Far East
region already underway by immigration and cross-border movement. Thus, Russian
diplomats warned governor Nazdratenko not to renounce the border demarcation treaty in
response to growing domestic opposition against numerous Russian concessions to China
because ”the Chinese might return to their old territorial claims (in all 1.5 million square
kilometers)!”102

Looking at then current economic, political, and demographic trends, a Japanese diplomat
concluded in 1997: “China has a superior position to Russia in the region both politically and
economically, and Russia must accept a junior partnership with China—a potential source of
frustration for Moscow, especially given the nationalistic domestic atmosphere.”103

Although both sides are interested in implementing long-term plans for the development
of Russian energy projects, at the same time, Russia has become concerned about China’s
increasing political, economic, and military ties to Central Asia and the Caspian region,
which Moscow views as its natural sphere of influence. Here again, China in the mid- and
long-term future seems to have considerable if not decisive leverage in the competition with
Russia, primarily in regard to Kazakhstan.104 As Dmitri Trenin has argued: “So far, Russian
and Chinese interests in Central Asia do not collide. In the future, they might, especially if
both governments continue to espouse the traditional form of geopolitical thinking with its
emphasis on zero-sum gaming.”105 Hence, in the mid- and long-term future, Russia’s
influence might decrease even in this sensitive region to the point of Russia becoming the
junior partner of China, which will create numerous conflicts of interests between both sides.
Thus, some Russian military officers, such as those on the General Staff, believe that China
might become a threat to Central Asia within 5 to10 years and to the Russian Federation
itself within 15 to 20 years.106

China has already increased its influence in Russia’s backyard, and the pipeline
agreement with Kazakhstan—which does not transit Russian territory—contradicts the
proclaimed strategic partnership with Russia. It reflects rather a clash of strategic interests
between these two countries and the future concerns of Russia about the direction of Chinese
energy and security policies. Even if no Caspian oil and gas flow through the pipeline in the
near future, Chinese influence will surely grow in the coming years—to the detriment of
Russia. In this perspective, it seems not unlikely that Central Asia is becoming China’s
rather than Russia’s backyard.107

Despite their impressive strategic convergence during the 1990s, Russia and China’s
future bilateral relationship will not continue without elements of mistrust and other

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problems. Russian views of China are much more mixed than their strengthened
relationship would suggest at first glance. At least three schools of thought can be identified:

� Those who favor strengthening bilateral ties with China;

� Those who prefer Russia to balance between various power centers, such as between
the West and China; and,

� Those, primarily Westerners and extreme nationalists, who fear a growing

geopolitical and geostrategic rivalry with a rising China that has the potential to
harm Russia.108

To some extent, these different schools of thought can be identified in both the political
forces that support the Chinese way of economic and political development—which they see
as more effective than the Russian one—and those who reject the Chinese model either
because of its inapplicability to Russia or because of its non-democratic character. It is
difficult to analyze the three schools in the light of dividing lines between ideologies of
Russian political groups and parties. However, it is not surprising that the Popular Patriotic
Union headed by the Communist Party of the Russian Federation follows the lead of Oleg
Rakhmanin, of the Institute of the Far East of the Russian Academy of Sciences, the largest
Moscow research center for China Studies; Rakhmanin favors a close alliance with Beijing.109
Some extreme nationalists such as Aleksey Mitrofanov, deputy leader of Vladimir
Zhirinovsky’s Liberal-Democratic Party and former chairman of the State Duma’s
Geopolitical Committee, has urged Russia to “remove all impediments to China’s expansion
westward and help restore China’s sovereignty over the whole of Turkestan, including South
Kazakhstan,” because this would ”strengthen geopolitical stability in the region” and “bring
all of Western Europe under the range of China’s nuclear missiles.”110

By contrast, in the view of the pro-Westerners China offers Russia only temporary benefits
and may create long-term problems. The West, on the other hand, may offer Moscow
temporary embarrassments, but it also offers significant potential for future long-term
cooperation. Vasily V. Mikheev, for instance, concluded in a 1997 analysis: “Generally
speaking, behind the ideas of Russian-Chinese strategic cooperation stands bluffing that is
not supported by either financial resources or unity of will and action of the declared allies.”111
Even more outspoken was former Defense Minister Igor N. Rodionov, who succeeded General
Grachev in December 1996. He sowed confusion in Beijing (on the very day of Chinese
Premier Li Peng’s arrival in Moscow) by listing China among “the main potential enemies of
Russia” and announced plans for closer military cooperation with the United States and
Japan in the Far East, which Beijing sees increasingly as a major security threat. Although
Rodionov was forced to eat his words a few weeks later when he explained that closer ties with
China would not compromise Russia’s own security, this episode left the lasting impression
that Rodionov’s real sin was to say openly what almost all Russians think privately and
discuss behind closed doors. 112

Nonetheless, given current domestic economic and political trends, for the time being it
seems that close Sino-Russian relations will continue. At the same time, while the

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convergence of strategic interests will continue on both sides, the relationship will not be
transformed into a real strategic alliance against the West.

Decline and Decay of the Russian Armed Forces and its Implications
for the Military Balance of Forces Vis-À-Vis China

If one takes a look at today’s situation, one must acknowledge that the breakdown of expenses
not only in the Armed Forces, but also in all power structures is hardly optimum. We cannot de-
scribe it as optimum today when despite considerable resources being committed by the state to
the country’s armed and power-related component, many of our units conduct no drills, no com­
bat training. If pilots do not fly, if sailors almost never put to sea, is everything all right in terms
of the structure of the Armed Forces?

—Open ing remarks by President Vladimir Putin

at a Se curity Council meeting on August 11, 2000,
to dis cuss a new Russian strategy for
113
mil itary planning until 2015

By 1985 the Soviet Union had built up its ground forces in the Far East to a level of almost
500,000 men (see the following two tables). In addition, there were substantial deployments
of aircraft and missiles with conventional and nuclear weapons, including SS-20s and
strategic nuclear, targeted at China.

Soviet Deployment in the East Asian Theater of War (Mid-1980s)

Ground Forces 480,000

Naval Forces 140,000

Air Forces 100,000

Strategic Rocket Troops 100,000

National Air Defense Forces 150,000

KBG Border and Other Military Units 130,000

MVD Internal Security Military Units 60,000

Construction Troops 140,000

Strategic Rear Service Units, road and Railroad 100,000

TOTAL 1,400,000

Source: Jae Kyu Park and Joseph M. Ha, eds., The Soviet Union and East Asia in the 1990s, Seoul, Korea:
Institute for Far Eastern Studies, Kyuoguam University, 1989, p. 201, here following Shulong Chu, “The
Russian-U.S. Military Balance in the Post-Cold War Asia-Pacific Region and the ‘China Threat,’” Journal of
Northeast Asian Studies, Spring 1994, pp. 77-95, here p. 83.

Table 3. Soviet Armed Forces in East Asia (Mid-1980s).

276

 Total Armed Forces 1,200,000

Regular Troops (Army, Navy, AF, Air Defense, Strategic Rocket,

1,000,000
KGB Border Troops)

Conventional Combat Troops (Army, Navy, AF) 730,000

Ground Forces 500,000

Naval Forces 130,000

Air Forces 100,000

Strategic Rocket Forces 90,000

Air Defense Troops 100,000

IKGB Border and Other Troops 110,000

MVD Troops 50,000

Railway/Construction Troops 150,000

* Includes troops stationed in Siberia, Transbaykal, Far Eastern MDs, Mongolia, and the Pacific Fleet.
Source: Shulong Chu, “The Russian-U.S. Military Balance in the Post-Cold War Asia-Pacific Region and the
China Threat,” Journal of Northeast Asian Studies, Spring 1994, pp. 77-95, here p. 84.

Table 4. Numbers of Soviet Armed Forces in the Late 1980s.

At the end of 1987, in the light of the INF treaty, the Soviet Union agreed to a unilateral
destruction of the 180 SS-20 intermediate-range ballistic missiles and 256 other medium- and
short-range missiles deployed in East Asia.114 In 1989, the Soviet Union announced the
withdrawal of 250,000 troops from the Far East at a time when Gorbachev called for a
demilitarization of the Sino-Russian border. Further reductions have continued, including
the complete withdrawal of all 120,000 Russian troops from Mongolia.115 The three tank
divisions in the Far East Military District have been withdrawn entirely, and the number of
motor rifle divisions was reduced from 21 in 1989 to 10 in 1996. During the same period,
Russia cut its Pacific Fleet by about 50 percent.

Over the past eight years, the Russian armed forces have experienced a continual
financial crisis and a steep decline—as Russia’s defeat in Chechnya in 1996 brutally revealed.
Since 1989, Russian experts have discussed genuine military reform. So far, however, only
modest military reform steps have been taken, although Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev has
achieved some success during the last three years.116 Mostly, however, the Defense Ministry,
and in particular the Russian General Staff, has downgraded real military reform to a “reform
of the armed forces”—and they are not the same thing.117 Moreover, considerable
disagreement exists between Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev and the Chief of the General
Staff, Anatoly Kvashnin, over the future direction and concrete particulars of Russia’s

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military reform.118 As long as Russia’s economic decay continues, Russia’s armed forces will
be largely unable to play a powerful and lasting role in the country’s foreign and security
policies. Even the Ministry’s own most optimistic projections envision adequate funding
beginning only in 2004, but the financial crisis that began in August 1998 makes even those
earlier calculations unrealistic.

The virtual collapse of Russian state finances since that time has made any effective
military reform even more doubtful. In the second quarter of 1999, the under-financing of the
armed forces amounted to 200 million rubles. In the fourth quarter of 1999, it was stated that
only 31 percent of the military budget had been confirmed in the summer of that year.119 At
the same time, total debts to the Army and Navy have reached the sum of 50 billion rubles,
almost half the entire annual defense budget.120 As a result of domestic uncertainties, details
of the 1999 defense budget were classified again—for the first time since 1991.121

Moreover, Russia’s recent defense budgets have never been as transparent as the defense
budgets of NATO states. The 1998 defense budget, for instance, still excluded the financial
resources spent on Russia’s 15 so-called “other armed forces,” such as the Ministry of Interior
Forces, Border Guards, etc. If these “other armed forces” are included, Russia might still have
as many as 3 million people under arms.122 According to a Russian source of May 2000, these
military and militarized departments and their forces consume almost 50 percent of all state
budget expenditures.123 According to Aleksei Arbatov, Deputy Chairman of the Duma
Defense Committee, these often heavily armed paramilitary forces had a combined strength
in 1997 of 1.2 million men and total funding in that same year of some $8 billion rubles.124
Furthermore, as one Russian source pointed out, Russia continues the “luxury of maintaining
a total contingent of over 25,000 servicemen abroad. Even the USSR could not afford this!”125

While the official overall strength of the regular Russian armed forces had been reduced to
1.2 million by January 1, 1999, and is expected to fall further, at present only about one-third
or even one-fourth of that number can be considered to be genuinely operational. Without the
political will to make drastic strength cuts, Moscow will instead maintain a largely
non-operational military establishment that will exacerbate the severe structural
weaknesses of the Russian armed forces dating back to Soviet times.126 As Aleksei Arbatov
recently argued:

If Russia decided to bring the financing of its servicemen up to the U.S. standards, then it would
have to either reduce its army from the current 1.2 million servicemen to 100,000 people or in-
crease the military budget up to 6 trillion rubles, or seven times greater a sum than the overall
127
total of the 2000 federal budget. Given the scarce resources, a further reduction of the regular
128
armed forces to some 600,000 will be necessary within the next decade.

However, Russia’s General Staff still sees 1.2 to 1.3 million as the “crucial barrier below
which the state cannot cross.” They feel this way because the military and political
leadership, despite policy declarations to the contrary, might not resort to using even a
limited number of nuclear weapons in a local war which could escalate to a full-fledged
regional war, as the Chief of the Center for Strategic Forecasts of the General Staff, Colonel
Vyacheslav Zubarev, argued in June 2000.129

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 The policy guidelines on military issues as set forth in the National Security Concept of
December 1997 stated that, even if all of Russia’s armed forces (including those not belonging
to the Defense Ministry) are mobilized, Russia could cope with at best just one regional
conflict. And even that case has become more and more doubtful over the last two years.
According to one military source, unless funding is increased, only 40-50 percent of Russia’s
air forces fleet will still be operational by 2001.130 At present, 50 percent of aircraft and 40
percent of antiaircraft systems and helicopters need repairs.131 Also according to Russian
sources, largely due to a lack of fuel, flight training in Russia’s air force was conducted at only
35 percent of desired levels in 1999, a decrease from 45 percent in 1998.132 As a result, the
average number of flying hours a year was only 20 per pilot,133 compared to NATO figures of
up to 180 hours. A U.S. State Department report of 1999 about the rapid decay in Russia’s
military readiness was even more graphic: in 1998, the Russian army had to cancel 65 percent
of its planned regimental exercises and 27 percent of battalion-level training.134 Although the
Russian navy officially still has 80 major warships (including one aircraft carrier), 160 minor
combatants, 24 amphibious ships, and 70 mine countermeasure vessels, its current real
operational readiness might be as low as 10 percent—in contrast to more than 70 percent
during the Cold War.135 Sea duty for the Russian submarine fleet, for instance, was reduced
by 25 percent, while surface ships cancelled 33 percent of their planned exercises in 1998.
Although Russia’s Defense Ministry lobbied for 310 billion rubles, the official defense budget
in 1998 was just 81.7 billion. Of that planned defense expenditure, the military had received
only 30 billion rubles by the end of November 1998. At that time, the Defense Ministry’s debts
totaled 60 billion rubles, including 16 billion rubles in salaries and pensions.136

In the summer of 1999, only three divisions and four brigades in the Leningrad, Moscow,
North Caucasus, and Siberian military districts maintained a status of “permanent readiness
units,” which requires having at least 80 percent of full personnel strength with 100 percent of
weapons and other equipment. Nonetheless, major military exercises such as ZAPAD-99
demonstrated a much better capability to deploy large combined-arms forces than many
Western experts expected.137 However, as is characteristic of the navy’s problems, the
exercise used up its entire annual fuel reserve. Moreover, as the renewed war in Chechnya is
confirming, Russia’s conventional military capabilities are becoming increasingly overtaxed
as a result of its lack of trained professional troops and shortages of resources for training,
maintenance, and new equipment.

The system for calling up conscripts—nominally “compulsory”—has also become more

and more uncertain because of the exemptions on the grounds of conscientious objection,
deserters, and dedovshchina (the systematic oppression of young recruits by their older
comrades). Meanwhile, in the light of the war in Dagestan/Chechnya and reports that the
military is illegally using inexperienced conscripts to fight the rebels, Tatarstan has declared
it will no longer send its conscripts to fight for Russia in the southern regions or any other
hotspots because they have not received proper military training for those combat
missions.138 The Defense Ministry ultimately felt compelled to compromise with the province
concerning this decision because it worried that other regions would follow Tatarstan’s
example. According to Russian law until the end of 1998, conscripts could be used in armed
conflicts only on a voluntary basis.139 As the realities of the new Chechen war reveal once
again, Russia’s conscripts generally are neither well-trained nor have the stomache for

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fighting in the ethnic wars on Russia’s southern periphery—particularly the protracted
conflicts in which larger numbers of soldiers die.

The latest statistics reveal that the health crisis and drug problems have also increasingly
affected the armed forces.140 Reportedly, the number of healthy conscripts has dropped by 20
percent over the last decade. According to data of Russia’s Defense Ministry, 10 percent of
conscripts in the Ground Forces and navy are drug addicts, and one of every nine crimes in the
Russian armed forces is drug-related.141 Nearly 33 percent of all potential conscripts were
either exempted or “reprieved” for health reasons by Russian draft boards during the
spring-summer call-up campaign of 1999. An increasing number of prospective conscripts
suffer from diseases and drug addiction, whose rates have soared by 100 percent since 1993.
In 1999 alone, the number of crimes connected with illegal drug trafficking committed by
servicemen increased by 32 per cent. Of particular note, in the Chelyabinsk region a rise of
over 300 percent since the mid-1990s had been reported.142 In the fall of 1999, 57 percent of
those examined were regarded as unfit to serve, while 49,000 men, almost one-fifth of the
total conscripted, did not report for duty. Despite the expected conscript pool of one million in
the spring of 2000, the armed forces were only able to draft only 13 percent or 191,612 young
men of that number.143

There are other problems as well. Incidents of bribery have increased by almost 40
percent, although overall crime rates have fallen by 12.4 percent compared with the summer
period of 1998.144 Housing is an issue, with 93,400 servicemen lacking apartments for their
families at the beginning of 1999. In April 1999, the federal government owed nearly 7.5
billion rubles to Russia’s armed forces personnel.145 Furthermore, the socio-economic crisis of
the armed forces has resulted in a growing de facto alliance between local military
commanders and regional political bosses—a fact that has opened the door to patronage,
widespread corruption, and weapons smuggling in the armed forces. All these negative
trends have been particularly prevalent in the armed forces in Siberia and the Far East.146
Crime, accident rates, lack of adequate maintenance of weapons and infrastructure, and
failure to make payment for the supply of energy and food, all seem to exceed the levels
existing in European military districts. In July 1998, for instance, Aleksandr Lebed,
governor of Krasnoyarsk Krai, threatened in an open letter to Moscow to assume control of
the nuclear weapons based in his region in order to force the government to pay its soldiers.147
However, the threat of nuclear regionalism and the possibility that regional leaders might
acquire de facto control over various nuclear assets on their territories, including missile
material, nuclear power stations, and ultimately nuclear weapons, seems at present rather
remote.

Meanwhile, Russia’s Ground Forces have been reduced to an effective strength of

300,000-348,000 soldiers in 24 active but under-strength formations. The Ground Forces’
strength of 300,000 men is nearly as large as the Internal Troops of the Ministry of Internal
Affairs.148 The Navy’s Pacific Fleet had been cut from 333 combat vessels to just 100. Of
these, just 30 to 40 percent are operational. Although the restructuring of the military
districts was to be completed by the end of 1999 following the merger of the Siberian and
Trans-Baikal military districts, probably not more than 100,000 troops are actually deployed
in the Siberian and Far Eastern Military Districts.149

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 Moreover, Putin’s stated policy of increasing the official defense budget by 50 percent last
January has not had a real impact on the Russian armed forces and its operational readiness.
By the end of May 2000, the military had received only 6.5 percent of promised funds for 2000
according Defense Ministry officials.150 Despite the Defense Ministry’s extremely unrealistic
financial planning in recent years, it has submitted to the government another proposal to
replace 50 percent of military equipment over the period 2001-2010 with new or modernized
systems. According to those plans, however, the official defense budget must increase to
between 6.0 and 6.6 percent of GDP—double present official defense outlays, over the next
five years.151 But even if they receive additional financial resources, Russia’s ground forces
will still be unable to cover the entire Eastern defense perimeter and vast unpopulated areas
along the Russian-Chinese border.

1989-90 1991-92 1993-94 1995-96 1996-97

Ground Forces

Tank divisions 3 3 3 3 0

Motor rifle
21 18 16 13 10
divisions

Pacific
Fleet
SSBN* 24 24 20 18 14

Carriers 2 2 0 0 0

Cruisers 11 14 14 9 4

Destroyers 8 7 7 6 7

Frigates 56 40 28 34 34

*Nuclear-powered ballistic-missile submarines

Source: IISS, ed., The Military Balance 1997/98, Oxford: Oxford University Press, for the IISS, 1997, here

following Jennifer Anderson, “The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership,” Adelphi Paper 315, London,

1997, pp. 38 ff.

Table 5. Soviet/Russian Forces in the Russian Far East, 1989-1997.

Seen in this light, the agreed demilitarized zone between Russia, China and the three
Central Asian states discussed below has raised new defense problems. In an agreement
reached in April 1996 during their Shanghai meeting, both sides declared, with three other
Central Asian states—Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan—their intent to establish a
model for achieving regional peace, security, and stability for confidence-building in the area
of military matters in border regions. One year later, in April 1997, all five states signed an
agreement providing for the mutual reduction of armed forces in their common border
regions. This unique military-political document of confidence- and security-building

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measures has been seen by some as a model for reducing or eliminating tensions of unresolved
territorial conflicts in other parts of North and Southeast Asia.

In 1991-92, China wanted to establish a demilitarized zone extending to 300 kilometers on

either side of the border. Because of Russia’s traditional deployments near the border,
Russian troops would have had to withdraw and relocate, requiring the construction of new
infrastructure facilities Russia could not afford. Such a relocation would also have been
disadvantageous from the Russian strategic point of view; in some areas Russia would have
had to withdraw its troops behind the Trans-Siberian Railway, historically the key civil,
military, and logistical link between Moscow and its eastern territories. Against that
background, it is not surprising that there were more than 20 rounds of border and arms
control negotiations over a period of seven years before a final document could be worked out
at the Shanghai meeting in April 1996. The signed agreement included pledges of
non-aggression, non-use of force, and pre-notification for military exercises and other types of
exercises permitted within the 100-kilometer zone. Ultimately, the specifics of force
reductions were included in an agreement signed in May 1997 in Moscow. This agreement
focused on the reduction of regular troops only, not of border forces or strategic forces within
the 100-kilometer zone. It requires that Russia and the three Central Asian republics reduce
their troop levels by 15 percent to a maximum of 130,400 by May 7, 2002. They are allowed a
maximum of 3,810 tanks and 4,500 armored vehicles.

At first glance China seemed to have made significant concessions by giving up its
insistence on a 300 kilometer zone. However, China has deployed its ground forces roughly
400 kilometers inside the border, in accordance with its traditional strategy of luring the
enemy deep into its own territory. Moreover, Russia lacks the strategic depth in the Far East
that China enjoys. The majority of Russia’s ground forces, other military strategic assets, and
major regional population and infrastructure centers are all located near the Sino-Russian
border, in accordance to the Russian military doctrine and strategy prevailing since the
1930s.152 In the end, Russia agreed to the Chinese proposal because of its already planned
reductions, although it has been forced to relocate its ground forces into the backcountry and
make them highly mobile. However, in the event of a conflict, Russian forces would have to
cross over the Siberian taiga—a moist sub-arctic coniferous forest—which lacks fuel
resources and has a weak infrastructure.153 Unfortunately, Russia does not have the
financial resources for a radical relocation and restructuring of its armed forces in the Far
East. Against this background of an increasing defense dilemma in the Russian Far East,
only nuclear weapons appear to pose a credible deterrent against a potential Chinese threat
in the future.

Russia’s foremost security vulnerability and the resulting commitment to prepare forces
able to fight low-intensity conflicts at home (especially on its southern flank) have been
overtaken, meanwhile, by a continued determination to maintain a modern nuclear
capability guaranteeing Russia’s status as a nuclear world power (i.e., in the U.N. Security
Council) and fulfilling a deterrence role vis-à-vis the superior conventional armed forces of
NATO in Europe and China in East Asia.154 Russia had already dropped its 1982
no-first-use-policy on nuclear weapons in the document titled “Basic Principles of the Military
Doctrine of the Russian Federation” (November 1993).155 It has since underlined the

282
increasing role of its strategic and tactical nuclear weapons in defense policies.156 As Dmitri
Trenin has confirmed: “Some Russian military officers privately admit that in a conflict with
China the main Russian defenses along the border, including all the principal cities, will be
overrun in a matter of days, leaving the General Staff with few options other than going
nuclear.”157 According to James Clay Moltz, approximately 1,259 Russian nuclear warheads
in 1997 were still based in the region, deployed on air-launched cruise missiles, land-based
missiles, and SLBMs.158

The new emphasis on the role of nuclear weapons was confirmed in Russia’s 1997 National
Security Concept159 and in new military doctrine and strategy proposals. These suggest an
overwhelming reliance on nuclear forces during virtually any military-political contingency,
including the right to use them as first-strike weapons and even preemptively in
ethno-political conflicts when Russia’s forces cannot realistically and effectively deal with the
situation.160 Moreover, there are at least 6,000 operational warheads and thousands more in
storage, indicating that these weapons were not destroyed as pledged by former President M.
Gorbachev and President Boris Yeltsin in 1991 and 1992. Reinforcing the increasing role of
these strategic and tactical nuclear weapons is the fact that the current restructuring of
Russia’s armed forces is conducted under the slogan “Military reform under the nuclear
missile umbrella,”161 instead of putting first priority on improving living conditions and
raising the actual fighting capacity of Russia’s conventional troops engaged in peacemaking
missions and internal conflicts. The well-known Russian military expert and journalist Pavel
Felgenhauer offered this criticism of the military reforms in 1997:

Money is being spent on superfluous nuclear missiles which, in accordance with agreements on
non-targeting, are aimed “nowhere.” The fairy tale of the reform “under the nuclear umbrella,”
the new missiles and discussions on parity, will be paid for not only with money, but also with the
162
blood of Russian soldiers in future local conflicts in this country’s southern regions.

Russia presently places too much emphasis on nuclear scenarios that are largely
unrealistic and do not address any of the most important security problems on its southern
flank.163 Nuclear deterrence against China might become even more questionable over the
next decade, however, because Russia will have great difficulties sustaining even 900
strategic nuclear warheads after 2008-2010. Although China currently has only some 300
strategic nuclear warheads and an additional 150 tactical nuclear warheads, it seems able to
expand its nuclear forces by acquiring and applying MIRV technology to some 600-900
strategic nuclear warheads within the next decade. It seems also to have an interest in
modernizing and enlarging its arsenal of tactical nuclear weapons.164 If China does expand
its strategic and tactical nuclear arsenals, Russia’s nuclear deterrent capacity automatically
would become more problematic, particularly when it is part of an evolving concept of limited
nuclear deterrence closely linking conventional and nuclear warfare.

In recent years, Russia’s nuclear forces, especially the Strategic Missile Forces (RVSN),
have been given preferential treatment. According to Russian data, up to 80-90 percent of all
defense budget military expenditures was spent on strategic weapons branches, primarily
the RVSN, which Marshal Igor Sergeyev commanded before he became Defense Minister.165
As part of that effort, Russia has sought to procure 20-30 ICBMs a year—more than all other

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nuclear powers altogether—to maintain its nuclear superpower status into the 21st
century.166 Russia’s nuclear forces are now in the process of reorganization into a single
command, a step that is very much disputed in the armed forces.167

Many military arguments seem at first glance understandable—particularly in light of

Russia’s financial constraints. However, the preferential treatment received by the newly
established Strategic Deterrence Forces and its unified supreme command has provoked new
controversies and debates about the use of scarce resources for building new nuclear missiles
(Topol-M) instead of modernizing the conventional armed forces. Russia’s abandonment in
November 1993 of its no-first-use pledge has been highlighted more recently by Russia’s new
National Security Concept of January 2000168 (and its new military doctrine of April 2000169).
The document states that Russia must have a potential for nuclear deterrence ensuring “the
infliction of required damage to any aggressor, either state or a coalition, under any
circumstances.”170 Although the final version of the doctrine doesn’t specifically mention
Russia’s right to the first use of nuclear weapons, the document makes clear that “the Russian
Federation keeps the right to use nuclear weapons in response to the use of nuclear arms and
other WMD against it or its allies, and in response to a large-scale aggression with the use of
conventional arms in situations critical for the national security of the Russian
Federation.”171 However, the vagueness of the phrase “situations critical for [Russian]
national security” enables Moscow to interpret it relatively freely, although the October 1999
draft version of the military doctrine was even more ambiguous in this regard,172 as skeptical
Russian military experts have concluded.173

Since the beginning of the 1990s, many Russian security and defense experts have
advocated placing greater reliance on nuclear weapons to compensate for the deficiencies of
conventional forces. Thus not only strategic nuclear weapons but also tactical nuclear
weapons play a much more important role presently in Russia’s defense posture, particularly
in the Far East, for contingencies involving China. Thus Aleksei Arbatov, for instance,
argued in 1997:

The Chinese conventional buildup greatly depends on massive imports of weapons and technol­
ogy from Russia. Thus, besides the nuclear threat, Moscow has an effective means of undercut­
ting or at least seriously slowing down the emergence of this hypothetical threat. At a minimum,
to deter effectively China’s conventional offensive superiority at the theatre (level), Russia
might rely on the option of employing tactical nuclear weapons in the border area to thwart the
enemy’s offensive operations while deterring China’s nuclear response at the strategic level by
superior (assured destruction) strategic retaliatory capabilities. Then Russia’s deterrence
would be credible: its nuclear capabilities would be sufficient to deny China’s alleged military
gains at the theatre but not threatening to its national survival and thus would not provoke its
174
strategic nuclear pre-emption.

Moreover, Russian nuclear weapons designers are confronted with the fact that their
country can no longer afford a vast nuclear weapon archipelago like that of the Soviet era. As a
result, they are currently lobbying together with General Staff officers to build a new
generation of low-yield tactical nuclear weapons which could be Moscow’s answer to its lack of
high-precision conventional weapon systems.175

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 However, the use of Russia’s present tactical nuclear arsenal is very dubious because of
the proximity of almost all major Russian cities and military headquarters in the region
sharing a common border with China. They were vulnerable in the past, for example during
the 1960s and the times of a potential military conflict between China and Russia, and many
Russian military experts have concluded that they remain very vulnerable to a large-scale
surprise attack by the Chinese.176 The promised use of non-strategic nuclear forces would
serve as a deterrent only if Moscow was prepared to use longer-range tactical nuclear
weapons that threatened China’s hinterland and major cities beyond the common border.
Recognizing these defense dilemmas on its potential eastern front, Russia seems set to
develop a new generation of tactical nuclear weapons and munitions with low yield and
super-low yield, obviously deliverable to targets by both strategic and tactical delivery
systems such as the newly developed ISKANDER 400 kilometer range missile system.
Beginning in 1999, Russia conducted seven sub-critical, developmental tests on Novaya
Zemlya in the Arctic Ocean, the first group in a series of tests in 2000.177

Furthermore, the serious ongoing debate over the use of nuclear (and chemical) weapons
in the current Chechen war seems to confirm that Moscow’s priorities tend toward a further
nuclearization of defense policy.178 But given Russia’s economic and financials constraints,
continued modernization of its Strategic Nuclear Forces and tactical nuclear arsenal would
only exacerbate underlying problems because it would come at the expense of its conventional
forces. It would result in a continued decline in morale and operational effectiveness at a time
when Russia must cope with a lasting and extremely violent ethnic conflict in the Northern
Caucasus—a conflict that has no peaceful solution in sight. Hence, reliance on the nuclear
factor and umbrella do not necessarily guarantee Russia’s national security under all
circumstances, including dealing with potential threats posed by China. Andrei Piontkovsky,
director of the Center for National Security Research, and Vitaly Tsigichko, a leading security
specialist of the System Analysis of the Russian Academy of Sciences, criticized the new
military doctrine in May 2000 as follows:

As far as the Far Eastern sector is concerned, we are following a very strange tradition to avoid
an analysis of the capabilities of the Russian and Chinese armed forces.... Such analysis is a nec­
essary element for creating a system of stability. Considering Russia and China, one reaches the
conclusion that it is a classical case, when the superiority in ordinary weapons (China) can be de­
terred by the threat of nuclear weapons.

But this analysis does not take into consideration such parameters as “inadmissible damage.”....
Considering the potential Russian-Chinese conflict from this point of view, we will have to give
up the idea that a threat of nuclear weapons can frighten the enemy. If we come into conflict
with China, it has a good chance of winning, except in one instance: a total nuclear war, which
would destroy both sides.

The Russian conception, which relies on the nuclear factor, is not a guarantee of the country’s se­
179
curity. This conception is ineffective in all aspects as regards possible conflicts.

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Russia’s Arms Export Policy and Military Technology Cooperation

with China

—Russia’s arms trade with China should be based not only on immediate economic profits, but
first of all on all possible scenarios of the developments in Sino-Russian relations. It is very im­
portant to correlate arms exports with the prospects of Russian military reform and the modern­
ization of Russia’s armed forces.
180
— Mikhail Nossov, 1997

In 1996 the Russian deputy prime minister stated while in Malaysia that Russia was
willing to sell anything that its customers want, except nuclear weapons.181 Russia’s
apparently unlimited weapons export policy has often been explained by the high dependency
of Russia’s defense industry on weapon exports revenues. Indeed, the export revenues of
1997-98 accounted for as much as 62 percent of all the funding channeled into the Russian
defense industry—a percentage that is unlikely to decline in the foreseeable future.182
Russia’s arms trade, however, is not only the key to survival for Russia’s military industrial
complex, but also it is seen as one of very few foreign policy instruments available in the
Asia-Pacific region. However, short-term economic benefits must be evaluated vis-à-vis the
potential future consequences of Russia’s present’s economic profits—an evaluation which
appears not, however, to have been made. China’s rapid economic growth has facilitated a
more rapid modernization and strengthening of its armed forces than was anticipated. After
the bloody events on Tianamen Square in 1989, however, Western countries drastically
curtailed arms sales to China. As a result, China had no alternative but to turn to Russia.
Furthermore, Russian arms are still easier to integrate into China’s armed forces because the
forces of the PLA are still equipped with weapons of Soviet manufacture or design. The
Chinese have much more experience in reverse engineering and retrofitting Russian weapon
systems than with Western military technology. China seems particularly interested in
weapon systems, technology transfers, and in technical specialists on lasers, anti-submarine
warfare, air defense, and missile technology.183

However, Chinese pressure to receive reduced prices (and Moscow’s unwillingness to

accept partial payment in barter), to reduce its hard currency outlays, and to obtain rights for
licensed production by China itself have repeatedly hampered the negotiation of new arms
deals. Thus “the majority of Russian arms manufactures who fulfill Chinese orders are far
from delighted with the terms and conditions of the trade,” as Pavel Felgenhauer admitted.184
The Chinese, too, are not always highly satisfied with the Russian technology offered. It is not
interested in large-scale acquisitions of export versions of conventional arms, but rather in
the most advanced technologies. Indeed, as Felgenhauer notes, “The prospect of mass
production of the most modern Russian weapons in China has strong opponents in Russia.
The situation would unnecessarily augment competition against Russia’s own arms export
share and could pose a credible threat to Russian national security.”185

In the Russian view, Western criticism aimed at its arms export policies to China and
other states is often based on a double standard. As long as wealthy Western countries and
particularly the United States show no restraint, why should Russia, confronted with

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numerous economic problems and hungry for cash, curtail its arms exports? The Russian
military—particularly the General Staff—is very much divided on this issue, but there is
some consensus against an unrestricted arms export policy towards China. But Russia’s
military-industrial complex does not share any of those wider security concerns. Russian
civilian security experts such as Pavel Felgenhauer have become concerned, not so much
about arms deliveries per se as about illegal arms technology transfers:

The “export” of technology documentation and know-how likely occurred during tours of China
by Russian military and industrial experts. Apparently, several important military technology
secrets were sold and revealed in this way. China will continue to probe for Russian military se­
186
crets as long as Beijing seeks to rearm its forces with a new generation of weapons.

At the same time, Yevgeni Kokoshin confirmed the pressure for bigger arms exports and
the lack for control:

Attempts are sometimes made to subject Russian foreign policy to export needs. At the same
time, the view that foreign policy is above economic interests remains strong. Russia has a long
way to go before it can sensibly balance its economic interests, foreign policy needs, and legal and
moral imperatives. Russia is grappling with certain policy extremes, such as a super-ideological
foreign policy and opportunistic pragmatism.

Arms transfers are executed by state companies; by private companies under the control of the
state; or by private companies and individuals outside state control (the black market). State
policy should attempt to control arms exports from infringing on other state interests on the in­
ternational scene. As a rule, controls are overseen by executive bodies in the exporting state.
However, confining the system of control only to governmental bureaucracy may be unwise. The
opportunities for corruption and abuses of authority are markedly lower if an arms export con­
187
trol system involves national parliaments.

Another Russian expert, Sergei Kortunov, who was responsible for arms control policy in
Russia’s Foreign Ministry from 1992 to 1994, amplifies the concern expressed above:

Russia has not resolved a fundamental question: namely, the interrelation between arms export
policy and national security policy. Two instruments of control over the spread of information vi­
tal for national security (one relating to state secrets, the other to control over the export of prod­
ucts and services that can be used to create various arms and military equipment) operate
separately and irrespective of each other. At the same time, a clear-cut linkage among several
export regimes is lacking. One exists for the export of goods and services for military use, an-
other for dual-use goods and services, and yet another for equipment, materials, and technolo­
gies used to develop missiles. This should be rectified. The process of classifying and
declassifying data in the sphere of defense, economy, science, and technology, and that of export­
ing, transferring, or exchanging data in such fields, should be complementary and regulated
188
within a single framework.

In other words, Russia’s arms export policy “is now guided not by ideological principle but
to a great degree by pragmatic economic considerations.”189 That also explains Russia’s close
military-technological cooperation with China despite domestic reservations registered in
the light of long-term security challenges facing Russia,190 as well as its strategies for
breaking into such new markets as those in Southeast Asia.

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 Reportedly, China is in the process of negotiating with Russia to buy another 40

SU-30MKK fighters to supplement its June 1999 order for 40-60 aircraft and agreement to
allow China to produce up to 250 SU-30s under license.191 Beijing also seeks to acquire
another two or three upgraded Kilo-class submarines and two or three more
Sovremenny-class destroyers.192 However, whether China is able to finance 200 SU-27s and
another 250 SU-30s under license over the next 10-15 years is to some extent still
questionable. But it reveals some of the conclusions drawn by the Chinese General Staff in
recent years regarding the importance of air superiority in contingency planning for the
Taiwan Strait or other potential hotspots, such as the South China Sea.

Positive Forces Negative Forces

• Russian security concerns resulting from
possible spread of WMD.
• High-level political support and • Disorder and confusion resulting from
declaratory policy in the form of decrees, breakup of USSR.
resolutions, etc. • Overmilitarized economy and industrial
• Inherited governmental institutions and pressures for military exports.
personnel with export control experience. • Slow pace of defense conversion and
• Desire to be recognized as a civilized, continuing military production.
democratic state and to create a favorable • Porous borders and lack of customs
trade and investment climate. control and enforcement.
• Soviet tradition of nonproliferation with • Poor records-keeping and accounting
regard to weapons of mass destruction for weapons, technology, and material.
(WMD). • Diminished government authority and
• Western assistance, encouragement, and growth of organized crime and corruption
pressure. in the weapons trade.
• Increasing regionalization and
decreasing central control.
• Growing Russian nationalism critical of
submission to Western interests.
• Bureaucratic politics placing export
promotion over export control and
intragovernmentral rivalry over
cooperation,
• Shortage of funding for export control
personnel and policy implementation.
• Little export control coordination and
cooperation with neighboring NIS
countries.
• Tradition of economic and technical
cooperation with problem countries.

Source: Gary K. Bertsch and Anupam Srivastava, “Weapons Proliferation and Export Controls in the former
Soviet Union: Implications for Strategic Stability in Asia,” The National Bureau of Asian Research (NBR)
Publications, vol.3, no. 1, 1999 (via Internet: www.nbr.org/publications/review/vol3no1/essay.html), here p. 11.

Table 5. Forces Affecting Adoption of Nonproliferation Export Control in

Russia.

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 Moreover, a Russian article of August 1997 reported that both sides agreed to work out an
automatic command and control system (C2) for China’s strategic nuclear forces.193 Russia
also has sold control and guidance systems from its SS-18 and SS-19 ICBMs to China for the
latter’s newly developed DF-31 and DF-41 ballistic missiles, and has assisted in upgrading
China’s conventional and nuclear submarines.194 Reportedly, China even received sensitive
technology information on the SS-24 and SS-25 ICBMs195 and is now cooperating with Russia
in the field of space technologies that have at least some military implications. However,
while Moscow has categorically denied reports of a planned sale of two Russian Typhoon-class
ballistic missile nuclear submarines,196 it has sold the aircraft carrier Kiev to China as scrap
metal. Although the Russian Defense Ministry provided assurances that all equipment and
armament were removed from the ship, Russian experts expect that a detailed inspection of
the ship will assist the Chinese navy to develop its own carrier program.197 Moreover, both
sides reportedly have recently signed a five-year (2000-2004) military cooperation pact worth
up to $20 billion U.S. dollars.198 It is no longer the Russian air force but the PLA-air force that
has bought the most modern Russian-made combat aircraft during the 1990s. As a
consequence, the military balance in East Asia might gradually change at the expense of
Taiwan in the short term and of Russia itself in the long term.

However, Russia is also selling a similar amount of the latest weapon systems to
India—increasingly a strategic competitor of China. But Russian political and military
experts do not harbor any strategic concerns about India like those they have vis-à-vis China.
The difference can be explained by the fact that India and Russia share no common border
and have almost always been political allies over recent decades. India seems at present to be
the perfect military partner for Putin in terms of defense-related issues and sharing of
military technology. If the characterization of a mutual relationship as a “strategic
partnership” applies to any bilateral relations of Russia at present, it most accurately
describes the Russian-Indian relationship rather than the much more ambiguous
Sino-Russian ties.

Russia’s arms export policies also contradict its proclaimed national security concepts of
December 1997 and January 2000 in which nonproliferation concerns—albeit primarily as
regards the nuclear dimension—play a prominent role.199 In this light, Russia’s weapon
export and technology transfer policy, which amounts to selling almost anything to anyone for
cash, has the capacity to reshape if not threaten Asia’s delicate balance of power. At the same
time, Russia still has a shaky export control system that is constantly subject to change.
Although Russian high technology is generally less effective than Western, its arms are an
attractive option for many countries due to their low costs—partly attributable to the
relatively weak ruble. Russian military exports to China and India accounted for 75-80
percent of Russia’s total military sales in the 1990s.200 Moscow hopes to expand its military
exports to more than U.S. $4 billion in 2000 and to more than U.S. $6 billion in later years.201

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Russia’s Regional Foreign Policy in Northeast Asia and its Relations

with Japan and Korea

Even today, there is no single view on how Russia’s foreign policy is shaped, how it relates to the
interests of some or other groups and lobbies associated with certain sectors of the economy, pro­
ductions or financial structures. In the meantime, many things suggest that such groups—usu­
ally called ‘economic groups’—play a considerable role in shaping some important Russian
foreign policy directives.
202
—Iu. Fedorov, 1998

The decentralization and regionalization processes have produced new actors in Russia’s
foreign policy. Besides economic interest groups, such as the military-industrial complex and
Russia’s oil and gas industry (Gazprom has often been characterized in Russia as a “state
within a state,”203 and Boris Berezovsky claimed in late 1996 that he and six other people
controlled 50 percent of Russia’s gross national product204), Russia’s regions have also become
increasingly involved in foreign policy activities.205 In contrast to Soviet foreign policy
practices, Russia’s federal government has to take into account various regional interests in a
way that the Soviet leadership never did. It is explained by the fact, inter alia, that since 1991
the administrative boundaries of 27 of Soviet Russia’s regions became international frontiers
of the Russian Federation.

These non-traditional foreign policy actors have complicated foreign policies shaped and
designed by the Foreign Ministry, the Duma, and the Yeltsin administration. Furthermore,
the leading political forces and groups (or “clans”) in Russia often use foreign policy and
international problems or conflicts to consolidate their own position in domestic politics (as
Prime Minister Vladimir Putin is demonstrating again with his “understanding” to resolve
the conflict in Chechnya) rather than to resolve those foreign policy problems themselves.
Russia has still not developed a system of rules by which these political conflicts can be
conducted and solved. Everyone seems to play his own game with no definite rules existing
for the game. Such domestic circumstances and processes often reflect a pluralist chaos
involving a multiplicity of actors (representing a multitude of specific interests) in Russia’s
foreign policy decision-making. It has been remarked, “Soon every small village will want to
open its own Foreign Affairs Ministry.”206

Since the Foreign Ministry lacks mechanisms to coordinate and control different foreign
policy agendas, implementation of coherent, long-term foreign policy strategies has been
greatly complicated—indeed almost impossible at times, and parallel foreign policies can be
identified in various regions. As a result, Russian foreign policy has been characterized more
by a succession of ill-connected ad hoc responses to issues than by any long-term, unified,
proactive strategies. For example, here is Aleksandr Lukin’s explanation of Russia’s China
policy:

Foreign and especially Chinese experts who are accustomed to an orderly organization of state
affairs often get confused about the current Russian lack of coordination in foreign policy and

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 even the de facto existence of several foreign policy lines on the same issue. Many of them believe
that this situation is a cleverly staged performance and look for a mysterious plan behind the
confusing statements of brainless and uncontrolled bureaucrats. Such experts have yet to expe­
rience perestroika in their way of thinking, which is necessary to understand where authority
has disintegrated to an extent that it can hardly exert control at all. As a result, Russian policy
toward China as in many other areas is consistent only on paper. In practice, not only outside
the leadership but also inside it, various groups are interested in different policies toward China
and each is able to choose from a wide spectrum of theoretical views the ideological basis that
207
suits its intentions.

It is thus not surprising that Russia’s regions were not only eager to promote cross-border
economic ties with neighboring regions but were also interfering increasingly in Moscow’s
own diplomacy with other states. Viktor Ishayev, governor of Khabarovsk Krai, and Yevgeni
Nazdratenko, governor of the Primorye, have demanded all economic rights that the 20
so-called republics within Russia already enjoy, including title to all natural resources within
their borders. While for the first time ever the heads of administrations (or their deputies) of
districts and towns situated along the border with China have been included in the Russian
delegation to the Joint Sino-Russian Demarcation Commission,208 Nazdratenko still heavily
criticized Russia’s demarcation negotiations with China:

The demarcation plan in the eastern regions will transfer land in the Lake Khasan region to
China which contains the graves of Russian soldiers; give China an outlet to the sea through the
River Truman, enabling it to build a port that will diminish the freight-hauling revenues of the
trans-Siberian railway; require land in the Khankaiski district that is properly Russia’s be sur­
rendered; and that the Russian government has understated the amount of territory it will give
209
up in the Ussuryiski district.

While this lower-level participation in foreign policy complicated Moscow’s efforts to find a
political solution to a very sensitive foreign policy issue, it also highlighted Moscow’s failure to
keep informed those regions affected by the diplomatic concessions made during the bilateral
talks with Beijing. Similar conflicts exit between Moscow and the Sakhalin province over
territorial negotiations with Japan and the Kurile Islands.

If China becomes a serious regional threat to Russia, Moscow’s position in the Asia-Pacific
region will be defined by the quality of its relations with the region’s leading
countries—Japan and South Korea in particular. That is one of the reasons for Moscow’s
great interest in improving its relationships with these Northeast Asian powers in recent last
years. Despite their continuing disagreements over the status of the Kurile Islands, Russian
and Japan have improved their relationship politically, economically, and even militarily. It
is in the interests of both that China does not become strong enough to constitute a regional
threat. In such a case, both may perceive the need for some counterbalancing of China’s
growing regional and global power. Furthermore, both have an interest in widening the
Korean Four Party Negotiations to six-party meetings in which they both are included.

In July 1998, Japanese and Russian naval vessels conducted an unprecedented joint naval
exercise practicing search and rescue operations. In August 1998, Defense Minister Hosei
Norota made the first Japanese tour of Russian naval facilities at Vladivostok since the end of
World War II. A month later, the 6,700-ton Russian missile cruiser Admiral Panteleyev

291

visited the port of Yokosuka, site of Japan’s fleet headquarters—a historic first visit by a
Russian naval vessel to a Japanese military port.210 In February 2000, the Chief of Staff of
Japan’s Maritime Self-Defense Forces, Admiral Hosei Fujita, made the first visit by a
Japanese naval chief to Russia, underlining the growing military cooperation between the
two states. Japan also granted another $120 million in financial assistance for nuclear waste
cleanup in Russia’s Pacific Fleet ports as well as another $20 million for a scientific center in
Moscow.211 However, their bilateral relationship and Russian prospects for attracting huge
and much-needed Japanese investments for energy and infrastructure projects on Sakhalin
and throughout the Russian Far East are still negatively affected by the Kurile Islands
question and the open peace treaty issue.

When Boris Yeltsin planned his visit to Japan in the summer of 1992, he was considering
offering at least the option of giving back the Kurile Islands in the future. But some Russians
protested, not only in private circles but directly to the public. The Russian General Staff, the
staff of the CIS armed forces, and the staff of the Russian navy all came to the same conclusion
in their evaluations: the Kuriles are of the highest strategic importance for Russia and
therefore would not be transferred back to Japan. Yeltsin had to postpone the trip to Tokyo
while disputes and debates played out over the direction and formulation of foreign policy and
the future of domestic reforms.212

Although in subsequent years Russo-Japanese relations improved and more Japanese

investment in the Russian Far East has been made, relations are still marginal by Japanese
standards. The insubstantial bilateral trade and investment, however, is not only the result
of unresolved political issues such as the Kuriles but also reflects the clash of two very
different business cultures. But a peace treaty, which former Russian President Boris Yeltsin
and Japan’s former Prime Minister Ryutaro Hashimoto agreed to achieve at the November
1997 Krasnoyarsk summit, seems, in the year 2000, very distant. Any treaty implying the
loss or restriction of sovereignty over the Kurile Islands still has no chance of being ratified in
the Russian Duma. Russian President Vladimir Putin made clear during his first days in
office that he would not allow any fragmentation of Russia under his rule. This
announcement was directed not only against separatism in Central Asia and the Caucasus
but also in the Far East.213

On the Japanese side, too, numerous weak coalition governments in the 1990s offered only
limited room for political maneuver and change in Japanese foreign policy. In addition, the
growing service sector in the 1990s, a more energy-efficient economy, and growing reliance on
nuclear power made Japan less dependent on Middle Eastern oil deliveries and distracted the
Japanese from developing a partnership with Russia on important Siberian energy
projects.214 More recently, however, low-level private and economic contacts have increased,
but they will have to be broadened significantly before they have any real influence on
governmental relations.

Japan’s revised security treaty with the United States and its guidelines for defense
cooperation215 also have provoked criticism on the Russian side, though the main criticism in
Moscow is directed against the TMD plans of Japan. Despite those controversial issues, both
sides seek to boost such economic ties as development of the four Northern and Southern

292
Kurile Islands. At the end of 1999, Japan was the only Western country that had kept its
credit line to Russia open by offering another loan package of $1.5 billion. Nonetheless, most
Russian experts see Japan as a more important partner only in the mid- and long-term.
Despite being the only state extending bilateral credits to Russia through the early summer
2000, Japan has been ignored diplomatically to a large extent by Putin and his new foreign
policy elite. Japan’s hope for signing an early peace treaty with Russia has not been very
realistic from the very beginning. Both sides now seem to be contemplating instead an
interim pact that would offer some face-saving. It would allow separation of the
long-standing territorial dispute from the matter of concluding peace-treaty. Whether a visit
by President Putin will lead to a substantial new beginning of their bilateral relationship
remains to be seen. The somewhat stagnant character of these relations is not in the economic
and foreign policy interest of either side, particularly not in Russia’s. However, Russia seems
presently unwilling to improve its relations with Japan at the expense of relations with
China. And it seems even more unlikely that Japan would be willing to initiate substantial
new departures in its relations with Moscow—at least not at the expense of its strategic
security alliance with Washington.

On the Korean peninsula, Russia has lost the leverage it had before the end of the Cold
War. Since 1992, Russia and North Korea have not been particularly close—no longer good
neighbors, no longer military allies. The relationship became even more strained in 1992
when Moscow demanded that North Korea unconditionally submit to nuclear inspections.
Since the death of Kim Il-Sung in 1994, the former emphasis on military and security issues
has been reduced even more, with stress now falling on political-security and economic
issues.216 However, Russia has continued to export weapons to North Korea, albeit on a
limited scale. Symbolic of their deteriorating and Janus-faced relationship, North Korea did
not participate in the 300th anniversary of the Russian Far East Fleet in Vladivostok, in
contrast to South Korea, China, the United States, and even Japan.217

Moscow has improved its relationship with South Korea, however. True, bilateral trade
between Russia and South Korea peaked at $3.8 billion in 1996 and decreased in the following
two years to $3.3 billion in 1997 and just $2.1 billion in 1998, but this was largely because of
the financial and economic crisis in Russia.218 Moscow has also sought to export high-tech
weaponry to South Korea, including submarines, long-range air defense systems, and
next-generation fighters as a partial payment for $1.75 billion debt incurred shortly after the
fall of the Soviet Union. It has already delivered military hardware totaling some $450
million, including 33 T-80 tanks, 41 BMP-3 armored infantry vehicles, 20 BTR armored
personnel carriers, METIS antitank missile systems, and IGLA portable antiaircraft missile
systems. But by the end of 1999, Russia’s debt to South Korea of $1.75 billion has not been
reduced.219 However, it is questionable whether South Korea would opt to purchase
significant quantities of Russian weapon systems because of the important security alliance
with the United States and the need to maintain close interoperability with U.S. forces.220

The Russian military still remains concerned about the situation on the Korean peninsula
in general and about North Korean efforts to develop its nuclear and missile potential, in
particular. In Russia’s view, this is one of the most important problems directing affecting . . .
Russia’s national security, as well as regional and global stability.”221 Reportedly, aspects of

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the decline in Russia’s military efficacy registered alarms in Moscow over events in the East,
for instance, the Russian armed forces’ failure to detect North Korea’s three-stage missile
launch at the end of August 1998. According to one Russian observer, “They began worrying
in Moscow only when the Japanese government expressed its ‘grave concern’ over the ICBM
test launch organized by North Korea.”222 Although Moscow is eager to play a more important
role on the Korean peninsula such as in the four-party talks and in the Korean Peninsula
Energy Development Organization (KEDO), it is not involved in either at the moment. The
question remains whether Moscow still retains any significant influence on North Korea.

The recent promising situation on the Korean peninsula seemed at first to give Russia new
opportunities to reengage politically in the region. It could strengthen its own role while
potentially weakening Beijing’s as the main supporter of Pyongyang. If successful, Moscow
would also increase it bargaining position with the United States because the North Korean
ballistic missile program has been used as one of the main justifications for Washington’s
missile defense plans and the intention to revise the ABM treaty. On February 9, 2000,
Moscow signed the North Korea-Russia Treaty of Friendship, Good Neighborliness, and
Cooperation, which replaced Russia’s Cold War treaty of 1961 with Pyongyang.223 Russia did
not promise any economic assistance in this new treaty. On July 20, 2000, during Putin’s
two-day visit in Pyongyang, both sides also signed an 11-point joint declaration in which they
agreed to actively seek cooperation in defense policy.224 Reportedly, Russia has exported to
North Korea 10 modern MiG-29 fighters, with the potential for delivery of additional 30
fighters. The value of these 10 fighters is between $500 million and $1 billion—a significant
expense for a country whose estimated state budget is not more than $1.4 billion! Whether
both sides have agreed to a friendly deal allowing Pyongyang to pay much less is a question
still unanswered. But the delivery, training, and maintenance of these MiG-29 fighters for
North Korea’s air force suggest a significant number of new Russian military advisors in
North Korea in the future.225

Even more dramatic was Putin’s message in July 2000 that North Korea was willing to
abandon its ballistic missile program and exports in return for civilian space technology and
the willingness of other states to launch at least two North Korean space satellites a year.226
While this development apparently has given Russia considerable leverage vis-à-vis
Washington’s missile defense plans and efforts to revise the ABM treaty, North Korea’s plan
is dubious in many ways. Pyongyang cannot really expect that other countries would provide
it with advanced missiles it could easily copy and use for its own secret military missile
programs. Furthermore, the question is still unanswered by Russia and North Korea as to
North Korea’s needs for space satellites in the light of its severe economic and food crises. But
in an August 2000 meeting, Kim Jong-Il clearly retreated from his offer to Putin. He is
reported to have stated that he did not intend to make a serious proposal to Putin, but brought
the idea up in a “passing, laughable manner.” As other remarks by the North Korean leader
suggest, he obviously had some thoughts about his proposal to Putin. The diplomatic insult to
Putin substantially weakens Russia’s future bargaining position in East Asia, possibly even
neutralizing the boost it received during the last months of its reengagement policy in
Northeast Asia. It also highlights the unpredictability of Kim Jong-Il, for Russia and the rest
of the world.

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 Russia also has revived the Tumen River international development program which,
when combined with the newly planned Korean-Siberian rail link, would allow direct
shipment of goods between Asia and Europe. However, these projects are not realistic
without Japanese and other international financial investment, including investment in
Russia. While the Trans-Siberian railway in past years carried 20 percent of the container
traffic between Japan and Europe, this land-based trade decreased to almost nothing in 1996
due to cuts of energy supplies by Russia’s Unified Energy System attributable to unpaid bills
and frequent strikes.227 Russia’s new engagement on the Korean peninsula is not without
risks. Developments will allow Pyongyang to play Russia and China off against each other,
which may strain Sino-Russian relations and potentially risk undermining inter-Korean
reconciliation and the South Korean-Russian relationship.

Another aspect of Russia’s new policies in East Asia is interest in regional integration and
collaboration with regional international organizations. In 1995, Russia applied for
participation in the Association of Petroleum Exporting Countries (APEC) and its
committees. It is now preparing to enter the Asian Development Bank and is actively
supporting the work of the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) and the Council for Security
Cooperation in the Asia Pacific (CSCAP).228 The latter, however, is very much hampered by a
lack of funds and, at times, by overlooking the importance of shaping and determining the
work and direction of the ARF. On the negative side, Russia is not included in the
Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM) processes established in Bangkok in 1996. Furthermore,
Russia’s official admission to APEC, which had been supported strongly by China, seems the
result of politics and not economics. As Stephen Blank observed, the other Asian states have
bought the argument that “Russia is a superpower, not by virtue of the current reality but due
to its potential.”229

Since the financial and economic crisis of the summer of 1998, Northeast Asia—with a
total population of nearly 300 million people and a combined annual GNP of approximately $3
trillion—has the potential to become one of the world’s most dynamic economic zones, if
economic regionalization, transnational cooperation, and globalization trends continue.
Despite Russia’s political declarations of intent to strengthen economic relations with the
rising Asia-Pacific region, Russia’s current economic realities speak a different language.
Some 40 percent of Russia’s trade is with the EU; 22.2 percent of its exports and 16.5 percent
of its imports are with the other CIS countries, while the U.S. share was just 5.9 per cent and
3.3 per cent, respectively. China’s share was only 4.5 percent and 2.5 per cent, Japan’s share
even less with 3.5 percent and 2.9 percent (1997).230 Trade with Asia is less than 20 percent of
Russia’s commodity circulation, and with the wider Asia-Pacific region is less than 10
percent. Still, although trade with East Asia does not play an important role in Russia as a
whole, it is of the utmost importance in Siberia and the Russian Far East—with the latter
comprising 90 percent of total turnover for these regions.231

Comparing 1997 with 1993, Russian imports from China shrank to almost one-third, and
from Japan almost a half. Furthermore, Russia’s share of Asian-Pacific countries’ trade in
1997 was less than one percent.232 In the same year, the exports of more than 700 joint
enterprises with foreign partners in the Far East did not exceed $200 million.233
Vladivostok—which has excellent port facilities, the railhead for the Trans-Siberian railroad,

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and an ideal location for integration with the economies of China, Japan, and
Korea—theoretically could become Russia’s window on Northeast Asia, but the forces of
economic integration are restrained by the deep Russian apprehension that they may be
overwhelmed by much larger non-Russian populations, widespread fear of foreign
domination, ongoing political struggles, and severe shortages of energy and water supplies.234
As the result of the 1994 introduction of a restricted visa regime, the foreign trade of Primorye
decreased 78 percent from the level of one year before, while Amur Oblast’s dropped by 81
percent over the same year.235 One of the very few positive indicators is the impressive
expansion in trade between the Russian Far East region and the West Coast of the United
States, which rose from $1 million in 1992 to $360 million in 1997. During the same period,
the number of U.S.-Russian joint ventures increased from 19 to 74. Geography, extensive
shipping facilities in the east versus overburdened and increasingly expensive and unreliable
rail systems in western Russia, and political motivation to become more independent from
Moscow have all contributed to increased economic relations with the U.S. west coast, which
could also expand the community of economic and political interests in the long term. In the
short term, regional elites in the Russian Far East will use this greater interdependence as
leverage to increase their influence directly in Moscow and indirectly in Washington.236

The financial crisis of 1998 further undermined foreign trade and investment and the few
positive factors of economic revival. If no positive incentives and results are made available in
the near future, the Russian Far East—already cut off from European Russia—risks
becoming completely alienated from the rest of Russia as well. As Eric Hyer warned in 1996:

For 70 years the historical trend toward the natural integration of the Russian Far East into the
Northeast Asian economic system was artificially prevented by political barriers. However, it
now appears the historical, economic and demographic forces have reasserted themselves, and
237
the political factors are no longer in place to prevent them from following their natural course.

Strategic trends do seem to indicate that the economic gap between the Russian regions
east of the Urals and countries in Northeast Asia and the wider Asia-Pacific region is
increasing, which makes the integration of these regions into APEC and the Pacific Rim more
difficult with every passing day. For example, in October 1998, 20 countries—including
China, all the Central Asian and Caucasian states, Ukraine, and Belarus—opened a 27,000
kilometer fiber optic telephone line between Frankfurt and Shanghai, along the historic Silk
Road. The line provides all these countries with stable communication links between Europe
and Asia. Russia, however, is not participating in the project and has thereby “lost all chances
to realize its claims to be a communication bridge between the two continents.”238 Opting for
an alternative radio communication line in 1996, which is much less reliable than the fiber
optic line, Russia lost a volume of communication traffic estimated at several billion minutes
per year.

With regard to the widening economic gap between Siberia and the Russian Far East on
one side, and the other Asian-Pacific countries on the other side, Vasilii Mikheyev of the Far
East Institute posed in 1999 the fundamental preconditions for strengthening Russia’s
leverage in the Asia-Pacific region:

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 Russia’s desire to become China’s strategic partner is realizable only on condition that Russia it-
self becomes an active and weighty participant in Asia-Pacific integration processes. To do this
Russia must have its own view on globalization of the world economy and Asian regionalism, its
own concept of creating a single Asia-Pacific economy, a strategy and policy of economic and fi­
nancial integration of Russia in the Asia-Pacific region or at least in the northeastern portion of
239
the Asia-Pacific region which is geographically close to the Russian Far East.

Russia’s Strategic Interests in Southeast Asia

As all sides admit, relations between Russia and Southeast Asia today are very much
underdeveloped. Even the former allies of the Soviet Union, such as Vietnam, Laos, and
others, have redirected their economic ties towards the other ASEAN states, China, and
Western countries, especially Japan. While Moscow is concerned about the impact of
unipolarity on it Asia-Pacific relations, it is not taking a very active role in improving those
relationships and boosting bi- and multilateral trade with this region, with one exception:
arms exports. Russia also seems little concerned about unresolved conflicts and potential
hotspots such as the Spratly Islands,240 even though its regions in the Far East and
Vladivostok must have a keen interest in open sea lanes of communication (SLOCs) and
stability in the South China Sea. The Russian oil firm LUKoil, for instance, is producing oil in
Vietnam’s section of the Spratly Islands, which are also claimed by China. On the other side,
the ASEAN states are also very much divided about the prospects for relations with Russia.241
Indeed, one can identify a “pattern of mutual disinterest,” as Stephen Blank has termed it.242
Thus, the ASEAN countries are accounting for just one percent of Russia’s foreign trade.243

But while Russia seems to have diminishing strategic interests in Southeast Asia, with
certain exceptions noted below, it still has a strategic interest in maintaining its military
presence in Vietnam; moreover, the Russian navy leases facilities in Cam Rahn Bay,
providing direct access to the South China Sea as the supply line to Northeast Asia.
Presently, Russia is in tense negotiations with Hanoi to extend its leases. A the same time,
the United States is also interested in access to Vietnam’s ports and military bases. Russian
and/or American access to Vietnam’s strategic facilities would affect China’s strategic
interests. Here again, a more competitive future relationship between Russia and China can
no longer be excluded.244 Furthermore, Russia has become more interested in multilateral
naval cooperation within the framework of the ARF, including:

� Exchanges of information on the purpose of naval activities, structure of forces, time

frame and areas of the activities, level of command;

� Notification of large-scale exercises and movements of naval forces;

� nvitation of observers to naval exercises;

� Joint exercises on search and rescue at sea, assistance to victims of natural disas­
ters;

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 � Mutual renunciation of exercises and maneuvers in sea straits, fishing zones, and
air-space above them.245

However, realization of this increased Russian interest is hindered by a lack of funds for the
Pacific Fleet to participate more actively in the these new multilateral security cooperation
activities.

Instead of improving its economic ties to Southeast Asia and possibly promoting its own
regionalization, Russia has concentrated primarily on boosting its arms exports to this
important sub-region. However, the Asian financial crisis of 1997 undermined the positive
outlook in Russia.246 Furthermore, globalization has also its impact in this field. Declining
global defense expenditures, large defense industrial overcapacities, and a shrinking global
arms market since the end of the Cold War have created a buyer’s market that gives
purchasing or receiving countries new flexibility to shop around for the best arms deals
(which often include transfers of technology and know-how) and to play one supplier off
against another. Consequently, the selling nations have resorted to all kinds of marketing
and discounting devices, including, if necessary, extensive technology transfer
arrangements—often as part of offset agreements, barter arrangements, and even bribes.

During the global defense industry reconfiguration, many East Asian countries have
gradually shifted their procurement patterns from the initial import of large numbers of
completed weapon systems to the local assembly and production of major weaponry through
licenses, joint venture agreements, and technology transfers. Hence, Asian customers are no
longer interested simply in receiving finished products. They are rather interested in the
business of negotiating comprehensive packages involving collaboration with local industry,
technology transfer, creative financial arrangements, and the creation of jobs in their
countries. That explains why customers are more and more interested in long-term
partnerships with suppliers that provide solutions to larger overall national requirements,
possibly extending beyond defense itself.

The slowing of East Asia’s military spending and arms buildup will increase further the
competition among American, European, and Russian arms makers and suppliers in the only
growing arms market in the world besides the Middle East. The increasing competition
might result in further reduced prices of sophisticated state-of-the-art weapon systems and
increased technology transfer to the region, as Russia’s modified arms export policy to the
Asia-Pacific region indicates. Russia was forced again to revise its arms export policies to
become more successful in difficult times. Mikhail Timkin, First Deputy Director-General
Secretary of Rosvooruzhenie, Russia’s state-run arms export company, stated in May 1997:

The results of last year give us every reason to believe that in 1998 we will overtake the US in
arms exports, and we will become the world leader in arms supplies.... Asia, particularly the lu­
crative Southeast Asian market worth in excess of US$12 billion, is our priority target in
1997....We use three new forms of cooperation, being licensed production of arms, cooperation in
the licensed production of arms, and the use offset programmes….We are also ready to lease
weapons to these countries. We are also prepared to accept different types of payment, including
cooperation in the use of ports of the countries, natural resources, and direct payment. So we use
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all types of trade which humanity invented.

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 The Russian government is well aware of the impact of the Asian financial crisis on
exports of Russian-made weaponry. Contracts with Indonesia have been lost for the time
being. Russian experts believe (often in the context of conspiracy theories) that the United
States’ support for Indonesia during the financial crisis was conditional on cancellation of
Indonesia’s purchase of 12 Su-30K fighter bombers, 8 Mi-17 combat helicopters, and 50
BMP-3 armored personnel carriers and additional armored commando vehicles.248 The
Sukhoi deal was a breakthrough for the company in the Southeast Asian market, just as
Malaysia’s purchase of MiG-29 fighter-bombers had been three years earlier. Traditional
Asian buyers of Russian-made arms are primarily China, India, and Vietnam. Moscow
believes that more customers in the Asia-Pacific region, which had formerly relied exclusively
on American and European hardware, will follow. Russia’s traditional weapon export
strategy is based on its main strength—low prices for sophisticated state-of-the-art
equipment (normally 65 to 70 per cent of Western product prices) at a time when their Asian
customers are still focusing on the hardware costs, even though life-cycle costs such as
maintenance are often overlooked. While Russia’s marketing strategy has significantly
improved, delivering adequate supplies of spare parts in the future remains a problem for its
arms industry, a problem that ultimately undermines Russia’s reputation as a reliable
partner. Meanwhile, Russia has recognized the inherent and structural weaknesses in its
arms export strategy and is working to overcome them.

The total export of Russian arms increased from U.S. $1.7 billion in 1994 to U.S. $3.6
billion in 1996, but dropped to about U.S. $2.6 billion in 1997. But Rosvooruzhenie earned not
more than U.S. $2-2.5 billion of hard currency due to the fact that Moscow’s arms export policy
is to pay with weapons debts it owes to many countries in the world (such as former Warsaw
Pact countries, South Korea, etc.). Also, some of the funds it did receive were
non-convertible.249 According to a U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency study,
Russia obtained 36 percent of all weapons transfer agreements signed with developing
nations in Asia between 1989 and 1992 and 37.4 percent between 1993 and 1996 (the United
States obtained only 31.2 and 24.8 percent, respectively, in those years). Russia’s share of
arms deliveries to Asia was 61.9 percent in 1989-92 but declined to 20.3 percent in 1993-96
(with the United States at 17.9 percent and 34.1 percent, respectively).250 In 1997, Russia
signed new contracts worth U.S. $7.3 billion, and in the first four months of 1998 agreements
for an additional U.S. $1.5 billion, which will all be completed before 2003-2005.251 More than
half of all Russian arms exports are accounted for by aviation equipment and 18 percent by
naval hardware.252 Russia thus seems to have become again the world’s second largest arms
exporter after the United States, and it is seeking to take first place soon. It aimed to increase
annual arms exports to a figure of U.S. $10 billion by the year 2000; however, this goal was set
before the outbreak of the financial and economic crisis in East Asia, which made it
unrealistic for the time being. Foreign Relations Deputy Minister Alexander Kotelkin had
already predicted in November 1997 a Russian decline in armament exports in 1997-1999.253

In the wake of the financial crisis, Russia—like other major suppliers—was forced to
revise its aerospace export plans and strategies after months of misplaced optimism254 It
hoped thus to stabilize its gains and overall position in the region for the next 2-3 years, when
the situation is expected to improve.

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 With the kind of advanced weaponry Russia is now offering, such as the new YAKHONT
and MOSKIT supersonic anti-ship cruise missile, the powerful S-300 SAMs, or the
sophisticated Sukhoi fighters with the most modern air-to-air missiles (e.g., the VYMPEL
R-73 or AA-11 ARCHER and VYMPEL R-77 or AA-12 ADDER, also nicknamed
Amraamski—both being regarded as the best in the world), the region could acquire some of
the world’s most deadliest weapon systems. See the Russian arms export recapitulation at
Table 6 below.

� Expansion of arms exports to India (total value of contracts signed is U.S. $8-9 billion) and to
China (U.S. $6 billion) within the forthcoming new 10-year defense cooperation agreement,
beginning in 2000. This agreement will shift the emphasis from outright purchases to jointly
developing hardware. It encompasses the purchase of six S-300V anti-ballistic missile
(ATBM) systems for nearly $1 billion and airborne early warning systems, upgrading some
125 MiG-21/FISHBED-L fighters, and key military equipment items of India’s ground forces
(T-72 main battle tanks), jointly developing the multi-role SU-30MK fighters (India bought
40 last year), overhauling and rearming the 44,000-ton aircraft carrier Admiral Gorshov, and
255
jointly building the Russian-French MiG-AT advanced jet trainers. India has also an­
nounced plans to add 50 Russian-made Kh-35 antiship missiles to its already deliv­
256
ered 48 missiles for its three 6,700-ton INS Delhi-class destroyers.
� Development of a single seat SU-30 multi-purpose fighter for China, with 40-60 aircraft ex­
pected to be procured; overall, Russia hopes to sell more than 500 of the latest Russian fight­
ers to China, which has to replace roughly 2,000 of its older aircraft.

� Offering a new list of military equipment such as the Su-32FN reconnaissance-strike aircraft
and the S-300PMU-2 FAVORIT SAM.

� Sale of 24 Su-27 fighters before 2001 (total value $800 million) and 32-45 Kh-35 antiship mis-
257
siles to Vietnam.

� In the next decade, selling 10-12 additional modern Kilo-class subs (from existing Russian
navy stocks) to countries in the Asia-Pacific region for a fraction of the real cost in order to
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fund development of the next generation of diesel-electric submarines.

� Willingness to accept more flexible forms of payment for its military products (with increased
offsets and leasing opportunities) to compensate for the consequences of the financial crisis.

� Long-term programs as the main form of military-technical cooperation with Asian coun­
tries, including the export of the latest Russian technologies.

� Coordination of export marketing activities (i.e. between its two leading combat aircraft
manufactures—Sukhoi and Mikoyan—by Rosvooruzhenie) to avoid mutual competition in
foreign markets; the Progress plant (producing combat helicopters and the MOSKIT super-
sonic antishipping missile) in Russia’s Far Eastern region has acquired the right to enter di­
rectly into foreign trade activities for a period of three years (China will be the first country to
receive this sophisticated state-of-the-art missile).

259
Table 6. Russia’s New Weaponry Export Strategy of 1998 in Detail.

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 During a defense industry exhibition in Thailand (“Thai’ 97”), Russia made a big
impression by offering even to lease submarines at “friendship prices,” which include barter
trade, crew training, and maintenance programs.260 In 1999, Russia again increased its
weapon exports to $3.4 billion and hopes to boost them to $4.3 billion in 2000.261
Indiscriminate weapons’ offers have highlighted its arms export policy due to narrow
factional and other vested interests overriding any long-term security and non-proliferation
policy on advanced conventional weapons. It is also, as pointed out above, the result of
Russia’s weak or absent state control over sales of weapon and materials, of endemic
corruption, and of Russia’s failed efforts to convert its military-industrial complex, a failure
that ultimately will undermine its own future security, particularly in the Far East.262

Conclusions and Perspectives

No permanent allies and permanent enemies exist, and there are no nations that are fated to be
eternal rivals or eternal friends....The entire history of Sino-Russian relations serves as an ex-
ample. While both countries were Communist, their relations from 1960-89 were much worse
than today....

When formulating nuclear and foreign policy, long-term considerations and interests should al­
ways prevail over perceived short- and mid-term needs. For example: in their general foreign
and “nuclear” relations from 1949-60, the Chinese were guided by their long-term interests,
such as Khrushchev’s struggle in 1956-62 to maintain China as his Socialist ally at any cost. The
Chinese emerged victorious because they gained the tools and knowledge necessary to build
their atomic bomb. Only then did they abandon their alliance [with the Soviet Union]....

It should never be forgotten who benefited most from the Cold War. During 1949 to 1960, the
Chinese obtained nuclear technology and much more from the Soviet Union. The Soviet Union
received virtually nothing in return. Meanwhile, the Chinese consistently exploited U.S. fears
to foster U.S.-Chinese cooperation and reaped considerable economic and other benefits. While
China counts its gains daily, Russia and the U.S. continue to be plagued by lingering Cold War
„ghosts,“ myths, and memories that heavily and often adversely influence their contemporary
relations.

Finally, when considering future relationships between the three global nuclear powers, one
should recognize, appreciate, and ponder the main paradox of the Cold War. This paradox is
that although the U.S. and Russia (the Soviet Union) were thought to be principal rivals during
the Cold War, they never engaged in real combat. The fiercest combat during the Cold War took
place between Americans and Chinese and between Russians and Chinese. The historical reali-
ties must never be forgotten as statesmen try to shape a more peaceful and secure future.
263)
—Russian historian Viktor. M. Gobarev

The most important security challenge in East Asia for Russia in the foreseeable future is
its own socio-economic and environmental situation and their strategic implications for
neighboring countries. Russia is no longer a power; it is in many ways simply a problem.
President Putin’s recent shortsighted decision to dissolve the State Committee on the
Environment and the State Committee on Forestry and to transfer their functions to the
Ministry of Natural Resources, which licenses development of Russia’s oil, natural gas, and
other deposits, highlighted the widespread and deep-seated belief that the environment is not

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an important national security issue, but just a concern for rich states.264 Putin’s May 13th
decree, which was approved by the Duma in July 2000, created seven federal districts,
appointed federal representatives (mostly generals of secret services and the armed forces,
either retired or currently serving), and established seven military districts. This action
seems understandable at first glance as a means to strengthen central control and vertical
authority over the regions, their policies, and their laws, which often are illegal and violate
the constitution of the Russian Federation.265 But a recentralization policy, with more direct
presidential oversight but less autonomy for the regions, is in many ways contrary to the
obvious need for economic and political decentralization and regionalization as the result of
and in response to globalization trends. Moreover, the seven vast new administration
districts are not aligned in common with the eight interregional associations.

The future of Siberia and the Russian Far East is endangered by new economic and
political recentralization policies rather than being supported by further decentralization
and the application of regional as well as transnational integration strategies.
Unfortunately, almost all Russian discussions of the relationship between the center and the
periphery are modeled on the past Russian experience of a strong central government and
weak regions. Russia has, with a brief exception at the end of the 19th century, no historical
experiences with federalism as Western Europe has had. Putin himself has outlined his
broader, long-term vision for the future center-periphery relations when he argued: “Russia
was founded as a super-centralized state from the very start. This is inherent in its genetic
code, traditions, and people’s mentality.”266 This statement seems fully consistent with his
understanding of Russian history and his own policy concepts of a strong state and strong
center.

In the meantime, Putin has also pushed through proposals to replace governors accused of
violating criminal and federal law, which is understandable in many ways. However, he
seems to have overlooked that federalism and political decentralization have played an
important role in preventing Russia from disintegrating in the same manner as the Soviet
Union did. The Russian Federation, with 81.5 percent ethnic Russians as compared to the
Soviet Union with only 55 percent, has not been so ethnically homogenous since the 18th
century. Although Putin’s decree may achieve some gains (such as improvement of tax
collection and investment), in the mid- and long-term future it may have just the opposite
effect—undermining rather than strengthening Russian territorial integrity and stability.
So far, as Paul Goble has concluded: ”The center and the regions struggle over power as such,
dividing power rather than sharing it and thus making their contest a zero-sum game in
which a victory by one is a loss by the other, rather than one in which each can benefit.”267

Although secession of Siberia and the Far East from the Russian Federation seems rather
unlikely due to their fears of China and several other factors, it cannot totally be excluded in
the mid- and long-term future.268 Presently, the threat of secession is mostly used as a
political instrument to get Moscow’s attention to the socio-economic plight of these regions.
Thus the political elite and population might support a new “Far Eastern Republic,” but most
see the future of their republic still fully in the context of the Russian Federation.269 And
indeed, despite economic problems, unfavorable demographic trends, and increasing job
competition with Chinese and other ethnic groups living on Russian territory, the greatest

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reservations about a future strategic partnership with Beijing are not to be found in Moscow
but in Russia’s Far Eastern region itself, even though they have benefited from the
cross-border trade.

Nonetheless, the Russian-Chinese relationship has undergone a remarkable

transformation during the last decade, including a developing congruence of strategic
agendas accompanied by congruence in strategic cultures: China supported Moscow’s
opposition to NATO’s eastward expansion; Moscow supported China’s opposition to the 1996
revised U.S.-Japan Security Alliance and its guidelines for mutual defense cooperation. Both
countries oppose—but to different degrees due to their specific national defense
dilemmas—Washington’s plans for national and theater ballistic missile defense systems.
Thus Russia is much more concerned about a NMD rather than a TMD system. That explains
Putin’s proposal to build a joint TMD system with the United States and Europe or even a
joint NMD system with the United States, which clearly is not in China’s strategic interests.
Russia’s concerns about a U.S. TMD system in East Asia is related to potential impacts on
China’s defense policies only because it might fuel (rather than just stimulate) faster
modernization of China’s nuclear forces (which already is under way, having begun long
before the U.S TMD and NMD plans were first discussed in the mid-1990s270), including the
adoption MIRVed warheads.271

In recent years, Sino-Russian meetings have indicated the changing balance of power in
world politics and the changing status of both powers within the international system. They
clearly demonstrated that Russia needs China more than China needs Russia. They also
suggest that it was China that has increasingly dictated the terms of the relationship. Given
the potential for—and their history of—enmity, not only Russia and China themselves but
the West and the United States as well should have a strategic interest in a stable and
cooperative partnership.

However, in contrast to the Eurasian direction of Russia’s foreign and security policies,
the Euro-Atlantic area is the most structured, regulated, and the most stable region of which
Russia is an integral part. Nowhere else is the danger of interstate conflict so low; and
nowhere else is Russia directly participating in so many security agreements and obligations
with its neighboring countries: Russia is a member of NACC, the OSCE, the Council of
Europe, a signatory of arms control agreements such as INF, START, and CFE, and since
1997 a member of the NATO-Russian Permanent Joint Council.

Moreover, the European Union is Russia’s most important trade and modernization
partner (Russia’s entire trade with the Asia-Pacific states is less than 10 percent excluding
the United States, of its total). While the percentage of Russia’s foreign trade with the CIS
countries declined from 55 percent in 1991 to 22 percent in 1998, it has risen to 40 percent
with the European Union (after the inclusion of Central and East European countries it
increases to 50 percent, in contrast to 6 per cent with China, 4 percent with the United States,
and 3 percent with Japan).272 However, Russia has never really recognized the economic and,
in particular the political potential of the European Union, and its policies towards the
organization are characterized by many contradictions. It has also overlooked and
underestimated the EU processes underway to create a common foreign and security policy.

303
It has failed to recognize its own real national interests and the fact that “its relations with
China are not a substitute for, or a counterbalance to, relations with the West.”273
Furthermore, as Steven Rosefielde reminds us, “Russia today is probably more poorly
positioned to integrate itself into the global market system than it was a decade ago.”274

Russia’s arms export policies, and in particular its transfers of technologies and technical
know-how to China—which are even more important in the mid- and long-term than the arms
exports—is another point of concern, not only for other East Asian states and the West but for
Russia, too. This is because these policies have fueled the ongoing arms race in the region that
is interrelated with many unresolved territorial conflicts and deep-rooted historical
mistrust.275 The willingness to trade long-term strategic interests for short-term commercial
benefits might backfire for Russia because of its relative weakness and the increasing power
of China, which will become even more assertive in coming decades. If Russia does not recover
economically and experience substantial growth in the next decade (which at present appears
rather unlikely), it will not have the financial resources to modernize and rebuild its armed
forces—an expectation and intention which today is used to justify high-tech arms exports
and military-technology transfers to China. Russia’s technological superiority over
“backward China,” historically important leverage and a source of reassurance for Moscow’
policies in Asia, is now becoming history—and it is doing so much faster than Russia’s
political and military elites seem to realize. History seems not to offer any lessons for Russia.
Past Soviet assistance to China in developing its own nuclear weapons, for instance, saved
Beijing between 10 and 15 years.276 The strategic developments now under way already have
dramatically reversed the geopolitical dynamics of Eurasia as a whole, with wide-ranging
implications not only for both countries but also for regional and global affairs. Historically, it
would not be the first time that Moscow and the Russian military high command have
underestimated the progress China is making in modernizing its nuclear and conventional
armed forces.277

The first half of 2000 seemed to confirm previous analysis indicating the limits and
barriers inherent to bilateral relations between China and Russia. Neither the Beijing
summit between Jiang Zemin and Putin in July 2000,278 nor the Shanghai Five meeting the
month before can change the impression that, despite all rhetoric, declarations, and their firm
joint opposition to U.S. plans to build a NMD shield,279 their mutual relationship is
developing in a way that both sides (particularly China) would rather not see. While their
bilateral relationship is still characterized by cooperation and a convergence of interests in
specific economic and foreign policy fields, it is also characterized by mistrust and strategic
rivalry. In particular, Putin’s modified foreign policy has grown more cautious vis-à-vis
China and, simultaneously, has become more active in Central Asia, on the Korean
peninsula, and towards the United States and in Europe.280 Russia’s unofficial invitation to
India to join the Shanghai Five probably will face reservations by China. Beijing might
retaliate by suggesting that Pakistan also be included as a counterbalance to India, which is
seen in Beijing as an increasing strategic competitor in regional and global affairs.281
Furthermore, on both sides (again, particularly in China), almost no one really believes and
expects that the other strategic partner is willing to help to achieve its own national foreign
policy objectives, except those where interests are identical (e.g., NATO’s extension, U.S.
missile defense plans). But while even the limited common foreign policy objectives of Russia

304
and China do not overlap so perfectly as most observers assume, their growing disagreements
under Putin seem not to have affected Russia’s weapon exports and technology transfers to
China, as a newly signed five-year military cooperation pact worth up to U.S. $20 billion
indicates.

Russia’s reengagement on the Korean peninsula may complicate Sino-Russian relations

by making them more politically and economically competitive. However, both sides have a
mutual interest in strategic stability on the Korean peninsula, particularly as regards North
Korea’s ballistic missile development and exports, as well as Pyongyang’s adherence to the
Agreed Framework of October 1994, according to which North Korea supposedly abandoned
its nuclear ambitions because they directly affect China’s and Russia’s defense policies in the
region. Looking ahead, however, the question of the future of U.S. troops in Korea might be
answered very differently in Moscow and Beijing.282 Furthermore, as the recent retraction of
Kim Jong-Il’s offer to abandon its ballistic missile program and exports in exchange for
launch of space satellites suggests,283 it will rather be difficult for Russia to regain the level of
political-diplomatic leverage on the Korean peninsula, as well as in Northeast Asia, enjoyed
by the Soviet Union.

Given such an ambiguous and uncertain future in the Sino-Russian relationship, Russia
should concentrate on promoting its economic ties with the Northeast and Southeast Asia and
strengthening regionalization and multilateral security efforts, but without boosting arms
exports to the region. Only then could Russia become a more serious political partner for
ASEAN and other states in East Asia. Such a course would also contribute to Russia’s own
economic revival in the region, a region which might otherwise become a security challenge
for Moscow on down the road. Otherwise, not only Russia will face challenges in the region,
but the region as a whole as it interacts with a neurotic Russia desperately striving to stave off
declining fortunes.

Endnotes

1. This analysis is based on the findings of a research project sponsored by the Volkswagen Foundation, as
well as on an earlier analysis for the Körber-Foundation in German.

2. To the evolution see also Rong Zhi, “Eine Rueckschau auf die chinesisch-sowjetischen und die
chinesisch-russischen Beziehungen,” Beijing Rundschau, vol. 46, 1999, pp. 12-15.

3. See, inter alia, Viktor M. Gobarev, “Soviet Policy Toward China: Developing Nuclear Weapons
1949-1969,” The Journal of Slavic Military Studies (hereinafter JSMS), no. 4, December 1999, pp. 1-53.

4. For details see the excellent study by Harry Gelman, “The Soviet Far East Buildup and Soviet
Risk-Taking Against China,” RAND-Report R2943-AF, Santa-Monica, August 1982.

5. For the evolution of Russia’s foreign and security policies in East Asia and particularly in China, see
Stephen J. Blank and Alvin Z. Rubinstein, eds., Imperial Decline: Russia’s Changing Role in Asia, Durham and
London: Duke University Press, 1997); Jennifer Anderson, The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership,
Adelphi Paper/IISS, no. 315, London and New York: Oxford University Press, December 1997; Chikahito
Harada, Russia and North-east Asia, Adelphi Paper/IISS, no. 310, London and New York: Oxford University

305

Press, July 1997: and Dmitri Trenin, Russia’s China Problem, Washington: Carnegie Endowment for
International Peace, 1999.

6. See also Frank Umbach, ”The Role and Influence of the Military Establishment in Russia’s Foreign and
Security Policies in the Yeltsin Era,” JSMS, September 1996, pp. 467-500.

7. See Rajan Menon, “The Strategic Convergence between Russia and China,” Survival, Summer 1997, pp.
101-125.

8. The following section is partly based on my article “Russia as a ‘Virtual Great Power’: Implications for its
Declining Role in European and Eurasian Security,” European Security (forthcoming Summer 2000).

9. See also Edward D. Mansfield and Jack Snyder, “Democratization and the Danger of War,” International
Security, no. 1, Summer 1995, pp. 5-38.

10. See also Martin Nicholson, Towards a Russia of the Regions, Adelphi Paper/IISS, no. 330, Oxford and
New York: Oxford University Press, September 1999; and Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, “Central Weakness and
Provincial Autonomy: The Process of Devolution in Russia,” PONARS-Policy Memo Series, no. 39, Harvard
University, November 1998.

11. For one of few balanced analyses of the positive and negative implications of regionalization and
decentralization from a Russian perspective, see Alexander Sergunin, “Regionen contra Zentrum. Ihr Einfluß
auf die russische Außenpolitik,” Internationale Politik, vol. 5, 2000, pp. 29-36.

12. Victor Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” FSU 15,
Nations: Policy and Security, December 1998, pp. 3-15.

13. See also Felix K. Chang, “The Russian Far East Endless Winter,” Orbis, Winter 1999, pp. 77-110;
Michael J. Bradshaw and Peter Kirkow, “The Energy Crisis in the Russian Far East: Origins and Possible
Solutions,” Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 6, 1998, pp. 1043-1063; and Norbert Wein, “Die westsibirische
Erdölprovinz: von der ‘Boom-Region’ zum Problemgebiet,” Geographische Rundschau, vol. 6, 1996, pp. 380-387.

14. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” pp. 4 ff.

15. Sergej Tschugrow, “Besonderheiten der politischen Mentalität im russischen Fernen Osten,” Aktuelle
Analysen des BIOst, Cologne, no. 34, 1999, September 7, 1999.

16. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 5.

17. Chikahito Harada, Russia and Northeast Asia, IISS-Adelphi Paper, no.310, Oxford and New York:
Oxford University Press, 1997, pp. 20 ff.

18. Martin Nicholson, “Towards a Russia of the Regions,” here p. 57; and E.Kuzmin, “Russia: the Center, the
Regions, and the Outside World,” International Affairs (Moscow) vol. 1, 1999, pp. 105-122.

19. Mikhail Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” FSU 15, Nations: Policy
and Security, August 1997, pp. 8-17.

20. One example is the fact that the government of Kamchatka demanded direct financing for the import of
oil ($210 per ton) for heating from the federal budget, while it had rejected the delivery of domestic oil ($100 per
ton) in 1998 due to considerable bribes from import companies given to government officals. See Victor Subyan,
“The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 14.

21. Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” p. 16.

22. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 6.

306

 23. Dmitry Gornostayev, Nezavisimaia gazeta (hereinafter NG), March 17, 1998, pp. 1, 6.

24. Rossiiskaia gazeta, January 18, 2000.

25. See the document in NG, July 11, 2000, pp. 1, 6.

26. NG, April 22, 2000 and Izvestiia, April 25, 2000.

27. Krasnaia zvezda, October 9, 1999, pp. 3-4.

28. For a comparision of the draft military doctrine of October 1999, the new national security concept of
January 2000, and the old National Security Doctrine of December 1997, see F.Umbach, “Rußlands neue
Militärdoktrin und die Absenkung der nuklearen Schwelle – Innen- und Außenpolitische Auswirkungen einer
schleichenden ilitarisierung russischer Außenund Sicherheitspolitik,” in Helmut W. Ganser and Herbert Kraus
(Hrsg.): “Sicherheitspolitische Risiken und Strategien im 21. Jahrhundert und europäische
Handlungsfähigkeit,” Beiträge zur Weiterentwicklung der Lehre 2/2000, Führungsakademie der Bundeswehr,
Hamburg, Fachbereich Sicherheitspolitik und Strategie, pp. 31-53.

29. Rossiiskaia gazeta, December 26, 1997, pp. 4-5.

30. E. Kuzmin, “Russia: the Center, the Regions and the Outside World,” here pp. 109 ff.

31. Ibid., p. 116.

32. John J. Stephen, The Russian Far East: A History, Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994.

33. Sophie Lambroschini, “Russia: Kremlin at a Loss to Deal with Declining Population,” RFE/RL Analysis,
July 21, 2000; and “Russia’s Dwindling Population Ensures Rigid Foreign Policy,” Stratfor.Com, April 13, 2000
(Internet - www.strafor.com/CIS/commentary/0004130155.htm).

34. Manfred Quiring, Die Welt, July 13, 2000, p. 6.

35. In August 1994, for instance, one of the main oil lines ruptured and 100,000 to 250,000 tons of oil poured
out into the landscape near the city of Usinsk (Komi-region/Siberia). The spilled oil reached the Kolva River, and
the drinking water was contaminated. According to Greenpeace, the polluted area is about 700 hectares.
LukOil has promised to clean up 129 hectares annually, but in reality the company is not able to manage more
than 60 hectares a year. According to a medical report, 90 percent of the residents in the Komi-oil producing
region got sick. See the report of Markus Wehner, FAZ, July 22, 2000, p. 3. See here also the chapter by Odelia
Funke, “Environmental Issues and Russian Security,” in the present book.

36. See also Theodore Gerber, “Russia’s Population Crisis: The Migration Dimension,” PNARS-Policy Memo
Series, no. 118, Harvard University, October 1999; and F. Umbach, “Russia as a ‘Virtual Great Power’.”

37. RFE/RL Daily News Line, January 26, 2000.

38. RFE/RL Daily News Line, September 3, 1999.

39. Andrew F. Tully, “Russia: Expert Sees Dangerous Population Decline,” RFE/RL Analysis, October 25,
1999.

40. V. Portyakov, “Are the Chinese Coming? Migration Processes in Russia’s Far East,” International
Affairs (Moscow), January-February 1996, pp. 132-140.

41. Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” here p. 14; and Subyan, “The
Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 7.

42. Odelia Funke, “Environmental Issues and Russian Security, in the present volume.”

307
 43. Eric Hyer, “Dreams and Nightmares: Chinese Trade and Immigration in the Russian Far East,” The
Journal of East Asian Affairs, Summer/Fall, 1996, pp. 289-308.

44. Irina Maltseva, Nezavisimaia gazeta, July 23, 1999, p. 2.

45. Mikhail Alexseev, “The “Yellow Peril” Revisited: The Impact of Chinese Migration in Primorskii Krai,”
PONARS, Policy Memo Series, no. 94, Harvard University.

46. Irina Maltseva, Nezavisimaia gazeta, July 23, 1999, p. 2.

47. Aleksandr Babkin and Aleksandr Shinkin, Rossiiskaia gazeta, July 10, 1999, p. 4.

48. Ibid.

49. For population issues and migration problems in this part of Russia see Norbert Wein,
“Bevoelkerungsbewegungen im asiatischen Russland,” Osteuropa, vol. 9, 1999, pp. 908-922.

50. Mikhail Alexseev, “The ‘Yellow Peril’ Revisited,” p. 2.

51. “Russian Far East Turning Chinese?,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet www.stratfor.com/CIS/commentary/
0007072219.htm), July 7, 2000.

52. Eric Hyer, “Dreams and Nightmares,” p. 293.

53. Russell Working, International Herald Tribune (hereafter IHT), March 19, 1999, p. 11.

54. See also, for instance, Natal’ya Chudodeev, Segodnia, June 24, 1998, p. 3.

55. Portyakov, “Are the Chinese Coming?” p. 135.

56. Ibid., p. 136.

57. See ‘Russian Far East Turning Chinese?’ p. 2.

58. See also Grigorii Karasin, “Russia and China: A New Partnership,” International Affairs (Moscow), vol.
3, 1997, pp. 23-29.

59. Ibid., p. 25.

60. Sophie Quinn-Judge, “Common Cause,” Far Eastern Economic Review (hereinafter FEER), May 8,
1997, pp. 15 ff.

61. See also the declarations during their November meeting in 1997. IHT, November 11, 1997, p. 4.

62. Robert A. Manning, The Korea Herald (hereinafter TKH), February 10, 1997, p. 6.

63. Yuri Savenkov, Izvestiia, October 29, 1997, pp. 1-2.

64. Ibid., March 28, 1998, p. 3. For other Russian concessions, see Damon Bristow, “Despite Differences
Border is Resolved,” Jane’s Intelligence Review & Pointer, January 1998, p. 10. For the background of the
difficult negotiation process, see the chairman of the Russian delegation to the Joint Russian-Chinese
Demarcation Commission, Genrikh Kireyev, “Demarcation of the Border with China,” International Affairs
(Moscow), vol. 2, 1999, pp. 98-111.

65. Rossiiskaia gazeta, November 11, 1997, pp. 1, 7; and December 3, 1997, p. 6; and TKH, November 11,
1997, p. 1.

308

 66. Pavel Spirin, Nezavisimaia gazeta, June 24, 1998, p. 6 and June 30, 1998, p. 6.

67. See, for instance, Andrei Ivanov, Kommersant Vlast, no. 30, August 11, 1998, quoted following FSU 15,
Nations: Policy and Security, August 1998, pp. 29-30.

68. Rossiiskaia gazeta, November 25, 1998, pp. 1, 7; Aleksandr Chudodeev, Segodnia, November 21,1998, p.
3; Pavel Spirin, Nezavisimaia gazeta, November 21, 1998, p. 6; and Dmitrii Kosyrev, November 25, 1998, p. 1.

69. M. Ehsan Arari, “The Beginning of a New Cold War?” European Security, no. 3, Autumn 1999, pp.
124-132.

70. Dmitri Trenin, “Russian Chinese Relations: A Study in Contemporary Geopolitics,” in: Erich Reiter
(Ed.), Jahrbuch für internationale Sicherheitspolitik, Hamburg-Berlin-Bonn: Verlag E.S.Mittler & Sohn
GmbH, 2000), pp. 913-927.

71. Bin Yu, “NATO’s Unintended Consequence: A Deeper Strategic Partnership . Or More,” Comparative
Connections, 2nd Quarter 1999, p. 2.

72. Umbach, “Chinas Aufrüstung – ein Alarmzeichen,” Internationale Politik, vol. 7, 2000, pp. 29-36.

73. Charles Clover, FT, August 25, 1999, p. 4; and August 26, 1999, p. 6; and Ahmed Rashid, “Unstable
Fringe,” FEER, September 9, 1999, p. 28.

74. Robert Karniol, JDW, September 8, 1999, p. 23.

75. Yuri Chubchenko, Kommersant-Daily, August 25, 1999, p. 2.

76. Dmitriy Gornostaev, NG, December 10, 1999, pp. 1, 6; Aleksandr Reutov, December 9, 1999, p. 1; and
Yuri Savenkov, Izvestiia, December 8, 1999, p. 4. For China’s objection to TMD and adherence to the ABM
treaty, see Frank Umbach, “World Gets Wise to P’yongyang’s Nuclear Blackmail—Part Two,” Jane’s
Intelligence Review (hereinafter JIR), October 1999, pp. 35-39.

77. Bin Yu, “Back to the Future,” Comparative Connections, 4th Quarter 1999, p. 1.

78. “Russia and China: Technology Meets the Politics of Space,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/services/giu/110499.ASP), November 4, 1999.

79. Yuri Golotyuk, Izvestiia, June 9, 1999, p. 1; and Igor Korotchenko, NG, January 15, 2000, p. 6.

80. Gennady Sysoev, Kommersant-daily, June 3, 1999, p. 4.

81. Quoted following Eric Eckholm, IHT, December 10, 1999, pp. 1, 5.

82. “Sino-Russian Joint Statement,” Foreign Affairs Journal (Beijing), December 1999, pp. 68 ff.

83. Craig S. Smith, IHT, July 19, 2000, pp. 1, 5.

84. Straits Times, July 20, 2000; and Aleksandr Chudodeyev, Segodnia, March 2, 2000, p. 2.

85. See also “In Beijing, the Signs of a New Strategic Partnership,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/services/giu2000/030300a.ASP), March 3, 2000.

86. See also Aleksandr Isaev, NG, February 29, 2000, p. 6.

87. See also Umbach, ‘‘Russia as a ‘Virtual Great Power.”

309

 88. See also Yu Bin, “New Century, New Face, and China’s ‘Putin Puzzle,’’ Comparative Connections, 1st
Quarter 2000; and, “Strategic Distancing ... or Else,” 2nd Quarter; “Putin and Jiang Disconnect on the
Telephone,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet: www.stratfor.com/asia/commentary/0006090259), ) June 9, 2000.

89. “Joint Statement on ABM Issue by the Presidents of the People’s Republic of China and the Russian
Federation,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet: www.stratfor.com/asia/countries/china/RussiaChinaJointStmn.htm),
July 18, 2000; and “Beijing Declaration by the People’s Republic of China and the Russian Federation,” (via
Internet: www.stratfor.com/asia/countries/china/BeijingDeclaration.htm), July 18, 2000.

90. Alexander Shaburkin, NG, January 19, 2000, p. 2.

91. V. Obchinnikov, Rossiiskaia gazeta, June 16, 1999, p. 7.

92. See also “Can a Bear Love a Dragon?” The Economist, April 26, 1997, pp. 19, 20, 23.

93. See also “Ukraine: The Rope in the China-Russia Tug-of-War,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/SERVICES/giu2000/042000.ASP), April 20, 2000.

94. See, for instance, Gennady Sysoev, Kommersant-daily, June 3, 1999, p. 4. For a Western view, see
Jennifer Anderson, “The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership.”

95. See the Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs of the PRC, Zhang Deguang, “A Strategic Partnership into
the 21st Century,” International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 4, 1997, pp. 164-168.

96. See, for instance, Xia Yishan, “A Brief Analysis of Sino-Russian Relations under the new
Circu[m]stances,” Foreign Affairs Journal (Beijing), September 1999, pp. 33-40; Feng Yujun, “Reflections on
Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership,” August 1998, pp. 1-10; and Zhang Buren, “Cooperation Cements
Sino-Russian Relations,” Contemporary International Relations (Beijing), February 1999, pp.9-12.

97. Feng Yujun, “Reflections on Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership,” p. 7.

98. Feng Yujun, p. 9.

99. Yurij Golotyuk, Izvestiia, June 9, 1999, p. 1.

100. Johnny Erling, Die Welt, July 19, 2000, p. 7.

101. Jing-dong Yuan, “Sino-Russian Confidence-Building Measures: A Preliminary Analysis,” Asian

Perspective, Spring 1998, pp. 71-108.

102. Quoted following Yuri Savenkov, Izvestiia, October 29, 1997, pp. 1-2. See also Alexander Lukin,
“Russia’s Image of China and Russian-Chinese Relations,” East Asia, Spring 1999, pp. 5-39.

103. Chikahito Harada, “Russia and North-east Asia,” p. 46.

104. See also Ross H. Munro, “China’s Waxing Spheres of Influence,” Orbis, Fall 1994, pp. 585-605.

105. D.Trenin, “Russian Chinese Relations: A Study in Contemporary Geopolitics,” p. 925.

106. Chang, “The Unraveling of Russia’s Far Eastern Power,” Orbis, Spring 1999, pp. 257-284.

107. Umbach, “China’s Energy and Security Policy in Central Asia and the Caspian Region,” Paper
presented for the NATO Round-Table Discussion: Caspian Oil and International Security, September 17-18,
1998; and “China—der unbekannte Spieler im kaspischen ‘Great Game’,” GUS-Barometer, no. 19, September
1998, pp. 5-8.

108. Lukin, “Russia’s Image of China and Russian-Chinese Relations.”

310
 109. These are often the same experts who a decade ago sharply criticized Deng Xiaoping for dismantling
socialism and deserting to the imperialist camp. Ibid., pp. 10 ff.

110. Ibid., p. 22.

111. Vasily V. Mikheev, “Russian-Chinese Strategic Cooperation: Scenarios, Perspectives and

Consequences for Global and Ásian Security,” The Korean Journal of Defense Analysis, Winter 1997, pp.
165-190.

112. Igor Korotchenko, Nezavisimaia gazeta, December 26, 1996, p. 1; Igor N. Rodionov,
“Rossiysko-Kitaiskoe partnerstvo—vazhneishii faktor bezopastnosti i stabil’nosti v aziatsko-tichookeanskom
regione,” Vestnik Voennoi informatsii, May 1997, pp. 11-14; Aleksandr Platkovskiy, Izvestiia, May 29, 1997, p.
3; and Ivan Shomov, Segodnia, March 25, 1997, p. 4.

113. Quoted from the article in Krasnaia zvezda, August 16, 2000.

114. Jing-dong Yuan, “Sino-Russian Confidence-Building Measures: A Preliminary Analysis,” Asian

Perspective, Spring 1998, pp. 71-108.

115. Ibid., p. 82.

116. For Sergeyev’s military reform concept of two phases, see Igor Sergeyev, “Novaia Rossiia, novaia
armiia,” Vestnik voennoi informatsii, vol. 10, 1997, pp. 1-4. See also Franz Walter, “Militaerreform in Russland.
Voraussetzung und Bestandteil des russischen Transformationsprozesses,” Osteuropa, November-December
1999, pp. 1176-1187, and “Zur Entwicklung der russischen Streitkräfte. Wie viele Soldaten kann sich Rußland
leisten?” vol. 2, 2000, pp. 131-143.

117. See, inter alia, Umbach, “Zwang zur Militärreform,” Internationale Politik, vol. 9, 1996, pp. 57-62.

118. For the background, see Vladimir Ivanov, NG, October 2, 1999, p. 11.

119. See “Press Conference with Defense Minister Marshal Igor Sergeyev,” Federal Information Systems
Corporation. Official Kremlin Int’ News Broadcast, July 9, 1999 (here via Internet: ftp.nautilus.org/
nnnnet/references/Sergeyev070999.txt), pp. 1-10.

120. Vladimir Mukhin, “The Russian Army Changes its Image,” FSU 15 Nations: Policy and Security, May
1999, pp. 2-3.

121. IISS, ed., The Military Balance, 1999-2000, Oxford and New York: Oxford University Press, 1999, pp.
104-118.

122. Stefan Wagstyl, FT, May 10, 2000, p. viii “Russia”.

123. Alexander Golts, Itogi, no. 20, May 2000, pp. 20-24.

124. Alexei Arbatov, “Military Reform in Russia. Dilemmas, Obstacles, and Prospects,” International
Security, Spring 1998, pp. 83-134.

125. Oleg Odnokolenko, Segodnia, July 8, 1999, p. 1.

126. For the prospects of Russia’s military reform see in particular Aleksei Arbatov, “Voennaia reforma:
doktrina, voiska, finansi,” Mirovaia ekonomika i mezhdunarodnie otnosheniia (MEiMO), vol. 4, 1997, pp. 5-21;
and Arbatov, “Military Reform in Russia.”

127. Alexei Arbatov and Pyotr Romashkin, Nezavisimoe voennoe obozrenie (hereinafter NVO), no. 8, March
3-16, 2000, pp. 1, 3.

311

 128. See also Segodnia, February 14, 1998; and Franz Walter, “Zur Entwicklung der russischen
Streitkräfte. Wie viele Soldaten kann sich Rußland leisten?” Alexei Arbatov, who has formerly argued for
600,000 servicemen, has recently advocated a 800,000-man Russian armed force. See Alexei Arbatov and Pyotr
Romashkin, NVO, no. 8, March 3-16, 2000, pp 1, 3.

129. V. Zubarev, NVO, no. 20, June 9-15, 2000, p. 3.

130. JDW, August 25, 1999.

131. Mukhin, “The Russian Army Changes its Image,” p. 2.

132. Sergey Sokut, NG, August 12, 1999, pp. 1-2.

133. Piotr Butkowski, “Air Force Must Look up as Training Hits a Low,” JDW, August 2, 2000, p. 22.

134. Greg Seigle, “US Report Details Russia’s Decaying Military Readiness,” JDW, March 3, 1999, p. 5.

135. John Downing, “Navy’s Needs: Hard to Justify,” JDW, August 2, 2000, pp. 23-24.

136. Greg Seigle, “US Report Details Russia’s Decaying Military Readiness.”

137. See the chapter on Russia in The Military Balance, 1999-2000,” pp. 104-118.

138. Shamil Idiatullin, Kommersant-daily, September 16, 1999, p. 3.

139. Sophie Lambroschini, “Russia: Tartastan’s Conscripts Won’t Fight in Dagestan,” RFE/RL Analysis,
September 21, 1999.

140. See also Alexander Alf, NVO, no. 21, 1999; and Irina Zhirnova, Krasnaia zvezda, July 8, 1999, pp. 1-2.

141. Viktoriya Averbukh, Dmitry Vladimirov and Gennadi Punanov, Izvestiia, April 27, 2000, p. 2.

142. Alexander Alf, NG, May 21, 1999, p. 2.

143. Alexander Shaburkin, Vremia MN, April 12, 2000, p. 7, here following FSU 15 Nations: Policy and
Security, April 2000, p. 91. See also “A Dwindling Military Forces to Compensate,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/CIS/commentary/0004180135.htm), April 18, 2000; and Sophie Lambroschini, “Chechnya:
Draft Avoidance Rises as Russia Ponders Professional Army,” RFE/RL Analysis, July 14, 2000.

144. JDW, August 25, 1999, p. 10.

145. JIR, August 1999, p. 7.

146. See in particular Chang, “The Unraveling of Russia’s Far Eastern Power,” Orbis, Spring 1999, pp.
257-284.

147. See Felix K. Chang, ‘The Unraveling of Russia’s Far Eastern Power’, p. 263.

148. Michael Orr, “Army Bears Brunt of Cutbacks,” JDW, August 2, 2000, pp. 20 ff.

149. IISS, The Military Balance, 1999-2000, Oxford: Oxford University Press, October 1999, pp. 104 ff.
However, no concrete numbers of soldiers in either military district are given.

150. See the head of the armaments division of the Russian armed forces, Colonel-General Anatoly Sitnov in
Alexander Shaburkin, Vremia MN, June 7, 2000, pp. 1, 2, in FSU 15 Nations: Policy and Security, no. 6, July 30,
2000, pp. 74 ff.

312

 151. Nikolai Novichkov, JDW, June 14, 2000, p. 3.

152. See also Jennifer Anderson, “The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership,” pp. 39 ff.; and
Jing-dong Yuan, “Sino-Russian Conference-Building Measures,” pp. 95 ff.

153. Alexei V. Zagorski, “The Security Dilemma,” in Tsuneo Akaha, Politics and Economics in the Russian
Far East. Changing Ties with Asia-Pacific, London: Routledge, 1997, pp. 23-45.

154. See also Umbach, “Nuclear Proliferation Challenges in East Asia and Prospects for Co-operation—A
View from Europe,” in Kurt W. Radtke and Raymond Feddema, eds., Comprehensive Security in Asia. Views
from Asia and the West on a Changing Security Environment and Their Implications for Europe,
Leiden-Boston-Cologne: Brill Publishers, 2000, pp. 66-133; and Umbach, “Russia as a ‘Virtual Great Power’:
Implications for Its Declining Role in European and Eurasian Security.”

155. Izvestiia, November 18, 1993, pp. 1-4. This document has modified the 1982 Soviet pledge not to use
nuclear weapons against non-nuclear states (e.g., a denuclearized Ukraine). See also Dunbar Lockwood,
“Russia Revises Nuclear Policy, Ends Soviet ‘No-First-Use’ Pledge,” ACT, December 1993, p.19. The Russian
Minister of Defense, Army-General Pavel Grachev, declared it in an article four months earlier. See Krasnaia
Zvezda, June 9, 1995, pp.1, 5.

156. Vladimir Belous, “Key Aspects of the Russian Nuclear Strategy,” Security Dialogue, vol. 2, 1997, pp.
159-171; and Nikolai Sokov, “Russia’s Approach to Nuclear Weapons,” The Washington Quarterly, vol. 3, 1996,
pp. 107-114.

157. Trenin, “Russian-Chinese Relations: A Study in Contemporary Geopolitics,” p. 917.

158. James Clay Moltz, “Missile Proliferation in East Asia: Arms Control vs. TMD Responses,” The
Nonproliferation Review, Spring-Summer 1997, pp. 63-71.

159. See Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 26 December 1997, pp. 4-5.

160. See also Aleksei G. Arbatov, “Voennaia reforma: doktrina, voiska, finansi,” Mirovaia ekonomika i
mezhdunarodnie otnosheniia (MEiMO), vol. 4, 1997, pp.5-21.

161. Pavel Felgenhauer, Segodnia, October 23, 1997, p. 1.

162. Ibid.

163. Umbach, “Nuclear Proliferation Challenges in East Asia and Prospects for Co-operation—A View from
Europe.”

164. Ibid., p. 106.

165. Oleg Odnokolenko, Segodnia, September 23, 1999, p. 1.

166. Felgenhauer, Moscow Times, July 20, 2000.

167. See also Mark Galeotti, “Uniting Russia’s Nuclear Forces,” JIR, April 1999, pp. 8-9.

168. Galeotti, JIR, January 18, 2000.

169. NG, April 22, 2000; and Izvestiia, April 25, 2000.

170. Ibid.

171. Ibid.

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 172. See also Umbach, “Russlands neue Militärdoktrin und die Absenkung der nuklearen Schwelle.”

173. See, for instance, Oleg Odnokolenko, Segodnia, April 22, 2000, p. 2.

174. Aleksei G. Arbatov, “Virtual Arsenals,” in: Michael J. Mazarr, ed., Nuclear Weapons in a Transformed
World. The Challenge of Virtual Nuclear Arsenals, New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1997, pp. 319-336.

175. See Pavel Felgenhauer, Segodnia, May 6, 1999, pp. 1-2; and David Hoffman, IHT, September 1,1999.

176. See also Gobarev, “Soviet Policy Toward China: Developing Nuclear Weapons 1949-1969,” p. 37.

177. Andrey Korolev, “Nuclear Test Range in Arctic to be Used Intensively,” Bellona, June 1, 2000 (via
Internet: www.bellona.no/imaker?id=16950&sub=1).

178. For these plans, see “Letter of June 1999. Security Council Meeting: What Is Under the Veil of
Secrecy?” PIR Arms Control Letters, Moscow, June 9, 1999 (via Internet: http://pircenter.org/acl/messages/
65.html); Richard Paddoc, Los Angeles Times, September 14, 1999; and Zbigniew Brzezinski, Frankfurter
Allgemeine Zeitung (FAZ), November 10, 1999, p. 10.

179. Andrei Piontkovsky and Vitaly Tsigichko, Segodnia, May 31, 2000, p. 4.

180. Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” p. 13.

181. Alexander Sergounin and Sergey V. Subbotin, “Sino-Russian Military Cooperation: Russian
Perspective,” Regional Studies (Islamabad), vol. 4 Autumn, 1997, pp. 22-74.

182. Gary K. Bertsch and Anupam Srivastava, “Weapons Proliferation and Export Controls in the former
Soviet Union: Implications for Strategic Stability in Asia,” The National Bureau of Asian Research (NBR)
Publications, vol. 3, no. 1, 1999 (via Internet: www.nbr.org/publications/review/vol3no1/essay.html), p. 16.

183. Rajan Menon, “The Strategic Convergence between Russia and China,” p. 111.

184. Pavel Felgenhauer, “An Uneasy Partnership: Sino-Russian Defense Cooperation and Arms Sales,” in
Andrew J. Pierre and Dmitri V. Trenin, eds., Russia in the World of Arms Trade, Washington D.C.: Carnegie
Endowment for International Peace and The Brookings Institution Press, 1997), pp. 87-103.

185. Pavel Felgenhauer, Segodnia, May 6, 1999, p. 98.

186. Ibid., p. 99.

187. Yevgeni M. Kozhokin, “Arms Export Controls: What Role for Parliament?” in Andrew J. Pierre and
Dmitri V. Trenin, eds., Russia in the World of Arms Trade, pp. 43-57.

188. Sergei V. Kortunov, “Arms Export Controls: Competition Among Executive Agencies,” in: Andrew J.
Pierre and Dmitri V. Trenin, eds., Russia in the World of Arms Trade, pp. 27-42.

189. See the interview with Mikhail N. Timkin, p. 47.

190. M. Urusov, Moscow News, no. 44, November 2-9, 1997, p. 8; and Pavel Felgenhauer, “An Uneasy
Partnership: Sino-Russian Defense Cooperation and Arms Sales,” pp. 87-103.

191. See also “Kosovo Conflict Accelerates Formation of Russia-China Strategic Alliance,” Stratfor.Com (via
Internet: www.stratfor.com/asia/specialreports/special13.htm).

192. Jonathan Brodie, “China Moves to Buy More Russian Aircraft, Warships and Submarines,” JDW,
December 22, 1999, p. 13.

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 193. Nikolai Kuchin, “A Nuclear Deal of the Century?” New Times, August 1997, pp. 42-43.

194. Stephen Blank, “Russia as a Rogue Proliferator,” Orbis, Winter 2000, pp. 91-107.

195. Alexander Sergounin and Sergey V. Subbotin, “Sino-Russian Military Cooperation,” p. 51.

196. The Hindu, September 4, 1999, Interfax, September 2, 1999; and Associated Press, September 1, 1999.

197. Mikhail Kosyrev and Ivan Safronov, Kommersant-daily, May 5, 2000, p. 4.

198. Straits Times, July 10, 2000.

199. Rossiiskaia gazeta, December 26, 1997, pp. 4-5; and Rossiiskaia gazeta, January 18, 2000.

200. Gary K. Bertsch and Anupam Srivastava, “Weapons Proliferation and Export Controls in the former
Soviet Union,” p. 16.

201. “Increased Arms Exports: A Win-Win Situation for Russia,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/CIS/specialreports/special24.htm), February 10, 2000.

202. Iu. Fedorov, “Interest Groups and Russia’s Foreign Policy,” International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 6, 1998,
pp. 173-183.

203. Gazprom is paying a quarter of all tax to the state budget and is responsible for a quarter of Russia’s
foreign currency earnings. See also Igor Khripunov and Mary Matthews, “Russia’s Oil and Gas Interest Groups
and Its Foreign Policy Agenda,” Problems of Communism, no. 3, May-June 1996, pp. 38-49.

204. Chrystia Freeland, John Thornhill, and Andrew Gowers, Financial Times, November 1, 1996, p. 15.

205. See also Eberhard Schneider, “Aussenpolitische Aktivitaeten russischer Regionen,” Aktuelle Analysen
des BIOst, no. 38, 1998, September 21, 1998; and Martin Nicholson, “Towards a Russia of the Regions,” pp. 62 ff.

206. Quoted following E. Kuzmin, “Russia: the Center, the Regions and the Outside World,” p. 113.

207. Alexander Lukin, “Russia’s Image of China and Russian-Chinese Relations,” pp. 38 ff.

208. Genrikh Kireyev, “Demarcation of the Border with China,” p. 104.

209. Quoted following Rajan Menon, “The Strategic Convergence between Russia and Russia,” p. 103.

210. See also Janet Snyder, “Move Ahead on Military Ties, Diplomacy on Back Burner,” Comparative
Connections, CSIS-Hawaii, 3rd Quarter 1999.

211. Joseph Ferguson, “Japan Struggles to Gain Attention,” Comparative Connections, CIS-Hawaii, 1st
Quarter 2000, p. 3.

212. Umbach, “The Role and Influence of the Military Establishment in Russia’s Foreign and Security
Policies in the Yeltsin Era,” p. 474.

213. Joseph Ferguson, “Weathering War, Elections, and Yelstin’s Resignation,” Comparative Connections,
4th Quarter, pp. 1, 3.

214. See also Sergei Medvedev, “Subregionalism in Northeast Asia: A Post-Westphalian View,” Security
Dialogue, vol. 1, 1998, pp. 89-100.

215. Umbach, “The Future of the U.S.-Japanese Security Alliance,” in Manfred Mols and Jörn Dosch, eds.,
“International Relations in the Asia-Pacific?” New Patterns of Interest, Power and Cooperation (forthcoming).

315
 216. Hai-Sun Youn, “Changes in DPRK-Russia Relations 1989-1999: Before and After Kim Jong-Il,” The
Journal of East Asian Affairs, vol. 2, Fall-Winter, 1999, pp. 434-461.

217. Ibid., p. 450.

218. Chon Shi-yong, “Joining Hands with Moscow,” Newsreview (South Korea), May 29, 1999, p. 5.

219. Mikhail Kozyrev and Andrei Ivanov, Kommersant-daily, May 17, 2000, p. 10. For the visit of the
Russian Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev in the late summer of 1999, see Oleg Falichev, Krasnaia zvezda,
September 3, 1999, p. 1; and Andrei Ivanov, Kommersant-daily, September 3, 1999, p. 4.

220. Shim Jae Hoon, “Russia Returns,” FEER, January 13, 2000, p. 21.

221. DPRK Report, no. 21, November-December 1999, p. 1, NAPSNet Special Report.

222. Aleksandr Chudodeev, Segodnia, September 1, 1998, pp. 1, 3.

223. Article one of the treaty of 1961, which implied an automatic intervention of Russian military forces as
the main clause of their mutual alliance, had already been abolished in February 1992. ee Hai-Su Youn,
“Changes in DPRK-Russia Relations 1989-1999,” p. 440.

224. See the declaration in “Arm in Arm. Pyongyang and Moscow Usher in Era of Cooperation,” Korea Now,
July 29, 2000, p. 7.

225. “Russia and China Courting South Korea,” Stratfor.Com (www.stratfor.com/

asia/commentary/c9908210023. htm), February 23, 2000.

226. Michael R. Gordon, IHT, July 20, 2000, pp. 1, 4.

227. North and South Korea agreed in July 2000 to rebuild and upgrade a rail link connecting the two sides
(Seoul-Shinuiju railway). See “How Korea’s New Railroad Will Change Northeast Asia,” Stratfor.Com, August
1, 2000.

228. For the evolution of ARF, CSCAP, and related security questions in Asia-Pacific, see Joachim Krause
and Frank Umbach, eds., “Perspectives of Regional Security Challenges and Cooperation in Asia-Pacific:
Learning from Europe or Developing Indigenous Models?” Arbeitspapiere zur Internationalen Politik, no. 100,
Bonn: Europa Union Verlag, September 1998.

229. Stephen Blank, “Is There a Future for Russian Relations with Southeast Asia,” The Journal of East
Asian Affairs, vol. 1, Spring-Summer, 1999, pp. 72-110.

230. Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” p. 14.

231. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 10 ff.

232. Nossov, “Russia and Problems of Regional Integration in East Asia,” p. 14.

233. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 12.

234. See also Floriana Fossato, “Vladivostok: Political Struggle amid Economic Crisis,” RFE/RL Analysis,
October 14, 1998.

235. Chang, “The Unraveling of Russia’s Far Eastern Power,” p. 261.

236. Paul Goble, “Russia: Analysis from Washington—Far East and U.S. West Coast Expand Pacific Rim
Trade,” RFE/RL Analysis, March 13, 1998.

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 237. Eric Hyer, “Dreams and Nightmares,” p. 308.

238. Subyan, “The Economic Security of the Far East and Russia’s National Interests,” p. 8.

239. Vasilii Mikheyev, “China and Regionalism,” International Affairs (Moscow), vol. 6, 1999, pp. 46-59.

240. Umbach, “ASEAN and Major Powers: Japan and China—A Changing Balance of Power?’ in Joern
Dosch and Manfred Mols, eds., International Relations in the Asia-Pacific. New Patterns of Power, Interest and
Cooperation. Hamburg/Münster/London (forthcoming).

241. See also K.S.Nathan, “Russia as an Asia-Pacific Power in the 21st Century: Problems and Prospects,”
ADJ, vol. 11, 1999, pp. 6-9.

242. Stephen Blank, “Is There a Future for Russian Relations with Southeast Asia,” p. 74.

243. Ibid., p. 88.

244. “Washington, Moscow and Beijing Covet Vietnam’s Ports,” Stratfor.Com (via Internet:
www.stratfor.com/asia/commentary/0003160034.htm), March 16, 2000.

245. Opening Statement by Yevgeny M. Primakov, Minister of Foreign Affairs, Russia at the Fifth
ARF-meeting, Manila, July 27, 1998 (via Internet: www.dfat.gov.au/arf/5opstat4.html).

246. See also Umbach, “Financial Crisis Slows But Fails to Halt East Asian Arms Race—Part One,” JIR,
August 1997, pp. 23-27; Part Two, September 1997, pp. 34-37.

247. Interview Mikhail N. Timkin, p. 46.

248. See also John Helmer, “Russia: Asian Financial Crisis Influences Arms Sales,” RFE/RL Daily Reports,
January 29, 1998.

249. I.Korotchenko, Nezavisimya gazeta, May 13, 1998, p. 2; and Pavel Felgenhauer, Segodnia, December
26, 1997, p. 2.

250. JDW, February 18, 1998, p. 30.

251. Viktor Klenov, Rossiiskaia gazeta, April 30, 1998, p. 10; Aleksandr Shaburkin, April 29, 1998, p. 2; and
Pavel Felgenhauer, Segodnia, April 29, 1998, p. 1.

252. Nikolai Novichkov, JDW, May 13, 1998, p. 13.

253. Alexander Zaiko, Russky Telegraph, November 13, 1997, p. 1, following FSU 15 Nations: Policy and
Security, November 1997, pp. 63.

254. An example is Russia’s economic minister Yakov Urinson who believed that the crisis may result in
merely changing the form of payments and delaying payments for several months without any major changes.
See Nicolay Novichkov and John Marrocco, “Russia Alters Arms Export Strategy for Southeast Asia,” AW&ST,
February 23, 1998, p. 65.

255. Rahul Bedi, “India to Sign New 10-Year Defense Deal with Russia,” JDW, July 1, 1998, p. 16.

256. JDW, July 1, 1998, p. 7.

257. Ibid.

258. Miccol Brooke and Prasun K. Sengupta, “Malaysia’s Resilience Sets Stage for Success at Lima ’97,” p.
55.

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 259. Nicolay Novichkov and John Marrocco, “Russia Alters Arms Export Strategy for Southeast Asia.”

260. “Maritime Industry Head to Lima ’97,” ADJ, vol. 11, 1997, p. 1.

261. Guy Chazan, Wall Street Journal Europe, July 14-15, 2000, p. 12.

262. Stephen Blank, “Russian Arms Sales to China: Purposes and Outcomes,” ADJ, vol. 7, 1997, pp. 11-14;
“Playing with Fire: Russian Sales in Asia,” JIR, April 1997, pp. 174-177.

263. Gobarev, “Soviet Policy Toward China: Developing Nuclear Weapons 1949-1969,” pp. 48-50.

264. David Hoffmann, IHT, May 23, 2000, p. 11 and Sophie Lambroschini, “Russia: Environmentalists
Decry Abolition of Agency,” RFE/RL Analysis, May 24, 2000.

265. Alan Kasaev, NG, May 16, 2000, pp. 1, 3; Marina Volkova, NG., May 20, 2000, pp. 1, 3; David Hoffmann,
IHT, July 20-21, 2000, p. 5; and Michael Wines, IHT, July 27, 2000, p. 6.

266. Quoted here following Mikhail Alexeev, “The Unintended Consequences of Anti-Federalist
Centralization in Russia,” PONARS-Policy Memo Series, no. 117, Harvard University, April 2000.

267. Paul Goble, “Europe: Analysis from Washington: Neither Coercion nor Concessions,” RFE/RL
Analysis, July 24, 2000.

268. See also Henry E. Hale, “Breaking up is Hard to Do: Applying Lessons from Soviet Disintegration to the
Russian Federation,” PONARS Policy Memo Series, no. 54, Harvard University, November 1998.

269. Chang, “The Unraveling of Russia’s Far Eastern Power,” p. 264.

270. Umbach, “World Gets Wise to P’yongyang’s Nuclear Blackmail–-Part Two,” JIR, October 1999, pp.
35-39; and Umbach, “Nuclear Proliferation Challenges in East Asia and Prospects for Co-operation.”

271. For a Russian view of a U.S. TMD system in East Asia, see Michail Timofeev, NG, July 21, 2000, p. 6.

272. See also Heinz Timmermann, “Russland: Strategischer Partner der Europaeischen Union? Interessen,
Impulse, Widersprüche,” Osteuropa, vol. 10, 1999, pp. 991-1009.

273. Chikahito Harada, “Russia and Northeast Asia,” p. 74.

274. Steven Rosefield, “Economic Foundations of Russian Military Modernization: Putin’s Dilemma,” in
chapter 5 of the present book.

275. The Pentagon is reportedly concerned about China’s rapidly increasing military technological
capabilities. See “Asia 2025,” IHT, March 20, 2000.

276. Roland Timerbaev, “How the Soviet Union Helped China to Develop the A-Bomb,” Yaderny Kontrol, no.
3, May-June 1998, p. 79.

277. The crucial Russian assistance to China’s nuclear weapons development program in the 1950s and
1960s provides an interesting example of the rapid change from cooperation to increasing mistrust and
confrontation in the Sino-Russian relationship between 1964 and 1969. For the period between 1964 and 1966, a
Russian historian concluded: “The more [nuclear] tests the Chinese conducted the more worried the Soviet
military became.” See Viktor M. Gobarev, “Soviet Policy Toward China: Developing Nuclear Weapons
1949-1969,” p. 47.

278. See also the Beijing summit declaration in Rossiiskaia gazeta, July 20, 2000, p. 7.

279. See also Dmitriy Gornostaev, NG, July 18, 2000, pp. 1, 6; and July 19, 2000, pp. 1, 6.

318
 280. See also Dmitriy Kosyrev, NG, pp. 9, 12.

281. See also The Times of India, 17 July 2000 (via Internet: www.timesofindia.com/170700/17worl8.htm);
and “The Shanghai Six?” Stratfor.Com (via Internet: www.stratfor.com/asia/commenatry/0007172332.htm),
July 17, 2000.

282. For a Chinese view of the future of U.S. troops on the Korean peninsula in a case of reunification see
Shiping Tang, “A Neutral Reunified Korea: A Chinese View,” The Journal of East Asian Affairs, vol. 2,
Fall-Winter, 1999, pp. 464-483.

283. See Doug Struck and Joohee Cho, IHT, August 15, 2000, pp. 1, 4.

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 Part Four: Russian Military Initiatitves

Introduction

James F. Holcomb
The four chapters in this part address the more esoteric aspects of Russian military art
and science. Specifically, the four authors address newly developing views on the Revolution
in Military Affairs (RMA), Russian views on information operations (a component of the
RMA), developments in nuclear weapons, views on strategic arms control, and prospects for
the future. Some basic themes appear throughout. First, Russia, or at least the Russian
military and defense establishment, retain a traditional self-view of Russia as a Great Power.
Second, the West in general and the United States in particular are viewed with great
distrust and apprehension, if not downright hostility. Third, Russia will continue to maintain
nuclear weapons as a deterrent, not only against U.S. use of its strategic systems, but also
against conventional and even internal threats. Fourth, the mechanisms for analysis and
development of the theoretical basis for Russian military art and science are active. Finally,
and perhaps most importantly, the traditional Soviet methodology of measuring security in
zero-sum terms still persists in Putin’s Russia. In sum, then, current Russian views and
assumptions can be seen as direct extrapolations of a Soviet legacy that somehow has
managed to survive ten years of tumultuous transition.

Dr. Jacob Kipp clearly demonstrates in his chapter that Soviet-style theoretical musings
by Russian strategists continued throughout the Yeltsin era. Bringing practical reality to the
recommendations made, however, was impossible due to the chaos of the ten-year “Time of
Troubles.” Kipp concludes that this is now changing. With the rise of Putin and the apparent
resurrection of a centralized statist system, opportunities will increasingly exist for the
realization of the growing Russian appreciation for RMA requirements. Kosovo has provided
the latest data point in the theoretical logic chain of Russian military scientists; it has also
provided a political logic within the Russian establishment supporting the notion that the
threat to the Motherland is still extant and directed by the United States. This may serve as a
basis for reestablishing the political, economic, and social foundations for implementing the
RMA.

Timothy Thomas looks deeper into one element of the new phase of the RMA in his
analysis of Russian views, as expressed in their writings, on information operations. He
reaches several conclusions. First, the Russians view information operations differently than
the West. Second, information operations are viewed as a significant lever, able to alter the
global balance of power and serve a role fundamental to the security of the state,
characteristics attributed only to nuclear weapons. Third, information operations are
increasingly viewed as embodying weapons systems having physical, psychological, and even
biological effects. The last point reflects traditional Soviet research into the occult, telepathy,
ESP, and other psychophysical phenomena. Once again, the theoretical foundations for

321
current thinking have a not-so-distant Soviet legacy. Thomas strongly advocates engaging
Russia in the area of information operations. It is a field fraught with potential for
misunderstanding, misread messages, skewed threat perceptions, and possible catastrophe.
He also makes it clear that if we in the West think we have a monopoly on understanding this
developing mode of war and its technologies, then we are mistaken; Russia has a clear
theoretical lead.

Dr. Christoph Bluth, in his chapter on nuclear doctrine and strategic force modernization,
emphasizes the inherent paradox currently existing between Russian declaratory policy
(doctrine) and the realities of current threats. The requirement to be perceived as a great
power (recall Yeltsin’s question about the West at the time of the NATO Kosovo operation,
“Why are they not afraid of us?”) mandates the maintenance of a strategic nuclear arsenal
with a traditional balance of power paradigm as the logic for strategic arms control. At the
same time, the catastrophic collapse of Russia’s conventional forces has brought nuclear
weapons to the fore as the ultimate deterrent against both nuclear, conventional, and, some
would maintain, internal threats. Renunciation of no-first-use in 1993 is carried forward into
the 1999 draft doctrine and confirmed during Zapad 99. The perception of a threat to Russia
(evidenced in Russian minds by Kosovo, NATO enlargement, and national missile defense)
has also resulted in increased emphasis on nuclear weapons as the ultimate deterrent. The
paradox is this: Russian threat analyses have conjured threats where none exist, and nuclear
posturing is impractical for resolving those that do exist. The result is a requirement for
continued maintenance of strategic and tactical nuclear capabilities for non-existent threats
at the expense of conventional requirements to deal with the realities of Russian security
today. Bluth’s analysis also points to future force structuring. It is increasingly apparent
that the Russian strategic nuclear triad is fragmented. Future reliance will rest on
single-warhead land-based mobile missiles at the expense of air and sea platforms. Bluth
also recognizes the burden of the Soviet legacy and is not optimistic that the Russians will be
able to break out of their mental glaciation and move forward dramatically in the nuclear
arms control arena. Russian self-deception is increasingly becoming fixed conviction.

Dr. Stephen Cimbala’s chapter on strategic arms control confirms several of Dr. Bluth’s
themes, that is, nuclear weapons as great power psychological “crutches,” Russia’s increased
reliance on nuclear weapons due to the collapse of conventional capabilities, and Russia’s
increasingly anti-Western and anti-U.S. orientation. He analyzes the elements of stability
making up the strategic nuclear relationship and argues effectively that even with lower
numbers under START II and perhaps START III, operational differences between the
United States and Russia may paradoxically increase instability. He maintains that the
moribund nature of Russia’s air and sea components places an increasing burden on the least
stable (land) component of the triad. Cimbala argues that land-based operational
requirements for launch on warning, coupled with the current environment of Russian
apprehension, could result in a mistake of catastrophic proportions. From this perspective,
lower numbers do not necessarily mean increased stability, especially if one party adheres to
skewed threat perceptions.

These chapters deal with important issues, and it is interesting to see the common themes,
independently arrived at, by authors working in different fields. These authors do not reflect

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great optimism. They do embrace, however, the overwhelming need to remain engaged with
Russia. The West has attempted over the ten years since the collapse of the Soviet Union to
dispel Russian fears and modify their threat and security perceptions. It is increasingly
apparent that we have failed, at least to any significant degree. The premise that we must
keep trying is clear; how long it will take and at what cost is not.

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 The Russian Armed Forces, the Draft Military

Doctrine, and the Revolution in Military Affairs:
The Oracle of Delphi and Cassandra Revisited

Dr. Jacob Kipp

Introduction: The Soviet Legacy and the Gulf War

The concept of a revolution in military affairs is not a foreign idea imported into Russia as
result of the military campaigns of the last decade. Rather, the term, “revolution in military
affairs” (Revolyutsiya v voyennom dele), is Soviet in origins. In the 1970s it replaced the term
“military-technical revolution,” which had been used from the late 1950s to define the central
role of nuclear weapons and their delivery systems in the military strategy of future war.1 A
revolution in military affairs implied a new and distinct relationship in the transformation of
military art brought about by the direct application of scientific and technical innovation to
military art without a preceding transformation of the mode of production in the economy.
Thus, nuclear weapons, computers, and ballistic missile technology emerged in the military
sphere without prior direct civilian applications for the associated scientific discoveries or
technical inventions. Under Marshal Nikolai Ogarkov the RMA took on a new meaning.
Ogarkov spoke of a new revolution in military affairs associated with the development of
advanced conventional weapons and foresaw the appearance of weapons “based upon new
physical principles,” which would reshape armed conflict in the next century. In 1982 he
warned: “Under these conditions an imperfect restructuring of views and stagnation in the
working out and realization of new issues of military construction are fraught with serious
consequences.”2 Such trends called into question “the most universal historical achievement
of developed socialism,” i.e., “the military-strategic parity” between the United States and the
Soviet Union.3

To Ogarkov, the new challenge demanded a more innovative approach, reflecting the
seriousness of the problem, especially in the face of the U.S. defense buildup. Strengthening
Soviet defense capabilities was nothing less than “an objective, vital necessity.”4 The
economic implications of what Ogarkov described as a new arms race into the next century,
when the Soviet economy was already running into serious structural problems, were
troubling. General-Colonel Makhmut Gareev, then a Deputy Chief of the General Staff and
Chief of its Directorate of Military Science, associated Ogarkov’s revolution with a “leap” in
military affairs:

Now we can speak about a turning point in the development of military science and military art.
In general, a new qualitative leap in the development of military affairs, connected with the
modernization of nuclear weapons and especially the appearance of new types of conventional
weapons, is ripening. In connection with this [process] there has arisen the need to rethink the
basic military-political and operational-strategic problems of the defense of the socialist Father-
5
land.

324

 Gareev’s call for a military-political response to this technological revolution represented

a sharp break with the Brezhnev era and was a harbinger of things to come. Yet, because of
the nature of the Soviet system, military forecasters focused on military-technical issues,
leaving the military-political issues in the hands of the Poltiburo. Given the ongoing war in
Afghanistan and the increasing evidence of economic decline and technological stagnation in
the face of a renewed arms race with the United States, hard choices had to be made.

The Soviet political leadership during the period of stagnation and the post-Brezhnev
interregnum had been slow to respond to this systemic challenge. Their failure to take timely
and vigorous actions in a society, supposedly dominated by long-range, rational, central
planning, revealed glaring flaws in the edifice of “mature socialism.” N. N. Moiseev, former
head of the Academy of Sciences Computing Center and a leader in Soviet military simulation
work, observed that ideological dogmatism, careerism, and bureaucratic inertia precluded a
timely and effective response to this pressing challenge. The command system which had
worked during the Stalin industrialization, the Great Patriotic War, and even the nuclear
and space challenges of the Cold War, would not meet this new challenge.6 Perestroika, with
its focus on internal reform, geopolitical disengagement from global competition, and demand
for defense economies, effectively eliminated a Soviet military-technical response to the
RMA.

At the same time, events in the Persian Gulf illustrated the radical transformation of
military art. Recent Russian assessments of the Gulf War concur as to its importance for the
development of military art. The faculty of the History of Wars and Military Art of the
Academy of the General Staff saw the war as a watershed: “For [its] influence on the
development of military art [this war] should be considered a major event in military affairs.”
Indeed, the authors compared it with the Franco-Prussian War (which sowed the seeds of
operational art), in terms of impact because of the employment of “new technology and the
emergence of new forms of military actions.” The authors called for a serious review of
military art and its assumptions:

Now, as never before, it is important to rapidly adopt and energetically introduce into the prac­
tice of the Russian Armed Forces all the latest [and] progressive [developments] that have
arisen in military affairs under the influence of scientific-technical progress and the appearance
of new weapons, to work out and employ more effective methods and means unknown to the en­
emy, to learn to make original and valid decisions in order to confound the enemy, subject him to
7
our will, [and] achieve victory with the lowest loss of personnel.

Russian forecasters concluded that the Gulf War was but a “glimpse” of these capabilities
that are and will continue to reshape warfare in the Information Age. The fact that this
glimpse coincided with the end of the Cold War, a general reduction in forces, a radical
recasting of the international environment, and the transformation of the Russian state and
society has made foresight particularly difficult.

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Russian Military Forecasters: Oracles of Delphi or Cassandras?

In 1995 I presented a paper at the MORS Conference in Annapolis, Maryland, devoted to

the problem of Russian military forecasting and the revolution in military affairs (RMA).8
That study focused on the efforts of Russian military forecasters in the aftermath of the Gulf
War and the collapse of the Soviet Union to deal with the complex set of changes then
reshaping the international system, Russia itself, its military and the nature of future armed
conflict. In that paper, I outlined what I considered to be the arguments of leading forecasters
of the revolution in military affairs and rendered a pessimistic assessment of their influence
on the course of military developments in Russia during the time of troubles brought on by the
collapse of the Soviet system and the contradictions of the Yeltsin transition. After reviewing
the work of leading Russian military forecasters addressing various aspects of the
RMA—military systemology,9 the theory of combat systems10, precision strike weapons,11
automated command and control and radio-electronic combat,12 information warfare,13 sixth
generation warfare,14 and the future contours15 of armed conflict—I concluded that Russian
forecasters were foreseeing a radical shift in the ways and means that wars would be fought.
Their arguments called for a radical transformation of the existing military system in all its
aspects: raising, training, organization, equipping, and fighting the force. These forecasts,
even if accurate as general predictions concerning the future of war, were totally inapplicable
to Russia itself. This was because the Russian military system was in such disarray that
neither the government, the Ministry of Defense, nor the General Staff were in a position to
embrace any of the competing visions of the RMA and mount a coherent program to bring
about the complex set of innovations necessary to transform the Russian armed forces along
the lines required by the RMA. They lacked the means to leverage their ideas into a
compelling strategic vision. In the absence of a clear threat and in the face of national
economic decline and austere budgetary prospects, their strategic vision had limited appeal.

Five years later seems a good time to assess the arguments of the leading forecasters of the
RMA and the prospects for the execution of a coherent program to transform the armed forces
along those lines. A chronological survey of relevant events between 1995 and 2000 would
suggest that nothing fundamentally changed to alter this assessment. Recent developments
make a reexamination of the linkage between forecasting and strategic vision timely and
appropriate. The Yeltsin era has ended. Yeltsin’s anointed successor, Vladimir Putin, has, as
Prime Minister and President, embraced the armed forces in a manner quite distinct from
that of “Boris the Reluctant.” As Prime Minister, he, much more than President Yeltsin,
committed Russia to fight a war of annihilation against “terrorists and bandits” in Chechnya,
promising that the military leadership would have a free hand in prosecuting that war to a
victorious culmination. Riding the public support for war in Chechnya, Putin and his allies
forged a pragmatic political movement called “Unity,” which in the December 1999 Duma
elections emerged as one of the largest factions in the new Duma. Announcing the end of the
old politics of “reformers” vs. Communists, Unity formed an alliance with the CPRF and
Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s LDPR to organize the new Duma, much to the consternation of those
who saw Unity as a continuation of anti-Communist politics that Boris Yeltsin and his
supporters had used to win the 1996 presidential election. Unity, or Medved (the Bear) as the
party is popularly known, represented a victory for the power elite within the governmental
apparatus. Putin, as a strong favorite, thus won the presidential election campaign that

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ended on March 26, 2000. Putin placed his stamp of approval on a new national security
concept, while a protracted and rambunctious debate continued over a draft military doctrine
prepared under the direction of the Ministry of Defense. Putin promised a 50 percent increase
in funding for military procurement, including research and development, in this year’s
defense budget. Over the last five years, the threat environment for Russia has become much
clearer to her political and military elites in the aftermath of military defeat in the First
Chechen War, the expansion of NATO, and NATO’s military intervention against Yugoslavia
over Kosovo. Both the new national security concept and the draft military doctrine address
the problems of internal and external threats to Russian security and identify monopolarity
in the international system as the chief threat to Russian national security. Rising energy
prices and increased state revenues have enhanced the government’s ability to fund the
military.

To mark the new millennium, then Acting President Putin published a New Year’s Day
message setting forth his own vision of the new problems and possibilities before Russia. The
language and style of this statement in the original Russian has a very distinct flavor. It
combines a recognition of the costs of Russia’s experiment with totalitarianism with a
criticism of the bumbling and corrupt reform process of the Yeltsin “transition period.”
Ideologically, the statement is closer to the statism of the late imperial period in that it rejects
slavish copying of foreign models and vain expectations that others will solve Russia’s
problems. The world now faces a new division between the “golden billion” of those living in
the advanced countries and the rest of humanity who are being left behind. This is not a
question of competing with the United States, he goes on to say, but of restoring the national
economy to the status of a major power. It is essential that Russia modernize and move
forward rapidly—there can be no going back.

This was the statement of a presidential candidate using the power of incumbency to
shape the debate on Russia’s future and to appeal to voters. The issues Putin addressed touch
the concerns of ordinary people. His enumeration of the problems facing Russia suggests that
he understands the origins of the current crisis facing Russia and is quite honest about the
herculean effort that will be required to overcome it. He promises a fresh start but rules out a
return to the old, failed system and any new revolutionary experiments. He is gambling that
the Russian electorate will rally to support firm and determined leadership to end a
decade-long time of troubles.

The sparse reference to anything touching on foreign and security policy and the
overwhelming concentration on Russia’s internal problems reflect the real balance of interest
of the Russian voter at all levels of society. “Russia was and will remain a great country,”
notes Putin, but “in the modern world a country’s might is manifested not so much in military
power as in its capacity to be a leader in creating and using high technology, in ensuring a
high standard of living for its people, in its ability to ensure its security reliably, and in
upholding its national interests in the international arena.” Putin was gambling on his
ability to mobilize the Russian tradition of a strong central state and national patriotism to
provide the leadership necessary to make a viable “transition to a post-industrial society.” In
his enumeration of what he considered the keys to this transition, Putin identified these
areas:

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 � Changes in the economic structure of society, with the diminishing weight of mate-
rial production and the growing share of secondary and tertiary sectors.

� The consistent renewal and quick introduction of novel technologies and the grow­
ing output of science-intensive commodities.

� The landslide development of information science and telecommunications.

� Priority attention to management and the improvement of the system of organiza­

tion and guidance of all spheres of human endeavor.

� And lastly, human leadership. It is man and high standards of his education, profes­
sional training, business and social activity that are becoming the guiding force of
progress today.

These national economic priorities are in keeping with the creation of the scientific,
technological, and economic infrastructure necessary to mount and sustain a national
security strategy embracing the RMA. They are given prominence in the recently approved
national security concept.

The concept was composed by an inter-ministerial body under the guidance of the Security
Council, which Putin headed before becoming Prime Minister. It represents a distinct break
with the concept formulated by the Security Council in 1997 under then-chairman Ivan
Rybkin. That document emphasized the internal threat, giving it a distinctly economic tinge.
The latest concept, however, speaks of the threat posed by monopolarity, Western attempts to
impose solutions by threat or use of force, and various paramilitary threats within Russia and
on its periphery, thereby implicitly linking Kosovo and Chechnya.16 Regarding the role of the
Russian armed forces in national defense, the concept addresses the missions that the armed
forces are expected to execute and the means available for their execution.

The Russian Federation considers the possibility of employing military force to ensure its na­
tional security based on the following principles: use of all forces and assets, including nuclear
weapons, at Russia’s disposal in case of a need to repel armed aggression, if all other measures of
resolving the crisis situation have been exhausted and have proven ineffective; use of military
force inside the country is allowed in strict conformity with the RF Constitution and with federal
laws in cases of the appearance of a threat of a violent change in the constitutional system, to the
17
country’s territorial integrity, as well as to the life and health of citizens.

The concept calls for the sustainment of the Russian military-industrial complex as vital to
Russian national interests: “The restructuring and conversion of the defense-industrial
complex must be accomplished without detriment to the development of new technologies and
S&T [science and technology] capabilities, to the modernization of arms and military and
special equipment, and to a strengthening of the positions of Russian manufacturers in world
arms markets.”18

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The Draft Military Doctrine and the RMA

The recently published draft military doctrine provides explicit guidance on the threat
environment confronting Russia, linking the conflict on the Russian periphery and near
abroad to the threat posed by U.S. hegemony, monopolarity, and U.S.-NATO reliance upon
the threat of force to support their vital interests. The draft also identifies specific areas of
needed technological improvement connected with the Russian military’s understanding of
the RMA. These include: “highly-effective systems of command and control of forces and
weapons, communications, intelligence, strategic warning, radio-electronic combat, and
precision, mobile non-nuclear means of destruction, as well as systems of information
support.”19 The draft also recognizes the growing capabilities of states which can employ
improvements in the “means, forms, and methods” of armed struggle [vooruzhennaya bor’ba]
to achieve military-goals by indirect, non-contact actions.” These capabilities, associated with
the RMA, pose a “special danger of modern wars to peoples, states, and international stability
in the world” and “dictate the vital necessity of taking exhaustive steps for their prevention
and for peaceful settlement of contradictions at early stages of their appearance and
development.”20 The draft implies that there is a serious risk of uncontrolled escalation
involved in such use of force, which could turn an indirect conflict into direct confrontation
and local war. General Gareev made the relevance of B. H. Liddell-Hart’s “indirect approach”
to post-Cold War armed conflict one of his central observations regarding the contours of
future armed conflict.21 Indeed, Gareev has noted that the authors of the current draft
military doctrine in the Ministry of Defense and General Staff “have started to listen more to
their opinion and this has been reflected in a new [draft] military doctrine.”22 This, indeed,
appears to be the case.

The Academy of Military Sciences Speaks

In the immediate aftermath of the NATO military intervention in Kosovo, General

Gareev, as President of the Academy of Military Sciences—a non-governmental organization
closely linked to the Russian Ministry of Defense and General Staff, hosted a conference on
the role of military science in determining national defense requirements. Among those
attending the conference were Marshal Igor Sergeyev, Minister of Defense; General of the
Army Anatoliy Kvashnin, chief of General Staff; Nikolay Mikhaylov, executive secretary of
the Ministry of Defense; commanders-in-chief of the armed services of the Russian
Federation; and representatives of the government, the State Duma, the Russian Academy of
Sciences, the Ministry of Internal Affairs, the Federal Agency for Government
Communications and Information, the Ministry of Civil Defense, Emergencies, and Natural
Disasters, and other enforcement departments of the Russian Federation.23 The conference
marked the fifth anniversary of the founding of the Academy, which had been created in
February-March 1994. Its charter included research in the following areas:

� Investigating the nature of military threats to the security of the Russian Federa­
tion and the ways of preventing wars and armed conflicts;

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 � Preparing proposals on providing for higher economy and effectiveness in defense

missions;

� Developing the scientific principles of military doctrine, military reform, and the or­
ganization of the principles of collective defense of CIS member states;

� Strengthening scientific ties with the military-scientific organizations of CIS mem­

ber states and other countries;

� Assisting in the training of qualified specialists for the Armed Forces of the Russian
Federation and its military-industrial complex.24

Taking place in the immediate aftermath of Kosovo, the conference addressed both the
geopolitical environment, i.e., the contradictions between monopolar and multipolar world
order, and the contours of future armed conflict, i.e., “the main directions for development of
high-tech weapons and space, informational, electronic, and other new resources of
confrontation.” These two themes were linked to the study of new means of conflict
instigation, i.e., “covert and veiled support to acts of terrorism and insurrection against other
countries.”25 The conference also addressed several other key areas affecting the RMA’s
impact on military art. These included the nature of a “strategy of indirect actions” and “the
waging of ‘contactless’ armed struggle,” “nuclear weapons and the conditions of their use,”
“informational struggle and its influence on the organization and methods of troop command
and control,” and “special operations within the system of nonmilitary forms of struggle and
in the course of war.”26

In his remarks to the conference, Minister of Defense Sergeyev explicitly linked the study
of past military experience, both Russian and foreign, to the task of formulating new concepts
of military art. Sergeyev stressed the imperative of studying NATO’s campaign against
Yugoslavia. “We also need to deeply and comprehensively analyze the forms and means of use
of armed forces of the USA and NATO against independent Yugoslavia.” This was
particularly relevant given that the Minister had noted specific shortcomings in operational
and combat training during the recently-concluded strategic command-staff exercise Zapad
99. The fact that this exercise included the employment of Russian nuclear forces in a
preemptive strike against an aggressor using advanced conventional forces underscored a
major point made by General Gareev. Nuclear forces would retain deterrence capabilities
and preclude the employment of mass formations, but they could not deter the use of
advanced conventional weapons in a local armed conflict. Gareev noted:

Considering the new nature of armed conflict, in recent years a number of countries have been
laying their main emphasis in military development on qualitative improvement of conven­
tional arms, and primarily high-precision weapons, increasing the fighting power and mobility
of troops (forces), and preparing armed forces for military activities based on the use of conven­
tional weapons, but with regard for the constant threat of use of nuclear weapons. The system of
27
strategic actions of armed forces and other troops is changing.

Thus, there emerged an explicit linkage between the strategy of indirect actions and the
waging of “contactless” armed struggle and the risks of horizontal and vertical escalation to

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regional, general, and nuclear war. Russian forecasters associated with the Academy of
Military Sciences have developed a coherent interpretation of the RMA and managed to
relate it to the immediate military threats before Russia.

Conclusion

Close analysis of the draft military doctrine, the continuing debate surrounding it, and the
new national security concept suggest that Russia’s military forecasters may, indeed, have
before them a situation where their ideas finally have some chance of being realized as part of
a coherent strategic vision. It is in this context that the concepts associated with the RMA
take on meaning and import for military reform in Russia. The forecasters provided only the
beginnings of such a vision. Their forecasts have to be interpreted by political and military
decision-makers. Much will depend on the eventual outcome of the campaign in Chechnya,
Putin’s political success in creating an effective central government, and a recovery of the
Russian economy sufficient to provide the necessary resources to carry military reform to its
conclusion and thereby transforming the armed forces and ensuring the procurement of
advanced weapons systems. The combination of the acceptance of a new threat environment
and new concepts of armed struggle linked to the RMA make it clear that Russia has moved
beyond the post-Cold War period and is now in the process of responding to a more dynamic
interwar international environment in which the RMA is one of the key elements.

Endnotes
1. M. D. Skolovskiy, ed., Voennaia strategiia, First Edition, Moscow: Voenizdat, 1962, pp. 235-248.

2. N. V. Ogarkov, Vsegda v gotovnosti k zashchite otechestva, Moscow: Voenizdat, 1982, p. 31.

3. Yu. Ya. Kirshin et al., Sovetskie Vooruzhennye Sili v usloviiakh razvitogo sotsializma, Moscow, Nauka,
1985, p. 127.

4. N. V. Ogarkov, Istoriia uchit bditel’nosti, Moscow: Voenizdat, 1985, p. 80.

5. M. a. Gareev, M. V. Frunze—voennii teoretik, Moscow: Voenizdat, 1985, p.438.

6. N. N. Moiseev, Sotsializm i informatika, Moscow: Izdatel’stvo politicheskoi literaturi, 1988, pp. 62 ff.

7. Voennaia Ordena Lenina Krasnoznamennaia Ordena Suvorova Akademiia General’nogo Shtaba

Vooruzhennykh Sil Rossiiskoi Federatsii, Kafedra istorii voin i voennogo iskusstva, Problemi voennogo
iskusstva vo Vtoroi mirovoi voine i v poslevoienyi period (Strategiia i operativnoe iskusstvo): Uchebnik dlia
slushatelei Voennoi akademii General’nogo Shtaba, Moscow, Tipografiia VAGSh, 1995, pp. 586-587.

8. Jacob W. Kipp, “The Nature of Future War: Russian Military Forecasting and the Revolution in Military
Affairs, a Case of the Oracle of Delphi or Cassandra?” The Journal of Soviet Military Studies, vol. 9, no. 1, March
1996, pp. 1-45.

9. E. G. Shevelev, “Sistemologiia natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossii: sovremennoe sostoianie i perspektivy

razvitiya,” Voennaia mysl’, no. 6, November-December 1996, pp. 22-24; and E. G. Shevelev, “Osnovy i
prilozheniya voyennoy sistemologii (uchebnoe posobie),” [Foundations and Applications of Military

331
Systemology (Text Book), (Moscow: Voennaia Akademiya General’nogo Shtaba Vooruzhennykh Sil Rossiyskoy
Federatsii, 1993), pp. 7-8.

10. V. D. Ryabchuk et al., Elementi voennoi sistemologii primenitel’no k resheniu problem operativnogo
iskusstva i takitiki obshchevoiskovoikh ob’edinenii, soedinenii i chastei: Voenno-teoreticheskii trud, Moscow:
Izdatel’stvo Akademii, 1995.

11. A. N. Zakharov, “Ob aktual’nikh problemakh sozdaniia vysokotochnogo oruzhiia,” Vooruzheniia,

politika, konversiia, vol. 2, no. 9, 1995, pp. 51-53; Yu. G. Sizov, A. L. Skokov, and V. I. Korshunov, “Nekotorye
voprosi bor’bi s vysokotochnym oruzhiem,” Vooruzheniia, politika, konversiia, vol. 2, no. 9, 1995, pp. 54-57; and
S. A. Golovin et al., Vysokotochnoe oruzhie i bor’ba s nim, Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Vooruzhenie, Politika,
Konversiia, 1996.

12. V. S. Pirumov, “O nekotorykh itogakh i posledstviakh boevogo primeneniia sistem i sredstv razvedki,
upravleniia i REB v boevykh deistviiakh v zone Persidskogo zaliva” [On Several Results and Consequences of
the Combat Use of Systems and Means of Reconnaissance, command and control, and R[adio] E[lectronic
W[arfare] in Combat Actions in the Zone of the Persian Gulf], Geopolitika i bezopasnost’, no. 2 1994, pp. 81-84;
and V. S. Pirumov and R. A. Chervinsky, Radio-elektronika v voine na more, [Radio-Electronics in Warfare at
Sea], Moscow: Voenizdat, 1987. Pirumov noted that automated command and control systems and modern
means of radio-electronic warfare had made seizing the command of the “ether” the precursor to command of the
air in the conduct of combat actions.

13. Valdimir Pirumov, “On the Concept of Russia’s National Security,” Russian Executive and Legislative
Newsletter, no. 9, 1995, p. 7; and V. I. Tsymbal, “Kontseptsiia ‘informatsionnoi voini,’” paper delivered at
conference with the Russian Academy of State Management, Moscow, September 14, 1995. In 1992, Pirumov
began to speak of the “informatization” of warfare, which he described in the Gulf War as “the large-scale usage
of various types of information complexes and systems by the Multinational forces (MNF), which were realized
in the means of reconnaissance, control, and high-precision weapons, as well as by the forces and means of
electronic warfare (EW).” See V. Pirumov, “Nekotorye posledstviia informatizatsii vooruzhennoi bor’by po
itogam boevykh deistvii v zone Persidskogo zaliva,” in Akademiia Estestvennykh Nauk Rossiiskoi Federatsii,
Sektsiia Geopolitiki i Bezopasnosti, Problemi regional’noi i global’noi bezopasnosti v kontse XX-nachale XXI
vekov; Vooruzhennye sily i vysshee voennoe obrazovanie (Moskva, 6-11 sentiabria 1992 goda). Vystupleniia i
materially, Moscow: AVIAR, 1993, pp. 111-113.

14. Vladimir I. Slipchenko, “Russian Analysis of Warfare Leading to the Sixth Generation,” Field Artillery,
October 1993, pp. 38-41; and V. I. Slipchenko, “Voina budushchego,” in Nauchnye doklady 88, Moscow:
Moskovskiy Obshchestvennyi Nauchnyi Fond, 1999.

15. Makhmut A. Gareev, Esli zavtra voiyna? Chto izmenitsia v kharaktere vooruzhennoi bor’by v blizhaishie
20-25 let, Moscow: VlaDar, 1995.

16. Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 26, 1999. Russian titles cited here are from:
http://news.eastview.com.cgi-bin/SFgate.tr4

17. Ibid.

18. Ibid.

19. “Voennaia doktrina Rossiiskoi Federatsii,” Krasnaia zvezda, October 9, 1999, p. 3.

20. Ibid.

21. M. A. Gareev, If War Comes Tomorrow? The Contours of Future Armed Conflict, London: Frank Cass,
1998, pp. 74-75.

22. “Russia May Adopt a New Military Doctrine,” Moscow, Itar-Tass, 25 October 25, 1999.

332

 23. Valeriy Aleksin, “Soldiers of the Third Millennium: Russian Academy of Military Sciences Forecasts
Nature of Future Conflicts,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, July 16-22, 1999, p. 4. FBIS Document ID:
FTS19990804000817, August 4, 1999.

24. Ibid.

25. Ibid.

26. Ibid.

27. Ibid., p. 5.

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 THE RUSSIAN VIEW OF INFORMATION WAR

Timothy L. Thomas

Introduction

This chapter highlights four basic aspects of Russian thinking on information warfare
(IW): terminology and theory; military-technical and information-psychological
developments; implications of information operations (IO) for Russia (and the West); and the
impact of IO on military doctrine and national security policy. We begin with an explanation
of the importance of information security issues to 21st century Russia.

The Growing Role of Information in Russia

On July 25, 1999, the London Sunday Times reported that American officials believed
Russia may have stolen some of the United States’ most sensitive military secrets (including
weapons guidance systems and naval intelligence codes) in a concerted espionage offensive.
The theft, accomplished using computer hacking techniques, reportedly incited Deputy
Defense Secretary John Hamre to note that “we are in the middle of a cyber war.” At the same
time, defense journals across America are printing a veritable endless stream of articles
about the decrepit state of Russia’s armed forces. It cannot house its officers or pay them in a
timely and adequate fashion, and the armed forces are crime-ridden and underfed, according
to these reports. Yet Russia allegedly can successfully attack and access America’s most
secret defense files? Why is there such a disparity in the apparent information age
capabilities of a country with limited information technological assets and with an armed
force in a poor state of readiness?

To answer that question succinctly, Russian scientists are making do in the absence of a
high-technology computer industrial base, not to mention a severe shortage of money, by
relying on the capabilities of a plethora of skilled mathematicians and scientists. The
computer age, particularly its software aspect, comports well with a particular Soviet and
now Russian strength–the ability of Russian scientists to write the programs and compose
the algorithms that stable software, creative programs, and hacking require, making their
abilities so attractive to Russia’s Ministry of Defense (MOD). This strength is apparent on the
pages of many Russian information journals such as Questions of Protecting Information,
Various Branches of Information Service, Information Technology in Plan and Production,
and Information Resources of Russia, among others. The computer age has offered Russia
and other economically stressed countries a rare opportunity–to be relatively weak
materially and physically, yet capable of wreaking havoc not only with the military of
stronger powers, but also with their societal and economic elements; all via the talents and
creativity of scientists and mathematicians.

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 Russian thinking about potential uses of the information spectrum began long ago but
existed under a cloak of extreme secrecy imposed by the Soviet communist regime. Today,
Russian security specialists believe that no issue is more important or more fraught with
uncertainty than the current and future information environment. There are several good
reasons why this is so. First, the free-flowing, cross-border exchange of information has
offered people and organizations in the former Soviet Union unstructured access to
information never before available. This relatively unfettered exchange via electronic media
permits citizens and decisionmakers alike a variety of ideological, political, religious, and
other information sources from which to choose. Because such access was once forbidden by
strict internal and external barriers, this access is coming at a time when many Russians are
still searching for the values and purposes for their very existence. Under such conditions,
the mass media, especially television and the press, play a much more important role than
ever before.

Second, Russians perceive that information itself has developed into a very important
type of national or strategic resource. The “informatization” (informatizatziia) of society
through the computerization of machines sharply influences financial markets, business
practices, and even the capabilities of military weapons. In the latter case, information can
increase the precision and effectiveness of both traditional (missiles, rockets, etc.) and
non-traditional (non-lethal, psychological, etc.) types of munitions. Russians believe that
countries possessing “information superiority” may be more inclined than before to employ
military force. To such countries, military objectives may seem more attainable without
significant loss of life and with no apparent ecological risk. Many Russians believe that the
recent NATO intervention in Kosovo was based on the alliance’s possession of information
superiority, thereby virtually guaranteeing victory for the NATO operation.

Third, many Russians believe that a single global “information space” is emerging, which
could allow a country to exploit this space and alter the global balance of power. Specifically, a
country can dominate in either an important military-political or military-technical
competitive realm, or simply deny another country from doing so.

Fourth, Russians realize that few legal restraints exist that can regulate information
interventions or even attacks. This factor also encourages the growth of concepts such as
cyberterrorism, that is, the use by terrorists of information means to penetrate or destroy
information security systems of banks, military institutions, or vital societal assets (power
stations and other infrastructural facilities and systems). Finally, many Russians
understand that they are far behind in the global race for information superiority and are
beginning to appreciate and fear the potential consequences of not competing successfully in
that race.

Such reasons as those discussed above most likely prompted recent Russian calls at the
United Nations for a worldwide information security policy and limitations on development of
information weaponry and operations. From a Russian perspective, information security is a
vital national concern and potential state vulnerability. While Russian security specialists
do not entirely understand information operations, they cannot ignore them, even in the short

336

term. It is for all these reasons that Russia has spent and is still spending considerable time
developing an information security doctrine.

The subject of information warfare and information operations has thus become almost as
significant and important to Russian military planners as the issue of nuclear proliferation.
Russian theorists warned decisionmakers not to submit to external forms of coercive
information diplomacy. Simultaneously, subcommittees of the State Duma commissioned
studies on both information warfare and “psychotronic” warfare (more on this later), and
Kremlin advisors and the security community are studying how information security issues
may affect the country’s political, technical, economic, and military policies. Some members
of the Russian academic community are also engaged in studying the potential impact of
information operations.

The analyst E. A. Belaev, a member of the Russian State Technical Commission (under
the President of the Russian Federation), believes that the informatization of society has led
to the collection, processing, maintaining, and exchange of information between
actors—people, organizations, and governments—in the single information space. As Belaev
defines them, the most critical information technologies within this space are those that
support:

� Governmental and military command and control organs;

� Financial, credit, and banking structures;

� Command and control systems of various types of transport, energy, and ecologi­
cally dangerous industries (nuclear, chemical, biological, and others); and;

� Warning systems for emergency situations and natural disasters.

Any underestimation of the information security of these systems, Belaev argues, could
lead to unpredictable political, economic, ecological, and material consequences, and perhaps
even turmoil. Therefore, today nations must consider their national information resources as
strategic resources, and protect them accordingly, nearly on a par with nuclear resources. In
addition, burgeoning access to global information networks such as the Internet only
underscore the necessity for protecting information resources from manipulation, corruption,
deception, or outright theft. The Internet has become an arena for potential conflict,
especially with regard to unauthorized access to databases.1

Russians have been writing about information security for years now. One of the best and
most complete explanations of the impact of the information age was offered by Rafael
Yusupov in a 1997 article in the journal Vooruzheniye, Politika, Konversiya. Yusupov opined
that information security was the basis and foundation of national security for Russia.
Information security includes information resources; the rights of citizens, legal persons, and
the state to receive, disseminate, and use information and protect confidential information
and intellectual property; systems for forming, disseminating, and using information
resources; and systems for shaping public awareness (world outlook, moral values, moral

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assessments, socially permissible stereotypes of behavior, and mutual relations among
people).

Information, as a result, either helps determine or strongly influences the status of

economic, defense, social, political and other components of national security. Information is
now the chief strategic resource. The infrastructure of the state is formed by
telecommunications and computer networks and distributed data and knowledge bases. The
processing, creation, distribution, and use of information is a growing sphere of the economy
at large. Information technologies (IT), introduced to all other spheres of society such as
science, education, military affairs, and so on, causes a cardinal change in the methods of
production and in people’s world outlook, style, and character. It has greatly altered their
work and living place.

Information space is physical space in which information flows circulate, with circulation
understood to mean perception, transmission, storage, processing, and use of information,
according to Yusupov.2 Information becomes one of the decisive factors in the development of
the individual, society, and the state. Information space has two dangers: it can be used to
monitor the state’s information resources (defined as the immediate product of intellectual
activity of the most qualified and creatively active portion of a country’s able-bodied
population), thus becoming information espionage; and information disruption can destroy or
disorganize the information resources of state structures. These effects can be realized in
peacetime, especially if critical application systems are affected, thereby distorting or
destroying information used for state management or decisionmaking. Information space
has no state boundaries, no institutions to protect state interests such as border or customs
checks. The border is transparent to information resources, and one day states may have to
regulate the movement of information flows.

The information security problem has created such dilemmas, procedures, and concepts as
IW, computer warfare, information opposition, information weapons, and information
terrorism. IW is “opposition in information space.” Information security problems also create
a social security problem in the information sense, since the vital interests of social subjects
are affected by information technologies (a new area for human rights activists?). Examples
are technologies that can monitor and regulate the informational interaction of people
(monitoring phones, correspondence, the Internet, creating data bases on people from bank
and sales transactions, etc.), and technologies that can shape public awareness (new mass
media technologies, psychotropic weapons, network technologies permitting access to various
negative information such as pornography and modern computer games that can shape a
child’s awareness).

Thus, there are three ways that information security impacts national security. First is
the security of vital state information resources and information systems, counters to which
are being actively developed by countries all over the world. Second is the predominance of
the information approach as the emerging primary scientific method of solving national
security problems.3 Finally, information can have an impact on a state or person’s social
awareness by manipulation of reality or fact, which in turn can have a significant impact on a
state’s national security decisionmakers.

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 The recent conflict in Kosovo has done little to assuage Russian concerns about the
significant role information will play in national security issues during the 21st century. For
the first time the United States and NATO justified military activities by geo-strategic
principles other than simply national interests. Writing in Foreign Affairs, Joseph Nye asked
whether it is possible to define interests conventionally in the information age, especially in
light of humanitarian concerns that, due to the impact of the mass media, divert public
attention away from real strategic issues. He summed up his views as follows:

The Canadian media guru Marshall McLuhan once prophesied that communications technolo­
gies would turn the world into a global village. Instead of a single cosmopolitan community,
however, they may have produced a congeries of global villages, each with all the parochial prej­
udices that the word implies, but with a greater awareness of global inequality,... all in the pres­
4
ence of television cameras and the Internet.

Nye noted that the United States now has an interest in the use of outer space and
cyberspace similar to the interests the British once expressed for freedom of the seas.
Notably, both are the channels through which words and ideas pass and democratic
principles can be promoted. However, the medium of cyberspace is also promoting the
advancement of “democratic interests” (such as humanitarian affairs) to the level of a state
interest at a startling pace. The Clinton administration clearly appeared to agree with this assessment,
based on its justification for the use of force in Kosovo. In summary, Nye added, �A democratic definition
of the national interest does not accept the distinction between a morality-based and an interest-based
foreign policy.�5 From this it is clear that new geo-political principles are beginning to emerge
in response to the influence of information. And it is this interpretation that worries the
Russians.

Terminology, Elements, and Theory of Information Warfare

Both the United States and Russia appear to have developed separate lexicons of
information-related terms over the past several years. On the Russian side, one can read
about the information component of the armed forces; the information resources of the state;
information aggression; information subversion; information capabilities of a side;
information war; information conflict; information superiority; and an information exchange,
to name only a few. On the U.S. side, the terms information carousel, information assurance,
information function, information grid, information differential, and information operations
appear to have no Russian equivalent.

While no official (that is, approved by the MOD and government) Russian definition of
information warfare is available in unclassified form to date, many different Russian
organizations have defined IW from their particular perspective. As a result, several
unofficial definitions are available. Some were developed by analysts, and some by
high-ranking members of the various agencies, including the Federal Agency for Government
Communications and Information (FAPSI), the military, the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, the
External Security Service, and the State Technical Commission.

339

 What makes these definitions distinctive is that the Russians are careful not to copy a
Western or even specific U.S. understanding of the term. Military analyst V. I. Tsymbal
points out that in the Russian Federation the organs of state security (primarily FAPSI, the
External Security Service [SVR], and the Federal Security Service [FSB]) are responsible for
the accomplishment of IW in the broad definition of the term. Partial confirmation of this fact
was recently affirmed by the attempt of the FAPSI to have the State Duma allow it to control
the Internet in Russia. FAPSI, comprising the former KGB Eighth Chief Directorate and
16th Directorate, is somewhat an equivalent to the U.S. National Security Agency (NSA). It
alleged that the CIA was creating information weapons and combat computer viruses, and,
therefore, control was needed.6 Now, it appears that the FSB is responsible for this task.

However, all of these Russian agencies and the military have employed IW definitions
that do seem to adhere to a common theme, namely, that information warfare is conducted in
both peacetime and wartime. In its peacetime use, the term applies more broadly, that is, to
the information security of society and the government in the psychological, scientific,
cultural, and production aspects, with special emphasis on protecting state information
resources and attempting to influence enemy information resources. In its wartime use, the
term refers more narrowly to the attainment of superiority or the reduction of uncertainty
through the use of information protection and suppression systems, to include command and
control, EW, reconnaissance, and to attempts to disorganize the enemy. A look at the IW
definitions of several agencies, commissions, and ministries follows.

The Sluzhba Vneshnik Razvedka Definition of IW. Information war, according to the head
of the External Security Service (SVR), is a concept that includes establishing control over
other states’ information resources, deterring the development of information technology in
countries which are potential enemies, possibly disrupting or completely putting out of
operation information networks and communication systems, and developing information
weapons and systems for safeguarding the security of a country’s own information structure
and information flows.7

Of all the definitions of IW, this is perhaps the most impressive for its variety and
inclusion of several geo-political issues (deterrence, etc.)—and the most deplorable, for it
designs to establish world hegemony in this area. Disruption of enemy capabilities and
development of friendly IW equipment and information weapons is just the opposite of the
United Nations definition offered by the Russians in the fall of 1998. The SVR is the only
service that has a clear mission outside of Russia’s borders, although FAPSI also shares some
of this burden.

Ministry of Foreign Affairs Definition of IW. Perhaps the most authoritative definition
from a high-ranking official was offered by Russian Foreign Minister Ivanov. It was far from
the most comprehensive, however. In a letter to the General Assembly of the United Nations
on September 23, 1998, he defined information war as “actions taken by one country to
damage the information resources and systems of another country while at the same time
protecting its own infrastructures.” Within his definition is the object of attack as defined by
the Russians: information resources.

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 It is extremely important to understand what the Russians mean by an information

resource (IR) and its place in the overall understanding of Russian IW thinking. For military
IW specialist Admiral (retired) Vladimir Pirumov, an information resource is understood to
be information which is gathered and stored during the development of science, practical
human activity, or the operation of special organizations or devices for the collection,
processing, and presentation of information. The information is saved magnetically or in any
other form which assures its delivery in time and space to its consumers in order to solve
scientific, manufacturing, or management tasks.8

The Academy of Natural Sciences offered a slightly different definition of IR, defining it as
“information received in the process of the life of citizens, society, and the state, and
registered in the form of a document.”9 It is likely that this definition was purposely left vague
and general to stimulate discussion in the U.N. It certainly does not go into half the detail of
the other operative definitions within Russian security agencies.

Military Definitions of IW. The definitions offered by the military are more specific, as
expected, and primarily address battlefield IW. Particular emphasis is placed on command
and control, and reconnaissance-strike complexes. However, the Russian military is acutely
aware of the potential destructiveness of peacetime IW, and addresses it as well.

Admiral Pirumov was one of the most authoritative persons to define the term so far. He is
a former instructor of electronic warfare at the General Staff Academy and also former
Scientific Advisor to the President of Russia. He defined information warfare as follows:

“Information warfare” is a new form of battle of two or more sides which consists of the
goal-oriented use of special means and methods of influencing the enemy’s information resource,
10
and also of protecting one’s own information resource, in order to achieve assigned goals.

His definition implies that IW is an activity that can be carried on in peacetime as well as
wartime. For strict wartime scenarios, Pirumov offered a definition of IW in operations that
aimed at gaining an information advantage on the battlefield:

“Information warfare in operations (combat actions)” is the aggregate of all the coordinated mea­
sures and actions of troops conducted according to a single plan in order to gain or maintain an
information advantage over the enemy during the preparation or conduct of operations (combat
actions). An information advantage assumes that one’s own troop and weapon command and
control components are informed to a greater degree than are those of the enemy, that they pos­
sess more complete, detailed, accurate, and timely information than does the enemy, and that
the condition and capabilities of one’s own command and control system make it possible to actu­
11
alize this advantage in combat actions of troops (forces).

Pirumov currently is the President of the Academy of Natural Sciences of the Academy of
Sciences of Russia. He played a major part in developing a dictionary of geo-political terms
sponsored by his organization and edited by Colonel General Valeriy Manilov, the current
First Deputy to the Minister of Defense of Russia. The dictionary defined IW as:

An inter or intrastate information struggle that involves methods which damage or completely
destroy the information environment of the opposing side. It is an information influence on vari-

341

 ous spheres of societal and governmental activity, a system of measures to capture the informa­
12
tion resources of a state and key positions in the informatization sphere.

Ministry of Defense civilian analyst V. I. Tsymbal, mentioned earlier, offered both a broad
and narrow definition of information war (he preferred the Russian “informatsionnoya
voyna,” literally, information war), noting that:

In the broad sense, information warfare is one of the varieties of the “cold war”—countermea­
sures between two states implemented mainly in peacetime with respect not only and not so
much to the armed forces as much as to the civilian population and the people’s public/social
awareness, to state administrative systems, production control systems, scientific control, cul­
tural control, etc. It is namely in this sense that the information security of the individual, soci­
ety, and state is usually understood.

In the narrow sense, information warfare is one of the varieties of military activity/opera­
tions/actions (or the immediate preparation for them) and has as its goal the achievement of
overwhelming superiority over the enemy in the form of efficiency, completeness, and reliability
of information upon its receipt, treatment, and use, and the working out of effective administra­
tive decisions and their purposeful implementation so as to achieve combat superiority (victory)
on the basis of this. The waging of information warfare in the narrow sense is the field of respon­
13
sibility of mainly the ministers of defense of modern states.

A final definition is offered by Colonel S. A. Komov, a Candidate of Technical Sciences and

Professor. Komov wrote more about the topic of IW on the pages of Military Thought in the
mid-1990s than any other analyst to date. He defines IW within the confines of one of those
articles that looked only at its wartime use, as follows:

A complex of information support, information countermeasures, and information defense mea­

sures, taken according to a single design and planning, and aimed at gaining and holding infor­
mation superiority over an enemy while launching and conducting a military action/battle.
Interconnections between information warfare and other types of operational/combat support
and activities that make up its contents should be noted as well (intelligence, information gath­
14
ering, communications, etc.).

Komov believes four issues are at stake in his definition: (1) identifying a set of measures to
gain information on the opponent and on the condition of an engagement (electronic, weather,
engineer, etc.), to gather information on friendly forces, and to process and exchange
information between command and control echelons or sites; (2) identifying measures to block
the information-gathering processes of others, and to feed deceptive information at all stages;
(3) identifying friendly countermeasures; and (4) gaining information superiority over the
enemy.

An information weapon is another term defined by the Russians. It is a specially selected

piece of information capable of causing changes in the information processes of information
systems (physical, biological, social, etc.) according to the intent of the employer of the
weapon. Information weapons are aimed not only at hardware and software systems, but also
at wetware or the mind. These latter weapons include acoustic weapons, drugs, light,
electromagnetic weapons, and other non-lethals.

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 Elements of IW. Theorists differ over the elements that comprise IW. Listed here are two
variants. Both are products of either theorists or practitioners who could be considered as
Russian info warriors. First is the variant of former First Deputy Minister of Defense and
former National Security Chief Andrei Kokoshin, who was ultimately responsible for
research and development of these information systems. He divided information warfare into
the following five subcategories:

� Electronic warfare;

� Intelligence;

� Communications;

� Operational command and control systems; and

� Facilities for the protection of command and control systems against enemy influ-
ence.15

The second variant is that of V. I. Tsymbal. Information warfare, in his view, must be
considered an integrated whole of systems working together that includes the following eight
subcategories:

� Intelligence and counterintelligence gathering;

� Maskirovka and disinformation;

� Use of EW systems;

� Debilitation of communications and scrambling of enemy data;

� Determination of state to which a military objective belongs;

� Destruction of an enemy’s navigational support;

� Use of psychological pressure on the enemy; and

� Destruction of enemy computer nets and software programs.16

General Theory of IW. General Major N. A. Kostin, Chairman of the Radio-Electronic

Department, General Staff Academy, wrote a general theory of IW. He defined IW (using both
informatsionnoy bor’boy and protivoborstvom as ways to say IW) in accordance with the
definition offered at the U.N.—as “a form of struggle between sides that involves the use of
special methods and means for impacting the information medium of the opposing side and
protecting one’s own side in order to achieve the assigned tasks.” The goal thus is to provide
information security for one’s own side and lower the information security posture of the
opposing side. He noted that the battle over information is now so important that the struggle

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for ore, oil, and markets could fade in comparison. Kostin added that the information struggle
is a special and independent category of war, a component element of any other form of war,
and that it is waged constantly in peacetime and wartime.

Kostin believes that political factors have the greatest impact on the substance of IW, and
drive its goals, tasks, and issues. Political factors also determine the means, methods, and
characteristics of conducting the battle, its scope, and duration, and provide the necessary
material support and financial resources. Economic factors determine the scientific and
technical development of the computerization of society and the state. Kostin described the
information factor as determining the scope of the struggle, the procedures and methods of its
conduct, and the capabilities for utilizing them when influencing the enemy’s information
environment. This factor depends on the level of computerization of the sides.

The logical elements forming the foundation of IW are categories, laws, patterns, and
principles. Categories objectively reflect the essence and core characteristics of the most
important manifestations of IW. They represent a body of military-theoretical thought that
includes general terms such as information and IW, and particular terms such as protecting
information and attacking information. They can reflect the structure, substance, and
requirements of IW. The laws of the materialistic dialectic present themselves as well,
according to Kostin, as objective laws and patterns of military activity valid for IW. These
include the law of the defining role that politics plays in IW, and the laws on the course and
outcome of war and IW which depend on economic, socio-political, scientific-technical, and
military capabilities. Recognizing patterns that are inherent in IW is where the primary
efforts are directed. This includes the pattern of dependency among goals, on the one hand,
and available means and capabilities on the other. The effectiveness of IW is determined by
the proportionality among the goals, tasks, systems used, and means available, taking into
account the enemy’s countermeasures.

Russian analysts have developed a methodology to evaluate the effectiveness of the means
of counteracting threats to information security. Developed by scientists Dmitriy
Chereshkin, Georgiy Smolyan, and Vitaliy Tsygichko and in 1995, the work builds on the
methodological foundation provided by the information security draft. Its goal is to evaluate
the effectiveness of an existing information security system plus its subsystems, components,
and elements, with the understandable goal of identifying weak points in this system and
substantiating the selection of the most rational ways to improve and develop it.17 This is
accomplished through a detailed mathematical modeling process.18 To date, the United
States has not succeeded in developing such a coefficient.

According to these scientists, the methodology for evaluating the effectiveness of

information security consists of eight steps:

� Defining an information security system;

� Defining the notion of subsystems;

� Classifying subsystems and identifying features of each class;

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 � Developing conceptual models of the classes of subsystems;

� Determining a set of criteria and formulating a set of problems for evaluating the ef­
fectiveness of subsystems;

� Determining a list of normative and variable information necessary for solving ef­
fectiveness evaluation problems;

� Developing methods to evaluate the threat to information security as a function of

the degree of protection of objects of information security, and developing methods
for ranking threats; and,

� Developing a practical methodology to evaluate the effectiveness as applied to dif­

ferent classes of information security system subsystems, and performing calcula­
tions based on this methodology.19

Obtaining this and associated information, in the scientists’ view, permits the formulation of
questions for evaluating the effectiveness of existing information security systems, and for
posing tasks for creating new information security systems.

Information-Psychological/ Military-Technical Aspects of Informa­

tion Warfare

Information-psychological. Russian military researchers have focused on the

informational and psychological stability of individuals and society as a whole for a variety of
cogent reasons, but the primary one is the psychological security of Russian citizens. This is
due to the striking change that has occurred in the country’s dominant ideology, a change that
did not occur in the West. Understandably, therefore, the absence of a similar ideological
shock has prompted less attention to this subject in Western countries. However, more
general trends in the West, such as the proliferation of computer disk-driven games and the
influence of the Internet on youth, are impelling increased interest in the subject.
Specifically, more American researchers are now pondering the influence of information
technology on the minds of its citizens, a phenomenon accelerated by the sort of youth violence
that took place in Columbine High School in Littleton, Colorado, in April 1999.

The Russian military excels in the study of the impact of the information-psychological
aspect of information warfare. To date, the United States has not conducted extensive
analysis in this area except for those personnel in psychological operations. Conversely,
Russian military scientists have been studying not only the ability of information warfare to
affect the values, emotions, and beliefs of target audiences (traditional psychological warfare
theory), but also methods to affect the objective reasoning process of soldiers. This reminds
one of Andrei Kokoshin’s 1996 appeal to conduct an in-depth study of the political and social
structures of various countries, systems of state control, and “psychological behavioral
stereotypes.” Instead of relying on massive fires against personnel, weapons, military

345

hardware, and military targets, the “main efforts” should be concentrated in achieving the
destruction of the psychic components on which an enemy’s capacity for organized resistance
depends.20 That is, Russia should be interested in ascertaining how to affect not only the
data-processing capability of hardware and software but also the operating principles that
drive various cultures, whether they be social or economic. Here the idea of the unwillingness
of the United States to take massive casualties comes to mind as a behavioral stereotype.

Three books published in the Russian Federation during recent years serve as an example
of this fixation on behavior and on the mind itself. Endorsed by the State Duma’s Security
Committee, the first book was, appropriately enough, entitled,Informatsionnaya voina
[Information War].21 This book examined how to manipulate the mind by toying with the
algorithms (to include how to model them) that define human behavior. Humans, the author
noted, like computers, can have a “virus” inserted in their information system (reasoning
process) if the proper algorithms of mental logic can be affected. The authors dubbed this
human information virus a “psycho virus,” which, according to mathematical formulas, could
perhaps be inserted as a “suggestive influence” to alter the mind’s algorithms or prevent
objective reasoning. The second book, entitled Psikhotronnoe oruzhie i bezopasnost’ rossii
[Psychotronic Weapons and the Security of Russia] bore the endorsement of the State Duma’s
Information Security Committee.22 It was coauthored by the Chief of the Information
Security subsection of the Security Committee of the Duma, Major (retired) Vladimir
Lopatin23 and V. D. Tsigankov. They defined psychotronics as an inter-disciplinary area of
scientific knowledge, which when mediated by consciousness and perceptual processes,
investigates distant (non-contiguous) interactions among living organisms and the
environment.

The third book that tackled information-psychological problems was Secret Weapons of
Information Warfare. It focused squarely on the impact on the mind of information issues.
The general content can be glimpsed from the chapter titles:

1. Basic Directions in the Development of IW under Modern Conditions

2. Understanding Phenomenology in Man and Controlling his Behavior. Education on

the Use of Psycho-Physical Weapons

3. Methods for the Precise Orientation of Covert Effects on the Human Psyche

4. Psychotronic Means of Subconscious Effects on the Human Psyche

5. The Integral Method of Psycho-Physical Weapons

The psyche is defined in one Russian publication as an active reflection by man of the
objective [real] world, the formation of a picture of this world, and, based on this picture,
self-regulation of one’s behavior and activity. The Secret Weapons book and the Psychotronic
Weapons and the Security of Russia work by Lopatin and Tsigankov are part of a series of
books called “Informationization of Russia on the Threshold of the 21st Century.” The
foregoing three books underscore the Russian belief that informational and psychological

346
matters should be of concern to civilian and military leaders alike as valid subjects for close
scrutiny, and that their effects both positive and negative can be experienced in peacetime
and wartime.

Colonel Igor Panarin of FAPSI, speaking at a conference in 1997, stated that there is a
need in Russia to develop information-psychological subunits in government and military
directorates. The role of these departments would be to develop strategic and operational
measures to prevent or neutralize attempts to control the psyche of Russian society (what he
termed the “strategy of psychological defense”). A Main Directorate in Support of
Psychological Security would ensure the psychological component of Russian national
security.24

Methods of persuasion are an IW weapon specifically oriented against the psychological

security of individuals. The primary Russian information weapon in this regard is a concept
known as reflexive control (RC), also called “intellectual IW.” RC is defined as a means of
conveying to a partner or an opponent specially prepared information to incline him to
voluntarily make the predetermined decision desired by the initiator of the action. S. A.
Komov has noted that the goals of RC are to distract, overload, paralyze, exhaust, deceive,
divide, pacify, deter, provoke, suggest, or pressure an opponent with information.

Other less known but reported information-psychological related activities include:

� Military unit 10003, which studies the occult and mysticism, reportedly to under-
stand the recruiting and “brain washing” techniques of these groups.

� Anti-ESP training in the strategic rocket forces, designed to enable missile launch­
ers to establish mental firewalls in case someone from the outside attempts to take
over their thoughts.

� Astrologers in MOD, who predict ambushes, plane crashes, and other phenomena.

� Practice with the “25th frame effect,” which tries to insert a subliminal message by
adding a 25th frame to a movie or computer-generated scene (normal viewing is 24
frames a second; the 25th frame, if added, is thought of in the context of a subliminal
message).

� Applying electromagnetic impulses to the head of a soldier to adjust his/her

psychophysical data.

� Remote viewing and psychotronics.

For example, it has been alleged but never substantiated that during the 1996 Russian
elections, a 25th frame was added with President Yeltsin’s picture on the night before the
elections to some television programming. The intent was to insert a subliminal message into
the heads of voters just before the elections.

347

 Military-technical. On January 28, 2000, Russian President Vladimir Putin announced

that Russia would sharply increase the purchase of new weapons and equipment for its
armed forces. High-tech conventional weapons were one of his priorities. Called a shift in
spending priorities, Putin said the change would amount to as much as 80 percent in some
categories.25

This announcement was predictable based on a speech by Marshall Igor Sergeyev,

Russia’s Minister of Defense, at the end of 1999. The war in Kosovo demonstrated to Sergeyev
that a new phase of the revolution in military affairs (RMA) is upon us. The United States, he
noted, demonstrated a significant military-technical breakthrough in the sphere of
information support of combat operations that must be countered. Putin’s changes appear to
set in motion a policy designed to provide that counter. Sergeyev’s comments, in a December
1999 issue of the military newspaper Red Star devoted to military-technical issues on the eve
of the 21st century, also discussed the main domestic and foreign threats to Russia, and the
main missions and problems of Russia’s military-technical policy.26

Sergeyev used the term “information” 14 times in his discussion of military-technical

issues. This emphasis is not surprising. Over the past five years, Russian specialists have
studied and written about information issues profusely. Some of this effort was reflected in
the information aspect of state security, highlighted in both the country’s draft military
doctrine and approved national security concept.

Sergeyev noted that Kosovo signified the beginning of “contactless,” virtual,

information-technical warfare. The biggest NATO military-technical advantage came from
information-support systems such as reconnaissance platforms, which contribute mightily to
the desire of the United States to break away from the rest of the civilized world in such
systems. Unable to compete at the present time, Russia, in Sergeyev’s view, must look to
asymmetric options. The situation is such that

in the coming years, Russia will not be able to support military-strategic and military-technical
parity with the leading military powers of the West on a “symmetrical” basis, especially in the
area of non-nuclear armaments...it is necessary to search for a reasonable combination of evolu­
tionary and “revolutionary” paths and more effective asymmetrical directions for the develop­
ment of weapons and military technology and technologically outfitting the Russian armed
27
forces.

Sergeyev listed information missions before nuclear and non-nuclear missions in his
report, noting that priority for systems development would go first to information, and then to
operational, rear support, and mobility systems. In the field of non-nuclear armaments,
Sergeyev placed the highest priority on the development of systems, resources, and means for
defending government, military, and commercial information systems. The goal is to avoid
direct military-technical competition with the most developed countries by creating
“asymmetrical” armed conflict means by which the most vulnerable functional elements of a
potential enemy’s systems and key target infrastructure are destroyed, thereby devaluing
military-technical superiority.28

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 Sergeyev listed the main weapons and military-technical directions for the armed forces
as reconnaissance and command and control, with the latter specifically at the
operational-tactical and tactical levels. The goal is to create an integrated information
environment, and a single system of military standards to transmit data. Other
military-technical requirements are for universal, information-oriented, and smart
equipment; and for making use of miniaturization when possible and reducing the
wavelength signature of equipment. Both of the latter have heavy information support
requirements.

Sergeyev noted the close integration of information systems and nuclear weapons as well.
He stated that information-technical developments of both support and defensive systems
help guarantee the effective use of nuclear weapons, and are a “new aspect of nuclear
deterrence.” In addition, destructive qualities of weapons based on new physical principles
now approach those of nuclear weapons. Such new weapons signify a qualitative leap in the
forms and means of armed conflict, changing the parameters of “parity.” Russia’s main
priority in the field of prospective weapons will be guided and electromagnetic energy
weapons (with the former highly dependent on information support, the “informatization” of
weaponry), cyber-weapons, and stealth unmanned combat platforms, Sergeyev added. At the
operational-tactical level, the focus will be on multi-charge systems, automated
reconnaissance-information fields, and precision weapons.

Finally, Sergeyev addressed space needs. Here he called for modern satellites with
increased accuracy and longer use, more navigational devices for the soldier, and a new
generation of satellites for topogeodesic support of the armed forces.29 Sergeyev’s concluding
remark was that a new phase of the RMA has begun, and Russia must not lose time. Time
frames are such that any further delays in starting a full-scale modernization of the armed
forces could lead to a fatal, insurmountable advantage to other countries.30

Much of the Russian military equipment under development now and reported in the
Russian and Western press appears to stick closely to the goals and missions that Sergeyev
enumerated. It is doubtful whether these systems will be as dominantly high-tech as
comparable pieces of equipment in the West, but the Russian military-industrial complex is
making progress. Systems currently under development and in the process of fielding include
the Shkval, the M-55, X-101, X-555, the Iskander, and the Pchela, all of which are examined
below. Each is highly dependent on information technologies.

With regard to reconnaissance assets, Russia is also at work on a high-altitude

reconnaissance plane that will enable it to acquire real-time targets in local conflicts. Dubbed
the M-55, the plane will be able to provide instant targeting for other aircraft and ground
weaponry systems, and can download reconnaissance data, including map information, to
command facilities.31 Another reconnaissance system is the UAV known as the Pchela.
Operated primarily by the airborne, according to press reports, two Pchela’s can be launched
every 30 minutes but only two can be controlled at any one time. The current plan is to
upgrade this UAV from a reconnaissance to a reconnaissance-and-attack vehicle. Efforts are
underway to make the drone all-weather with night sensors, and to improve its TV’s
resolution. Flight endurance at present is only two hours.32

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 In 1999 there were several military-technical improvements of note. The biggest
headlines were grabbed by Academician Nikolai Guschchin, chief constructor of the
Machine-Building Design Office, for his development of the Iskander-E missile complex for
ground forces. It is designed for accuracy, with the ability to hit small and pin-point targets.
Iskander-E was preceded by Gushchin’s Tochka, Oka, and Tochka-V missile complexes. For
these achievements Guschchin was named the Russian Biography Institute “man of the
year.”33 Russia will also start serial production of the X-101 and X-555 strategic cruise
missiles. The X-101 reportedly can hit targets up to 5,000 kilometers away with an accuracy
within 5-6 meters. Both missiles also have a reduced visibility to radar, making their
detection very difficult.34

In the wake of the conflict in Kosovo, Russia is trying to expand exports of its S-400
surface-to-air missile (SAM) system. Its claimed maximum engagement range is 400
kilometers. In addition, Russia is offering a new integrated command and control system
known as the 45L61. The system is designed to control air defense systems, interceptors, and
airborne warning and control systems over a very broad area. The export version is known as
the Universal-1E, and it is being offered to CIS countries and perhaps China and India. The
system can detect, identify, and track airborne targets within a range of 3,200 kilometers,
which are flying at a speed of up to 6,000 kilometers per hour, and at altitudes of up to 100
kilometers, according to Russian sources.35 Such military-technical developments as the
Pchela, the Iskandler, and new command and control systems support the demands of
Lieutenant General Igor Rogov, First Deputy Chief of Armaments of the Russian Armed
Forces, who noted that local wars would require the modernization of existing of modern
weapons, and that:

These operations are certainly possible only with full military-technical superiority over the en­
emy that has been achieved first and foremost through the effective employment of long-range
precision-guided munitions that function in the outline of a reconnaissance-strike system with
36
space reconnaissance, communications, navigation, and command and control elements.

The Russian navy is selling supersonic antiship missiles to Boeing, the Kh-31A missile
(NATO designation, Krypton). Over a five-year period, Russia will sell the United States 100
of these missiles. The Kh-31A flies at Mach 4.5, while its closest Russian twin, the Sunburn,
which the Russians sold to the Chinese, flies at Mach 3. Some believe Russia is being very
clever here, selling one system to China, a superior system to the United States, and then
intending to sell the next generation Sunburn to the Chinese.37 China and Russia, according
to a British newspaper, are developing an air-to-air missile with a ram jet propulsion system
that gives the missile a 50 mile range and a speed of Mach 3. Unlike traditional air-to-air
missiles with only six seconds of thrust, the “ram jet” has a full minute of thrust. This
capability is reportedly three years ahead of any similar class of RAF missile.38

In November 1999, the Russian Navy announced the development of the Shkval missile,
and an export version known as Shkval-E missile. Capable of moving at up to 200 knots, the
missile is programmed by feeding speed, distance, and vector parameters into the missile’s
automatic pilot. The missile does not have a homing warhead but rather follows a
computer-generated program, and is thus very difficult to throw off target.39

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 An interesting source of information on Russia’s information warfare capabilities is the

journal Military Parade. In a May 1996 article entitled “Information Warfare Facilities,”
author Yuri Perunov discussed the Persian Gulf war and the priority for electronic and
information warfare that it demonstrated. He noted that the radios, radio-engineering,
radar, television, and infrared optical reconnaissance equipment located on ships, aircraft,
and earth satellites provided the United States and its allies with real-time information on all
activities of the Iraqi army.40 In Perunov’s view, the struggle for on-line information is
becoming important because “virtually all armament and combat material employ
electronics operating over the entire frequency range for target acquisition, transmission of
data to control troops, as well as for the direction and control of the destruction means and
high-precision weapons, enabling the ‘detect-fire-and forget’ principle to be realized.”41

The four tasks of the Russian electronic warfare (EW) forces are as follows: first, monitor
electronic emissions and establish data banks in real time; second, jam enemy electronic
means; third, use EW equipment to guide precision weapons to destroy a target; and finally,
employ passive jamming and deception techniques including stealth armament, chaff, smoke
screens, and aerosols, among others. This capability destroys the enemy’s information field
while preventing the transfer of information from friendly sources to potential enemy
weapons. The Russians believe that their EW system also can suppress aircraft
reconnaissance, navigation, and weapon control radars, including high-precision ones.42

The Russian military-industrial complex is busy at work producing information warfare

equipment, and publicizing it for purposes of external sales. One pamphlet notes that the 122
MM Grad rocket system now has a rocket (LILIA-2) with built-in interference transmitters
that are deliverable to locations of communication means and capable of introducing
interference in the shortwave and FM ranges. The operational life of each transmitter is 60
minutes.43In addition, the Russians believe they have developed radars that can detect
stealth aircraft (such as the 55Zh6-1 and 1L13-3 radars); jammers such as the Shtora-1 that
can protect aviation material from infrared homers; the Zoopark-1 reconnaissance complex,
allowing for enemy firing positions to be fixed with a high degree of speed and accuracy; and
the Senezh-M1E and Rubezh-Me automated air defense forces control systems.

Information technology improvements that Russia hopes will maintain a deterrent

capability vis-à-vis the United States include improving ICBM capability to penetrate an
ABM defense; developing EW assets that disrupt the functioning of the ABM defense;
maintaining a reconnaissance, navigation, and communications satellite grouping;
improving the system of command and control of Strategic Nuclear Forces to permit optimum
structuring of a strike in relation to a particular Ballistic Missile Defense alignment; and
placing in service long-range, low-signature strategic cruise missiles (Kh-101) which existing
BMD cannot intercept.44 The Washington Times reported in June that Russia had resumed
testing on a high-altitude weapon that fires off an electromagnetic pulse (EMP).45 It may be
part of Moscow’s ongoing anti-satellite weapon development program to attack U.S.
satellites, which U.S. Secretary of Defense William Cohen has termed “an infringement on
our sovereign rights.”46

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 The Chechen War reportedly has helped the military-industrial complex. According to
Valentin Rudenko, an arms trade expert with Moscow’s Military News Agency, “The war has
highlighted the necessity of developing high-precision weapons that can be used without
threatening civilian lives. So the process of modernizing weapons has been intensified.”47 In
addition, the war has demonstrated the requirement to update military satellites. These
satellites provide targeting data and telecommunications support, and intercept
communications not only between Chechen field commanders but also between Chechen
rebels and supporters abroad. Satellite imagery support is minimal, since there is only one
imagery pass a day over Chechnya.48 According to Pavel Podvig, military space expert of the
Moscow-based Center for Arms Control, Energy and Environmental Studies, the imagery
satellite is not capable of maintaining data-link contact with Russian forces. Thus, it cannot
provide current information on the movement of Chechen rebels.49 Communications and
signal intelligence intercepts are providing much more support than the imagery bird. This
intelligence limitation would seem to make satellites a priority procurement concern in the
coming years. Zinovii Pak, director of the Russian federal government’s ammunition agency,
confirmed this fact with reporters on October 6, 1999. He noted that high-precision weaponry
and satellites will be procured.50

A report in early January 2000 confirmed the gravity of the situation. It was reported that
Russia’s early warning system could detect U.S. ICBM launches only for 17 hours a day. This
is because only four of Russia’s 21 satellites are still working.51

Other IW Implications for Russia, The Systemology of IW

Perhaps the biggest impact of the information technology revolution has been its impact
on military art. Information operations are viewed as a separate, self-contained type of
conflict—as operations that make the initial period of war extremely uncertain (one doesn’t
know what preparations were made by a potential opponent during peacetime to alter the
effectiveness of weapons or the strategic perception of the situation at hand, and thus may not
realize it when war has actually started); and as operations that increase the tempo of battle,
focusing on continuous attacks designed to blind an opponent by destroying his information
processes and achieving information dominance. The new formula for war appears to be
“acquire-shoot-jam-move-acquire-shoot-jam-move.” No longer is warfare cyclical, but much
more linear, according to Russian experts. There are far fewer rest periods between major
battles. This will put a premium on logistics and command and control mechanisms.

In Tsymbal’s view, the conduct of IW is felt at all three levels of military art: strategic,
operational, and tactical. He noted that in peacetime, the goal will be to accumulate
information on an enemy while developing and testing one’s own IW weapons. Immediately
prior to military action, and during military action, IW systems will first work to destroy all
command and control systems of the enemy and any other information systems which receive,
store, or process information of military significance. Alternatively, an IW operation can be
run independently prior to the onset of combat actions of the traditional type.52 Retired Major
General Vorobyev, writing in the June 1997 issue of Military Thought, noted that wars of the

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next century will be highlighted by the information-psychological confrontation as much as

by the information-technical. He believes that information-psychological opposition,
information-psychological operations, and information-psychological pressure are three
types of activities to expect.53

While there is a growing interest in military systemology, not only in modeling

information warfare but in its implications for national security in general, there are still
some who look at it as not much more than witchcraft. For example, Yuri Orfeyev, writing in
Nezavisimaya Gazeta in 1996, noted that “all of the so-called ‘systems of models of optimum
function’ [comprising military systemology] are nothing but ‘the emperor’s new clothes’ and
are used to justify unproductive activity.”54 His, however, appears to be a minority opinion.

Within the Russian concept of military systemology, information is viewed as the

“nourishment” that gives life to all elements of the system. This applies in particular to
reconnaissance, command and control, support, and strike systems. Information warfare as a
system, according to one view, includes three components: information support of the
functioning of one’s own combat systems; information counteraction against the functioning
of the enemy’s combat systems; and information protection or defense of one’s own combat
systems against the informational counteraction of a possible enemy.55

Under modern conditions, the skillful use of one’s information potential and information
resources, including information means and systems, greatly increases the force combat
potential and the effectiveness of weapons, combat equipment, and combat systems on the
whole. At the same time, the vulnerability of command and control systems with respect to
deliberate and random activity in the information sphere, including the programming aspect
of computer systems, continues to increase. Therefore, it is necessary to protect one’s
information potential. This includes protecting it everywhere and continually, in peacetime
and wartime, not only from a probable enemy but also against unexpected changes in the
current situation—social, economic, and diplomatic conditions—as well as from a lack of skill
and/or professionalism on the part of subordinates and chiefs.56

National Security Documents

Russia’s current national security documents reflect an increased concern with

information security issues compared to previous versions. The October 1999 draft military
doctrine stated that the exacerbation of the information opposition/confrontation is an
important feature of today’s international context, a destabilizing factor used to achieve
destructive military-political goals and affect current operations and the overall security
environment. The draft addressed information-technological (attacks on computers, nets,
infrastructure, etc.) and information-psychological aspects of the external threat to Russia,
stating that the greatest internal threat was action to disrupt or disorganize the Russian
Federation’s information infrastructure. Information warfare, the document noted, must be
coordinated.

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 Military-strategic features of the new draft doctrine focused on modern war: indirect
strategic operations and means of IW, and the development of a massive information
preparation (information blockades, expansion, and aggression) operation. Confusing public
opinion in certain states and the world community, and achieving superiority in the
information sphere either in wartime or during the initial period of war were other important
missions. These goals will elevate information security to a basic military security mission,
the draft indicated. Finally, in the realm of information-economic principles, the priority aim
remained information support of all missions. These include science and technology issues,
information technology equipment, and resource independence in the development of
military products.

Also in October 1999 the Russian Security Council approved the country’s national
security concept. The concept used the word information 20 times. Various sections of the
concept addressed the country’s information security and technology needs. The section
titled “Russia’s National Interests” included the following information-related interests:
observing the constitutional rights and freedoms of citizens to obtain and use information;
developing modern telecommunication technologies; protecting the state information
resource against unauthorized access to political, economic, science and technology, and
military information; and preventing the use of information for manipulating the mass
consciousness of society. The section titled “Threats to the Russian Federation’s National
Security” included in the information sphere: (1) attempts by a number of countries to
dominate in the world information space and to crowd Russia out of the foreign and domestic
information market; and (2) development of “information warfare” concepts by a number of
states envisaging the creation of means of exerting a dangerous effect on the information
spheres of other countries, means of destroying the normal functioning of information and
telecommunications systems, and means for the safekeeping of information resources or of
gaining unauthorized access to them.

Finally, under the section titled “Ensuring the Russian Federation’s National Security,” a
list of tasks included: implementing citizens’ constitutional rights and freedoms for
information activities; improving and protecting the domestic information infrastructure and
integrating Russia into the world information domain; and countering the threat of the
initiation of opposition in the information sphere.57

Conclusions

For the immediate future, no issue is of more concern to Russian security theorists and
planners than the information issue. But Russia’s approach to IW differs significantly from
that of the United States, particularly in its emphasis on theory, disorganization, and
information-psychological subjects. Moreover, each security service has its own unique
understanding of IW, and is applying it as it sees fit. Russia is continuing its efforts to develop
new technologies to support Defense Minister Sergeyev’s vision of the information-technical
aspect of IW. Simultaneously, efforts will continue to find a breakthrough in the

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information-psychological aspect of IW. There will be increased emphasis on asymmetric

efforts to counter Western advances.

Russia will also continue trying to persuade the United Nations to involve itself in various
aspects of IW and to slow down progress in the West. The United Nations represents Russia’s
best opportunity to assemble an international forum against the growing perception of
unilateralism on the part of the United States in the IW arena.

Russia has incorporated information security thinking in all of its national security
documents, reflecting the growing importance of the subject to the security apparatus in
Moscow. This includes documents explaining the national security concept, the military
doctrine, and the information-technical aspect of military doctrine. Numerous academies
and institutes are also following the impact of the informatization of society on national
security issues.

It is now time for the West to make some difficult choices. The difference in approaches
between Russia and the West grows daily. In light of this fact it will be interesting to see if the
West stops wondering “what” Russia wants from information discussions, and focuses
instead on “why” it might be good for both sides to begin talks. Talks over something as
mundane as terminology and concepts should be easy to initiate, and they will provide the
cornerstone for further discussions and mutual understanding. Ignoring problems will only
exacerbate the issue.

Why should the West engage Russia? Here are a few reasons:

First, the Russian approach is dictated by the logic of the dialectic, which means that it
offers a unique way of visualizing and accounting for the use or misuse of information
technologies and weapons. Discussion offers Westerners insights into an asymmetric IW
mental logic that, when compared with Western thinking, promises to offer a new method for
thinking outside the box when looking at the same problem.

Second, discussion can help Western analysts understand Russian terminology and
perhaps lead to the development of a common IW vocabulary, one with which the West must
be familiar if it is to learn how to negotiate over the Russian understanding of the concept.
This includes different interpretations of like terms. Russia will be one of the main powers in
the U.N. pushing its agenda, thus familiarity with IW concepts and terms is vital to U.S.
negotiators.

Third, discussion would offer Western analysts an opportunity to perceive Russia’s

emphasis on different aspects of IW (for example, behavior modification through the
generation of algorithmic viruses) and other information-psychological approaches.
Discussion could also focus on some areas discussed much less thoroughly by U.S. analysts
(e.g., impact on military art and science, and the principles of war [Russia has 13 compared to
the United States’ 9]). There is much to be learned from Russia about these processes.

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 Fourth, discussion can help prevent misunderstanding Russian spheres of emphasis and
concern (and vice versa). Such misunderstandings could only lead to miscalculations on the
part of U.S. or Russian decisionmakers. Talking with Russian IW officials may help avoid
future conflict by exposing areas of anxiety or concern. The actual degree of hysteria among
military officials responsible for Russia’s national security, which borders on paranoia, is
grossly underestimated in the West.

Fifth, discussions with Russians can help lower the threshold of Russia’s first use nuclear
policy. In order not to be misunderstood, the Russians have stated on several occasions and at
all levels that they will respond with nuclear weapons if an IW attack is launched against
them. And this in light of the fact that they may not be able to tell with certainty where the
attack originated! Of course, it is possible that this is only a bluff on the part of the Russians,
because one of their methods to get what they want is to offer a credible threat to a potential
enemy. Are we willing to call a bluff of this nature? Russia in turn may make someone an
example. Russia’s recent first-use nuclear policy declaration may have originated from this
dilemma. Discussion can only help lower the threshold of this first-use policy.

Sixth, it is clear that there is no parity in the collection of material on IW thinking. It was
broken long ago, and Russia leads the United States and the West by an extensive margin.
The West’s preoccupation with blowing its own horn has offered Russia and other countries
around the world a veritable treasure house of material to read and analyze, while offering in
return a slow trickle of information. Discussions would help level the playing field. A
conference in which ten Russians and ten Westerners offered papers would be an excellent
way to start this effort. At the present time, they know a lot about us while we know precious
little about them.

Many critics believe that any country developing a program with IW capabilities is not a
country with whom the U.S. Should be discussing anything. This is a mistake on our part.
First, everyone is developing some type of IW capability, from the terrorists to the nation
state. While capabilities must be monitored, it is the intent to use this capability on which
attention should be focused and which should worry us. Second, it is important to discuss IW
matters with other countries to help ease the hysteria that IW has generated in some nations.
Hysteria results from vulnerabilites such as a society that has lost its ideology to
psychological control of a nation via the Internet. Much can be done to alleviate these
potential problems by simply discussing concerns and potential areas of conflict. Further, a
common lexicon of terms can be produced toward the same purpose. We talk about nuclear
issues face to face with our counterparts in nations all over the globe. It is time we start the
same process over information security issues well before the first crisis arises and matters
get so out of hand that we can’t recover without severe losses to our information
infrastructure or data banks, and to our stability as a nation.

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Endnotes
1. E. A. Belaev, “Informatsionnaia bezopasnost’ kak global’naia problems” [Information Security as a Global
Problem], a chapter in the book, Global’nye problemi kak istochnik chrezvychainykh situatsii [Global Problems
as a Source of Emergency Situations], URSS, 1998, ed. Iu. L. Vorob’ev, p. 125.

2. Information space is defined by Yusupov as “the sum total of data bases and banks, of the technologies of
their management and use, and of information/telecommunications systems and networks functioning on the
basis of unified principles and according to general rules ensuring information interaction of organizations and
citizens and satisfaction of their information needs.” See Rafael Midkhatovich Yusupov, “Information Security
is the Foundation of National Security,” Vooruzheniye, Politika, Konversiya, March-April 1997, no 3-4, pp.
35-38, as translated and downloaded from the FBIS web page on September 12, 1998.

3. Ibid.

4. Joseph Nye, “Redefining the National Interest,” Foreign Affairs, vol. 78, no. 4, 1999, p. 26.

5. Ibid., p. 24.

6. V.I.Tsymbal, “Kontseptsiia ‘informatsionnoi voini’” (Concept of Information Warfare), talk given at a

conference in Moscow in September 1995; “Former KGB Reportedly Tries to Control Internet in Russia,” Russia
Reform Monitor, (American Foreign Policy Council), no. 215, January 10, 1997.

7. Vyacheslav Trubnikov, “Spectrum of Threats Aimed against Russia is Not Decreasing,” Nezavisimoe
Voennoe Obozrenie, July 17-23, 1998, no. 26, p. 8, as translated and downloaded from the FBIS web page on July
28, 1998.

8. From a speech delivered in Brussels in May 1996 by Admiral Pirumov entitled “Certain Aspects of
Information Warfare,” p. 2.

9. “From the Dictionary ‘Geopolitics and National Security,’” Military News Bulletin, no 10, October 1998, p.
14.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

12. V. L. Manilov, ed., Geopolitika i natsional’naia bezopasnost’, [Geo-politics and National Security],
Moscow, 1998, p. 37.

13. Tsymbal.

14. S. A. Komov, “Informatsionnaia bor’ba v sovremennoi voine: voprosi teorii” [Information Warfare in
Modern War: Theoretical Problems], Voennaia Mysl’ [Military Thought], May-June 1996, pp. 76-80.

15. A. Kokoshin, “Voenno-politicheskie i ekonomicheskie aspekt reformy vooruzhennykh sil Rossii

[Military-political and economic aspects of reform of the Russian armed forces), Voennaa Mysl (Military
Thought], no. 6, 1996, p. 9.

16. Tsymbal, p 7.

17. Dmitriy Semenovich Chereshkin, Georgiy Lvovich Smolyan, and Vitaliy Nikolayevich Tsygichko,
“Otsenka effektivnosti sistem informatsionnoi bezopasnosti” [An Evaluation of the Effectiveness of Information
Security Systems], Institut sistemnogo analiza RAN [Systems Analysis Institute of the Russian Academy of
Sciences], Moscow: 1995, p. 8.

357

 18. The “specific effectiveness of a means of counteracting a specific method of threat realization” is the
central concept and starting norm which permits building a normative base of quantitative evaluations of the
functioning effectiveness of information security systems, according to these scientists. Specific effectiveness
H(sub i,j,k) of a means of counteraction (SP) is understood to mean the degree of effectiveness of fulfillment by
the I-th means of its normative functions D(sub I) for counteracting the j-th method of realization of the k-th
threat. For a complete explication of the mathematics, see the document, pp 13-23.

19. Ibid. To implement this process, other information is required. This includes what the Russians refer to
as constant and variable information. Fixed information includes the following items: list of possible threats;
methods of threat implementation; means of counteracting each method; criteria for the effectiveness of means
of counteraction, as well as a list of their functional characteristics; evaluation of the effectiveness of means of
counteraction as a function of the unit cost of defending any given objective or facility; criterion for the extent to
which an objective is secure against a threat aggregate; criterion for the security of a complex objective/facility
which consists of several objectives/facilities; and a criterion for the effectiveness of the information security
system itself. Changing information includes: characteristics of the objectives (structure, relative value of the
information, the features and conditions involved in using an information resource as the given objective
operates, etc.); the extent to which an objective’s effective operation is dependent on the degree of its security
(based on each countermeasure); normative [regulatory] restrictions on the effectiveness of an objective’s
operation; an array of threats to a specific objective, as well as possible methods of their implementation; list of
possible means of counteraction actually available to any given objective or facility; allocated resources; and the
structure of the existing information security system.

20. Andrei Kokoshin, “What Sort of Army Do We Need: Some Military-Political Propositions of the Reform of
the Armed Forces in Russia,” Segodnia, August 7, 1996, p. 5.

21. S. P. Rastorguev, Informatsionnaia voina [Information War], (Moscow: Radio and Communication,
1998).

22. V. D. Tsigankov and V. N. Lopatin, Psikhotronnoe oruzhie i bezopasnost’ rossii [Psychotronic Weapons
and the Security of Russia], Moscow: Sinteg, 1999.

23. Even the military has written about the subject of psychotronic weapons in its publications. For
example, see I. Chernishev, “Polychat li poveliteli ‘zombi’ blast’ nad mirom,” [Can a ruler make ‘Zombies’ out of
the world],” Orientir [Orienteer], February 1997, pp. 58-62.

24. I. N. Panarin, “Information-Psychological Support of the National Security of Russia,” paper delivered
at the conference “The Information Security of Russia,” Moscow, 1998.

25. “Putin Approves Proposal to Update Russian Military,” The Kansas City Star, 28 January 2000, p. A13.

26. Marshal Igor Sergeyev, comments in Kraznaia Zvezda [Red Star], December 9, 1999 (no page given), as
translated and downloaded from the FBIS web page on December 9, 1999. All of Sergeyev’s comments in the
next 8 paragraphs are from this document.

27. Ibid.

28. Ibid.

29. Ibid. Geodesy is a branch of applied mathematics concerned with the determination of the size and shape
of the earth and the exact positions of points on its surface and with the description of variations of its gravity
field. Websters Dictionary, Merriam-Webster, Tenth Edition, 1998, p. 487.

30. Ibid.

31. Simon Saradzhyan, “Russians Try out Spy Plane,” Defense News, September 27, 1999, p. 16.

358

 32. Simon Saradzhyan, “Moscow Plans Buy of Pchela-Like Tactical UAVs,” Defense News, November 22,
1999, p. 26.

33. “Designer of Russian Missile Weapons Man of the Year,” ITAR-TASS, Moscow, December 27, 1999.

34. “Russian Strategic Aviation to be More Powerful Soon—Experts,” Interfax, Moscow, December 12, 1999.

35. Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia Offers Up Integrated Command System,” Defense News, September 27,
1999, p. 32.

36. Igor Rogov, “Equipment and Weapons: Toward Rearming through Moderization,” Armeiskii Sbornik,
November 1, 1999, pp. 35-40, as downloaded and translated by FBIS on January 3, 2000.

37. David Mulholland and Simon Saradzhyan, “Boeing to Buy Russian Missile for Navy Tests,” Defense
News, October 11, 1999, pp. 4, 27.

38. Tim Butcher, “Russia and China are Developing Super Fast Missile,” The London Daily Telegraph,
January 3, 2000, p. 1.

39. Moscow Interfax, 1445 GMT, November 18, 1999, as translated and downloaded from the FBIS web site
on November 18, 1999.

40. Yuri Perunov, “Information Warfare Facilities,” Military Parade, May-June 1996, pp. 73-75.

41. Ibid., p. 73.

42. Ibid., pp. 73-75.

43. Rosvoorouzhenie (State Corporation for Export and Import of Armament and Military Equipment)
handout.

44. Sergey Sokut, “Washington Revives Star Wards Program: Moscow Has Beaten off a Diplomatic Assault
and Is Prepared for Further Actions,” Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 3 (126), January 29-February 4, 1999,
pp. 1, 4, as translated and downloaded from the FBIS web page on February 15, 1999.

45. Bill Gertz and Rowan Scarborough, “Inside the Ring: Russian ASAT,” Washington Times, June 18, 1999,
p. 9.

46. John Donnelly, “Cohen: Attack on U.S. Satellite is Attack on United States,” ???, July 26, 1999, p. 2.

47. Judith Matloff, Russia Cranks Up Arms Production, Sales,” Christian Science Monitor, December 29,
1999, p. 1.

48. Space News (Russian publication), December 6, 1999, p. 10.

49. Simon Saradzhyan, “Russia to Emphasize Replenishing Spy Satellite Fleet,” Defense News, October 25,
1999, p. 6.

50. Ibid.

51. Jonathan S. Landay, “Missile Detection in Russia is Flawed,” The Kansas City Star, January 10, 2000,
pp. A-1, A-6.

52. Tsymbal, pp. 11, 12.

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 53. For other implications of IW, see Timothy L. Thomas, “Dialectical versus Empirical Thinking: Ten Key
Elements of the Russian Understanding of Information Operations,” talk delivered at the U.S. Army War
College, April, 1997.

54. Yuriy Venaiminovich Orfeyev, “Alchemy Second Edition: Immature Sciences Creating Empire of False
Knowledge,” Nezavisimaia Gazeta, May 28, 1996, p. 6.

55. Author’s discussion with General-Major (retired) V. D. Riabchuk, Fort Leavenworth, September 1996.

56. Ibid.

57. “Russian National Security Concept,” Nezvisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, November 26, 1999, as translated
and downloaded from the FBIS Web page on November 29, 1999.

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Nuclear Doctrine and Strategic Force Modernization

Christoph Bluth
The national security policy of a state, which involves elements of foreign policy as well as
military policy, can generally be understood to be designed to safeguard vital national
interests and protect the state from external political and military threats. Russia inherited a
vast military establishment from the Soviet Union which was largely designed to engage in
high-intensity warfare with the West or China. This included the bulk of the Soviet strategic
nuclear arsenal. At the same time, the General Staff in Moscow lost control over substantial
military assets that had been forward-deployed in other republics. The task for the Russian
military leadership was to restructure the country’s military forces on the basis of this
inheritance in a radically different geopolitical environment. This required that the Russian
Federation would come to terms with being an independent state and define its national
interests and foreign and security policy objectives.

The lack of consensus on Russian security policy and more broadly, on what constitutes
Russia’s national interest has resulted in confusion and contradictions among Russian
commentators on strategic arms policy and nuclear arms control. One of the few issues,
however, on which there is a relatively broad consensus in Russia is that the country should
remain a nuclear power for the foreseeable future. The reasons for this are complex and
deep-rooted. They are based on general political considerations, as well as economic and
military ones. From a political perspective, “it is believed by most members of the political
elite that strategic nuclear weapons are the last remaining symbol of Russia’s Great Power
status.”1

There is a perception that the principal reason why the West, and the United States in
particular, is paying so much attention to Russia is that Russia remains a strategic nuclear
power. The idea here is not that Russia should rebuild a global role. It is rather based on the
fear that Russia may become marginalized. The current political leadership seeks to avoid
this at all costs in order to retain and increase the potential for international economic
cooperation and aid. These are perceived as essential if Russia is to reverse its sharp political
and economic decline and achieve a successful transition to a modern democratic state with a
strong economy based on market principles. Moreover, they are essential for the preservation
of the wealth of the country’s elites. There is a deep paradox inherent in the maintenance of a
substantial arsenal of strategic nuclear weapons on the basis of such considerations. It
results from the fact that Russia’s strategic nuclear weapons are technically the principal
military threat to the United States. This produces a plethora of political efforts to reduce or
eliminate the nuclear weapons as a factor in relations with the West. On the other hand, a
residual threat based on the mere possession of a substantial arsenal is required to ensure
that the West takes Russian concerns seriously.

The political considerations which underlie the preservation of strategic nuclear forces are
both important in terms of Russian foreign policy and domestic politics. Russia has absorbed

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relatively peacefully the enormous shift in the geostrategic balance, which has resulted in the
loss of its influence in a sizeable part of the Third World, the collapse of the Warsaw Pact (and
thus the loss of Russian dominance in Eastern Europe), and the dissolution of the Soviet
Union itself. There is a fear in Russia that without its nuclear status it will lose its last vestige
of international influence and respect, given the collapse of the domestic economy which at
least in the short term deprives Russia of other indicators of power and influence.

The poor state of Russia’s conventional armed forces is a major factor underpinning the
maintenance of Russia’s nuclear status. The situation in the armed forces is critical, since the
dissolution of the Soviet Union and the lack of resources has degraded the fighting capability
of the conventional forces to such an extent that they are scarcely capable of dealing with
small local conflicts. Rebuilding Russia’s armed forces will require the sustained deployment
of substantial resources over years and remains an unlikely prospect in the foreseeable
future. Modest strategic force modernization may therefore remain the only financially
viable way in which Russia can maintain a military force capable of deterring major external
threats.

At present, no one seems to believe that Russia will have to give up nuclear weapons
altogether; the economic costs of maintaining a nuclear arsenal are balanced by the costs of
arms control, dismantling nuclear weapons, and verification regimes. However, there is a
strong belief in government circles that the present size of the nuclear arsenal is
unsustainable and that the level of strategic nuclear forces in particular will have to be cut
substantially, at a minimum in line with established arms control agreements.

Nuclear Weapons and Military Security

Are there still sound military reasons for Russia to retain a strategic nuclear arsenal after
the Cold War? In order to assess how this question is answered by the decisionmaking elite in
Russia, a brief analysis of the development of military policy since the end of the Cold War is
in order. After the dissolution of the Soviet Union, the traditional perceptions of the
international security environment that dominated the Cold War period were abandoned
surprisingly quickly by the political elite. The military was somewhat slow to follow along a
similar path. By mid-1992 the relevance of the “defense of the Western Perimeter was
seriously questioned,”2 but traditional thinking still pervaded the debate until well into 1993.
By the time a new military doctrine was approved in November 1993, a radical reevaluation of
the security threats facing Russia had been adopted by the Russian military.3 The military
and arms control policies of Russia since then reflect the perceptions of the security
environment after the Cold War. There was widespread acceptance among the military
leadership and the political elite that the security relationship with the West had changed
and that the principal military threats come from the southern periphery of the Russian
Federation and from Third World countries that are acquiring weapons of mass destruction
and ballistic missiles. In line with a general restructuring of the Russian military to rapid
reaction and crisis intervention roles, there was a fundamental change in thinking about the
role of nuclear weapons to meet the new range of threats. The utility of strategic nuclear

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weapons in this environment was perceived to have declined fundamentally, although the
need for a strategic deterrent force remained. Tactical nuclear weapons were withdrawn
from Eastern Europe and the non-Russian newly independent states.

As far as the role of nuclear weapons is concerned, the emphasis was placed squarely on
nuclear deterrence. The aim of the Russian Federation’s policy in the sphere of nuclear
weapons according to the 1993 doctrine was to eliminate the danger of nuclear war by
deterring any aggression against the Russian Federation and its allies.4 This committed
Russia to a policy of extended deterrence against threats to the security of its (unspecified)
allies. There was a policy of no nuclear use against non-nuclear states that acceded to the
Non-Proliferation Treaty, but there was no longer such a policy vis-à-vis nuclear weapons
states or non-nuclear states which enjoy a nuclear guarantee by nuclear weapons states. This
constituted an abandonment of the pledge not to use nuclear weapons first, which had been a
central element of Soviet declaratory policy since 1981. Some Western commentators found
this alarming. But it should be pointed out that the “no first use” pledge was made in the
context of the confrontation in central Europe, where the Soviet Union was determined to
avoid escalation to the nuclear level in any conflict.

The new doctrine was more in line with the notion of a last-resort deterrent in the kinds of
conflicts for which Russia was preparing. It could also be interpreted as a warning to Turkey
against any involvement in the conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan, or to Ukraine as it
considered the fate of nuclear weapons on its territory.5 However, as the capabilities of the
Russian armed forces decline, one can detect an increasing emphasis on nuclear forces to
compensate for weakness at the conventional level. At present, tactical weapons are not
forward deployed, and Russia therefore lacks the instrument to implement a policy of
regional nuclear deterrence in any operational sense. There had been suggestions, however,
that Russia might redeploy tactical nuclear weapons if NATO expands to include countries of
the former Warsaw Pact.6 However, this now seems precluded by the Founding Act on Mutual
Relations, Cooperation and Security between NATO and the Russian Federation signed at
the NATO summit on May 27, 1997, when NATO declared its intention not to deploy nuclear
weapons in the new member states except in a crisis.

The use of the armed forces in international peacekeeping operations, their deployment
outside the national territory, and the conduct of peacekeeping operations on the territories of
the former Soviet republics together perhaps constituted the most important new element in
Russian military doctrine. The doctrine also stated that units of the armed forces could be
used in internal conflicts to support the forces of the Interior Ministry of the Russian
Federation in localizing and blockading the conflict region, suppressing armed clashes, and
separating the conflicting parties as well as defending strategically important objects.7 This
part of the military doctrine was in conflict with the law on defense, which prohibits the use of
regular armed forces inside the Russian Federation. The use of nuclear weapons, obviously,
was not contemplated under such circumstances.

The military doctrine asserted that Russia did not consider “any state as its enemy” and
would not use its armed forces or other armed formations against any state for any purposes
other than individual or collective self-defense in the case of an armed attack on the Russian

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Federation, its citizens, territory, armed forces, other Russian armed formations, or its
allies.8

The potential sources of a military threat to Russia from outside include, according to the
1993 military doctrine:

� Territorial claims against the Russian Federation from the other post-Soviet states;

� Existing and potential sources of local wars and armed conflicts, primarily those in
direct proximity to the Russian borders;

� Proliferation of nuclear and other weapons of mass destruction, the means of deliv­
ery, and modern military technologies;

� The oppression of the rights, freedoms and legitimate interests of the citizens of the
Russian Federation abroad;

� The enlargement of military blocs and alliances (e.g. NATO) in such a way as to vio­
late the military security interests of the Russian Federation.

According to the document, the greatest threat to Russia arose from armed conflicts
caused by aggressive nationalism and religious intolerance. The main objective of the
organizational development of the Russian Federation armed forces and other troops was to
create and develop forces capable of defending the independence, sovereignty, and territorial
integrity of the country, the security of the citizens, and the other vitally important interests
of society and state in line with the military-political and strategic situation in the world.9 In
view of the absence of an agreed concept of the national security of Russia, it is unclear what
the vital interests of the Russian Federation were considered to be. Such statements in the
military doctrine, therefore, remained open to interpretation.

The military part of Russia’s military doctrine set out a view of the possible character of
future conflicts. Under conditions in which the danger of global war (both nuclear and
conventional) was reduced substantially though not eliminated completely, local wars and
armed conflicts represented the main threat to stability and peace. Their probability in some
regions was considered to be increasing.10

The doctrine went on to note that combat action in local war and armed conflicts could be
waged by the groups of forces deployed in the region of conflict in peacetime. If necessary,
these groups of forces could be reinforced by units re-deployed from other regions. The
Russian Federation needed to maintain the combat potential of the groups of forces deployed
in peacetime at a level sufficient to repulse aggression on a local (regional) scale. The term
“aggression on a local (regional) scale,” however, remained vague and open to a variety of
interpretations.

Local wars and armed conflicts were perceived as the most likely source of military threats
to Russia. The military doctrine assumed that a wide variety of forces could be engaged in

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these operations, from a small number of armed units up to operational-strategic groups of
forces, along with the use of all types of weapons, from small arms to modern precision-guided
“smart” weapons. The priority in force design was the development of the Russian Federation
armed forces and other troops intended for deterrence against aggression, as well as the
mobile forces of the Russian Federation armed forces and other troops able to redeploy within
a short period and mount and conduct maneuver operations in any sector (region) where a
threat to the security of the Russian Federation could arise.11 Furthermore, Russian armed
forces could be deployed outside the national territory to safeguard the security of either the
Russian Federation or other former Soviet republics.12

The document on military doctrine reflected a basic contradiction in the way in which force
requirements are defined. On the one hand, local wars and armed conflicts were clearly
presented as the principal security threat. On the other hand, the operational strategic
concepts and the remarks on practical implementation had the appearance of a guide for the
preparation for military operations around the globe, based on the acquisition of sea- and
airlift capabilities on a global scale. This was also in contradiction to the intention asserted by
the Soviet Union in the period of “new political thinking” as regards the liquidation of
capabilities to launch surprise attacks or large-scale offensive operations. The emphasis on
the defensive nature of the military-technical aspects of military doctrine thus appears to
have been lost.

One possible interpretation is that the military doctrine was designed not only to define
the military contingencies with which Russia would most probably have to deal, but also to
provide a rationale for the ambitious force goals of the military establishment, which sought
to preserve something as close as possible to the military capabilities of the former Soviet
Union. This probably also applied to strategic nuclear weapons, which have no role to play in
any of the conflicts or potential conflicts that Russia is involved with.

The 1997 national security concept reaffirmed the concept of first-use introduced in the
1993 military doctrine, and the same is true for the new military doctrine developed in 1998,
although its approval was postponed. The provisions on first-use remained the same, even
though there had been attempts to remove some of the restrictions with regard to non-nuclear
countries.13 The war in Kosovo had considerable impact as Russia took the threat of NATO
intervention in the former Soviet Union more seriously and renewed the emphasis on nuclear
deterrence, including tactical nuclear weapons. A special meeting of the Security Council in
April 1999 decided to put in a place a program on the development and deployment of tactical
nuclear weapons, including new low-yield nuclear warheads. It was also reported that a
redeployment of tactical nuclear warheads to land-based short-range missiles and artillery
was proposed, which would have thereby ended the unilateral arms control measures put in
place by Presidents Bush and Gorbachev in 1991. Large-scale exercises called Zapad
conducted in June and July 1999 during the Kosovo crisis were based on the scenario of a
NATO attack from Poland against Kaliningrad, involving a Russian reply with nuclear
weapons when Russian forces were in difficulty.14

The 1999 draft nuclear doctrine reaffirmed the importance of nuclear deterrence,
especially in regional wars where nuclear powers are involved. The Russian reaction to

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recent events is clearly evident in the identification of external threats. They include the
actions of external powers that interfere with the internal affairs of the Russian Federation (a
possible reference to the Chechnya crisis), or that ignore (or infringe on) Russian Federation
interests in resolving international security problems and oppose strengthening of the
Russian Federation as one of the influential centres of multipolar world. External threats are
also deemed to include the action of foreign troops (without UN Security Council sanction) on
the territory of contiguous states friendly with the Russian Federation (a possible reference to
the Kosovo conflict). Although the West is not mentioned explicitly as a source of external
threats, it is implied as the actor in some of the potential threats to the security of the Russian
Federation. The new national security concept adopted by acting President Putin on January
10, 2000, is based almost verbatim on the 1999 draft doctrine. It was widely reported as
“lowering the nuclear threshold.” What this means in practice is that nuclear weapons are
not purely reserved for last-resort use in an extreme situation, but can be used in a
small-scale war that does not threaten Russia’s existence. This is a reference to the kind of air
campaign NATO inflicted on Serbia during the Kosovo conflict.

We can say, therefore, that despite the safety and security concerns, and despite
far-reaching arms control agreements, Russia has placed renewed emphasis on its nuclear
arsenal because of the virtual collapse of its conventional military capabilities and the
instability and conflicts on the territory of the former Soviet Union. However, the military
doctrine, while renouncing the pledge not to use nuclear weapons first, does not specify
targets or circumstances under which nuclear weapons might be used. The possibility that
Russia might redeploy tactical nuclear weapons to compensate for the lack of conventional
military power is troublesome because the kind of conflicts Russia is or might become
involved in, such as in Chechnya or Tajikistan, are not susceptible to nuclear deterrence. In
other words, a nuclear threat might result in nuclear use. Former President Yeltsin and his
successor, Vladimir Putin, have resisted notions of nuclear peacekeeping, but it cannot be
taken for granted that in extreme situations the nuclear option would not be reconsidered if
the condition of the Russian armed forces continues to deteriorate. On the other hand, if such
fears are unwarranted, it means that nuclear weapons have no role in the kinds of conflicts
Russia is most likely to be involved in, either in terms of deterrence or military action. In
other words, where nuclear weapons are effective, there is no threat in any event, and where
there is a threat, they are not effective. This is a fundamental but unresolved contradiction in
the new emphasis on nuclear weapons in military doctrine.

As noted earlier, there is a strong perception in Russia that nuclear weapons are vital to its
security. It could even be argued that because nuclear weapons provide Russia with security,
they obviate the need for conventional rearmament and thereby release political, economic,
and financial resources for reform and development. There is some truth to this argument,
but at the same time it should not be overstated, because, as we have seen, there are no
realistic threats to Russian security that require or are susceptible to nuclear deterrence,
whereas there are real military threats where nuclear weapons have no effect. The security
nuclear weapons provide for Russia in the present is psychological, not military. This still
leaves Russia with the need to find military means to address its actual security risks.
Moreover, the nuclear weapons complex itself poses a substantial risk to Russia’s national
security. While a nuclear emphasis in the face of conventional weakness is understandable, it

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is unclear that the military doctrine as it is evolving represents the most appropriate
response to the national security dilemmas that Russia faces.

Strategic Force Planning

Military doctrine does not provide any clear guidance for strategic force planning. Here we
encounter the contradiction that despite the acceptance of the political perceptions of the
global security environment, strategic analysis in the General Staff is still based on the
relationship between U.S. and Russian strategic nuclear forces. The objective of strategic
arms policy remains that of nuclear strategic parity, or, if that is not possible, sufficiency
vis-à-vis the United States. There is, of course, an awareness that third-country nuclear
arsenals, such as those of Britain, France, and China, remain in place and (in the case of
China) are even augmented. For Russian strategic planners, the future relationship with
China, in an environment where the military-strategic balance and the two countries’
relative economic potential are changing substantially, remains potentially the most
troublesome. For all these reasons, they perceive the need to guard against nuclear attack or
nuclear blackmail in the future. Nevertheless, force requirements are still defined on the
basis of U.S. capabilities.

Russian military planners do not base their objectives on the notion of a “minimum
deterrent,” such as has been advocated by civilian analysts.15 For them, strategic parity
presupposes the qualitative equality of the strategic capabilities of both sides in their ability
to conduct effective operations against each other’s strategic offensive forces. It also means
that Russia must be sure to maintain, as a minimum, an adequate second-strike,
countervalue reserve force vis-à-vis the United States.16

The Soviet strategic deterrent, as it had been developed by the early 1980s, was based on a
time-urgent counterforce capability configured to a launch-on-warning posture. This was
based on the assumption that in the age of highly accurate counterforce systems even
hardened systems could not survive a determined, large-scale first strike. Early warning and
command and control systems were designed to enable such a posture to be operationalized.
However, it is clear that the General Staff was acutely aware of the technical problems
involved in accurately assessing a large-scale nuclear surprise attack and the very short
decision-times. Although substantial resources and planning were directed towards
achieving the capability for launch-on-warning (known as otvetno-vstrechii udar—a
retaliatory meeting-strike), the confidence that such a response could be successfully carried
out in a manner that would allow the bulk of Soviet counterforce-capable strategic nuclear
forces to be launched was not very high. Thus an aide to the former First Deputy Defense
Minister A. Kokoshin stated in 1993 that because of the time constraints and the technical
problems involved, the threat of the otvetno-vstrechii udar during the Soviet period was
unsound.17 Soviet military planners were acutely aware of the vulnerability of land-based
ICBMs, given that 70 percent of Soviet strategic nuclear forces were in this category. The
determined development and continuous improvements of a launch-on-warning capability
were clear indications of this awareness. The improvements included advances in missile

367

technology to allow rapid launch and the development and deployment of ground- and
space-based early warning systems.

Another indication was the Soviet preoccupation with the security of command and
control facilities. A vast network of underground command posts, some as deep as 1,000 feet,
was designed to complicate U.S. attempts to destroy Soviet command and control in a first
strike. The sheer scale of the Soviet effort, and the maintenance of a ballistic missile defense
system around Moscow, bore witness to the importance attached to this objective.

Still another indication was the nature and direction of their fifth generation ICBM
developments. Both the SS-24 and SS-25 were to be deployed in a mobile mode. This would
allow the maintenance of a second-strike reserve force equivalent to the sea-based force of the
United States. However, by the time the USSR was dissolved, the deployment of mobile
ICBMs was far from complete. The deployment and role of mobile missiles form one element
in the current debate about the future of Russia’s strategic nuclear forces.

There are several possible future lines of development for Russia’s strategic nuclear
forces, assuming that at least some forces will be maintained. At one end of the spectrum
would be the preservation of a deterrent of last resort on the scale of British and French forces.
The deployment of large-scale counterforce capabilities configured in an integrated
launch-on-warning mode would be given up in favor of a small-scale residual second-strike
deterrent. This option does have active supporters in the Russian political and military elite.
At the other end of the spectrum would be the retention of the existing capabilities (which
required extensive modernization by the turn of the century) and continuation of the previous
trend in force deployments (i.e., the increased development and deployment of mobile ICBMs
and sea-based systems).18 While this latter option is also favored by some, there is a
widespread conviction in the Russian elite that such a policy would not be in conformity with
the new international situation. Not only would it be unnecessarily provocative, but it would
also be extremely difficult to implement given the economic problems Russia faces and the
disintegration of the Soviet Union, which has resulted in major missile construction facilities
remaining located outside of present-day Russia. An intermediate option would be a policy to
maintain parity vis-à-vis the United States in the context of large-scale reductions as
envisaged by the START treaties. This is currently official policy, but the fundamental
questions regarding nuclear strategy and the details of the future force posture have
remained largely unresolved. In order to get a better understanding of the various options
currently under discussion, it is useful to consider the various elements of the strategic
nuclear force separately.

Strategic Bombers. In the final years of the Soviet Union, the strategic bomber force
appeared to be emerging finally as a genuine third leg of a “strategic triad.” However, this
branch of the strategic forces was most severely affected by the breakup of the Soviet Union.
A substantial portion of the strategic bomber fleet was lost to Ukraine, including most of the
modern TU-160 Blackjacks. Several Blackjack bombers were flown back to Russia in July
1992 by dissident pilots, but the bulk of the fleet remains in Ukraine.19 The Bear H bomber
force has likewise been severely fragmented by the breakup of the Soviet Union; out of 88 such
bombers, 40 were based in Kazakhstan and 26 in Ukraine, including five at the only repair

368
facility for the Bear at Belaya Tserkov in Ukraine. The only Il-78 Midas strategic tanker
aircraft is also in Ukraine. Kazakhstan has proven more amenable to returning at least some
of the aircraft to the Russian air force.20

Currently Russia has 63 Tu-95MS heavy bombers, which date back to the 1950s but were
modernized in 1980 in order to be able to carry air-launched cruise missiles (ALCMs). The
bombers exist in two variants—28 that can carry six ALCMs and 35 that carry 16 ALCMS.
There are six Tu-160 in Russia, carrying 12 ALCMs each. Russia was willing to buy back the
19 Tu-160s based in Ukraine, but gave up in 1997 after five years of negotiations over the
price. However, in the aftermath of the Kosovo crisis the Security Council decided in April
1999 to purchase the only serviceable strategic aircraft still in Ukraine (eight TU-160s and
three TU-95MSs) as payment for some of Ukraine’s energy debt. An agreement was finally
reached, and a number of aircraft were returned to Russia in early 2000.

Nevertheless, any expansion of the bomber force as part of a restructuring of Russian

strategic forces under START appears unlikely, not least because of the cost. Production lines
for strategic bombers were closed down in 1992 and are unlikely to be re-opened.21 Interviews
with Russian military experts confirm that there is no substantial interest in rebuilding a
strategic nuclear bomber force, even though some have voiced an interest in reviving the
project for a “stealth bomber” abandoned in the early 1980s to match the American B-2. The
Commander of the Strategic Rocket Forces, Vladimir Yakovlev, has publicly supported a
strategic triad and the need for a heavy bomber force, possibly in response to U.S. plans to
deploy a national missile defense. There is also a project for a new supersonic ALCM, the
Kh-101, which can be deployed as a nuclear or conventional missile, thus possibly giving
bombers a new role as aerial launchers. However, the TU-95MSs and even the TU-160s are
becoming obsolete, and there seems to be little prospect for a properly funded program to
develop a new strategic bomber. The most likely scenario is that despite the fact that START I
favors deployment of bombers, this leg of the strategic nuclear deterrent force will be
abandoned by Russia or at best maintained at a minimal level.

ICBMs. The ICBM force that Russia inherited from the Soviet Union is a mix of fourth and
fifth generation Soviet strategic missiles. The fourth generation consisted mostly of the
highly accurate SS-19 with six warheads (360 missiles deployed) and the heavy SS-18 (308
missiles, mostly deployed in an eight to ten warhead configuration).22 They gave the Soviet
Union a substantial counterforce capability against the United States and thus radically
transformed the Soviet strategic nuclear force posture. Key advances were made in fuel
technology (allowing the SS-17 and SS-18 to be cold-launched), guidance systems (putting
U.S. ICBM silos within reach of the SS-18 and SS-19), and multiple, independently targetable
reentry vehicles (warheads) (MIRVs), which allowed a large expansion of the number of
warheads deployed while keeping the number of launchers fixed as provided for by the 1972
SALT I agreement.23

The SS-18 (RS-20) (codenamed Satan by NATO), successor to the SS-9, is a very heavy
missile. As its designation might indicate, this missile was perceived by Western analysts as
the most threatening element of the Soviet strategic arsenal and is still considered the most
potent weapon in the Russian ICBM force. In 1974 it was deployed with a single 24-megaton

369
warhead and an estimated accuracy of 0.24 nautical miles. By the late Seventies, the fourth
modification of the SS-18 was carrying ten MIRVed 0.55-megaton warheads, while the
accuracy had improved to 0.14 nautical miles. By 1980, 308 SS-18s were therefore in
principle, capable of delivering 3,080 half-megaton warheads on the continental United
States.

The SS-19 (RS-18), a hot-launched liquid-fuel missile developed by the Chelomei design
bureau, is capable of carrying six 0.55 megaton MIRVed warheads or a 4.3 megaton single
warhead. A total of 350 SS-19s, mostly of the MIRVed modification 3, were ultimately
deployed in four silo fields. The SS-19, like the SS-11, is a missile of variable range. It has
been estimated that 120 were deployed as regional weapons in the European and Far Eastern
theaters, rather than in an ICBM mode. During the Soviet period the SS-18 and SS-19 were
seen by Western analysts as the principal counterforce elements threatening the U.S.
Minuteman ICBM force.

The structure of the Soviet fourth generation ICBM force (including the surviving
elements of the third generation SS-11s and SS-13s) was such that it provided a versatile
capability against a whole range of targets, including civilian and economic targets. It is quite
evident, nonetheless, that the SS-18 and SS-19 force was clearly designed to attack
Minuteman silos. American analysts have taken the view, based on available information
about the hardening of Minuteman silos and the accuracy of the Soviet missiles, that at least
two warheads would need to be targeted on a Minuteman silo to achieve a good probability of
destruction. Apart from Minuteman silos, hardened command and control centers were also
likely targets for this force. Important soft targets in the continental United States such as
strategic bomber fields, military headquarters, and countervalue targets24 could be handled
by single-warhead SS-17 and SS-19 missiles. The SS-11 and the SS-18 were also suitable for
attacking long-range naval targets.

The fifth generation Soviet ICBMs, which emerged in the 1980s, constituted an important
step toward a truly modern missile force measured by the standards of American technology.
The first successful solid-fueled missile deployed by the Soviet Union was the intermediate
range SS-20. Both the SS-24 and SS-25 (RS-12M) are solid-fueled, thus enabling the quick
alert rate and mobility that can only be achieved with the use of solid fuels. It is also clear that
the Soviets had made important advances in inertial guidance systems. The accuracy of the
SS-24 and SS-25 is given by the IISS at 200 meters circular error probable (CEP)—slightly
better than that of the most accurate Minuteman III (220 meters CEP), but not in the same
class as the American MX Peacekeeper missile (100 meters CEP).25 The SS-24 was
essentially the Soviet answer to the MX. Its throw-weight is estimated to be slightly higher
than that of the MX, and like the MX it carries 10 MIRVed warheads. The yield of the
warheads is given for the SS-24 by the IISS as 100 kilotons. It was deployed both in silos and
in a rail-mobile mode in line with the current Soviet view to ensure invulnerability through
mobility. The SS-25 is a single-warhead missile deployed in silos or in a road-mobile mode.
Deployment began in 1985.

The dissolution of the Soviet Union and the START process have placed in bolder relief
some old and some new weaknesses in the structure of the ICBM force that Russia has

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inherited. The breakup of the Soviet Union generated doubt about Russia’s ability to
maintain heavy MIRVed missiles in the future. The fourth generation ICBMs reached the
end of their programmed service life at the end of the century and need to be modernized. The
SS-18 in particular is due for replacement, and extensions of its service life (using a variety of
means, including the purchase of spare parts and missiles that were manufactured recently
and not yet deployed) cannot prolong its deployment beyond 2005. Production of this missile,
which was manufactured at the Yuzhny engineering works in Dnepropetrovsk in Ukraine,
has ceased and is unlikely to be resumed in the current climate of relations between Russia
and Ukraine. The design documentation and intellectual property rights associated with the
design are in the possession of the Yuzhnoe design bureau. It has therefore become difficult to
provide for the technical safety of these missiles, and their modernization would require a
substantial investment in missile technology and production facilities in Russia itself. This is
true more generally for the production of MIRVed ICBMs. Russia is unwilling to rely on
design bureaus and missile production facilities outside the Russian Federation and
therefore has deliberately cut its ties with Yuzhnoe and other missile design and production
centers.

The SS-24 faces similar problems since it also was assembled in Ukraine. Only the
guidance systems for the SS-24 were manufactured in Russia. In 1992 plans had been made
to develop and deploy a follow-on to the SS-24 in silos and in a rail-mobile mode to replace all
the SS-18s and SS-24s after the year 2005. After the signing of START II, and in view of the
breakdown in the links with Ukraine, these plans have been quietly shelved.

There were also severe safety problems associated with the deployment of the SS-24 in a
rail-mobile mode. Large parts of the Russian rail system were simply inadequate to permit
the secure transportation of the missiles. This meant that if the trains were out on patrol
they occupied sections of the rail network for considerable time when they were required for
civilian use. Even then, there remained a substantial risk of accidents; in one incident the
missile train caught fire. The highly toxic fuel burned with an intensity that made it
impossible for fire fighters to approach the scene of the accident immediately. As a
consequence of these problems, the concept of rail mobility has now been all but abandoned.
The existing SS-24 missiles are all deployed at fixed points (i.e. in silos), and no rail patrols
are taking place. In view of these problems, there is no significant opposition to scrapping the
SS-24 by way of implementation of strategic arms control agreements. The SS-24 will be
taken out of service by 2010, if not before. Likewise, the SS-19 will have to be retired by 2009
at the latest, and even the SS-25 (Topol) will reach the end of its programmed service life by
2005 (although it can be extended by five years). This means that Russia has one decade in
which to complete replacement of its existing ICBM force with new missiles.26

A serious problem is that there is now only one design bureau in Russia involved in missile
design (the Moscow Institute of Thermal Technology; all the others have reverted to civilian
projects, such as space launchers. This design bureau is therefore solely responsible for the
new generation of ICBMs. The only missile it has produced is the Topol-M, now commonly
designated the SS-27 (although previously referred to as variant 2 of the SS-25).

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 It is important to recognize that the effective abandonment of MIRVed ICBMs, although

to some extent forced by the breakup of the Soviet Union, is a matter of policy. The main
requirements for the modern Russian ICBM force are survivability and penetration
capability. This means a low number of warheads per missile (most likely one), deployment in
hard silos or in road-mobile form, a hardened missile body, protection against
electromagnetic pulse and other defense penetration capabilities, including an unusually
low-boost trajectory to confound space-based defenses.

If the START II Treaty is not ratified and Russia decides not to implement it, then it might
continue to deploy MIRVed missiles, either by putting three warheads onto the Topol M or by
deploying a new MIRVed SLBM as an ersatz ICBM in silos.27 The concept currently being
considered most actively by Russian military planners, one that has the support of some
political analysts, is the creation of a new type of uniform missile to be deployed both as an
SLBM and as an ICBM on land. One option is a missile having characteristics similar to the
SS-27 (with a launch-weight of 40 tons), carrying 3-4 warheads. The land-based version
would be developed to carry three warheads (downloaded to a single warhead configuration to
conform with START II) in a road-mobile mode. The sea-based version could be deployed with
four warheads.28 The buses (devices that enable the independent deployment of several
warheads on one missile) for the MIRVed system on the land-based version would be stored,
together with warheads, to provide a recovery potential of up to 2,000 warheads in the event
of a break-out from the treaty regime by the United States. This procedure approaches the
estimated recovery potential of the United States as a consequence of the downloading of
Minuteman III ICBMs. In the event of the deployment of a national missile defense system by
the United States, there may be a lot of pressure to have MIRVed ICBMs.

The principal consequence for Russian military planners is that under START II the
land-based force has to consist of single-warhead ICBMs. Except for 109 downloaded SS-19s,
these will all be SS-25s and SS-27s. After the retirement of older missiles, the ICBM force will
consist only of SS-27s and a new dual ICBM/SLBM follow-on to the SS-27 (with one warhead
if land-based), provided the plans to develop such a missile are successful (discussed below).
Under START II ceilings, Russia ultimately intends to deploy 690 SS-25/27s.29

The SS-25 is deployed in silos and in a road-mobile mode. Mobility, while strategically
desirable, inevitably introduces safety risks. Much of the Russian road network is in poor
condition, especially in the countryside where the SS-25 patrols take place in order to avoid
detection. There have been a number of topple-over accidents with road-mobile launchers.
Road-deployment also makes the missiles more vulnerable to attacks by terrorists or (in the
event of war) foreign agents.30

Nonetheless, Russian military planners remain convinced of the desirability of mobility

for ICBMs. The sustained but largely fruitless effort to locate and destroy mobile missile
launchers in Iraq during the Gulf War of 1991 demonstrated that mobility provides some
protection even against modern space-based reconnaissance systems, thus vastly
complicating any first-strike plans. For this reason most of the SS-27s will also be deployed in
road-mobile mode, although all the SS-27s in service so far are in silos.31

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 The decision to begin production of the Topol-M was made by President Yeltsin in
February 1993 after design work, which began in the 1980s, was completed. The first test
flight was in December 1994. In 1997 the missile was officially adopteld for deployment, but
initially only two missiles were deployed, in an evaluative mode. The first group of Topol-Ms
was deployed with great fanfare at the end of 1998 at the Tatishchevo missile base in the
Saratov region.32 The annual rate of deployment is projected to be 30 to 40 per year, although
funding problems might reduce that number considerably. Thus by 2010, Russia may have
deployed 500 missiles, but with funding at a level of only 48 percent of what is required the
production rate may be much lower. To be consistent with START II levels the ultimate
number of Topol-Ms must not exceed 800.

Assuming the ratification of START II, the principal focus of Russia’s strategic nuclear
force posture will be a single-warhead force deployed to provide a secure second-strike force
with low vulnerability. Its manner of deployment will preclude a launch-on-warning posture,
but the mobility of the forces and the fact that the United states will also no longer deploy
land-based missiles with multiple warheads means that this will not be seen as necessary.

Political and economic circumstances suggest that the most likely future of Russia’s ICBM
force is its consolidation into a single-warhead mobile land-based second-strike force.
However, other options are under consideration and may be pursued more actively if relations
with the United States should deteriorate and the economy remains sufficiently stable to
allow the pursuit of a strategic challenge to the United States.

The Sea-based Deterrent. The Russian leadership seems to recognize that the naval
component of the strategic nuclear triad will become more important as a result of START.
Russia could maintain virtually all of its most modern missile-carrying submarines, the Delta
III, Delta IV, and Typhoon—while remaining under the limit of 1,750 SLBM warheads
imposed by the second phase of START II—by downloading some of its MIRVed SLBMs under
the agreed rules. Currently about 30 percent of Russia’s long-range ballistic missiles are
deployed on submarines; under START this could increase to over 50 percent without any
new missiles or nuclear submarines having to be built.33 Russia’s sea-based forces, however,
cannot be used to execute the kind of coordinated attack on time-urgent hard targets as the
currently deployed land-based force can, and such a shift would therefore require a
completely different strategic doctrine and operational plans. The Russian submarine force
is also plagued by communications problems, which hinder effective command control in
crises. The undersea fleet is also vulnerable to American antisubmarine warfare (ASW).

A general problem is that Russia’s ballistic missile submarine fleet is currently in poor
condition. There are increasing concerns about safety problems associated with the older
SSBNs, and currently there are very few patrols by even the most modern boats. Ten Yankee
class submarines have been decommissioned since START I was signed. The more modern
boats can remain in service for another decade or so; by 2006, even the Delta IV and Typhoon
boats will need to be decommissioned. To maintain its sea-based force Russia will therefore
have to design and deploy a follow-on system to enter service shortly after the envisaged
implementation of START II. Given that military shipbuilding in Russia has come almost to a

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complete halt and the entire industry is in a state of decay, such an ambitious step would
require substantial investments.

The construction of a new submarine called the Borey began in November 1996 at the
Severodvinsk shipyard. The Borey could also be called the Delta V because it is essentially a
modernization of that SSBN class. It marks a shift away from the larger boats of the Typhoon
class. Due to funding shortages it is envisaged that by 2010 Russia will have one and at most
two operational Boreys.34 The Borey will carry 12 SLBMs. The missile apparently intended
for the Borey was a project called “Bark,” a follow-on to the SS-N-20. This was a missile with a
throw-weight of 3.05 tons designed to carry 10 warheads. The development of this missile
continued until 1997 when it was cancelled after three failed test-flights. On July 3, 1998, at a
meeting of the Security Council which adopted a strategic forces development program
extending to 2010, a decision was made to procure a new solid-fueled SLBM to be jointly
developed by the Moscow Institute of Thermal Technology and Miass (SLBM) design
bureaus. This new missile, which is to be deployed both as an ICBM and SLBM and will be
called Bulava, is essentially a derivative of the Topol-M. In its SLBM configuration, the
Bulava would carry three or four warheads; each Borey submarine would be able to deliver
either 48 or 64 warheads as a result (assuming an increase in the number of missile tubes
from 12 to 16). Nikolai Sokov points out that there are options for liquid-fueled follow-on
designs based on existing SLBMs, with six warheads per missile, which could be deployed on
the Borey if the Bulava is delayed or fails to materialize.35 As a consequence the precise
configuration of warheads based on submarines in the future is quite difficult to predict, but it
is clear that if current plans are implemented the share of warheads based at sea in the
Russian arsenal will increase from 30 to 50 percent within the next two decades, with about
800 to 900 warheads deployed at sea. The caveat is funding; while the number of warheads
based on land will certainly decrease, the ability of Russia to increase its sea-based arsenal
depends on funding. It is expected that ultimately seven Boreys will be deployed. These may
not be forthcoming if the economic crisis in Russia deepens during the next decade. Moreover,
Russia’s surface navy, which has a key role in protecting SSBNs, would require substantial
rejuvenation, thus raising the cost of rebuilding and expanding the sea-based strategic
nuclear forces even more. The strategic plans of the Russian navy thus may turn out to be
unrealizable.

Conclusion

There are influential voices in the West which argue for a commitment to cooperative
de-nuclearization as the most favorable trend in the U.S.-Russian strategic relationship. In
many respects, this would be a logical concomitant of the change in the political relationship
between the two main protagonists of the Cold War.

Although both sides are taking steps in the direction of dissolving the strategic nuclear
confrontation of the Cold War, the political commitment to co-operative de-nuclearization has
faltered. Indeed, Russia’s strategic withdrawal from Central and Eastern Europe, the
dissolution of the Soviet Union and the concomitant disintegration of the Soviet military, the

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implementation of conventional arms control agreements, and the economic collapse are
factors which have resulted in the virtual disintegration of Russian military capabilities. As a
consequence, there has been a definite shift towards greater reliance on nuclear weapons,
both tactical and strategic. Strategic force modernization has been undertaken with great
determination. Its direction is the creation of a strategic nuclear force different in structure
from that which emerged in the Soviet period. The destabilizing accumulation of missiles
with multiple warheads will be reversed with the deployment of survivable, mobile
single-warhead systems. But it will still be a substantial force, configured to provide a
reliable second-strike deterrent against U.S., Chinese, and any other forces. The direction of
strategic force modernization does reflect Russia’s circumstances, but it is not in accordance
with normalization or even substantial in the international political environment. A
constructive adaptation of nuclear weapons policies to Russia’s post-Cold War relations with
the West has yet to begin.

Endnotes
1. Sergei A. Karaganov, Russia: The New Foreign Policy and Security Agenda, London: Brassey’s 1992,
pp.24-25; it should be added that Karaganov supports the scrapping of all tactical nuclear warheads and some
reductions in strategic nuclear forces.

2. Ibid., p. 28.

3. Izvestiia, November 18, 1993, p. 4.

4. “Osnovnye polozheniia voennoi doktrini Rossiiskoi Federatsii,” Voennaia mysl, Special issue, May 1992.
pp. 3B23 at p. 5. Note that only a description of the basic provisions of the military doctrine of the Russian
Federation has been published. Any reference to the military doctrine in this chapter is to that description as
published in Voennaia mysl’.

5. For analysis, see Charles Dick, “The Military Doctrine of the Russian Federation,” Jane’s Intelligence
Review, Special Report no. 1, January 1994.

6. Interviews in Moscow, April 1996.

7. Voennaia Mysl, p. 16.

8. Ibid., p. 4.

9. Ibid., p.16.

10. Ibid., p. 12.

11. Ibid., pp. 17-18.

12. Ibid., p 18.

13. Anatoli Klimenko and Alexander Koltukov, “Osnovnoi Dokument Voennogo Stroitelstva,” Nezavisimoe
Voennoe Obozrenie, February 13, 1998, p.4. This contains much of the draft text of the new military doctrine.

14. Nezavisimaia gazeta, June 30, 1999, p.2; Segodnia, July 2, 1999, p.1. For the latest draft nuclear
doctrine, dated October 1999, see for a comment on the national security concept based on this doctrine and

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adopted in January 2000, see Nikolai Sokov, Russia’s New National Security Concept: The Nuclear Angle’,
cns.miis.edu/pubs/reports/sokov2.htm.

15. See Committee of Soviet Scientists for Peace, Against the Nuclear Threat, Strategic Stability under the
Conditions of Radical Nuclear Arms Reductions, Moscow: Novosti, 1987; Alexei Arbatov, “Strategic Equilibrium
and Stability,” in Yevgeny Primakov, ed., Disarmament and Security 1987 Yearbook, Moscow: Novosti, 1988, pp.
239-263.

16. This means that even in the event of a worst-case first strike by the United States, Russia would still
retain sufficient nuclear weapons for use against soft targets (cities and industry) to be able to inflict what is
called “unacceptable damage” to the United States.

17. The aid was Michael I. Gerasev. Interviews with various experts in Moscow in May 1994.

18. Anton Surikov, “Daite Start Tiazhelym Raketam,” Pravda, September 6, 1997, for example.

19. Douglas L. Clarke, “The Impact of START-2 on the Russian Strategic Forces,” RFE/RL Research Report,
vol.2, no.8, February 19, 1993, pp. 65-70; Russian commentators often give the impression that all of the
Blackjack bombers are still in Ukraine, but this is not the case. See Pravda, February 23, 1993, p.3.

20. Clarke, p. 70.

21. Production of the Blackjack and the Bear H was stopped according to an announcement by President
Yeltsin on January 29, 1992.

22. International Institute for Strategic Studies, The Military Balance 1988/89, London: Jane’s Defence
Publishers, 1988; see also Robert P. Berman and John C. Baker, Soviet Strategic Forces, Washington: Brookings,
1982, p.105.

23. Robbin F. Laird and Dale R. Herspring, The Soviet Union and Strategic Arms, Boulder: Westview Press,
1984.

24. Analysts distinguish between counterforce, countermilitary, and countervalue targets. These refer
respectively to the enemy strike forces (in particular nuclear missiles and aircraft), military installations and
equipment, and civilian targets (cities, industrial centers).

25. IISS Military Balance 1988/89.

26. Pavel Podvig, ed., Strategicheskoe Iadernoe Vooruzhenie Rossii, Moscow: Izdat, 1998; Dean Wilkening,
The Evolution of Russia’s Strategic Nuclear Force, Palo Alto, CA: CSAC Stanford, 1998.

27. Based on interviews with Russian experts. However, the activities of the so-called Ukrainian lobby in
Moscow (led by representatives from the missile production complex in Ukraine) are directed against START
because of the implications for heavy missiles produced in Ukraine.

28. Based on interviews.

29. Initial planning for the development and production of the SS-25 follow-on relied on Ukraine for 30
percent of the production and engineering inputs. These plans have since been revised for obvious reasons.

30. Petr Belov, Rossiskaia Gazeta, November 3,1992, p.4; this author is scathingly critical of the SS-25 for
these reasons.

31. During the Gulf War of 1991, the destruction of mobile missile launchers even in conditions of complete
air superiority turned out to be a much more difficult task than anticipated. See Martin Navias, Saddam’s Scud
War and Ballistic Missile Proliferation, London: Brassey’s, 1991, pp. 28-35; Lawrence Freedman and Efraim

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Karsh, The Gulf Conflict 1990-1991, London: Faber & Faber, 1993, pp. 307-309. Russian criticisms about the
supposed invulnerability of mobile missiles are discussed below.

32. “Russia Inaugurates 21 Century Missiles,” Reuters News Service, December 27, 1998.
st

33. Alexei Arbatov, “START II, Red Ink and Boris Yeltsin,” Bulletin of the Atomic Scientists, April 1993,
pp.16-21.

34. See the article by Yuri Maslyukov at www.rus.ru/forums/zagran; see also Sokov, p.135.

35. See Sokov, p.139.

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Russia, Nuclear Weapons, and Strategic Arms Control

Stephen J. Cimbala

Overview

Russia’s nuclear weapons are both the mainstays of its deterrent capability and the
subjects of considerable arms control negotiation. Its nuclear arsenal is seen by Russia’s
political and military leaders as the state’s principal remaining claim to great power status.
Unfortunately, Russia’s main security problem is not maintaining deterrence against nuclear
attack from foreign enemies, something easily accomplished with far fewer nuclear weapons
than it has. Russia’s principal nuclear security problems are to prevent economic meltdown
and to provide reliable and stable political leadership for the armed forces. Boris Yeltsin’s
resignation as President of the Russian Federation on the final day of 1999 may open the door
to greater success in paying for, modernizing, and controlling the armed forces than hitherto.

In the following discussion, we first consider why nuclear weapons and deterrence remain
important in Russian military strategy. Second, we review force structure issues pertinent to
nuclear arms control and deterrence. Third, the problems of stability and parity in U.S. and
Russian nuclear forces are considered. Finally, the role that ballistic missile defenses might
play in any deterrent or arms control relationship between the United States and Russia is
noted.

Introduction

Nuclear weapons and arms control will continue to be important security concerns of the
Russian government well into the next century. There are a number of reasons for the
continuing salience of nuclear related issues. First, Russia still has many thousands of
nuclear weapons, including those of intercontinental range. Second, the other acknowledged
nuclear powers, in addition to the United States and Russia, show no inclination to abandon
nuclear weapons as ultimate deterrents. China is by all accounts engaged in a significant
modernization of its military technology base, including the base that supports improved
delivery systems for nuclear weapons. A third reason for the continued importance of nuclear
deterrence is the addition of India and Pakistan in 1998 to the club of acknowledged nuclear
powers, and the potential for additional non-nuclear states to acquire these and other
weapons of mass destruction.

Fourth, nuclear deterrence remains important because non-state actors, including

terrorists, interstate criminal organizations (ICOs), and revolutionary actors of various sorts
may acquire nuclear or other weapons of mass destruction. Although for some of their
purposes nuclear weapons would be superfluous, for other objectives they would, even in
small numbers and puny yields, be quite appropriate. Suppose that terrorists seized a group

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of hostages in a target state, and suppose as well that these terrorists had a credible capability
to detonate even a small nuclear device in the target state. This capability would greatly raise
the risk, both to the hostages and the rescuers, of any hostage rescue operation contemplated
by the target state.1 Terrorists allied with a state actor and equipped with nuclear weapons
could gain from their ally valuable intelligence, sanctuary, and diplomatic cover.

A fifth reason for the continuing significance of nuclear deterrence in the post-Cold War
system is, somewhat paradoxically, Russia’s military and economic weakness. There are two
aspects of this weakness that might contribute to nuclear deterrence failure based on failed
crisis management, mistaken preemption, or inadvertent war. First, Russia’s conventional
military weakness makes it more reliant on nuclear weapons as weapons of first choice and
first use, instead of last resort. Second, Russia’s economic problems mean that it will have
difficulty maintaining personnel morale and reliability. In addition, Russia’s military will
also be lacking in funds to modernize and properly equip its early warning and nuclear
command, control, and communications systems. These weaknesses may encourage reliance
on prompt launch doctrines for strategic nuclear retaliation or raise the odds in favor of a
mistaken decision for preemption.

Sixth, Russia’s new draft military doctrine of October 1999 reaffirmed the significance of
nuclear weapons in Russian military strategy, noting that nuclear arms are an “effective
factor of deterrence, guaranteeing the military security of the Russian Federation and its
allies, supporting international stability and peace.”2 And despite the dire financial straits in
which Russia’s conventional military forces found themselves at century’s end, civilian and
military leaders reaffirmed the priority of nuclear force modernization in the face of NATO
enlargement and possible U.S. deployments of ballistic missile defenses.3

The draft military doctrine of 1999 was less significant for its military-technical aspects
than for its political frame of reference. Compared to its 1993 predecessor, it was explicitly
anti-Western and anti-United States. Expressing the Kremlin’s obvious pique at having to
swallow NATO enlargement and Operation Allied Force against Yugoslavia in 1999, the draft
doctrine condemned unipolarity, meaning U.S. superpower domination, while commending
multipolarity, which would entail many centers of influence, including Russia.4 Nuclear
weapons guarantee Russia a seat at the great power table and a claim to future status as one
of the influential poles in a 21st century multipolar international system.

Force Structures

The United States takes the position that Russia should accept the strategic arms control
obligations of the former Soviet government, undertaken in the START I and II agreements
signed in 1991 and 1993, respectively. The second agreement called for the two sides to
reduce their holdings of strategic nuclear weapons to the range of 3,000 to 3,500 warheads,
with additional limitations on launchers, especially MIRVed ICBMs (land-based missiles
with multiple, independently targeted warheads). Russia finally ratified START II in the
spring of 2000.

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 The United States and Russia concluded several agreements in 1997 with the objective of
firming up START II and increasing the probability of its successful ratification in Russia.
First, Washington and Moscow agreed to delay final implementation of the treaty-required
reductions until December 31, 2007, instead of January 1, 2003. Related to this step, they also
committed themselves to prompt negotiations on a follow-up START III agreement that
would reduce each side’s strategic nuclear warheads to 2,000 - 2,500 by 2007.5

Another reassurance for Russia was provided in bilateral agreements with regard to U.S.
deployment of highly capable Theater Missile Defense (TMD) systems. Both agreed to ban
testing of TMD systems against ballistic missile targets with speeds above 5
kilometers/second or ranges in excess of 3,500 kilometers. The United States and Russia also
agreed not to develop, test, or deploy space-based TMD interceptors and will exchange
information on theater missile defense plans and programs.6 A third agreement thought
useful in expediting a Russian ratification of START II was the NATO-Russian Founding Act
creating a Permanent Joint Council as a consultative forum for security issues of mutual
interest. The Founding Act and Permanent Joint Council helped to assuage Russian
concerns about the 1997 decisions taken on NATO enlargement to include the Czech
Republic, Hungary and Poland.7

Russian intercontinental ballistic missiles (ICBMs) remain the backbone of its strategic
retaliatory forces. At the end of 1998, 19 ICBM bases held 756 missiles of five types, including
SS-18s, SS-19s, SS-24s, and SS-27s in underground silos; rail-mobile SS-24s; and
road-mobile SS-25s. START II, when it goes into force, would eliminate all SS-18s and SS-24s
and all SS-19s, except for 105 SS-19s: that would be downloaded to a single warhead. Some
ICBM silos may be converted to accept the SS-27 Topol-M.8 General Vladimir Yakovlev,
CINC of the Strategic Rocket Forces, called in 1999 for a production schedule of 20-30 Topol M
becoming operational during each of the following three years, and for 30-40 per year for the
three years thereafter.

With regard to ballistic missile submarines, Russia’s START exchange data of 1998
included 42 submarines of six classes, but the actual number of submarines available and
fully operational is fewer than that. The Russian navy considers only 25 SSBNs to be
operational, 16 in the Northern Fleet and nine in the Pacific Fleet.9 Operational tempos of the
Russian SSBN fleet have been drastically reduced since the end of the Cold War, and Russia
might have as few as 10-15 operational SSBNs by the end of 2003 (consisting of Delta IVs,
updated Delta IIIs, and Typhoons). Although the keel for the first Borey-class SSBN was laid
in November 1996, construction was suspended in 1998 at least temporarily amid official
statements that the ship was being redesigned.10 Russia in the autumn of 1998 was already
below the START II ceiling for total warheads carried on SLBMs (1,750).

The modernization plans for the Russian strategic bomber force are as vague as those for
the navy. Russia claimed some 70 strategic bombers at the end of 1998, but fewer were
actually operational due to lack of funds. The current generation of air-launched cruise
missiles (ALCMs) is approaching the end of their programmed service lives, adding an
additional modernization requirement for airborne resources already stretched. The
commander in chief of the Russian air force has announced plans to replace the Tu-95MS Bear

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H with a new aircraft after 2010, a rather distant date. Only two of the six Tu-160 Blackjack
bombers listed as operational at the end of 1998 were actually able to take off, and plans to
purchase additional Blackjacks from Ukraine fell through in 1997. The number of
operational strategic bombers deployed in the next decade will surely fall below current
deployments, and the possibility of Russia’s going out of the bomber business entirely cannot
be discounted.11

Compared to Russia, the United States has to undergo fewer exertions to realign its
strategic nuclear forces for compliance with START II. The United States needed only to
eliminate 50 Peacekeeper (MX) ICBMs, 4 Ohio-class ballistic missile submarines (SSBNs),
and 28 long-range bombers with air launched cruise missiles (ALCMs) from its START I
compliant force. U.S. plans assume the downloading of Minuteman III ICBMs and Trident II
submarine launched ballistic missiles (SLBMs) and conversion of B-1B bombers to
conventional missions. Since the United States can meet its START II force structure
requirements by downloading or mission changes, whereas Russia must build new systems
and destroy many existing ones, some Russians complain that the United States has a
comparative free ride. In addition, the removed U.S. warheads could be “uploaded” fairly
quickly in the event that political relations between the two states deteriorated and arms
reductions came to a halt. Table One, below, summarizes U.S. and Russian strategic nuclear
force structures as of January 1999.

U.S. Forces

Launchers Warheads
ICBMs
MX/Peacekeeper 50 500
Minuteman III 650 1950
Minuteman II 1 1
Subtotal ICBMs 701 2451

SLBMs
Poseidon (C-3) 32 320
Trident I (C-4) 192 1536
Trident II (D-5) 240 1920
Subtotal SLBMs 464 3776

Bombers
B-52 (ALCM) 156 1572
B-52 (non-ALCM) 48 48
B-1 91 91
B-2 20 20
Subtotal Bombers 315 1731

Totals 1480 7958

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 Russian Forces

Launchers Warheads
ICBMs
SS-18 180 1800
SS-19 160 960
SS-24 (silo) 10 100
SS-24 (mobile) 36 360
SS-25 360 360
SS-27 (silo) 10 10
SS-27 (mobile) 0 0
Subtotal ICBMs 756 3590

SLBMs
SS-N-8 152 152
SS-N-18 208 624
SS-N-20 120 1200
SS-N-23 112 448
Subtotal SLBMs 592 2424

Bombers
Bear (ALCM) 64 512
Bear (non-ALCM) 4 4
Blackjack (ALCM) 6 48
Subtotal Bombers 74 564

Totals 1422 6578

*Source: Arms Control Association, April 1999, provided by request and based on January 1999
12
Memorandum of Understanding, U.S. State Department.

Table 1: U.S. And Russian Strategic Nuclear Forces.

Maintaining Parity and Stability

Both U.S. and Russian negotiators are rightly concerned about the stability of the
strategic nuclear balance at greatly reduced levels expected under START II, START III or
even lower regimes if it comes to that. Stability is a tricky concept. Comparisons of force
structures do not reveal some of the properties of force operations that may matter for crisis
management or deterrence. For example, the United States relies more heavily on sea based
ballistic missiles and bombers as parts of its retaliatory force than does Russia, which has
favored land based missiles. The operational diversity of land, sea, and air forces complicates
the plans of attackers. Land-based missiles are fast to react but for that reason also pose a

383

destabilizing threat of preemption. Sea-based missiles are the most survivable among launch
platforms but require a degree of operational autonomy that unsettled commissars during the
Cold War. The U.S. Air Force influence in defense planning ensures a prominent role for
strategic bombers, which have been augmented by air-launched cruise missiles; Russia
deploys comparatively fewer and less modern air forces.

Survivable Forces. Stability can be measured in various ways. We will first compare the
numbers of “post-first-strike” surviving warheads delivered by U.S. and Soviet or Russian
forces under the following conditions: (1) late (1991) Cold War forces of the United States and
the Soviet Union; (2) U.S. and Russian START I forces; (3) START II compliant forces; (4)
START III compliant forces. Chart 1 below displays the results of this comparison.

10000
9000
8000
7000
6000
5000
4000
3000
2000
1000
0

Force Structure Regimes

Generated, Launch on Warning
Generated, Ride Out Attack
Day-to-Day Alert, Launch on Warning
Day-to-Day Alert, Ride Out Attack

Chart 1. Comparison of Number of Post-First-Strike nuclear Warheads

Deliverable by United States and USSR/Russia Under Four Force Structure
Regimes.

384

 It is apparent that even START III levels (2,500 maximum warheads for each side) provide
for retaliatory strikes against a variety of target sets that meet any reasonable standard of
“assured retaliation” sufficient for deterrence. Of course, this begs the question: deterrence of
whom, about what? Deterrence was never a very elegant theory, only a way station proposed
until theorists could come up with something better. “Better” remains a long way off, but the
difficulties have more to do with the intractability of nuclear weapons (a few do enormous
damage) than with the lack of ingenuity among scholars. But enough thinking was done in
Moscow and in Washington during the Cold War to recognize that force sizes by themselves
did not guarantee stable deterrence.

The United States and the Soviet Union approached the entire concept of
deterrence-based stability from different vantage points. The Soviets never trusted
deterrence as an abstraction apart from war preparedness. Soviet military theorists were
also skeptical that war avoidance could be guaranteed by deterrence, stable or otherwise.
Stability was a sacred concept to the U.S. arms control community. Although the Soviets
understood our version of it, they did not accept the U.S. rendition as definitive. Having been
tutored in war by Clausewitz through Lenin, Soviet leaders insisted that stability had as
much to do with the intentions of potential adversaries as it did with their capabilities. These
differences between the two strategic cultures in theorizing about stability and deterrence
have carried forward into the post-Cold War world, although the Russian position is
somewhat more opaque than formerly, and military doctrine in Russia remains a moveable
feast.

Another difference between the U.S. and Soviet views of deterrence that has almost
certainly carried forward into the 1990s is the Russian skepticism about nuclear
brinkmanship or manipulation of risk. During the Cold War the Soviet view of nuclear
blackmail (after Khrushchev’s nuclear adventurism led to the Cuban missile crisis) was that
it was more dangerous than not regardless of policy objectives. Whereas the United States
retained after 1962 a considerable degree of faith in crisis management including use of
military means, the Soviet view was that crisis avoidance by political means was to be
preferred. Of course, it was also the Soviet view and is arguably the Russian view now that
nuclear blackmail against Russia must be deterred or resisted. Russia now regards its
nuclear forces as part of its deterrent against an enemy strategic attack by conventional, as
well as by nuclear, means. It has been forced into this view by the sorry state of its
conventional military forces and its economy. Although some U.S. assessments have accused
Russia of having adopted a nuclear first-use doctrine, the truth is that Russia’s court politics
today leaves the military in considerable dark about just what would, or would not, be
authorized in a given case.

Dynamic Instability. We have asserted that force operations matter as much as force
structures in making deterrence secure or insecure. Accordingly, we need now to analyze
several aspects of the problem of dynamic instability and its possible relationship to
U.S.-Russian arms control and deterrence. One important issue is whether arms reductions
will make the Russians or the Americans more reliant upon hair-trigger response in order to
guarantee assured retaliation. A second issue is the extent to which the U.S. or Russia needs
to have forces on generated alert (constant launch readiness) as opposed to day-to-day alert

385
status (only a portion of the force immediately ready to launch) in order to meet the
requirements set by policymakers and planners. In general, forces that rely upon prompt
launch (launch on warning or launch under attack) instead of delayed launch, or upon
generated (launch-ready) day to day alert, are more prone to the “reciprocal fear of surprise
attack” that might cause a mistaken decision for nuclear preemption.

In Charts 2 and 3, the number of weapons surviving a first strike and arriving to retaliate
is compared for Soviet or Russian and U.S. Cold War, START I, START II, and START III
forces. The charts permit comparison of maximum and assured (minimum) retaliation across
four force structures. Maximum and assured retaliation are defined by two parameters:
whether forces are alerted (launch-ready status), or generated (day-to-day alert status), and
whether they are launched on warning or ride out the attack. Chart 2 compares the
maximum U.S. and Russian or Soviet retaliations: forces are on generated alert
(launch-ready), and launch on warning is operational policy.

10000

8000

AIR
6000
SLBM
ICBM
4000

2000

0
US USSR US RF US RF US RF

Late Cold START START II START III

War
Force Structure Regimes

Chart 2. Maximum Retaliation (Generated Alert, Launch on Warning.

386
 Chart 2 shows that essential parity can be maintained between U.S. and Russian forces
even as the force sizes are brought down from Cold War to START III levels. The parity that
matters is not the equivalence in deployed forces, but in the estimated numbers of surviving
and retaliating warheads that each side can bring to bear against its attacker. In addition,
even at START III levels the two sides retain some 2,000 surviving warheads with which to
retaliate, allowing coverage of numerous counterforce, counter-command and other military
targets in addition to economic and other value targets. However, the figures in Chart 2 are
based on launch on warning and highly alerted forces. What if each side’s forces attempt to
ride out the attack at day to day alert levels? Chart 3 shows the assured or minimum possible
retaliation for each force, under these more restrictive operational assumptions.

4000

AIR
SLBM
3000
ICBM

2000

1000

0
US USSR US RF US RF US RF

Late Cold START START II START III

War
Force Structure Regimes

Chart 3. Assured Retaliation (Day-to-Day Alert, Ride Out Attack).

Russia’s START II and START III forces, not launch-ready and not launched promptly,
can guarantee only one-fourth to one-fifth as much survivable retaliatory power as can their
U.S. counterparts. Russia’s surviving and arriving START II and START III warheads

387
number about 300 or 200, respectively, also limiting target coverage to strictly countervalue
attacks. Therefore, Russia will almost certainly generate at least some of its forces rapidly in
a crisis and rely on prompt launch in order to guarantee assured retaliation. Does this
matter? How dependent is Russia compared to the United States on prompt launch doctrines
or on generated forces compared to day to day alert?

Effect of Force Launch Readiness. The degree of U.S. or Soviet/Russian dependency on

generated alert, for Cold War, START I, START II, and START III forces, is depicted in Chart
4 as the percentage increase in arriving retaliatory weapons compared to day-to-day alert
status. The degree of dependency is also shown to vary with launch on warning or a decision
to ride out the attack.

1200

Ride Out Attack

900 Launch on Warning

600

300

0
COLD START START START COLD START START START
WAR II III WAR II III

FORCE STRUCTURE
United States REGIMES USSR/Russia

Chart 4. Retaliatory Capability Sensitivity to Generation*

* “Generation” refers to the operational readiness of the force. Generated alert indicates that forces have
been raised to a level of readiness above normal peacetime conditions, thereby expediting prompt response and
increasing survivability. In a “day-to-day” alert status, forces remain at normal peacetime conditions of
readiness. A longer period is required to be able to respond, thereby reducing suvivability.

388

 Russia’s dependency on force generation is not much greater than that of the United
States if Russia launches on warning. But if not, choosing to ride out the attack creates a
larger degree of dependency on force generation for Russia compared to the United States. In
addition, the U.S. dependency on generation does not increase steadily as forces are reduced
from Cold War through START III levels: dependency on generation remains the same for
smaller force sizes. On the other hand, for Russia the opposite is the case: Russian forces
increase steadily in their degree of dependency on force generation as force size is reduced.

Effect of Launch on Warning.* In addition to generation, the other operational aspect of

stability is whether a state chooses to launch on warning or ride out an attack. In Chart 5, the
sensitivity of each side’s forces to launch on warning is illustrated as a percentage increase in
the number of surviving and retaliating warheads, compared to delayed launch status.

800

700

600

500

400

300

200

100

Late START START START Late START START START

Cold II III Cold II III
War War

United States USSR/Rus s ian Federation

FORCE STRUCTURE REGIMES
Generated Day-to-Day

Chart 5. Sensitivity to Launch on Warning

* Launch on warning means that retaliatory strikes are authorized after unabiguous confirmation of attack
warning but before warheads have actually detonated on their assigned targets. Retaliation after ride out
means that retaliation is authorized only after attacking warheads have actually reached their assigned targets.

The “good news” in Chart 5 is that Russia’s forces do not become more dependent on
prompt launch as force size is reduced. Russia’s Cold War forces and START I compliant
forces are more dependent on a hair trigger than either START II or START III forces would

389
be. This improvement is produced by Russia’s elimination for START II or START III of
multiple warhead (MIRVed) ICBMs in fixed silos, prompt first strike weapons that are also
ideal targets for enemy preemption. Although ICBMs will still be the weapons of choice for
modernization of the Russian strategic nuclear force in the near future, single warhead
missiles do not pose the first-strike threat to the other side’s silo-based ICBMs that multiple
warhead missiles do.

It remains the case that for each force structure regime, Russia is more dependent upon
force generation and upon prompt launch than the United States is, or was. The reason for
this lies in differences in force structure and force operations reflecting differences between
the defense postures of the two states. The United States has relied on submarine launched
missiles as the key component of its retaliatory force and will undoubtedly continue to do so.
The high survivability of ballistic missile submarines has made the United States less
dependent upon prompt launch or upon high levels of crisis alert as is Russia. However, this
finding is not necessarily reassuring to U.S. observers, nor should it be. Deterrence and war
avoidance are a two-way street. If a Russia fearful of losing its deterrent were to launch
promptly on an ambiguous or mistaken warning, it would have started an unprecedented
catastrophe as a result of unnecessarily pessimistic expectations built into its warning and
response system. Russia’s modernization must now address this issue of fast trigger and high
alert dependency, not only for its forces but also for its command systems.

The Clinton administration has offered to help Russia complete an unfinished radar site
in Siberia and to share additional radar warning data with Russia. The U.S. interests in
making these offers are twofold: to reduce the risk of misunderstanding that might lead to
accidental/inadvertent war; and to help persuade Russia to rethink its opposition to
amending the ABM Treaty of 1972 to permit limited national missile defenses against rogue
state attacks.12 The United States urged the Russians in the fall of 1999 to consider their
common interest in the possibility of rogue state ballistic missile launches against either
America or Russia from North Korea, Iran, or other states with unpredictable regimes and
growing ballistic missile capabilities. Russians of various political persuasions remain cool to
linking nuclear transparency measures, of which most approved, to revision of the ABM
Treaty, which many Russians regard as a cornerstone of U.S.-Russian arms control and as
reinforcement for future strategic stability. The implications of any U.S. missile defense
deployment receive more specific consideration in the next section.

Defenses. In the United States the issue of national missile defense (NMD) is nearing a
move from the research and development stage and toward actual deployment. U.S.
Secretary of Defense William Cohen announced in January 1999 an adjustment in the “three
plus three” program that all but committed the United States to the eventual deployment of
an NMD system against rogue nation attacks. According to Cohen, the United States would
commit $6.6 billion dollars to a “three plus five” program that would produce a system ready
for deployment by the year 2005.13 A final decision on deployment of any U.S. NMD system
will be made after the year 2000 by President Clinton’s successor, thus permitting additional
technology development and testing of proposed system components in the interim. As
envisioned by DOD and BMDO (Ballistic Missile Defense Organization), these components
would be space-based detectors for missile launch, long-range radars to track missile flight

390
paths, other radars for intercept tracking, and non-nuclear kill interceptors.14 In July 1999,
President Clinton signed the National Missile Defense Act. Clinton stated that his signature
did not amount to final approval for deployment. A final decision would be based on four
criteria: technological readiness; the nature of rogue state ballistic missile threats; cost
factors; and arms control considerations.15

How much difference would defenses make in the stability of the U.S.-Russian strategic
nuclear relationship? During the Cold War, the prospect of a transition from deterrence
based exclusively on offensive retaliation, to a mixed force structure employing both offenses
and defenses, was held back by mutual suspicion in Washington and Moscow. Transition to a
mixed deterrent force was also inhibited by the primitive state of defense technology
compared to offense. Improved technologies and better U.S.-Russian political relations now
reopen the question whether defenses mixed with offenses would improve stability, assuming
mutually agreed and deployed forces.

Russia remains warily skeptical that any U.S. missile defense deployment could be
consistent with stable deterrence. The commander in chief of the Russian Strategic Missile
Forces (RVSN), Colonel General Vladimir Yakovlev, called in January, 1999 for a global
“strategic stability treaty” that would include, in addition to the U.S. and Russia, Britain,
France and China.16 According to Yakovlev, such an agreement would include reductions in
U.S and Soviet strategic nuclear warheads even to START III levels and agreement between
the two states on “the inviolability of space.”17 He specified, in regard to space arms control,
the need for a pledge not to create space vehicles capable of attacking warning systems to
detect missile attacks.

Additional Russian skepticism about a U.S. limited national defense system was voiced by
Ministry of Defense official Colonel-General Igor Valynkin, who contended in early February
1999 that a U.S. revision of the ABM Treaty to permit missile defenses would upset stability
and that Russia would “undoubtedly respond.”18 Commenting on U.S. media reports on
October 19, 1999, that Washington had offered to help Russia complete a radar station in
Siberia in return for Russian acquiescence in amending the ABM Treaty, a Russian Foreign
Ministry official rejected the reports as groundless. And on the same day, General Makhmut
Gareev, president of Russia’s Academy of Military Sciences, stated that the ABM Treaty
should not be used for “political bargaining” because it was an integral part of the global
security system.19 On the other hand, the Russians have not totally closed the subject.
During a Moscow meeting with U.S. Secretary of State Madeleine Albright in early February
2000, Russia’s then-Acting President Vladimir Putin indicated a willingness to discuss the
possibility of amendments to the ABM Treaty permitting the United States to deploy light
national missile defenses.

Defense today, even granted the assumption of better technologies than during the Cold
War, is still difficult to achieve with a high assurance of effectiveness. Space-based defense
interceptors are prohibited by the ABM Treaty that remains in force; the same agreement
also limits the numbers of sites and the numbers of interceptors deployed. The military
tasking of defenses under any revised U.S.-Russian arms control regime will thus be
restricted to accidental launches or limited attacks from rogue states armed with ballistic

391
missiles. Even against attacks of modest scale by Cold War standards, defenses that are very
good (i.e., allow very little “leakage” of attacking warheads through the system) will not
preclude historically unprecedented levels of societal damage.

The kinds of Clausewitian friction that might characterize missile defense operations
even against light attacks are summarized in Table 2 below. This is not a brief against missile
defenses, but it does remind us of two things: (1) the Cold War gave offensive technology a
substantial head start, and defenses must now play catch-up; and (2) the United States will
have fewer obstacles, either political or military, in deploying national missile defenses
against limited strikes if it does so cooperatively with Russia instead of against her wishes.
Detection Detection might not take place in time for
response, or it might mischaracterize an
innocent event as attack.
Large-scale or sneak attack might overwhelm
or confuse defenses.
Interception Extreme accuracies and velocities are required
for exo-atmospheric, nonnuclear kill.
Firing doctrine must be appropriate to the
attack.
Command and control Policymakers must react quickly and decisively
to indications of attack, which might be
ambiguous.
C3 system must provide for feedback on
intercept failures to correct follow-on forces.
Enemy countermeasures Chaff, decoys, and other devices might
confuse detection and tracking.
Enemy might use nonstandard methods of
attack (e.g., low-trajectory ballistic or cruise
missiles)
Footprint Not all areas within the footprint of the defender
are equally important in terms of military
assets, population, or other values.
Enemy method of attack may outsmart
defensive firing doctrine, making some areas
within the footprint vulnerable.
Source: Author

Table Two: Possible Sources of Friction in Missile Defenses.

392

Conclusion

Russia, barring a major financial collapse that leaves its entire defense establishment in
tatters, will be able to maintain essential strategic nuclear parity with the United States
during the next decade or so. This is especially so if the two states can agree on the START III
levels of warhead reductions, which would be easier for cash-strained Russia to meet than
START II. Lower numbers are not necessarily more stable, however. Stability also resides in
the operational qualities of forces deployed and the extent to which they are sensitive to the
need for early generation of launch readiness or prompt launch. Russia’s forces are more
dependent on early generation and prompt launch for survivability than are their U.S.
counterparts, with two parts of Russia’s triad of strategic nuclear forces having become
essentially moribund by 1999. These dependencies can be made worse by deteriorating
political relations between the United States and Russia, as in 1999 over the issues of NATO
enlargement and the bombing of Yugoslavia. Defenses against limited strikes now have a
favorable momentum in U.S. domestic policy debates, but Russia remains wary of any
American unilateral or bilateral deployment of national missile defenses.

Endnotes

1. Gen. Aleksandr Lebed, former national security advisor to Russian President Boris Yeltsin, claimed in a
U.S. network television interview in September, 1997 that many portable “suitcase” nuclear weapons (atomic
demolition munitions, or ADMs) created during the Cold War for use with Soviet special operations forces could
not be accounted for by the Russian military now. The U.S. “60 Minutes” program of September 6 raised the
possibility that missing weapons could have been sold to terrorists or states like Iraq with nuclear ambitions.
Russian defense officials denied that any nuclear weapons were unaccounted for.

2. RFE/RL Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 197, Part I, October 8 1999, <[email protected]>

3. Martin Nesirsky, “Short of Conventional Weapons, Russia Reassesses Security Strategy,” Reuters,
October 8, 1999, Russia Today, <http://www.russiatoday.com> October 10, 1999.

4. Reuters Moscow, October 12, 1999, via Russia Today, <http://www.russiatoday.com> October 12, 1999.

5. Jack Mendelsohn, “The U.S. - Russian Strategic Arms Control Agenda,” Arms Control Today,
November/December 1997, p. 12.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. NRDC Nuclear Notebook, Vol. 55, No. 2, March/April 1999, pagination uncertain due to electronic
transmission.

9. Ibid.

10. Ibid.

11. Ibid.

393

 12. Except here and as otherwise noted, tables and charts in this chapter were generated by using a model
developed by Dr. James Scouras, Strategy Research Group. The model’s application in this chapter is not Dr.
Scouras’s responsibility, nor are any arguments or opinions herein.

13. Steven Mufson and Bradlay Graham, “U.S. offers to help Russia complete radar site,” Philadelphia
Inquirer from Washington Post News Service, October 17, 1999, p. A7.

14. Douglas J. Gillert, “Cohen Announces National Missile Defense Plan,” Armed Forces Press Service,
January 21, 1999, [email protected]

15. Ibid.

16. Arms Control Today, July/August 1999, p. 22.

17. Interfax, Moscow, January 26, 1999, via medusa.x-stream.co.uk, Feb. 2, 1999.

18. Ibid.

19. Medusa.x-stream.co.uk, February 4, 1999.

20. RFE/RL Newsline, Vol. 3, No. 205, Part I, 20 October 1999, p. 3. The Russian reactions were to U.S.
reports in the Washington Post and in other American media.

394

 ABOUT THE CONTRIBUTORS

DR. MARYBETH P. ULRICH is associate professor of government in the Department of

National Security and Strategy at the U.S. Army War College. She has also taught at the
United States Air Force Academy and at the Naval Postgraduate School. In addition, Dr.
Ulrich is an adjunct faculty member of the Department of Defense’s Africa Center for
Strategic Studies. She received her Ph.D. in political science from the University of Illinois
(Champaign-Urbana) in 1996 and has written extensively in the field of strategic studies,
with special emphasis on national security democratization issues in post-communist
Europe, and European security. Her most recent book, Democratizing Communist Militaries:
The Cases of the Czech and Russian Armed Forces, was published by the University of
Michigan Press in 2000. Other recent publications include, “The New Allies: Approaching
NATO Political and Military Standards,” in NATO and Europe in the 21st Century: New Roles
for a Changing Partership, ed. Sabina A.M. Crisen, Woodrow Wilson International Center for
Scholars, August 2000; NATO’s New Strategic Concept and the Role of the Partnership for
Peace Program: The Construction of a Security Regime in Post-Cold War Europe, University of
Missouri, Occasional Paper, 1999; “The Democratization of Civil-Military Relations in the
Czech Republic,” in The Military and Society in the Former Eastern Bloc, eds. Constantine
Danopoulos and David Zirker, Westview Press, 1999; and “US Assistance and Military
Democratization in the Czech Republic,” Problems of Post-Communism, March/April 1998.

DR. MIKHAIL TSYPKIN is an associate professor in the National Security Affairs

Department of the Naval Postgraduate School, Monterey, California. He received his MA in
Regional Studies-Soviet Union (1980) and his Ph.D. in political science (1985) from Harvard
University. He joined the Naval Postgraduate School in 1987 and is currently the coordinator
of Russian and Eurasian Studies. Previously, he was the Salvatori Fellow in Soviet studies at
the Heritage Foundation. His current research for the Department of the Navy concerns
Russian security policy. His articles have been published in Security Studies, Orbis,
European Security; he has also contributed articles on Russian military to a number of books.

DR. ODELIA FUNKE is Chief of the Policy and Program Management Branch, Information
Access Division, Office of Analysis and Access. This branch is responsible for developing EPA
policy for public access, including methods and issues associated with stakeholder
involvement in EPA information policy. She has 20 years experience with EPA, including
positions as senior analyst, special assistant and manager. During this period she also spent
15 months as a visiting Senior Fellow at the Army Environmental Policy Institute in
Champaign, Illinois. She has a Ph.D. in political theory from the University of Virginia, with
MA and undergraduate work in international relations. Before joining EPA, Odelia taught as
an assistant professor at the University of Missouri. During her years at EPA, she has been
an adjunct professor at George Washington and American Universities and at the University
of Maryland, Baltimore County. She has lectured at other universities and written articles
and book chapters on environmental policy and political theory. She is a member of Phi Beta
Kappa, a recipient of a Superior Civilian Service Award from the Department of the Army,
and an active member of the Association for Politics and the Life Sciences.

395

DR. THEODORE KARASIK received his Ph.D. in history from the University of California,
Los Angeles, and is currently a resident consultant to RAND. He has 13 years experience in
Russian, Caucasian, and Middle Eastern affairs for the RAND Corporation. His RAND
publications include “Foreign and Security Policy Decision-making Under Yeltsin,” RAND,
MR-831-OSD, 1997 (coauthored with F. Stephen Larrabee) and “Organizing, Training and
Equipping the Air Force for Crises and Lesser Conflicts,” MR-626-AF, 1995 (co-authored with
Carl H. Builder). His current RAND research focuses on Russian-Chinese relations after
Kosovo, Russian military reform under Putin, Chechen military tactics, and non-state
combat health practices. Dr. Karasik is editor, Russia and Eurasia Armed Forces Review,
Academic International Press, and Adjunct Assistant Professor, Department of International
Relations, University of Southern California. He is a frequent contributor to the Central
Asia-Caucasus Monitor. His other publications include “Chechnya: A Glimpse of Future
Conflict?” Studies in Conflict & Terrorism, with John Arquilla; “Putin and Shoigu: Reversing
Russia’s Decline,” Demokratizatsiia, Summer 2000. He also wrote “The Crisis in Azerbaijan:
How Clans Influence the Politics of an Emerging Republic,” Middle East Journal, Summer
1995, with Joseph Kechichian.

DR. STEVEN ROSEFIELDE is professor of economics at the University of North Carolina,

and adjunct research professor of Defense and Strategic Studies, Center for Defense and
Strategic Studies, Southwest Missouri State University, Springfield, Missouri. A member of
the Russian Academy of Natural Sciences, he is a recent recipient of a Carnegie Corporation
grant underwriting a study titled “Forgotten Superpower: The Economic Case for Arms
Control in the Russian Federation.” He is also working on larger security issues involving the
global reconfiguration of wealth and power. His latest books are Efficiency and Russia’s
Economic Recovery Potential to the Year 2000 and Beyond (Ashgate, 1998), and the
forthcoming America on Top: Shifting the Terms of Global Engagement, forthcoming 2001),
Comparative Economic Systems (Prentice Hall, forthcoming 2002).

DR. DEBORAH YARSIKE BALL, now working in the Nonproliferation, Arms Control and
International Security Directorate at Lawrence Livermore National Laboratory, is a
nationally recognized expert on the Russian armed forces and Russian society. She received
her Ph.D. from the University of Michigan and has been a fellow at Harvard University’s
Center for Science and International Affairs, as well as at Stanford’s Center for International
Security and Arms Control. Her work focuses on Russian civil-military relations and
strategic and doctrinal issues, as well as the prevention of theft of nuclear weapons and
weapons-usable nuclear material from the former Soviet Union. Dr. Ball’s most recent
publications include “How Safe Is Russia’s Nuclear Arsenal?” which appeared in Jane’s
Intelligence Review (December 1999) and “The Social Crisis of the Russian Military,” in
Russia’s Torn Safety Nets, eds. Mark G. Field and Judyth L. Twigg, St. Martins, 2000.

DALE R. HERSPRING is professor and head, Department of Political Science, Kansas State
University. A former Foreign Service Officer, he is the author of eight books and more than 60
articles dealing with communist and post-communist militaries. His next book, Soldiers,
Commissars and Chaplains, From Cromwell to the Present, will be published by Rowman and
Littlefield.

396

JOHN C. REPPERT is Executive Director (Research) for the Belfer Center for Science and
International Affairs, John F. Kennedy School of Government at Harvard University. He
joined the Center in October 1998 after retiring as a Brigadier General from the U.S. Army,
following nearly 33 years of active service. He has specialized in areas of international arms
control and military affairs of the states of the former Soviet Union. He concluded his military
career as the Director of the On-Site Inspection Agency, the organization responsible for
implementation of on-site inspection activities under treaties in which the United States is a
signatory. He served three two-year tours of duty in the American Embassy in Moscow,
concluding these as Defense Attaché from 1995-1997. Pentagon tours include duty on the
Joint Staff and an assignment as the Military Assistant to the Assistant Secretary of Defense
for Plans and Policy and as Principal Director for the Office for Russia, Ukraine, and Eurasia.
He had command and staff tours in Germany, Korea, and Vietnam. He is fluent in Russian
and has traveled in the newly independent states of the former Soviet Union regularly since
1973. He has published on Russian/Soviet national security issues and arms control policy
and prospects. His education includes a Ph.D. from the George Washington University in
International Affairs, a MA from the University of Kansas in Soviet and East European
Studies, and a MS and BA in Journalism from Kansas State University. He is a graduate of
the Army War College, the Naval War College, and was an Army fellow at the Kennedy School
of Government of Harvard University. He is a member of the Council on Foreign Relations,
military member of the International Institute of Strategic Studies and the American
Association of Slavic Studies.

MICHAEL ORR joined the Royal Military Academy Sandhurst to teach military history and
war studies in 1969, after reading modern history at Balliol College, Oxford. In 1984, he
transferred to the Soviet Studies Research Centre (now Conflict Studies Research Centre) as
an analyst of Soviet Army tactics. He has lectured widely to British and NATO military
audiences and to academic and other civilian institutions. Within CSRC his research is now
concentrated on the Russian ground forces and the Russian experience of peace-support
operations and local war. His publications include a study of the Battle of Dettingen and a
number of articles on military history, Soviet Army tactics, the Chechen wars, Russian peace
support operations, and Russian military reform.

ALEXANDER KENNAWAY was born in Vienna into a Russian émigré family, and his family
later moved to Britain. He graduated in Mechanical Engineering at Cambridge in 1942. He
joined the Royal Navy as Engineer Officer and served in the Arctic, Mediterranean and in the
Far East. After leaving the Royal Navy in 1947, he served as a Lieutenant Commander in the
Royal Naval Reserve, studying Soviet naval technology. For over two decades, he worked in
industry in a wide variety of chemical and mechanical engineering posts, which included
work on the development of artificial limbs. From 1973, he was a visiting professor at the
Imperial College of Science, London, and he also lectured at Japanese and Chilean
Universities. From 1993, he was a consultant at the Conflict Studies Research Centre,
Camberley, writing and lecturing on the Russian military-industrial complex. He also visited
many factories and research institutes in the former Soviet Union as an adviser on conversion
or commercialization of defence industries.

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STEPHEN J. BLANK is Professor of Russian National Security Studies at the Strategic

Studies Institute of the U.S. Army War College. Dr. Blank has been an Associate Professor of
National Security Affairs at the Strategic Studies Institute since 1989. Prior to this
appointment Dr. Blank was Associate Professor for Soviet Studies at the Center for
Aerospace Doctrine, Research, and Education of Air University at Maxwell AFB. Dr. Blank’s
M.A. and Ph.D. are in Russian history from the University of Chicago. He has published over
170 articles on Soviet/Russian military and foreign policies. His most recent book is Imperial
Decline: Russia’s Changing Role in Asia (Duke University Press, 1997), which he coedited
with Professor Alvin Rubinstein of the University of Pennsylvania. Dr. Blank is also the
author of a study of the Soviet Commissariat of Nationalities, The Sorcerer as Apprentice:
Stalin’s Commissariat of Nationalities (Greenwood Publishing Group, 1994) and the co-editor
of The Soviet Military and the Future (Greenwood Publishing Group, 1992).

R. CRAIG NATION is Elihu Root Professor of Military Studies and Director of Russian and
Eurasian Studies at the U.S. Army War College. Previously, he was Professor of
International Relations in John Hopkins University’s program in Bologna, Italy, and a
Research Fellow at Cornell University. His publications include The Yugoslav War and its
Implications for International Relations (Longo, 1998); Turkey Between East and West
(Westview Press, 1996); and Black Earth, Red Star: A History of Soviet Security Policy,
1917-1991 (Cornell University Press, 1992).

DR. PAVEL BAEV is a Senior Researcher at the International Peace Research Institute,
Oslo, where he has served since October 1992, andand the Editor of Security Dialogue. He
graduated from the Moscow State University in 1979 with an MA in economic and political
geography. From 1979 to 1988 he worked in a research institute in the USSR Ministry of
Defense. In 1988 he received the Ph.D. in international relations from the Institute of USA
and Canada, USSR Academy of Sciences. From 1988 to 1992 he worked in the newly created
Institute of Europe, Moscow, as senior researcher and head of the Military-Political Studies
Section. He held a NATO Democratic Institutions Fellowship for 1994-1996. He is the author
of several books, among them The Russian Army in a Time of Troubles (Sage, 1996) and
Russia’s Policies in the Caucasus (Royal Institute of International Affairs, 1997). His articles
on the Russian military posture, Russian-European relations, peacekeeping, and conflict
management in Europe have appeared in European Security, International Peacekeeping,
Jane’s Intelligence Review, Journal of Peace Research, Journal of Slavic Military Studies,
Transitions, and The World Today.

FRANK UMBACH, born in Kassel, Germany; studied Political Science, European and
international law, and East European history at the Universities of Marburg and Bonn,
receiving his MA degree in 1990. Since April 1996, he has been a Senior Research Fellow at
the Research Institute of the German Council on Foreign Relations in Bonn and Berlin. From
1991 to 1994, he was a Research Fellow at the Federal Institute of East European and
International Studies in Cologne; during that time, he conducted research at different
institutes of the Russian Academy of Sciences in Moscow; at the Institute of National
Strategic Studies, National Defense University, Washington, DC; at the Foreign Military
Studies Office of the U.S. Army in Fort Leavenworth, Kansas; at the RAND Corporation in
Santa Monica, California; and at the George Kennan Institute for Advanced Russian Studies,

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Woodrow Wilson Center, Washington, DC. In 1992, he was a Research Assistant for the
Special Adviser for Central and Eastern European Affairs, Mr. Christopher N. Donnelly, in
the Office of the Secretary General, NATO Headquarters, Brussels. From April 1995 to
March 1996 he was a Visiting Research Fellow at the Japan Institute of International Affairs,
Tokyo, which serves as the research institute of the Japanese Foreign Ministry. He is a
member of the International Institute for Strategic Studies and ESCCAP (EU Council for
Security Cooperation in Asia-Pacific), and the author of more than 70 publications in 11
countries on foreign policy, security, and defense issues in Europe (particularly NATO), the
former Soviet Union/Russia/CIS, and the Asia-Pacific region.

JACOB W. KIPP is a senior analyst with the Foreign Military Studies Office [FMSO] of the U.
S. Army Training and Doctrine Command at Ft. Leavenworth, Kansas. A graduate of
Shippensburg University, he received his Ph.D. in Russian history from the Pennsylvania
State University in 1970. He joined the History Department of Kansas State University in
1971, where he taught until 1985, when he joined the Soviet Army Studies Office, now the
Foreign Military Studies Office. Dr. Kipp is an Adjunct Professor of History with the
University of Kansas and teaches in the Soviet and East European Studies Program. He also
serves as the American editor of European Security. He has authored many articles,
chapters, and books on Russian/Soviet and East European military and naval history; a
major theme of his works has been the impact of technology on the evolution of Russian/Soviet
military strategy and doctrine. Dr. Kipp edited and contributed an introductory essay to the
translation of A. A. Svechin’s Strategy (Eastview Publications, 1992). He was the co-editor of
a collection of essays on The Future of the Soviet Military [Greenwood 1993]. He edited and
contributed an introductory essay to a translation of V. K. Tirandafillov’s The Nature of
Operations of Contemporary Armies (Frank Cass 1993), and a translation of M. A. Gareev’s If
War Comes Tomorrow? (Frank Cass, 1998). He has recently served as head of a joint
Russian-American research team for a FMSO special study on IFOR Lessons Learned.

TIMOTHY L. THOMAS is an analyst at the Foreign Military Studies Office (FMSO) at Fort
Leavenworth, Kansas. He received a BS from West Point and an MA from the University of
Southern California. He served as a U.S. Army Foreign Area Officer specializing in
Soviet/Russian studies, and his military assignments included Director of Soviet Studies at
the United States Army Russian Institute in Garmisch, Germany; as an inspector of Soviet
tactical operations under CSCE; and as a Brigade S-2 and company commander in the 82nd
Airborne Division. He retired from the U.S. Army as a Lieutenant Colonel in the summer of
1993. Mr. Thomas has conducted extensive research and has published on the topics of
peacekeeping, information war (IW), and political-military affairs. He is the assistant editor
of the journal European Security; an adjunct professor at the U.S. Army’s Eurasian Institute;
and is a member of two Russian organizations, the Academy of International Information,
and the Academy of Natural Sciences. Among Mr. Thomas’s articles on IW issues are:
“Human Network Attack”: Chinese and Russian Non-traditional IW Approaches (Sept-Oct
‘99 issue of Military Review); “Infosphere Threats” (Sept-Oct ‘99 issue of Military Review);
“Behind the Great Firewall of China: China’s RMA-IW Debate” (FMSO web site); “Russia’s
Information Warfare Infrastructure” (European Security, 1998); “Dialectical versus
Empirical Thinking: Ten Key Elements of the Russian Understanding of Information
Operations” (Slavic Military Studies, March 1998); “Information Technologies: Russian/U.S.

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Perspectives and Potential for Cooperation” (Chapter in the book Global Security Beyond the
Millennium: American and Russian Perspectives); and “Kosovo and the Current Myth of
Information Superiority.”

CHRISTOPH BLUTH is Professor of International Studies at the University of Leeds. He

was previously Professor of European and International Studies at the University of Reading
and also worked at the Department of War Studies, King’s College London. He is the author
of numerous books on Soviet/Russian foreign and security policy, including Soviet Strategic
Arms Policy Before SALT (Cambridge University Press, 1992), The Collapse of Soviet Military
Power (Dartmouth, 1995), and the The Nuclear Challenge (Ashgate, 2000).

STEPHEN J. CIMBALA is Professor of Political Science at Pennsylvania State University

Delaware County Campus. His teaching and research interests include international politics
and foreign policy, defense and security studies, arms control, peace operations, conflict
termination, and information warfare. Dr. Cimbala serves on the editorial board of five
professional journals, and his recent lectures to military audiences include the U.S. Army
War College and the U.S. Special Operations Command. He has participated in numerous
exercises, studies, and research activities involving arms control briefings and special
operations planning at military commands and schools, including NATO military
headquarters, Mons, Belgium; U.S. Army war games at Ft. Irwin, California; the Global War
Game at the U.S. Naval War College, Newport; and a U.S. Air Force Chief of Staff panel at the
Air War College, Montgomery, Alabama, on the Future of Aerospace Power. Dr. Cimbala has
served as a consultant on arms control to the U.S. Arms Control and Disarmament Agency
(1997-1999), to the U.S. Department of State (1999 and currently), and to private defense
contractors. He is a faculty associate of Penn State University’s Institute for the Study of
Nonlethal Defense Technologies. Dr. Cimbala is the author of numerous books and articles in
professional journals on topics related to national security. His most recent books include The
Past and Future of Nuclear Deterrence (Praeger, 1998) and Coercive Military Strategy (Texas
A & M University Press, 1998). Dr. Cimbala is also an award-winning teacher, having
received the Pennsylvania State University’s Eisenhower Award for Distinguished Teaching
in 1995. He was selected for inclusion in 2000 Outstanding Scholars of the 20th Century by
the International Biographical Centre, Cambridge, England, and is a member of Omicron
Delta Kappa, a leadership honor society.

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