Blueprints

We live in the world Russia predicted.

In 2021, the Russian Federation released its National Security Strategy, followed in 2023 by its Foreign Policy Concept. At the time—especially in 2021—one might have dismissed these documents as paranoid, backward-looking, or self-aggrandising. But they were not relics. They were roadmaps—not only for how Russia intended to act, but for the kind of world it imagined was coming: a world where might makes right, where transactionalism reigns, and where the last of the three big ideologies—liberalism—finally falls.

This world is no longer speculative. It is reality. The Trump administration is gleefully dismantling the last scaffolding of U.S. global leadership. Europe is fragmented, fatigued, and fearful. Many pretend that American leadership is merely going through a rough patch. It isn’t. A new world order is upon us. And we can either fight for the right to live as we choose—or prepare to live under the terms of a new, illiberal order. Since Western Europe appears unwilling to do the former, what follows may prove useful: a guide to the world we now inhabit, through the lens of the Russian doctrine that foresaw it.

These strategic texts present a coherent vision for a post-Western order, constructed around five foundational pillars: civilisational pluralism instead of universal norms; absolute sovereignty instead of supranational governance; traditional values over liberal pluralism; balance-of-power politics over universal rights; and the prioritisation of force over law. Taken together, these pillars form the ideological backbone of Russia’s strategic ambition—and an indictment of a liberal world order in retreat.

If civilisational pluralism is the cornerstone of Russia’s imagined future, then civilisational equality is its legitimising logic. Russia rejects the concept of universal norms or values, particularly those shaped by the West. Instead, it promotes a Huntingdonian world in which distinct civilisations —Eurasian, Islamic, Western, Asian—exist on equal footing.

“Russia… is a unique country-civilisation and a vast Eurasian and Euro-Pacific power.” (FPC §4)

“The Russian Federation considers it legitimate to increase its role in the world as one of the sovereign centres of global development, performing a historically unique mission.” (FPC §5)

“The cultural and civilisational diversity and other objective factors accelerate the process of shifting… geopolitical influence and promote the democratisation of international relations.” (FPC §7)

This is not a defence of cultural diversity—it is a rejection of liberal universalism itself. Russia’s civilisational pluralism is packaged, somewhat deceptively, to undermine the West’s claim to define “progress,” “democracy,” or “freedom” for others. Instead, Russia sells a world in which no culture may impose itself on another—and where the West is cast as the chief ideological aggressor. Of course, Russia delivers a final product rather different from the one you originally bought.

Central Kharkiv. April 2025. Own photo.

If civilisational equality is the principle, then sovereignty is the mechanism. Russia’s worldview is structured around absolute sovereignty—not as legal independence alone, but as a shield of cultural and ideological autonomy. It opposes any supranational authority—such as the EU, NATO, or international courts—that could constrain a state’s internal affairs or values.

“The sovereign equality of states… is the basis of a just world order.” (FPC §6)

“Strengthening state sovereignty is a condition for the stable development of the Russian Federation.” (NSS §12)

“Any attempts to impose alien ideals and values on a country—especially through interference in domestic affairs—are unacceptable.” (NSS §47)

In practice, this means rejecting international law when inconvenient, ignoring court rulings, and treating multilateral treaties as tools of Western domination. Sovereignty becomes a kind of moral immunity—a license to act without regard for international norms, so long as one is strong enough to enforce it. In this system, sovereignty is not a universal right; it is a privilege conferred by power.

From this foundation of power-bound sovereignty emerges a third pillar: traditional values, defined explicitly in moral and spiritual terms, and cast as an existential alternative to liberal pluralism. Russia claims to be the final stronghold of a moral order under siege by the West.

“Russia is a stronghold of traditional values that are the foundation of all mankind.” (NSS §87)

“There is a need to protect and preserve traditional Russian spiritual and moral values… which are under threat from foreign ideological and information influence.” (NSS §86)

“The imposition of destructive neoliberal ideological attitudes… runs counter to traditional spiritual and moral values.” (FPC §8)

These values are closely tied to patriotism, religion, family, and historical identity. Liberal ideals—such as gender equality, LGBTQ rights, secularism, and multiculturalism—are not just viewed as policy disagreements, but as threats to civilisational integrity. Yet the reality behind this rhetoric is deeply contradictory. Just as Donald Trump—so often cast as a defender of Christian America—is far removed from the Christian values he claims to uphold, Russia’s invocation of traditionalism is hollow. Divorce and abortion rates remain among the highest in the world. The Russian Orthodox Church, far from being a moral guide, glorifies war and incites murder. Minority faiths, particularly Protestants, are harassed and repressed.

Church destroyed by Russia in Staryi Saltyv. Own photo. April 2024.

Russia’s so-called values are not principles—they are instruments. They serve as political weapons, used to stir up illiberal sentiment among those fearful of modernity and globalism. This moral framing is not about shaping Russia’s domestic future; it is about presenting an alternative global pole to liberalism, designed to appeal to like-minded governments and disillusioned publics. It is not moral renewal, but ideological realignment, grounded in authoritarian control.

All of this leads naturally to the rejection of universal rights in favour of power-based legitimacy. Russia explicitly opposes the liberal conception of human rights as defined by the UN and Western democracies. Instead, it calls for a return to the Westphalian model: a world in which states set their own rules, and legitimacy is derived not from moral claims, but from strength.

“Russia supports the establishment of a system of international relations based on a fair balance of power.” (FPC §6)

“The culture of dialogue in international affairs is degrading… there is an acute lack of trust.” (FPC §9)

“The Western countries are attempting to replace the international legal system… with a rules-based order created without equitable participation.” (FPC §9)

In this model, human rights are seen as instruments of Western interference. The very notion of universalism is framed as a form of soft empire—ideological colonialism dressed up as diplomacy. Russia claims to be defending an alternative system, one rooted in negotiated spheres of influence, pragmatic deal-making, and an unashamed realism that does not pretend to moral superiority.

But I would rather live in a world of hypocrites than nihilists. If norms and law are stripped of moral weight, then force becomes the final arbiter. At its core, Russia’s doctrine is unapologetically militarised. It sees power—not treaties—as the guarantor of sovereignty, identity, and survival.

“The role of the power factor in international relations is increasing.” (FPC §11)

“The destruction of the arms control treaty system… increases the risk of collisions between major states, including nuclear powers.” (FPC §11)

“Russia will defend its right to existence and freedom of development using all means available.” (FPC §14)

This is a concept that legitimises pre-emptive war, hybrid operations, cyber attacks, and nuclear threats. It views legal frameworks like the Geneva Conventions or the UN Charter as hypocritical instruments of Western dominance, and therefore not binding. In the emerging order Russia envisions, law is a function of power. Peace is what the strong impose. War is not a failure of diplomacy—it is diplomacy by other means.

Russia as Moral and Strategic Leader

Taken together, these pillars form the basis of Russia’s claim not just to autonomy, but to global leadership. It presents itself as more than a participant in this emerging order—it claims to be its architect.

“Russia… has a decisive influence on the formation of a new architecture of international relations.” (FPC §5)

“It performs a historically unique mission aimed at… ensuring peaceful progressive development of humanity on the basis of a unifying and constructive agenda.” (FPC §5)

“Russia’s civilizational identity… is a source of moral leadership.” (NSS §88)

Moscow casts itself as the guardian of a post-liberal world, the patron of an order built not on alliances or values, but on civilisational destiny. It offers no blueprint for better governance—only a pole of opposition. Its power lies not in what it creates, but in what it defies. In this vision, Russia’s leadership is not earned through legitimacy or inspiration, but through resilience, tradition, and confrontation. It is not an alternative system—it is the end of systems.

If Russia’s strategic doctrines lay out the pillars of a post-liberal world order, then the concept of civilisational sovereignty is the architecture that ties them together. The term may sound benign—even inclusive—evoking ideas of cultural pluralism and national independence. But as Russia uses it, civilisational sovereignty means something quite different. It is not a celebration of diversity. It is a rationale for hierarchy and domination that shapes our new world order.

This is the most disturbing—and revealing—aspect of Russia’s foreign policy doctrine: its predictive power. Russia did not force this world into being; it understood its direction. As the liberal international order weakened, Moscow articulated a coherent alternative—not as a utopia, but as a diagnosis. It foresaw the breakdown of universalism, the return of spheres of influence, and the reassertion of hard power as the ultimate arbiter of legitimacy. What once seemed ideologically radical now looks like cold, clear-eyed realism.

At the heart of this vision lies a simple idea: not all sovereignty is equal. While the UN Charter enshrines the equal sovereignty of all nations, Russia’s doctrine implies a stratified international order in which power and civilisational identity determine status. In this world, Russia is not a nation-state—it is a civilisational pole, a unique cultural-geopolitical entity with a historic mission. As the Foreign Policy Concept declares:

“Russia… is a unique country-civilisation… one of the sovereign centres of global development.” (FPC §4–5)

This framing means that only a handful of actors—Russia, China, India, etc. —qualify as full civilisations, capable of shaping global affairs on their own terms. All others are expected to affiliate with one of these poles. States like Ukraine, in this worldview, are not sovereign peers. They are seen as subordinate entities whose legitimacy depends on remaining within their assigned civilisational domain. Ukraine’s westward shift is not understood as self-determination; it is viewed as civilisational betrayal. Its very assertion of independence becomes an existential threat to Russia’s imagined sphere.

Civilisational sovereignty, then, is not about the autonomy of all nations. It is about reinforcing the authority of dominant powers over what they define as their cultural zones. In practical terms, this leads to the remapping of global politics as a collection of spheres of privileged influence. The post-Soviet space is treated as Russia’s natural domain, a region not merely within its historic orbit but integral to its identity. This extends across Eastern Europe, the Caucasus, and Central Asia, where the sovereignty of smaller states is consistently denied or undermined.

“Russia… is fulfilling a historically unique mission aimed at maintaining global balance and ensuring peaceful development… on the basis of a unifying and constructive agenda.” (FPC §5)

That “mission” has been used to justify military intervention, occupation, and the political destabilisation of neighbouring countries. In this vision, NATO and EU presence in these regions is not legitimate, even if democratically chosen. It is instead interpreted as neo-colonial encroachment by the West—an intrusion not just on territory, but on Russia’s civilisational integrity.

Here lies the core contradiction of civilisational sovereignty: it does not extend self-determination to all. It denies it to those who refuse the gravitational pull of a dominant power. Ukrainians are told they have no right to define their future outside Russia’s sphere. Ukraine cannot choose NATO. Its sovereignty is conditional. Its independence is tolerated only when it aligns with Moscow’s interests.

What Russia promotes is not multipolar equality, but regional authoritarianism. Each civilisational “core” is expected to dominate its surrounding space without external interference. International law becomes secondary to cultural entitlement. Regional dominance is naturalised. And liberal institutions are recast not as instruments of peace and cooperation, but as threats to local order.

“The establishment of regional and trans-regional mechanisms… [is] a logical response to the crisis of the world order.” (FPC §12)

That “crisis” is not war, famine, or climate change. It is the perceived erosion of traditional authority by liberal norms and universal institutions. In response, Russia calls for the world to be reorganised—not around shared values—but around inherited civilisational boundaries. This is empire, wrapped in the language of authenticity.

Civilisational sovereignty redefines legitimacy around power, not principle. It justifies the invasion of neighbours as reunification, the occupation of foreign territory as historical correction, and the suppression of dissent as cultural preservation. It treats alliances like NATO and the EU as illegitimate when they exist within Russia’s claimed sphere. It promotes authoritarianism not as a necessary evil, but as a natural expression of traditional values. It casts liberalism, multiculturalism, and human rights not as universal aspirations, but as subversive tools of the West.

Kharkiv, March 2025. The sign reads: Kharkiv is unbreakable. Own photo.

This vision has already produced war, annexation, deportations, and war crimes. In the end, civilisational sovereignty is not a doctrine of freedom. It is a doctrine of domination. It reimagines the world not as a community of sovereign equals, but as a constellation of great powers and subordinate states. In this order, civilisations —not nations—are the building blocks of global politics. And only a few actors are deemed worthy of that title. Everyone else is expected to submit to the gravitational pull of their local hegemon. Legitimacy flows not from law, or rights, or mutual consent—but from cultural identity and brute power.

“The imbalanced model of world development… ensured the advanced growth of colonial powers through the appropriation of resources of dependent territories… [but] is irrevocably fading into the past.” (FPC §7)

“Russia… is one of the sovereign centres of global development performing a historically unique mission aimed at maintaining global balance of power.” (FPC §5)

It is tempting to dismiss this as grandiose posturing. But the world is decisively moving in the very direction Russia predicted. The liberal order is fractured. Universalism is contested. Sovereignty is increasingly defined by identity and force, not law and cooperation. And as Western democracies falter, Russia’s ideological map is no fantasy. It is the reality we failed to prevent.

Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine is not a deviation from its doctrine. It is the doctrine made real.

The war is often framed in Western capitals as a tragic aberration, a madman’s gamble, or - most stupidly - an unfortunate consequence of NATO expansion. But this misses the point. Russia’s strategic doctrine explains the invasion not as a conquest, but as a civilisational correction. Ukraine’s independent trajectory—its pursuit of NATO and EU membership, its growing liberal democratic institutions, its rejection of post-Soviet authoritarianism—is framed by the Kremlin not as a national choice, but as a betrayal of cultural destiny.

“The USA and their satellites… used the measures taken by the Russian Federation as regards Ukraine… as a pretext to aggravate the longstanding anti-Russian policy and unleashed a new type of hybrid war.” (FPC §13)

Russia does not see Ukraine as a sovereign nation. It sees it as a fragment of the “Russian world”—a cultural and historical territory that has been manipulated into false independence by hostile Western forces. In this narrative, the West is not helping Ukraine, but “manipulating consciousness” and turning Ukraine into a geopolitical weapon. And Russia, far from being an aggressor, is framed as defending its sovereignty, its values, and its civilisational integrity from foreign ideological and military encroachment.

“Ukraine is part of the Russian world.” (NSS §44)

The West is “manipulating consciousness.” (FPC §8)

Russia is “protecting its sovereignty and values.” (NSS §40–45)

This is not a war about lines on a map. It is a war about what those lines mean. It is a war to erase Ukraine not just territorially, but ideologically—to make the denial of Ukraine’s nationhood not a radical declaration, but a fact. The atrocities committed—Bucha, Izyum, Mariupol, bombing playgrounds, mass deportations—are not accidents. They are the logic of a worldview that sees Ukraine’s very existence as a provocation. To destroy Ukraine is to affirm Russia’s civilisational vision. To let Ukraine survive as a sovereign democracy is to expose the hollowness of that vision.

What is most damning, however, is not just Russia’s ambition—it is the world’s indifference. In the early days of the invasion, horror and solidarity surged. But now that outrage has curdled into cynicism - especially in the USA where an Ambassador who once decried Russian barbarism now looks at the dead body of a child in a Ukrainian playground and cynically types, “This is why the war must end.” As if the war itself—not a deliberate Russian missile, not a soldier’s order, not a state ideology—killed that child. As if violence simply materialised, absent of choice. This is not moral reasoning. It is moral retreat. It is the quiet abandonment of one’s own humanity disguised as peace-seeking.

This war, like the Spanish Civil War before it, is a litmus test. Then, too, liberal democracies claimed neutrality while fascism rallied its forces. Then, too, Europe’s major democratic powers convinced themselves that staying out meant staying above. It did not. It meant ceding the future. Ukraine is our test—and we are failing it. Russia, by contrast, feels vindicated. Its strategic doctrines predicted not only its own actions but the world’s refusal to stop them. Under the Trump administration, the USA is not only refusing to stop Russia, not only withdrawing from the old world order —it is dismantling it.

Recent decisions in Washington signal a collapse of democratic ambition and international responsibility. This is not strategic realism. It is strategic entropy. While Russia pursues a brutal vision coherent with the post-liberal order described above, Trump’s America offers nothing but vengeful nihilism—setting fire to the institutions, norms, and alliances that once structured the global order. There is no countervailing vision. No liberal strategy. Only retreat.

And as this retreat continues, the world begins to look more and more like the one Russia predicted. That prediction is now reality—not because Russia imposed it on us, but because we refused to confront it.

Blueprint for the Future

The first step in this blueprint is the replacement of unipolarity with multipolarity. Russia argued in 2021 we would soon see a world no longer led by a single hegemon, but divided among several competing power centres. Its Foreign Policy Concept declared that the sovereignty and influence of non-Western states—such as China, India, Iran, and Russia itself—are growing, while the Western order is in decline. In this world, there will be no global arbiter. No shared rules. No universal norms. Only strong states negotiating their place, protecting their interests, and managing their regions through power.

“The sovereignty and competitive opportunities of non-Western world powers and regional leading countries are being strengthened.” (FPC §7)

This is not a vision of cooperative multipolarity. It is a balance of threats, where deterrence replaces diplomacy and stability is maintained by fear rather than agreement.

Alongside this geopolitical shift is a steady collapse of global institutions. In Russian doctrine, multilateral bodies—such as the United Nations, WTO, and IMF—are no longer meaningful arbiters of international legitimacy. They are described as compromised, co-opted by a narrow group of Western states seeking to impose a so-called “rules-based order” on the rest of the world. Russia does not challenge the power of these institutions by reforming them—it simply ignores them.

“A small group of states is trying to replace the international legal system with the concept of a rules-based order.” (FPC §9)

Diplomacy, once central to conflict prevention and resolution, is presented as obsolete. The Foreign Policy Concept lamented the “acute lack of trust in international affairs” and the declining effectiveness of diplomacy. In this view, international law is no longer a shared structure of mutual restraint—it is an instrument of dominance wielded by the West, and therefore unworthy of respect. The global system, in this telling, is collapsing not because of conflict, but because the very idea of consensus has been abandoned.

“The effectiveness of diplomacy as a means of peaceful dispute settlement is decreasing… There is an acute lack of trust in international affairs.” (FPC §9)

While institutions falter, traditional values rise as the new ideological core. Russia presents itself as the custodian of humanity’s moral heritage—championing religion, family, patriotism, and cultural authenticity. These values are projected globally, as a strategic alternative to liberalism.

“Russia is a stronghold of the traditional values that are the foundation of all mankind.” (NSS §87)

In contrast, liberal values—such as gender equality, LGBTQ rights, secularism, and pluralism—are portrayed as corrosive and destabilising. Russia explicitly identifies the “imposition of destructive neoliberal ideological attitudes” as a central threat. Russia’s war on Ukraine, censorship of dissent at home, and the alliance-building with authoritarian regimes abroad are not deviations from this ideology. They are expressions of it.

“A widespread form of interference… has become the imposition of destructive neoliberal ideological attitudes.” (FPC §8)

In this worldview, culture and identity are not passive features of society. They are weapons. Russia believes the West has already waged war through the manipulation of information, the distortion of cultural narratives, and the destruction of historical memory. In turn, Russia claims the right to defend its own information space—and to strike pre-emptively.

“Manipulation of the consciousness of certain social groups and entire nations” is named as one of the West’s tools of war. (FPC §8)

This doctrine justifies everything from domestic propaganda to foreign cognitive warfare campaigns, from the censorship of independent media to the deliberate destruction of cultural heritage and institutions in Ukraine. For Russia, information is not a marketplace of ideas. It is a battlefield. And in this war of narratives, controlling memory is as important as controlling territory.

The fifth element in Russia’s vision is a commitment to sovereignty and militarised self-reliance. Russian doctrine does not disguise its intent to use force as a political tool—it proclaims it openly. It declares Russia’s right to defend its development and existence “using all means available.”

“Russia intends to defend its right to existence and freedom of development using all means available.” (FPC §14)

This is a green light for war, cyberattacks, disinformation, and even nuclear threats. The National Security Strategy reinforced this commitment, identifying the preservation of national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and strategic autonomy as vital interests. Russia has made it clear that it does not intend to be constrained by verdicts from international courts or bound by economic interdependence. Sovereignty, in this worldview, is not only the right to act—it is the right to act without consequence.

“Preserving national sovereignty, territorial integrity, and strategic autonomy is a vital national interest.” (NSS §23–30)

Finally, this blueprint anticipates economic fragmentation. Russia sees the crisis of globalization not as a failure to be fixed, but as an opportunity to be exploited. Its doctrines predict—and promote—a shift away from dollar-based systems and Western financial instruments. In their place, Russia envisions a world of regionalised economies, where great powers form their own trading blocs and financial networks. Russia’s war in Ukraine, and the sanctions that followed, are not seen as economic disasters, but as tests of endurance.

“The crisis of economic globalization is deepening… There is a growing interest in new international reserve currencies.” (FPC §10)

Moscow bet that it could outlast the West—that its autocratic resilience will withstand sanctions better than liberal democracies can withstand political and economic strain. In this view, the future belongs to those who can decouple, diversify, and dominate their local resource ecosystems. The West may have launched the sanctions, but Russia believed it would outlast the storm. It looks like Russia was right.

All of this was written down. It was published, promoted, and widely dismissed. But we now live in the world it described. Not because Russia imposed it, but because the West failed to offer a meaningful alternative. The invasion of Ukraine could have been the moment to redraw the lines—to reassert liberal principles, to reaffirm strategic commitments, to defend not just a country, but an idea. But that moment passed.

As in the 1930s, the democracies wavered. The test came. And we didn’t even turn up.

The question is no longer whether we believe Russia’s worldview will become a reality. The question is: now that we are living in it, what—if anything—are we prepared to do?

The Convergence of Trump and Putin: Structural Alignment, Not Conspiracy

The alignment between Russia’s foreign policy and the posture of a second Trump administration has affirmed this reality such that it is no longer deniable - unless you really do just want to stick your fingers in your ears. Discussions of this convergence so often focus on collusion: either back-channel deals or ideological collusion. But we would do better to focus on the structural convergence. Two very different actors, for different reasons, have arrived at a similar vision of the world. Both reject the foundational premises of the liberal international order. Both see rules as optional, institutions as obsolete, values as hypocrisy, and alliances as burdens to be shed.

We do not have the time to ponder intent. We should focus on effect. Even without coordination, Trump and Putin are building the same world.

At the core of both systems is a redefinition of international relations as transactional. Russia and Trumpism share a disdain for principled alliances and global norms. In their place, they favour bilateral deals, power-based negotiations, and immediate material gain.

Trump’s approach to foreign policy strips away the language of shared democratic values. NATO is no longer a security alliance—it is a cost centre. The UN is not a forum for diplomacy—it is a drain. Commitments are evaluated not by strategic coherence but by short-term returns. Foreign relations become a business portfolio, where loyalty is purchased and protection is conditional.

Russia’s doctrine articulates a similar logic. Its call for a “multipolar world” is not a plea for inclusion but a justification for bargaining. In this vision, major powers divide up the globe and manage their regions. Norms are replaced with deals. Sovereignty is reinterpreted not as legal equality, but as dominance legitimised by tradition and strength. There is no pretence of universality—only transaction and hierarchy.

From this shared transactionalism flows a hierarchical vision of global order. For Russia, the doctrine of “civilisational sovereignty” imagines a world where powerful civilisations rule over culturally defined zones. Ukraine, Georgia, and Belarus are not real sovereign actors in this model. They are satellites whose independence is tolerated only if it does not contradict Moscow’s sense of destiny.

“Russia… is one of the sovereign centres of global development.” (FPC §5)

Trumpism echoes this in form, if not in language. By undermining NATO, questioning Article 5, and demanding payment for defence commitments, the Trump administration recasts U.S. power as a service to be purchased. Allies are no longer partners; they are clients. Collective security becomes conditional. This is not a retreat from empire—it is empire in a new key. Like Russia, Trumpism replaces mutual obligation with power-based patronage. In both cases, smaller states are expected to obey—or be abandoned.

Both systems also share a deep rejection of multilateral institutions and normative constraint. Russia describes the current international legal system as a sham, imposed by a small group of Western states to serve their own interests. Its solution is disengagement: to ignore treaties, undermine institutions, and forge alternatives through regional blocs and bilateral coercion.

Trumpism’s version is more chaotic but equally corrosive. It does not seek to replace global institutions—it simply stops funding them, stops attending, and stops caring. Withdrawal from the Paris Agreement, abandonment of arms control treaties, and defunding of UN agencies all serve the same purpose: to decentre the United States from any structure it cannot dominate unilaterally. What Russia rejects through ideology, Trumpism dismisses through indifference and strategic ignorance. The effect is the same: a hollowing out of the multilateral order.

At the heart of this convergence is a shared retreat from universalism. Russia promotes “traditional values” rooted in national culture, Orthodox Christianity, and a nostalgic mythos of pre-liberal moral order. It identifies liberalism as a civilisational threat—foreign, decadent, and destabilising. Its National Security Strategy warns of “moral decay,” “permissiveness,” and “foreign ideological influence.”

Trumpism does not articulate a fully-fledged alternative ideology. But its actions serve the same ends. It dismantles the rhetorical and moral framework that once underpinned U.S. foreign policy: democracy promotion, human rights, support for civil society. These ideas are discarded, mocked, or replaced by slogans of grievance and nationalism. U.S. foreign policy becomes purely instrumental. If a government is useful, its repression is ignored. If an alliance is inconvenient, it is denounced. The world is no longer a community of values—it is a marketplace of transactions.

Together, these trends point to the emergence of a neo-Westphalian international system—but one with 21st-century tools of enforcement. States are the primary actors. Power determines outcomes. Internal affairs are off-limits. Weak states must align with strong ones or be pushed aside. But unlike the 18th century, this world is enhanced by cyberwarfare, financial coercion, disinformation, and surveillance capitalism.

Russia becomes the enforcer of stability in its region—not through diplomacy, but through coercion. The U.S., under Trump, abandons its normative leadership and becomes a large, unpredictable actor, interested only in advantage. Together, they preside over a world without shared ethics. Not chaos, but control. Not order, but obedience.

And yet, in the public debate, a different question continues to dominate: Is Trump a Russian agent? This question is dangerously beside the point. The obsession with espionage, kompromat, or secret allegiances distracts from what actually matters: the outcomes. Whether or not he is an agent, Trump’s policies repeatedly advance Russia’s interests. Undermining NATO credibility, discrediting elections, disengaging from international law—these are not conspiracies. They are actions. And they have consequences.

This focus on intrigue also fosters a deeper moral failure: it becomes a way to avoid responsibility. Blaming Russia for the collapse of liberal confidence allows the West to avoid the harder truth—that these fractures are largely self-inflicted. As John Lechner writes in his excellent new book on Wagner (Death is our Business), mercenaries do not start wars—they exploit them. Russia, on the global stage, is a political mercenary. It moves into the cracks left by Western indecision. It deepens fractures already forming. But in western (as opposed to eastern) Europe, it did not create those cracks. We did.

It exploits political decay. It is not the infection—it is the opportunistic parasite. The real illness is inequality, aimlessness, polarisation, lack of agency and hope, and the collapse of democratic faith. Russia merely feeds on it.

Understanding the US-Russia convergence demands more than outrage. It requires self-examination and action. This alignment between Trump’s worldview and Russia’s doctrine is not a historical accident. It is the logical outcome of a world in which multilateralism is ridiculed, institutions are hollowed out, values are dismissed as propaganda - because they were for so long employed without any tangible meaning by politicians - and legitimacy flows not from consensus, but from strength. The result is a fragmented, hierarchical, amoral order—defined by regional dominance and transactional relationships.

In this world, the question is no longer what is right? The question is who decides?

Russia predicted this world. Trump accelerated its arrival. And Western democracies—by failing to confront either—have enabled it. These were not fantasies. These were predictions. And we let them come true.

Russia did not conjure this world into being. It saw what the West refused to admit—that the foundations of liberal democracy were already weakening, and that the so-called guardians of the rules-based order had lost the will—and perhaps even the belief—to defend it.

Donetsk Oblast, March 2025. Own photo.

None of this was inevitable. It was a series of choices. We could have acted. We could have defended Ukraine long before the tanks rolled across its borders—before Bucha, before Mariupol was turned to rubble, before the destruction of towns, lives, and memory became routine. We could have treated Ukraine not as a victim to be pitied or managed, but as a sovereign partner to be protected, armed, and integrated. Not out of charity—but because its survival is a test of whether the West still believes in its own ideals.

Americans could have elected a leader who valued truth over grievance, law over impulse, alliances over applause lines. They could have chosen a statesperson. Instead, they chose someone who mocks the very concept of principled leadership and who governs by resentment and spectacle.

Europe could have used the past three years to rebuild its defense industry, reassert its strategic autonomy, and decisively end its dependence on hostile energy sources. Instead, it has spent more money on Russian fossil fuels than on Ukrainian military aid. The continent that claims to stand for peace helped fund the war it claimed to oppose.

We had choices. We could have used pressure over patience. We could have disrupted instead of appeased. We could have destabilised Russia, challenged it, contained it—before it destabilised us. We could have understood that Putin’s regime was not in transition to democracy, but in active revolt against it. We could have abandoned the fantasy that liberalism is history’s endpoint, that every society will eventually want to look like ours—even as large swathes of our own society screamed at us that they wanted something different.

Even now, we could act. We could rearm. We could recommit to the institutions and alliances we took for granted. We could draw real red lines—and mean them. We could begin to defend the future by being willing to sacrifice something in the present.

But we won’t.

Not in this Europe. Not in this America. Not now.

And that is why Russia’s doctrines matter—not because they reveal anything profound about Russia but because they reveal something profoundly devastating about us and the world we now live in.

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