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May, on Vladimir Putin's one-year anniversary as president, throngs
of Russians — wearing T-shirts that read "Team Russia:
head coach V. V. Putin" — gathered in Moscow to announce
that they had "turned their faces toward Russia, and their
you-know-what's toward the West."
Putin's supporters
had a lot to cheer about. Since his ascent to power, the former
KGB operative has reestablished Moscow as a major player in world
politics. Through a wide range of economic and diplomatic initiatives,
the Kremlin is fast reemerging as the preeminent power in Central
Asia. Its officials are busy strengthening formidable alliances
with China and Iran — and, through much savvy international
maneuvering, Russia is well on its way to becoming an energy superpower.
Not surprisingly,
dreams of a new Russian empire have flourished. The doctrine of
Eurasianism, long relegated to obscurity, has returned with a vengeance,
drawing a growing number of adherents to its call for a Russian
revival. Its ideas of a renewed quest for national greatness —
to be accomplished through alliance-building and opposition to the
West — appear to have resonated in the corridors of the Kremlin.
Prominent members of Russia's policymaking elite, ranging from Communist
Party leader Gennady Zhuganov to members of the Russian general
staff, have flocked to the ideology's banner. As recently as this
past June, a panel of experts from Moscow's influential Council
for Foreign and Defense Policy officially concluded that Russia
must adopt Eurasianism in order to bolster its international status.
Even Putin himself appeared to have embraced its tenets when he
publicly affirmed that "Russia has always seen itself as a
Euro-Asiatic nation."
But a lot has
changed since September 11. Over protests by hard-liners wary of
a Russian loss of influence, Moscow has become an active partner
in Washington's antiterrorism campaign. In a move long on symbolism,
Russia announced that it would shed two Cold War-era military installations
— in Lourdes, Cuba, and Cam Ranh Bay, Vietnam. Finally, despite
rumblings of discontent from the Duma (Russia's lower house of parliament),
Putin barely reacted to the Bush administration's announcement of
America's withdrawal from the ABM Treaty.
Without question,
much of this has been self-serving. The Russian president has managed
to wrangle valuable concessions from Europe and the U.S. (including
a warmer Russian-British relationship and a freer hand in Chechnya)
out of his post-9/11 dealings. And the Kremlin's active involvement
in the Afghan campaign has been more than a little motivated by
a desire to retain its foothold in the Central Asian republics.
But there are glimmers of a newfound pragmatism in Moscow's foreign
policy.
These moves
have not gone unnoticed. A growing number of Russia's foreign-policy
and military conservatives are increasingly apprehensive over Moscow's
change in attitude. Their fears were recently articulated by General
Leonid Ivashov, the former head of the Russian Defense Ministry's
international cooperation department, who publicly blasted Putin's
foreign policies as responsible for Moscow's strategic retreat from
Central Asia and its growing weakness vis-à-vis the West.
"Russia lacks a geopolitical doctrine," according to Ivashov,
a fact that makes "our foreign policy inconsistent and... subservient
to American and Western policy."
Ivashov is
hardly alone. For much of Russia's leadership, the idea of Derzhavnost,
their country as a great power, still holds a great deal of appeal.
So it is not surprising that Russia's Nezavisimaya Gazeta,
until recently staunchly pro-Kremlin, has lamented that 2001 was
"a year of losses at the very moment when the CIS countries
acquired some economic independence and Russia regained its status
as the natural political leader." Alexandr Dugin, Eurasianism's
main ideologue, has also weighed in on the issue, publicly urging
the Russian president not to forget his pledge that "Russia
should exist as great power, or not at all."
Of course,
it's still far too early to judge whether these fears are justified.
Putin's maneuvers may simply reflect a more cautious foreign-policy
line, rather than a genuine reorientation, in the wake of September
11. And thornier issues between Washington and Moscow — for
instance, Russia's deepening strategic alignment with Beijing, its
assistance to Tehran's ballistic missile program and nuclear ambitions,
and its designs over Central Asian energy — are likely to be
the real tests of whether a new, more productive long-term relationship
can be forged.
But with criticism
of his perceived tilt toward the West growing, the most popular
Russian leader in recent memory just might have a fight on his hands.
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