Only hours after Russia recognized the “Donetsk and Luhansk People’s Republic” — insurrectionist areas of Ukraine — and ordered Russian troops into it on a “peacekeeping” mission, Washington signaled its acquiescence to Moscow: Putin’s move “did not constitute a further invasion that would trigger a broader sanctions package”.
Decency would have allowed for an interval between Russia’s indisputable violation of a country’s sovereignty and the West’s diplomatic climb-down from months of bluster about “unprecedented consequences” to Russia if it invaded Ukraine. Decency is hard to find. But might there have been interest in credibility?
The answer is no. It’s no surprise that, to understand the policies of a hyper-legalistic West, the first step is to parse the rhetoric. What does “invade” mean? What does “invade Ukraine” mean? Clearly, the West meant Russian armor clanking across the border. No armor, no invasion; no invasion, no consequence. Easy as pie.
And as long as the Russians limited themselves to seizing the Donbass through “peacekeepers,” there was no invasion of Ukraine, never mind that the Donbass is within the internationally recognized borders of Ukraine. Washington instantaneously deemed this not a “further invasion,” relieving it of the hassle associated with the imposition of sanctions.
By framing its rhetoric this way, the West — the US, EU, and NATO — was by definition looking for ways not to impose consequences on Russia for (yet again) changing the fundamentals of the post-1945 order. Bravo for consistency: dead Russian journalists and political opponents, and the seizure of Crimea had no meaningful consequence either.
Since the crisis rose to the world’s attention in December, the West — the US, EU, and NATO — was always playing a weak hand in the confrontation with Russia. It never intended to oppose force with force (though Germany, magnanimous as ever, did send 5000 steel hats as a sign of standing shoulder to shoulder with Ukraine).
The threat of the “mother of all sanctions” was all the West had. There was widespread surprise at the (at least rhetorical) solidarity, though skeptics consistently wondered how long that would last if and when sanctions were imposed. Which country would be first to contrive exceptions for itself to avoid the consequences to its own economic interests?
Few would have guessed it would be US knees that buckled first. Britain had already made it clear that it would not jeopardize Russian control of the London property market (“Londongrad”) and Russian funding of the Tory party. Italy never got off its knees in front of Putin in the first place and was never expected to be a vociferous proponent of robust opposition to Russia.
The bet was always on Germany, irrespective of who ran the place; Scholz would be no different from Merkel. As Russia’s largest trading partner and customer for natural gas, Berlin dutifully played its role: show loyalty to Washington and cajole Moscow into not doing something that might interfere with German commerce. This morning’s sigh of relief from Berlin is deafening.
Traditionally, it was the US who took the tougher line on Russia, who had to infuse the spines of squishy Europeans — moochers on geopolitical security — for a united opposition to Russian imperial nostalgia. That it’s the US who abdicates first in the face a “killer’s” threats to European stability does not bode well for the future.
