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Saturday, October 24, 2026

‘With the International Solidarity Convoy to Ukraine, we are rebuilding internationalism’


International Solidarity Convoy to Ukraine

Veteran Catalan trade union activist Alfons Bech was imprisoned during the 1939–75 Franco dictatorship in Spain. During the civil war in Yugoslavia in the 1990s, he was involved in organising aid convoys to Bosnia and afterwards in cooperating with trade unions in Bosnia, Macedonia, Kosovo and Serbia.

Bech is now the International Network for Solidarity with Ukraine (INSU) trade union coordinator and a member of the Coordination Group of the International Solidarity Convoy to Ukraine, organising its Southern Route from Barcelona to Kyiv. He spoke to Dick Nichols for LINKS International Journal of Socialist Renewal about the goals and organisation of the Convoy.

Where did the idea of the International Solidarity Convoy to Ukraine come from?

It emerged on the second anniversary of Russia’s full-scale invasion (February 22, 2024), when the European Network for Solidarity with Ukraine (ENSU, now INSU) proposed organising a large international delegation of trade unions and trade unionists to an event in Kyiv that the Federation of Trade Unions of Ukraine (FPU) and the Confederation of Free Trade Unions of Ukraine (KVPU) prepared with the support of the European Trade Union Confederation (ETUC).

We in Catalonia wanted as many European trade unions as possible to send delegations to make their solidarity visible.

What happened?

Trade unions participated in very large numbers, but online. Only one delegation went to Kyiv, representing the Catalan affiliate of the all-Spanish General Union of Workers (UGT).

The UGT delegation was very shocked by what they saw, but very pleased to have been there in person. They saw the devastation Russia had caused in Bucha and in the neighbourhoods of Kyiv, took part in the distribution of some material aid, and got to know a little about Ukrainian culture.

From this, a sort of twinning has developed between the UGT and Ukrainian trade unions, which has been key to our understanding of this war and to the aid effort for Ukraine in Catalonia.

Many aid convoys have already gone to Ukraine, including from the trade union movement. What makes this one different?

This Convoy is building on what has already been done at the grassroots level in terms of aid to Ukraine. 

The Ukraine Solidarity Campaign (USC) in England and Wales has run many convoys to Ukraine and trade unions in many European countries have themselves been running convoys, often supported by local Ukraine solidarity committees.

There have also been the workers’ aid convoys organised by the International Labour Network for Solidarity and Struggle, with participation from different European countries and Brazil. Norwegian and Swedish trade unions maintain shipments of vehicles and materials every month.

In Catalonia, Sister Lucia Caram of the Convent of Santa Clara Foundation has already organised 45 convoys. There has been, and continues to be, a great deal of solidarity with Ukraine in Catalonia. So, we start from this reality and the accumulation of valuable experience it represents.

Nonetheless, this Convoy takes place at a crucial moment for Ukraine and Europe. We are entering the fifth year of a brutal war, and it is not clear how much further attacks the country’s already heavily damaged infrastructure can withstand.

The experience of the past four years shows Ukrainian workers will continue to suffer greatly from always having to repair infrastructure under enemy fire. Russia, conscious of this situation, is preparing to attack even more forcefully what is essential to the survival of the population: energy, cities, hospitals, schools, the bridges of Kyiv, the water supply and the sewerage system

It is a genocidal plan. But it is not being implemented because Russia is doing well in the war or economically;  on the contrary, it is a case of “killing while dying.” [Vladimir] Putin’s regime faces many difficulties, and these are translating into savage attacks on Ukraine’s civilian population and more repression within Russia itself.

In this situation of extreme need, we of course know that any help the Convoy can provide, while useful, will be a drop in the ocean.

That is one potent reason why the Convoy must have an extra, political, dimension, as a public and visible show of support from the working people of the rest of Europe to their sisters and brothers in Ukraine. It repeats the cry of the Spanish Civil War, ¡No Pasaran! (They shall not pass) against today’s enemies of human and democratic rights and their chief guarantor, the majority of working people.

We, in Catalonia, cannot bear to see in Ukraine a repeat of the Spanish Republic’s fate, which was abandoned in the face of international fascism. That treachery by great “civilised” powers intent on appeasing [Adolf] Hitler and [Benito] Mussolini cost the peoples of the Spanish state forty years of fascism.

So, the stakes could not be higher…

It is why we in INSU see the need for the sort of sharp expansion of solidarity action that the Convoy represents — it is not enough for us to just carry on doing what we have been doing up to now.

What the Convoy offers is not only humanitarian or material aid, important though it is this be as large as possible. It is also an instrument for showing that boosted solidarity with Ukraine starts from the bottom up. We know much more can be done than is being done, and that the time to do it now.

This is not just a message about getting more and bigger donations, but of raising awareness about what the overall effort of solidarity with Ukraine must involve. One critically important example: it is urgent Ukraine receive the €210 billion in frozen Russian assets held by Western financial institutions, such as Euroclear, to fund its defence effort.

I am against the increase in military budgets by Western European governments that will come at the expense of the social budget. But the people of Europe must be aware that, while most of their governments are looking for ways to cut social spending and increase military spending, these same governments are also reluctant to declare the kind of financial war on the Kremlin that would be involved in releasing these assets to Ukraine. The Convoy will be a platform for this and other important messages.

Many networks, committees and individuals have been doing very valuable work helping Ukraine. But there are still many social movement activists, trade unionists or people just concerned about what is happening in Ukraine who would like to help but do not know how. Supporters of Ukraine must keep trying to find projects that allow them to do so.

For example, in Catalonia, the local affiliate committee of INSU has managed to bring three important and very different organisations into the Convoy organising core. There is a major trade union confederation (the UGT); a pacifist, non-violent action association (NOVACT, International Institute for Nonviolent Action), which is also carrying out work in Ukraine; and a humanitarian NGO that has been working in Ukraine since before the 2014 Maidan mass protest (Help to Ukraine).

The Convoy is therefore not the work of a single network, but of a conglomerate of associations and networks, as can be seen on its website.

What organisations are supporting the Convoy? And just how international is it?

As of early October, a growing number of trade union organisations, social movements and elected representatives from 20 countries have officially supported the Convoy.

Trade union support includes the FPU, the Swiss Trade Union Federation, the Brazilian Trade Union and Popular Centre Conlutas, the General Labour Federation of Belgium, the Belgian Confederation of Christian Trade Unions, the UGT of Catalonia, the Irish Nurses and Midwives Organisation, the University and College Union of the United Kingdom and the Theatre and Performing Arts Trade Union of Norway.

It is also supported by more than 20 political organisations and parties spanning Europe, the Americas, Asia and Oceania, and more than 40 MPs and public representatives, including 18 Members of the European Parliament, as well as national MPs and regional and local councillors.

More than 50 solidarity associations, NGOs and independent media outlets have also expressed support. All of this can be found on the Convoy’s website, which we update weekly as the number of organisations and volunteers grows.

In Catalonia, Convoy partners have also been seeking institutional backing. For example, they have submitted a proposal to the Parliament of Catalonia for a formal declaration of support, which will go to a parliamentary session in mid-October. Likewise, they have sent motions to several councils in the Barcelona metropolitan area with the same aim. Some cities have already approved them.

This initiative has allowed supporters of the Convoy to hold events with the backing of local authorities, raise funds and publicise the Convoy before new audiences. It is also a step towards encouraging municipalities to undertake longer-term projects with Ukrainian counterparts, applying the city-to-city approach that was developed during the Bosnian War between the Barcelona City Council and that of Sarajevo (a relationship that continues to this day).

This is another necessary dimension of solidarity: establishing long-term relationships and connections between trade unions, NGOs, feminist and LGTBI associations, and municipalities in Ukraine and the rest of Europe. It is practical, human internationalism that becomes political because it has a long-term perspective, is committed to a just peace for Ukraine and will, we hope, allow civil society involvement in future reconstruction work.

Can you explain how the Convoy will work? For example, it has launched its own fund appeal.

The initiators of the Convoy took the view that the project itself would open new possibilities for fundraising that would not “crowd out” fundraising already under way, some of it by INSU affiliates.

That certainly appears to be the case, because the fundraisers of INSU affiliates in Belgium, Italy and Scotland are already approaching their targets while the central fund appeal “Generators and Stoves to Ukraine” is now (as of October 19) approaching 30% of its €100,000 target after a bit more than a month of serious effort. This shows the initiative is reaching a broader audience of people who want to do something for Ukraine.

After all, contributing to the fund appeal is the least that anyone can do. If people cannot do anything else, please make a donation.

What experience do the people on the Convoy have of conditions in Ukraine?

It is varied. Some, like our Italian colleagues from Sinistra per l'Ucraina (Left for Ukraine) and the English and Welsh colleagues from USC have been taking aid to Ukraine for many years, but for many participants, it will be their first time.

I have been to Ukraine three times during the war myself, but not on a convoy. As you can imagine, the Convoy will be organised with the greatest possible emphasis on security, and with clear rules of behaviour and training provided by Convoy supporters with experience of Ukrainian conditions, including Ukrainian supporters themselves.

What is the Convoy planning to take to Ukraine?

The main “cargo” will be generators, wood-burning stoves, medical supplies, electrical equipment that cannot be sourced in Ukraine and vehicles. We will provide humanitarian aid, supplying whatever we can of the requests received from Ukrainian organisations.

What stops will the Convoy be making along the way?

We will be holding events in various capitals and key cities where there are European and international institutions, to have them listen to this initiative that comes from the grassroots.

The Convoy will set off along three routes crossing Europe — a Nordic, a Central and a Southern route, with this last having two branches (one starting from Barcelona, the other from southern Italy). This approach allows us to organise events in Geneva, home to the ILO [International Labor Organization] and the United Nations; in Strasbourg, home to the European Parliament; and in Brussels, Berlin, Warsaw, Krakow and other cities before entering Ukraine.

The full Convoy itinerary before entering Ukraine will be publicised once finalised.

How are organisations or other initiatives that are already involved in solidarity with Ukraine, and have organised other aid deliveries, responding to the Convoy?

Most of the committees and organisations in INSU in Europe are involved, associating their own ongoing projects to one degree or another with the Convoy.

However, a very interesting feature is that the Convoy has sparked the enthusiasm of organisations and activists with whom INSU had little or no contact until now. This is happening both in Europe and in Ukraine itself, as well as on other continents such as North and South America and Australia.

It confirms that if one works with an open and general idea of solidarity, a very broad united front can be formed to help Ukraine, its working people and their social and democratic organisations. This sort of unity is essential, and its visibility in turn strengthens the base of social support for the Ukrainian people’s resistance.

While the Call for Support of the Convoy sets out clear and concrete points, there are organisations supporting the Convoy from very different ideological standpoints — from conservative Labourism through to anarchism. How will the Convoy Coordination Group reconcile such differences?

In part by anticipating them. At the outset, those of us involved in developing the Convoy’s Call for Support decided on a document that would articulate the core positions uniting supporters of Ukraine’s national and social rights.

This came down to three objectives: deliver the aid requested by Ukrainian beneficiaries; build lasting links between progressive organisations from across Europe and Ukraine; and defend the principles of democracy, human rights and international law.

This, of course, means that the Convoy is silent on very important issues thrown up by Russia’s full-scale invasion, such as the need or otherwise of NATO and the nature of the Zelensky government.

Debate on such issues is unavoidable, ongoing and necessary. As the Convoy’s media statement on its political basis explains: “As a broad solidarity initiative the Convoy, while welcoming the necessary discussion on such questions, does not adopt a stance on them, but confines its public statements to the principles on which it has been launched.”

The Convoy is already a meeting point for many different people and ways of thinking. For example, not everyone wants to “do politics.” Many activists are there to bring humanitarian aid; for them the convoy is an opportunity to do something they consider useful and essential.

But that does not prevent those of us who believe that, in addition to bringing this humanitarian aid, the Convoy must try to help strengthen Ukraine’s trade unions and civil society organisations. For some, this is as important for preparing the just reconstruction of Ukraine as securing aid and company and government financial support.

For example, Ukrainian trade unions have been calling on European trade unions to support a reconstruction of Ukraine with full rights of association, negotiation and social dialogue, where working people have a voice and vote in decisions, so as to protect themselves from the greed of oligarchs.

In the proposal for a Declaration by the Parliament of Catalonia that I mentioned, Convoy organisers incorporated some points requested by the FPU and KVPU regarding this concept of a just reconstruction. Hopefully, the declaration will be approved by a large majority of Catalan political forces.

In Ukraine, trade unions are not content with the neoliberal policies being implemented or with labour reforms that will diminish rights. There is also broad popular discontent with corruption, even on the streets amid the war. What impact, if any, do you expect the Convoy to have?

The Convoy, while supporting Ukraine’s rights and its resistance in general, also looks to help strengthen trade unions and civil society organisations inside Ukraine and make them more visible in the rest of Europe. The goal is to have Ukrainian workers enjoy the same conditions and opportunities that we have won.

That is why we stand with workers’ unions, student unions, nurses’ unions, and railway unions when the Ukrainian government attacks their rights.

The process Ukraine is undertaking to join the European Union should serve to raise the bar on guarantees for labour rights, human rights, and opportunities for progress for the entire population. It cannot be that working families who had to flee because of the war, choose not to return to Ukraine because there is no affordable housing, or because there are only low-paid jobs, or because schools are so damaged that children and young people cannot study.

Families should have a choice whether the men leave to join their wives and children abroad or whether all return because there are decent living conditions. Demographic collapse after the war would be a disaster of great magnitude for Ukraine.

That is one important reason why we hope the arrival of the Convoy will have an impact within Ukraine, for everyone, including local oligarchs and Western investors — it will demonstrate that there is support from workers in the rest of Europe for Ukrainian workers and trade unions. That all are united in the perspective of a just peace and a reconstruction with rights and guarantees.

With the agreement of the Ukrainian trade unions and organisations, we would like to hold a unity event in Kyiv on this vitally important theme.

Can solidarity with Palestine, which has enormous support in much of Europe, go with solidarity with Ukraine?

The Convoy does not require participants to take a position on Palestine, but my personal response is: “Yes, it should.” Both peoples are victims of ruthless attacks by aggressive colonialist powers that want to lay hold of their wealth and, moreover, root out their very culture.

The key difference is that Ukraine has a real state while Palestine does not. That is why Ukraine can defend itself much better than the Palestinians. But the underlying problem, which is the right to self-determination of nations, is identical.

Some on the left make a banner of Palestine’s freedom and reject Ukraine’s freedom. Their viewpoint is tainted because they only want to see one dangerous imperialism. They are so short-sighted that when [Donald] Trump rolls out the red carpet for Putin and connives with him to ensure that Ukraine cannot fully defend itself, they just do not want to see the ongoing cynical collaboration between imperialists in front of their eyes.

This section of the left would embrace a deal between powerful actors against Ukraine’s sovereignty, territory and resources in the name of “peace”. But an imperialist peace, agreed from above between mafiosi who ignore the invaded nation, can never be just.

As the Ukrainians say: “Nothing about Ukraine without Ukraine.” To defend Palestine but to turn that solidarity against Ukraine, as some do, is to fall into the trap set by Putin. By being passive or indifferent about either oppressed nation, you effectively offer support to their oppressor.

That is why we in INSU go to demonstrations for both Ukraine and Palestine with a banner that says: “From Ukraine to Palestine, occupation is a crime.”

What final message would you give to anyone reading this interview? Why should they support this Convoy?

This Convoy is an opportunity for everyone who wants to do something to end a horrendously cruel invasion on just terms. For everyone who has no trouble recognising that this aggression was started by Putin, not NATO, and who want to do something to support Ukrainians’ just resistance. For everyone who does not want to be on the wrong side of history or have their conscience scarred by the thought of having done nothing until the war was over.

Readers of LINKS can contribute to the International Solidarity Convoy to Ukraine Fund Appeal here.

‘We want to stop being afraid’: thousands join anti-RN demonstration in Orléans

Thousands of people marched peacefully through Orléans on Saturday to protest against the far-right National Rally as the party held its congress a few kilometres away, with demonstrators calling for solidarity and voicing their concerns about 2027.


Issued on: 24/10/2026 - RFI

A person holds a placard against Rassemblement National's president Jordan Bardella, as people attend a demonstration against "racism, fascism, and imperialism" as the French far-right Rassemblement National (National Rally, RN) party holds its congress in Orleans, France, 24 October 2026. REUTERS - Stephanie Lecocq

Saturday's march drew 13,000 people, according to the prefecture, while organisers put the turnout at 26,000. Families, trade unionists and left-wing politicians joined the procession, which dispersed without incident in the early afternoon.

Authorities had deployed nearly 3,000 police officers and gendarmes amid fears of violence, placing the city centre under tight security. But demonstrators described a friendly atmosphere, with many saying that coming together helped ease their anxiety about the far right’s prospects.

“It’s important for us to be here, to turn out in large numbers, and that reassures us,” said one protester, Marine Pons, who had come to “voice her fears”.

“This is the second time the far right has been on the verge of winning, and I’m afraid for 2027. But we want to stop being afraid.”

People attend a demonstration against "racism, fascism, and imperialism" as the French far-right Rassemblement National (National Rally, RN) party holds its congress in Orleans, France, 24 October 2026. REUTERS - Stephanie Lecocq


Families turn out for solidarity

For several participants, concern for their children’s future was a powerful reason to march.

“I never expected the RN to be in Orléans one day; it frightens me, especially for my children,” José, 56, who attended with his daughter.

“I’m from an immigrant background, and frankly, I don’t want a country run by them.”

Fouad, 30, said he wanted to challenge racism through peaceful protest.

“I’m of Moroccan origin, so I’m pretty much everything that fascists and racists hate in France,” he said. “We’re supposed to be a united community, but we can see that’s not the case for some people. Today, we want to make our voices heard and counter this in a peaceful way.”

Marchers chanted slogans including “Macron resign, Le Pen in prison”, while some placards challenged the RN’s use of Joan of Arc as a patriotic symbol.

“You will reclaim neither the maiden on fire nor her city,” read one sign, referring to the “Maid of Orléans”, who helped lift the English siege of the city in 1429 during the Hundred Years’ War.

Several left-wing politicians attended, including Bally Bagayoko, the France Unbowed mayor of Saint-Denis, and Trappes mayor Ali Rabeh.

Both accused the RN of xenophobia and of stoking tensions following an attack that killed one person and injured five others, which President Emmanuel Macron described as “racist”.

Rabeh criticised RN leaders Jordan Bardella and Marine Le Pen for portraying Trappes as “Kabul” or an “Islamist republic”, arguing that such rhetoric could encourage someone to believe they should wage war against it.

Peaceful protest continues

Socialist Party leader Olivier Faure stressed that demonstrators were not seeking to prevent the RN from meeting.

“No one” was stopping the party “from holding its congress”, he said, while accusing it of responsibility for a climate that had been “toxic, racist and xenophobic for a very long time”.

“We are not going to attempt a forceful takeover of the RN’s congress,” Faure added, describing the protest as a symbolic reminder of the dangers he associated with the far right.

CGT trade union leader Sophie Binet also sharply criticised the RN, calling it a movement “that will never be like the others”.

“It is a party that is dangerous for our democracy and our Republic; it is a racist, anti-Semitic and sexist party,” she said.

After the march, participants headed towards an “anti-fascist village” in a former cloister near the cathedral. Organisers expected around 4,000 people for round-table discussions and association stalls, with concerts planned for the evening.

Meanwhile, at the RN congress a few kilometres away, party activists re-elected Bardella as president on Saturday afternoon. He was the sole candidate.

(with newswires)


Orléans tightens security ahead of far-right National Rally party congress

Orléans says it will impose exceptional security measures ahead of the far-right National Rally's congress this weekend, when counter-demonstrations against "racism, fascism and imperialism" could drawn up to 25,000 people.


Issued on: 22/10/2026 - RFI

Marine Le Pen is running as the RN candidate in the 2027 presidential elections, with Jordan Bardella (left) as her pick for prime minister if she wins. REUTERS - Sarah Meyssonnier


France’s National Rally (RN) will officially launch its 2027 presidential campaign in Orléans this weekend.

Party president Jordan Bardella is expected to be re-elected to his position unopposed, while Marine Le Pen will formally launch her campaign to become France's next president at a rally on Sunday.

The RN is currently polling as the frontrunner in next April's election and a recent poll found that Le Pen's popularity had been given a further boost following the rioting and looting seen in various French cities last weekend.

In a video address on 18 October, Le Pen said the urban violence amounted to a “deep crisis of confidence and authority” and accused the government of having "lost control of everything".

The congress is expected to attract 5,000 people on Saturday and 10,000 on Sunday.

Sizeable counter-demonstrations are also planned. Around 50 organisations have called for a protest against “racism, fascism and imperialism”, scheduled to begin at 10.30am on Saturday, starting outside the city’s cathedral.

Security sources told French news agency AFP that between 20,000 and 25,000 people were expected to attend.
'No chaos here'

“My aim is to protect Orléans. There will be no chaos here, there must not be,” Serge Grouard, the mayor of the city, said at a news conference on Thursday.

He said the numbers expected were unprecedented for Orléans and urged residents to use their common sense, while vowing to take a tough stance against any looting or vandalism.

“We are anticipating everything we can anticipate,” he said, announcing that several public venues, including museums, would close and scheduled performances would be cancelled.

Tram services will be suspended throughout Saturday, while bike share scheme bicycles will be removed from the city centre.

“We have no guarantees, but we are trying to reduce this uncertainty as much as possible,” Grouard said.

The mayor said he could order all shops to close if violence broke out, depending on how the situation developed.

Large-scale security operation

Interior Minister Laurent Nuñez announced on Wednesday that an “extremely substantial security operation” would be deployed in the city, following a request by RN vice-president Sebastien Chenu.

Large numbers of mobile security forces will be assigned to protect both the party congress and the demonstrations that have been officially declared.

Olivier Faure, leader of the Socialist party, said he would take part in Saturday’s demonstration to protest against “the normalisation of the far right”, but would take care not to “disrupt” the RN's congress.

“What worries me is the fact that nobody wants to acknowledge that this party [RN] could, next year, actually come to power and instil state-sanctioned xenophobia,” he told Franceinfo on Thursday.

However, he added: “I have no intention of disrupting their conference or staging a coup."

Other political figures, including Bally Bagayoko, mayor with the far-left France Unbowed party, and Sophie Binet, head of the CGT trade union, have also said they will attend.

"We’re not worried at all, because the law allows order to be maintained, people to demonstrate peacefully and the largest group in the National Assembly to hold its conference," RN lawmaker Philippe Ballard told RFI, adding that the party had been "promised" sufficient police protection.

"But really, this is where we’ve got to in France: you need virtually exceptional security arrangements just to hold a party conference."

Le Pen was found guilty of embezzling European Union funds last year, a conviction upheld by the Paris Court of Appeal in July.

However, she has made a final appeal to the Court of Cassation, France's highest appeals court, which could rule by early April 2027 on whether she is eligible to run for election.

(with newswires)




 

Central Europe at the frontline of Europe's authoritarian populist surge

Central Europe at the frontline of Europe's authoritarian populist surge
Challenger parties take more than half the vote in four Central and Southeast European countries, and seven of the 10 European democracies where they are strongest are post-communist, according to the Authoritarian Populism Index 2026. / Image by Gerd Altmann from PixabayFacebook
By Clare Nuttall in Glasgow October 23, 2026

Populist, authoritarian and extremist parties secured more than half the vote in the latest parliamentary elections in Bulgaria, Czechia, Romania and Slovakia, while their combined support across Europe reached a record 32.6%, according to a report by Swedish think tank Timbro and the EPICENTER network published this week.

Italy is the only other country among the 31 European democracies covered where so-called challenger parties command a majority, and seven of the 10 countries where they are strongest are post-communist, the fifth edition of the Authoritarian Populism Index found. Challengers won more than 20% of the vote in 26 countries, with almost one in three European voters backing parties classified as populist, authoritarian or extremist — roughly three times the level seen for most of the post-war era.

The report, authored by Andreas Johansson Heinö, examines more than 260 parties using electoral data dating back to 1945 and includes a detailed analysis of 76 parties. It finds that the radical right is driving most of the increase, retaining support rather than fading after protest surges, while the radical left has edged up recently but remains well below its post-war strength. Social democrats have lost more than four in 10 voters since 2000, while Christian democrats have declined steadily since the 1970s. Liberal parties, by contrast, remain close to their record levels of support.

Challenger parties are also increasingly part of the political establishment. By summer 2026 they were represented in 11 of the 31 governments covered, although participation in power has produced different outcomes, moderating some parties, emboldening others and contributing to the collapse of coalitions elsewhere.

Central and Southeast Europe has supplied some of the clearest examples of the risks to liberal democracy. Of the 76 parties examined in depth, 18 are classified as highly authoritarian, including Hungary's Fidesz, Poland's Law and Justice (PiS) and Slovakia's Smer. These parties have "already demonstrated in government how far they are prepared to go in weakening judicial independence, constraining media pluralism, politicising state institutions or otherwise eroding liberal-democratic checks and balances", Johansson Heinö wrote.

Hungary also illustrates the limits of the model. Peter Magyar's newly founded centre-right Tisza won 53.2% of the party-list vote in the April election against 38.6% for Fidesz, securing 141 of 199 seats and ending Viktor Orban's 16 years in power. The report describes Fidesz as one of Europe's clearest examples of authoritarian populism developing within an electoral democracy, but notes that voters were able to remove it despite highly unequal conditions of competition. The radical-right Our Homeland Movement survived the realignment, winning 5.6% of the list vote.

In Czechia, Andrej Babis' ANO returned to power with 34.5% of the vote in 2025 and governs alongside the radical-right Freedom and Direct Democracy (SPD) and the Motorists for Themselves. The coalition marks the first time the modern Czech radical right has entered national government.

The government has shifted policy towards a more sovereignty-oriented line, cutting defence spending and scaling back support for Ukraine. Its plan to replace the licence fee for public broadcasters with direct state funding has also drawn mass protests. However, the index rates ANO as less authoritarian than Fidesz or Smer.

Slovakia's government under Robert Fico has moved further towards an illiberal national-conservative position. Smer has evolved from a pragmatic left-populist party into one with "a conception of sovereignty resembling that promoted by Viktor Orban in Hungary", the report says. It points to Fico's decision to end official military aid to Ukraine and his repeated meetings with Russian President Vladimir Putin, most recently in Moscow in May.

Coalition partner Hlas has been pulled towards Smer, while the hard-right, pro-Russian Republika won 12.5% in the 2024 European Parliament election.

In Romania, George Simion's Alliance for the Union of Romanians (AUR) has led the polls for much of the past two years. It is classified as highly authoritarian, as are the smaller S.O.S. Romania and the Party of Young People.

The index also counts the Social Democratic Party (PSD), which joined AUR in the no-confidence vote that brought down Ilie Bolojan's government in May, because of its populist and authoritarian traits. Simion has since threatened to move against President Nicusor Dan unless he calls a snap election.

Bulgaria presents a different type of challenger. Former president, now prime minister, Rumen Radev's Progressive Bulgaria, founded in March, won an outright majority in the 2026 parliamentary election after eight elections in four years. The report considers the party broadly mainstream on policy but populist in style, with a focus on corruption and oligarchic interests. Many observers compare Radev with Orban and Fico because of his calls for a more pragmatic relationship with Russia, a comparison he rejects. Radev's ally Iliana Yotova leads the race for the presidential election on October 25.

Poland's right has fragmented. Konfederacja has established itself as a substantial independent force, while Grzegorz Braun's Confederation of the Polish Crown now advocates leaving the EU. PiS suffered its biggest split in more than 20 years in July, when former prime minister Mateusz Morawiecki and dozens of supporters left to form the Rozwoj Plus group, which has around 40 MPs.

The report argues that Russia has become a new dividing line on the European right. Orban obstructed or delayed EU measures against Moscow while in office, while disagreements over Ukraine helped split Estonia's radical-right EKRE in 2024. Ties to US President Donald Trump's Make America Great Again (MAGA) movement have not delivered the electoral boost many expected, and Orban's defeat came despite almost unanimous backing from Europe's radical right.

The divide reflects a broader shift in the movement's priorities. Of the 76 parties examined in detail, 20 are classified as hard eurosceptic, making outright EU exit a minority position. Many now seek to reshape the bloc from within, redirecting cooperation towards migration control, border protection and national sovereignty.

The report's central concern remains the effect of these parties on democracy when they enter government, rather than their electoral success alone. Their records show that holding office can moderate some challengers but can also give others greater scope to weaken institutional checks and balances.


The struggle against fascism begins with the struggle against …

One may speak of a red, black, or brown "soviet state", as well as of red, black or brown fascism. Though certain ideological …Read more


Tuesday, October 20, 2026

 

Russia’s bloody shift from subimperialism to new old imperialism


Stand with Ukraine protest

Russia’s New Imperialism: Capital and Ideology
By Ilya Budraitskis and Ilya Matveev 
Stanford University Press, 2026

In October 2022, just before the Ukrainian army retook the southeastern city of Kherson, retreating Russian soldiers exhumed the remains of the 18th-century Prince, Grigory Potemkin, from St Catherine’s Cathedral.

Potemkin’s bones were removed to Russian-held territory on the left bank of the Dnieper river, along with statues to him, to Generalissimo Aleksandr Suvorov and Admiral Fyodor Ushakov, who, like Potemkin, served under Catherine the Great. Vladimir Saldo, the Russian-appointed governor of the occupied part of Kherson region, said: “These are sacred objects that I believe needed to be saved.”1

In the 1770s and ’80s, when the American and French revolutions lighted beacons of republican hope, the empire Potemkin fought for was growing into a reactionary monster. He was a key figure in the colonisation and attempted “Russification” of southeastern Ukraine; the founding of Yekaterinoslav (“to the Glory of Catherine”, now Dnipro); the annexation of Crimea in 1784; the crushing of the Zaporizhzhia cossacks; securing Black Sea ports; and war with the Ottoman empire, an important precondition for Russia’s conquest of the Caucasus in the 19th century.2

Now, Potemkin is in a pantheon of state functionaries venerated by Kremlin ideologists from Vladimir Putin downward, by the education system and by the media. For Putin, these heroes are direct predecessors to the Soviet army in World War II, the tinpot dictatorships established in Donetsk and Luhansk in 2014 and the Russian troops that invaded Ukraine in 2022. They were all defenders of his imagined “historical unity of Russians and Ukrainians” from one enemy after another: Poland, Austro-Hungary, Bolshevism and the “anti-Russia project” that led to the Soviet Union’s demise.3

Ilya Budraitskis and Ilya Matveev, in their Marxist analysis of 21st century Russian imperialism, interrogate the relationship between this ideology — strong enough for the officers commanding the Kherson retreat to risk lives for bones and statues — and the economic, political and social dynamics in which it is anchored.

Budraitskis and Matveev’s starting point is the Kremlin’s decision to invade Ukraine in February 2022. Not only have its consequences done untold damage, economically and geopolitically, to the Russian elite but, as they argue convincingly (p2, 81 & 121), much of this damage would have been done, even if the initial military objective of imposing a puppet government in Kyiv had been achieved.

An explanation must be found for such a self-defeating strategy. Why did a far-reaching action by the state, long seen by Marxists as the instrument of capital, cut across capital’s economic interests so dramatically? It was by no means the first time: citing David Harvey, Budraitskis and Matveev point to the Vietnam war and the 2003 invasion of Iraq, “examples of imperialist ventures that are not easily attributable to the requirements of capital accumulation” (p15).

But the Russian case must be explained on its own terms, and they start with the Putin regime’s ideology of imperial mythmaking and “civilisational” conflict with the West, showing how it grew on the soil of post-Soviet Russian capitalism and its discontents. They write in their Introduction (p7):

Russian imperialism since 2014 has been counterproductive, largely irrational, and rooted in the historical myths of empire. But it was the modern experience of primitive accumulation, as well as recent events such as the Arab Spring, that enabled the ideological consolidation of Putin’s regime.

Here I consider four themes through which this argument is developed: (1) the understanding of post-Soviet Russia as a subimperialist power; (2) the development of imperialist and nationalist ideologies in the Russian elite prior to 2014; (3) the threat posed by the Maidan uprising in Ukraine to the Kremlin, and how it reacted; and (4) the driving forces that took the Kremlin from its initial military intervention in Ukraine (2014) to all-out invasion (2022).

The subimperialist model

A first key theme in Russia’s New Imperialism is the “internationalisation of Russian capital” that began in earnest after the 1998 crisis, when a banking crash and four-fold ruble devaluation weakened the financial-industrial groups that grew rich on rent-seeking in the 1990s (p19-26). Productive investment flourished (oil prices rising steadily between 2000–08 helped), and “the two channels of integration into the global economy — namely, exports [primarily of oil, gas and metals] and borrowing — reinforced each other.”

Russian capital was exported, in the first place, to Ukraine and other post-Soviet states: foreign direct investment by Russian entities multiplied 20 times over between 1999–2007.

In these years, Putin remade the relationship between capital and the state. He centralised state control of the media and punished Mikhail Khodorkovsky, then Russia’s richest man. The economic elite lost its “direct, unmediated political power”; chunks of the energy sector were brought back into state ownership; and by 2007 seven of the top 20 companies, including the top three (Gazprom, Rosneft and Sberbank), were majority-owned by the state.

Putin’s relationship with the owners of Russia’s largest businesses “could aptly be described as ‘Bonapartist’,” Budraitskis and Matveev write, citing Karl Marx’s famous argument that “in order to save its purse [the bourgeoisie] must forfeit the crown, and the sword that is to safeguard it must at the same time be hung over its own head as a sword of Damocles.”4 Russian capitalists lacked social legitimacy and felt threatened by labour unrest: Putin “re-ordered state-business relations” and they benefited.

But it did not stop at that. Leadership of state companies was handed to Putin’s closest associates: this was a more direct fusion of state and capital. “The economic elites lack public legitimacy and independent sources of political power. They exercise power through the Kremlin, and only in this way” (p31).

To explain Russia’s integration into global capitalism, Budraitskis and Matveev look to dependency theory, developed by Ruy Mauro Marini to describe Brazil under the military dictatorship of the 1960s. Brazil then, and Russia in the 2000s, were “subimperialist” powers that exported raw materials and low-value-added goods to the rich countries and imported high-value-added products.5

Moreover, they assess the Kremlin’s geopolitical strategy up to 2014 as “antagonistic cooperation” with the US and its allies (which had, by the way, either ignored Putin’s genocidal wars on Chechnya, or claimed them as part of the “global war on terror”). Russia facilitated logistics and supplied aircraft for NATO’s operation in Afghanistan.

Notwithstanding Putin’s rhetoric against the “unipolar world order” at Munich in 2007, and even after the Russo-Georgian war of 2008, “the Kremlin sought pragmatic cooperation with the US in areas that corresponded to its own perceived interests” (p37).

The weakness of this “subimperialist” model — its dependence on volatile commodity and finance markets — was cruelly exposed by the 2008–09 financial crisis, Budraitskis and Matveev write (p23). The Kremlin responded to the slowdown that followed in 2012–13 with efforts to stimulate investment, but these failed “as they faced the limitations imposed by the very nature of Putin’s personalist dictatorship” (p26) — that is, the way he remade the relationship of state and capital.

The authors of Russia’s New Imperialism argue that these political and economic policy factors alone can not explain Russia’s military intervention in Ukraine in 2014, and the annexation of Crimea that burned many of its bridges with Western powers and capital markets. Rather, they present a more fundamental double shift — in the form of imperialism, from rational to irrational; and in foreign policy, from pragmatism to ideological decision-making.

The early 2000s formula [in foreign policy], placing interests above ideas, was replaced by the opposite belief that there is a global struggle of ideas, and national interest is determined by one’s place in this struggle6... Russia’s transition from its “rational” economic imperialism of the 2000s to the “irrational” ideologically motivated imperialism of 2014 and beyond is part of the same process (p39).

Budraitskis and Matveev offer a discussion of ideology understood broadly as “a set of core ideas about the world and human relations that serves as the basis for making political decisions.” These ideas are formed at a “first level” (“the collective life experience of certain social groups and dominant perceptions (‘common sense’) in society as a whole”, and then articulated by intellectuals as a world view, at a “second level” (p39-40).

They track the emergence in the 1990s of a “cynical” Russian elite ideology,7 grounded in what it perceived as “liberation” from Soviet strictures on the pursuit of private interest, and entwined with violence. An “attitude of permanent conflict”, echoing the street gang culture that security services officials of the 2020s lived through as young men, became the “unspoken rule of political life” (p50-54).

Ideology and military intervention in 2014

A second theme in Russia’s New Imperialism is the way that strands of articulated “second level” ideology, rooted in this “first level”, were drawn together in the run-up to the invasion of Ukraine in 2014. Conservative and anti-democratic ideas, previously used pragmatically, were increasingly internalised by the elite. In this long-term, multi-layered process, Budraitskis and Matveev see Putin’s return to the presidency in 20128 as a turning point.

The rhetoric of his election campaign this time differed markedly from the depoliticised and technocratic style of the 2000s. He was no longer a manager whose main task was to ensure economic growth, but a patriotic leader of a great nation’s majority and the defender of the nation’s sovereignty against Western influence. (p60)

The philosophical component of this state ideology is influenced by Ivan Ilyin, an early 20th century conservative and anti-Communist, who saw the authoritarian state as morally right against its citizens, who must submit to it. In response to the “colour revolutions” in Georgia (2003), Ukraine (2004) and elsewhere, the Kremlin reimagined another idea from anti-Bolshevik émigres, Eurasianism, as the “Russian world”, understood as an alternative value system to Western liberal democracy.

Other key elements in Putinist ideology are the Russian Orthodox church and the special role of the security services, which, Budraitskis and Matveev argue, harks back to the oprichnina, a repressive institution that carried out mass terror under Ivan the Terrible.

Putin’s idea of the Russian state echoes 19th-century historians, who saw it as the “form” of the Russian people that mystically reproduces itself, and of their successors in the late Stalinist period who saw its centralisation and expansion as “historically progressive,” and anything that stands in its way as reactionary.

Putin’s narrative differs in one crucial respect, though: there is no forward progress, only a cyclical pattern. “The West is [eternally] trying to destroy the Russian state through military aggression, importing false ideas, and supporting radical opposition” (p65). The eternal need to resist this pattern produces the imperative for Putin’s gauleiters in Kherson to protect Potemkin’s sacred bones.

Budraitskis and Matveev emphasise that Putinist ideology came together untidily and patchily, emerging fully-formed only in the 2020s. In the months before Russia’s first invasion of Ukraine in 2014, Putin described himself alternately as “conservative” and “liberal”.

But in this jumble, the outlines of irreconcilable conflict were emerging. By 2013, “Ukraine’s choice between tightening relationships with the EU, and joining the [Russia-dominated] Eurasian Union was framed by the Kremlin as mutually exclusive, not only for political and economic reasons but also for ideological reasons” (p68).

In November 2013, then Ukrainian president Viktor Yanukovych pulled out of talks on a Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement with the EU, opting instead for a range of energy and other subsidies from Russia. A student-led demonstration against this shift was subjected to a vicious attack by police. That brought hundreds of thousands of people onto the streets of Kyiv in anti-government protests, and became the Maidan uprising that brought down Yanukovych’s government in February 2014.

Maidan: The existential threat

This brings us to a third key theme in Russia’s New Imperialism: social control was a key element in the Kremlin’s decisions to go to war, in 2014 and 2022. The “personalist regime” consolidated by Putin’s return to the presidency in 2012 was in large part a reaction to protests against rigged parliamentary elections in December 2011. Behind these protests, and the alarming sight of the Arab Spring pulling down regimes across the Middle East and North Africa, the Kremlin saw only the hand of the West and its existential threat to the “Russian world”.

Considerable progress made in 2009–10 in the Kremlin’s negotiations with the Barack Obama administration — for example, a nuclear arms limitation agreement, reversal of George Bush’s decision to deploy a missile defence shield in Eastern Europe, and joint positions on Iran — made no difference to this.

In the Kremlin’s view, the authentic sources of anti-Putin protests lay not in internal contradictions but in external ill will. Oppositionists were merely its conscious or unconscious agents. In this way, the confrontation became historical and cultural, not political (p78).

The Kremlin applied these same ideologised assumptions to social protest in Ukraine. Budraitskis and Matveev show the Russian elite was by no means united around Putin’s belief that the Maidan protesters were “pawns controlled by foreign hands” — but that view prevailed. Ukraine’s choice between closer economic ties with Europe or with Russia was perceived as “civilisational”. Yanukovych was the guarantor of “traditional values”. Ideology trumped economic policy, resulting in self-harming military intervention.

The imperatives of social control again forced the Kremlin’s hand in the run-up to the all-out invasion in 2022. Increasingly the perception of the West as a “historically unchanging source of existential threat to Russia as a state” determined both domestic and foreign policy decisions. “The refusal of the post-Maidan Ukrainian governments to return to Moscow’s orbit of influence was seen as part of the West’s large-scale project to ‘contain’ Russia, which was also expressed in the growth of oppositional sentiments across Russian society” (p113).

Putin viewed the heterogenous protests in Russia in 2018–19 and Aleksei Navalny’s anti-corruption campaign as the work of Western intelligence services; he compared them to Maidan and the Arab Spring. By mid 2021, both military preparations for what Putin assumed would be a very brief operation, and ideological preparations articulated in his July 2021 article on the “historical unity of Russians and Ukrainians”,9 were complete.

Budraitskis and Matveev set their explanations for Russia’s invasion of Ukraine — ideological conviction, supercharged by fear of social protest — against other interpretations current in universities. The claim that Russia was pursuing its economic interests is easily dealt with. “If the Ukrainian market was so important to Russia, why would the Kremlin risk losing it by annexing Crimea and fomenting violent separatism in Donbas?” they ask (p81). And lose it Russia did: its exports to Ukraine in 2015 were less than half of the 2012 level.

A more significant target is the claim that Russia’s hand was forced by “geopolitical and security considerations”. In one crucial article, the “realist” scholar John Mearsheimer — no kind of Marxist, but heavily relied on by many would-be Marxists — wrote that it is “Geopolitics 101” that “great powers are always sensitive to potential threats near their home territory”. But was the threat real or perceived?

Mearsheimer says NATO took steps to “assuage Russian fears,” for example by never permanently stationing military forces in its new Eastern European member states — but that that matters little, because “it is the Russians, not the West, who ultimately get to decide what counts as a threat to them.”10 This gives the lie to the whole argument. “The subjective perception of threat replaces the objective correlation of forces as a key explanatory factor in Mearsheimer’s analysis” (p82).

And what a distorted perception it was. As Budraitskis and Matveev point out, “the security situation has actually improved for Russia during the period of NATO eastward expansion.” The number of US troops in Europe in 2010 was 30,000, one tenth of what it was during the Cold War; the number of US tanks in Germany fell from 5000 in 1991 to zero in 2014; the German army’s own tank fleet fell from 7000 in the Cold War to 244 in 2017, only 95 of which were fully operational. No wonder that one of Putin’s own military experts, Alexander Khramchikhin, wrote in November 2013 that the US “does not intend to fight a war in Europe — neither an aggressive nor a defensive one.”

In this reviewer’s experience, discussions about Ukraine in Western “left” political circles are replete with references to Mearsheimer’s shoddy logic, supported by myths such as “Western arms supplies to Ukraine rose sharply before 2021” (untrue) and “Ukraine was close to joining NATO” (untrue), allied to fantasies about “Ukraine’s ethnic cleansing in the Donbas”, and so on.11 Ideology can indeed be a powerful social force.

Budraitskis and Matveev also respond to interpretations of Russia’s actions that emphasise their provisional, unplanned character. While there is evidence of the Kremlin improvising its support for the Donbas “republics”, they stress Crimea is different. Its annexation “created an unprecedented situation” (p84). Putin must have known there would be “no way back” and that sanctions and diplomatic distancing were inevitable.

From annexation to invasion

However profound the shift of Kremlin policy in 2014, all-out war was still not predetermined. The authors of Russia’s New Imperialism do not consider the full-scale invasion an “inevitable continuation” of Tsarist or Soviet imperialist policies; rather, it was “largely determined by internal political dynamics that led to a transformation in the worldview of the Russian elites” (p75). A fourth key theme is how these dynamics played out between 2014–22.

The impact of the war on corporate Russia was overwhelmingly negative. Russian investments were increasingly shut out of Ukraine. Further west, sections of international capital pressed on with collaboration — European gas companies’ support for the Nord Stream gas pipeline from Russia to Germany being the emblematic example — but Russian corporates’ access to Western financial markets was severely restricted.

Budraitskis and Matveev compare Russia’s failure to recover from the 2015–16 global economic doldrums with Brazil’s rapid rebound. Investment turned inward: the arms industry, always enormous, was pumped up still further, and the state-controlled corporations that controlled it reached into other economic sectors.

Russia added “economies of plunder” to its repertoire, that is investments “linked to the violence of Russian military and paramilitary formations” (p99). The results were mixed. Occupied areas of eastern Ukraine have been a net drain on the Russian economy; the Donbas, with its broken supply chains and damaged industry, even more so than Crimea. In Africa, where paramilitaries’ seizure of resources “resemble early modern European imperialist modes of plunder” (p101), paramilitaries such as the Wagner group profited but it is doubtful that the Russian economy benefited overall.

Against this background, the ideology that had taken shape in the 2010s now began to dominate statecraft. The Donbas conflict was portrayed as one between “traditional values” and degenerate, “globalist” western forces. But this was not just a tool to create a new social coalition behind Putin; rather, Budraitskis and Matveev argue, moral values were seen by the Russian ruling class “as an integral part of the strategy to defend sovereignty” (p107).

Similarly, a “large scale infrastructure to implement state historical policy” (p108) went far beyond rewriting school textbooks: a view was being propagated that the Russian ruling elite rests not on democratic legitimacy or international law, but on “the imperial legacy of the past”, which is “inevitably linked to territorial expansion” (p112).

None of this ensured that the Russian ruling class — let alone the majority of the population — was united in support of Putin’s decision in 2022 to recognise the Donetsk and Luhansk “republics”, and then invade the rest of Ukraine.

But the “personalist regime” provided no opportunity even for factions in the Kremlin to influence the president’s strategic decisions (p124). Politicians and businessmen were actually compelled to rally to the cause: the “special military operation” was justified not only in foreign policy terms but as a means of strengthening the ideological homogeneity of the elite (p127).

The failure to defeat Ukraine within days again brought Russian imperialism to uncharted territory. Budraitskis and Matveev catalogue the regime’s relative success in redirecting the economy: Russia remains a major commodities exporter, has shifted its trade from Western powers to China, India and others, and centred its domestic economy on arms production and associated sectors. The military-industrial complex has siphoned off resources from civilian industries (p132).

This was not capital directing the state, but the state directing capital: Putin created “‘facts on the ground’ to which businesses had to adapt”, thus demonstrating “the extent to which his personalist dictatorship has expropriated the political power of the economic elite” (p134).

Like all good books, this one raises questions in the reader’s mind.

Broadly, I agree with Budraitskis and Matveev’s answers to the question, “what brought Russian imperialism to the point of the all-out invasion?” I think it is also useful to pose it counterfactually: why did Russia not move towards some sort of “normal” capitalism — such as Brazil, for example — instead of this fascist-like authoritarianism and war?

Working as a journalist and researcher of Russian businesses in the 2000s, I believed that there could be hard times ahead for the labour movement and opposition organisations, and that Russian bullying of its former colonies had not ended. But war, dictatorship and a new gulag? Not on this scale.12

One factor in my thinking was that the Russian economy and state were being seriously weakened, year after year. Russia had lost economic control of Azerbaijan in 1994, when it signed the “contract of the century” with Western oil majors; Russian company Lukoil hung on in a secondary role.

In central Asia, Russia ceded dominance: Chinese and Western oil companies acquired the biggest production assets in Kazakhstan; China, Japan and South Korea made the running in Uzbekistan; and the completion of the central Asian gas pipeline in 2009, switched control of Turkmenistan, the world’s fourth largest gas producer, from Russia to China at a stroke.

But empires in decline can become more violent, not less. The murderous Russian onslaughts on Chechnya in 1994–96 and 1999–2002 turned out to be a foretaste of the Donbas conflict. Russia’s economic weakness reinforced the Kremlin’s descent into the irrational, ideological decision-making that Budraitskis and Matveev so carefully describe.

A second, related, question concerns Russia’s relationship with international capital. I am entirely persuaded by Budraitskis and Matveev’s argument that Russia carved out a “subimperialist” role, which unravelled after 2014. Were there other ways out of it — alternatives to Putin’s way?

Towards the end of the 2000s, some sections of the elite voiced a strong desire to escape from this subordinate position, in discussions about the danger of “Dutch disease” — over-reliance on commodity exports — and the need to invest in technology and value-added sectors. These ideas did not cut across the “Russian world”; indeed some elite figures saw them as the best way to reinforce that world.

As I see it, these alternative routes out of the subordinate role in which Russia was being integrated into the world economy were, in part, closed off by factors outside the elite’s control: the 2008–09 economic crisis and its aftershocks; and the social movements that terrified the Kremlin, the Arab Spring at some distance, and Maidan uncomfortably close to home.

I do not want to say, though, that economic crisis or social protest left the Russian elite no choice. Of course it had a choice, and the ideological factors foregrounded by Budraitskis and Matveev are essential in explaining why it made the choices it did.

The attention paid in Russia’s New Imperialism to social processes and their impact on elite ideology helps it to stand out from mountains of superficial commentary about the causes of the war on Ukraine, whether from those who see it as an inevitable product of an incorrigible imperialist mindset or those who imagine, with the Kremlin, that Western powers were to blame.

A third question concerns what the single case of Russia tells us about 21st century capitalism more generally. In an Epilogue, Budraitskis and Matveev draw attention to Donald Trump’s reelection to the US presidency in 2024, his “clear affinity with Putin” and the similarity of the two governments’ ideological content and political style.

They discuss the extent to which the Putin regime might be defined as fascist. An argument “that the regime’s fascistisation is underway” can be based on “its effort to ideologise and reeducate Russian society in the spirit of militarism and imperialist nationalism”, they write.

But “analogies with fascism must not be applied singularly to portray Putin’s Russia as an anomaly but rather must seek to understand its place within a global trend.” To start with, the invasion of Ukraine has “increased antidemocratic and nationalist sentiment” across the EU, and contributed to the electoral success of far-right parties elsewhere (p170).

This should be the starting point for a great deal of collective thinking. For one thing, this advance of the right takes place against the background of extraordinary changes in world capitalism — the rapid rise of Chinese manufacturing power, the emergence of vastly powerful and infinitely rich US-based corporations, including those controlling new technologies, and all the changes in the character of labour that result.

Moreover, the advance of the right must be taken together with the constant explosions of progressive social protest — not in the forms we were inspired by in the late 20th century, and often only loosely connected to the organised labour movement — especially, but not only, in Global South countries.13

Can Russia’s new imperialism thrive in this world? What does it tell us about how elites elsewhere will react?

A last question that Russia’s New Imperialism brought to my mind concerns the fate of socialist thought in the 21st century. This book makes a real contribution. The authors start with the particular case, Russia, and proceed to examine the economic, political and social changes, in Russia itself and internationally, that conditioned the rise of Putinist authoritarianism.

They dissect the decisions to intervene in Ukraine, in 2014 and 2022, show how these cut across the material interests of Russian capital, and argue painstakingly that the elite’s ideology, not as a set of ideas but as a social force, is the driver here. From here they reflect on broader issues about contemporary imperialism generally.

This strikes a contrast with a great deal of “Marxist” writing on the war, not only by hardened post-Stalinists who deny that Russia is imperialist, but from others, who acknowledge that it is, but find ways to reinforce the illusion that “NATO expansion” caused the war, not the Russian elite.

For example, Alex Callinicos in a recent article starts from a general proposition — that a “developing global process of confrontation among the main imperialist powers” is underway — and, where the particular case of Russia’s war on Ukraine does not fit his preconceptions, distorts or omits realities.14

The danger is that Marxism becomes a way of moulding analysis to justify political dogma, instead of developing ideas that can inform struggles to defeat and supersede capital. Perhaps it will turn out that Budraitskis and Matveev’s most important contribution is that they eschew dogmatism, and so help point the way to developing Marx’s approach to capital, and the forces that oppose it, in the 21st century.