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Tuesday, October 20, 2026

Whither the US? The Path Forward Edition

October 19, 2026

Were the acts undertaken by the US in recent years to be listed without national or political party affiliation they would appear to have been drawn from the geopolitical catastrophes of the twentieth century. Ethnic genocide for resources and territory? Check. Bloody wars of attrition where millions die as pawns in proxy conflicts? Check. Raw imperialist regime change operations to seize the resources of foreign nations? Check. The creation of a global gulag system with which to contain inconvenient humans? Check.

While the Treaty of Versailles explains a lot in terms of the causes of WWII, so does the Great Depression. Is it accidental that the global move to the political right accelerated with the Great Recession? It was obvious in the early days of the Great Recession that fascism would be the choice. The US followed the Weimar playbook to perfection: deny culpability on the part of capital, rebuild a purer form of the extractive finance that created the crisis, and use national resources to revive the economic fortunes of the rich while leaving the 99% to rot.

By the time of the GFC (Global Financial Crisis), the US had been through four decades of policies seemingly intended to destroy the nation. For better or worse, the US was built on industry. Its prior dalliance with finance capitalism resulted in the Great Depression. This was why I (and many others) claimed that reviving Wall Street was a wrong turn. Wall Street had proven itself to be the problem, not the solution. But America chose the Weimar resolution anyway, forgetting that it had launched amongst the most tragic histories known to humans.

Scapegoats of convenience were identified. One party blamed never-explained ‘elites’ and immigrants while the other blamed foreign nations and the Americans who didn’t accept their explanation of the world. Grievance economics became a thing. Donald Trump’s petulant child like explanations of ‘bad people’ and ‘losers’ personalized the impact of political decisions made decades earlier. Through the regularly occurring disasters of finance capitalism, room was opened up for Trump’s crackpot economic theories.

The US is now in the process of winding down as a nation. The question of the next decade is will the denouement be fast and ugly or long, drawn out, and ugly? It doesn’t have to be ugly at all. Rational solutions are both possible and workable. So why are only the stupid and unworkable ideas floating to the surface? Because these are the policies favored by the oligarchs. AI is making possibly one hundred insiders wealthy beyond the dreams of avarice. But guess who gets to clean up the mess when the effort implodes?

US plans for global military dominance made by agencies of the Federal government at the end of WWII are being undone by deindustrialization and financialization. Despite having the largest military budget in the world by several orders of magnitude, the US is reportedly out of offensive and defensive missiles with which to continue its vanity war against Iran. This currently has Donald Trump threatening the use of nuclear weapons for the benefit of Israel. That Russia, an ally of Iran, and China, also an ally of Iran, also have nuclear weapons is apparently unknown to Mr. Trump. Perhaps Testosterone Barbie (Pete Hegseth) could explain this to him.

The sleight-of-hand now being put forward is that China is America’s economic enemy. But China had nothing to do with the passage and implementation of NAFTA, the shift of the US economy from making things to financial gamesmanship, or the decision made by self-described geniuses to roll our collective dice on AI. AI is currently looking more like a planet-sized wrong turn than the path forward. Unfortunately for the US, AI is all that there is.

In spite of bitter disputes on both the American Right and Left over US foreign policy, the policies being implemented today were chosen by unelected officials at the end of WWII and again in the 1990s. Here is retired US General Wesley Clark stating in 2001 that the US plan was to ‘attack seven countries in five years.’ These seven countries (Iraq, Syria, Lebanon, Libya, Somalia, Sudan and Iran) were subsequently either destroyed by the US or are currently in the process of being destroyed by the US.

Author Stephen Wertheim wrote Tomorrow, the World: The Birth of U.S. Global Supremacy in 2020, providing documents from the 1940s suggesting that the US exited WWII with a plan for global military dominance. On the one hand, American leaders perceived a role for the US as a benevolent hegemon. On the other hand, World Wars I and II were imperialist wars to control economic resources. The Americans, Brits and French even had Expeditionary Forces in the USSR in an effort to reverse the Bolshevik Revolution.

The point is that enthusiastic back-and-forth over US foreign policy in the present requires explanations that transcend current politics. The problem is the temporal logic. If current wars are the product of recent provocations, why were plans in place for these very same conflicts before the current rationales for them were conceived? Are Americans actually arguing that history doesn’t matter? If so, how does that differ from the Right’s Great Man theory of history?

What to make of this temporal paradox? If the CIA is arming and training foreign militaries, how does this not fit Wertheim’s and Clark’s theses? Were China arming and training the Mexican military to attack the US, the US would absolutely not see the arrangement as benign. What is the evidence? The US is so not-okay-with China’s Belt and Road initiative that it is destroying its infrastructure in West Asia.

To the Americans looking for someone to blame for the economic evisceration of the US, who benefits from the fingers being pointed abroad? Neither China nor Iran nor Russia put a gun to America’s head and forced NAFTA on us. Imagine how pathetic these nations would seem if they blamed the US for their internal failures? So, the political enemy, if one is to be claimed, isn’t other countries. It is the Americans who made economic decisions for their own benefit no matter the social costs to the rest of us.

The formal political architecture of the US— the Constitution, the institutions of representative democracy, and the electoral system are all premised on shared input into political decision making. This is the political version of ‘trickle-down’ economics where theory has it that making the rich richer ‘benefits us all’ because some tiny fraction of it will land in our pockets. In contrast, the defining characteristic of the neoliberal era has been that it all lands in someone else’s pocket. Empowering the few disempowers the rest of us.

Another way to phrase this is that the premise of social equality hides the true levers of social power, which are economic. This makes the American illusion of democracy a weapon wielded against us. It is political misdirection. The Supreme Court implied this with over a century of jurisprudence culminating in the Citizens United ruling that money is protected political speech.  Citizens United was a culmination, not a cause. It represents the end of a power-sharing agreement that never was. Political economy has always decided the politics.

Graph: voters began fleeing the Republicans when George W. Bush’s war against Iraq headed south around 2004. And they fled the Democrats when Barack Obama bailed out Wall Street as the Great Recession consumed the US. To the issue of racism, see the surge above around 2008 as the ranks of Democrats swelled to elect Mr. Obama. Then notice that the voters fleeing the Democrats didn’t switch to being Republicans. They became Independents. This destroys the DC insider rhetoric that voters prefer to move back and forth between the parties. Source: gallup.com.

The tension at present is between the well-sold myth of widespread public participation in political decision making versus the facts of oligarch and corporate control over the American political system. Words from most Americans have no public consequence while words from those with the economic power are scattered across the globe. The claim that this broad distribution is the result of fair competition in the marketplace of ideas misses that most of the American media is owned by oligarchs.

The signature effect of this ‘oligarchy with rights for the rest of us’ has been that the rights for the rest of us are owned by someone else. ‘We’ have freedom of speech, but the enclosure of the informational commons means that what we say isn’t heard. We have the right to choose our occupations, but the choices have been so constrained that few among us freely choose. The pretense of social equality misses that some amongst us were born billionaires but most of the rest of us were born to serve the billionaire class.

The social and political tension being articulated is between the political fantasy of broad and active participation in social decision making versus the contemporary fact of corporate and oligarch control over the US economy, politics and increasingly, our daily lives. When rising suffrage (right to vote) threatened oligarch interests, the Supreme Court decided that money used politically— owned and / or controlled by the rich, is an expression of political will akin to voting. Okay. Where is money = speech found in the Constitution? It isn’t.

In contrast, the Voting Rights Act (1965) was proposed by former US President Lyndon Johnson and ratified by the US Congress. In other words, Citizens United was / is the very same ‘legislating from the bench’ long opposed by the people intended to benefit from the ruling (and a century of related law). LBJ used the legislative process outlined in the Constitution while the Supreme Court did a legally dubious solid for the already rich. Americans need to consider precisely when the Constitution was abandoned and why? 



Graph: illustrated above is the persistence of both high and low presidential approval ratings that better illustrate approval for the institution of the presidency than the individual performance of presidents. LBJ – Jimmy Carter represented the Vietnam War and its immediate aftermath. Clinton – Trump2 represent the neoliberal pure-play. While it is tempting to claim that Trump2 revived US imperialism, from Obama’s support for the TPP (Trans-Pacific Partnership) to Biden’s scuttling of Nord Stream 2, the revival of naked imperialism has been bi-partisan. Source: Gallup.com.

While the data has been made much harder to find recently, Donald Trump and his immediate predecessor (Joe Biden) have had remarkably similar approval / disapproval rates in public opinion polls over similar time in office (graph above). They are both outliers in terms of public rebuke. The choice for readers in considering the data is to either blame the humans so elected or the broader historical circumstances that brought them to power. The focus here is on the historical circumstances, leaving the question of personalities to mental health professionals.

While partisans for American empire are convinced that personalities determine the politics, both men (Trump, Biden) entered office in the still smoldering ashes of the Great Recession with the US in political and economic decline internationally and in the midst of CIA-instigated wars that committed the US to a limited range of foreign policy options. As convinced as party loyalists are that the other man / party is the devil, the polling data suggests that the feelings are mutual. A large and growing group rejects both parties.

“Those who make peaceful revolution impossible will make violent revolution inevitable.” JFK.

While the view here that the current state and trajectory of the US represents a political emergency, the US electoral system is profoundly unsuited to rectify it. This isn’t an argument against voting. For the last year I have suggested a split party strategy for the midterms. Vote for Democrats in the hope that doing so will prevent Donald Trump’s wrecking crew from dismantling what remains of the US. Beyond the midterms, either more lasting solutions will be found or non-electoral politics will represent the only path forward.

(I voted for Jill Stein (with no regrets) in 2016 and supported Bernie Sanders in 2020 and Stein again in 2024. To party partisans, look at the top graph above. No one wants what you are selling).

Political scientist Thomas Ferguson and economist Servaas Storm recently released a paper explaining post-Great Recession politics in the US in economic terms. In it they provide an economic explanation for the collapse of the political ‘center’ in the US.

“The paper then extends the analysis backward, showing that during the Neoliberal era key macroeconomic trends spiraled steadily downward for most American households and workers regardless of which party occupied the White House.” Ferguson, Storm et al.

For those who may have missed it, the ‘financial crisis’ genre of films that lasted roughly 2009 – 2014 featured mostly the same people who created the GFC rushing to-and-fro to solve it. Surprise! They solved it to their own benefit. Ferguson and Storm show us where the bodies are buried.

What Ferguson and Storm confirm is that the theoretical economics of the big-name American economists don’t fit the facts. In high-bourgeois circles, reciting one’s resume serves as introduction. What doing so doesn’t elucidate is what one has actually done with the resume. Listing the marketing names of a politician’s policies plays a similar role. It conveys an ideological direction without providing information as to whether or not the policies were effective. Ferguson and Storm confirm that there is little difference in economic outcomes between the parties.

This suggests that there are factors larger than election cycles that drive the outcomes that election cycles in theory decide. There are important decisions for the nation currently being made by fifty-year-old frat boys who slept through every history class they bothered to attend. This was preceded by A students whose minds were poisoned by DC politics and Game Theory. While Trump is worse at the top, there are no functioning governments on the horizon. No one is going to save the US. We, the people, either do it or it won’t get done.

An envelope for popular discontent has been the neoliberal era. While in theory this runs from the election of Ronald Reagan to Trump, the party framing is not constructive. NAFTA, passed in 1994 and implemented in 1995, was followed fifteen years later by the China Shock. While these aren’t directly related as policies, they both exist on a trajectory from the neoliberal turn of the early 1970s to today. They both contributed to the view of American labor as unnecessary. AI is the ultimate expression of this view.

With all of the American economic eggs now in the AI basket, the most likely scenario is a Great Recession type unwind preceded by severe financial market unpleasantness and followed by a decade or more of insufficient employment. The US should get a clearer picture soon enough. If Anthropic and OpenAI can pull off three trillion dollars in IPO funding, that would resolve near term funding concerns. If they can’t, expect extreme market unpleasantness to strike between the fourth quarter of 2026 (now) and the funding / refunding cliffs in 2027.

The larger issue is what Americans will do for a living going forward. If AI crashes out and subsequently destroys financial markets, the economic catastrophe of squandered and misallocated resources with no Plan B may well destroy what is left of the US. What will stun Americans should an unwind occur is how far AI has already been integrated into our lives. If the sense is growing that nothing digital works anymore, thank AI. Anthropic just released a paperexplaining that self-replicating AI agents will soon inhabit your ‘smart’ devices. Hint: they already do.

For those imagining that Elon Musk’s universal basic income will save us, I paid into Social Security since I was fourteen years old. My promised benefits are scheduled to be cut by 30% in a few years. That wasn’t the deal that I paid into for all of my life. NAFTA was passed under the theory that the ‘winners’ would compensate the ‘losers’ (American labor) for what they were giving up. This did not happen. Humanitarian intellectuals like Donald Trump, typical of his class, doesn’t think that ‘losers’ deserve to be compensated. Neither did Bill Clinton.

The point is that while there is always hope, hope isn’t a strategy. Strategy is a strategy. The main source of fungible oligarch wealth is financial markets. A company is only worth a billion dollars if someone will pay a billion dollars for it. Financial markets provide proxy valuations for companies. And they provide liquidity so that companies can transact. Public banks could fill this banking role without the social destruction caused by manias and crashes.

The top graph (above) illustrates this point. Democratic voters flooded in to vote in 2008 and then fled the party for the next decade. While I wouldn’t claim that the Democrats fleeing did so because they were racist, this was the Democrat’s explanation of why the party was eviscerated. The more likely explanation is that after channeling billions of dollars to Wall Street. Mr. Obama pivoted to cutting Social Security and Medicare. This isn’t criticism of Obama. It is fact.

With neither workers nor consumers lined up to feed Western capitalism going forward, the oligarchs apparently haven’t yet figured out that they can’t eat money. Why does Donald Trump’s alleged effort to revive the US economy look so implausible that his only idea still standing is to goose stock market prices? He isn’t doing so for the rest of us because we don’t own enough stock to matter. This is the end game for the oligarchs.

A limit on the post-WWII plan for global military dominance is that it cannot accommodate changed circumstances. Question: what are the 800+ US military bases abroad intended to accomplish? Military commenters suggest that the American MIC could have quickly ramped up production until about 2008. That would be from the start of the Great Recession forward. Well, that is the period in which private equity bought the rest of the MIC that it didn’t already own.

Should the expected economic unwind outlined here come to fruition, the contours of the Great Recession will likely be a guide. As millions of workers faced an impossible job market (seven unemployed for every available job), the full resources of the Federal government were being applied to making sure that bankers didn’t miss a single three-hour lunch. ‘Saving the system’ was code for saving the rich. By 2010 with the bodies piling up, the US ‘pivoted’ to cutting Social Security and Medicare.

The US really is in a political emergency. AI is in the process of destroying the domestic economy while the CIA and Pentagon are in the process of ending the world. As theory predicted, capitalism has consumed / destroyed the world. Over 5,000 AI data centers have already been built, approved or licensed in the US. The AI industry is predicting a 10% increase in greenhouse gas emissions from AI that the environment can ill afford. We are headed in the wrong direction.

The coming financial crash will provide an opportunity to forge a better path forward. If there exists a Left in the US, this will be the time to make its program known. People will be looking for answers and the chaos will make them amenable to listening to people they wouldn’t previously have listened to. None of this is intended to deceive. That is the purview of capital and its agents. Here’s the deal: it is guaranteed that the Right has a program ready to go. But ‘beating’ the right is the wrong target. Lifting up the people and restoring human-centric policies will win for the Left. Mirroring the tactics of the Right won’t.

Rob Urie is an artist and political economist. His book Zen Economics is published by CounterPunch Books.

 

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.