fter two years of war, Ukraine remains independent, though with part of its territory under occupation. Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, is undeterred in his maximalist objectives, shifting the country to an increasingly war economy and war footing. The American Congress bickers over continuing aid and support to Kyiv, while Ukraine’s allies in Europe contemplate the loss of support from Washington and the future threat Moscow poses on the continent.
How the war ends in Ukraine is no less clear than it was in the opening days. It is difficult to recall those close-run days. Analysts expected Russia to run roughshod over Ukraine’s defenders; few expected the brave defense average Ukrainians and their armed forces presented. The leader that President Volodymyr Zelenskyy would become in the crucible or war was unclear. As the war enters its third year it is useful to reflect on those opening days, how the war came about, what happened in that first year, and the importance of Zelenskyy’s leadership in the country’s defense.
In “Putin and the Return of History,” Martin and Daniel Sixsmith explore the intellectual and philosophical background to Russia’s expanded invasion of Ukraine, but also the broader conflict with the United States and Europe. In this rather balanced accounting of events, the authors show how misinterpretations, missteps, and misunderstandings contributed to the present state of affairs. This may seem controversial, but it is important to possess strategic empathy–the understanding, though not acceptance, of an adversary’s perspectives and framework to help make sense of the war and indeed the world.
They sensibly avoid laying all of the blame at the feet of the West. To be sure, Washington had a hand in the deterioration of relations. The West’s irrational exuberance at the end of the Cold War and policies towards post-collapse Russia planted seeds of simmering discontent within Moscow. Washington often forgets about the “shock therapy” economic policies that led to rampant inflation and the emergence of the oligarchic class in Russia—Moscow certainly does not.
These policy failures were not the West’s alone. The Kremlin’s own misunderstanding of the West, selected hearing and interpretation of messages, and policies and actions exacerbated the schism between Moscow and Washington. The planted seed, watered assiduously by Putin, provided a raison d'etre for his personalist autocratic system—curtailing Russian rights at home to defend against an aggressive West, while keeping himself in power and enriching those around him. What the Sixsmiths show is that Putin and his regime have cynically exploited Russian history (a subject masterfully explored by Dr. Jade McGlynn in her book “Memory Makers”), selectively interpreting events, but also that they truly believe they are at war with the West (and that the West is at war with them).
Could things have turned out differently? Could conflict have been avoided or were Russia and the United States and Europe on an inevitable collision course? Counterfactuals are enjoyable to consider, but impossible to prove. What “Putin and the Return of History” shows is that the answer is far more complicated than many pundits would suggest. Perhaps more than anything, then as now, neither Washington nor Moscow understand each other, with both assuming they know more about the other than they in fact do. The delta in communication and understanding between the two was systemic and, quite possibly, would have led to inevitable friction.
Putin’s predatory attitude towards Ukraine and Russia’s historical imperial orientation suggests that war with Ukraine was destined to occur at some point. Kyiv’s growing inclination toward Europe and the West and growing distance from Moscow could not stand, in Putin’s worldview. What precisely informed and drove Putin’s decision to invade in February 2022 may never be clear, but the outcome is nonetheless clear and tragic.
Yarislov Trofimov’s “Our Enemies Will Vanish” explores the consequences of that decision and the first year of Russia’s expanded war. It is, in the main, representative of late-stage conflict-related publishing. At the outset of a war or conflict, publishers reach into their catalogs and dust off books that have been languishing or awaiting release. This is followed by the snap publication of insta-punditry books—the talking heads who try to force fit events to their pre-existing (shallow) intellectual framework. Then the proper experts enter the fray offering deep, insightful, and considered analysis informed by their years of close study. Finally, after a year or more of conflict, the journalists who have been on-the-ground begin releasing their (unsurprisingly well-written) collected reflections from the field.
Blending his personal experiences on-the-ground with interviews with key foreign leaders all delivered in eyewitness prose, Trofimov delivers what one would expect from such an august reporter. On its own, “Our Enemies Will Vanish” is a relatively straightforward journalistic account of what happened, how it unfolded, and how it was viewed from the bottom up and the top down—the experiences of everyday Ukrainians and those sitting at the top table of high politics.
He recounts the uncertainty of whether the war will happen, receiving a tip and warning from the former president the night before, and the terror of its opening days when most assumed Kyiv would fall in mere days. He breezily covers that first year of war, from the heroism of the defenders of Snake Island to the atrocities of Bucha. It is a useful reminder of how much happened in 2022 and into 2023. He covers the events that will certainly be familiar to readers, but also shows just how close-run the early days were, with the Russians taking and briefly holding Hostomel Airport—had they succeeded, they would have threatened Kyiv and the war would have been markedly different.
The real value of Trofimov’s book is, though, found in its timing and what it reminds readers about the nature of the war against Ukraine. It is easy to forget, after successive years of violence and death in Ukraine, just how abnormal Russia’s war was then and remains now. The return of war to the European continent after decades of peace is, well, disconcerting. Ukraine, for all of its political difficulties and internal struggles, had a substantial Western-oriented population. Its major cities were, as Trofimov writes, modern with hip cafes, art galleries, cocktail bars and the trappings of a London, Paris, or New York. His pre-war visit to Kharkiv is vividly juxtaposed against his arrival a few months later, with the city having been bombarded by Russia, destroying its facades and normalcy alike.
Trofimov’s book arrives at an especially important and difficult time. Questions about the wisdom of providing continued military assistance to Ukraine, particularly from Republicans in the United States, are increasing. “War fatigue” is emerging in some countries, especially as it is unclear how the war will end. After two years of war there remains no theory of victory for Ukraine—everyone agrees that Ukrainian victory is both necessary and will occur, but there is no pathway from here to there.
Simon Shuster takes a narrower lens through which to look at the war against Ukraine, viewing it through its leader, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, from his career as an entertainer (which ironically took off in Russia) to the inside of his Soviet-era bunker, to the battlefields of Ukrainian politics as well as the frontlines of war. “The Showman” received high praise from other respected journalists and reporters ahead of its publication, and it is worth the applause.
Shuster manages to pen an intimate portrait of Ukraine’s president, but steers away from hagiography—something that is not easy to do in the present environment and even less so when one views a deeply popular subject up close. He is certainly aware of Zelenskyy’s image, personality, and effect, yet doesn’t succumb to them. Shuster is critical of the president’s cultivation of the media and propaganda, but clearly recognizes its importance in mobilizing international support for Ukraine. While he does not clearly say it, Ukraine decidedly won the information war in the West in the first two years of the war (in no small part due to Zelenskyy himself). The personalist appeal from Zelenskyy and Ukraine’s narrative is, however, currently eroding in the United States—Kyiv’s critical backer—and it remains to be seen how the story shifts.
Zelenskyy was and in many ways remains the wartime leader that Ukraine needed. His clarity of communication and purpose, willingness to remain behind, and ability to connect with the average Ukrainian helped crystalize Ukrainian identity into its current form. For as much as Putin denied that Ukraine existed as an independent country, there is no denying that his own actions solidified a truly post-Soviet Ukrainian identity. Zelenskyy’s appeal was in no small way helped by Russia’s actions—supporting the underdog against the bully was an easy choice to make. Would he have become the leader he is today without the war or would he have succumbed to the knife-fighting of Ukrainian politics? It is difficult to say.
That public leadership does not necessarily translate into military leadership. Zelenskyy may well have been a driving force behind the wide-front offensive in the autumn and winter of 2023, at least that is the way some are choosing to frame the decision. This approach was opposed by the commander of Ukraine’s armed forces, Valerii Zaluzhny, who favored a much narrower, targeted operation. Zelenskyy’s recent on-again, off-again, on-again dismissal of Zaluzhny was, some suggest, a necessary refresh of leadership, but also quite possibly an attempt to neuter a potential political rival. The knives of Ukrainian politics, sheathed through the opening of the war, are very much coming out now. Whatever political sensibility there was in removing Zaluzhny, the former commander was and remains a popular leader, respected by the West and, for some, a potential rival to the president.
As Shuster writes, the future for Zelenskyy is anything but certain. In the near term, the political machinations continue behind the scenes—pre-war politics is returning with factions emerging and behind-the-scenes briefings taking place. Will he become a modern-day Churchill, falling to politics once the war is over? Will he unmuzzle the media and allow the democratic process to run its course?
The longer the war continues, the more important it is to recall how it began, how it was waged, and what shaped its course and trajectory.
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As the war in Ukraine enters year three, a trio of books takes stock
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Photo by Vony Razom on Unsplash.
March 2, 2024
The longer the war in Ukraine continues, the more important it is to recall how it began, how it was waged, and what shaped its course and trajectory. Three insightful books cover this range, writes Joshua Huminski.
A
fter two years of war, Ukraine remains independent, though with part of its territory under occupation. Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin, is undeterred in his maximalist objectives, shifting the country to an increasingly war economy and war footing. The American Congress bickers over continuing aid and support to Kyiv, while Ukraine’s allies in Europe contemplate the loss of support from Washington and the future threat Moscow poses on the continent.
How the war ends in Ukraine is no less clear than it was in the opening days. It is difficult to recall those close-run days. Analysts expected Russia to run roughshod over Ukraine’s defenders; few expected the brave defense average Ukrainians and their armed forces presented. The leader that President Volodymyr Zelenskyy would become in the crucible or war was unclear. As the war enters its third year it is useful to reflect on those opening days, how the war came about, what happened in that first year, and the importance of Zelenskyy’s leadership in the country’s defense.
In “Putin and the Return of History,” Martin and Daniel Sixsmith explore the intellectual and philosophical background to Russia’s expanded invasion of Ukraine, but also the broader conflict with the United States and Europe. In this rather balanced accounting of events, the authors show how misinterpretations, missteps, and misunderstandings contributed to the present state of affairs. This may seem controversial, but it is important to possess strategic empathy–the understanding, though not acceptance, of an adversary’s perspectives and framework to help make sense of the war and indeed the world.
They sensibly avoid laying all of the blame at the feet of the West. To be sure, Washington had a hand in the deterioration of relations. The West’s irrational exuberance at the end of the Cold War and policies towards post-collapse Russia planted seeds of simmering discontent within Moscow. Washington often forgets about the “shock therapy” economic policies that led to rampant inflation and the emergence of the oligarchic class in Russia—Moscow certainly does not.
These policy failures were not the West’s alone. The Kremlin’s own misunderstanding of the West, selected hearing and interpretation of messages, and policies and actions exacerbated the schism between Moscow and Washington. The planted seed, watered assiduously by Putin, provided a raison d'etre for his personalist autocratic system—curtailing Russian rights at home to defend against an aggressive West, while keeping himself in power and enriching those around him. What the Sixsmiths show is that Putin and his regime have cynically exploited Russian history (a subject masterfully explored by Dr. Jade McGlynn in her book “Memory Makers”), selectively interpreting events, but also that they truly believe they are at war with the West (and that the West is at war with them).
Could things have turned out differently? Could conflict have been avoided or were Russia and the United States and Europe on an inevitable collision course? Counterfactuals are enjoyable to consider, but impossible to prove. What “Putin and the Return of History” shows is that the answer is far more complicated than many pundits would suggest. Perhaps more than anything, then as now, neither Washington nor Moscow understand each other, with both assuming they know more about the other than they in fact do. The delta in communication and understanding between the two was systemic and, quite possibly, would have led to inevitable friction.
Putin’s predatory attitude towards Ukraine and Russia’s historical imperial orientation suggests that war with Ukraine was destined to occur at some point. Kyiv’s growing inclination toward Europe and the West and growing distance from Moscow could not stand, in Putin’s worldview. What precisely informed and drove Putin’s decision to invade in February 2022 may never be clear, but the outcome is nonetheless clear and tragic.
Yarislov Trofimov’s “Our Enemies Will Vanish” explores the consequences of that decision and the first year of Russia’s expanded war. It is, in the main, representative of late-stage conflict-related publishing. At the outset of a war or conflict, publishers reach into their catalogs and dust off books that have been languishing or awaiting release. This is followed by the snap publication of insta-punditry books—the talking heads who try to force fit events to their pre-existing (shallow) intellectual framework. Then the proper experts enter the fray offering deep, insightful, and considered analysis informed by their years of close study. Finally, after a year or more of conflict, the journalists who have been on-the-ground begin releasing their (unsurprisingly well-written) collected reflections from the field.
Blending his personal experiences on-the-ground with interviews with key foreign leaders all delivered in eyewitness prose, Trofimov delivers what one would expect from such an august reporter. On its own, “Our Enemies Will Vanish” is a relatively straightforward journalistic account of what happened, how it unfolded, and how it was viewed from the bottom up and the top down—the experiences of everyday Ukrainians and those sitting at the top table of high politics.
He recounts the uncertainty of whether the war will happen, receiving a tip and warning from the former president the night before, and the terror of its opening days when most assumed Kyiv would fall in mere days. He breezily covers that first year of war, from the heroism of the defenders of Snake Island to the atrocities of Bucha. It is a useful reminder of how much happened in 2022 and into 2023. He covers the events that will certainly be familiar to readers, but also shows just how close-run the early days were, with the Russians taking and briefly holding Hostomel Airport—had they succeeded, they would have threatened Kyiv and the war would have been markedly different.
The real value of Trofimov’s book is, though, found in its timing and what it reminds readers about the nature of the war against Ukraine. It is easy to forget, after successive years of violence and death in Ukraine, just how abnormal Russia’s war was then and remains now. The return of war to the European continent after decades of peace is, well, disconcerting. Ukraine, for all of its political difficulties and internal struggles, had a substantial Western-oriented population. Its major cities were, as Trofimov writes, modern with hip cafes, art galleries, cocktail bars and the trappings of a London, Paris, or New York. His pre-war visit to Kharkiv is vividly juxtaposed against his arrival a few months later, with the city having been bombarded by Russia, destroying its facades and normalcy alike.
Trofimov’s book arrives at an especially important and difficult time. Questions about the wisdom of providing continued military assistance to Ukraine, particularly from Republicans in the United States, are increasing. “War fatigue” is emerging in some countries, especially as it is unclear how the war will end. After two years of war there remains no theory of victory for Ukraine—everyone agrees that Ukrainian victory is both necessary and will occur, but there is no pathway from here to there.
Simon Shuster takes a narrower lens through which to look at the war against Ukraine, viewing it through its leader, President Volodymyr Zelenskyy, from his career as an entertainer (which ironically took off in Russia) to the inside of his Soviet-era bunker, to the battlefields of Ukrainian politics as well as the frontlines of war. “The Showman” received high praise from other respected journalists and reporters ahead of its publication, and it is worth the applause.
Shuster manages to pen an intimate portrait of Ukraine’s president, but steers away from hagiography—something that is not easy to do in the present environment and even less so when one views a deeply popular subject up close. He is certainly aware of Zelenskyy’s image, personality, and effect, yet doesn’t succumb to them. Shuster is critical of the president’s cultivation of the media and propaganda, but clearly recognizes its importance in mobilizing international support for Ukraine. While he does not clearly say it, Ukraine decidedly won the information war in the West in the first two years of the war (in no small part due to Zelenskyy himself). The personalist appeal from Zelenskyy and Ukraine’s narrative is, however, currently eroding in the United States—Kyiv’s critical backer—and it remains to be seen how the story shifts.
Zelenskyy was and in many ways remains the wartime leader that Ukraine needed. His clarity of communication and purpose, willingness to remain behind, and ability to connect with the average Ukrainian helped crystalize Ukrainian identity into its current form. For as much as Putin denied that Ukraine existed as an independent country, there is no denying that his own actions solidified a truly post-Soviet Ukrainian identity. Zelenskyy’s appeal was in no small way helped by Russia’s actions—supporting the underdog against the bully was an easy choice to make. Would he have become the leader he is today without the war or would he have succumbed to the knife-fighting of Ukrainian politics? It is difficult to say.
That public leadership does not necessarily translate into military leadership. Zelenskyy may well have been a driving force behind the wide-front offensive in the autumn and winter of 2023, at least that is the way some are choosing to frame the decision. This approach was opposed by the commander of Ukraine’s armed forces, Valerii Zaluzhny, who favored a much narrower, targeted operation. Zelenskyy’s recent on-again, off-again, on-again dismissal of Zaluzhny was, some suggest, a necessary refresh of leadership, but also quite possibly an attempt to neuter a potential political rival. The knives of Ukrainian politics, sheathed through the opening of the war, are very much coming out now. Whatever political sensibility there was in removing Zaluzhny, the former commander was and remains a popular leader, respected by the West and, for some, a potential rival to the president.
As Shuster writes, the future for Zelenskyy is anything but certain. In the near term, the political machinations continue behind the scenes—pre-war politics is returning with factions emerging and behind-the-scenes briefings taking place. Will he become a modern-day Churchill, falling to politics once the war is over? Will he unmuzzle the media and allow the democratic process to run its course?
The longer the war continues, the more important it is to recall how it began, how it was waged, and what shaped its course and trajectory.
