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The Possible Revival of "Imperial Russia" and What It Means for Asia and Japan

During Russia's turmoil of the 1990s, many in Japan began to look down on the country. But as global oil prices surged in the 2000s and Russia regained strength—culminating in its armed invasion of Ukraine in 2022—an almost excessive fear of Russia returned. Some of this comes, I suspect, from a lingering Japanese inferiority complex toward white Westerners. But Japan must deal with Russia neither with condescension nor with awe. We need to look at Russia's actual substance and capabilities on an even, levelheaded plane.

Understanding Russia as it really is

Let us first examine what Russia really is in the Far East and in Asia. The key point is that Russia is a newcomer to Asia and was never part of the civilizations that shaped the region. Until the Middle Ages, Russia consisted of a collection of city-states. After shaking off Mongol rule, the Grand Duchy of Moscow—later the Russian Empire—pushed across the Ural Mountains and began its own version of a "great age of exploration" in 1574. This was the expedition of the Cossack leader Yermak. He was soon killed east of the Urals, but over the next 300 years Russians slowly advanced across Siberia.

Siberia was home to Turkic, Mongolic, and Persian peoples, whom the Russians subdued through firearms and deception. In 1860, taking advantage of the weakening Qing dynasty, Russia acquired Vladivostok and the surrounding coastal region under the Treaty of Beijing, completing its colonial empire to the Pacific.

Because of this history, Russians still tend to view the eastern part of their country as a backwater. East of the Urals, major cities are clustered along the Trans-Siberian Railway, and many residents dream more of returning to Moscow than of putting down roots locally.

The "Imperial" DNA

(A Shape-Memory Alloy)

Russia has always attached great importance to the sheer size of its territory—perhaps because its wealth has historically depended more on agriculture and natural resources than on industry. At the same time, Russia has not hesitated to cut away territory in moments of crisis. The classic example is the Treaty of Brest-Litovsk of 1918. In order to withdraw from World War I after the 1917 Revolution, Russia ceded to Germany an enormous swath of land in its western regions—roughly one-third of the pre-revolution empire's population and farmland. (The treaty was voided in 1922 when Germany, now defeated, signed the Treaty of Rapallo with Soviet Russia. Even so, the USSR spent roughly the next two decades re-absorbing many of the new independent states that had emerged on this land.)

On the other hand, even when Russia gives up territory or political control, it clings stubbornly to economic interests. After losing the Russo-Japanese War in 1905, Russia ceded to Japan the rights to the South Manchuria Railway. But it kept control of the Chinese Eastern Railway—the branch of the Trans-Siberian that runs from Manchuria to Vladivostok—and insisted on monopolizing with Japan the interests in Manchuria and western Mongolia, shutting out third-country involvement. As a result, Japan and Russia concluded no fewer than four separate agreements between 1907 and 1916, despite having just fought a war against each other.

Even after the 1917 Revolution, when Japan sent troops into Siberia in 1919, the new revolutionary government—the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic—created a buffer state, the Far Eastern Republic, in 1920 with its capital at Blagoveshchensk. After Japanese forces were defeated and withdrew in late 1922, the Soviets dissolved the republic and reincorporated the territory.

(From Wikipedia, the brown color stands for the Far-Eastern Republic)

(The Trauma of the Soviet Collapse)

The collapse of the Soviet Union in December 1991 left a deep trauma among Russians—though younger generations, who never saw the old USSR, know only the country in its current form. Roughly 25% of Soviet territory, which had produced about 40% of the USSR's GDP, broke away and became independent states.

(From Wikipedia. All the numbered areas except "1" are former Soviet republics that became independent.)

Yet this was not the breakup of a nation-state. It was the breakup of an empire—an empire that had been built by conquering many different peoples. In this sense, it was similar to the collapse of the Ottoman Empire and the Austro-Hungarian Empire in the early twentieth century. Japan and Britain also lost their "empires," but most of their citizens do not feel lingering attachment to those former possessions.

Russia is different. A segment of the Russian elite—whose own economy has long been weak and who historically enriched themselves through the exploitation of other peoples and resources—still cannot let go.

Not All Russians Are Conservatives

Russia's elites are diverse. There are intellectuals who inherit the liberal traditions of Western Europe, but they have always been a small minority and have never been able to come together as a real political force.

On the other hand, many within the military and the intelligence services long for a return to Soviet-style authoritarian rule and imperial dominance. (Of course, some are more enlightened or technocratic, or simply avoid taking risks.) But as a group, they wield the power of the state.

Back in the chaotic 1990s, Alexander Bovin—a well-known liberal commentator in Moscow—once said to me: "Young man, even if Russia looks miserable now, it will someday rise again like a snake—not a dragon. Be careful."

In the early 2000s, a scholar in Uzbekistan told me: "The old KGB people are dangerous. They tell us, ‘You can't run a country on your own. Sooner or later, we'll come back.'"

These conservative members of Russia's elite are driven by a mix of nationalist arrogance, selfish material interests, and ignorance of the modern values of freedom and democracy. They do not care about the well-being of other nations—or even of their own people.

Russia's Limitations

(Dependence on Oil)

Russia's power rises and falls with the global price of crude oil. It lacks the kind of economic and social prowess that would allow it to grow beyond that ceiling.

Russia's main exports are crude oil and natural gas, grain, weapons, and nuclear power plants. Oil-related revenues consistently account for more than 30% of federal budget income, so Russia's GDP moves almost in parallel with world oil prices.

(Figure 1: Author's compilation using data from World Economic Indicators. Brent crude)

Figure 1 shows how global oil prices have moved since the late 1970s—and the turning points match, almost perfectly, the ups and downs of Soviet and Russian national power.

After the 1973 oil shock, soaring prices helped create the illusion of strong economic performance in the late Brezhnev years. Then oil prices collapsed; the Soviet Union faced looming budget deficits; and Gorbachev came to power, trying to revive the socialist economy through reforms.

But those reforms ended up destroying the Soviet command system itself. The result was the collapse of the USSR and the rise of a chaotic, bazaar-style economy. Throughout the Gorbachev and Yeltsin years, global oil prices remained depressed. By the mid-1990s, Moscow tried to fake a recovery through huge bond issues, but it all ended in default in August 1998.

Amid economic chaos and the Chechen wars, Putin came to power in 2000—just as global oil prices began to rise. Oil that cost about $18 per barrel in 1999 climbed to $73 by 2007.

In February 2007, at the Munich Security Conference, Putin warned the West against "pressuring Russia's interests." In August 2008, he invaded Georgia to block its path toward NATO membership.

Oil prices kept climbing (peaking in 2012 at $112). In 2014, Putin again used force—this time to seize Crimea and parts of eastern Ukraine, again to halt NATO expansion. And in February 2022, he launched the full-scale war against Ukraine to detach eastern Ukraine by force.

Around 2010, I casually remarked to a Moscow taxi driver, tricking him to reveal what he really thinks. "President Putin is impressive, isn't he. The economy is doing well." He shrugged and replied, "With oil prices this high? Anyone could do it."

(The Public Does Not Believe in "Freedom and Reform")

Why is there a ceiling on Russia's rise? The problem is not only its conservative elites. A deeper reason is that ordinary Russians—except many younger people—resist liberalization and reform. A large share of the population dislikes democracy and the market economy.

I worked in Moscow for several years right after the Soviet collapse. The chaos and humiliation ordinary people suffered from 1992 for about two years were beyond words.

Inflation reached roughly 6,000% in two years (because price controls propped up by subsidies were suddenly removed). Salaries were delayed everywhere. Mafia groups fought gun battles in broad daylight. For nearly two years, the law of the land was guns and money.

Yeltsin's government talked about freedom, democracy, and a market economy, hoping this would attract Western support and investment. But for most Russians, "democracy" brought only chaos, and the "market economy" brought inequality and the rise of oligarchs.

In the West, there is still a comforting assumption that "once the dictatorship is gone, Russia will naturally democratize."

But in reality, Russian society distrusts reform, supports the strong leader Putin, and expects him to redistribute the wealth.

Return of the Soviet-Style, State-Dominated, Military-Heavy Economy

What will Russia's economy look like after the war in Ukraine? The answer will determine Russia's future power.

When the West imposed sanctions after the invasion, many expected Russia's economy to collapse. But so far it hasn't. Massive investment in the defense industry has pushed wages up. Real wages have continued to rise since the start of the war.

People feared that Western sanctions would wipe out consumer goods like cars and home appliances, since Russia depended heavily on Western brands. But Chinese cars have filled the gap, and Western goods continue to reach Russia despite sanctions. As a result, everyday life has not changed dramatically. Putin says "sanctions don't work," and Western media often echo that view.

But sanctions bite hard in areas like commercial aircraft, aircraft parts, industrial machinery, and components.

Russia's version of GPS—GLONASS—is struggling to maintain enough satellites due to shortages of advanced semiconductors.

Russia relies heavily on imported precision ball bearings and special steel, so shortages affect weapons production all the way down to artillery and shells.

Another problem is that global oil prices have recently entered a downward trend. Combined with tougher Western sanctions, this has reduced Russia's oil-related federal revenues and is widening its budget deficit.

More importantly, since the war began, Russia has moved to re-nationalize more companies. The economy is shifting even more toward a state-run, defense-heavy Soviet model. Many foreign firms have withdrawn from direct investment in Russia. All of this darkens the country's long-term outlook.

In early November, Russia unveiled what it called its "first AI-powered robot." On stage, the robot tried to wave to the audience but fell forward under the weight of its own arm—and stopped moving.

While China holds events where swarms of robots dance and jump in sync, Russia produced this small tragedy. The technological gap is obvious.

Russia likes to boast about its advantage in nuclear weapons, and it is true that it has more warheads than the United States. But most of them are past their service life, and modernizing them costs money.

Meanwhile, the United States has launched its "Golden Dome" project to neutralize Russian nuclear missiles—much like the old Strategic Defense Initiative. Moscow's attempt to respond symmetrically to the SDI in the 1980s drained its strength and helped accelerate the Soviet collapse. The parallels are hard to miss.

"After Putin, There Will Still Be a Putin"

When dealing with Russia, the West often falls into the naïve belief that "once the dictator Putin is gone, the Russian people will choose democracy." Yet even in Western countries, democracy is being chipped away by populism. All the more so in Russia: as we have seen, there is little reason to expect that "Russia will democratize after Putin." The Russian public remains skeptical of freedom and democracy, and liberals have never formed a unified political force.

There have always been young Russians who are liberal and reform-minded. But after the collapse of the USSR in 1991, they were swept away by social turmoil and the rise of oligarchic capitalism, and gradually worn down.

I taught at a business school in Moscow in the 2000s, and most students openly said that resisting reality (corruption, bureaucracy, lack of supply chain etc.) was pointless. Those who wanted to work in a forward-looking way left the country.

After the invasion of Ukraine in 2022, many young people opposed the war but kept silent—and within a short time, more than 200,000 fled abroad.

This is the reality. Authoritarian and imperial forces do not function as one coherent body with a single villain at the top whose removal brings freedom. The structure is deeper.

The conservative, imperialist bloc—made up of elements in the military, intelligence services, parts of academia, and parts of the media, all clinging to their own status and privileges—will undoubtedly place one of their own as Putin's successor. Putin himself had served as head of the Federal Security Service (FSB, formerly KGB) before becoming prime minister in August 1999.

And those close to President Yeltsin, whom I personally knew, always acted with the awareness that the old KGB watched their every move.

So after Putin, Russia will still be led by a "Putin-like" figure—shaped by the same old KGB culture: clueless about economics, obsessed with politics and military power, and an obstacle to Russia's modernization.

But the picture above does not mean that Russia must be treated as an enemy at all costs. Russia can be deterred—and like a Titanic that never quite sinks to the bottom, it drifts beneath the surface, rising and falling with oil prices.

Does Russia Have Capacity to Attack NATO After Ukraine?

In the past, the West tended to underestimate post-Soviet Russia, believing that NATO could safely expand into the Baltic states and other former Soviet republics. But when rising oil prices restored Russia's strength—and Moscow pushed back with force in Georgia and Ukraine—an opposite, exaggerated "Russia threat" narrative took hold.

Today, in Europe and America, the idea is widespread: "After Ukraine, Russia will move on to NATO countries."

It is true that Russia has territorial frictions with several NATO members, including Estonia and Norway. Even with non-NATO neighbors like Kazakhstan and Azerbaijan, Moscow has potential conflict zones.

For NATO countries close to Russia, strengthening deterrence is a serious concern. Their anxiety is understandable: after World War I, the Soviet Union set out to reclaim the territories it lost at Brest-Litovsk—many of which had become independent states—and, after years of fighting and bloodshed, succeeded in re-absorbing nearly all of them by the end of World War II.

Still, ideally, NATO should more quietly build up its deterrence to avoid provoking Russia into a costly arms race.

Russia's military power has limits—just as the United States and NATO European countries do.

After the Cold War, both sides drastically downsized their defense industries and now even struggle to recruit soldiers.

In the war in Ukraine, Russia has mobilized poor young men with financial incentives and now struggles to recruit prisoners. Many NATO countries had suspended conscription, and countries like Germany that are considering bringing it back face strong resistance.

Russia has also lost more than 3,000 tanks during the war, and Russian forces in Ukraine sometimes advance using motorcycles and SUVs. The Russian army was unable to fully capture even the small strategic town of Pokrovsk in eastern Ukraine, despite trying for more than four months.

Russia's tank-production capacity is limited. It will take at least a decade to rebuild serious ground forces for a European theater of war.

And in modern warfare, drones have made tanks and armored vehicles increasingly outdated—yet no new method of advancing ground forces has emerged to replace them.

The United States No Longer Puts "Freedom and Democracy" First

When considering Europe after the Ukraine war, we must recognize that Trump's America has little interest in promoting freedom and democracy.

In the past, ambitious actors in countries bordering Russia could raise the banner of "defending freedom and democracy" and reliably receive support from the United States and Western Europe.

For Russia and other authoritarian governments, this looked like a conspiracy for regime change, and sometimes their overreactions led to conflict.

But Trump is a man without strong values, and many major Western European countries also treated Ukraine—whose political culture contains elements quite different from Western Europe—as a buffer state until the moment Russian forces invaded.

Therefore, even if a clash occurs after the Ukraine war between Russia and a NATO country, it is unlikely to escalate the way the current war did. After a ceasefire in Ukraine, the guiding principle should be maintaining the status quo and preventing needless cycles of confrontation between Russia and the West.

In 1975, at the height of the Cold War, the Helsinki Final Act was signed. It affirmed respect for national sovereignty, non-use of force, the inviolability of frontiers, peaceful resolution of disputes, and set out confidence-building measures—leading to agreements such as the MBFR treaty on reducing conventional forces.

The Intolerable Lightness of Russia's Existence in Asia--What does such a Russia mean for Asia—and for Japan?

First, we must recognize Russia's fragility in Asia. Russia's Asian territories are linked to its European core by only a single line—the Trans-Siberian Railway. The northern regions are nearly uninhabited, while the southern border lies close to China; if this area were ever cut off, Russia's east and west would be separated.

Recently, the sea route via the Kamchatka Strait has gained attention, but it cannot be used year-round, and shallow passages and bottlenecks prevent it from becoming a real commercial artery.

Moreover, as noted earlier, Russians living in the Far East often seem uneasy about the legitimacy of their presence there. They know that these lands became Russian only recently—under the 1860 Treaty of Beijing.

The imbalance between China and Russia in the Far East is enormous. The Russian Far East has a population of about 6.5 million; China's northeast has around 130 million.

Even if northeastern China's heavy industry is somewhat stagnant, traveling along the old South Manchuria Railway line, one encounters city after city of five million people—a striking sight.

The Russian Eastern Military District likely has fewer than 100,000 troops today, while China's Shenyang Military Region keeps roughly 400,000 stationed there.

For this reason, whether the Russians love the Chinese or not, Russia's golden rule of diplomacy is: avoid conflict with China at all costs. Dmitri Trenin, a leading Russian foreign-policy scholar, once told me this directly, and others have said the same.

Russia and Japan: Deterrence and Reassurance

For Japan, Russia in the Far East is not a decisive factor. As noted, Japan cannot use Russia as a counterweight to China. Moscow will never accept such a role.

From Russia's perspective, China could threaten the security of the Russian Far East if Russia renegades, while Japan—controlled by the United States and far weaker than before in capital and technology—cannot offer compensation that outweighs that risk.

Economically, Russia's Far East matters to Japan mainly as a source of energy imports. As an export market it is tiny, and port capacity is limited. It is not a major economic factor.

Militarily, Russia could pose some threat by deploying short-range nuclear missiles or cruise missiles on land or at sea. But Moscow is unlikely to use them to threaten Japan.

The Russian military in the Far East is focused on the United States. Unless Japan provokes Russia, Russia will not point its guns at Japan.

The Russian Pacific Fleet has very limited capabilities. Its main mission is likely to protect the strategic nuclear submarines operating in the Sea of Okhotsk. In terms of both surface vessels and submarines, its strength is far below that of the Japan Maritime Self-Defense Force.

In peacetime, Russian ships may coordinate with Chinese vessels to pressure Japan, but in wartime their operations would be constrained because they could not guarantee safe passage through Japan's straits; the Japanese archipelago works as a lid for the Russian navy stationed in Vladivostok.

Therefore, Japan should maintain relations with Russia without provocation (the Northern Territories issue cannot be solved by force), while ensuring that Russia does not cause harm.

After the Ukraine war, Japan should base its Russia policy on three principles: maintain the relationship, cooperate where possible, and never drop the Northern Territories issue.

Now that U.S.–China tensions are easing, this is also a favorable moment to propose an "Asian CSCE"—an Asian version of the 1975 Helsinki framework—based on the principles of status quo, and prohibiting changes of borders by force. It will serve interest of all nations in Asia, including Japan and Russia.

(Akio Kawato , Former DCM, Embassy of Japan in Russia)

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