Russia, America and the Islamic World

RUSSIA, AMERICA AND THE ISLAMIC WORLD

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Russia, America and the Islamic World

MIKE BOWKER University of East Anglia, UK

© Mike Bowker 2007 All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publisher. Mike Bowker has asserted his right under the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act, 1988, to be identified as the author of this work. Published by Ashgate Publishing Limited Gower House Croft Road Aldershot Hampshire GU11 3HR England

Ashgate Publishing Company Suite 420 101 Cherry Street Burlington, VT 05401-4405 USA

Ashgate website: http://www.ashgate.com British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data Bowker, Mike Russia, America and the Islamic world. 1. War on Terrorism, 2001- 2. Russia (Federation) Relations - Islamic countries 3. Islamic countries Relations - Russia (Federation) 4. Russia (Federation) Foreign relations - United States 5. United States Foreign relations - Russia (Federation) 6. United States Foreign relations - 21st century 7. United States Relations - Islamic countries 8. Islamic countries Relations - United States I. Title 327.4'7'01767 Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Bowker, Mike. Russia, America and the Islamic world / by Mike Bowker. p. cm. Includes index. ISBN-13: 978-0-7546-7199-2 1. United States--Foreign relations--Russia (Federation) 2. Russia (Federation) -Foreign relations--United States. 3. United States--Foreign relations--Islamic countries. 4. Islamic countries--Foreign relations--United States. 5. Terrorism-Government policy--United States. 6. War on Terrorism, 2001- 7. Iraq War, 2003I. Title E183.8.R9 B66 2007 327.7302709045--dc22 2007011102 ISBN-13: 978 0 7546 7199 2 Printed and bound in Great Britain by Antony Rowe Ltd, Chippenham, Wiltshire.

Contents List of Tables List of Abbreviations and Acronyms

vii ix

1

Introduction

2

The Post-Cold War World and the Clash of Civilisations

11

3

The Soviet War in Afghanistan

27

4

The Gulf War, 1990–1991

39

5

The Wars in Yugoslavia: Bosnia and Kosovo

49

6

The Conflict in Chechnya

67

7

9/11 and the War on Terrorism

83

8

Gulf War II: Iraq 2003

95

9

Iran and Nuclear Proliferation

109

10

Israel and the Palestinian Question

123

11

The Caucasus, Central Asia and ‘The Coloured Revolutions’

135

12

America and Russia: Democracy Promotion

155

13

Conclusion

167

Bibliography Index

1

171 187

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List of Tables Table 1.1 Table 3.1 Table 5.1 Table 7.1 Table 7.2 Table 8.1 Table 11.1 Table 11.2 Table 11.3

Comparative economic and military data (2006) Ethnic and religious divisions in Afghanistan, 1979 The distribution of ethnic groups in Yugoslavia before the war Afghanistan’s per capita income compared to its neighbours Russian public opinion on the war against terrorism Time-ABC poll in Iraq, October–November 2005 Results of the 17 March 1991 referendum Major regional organisations in the former Soviet Union Soviet successor states: members of the CIS

5 28 51 85 93 103 137 140 142

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List of Abbreviations and Acronyms ABM BBC CACO CFSP CIA CIS CPSU CPRF CSTO EC EU FBI FSB G8 GDP GUAM HT IAEA IFOR IMU IRP ITAR-TASS JNA KFOR KLA NATO NED NGO OPEC OSCE PA PACE PDPA PFP PISG PLC PLO

Anti-Ballistic Missile British Broadcasting Corporation Central Asian Co-operation Organisation Common Foreign and Security Policy Central Intelligence Agency Commonwealth of Independent States Communist Party of the Soviet Union Communist Party of the Russian Federation Collective Security Treaty Organisation European Community European Union Federal Bureau of Investigation Federal Security Bureau [Russia] Group of Eight (richest states) Gross Domestic Product Georgia; Ukraine; Azerbaijan; Moldova group Hizb ut-Tahrir International Atomic Energy Agency Implementation Force (in Bosnia) Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan Islamic Renaissance Party Information Telegraph Agency of Russia – Telegraph Agency of the Soviet Union Yugoslav National Army Kosovo Force Kosovo Liberation Army Northern Atlantic Treaty Organisation National Endowment for Democracy Non-Governmental Organisation Organisation of Petroleum Exporting Countries Organisation of Security and Co-operation in Europe Palestinian Authority Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan Partnership for Peace Provisional Institution of Self-Government [in Kosovo] Palestinian Legislative Council Palestinian Liberation Organisation

x

RFE/RL RIA SAVAK SCO SIPRI SORT START UN UNICEF UNMIK UNMOVIC UNPROFOR UNSCR UNSCOM US USAID USS USSR VCIOM VOPP WMD

Russia, America and the Islamic World

Radio Free Europe/Radio Liberty Russian Information Agency Organisation for Intelligence and National Security [Iran] Shanghai Co-operation Organisation Stockholm International Peace Research Institute Strategic Offensive Reductions Treaty Strategic Arms Reduction Treaty United Nations UN International Children’s Emergency Fund UN Mission in Kosovo UN Monitoring, Verification and Inspection Commission UN Protection Force UN Security Council Resolution UN Special Commission United States of America US Agency for International Development United States’ Ship Union of Soviet Socialist Republics All-Russian Centre for the Study of Public Opinion Vance-Owen Peace Plan Weapons of Mass Destruction

Chapter 1

Introduction When Boris Yeltsin first offered the Russian presidency to Vladimir Putin at the end of 1999, it looked very much like a poisoned chalice. Yeltsin had finally seen off communism in Russia, but the country remained in crisis. The state was virtually bankrupt and the Yeltsin administration was widely perceived as corrupt and incompetent. Society was crime-ridden and riven by inequalities. A handful of oligarchs had manipulated the privatisation process to become fabulously wealthy, whilst the majority remained mired in poverty. Meanwhile, some of the regions of Russia were in revolt against the centre and Moscow had just embarked on a second bloody war to prevent Chechnya from seceding from the Russian Federation. Nevertheless, the timing of Putin’s takeover in 2000 was not entirely unpropitious. After more than a decade of decline, the economy was beginning to show signs of recovery. Russia first began to experience positive economic growth from 1999. Although this was not unconnected to rising energy prices and the enforced devaluation of the ruble a year earlier, it was also important to note that the basic structures of a market system were largely in place by this time. A growing proportion of industry was in private hands and the economy was operating increasingly according to market principles. In politics too, the situation looked better from Putin’s perspective. In December 1999, for the first time, a pro-presidential majority, based around Putin’s newly-formed Edinstvo [Unity] party, was elected to the State Duma. Four years later, the successor pro-Putin party, Edinaya Rossiya [United Russia], performed even more strongly allowing Putin to dominate parliament in a manner that had always eluded his predecessor. Putin’s portrayal of himself as a strong and decisive leader appealed to the Russian public after years of political drift. His approval ratings have never fallen below 65 per cent since coming into office and they reached the dizzy heights of 78 per cent by the end of 2006 (Levada Center 2006). Many voters even wanted Putin to remain as President after 2008 and the two terms permitted in the 1993 constitution. Putin’s stewardship of the economy was a major reason for his continuing popularity. According to World Bank figures, Russia’s GDP has more than doubled in size since Putin came into office and Russia can now claim to be amongst the ten biggest economies in the world (World Bank 2006b: 1). Although there remain areas of poverty, a growing proportion of the population is beginning to feel the benefits of Russia’s much improved economic performance. Wages and pensions are now received in full and on time, unemployment has fallen to 8 per cent and inflation is below double figures for the first time in over a decade. Poverty was cut in half and real incomes rose by 46 per cent between 1998 and 2005 (World Bank 2006a: 1). 20 per cent of the population are now defined as middle class – people who might see it as being in their interest to defend the market system and democracy. As mentioned

2

Russia, America and the Islamic World

earlier, it is clear that much of this new wealth is a result of a rise in commodity prices, especially in oil and gas. For the country is particularly well endowed with natural resources. Russia has 45 per cent of the world’s natural gas, 23 per cent of its coal, and 17 per cent of its oil. It also has a quarter of the world’s diamonds, a third of its nickel, 40 per cent of its plutonium and significant deposits of gold and aluminium (Foreign Affairs Committee 1999–2000: xi). Yet Putin also deserves some credit for promoting the market conditions which have allowed Russia to take full advantage of Russia’s natural assets. Reform in a number of areas, including land ownership, welfare, deregulation and taxation have had the effect of further extending market disciplines throughout the Russian economy. Putin’s first priority as President was to raise living standards across the country, but he believed this would only be possible if he could restore the power and authority of the Russian state (Putin 2000: 215–216). After years of political turmoil under Yeltsin, there was considerable support for Putin’s pre-election promise of the ‘dictatorship of the law’ (Izvestiya, 25 February 2000: 4; Levada Center 2003). Yet, this area of policy has caused disquiet in certain quarters both at home and abroad. Indeed, some of his fiercest critics have argued that Putin has dragged Russia back towards Soviet-style dictatorship (see Waller 2005: 84; Politkovskaya 2004: 284–285). Although such accusations remain premature, the charge sheet against Putin is long and growing. First, in the economic sphere, some of the privatisation of the 1990s has been reversed. In August 2004, Putin declared there were 1,000 companies which were simply too important to be left in private hands (Waller 2005: 209). Although there is no attempt to restore Soviet-style central planning, the state has taken a controlling stake in an increasing number of businesses, especially in the energy and logistics sectors. Putin also appears to be restricting external investment in certain strategic industries. Putin refuses to ratify the 1991 Energy Charter because he has doubts allowing third party access to Russia’s pipelines (Putin 2007: 13). Furthermore, the state-controlled energy giant Gazprom used its political connections in December 2006 to force the multinational company, Shell, to give up its controlling stake in the Sakhalin-2 oil and gas project in the Russian far east. Second, in the political sphere, Putin has concentrated more power at the centre in Moscow at the expense of local democracy. After 2004, local leaders were no longer directly elected, but were chosen by the President subject to ratification by the regional parliaments. The executive has also further increased its already considerable powers at the expense of the legislature and judiciary. The electoral system to the State Duma was changed in the aftermath of the Beslan School tragedy in September 2004. For the forthcoming parliamentary election in 2007, there would be no single member constituencies; henceforward, all deputies would be elected only according to the party list system. This will have the effect of increasing the power of the big party bureaucracies which will have the decisive say over a candidate’s chances of election by determining his or her position on the party list. There is also no place in such a system for the large number of independent deputies currently sitting in the State Duma. It seems too that Putin has used his powers of appointment to pack the government and presidential administration, with supporters from the military and security services particularly prominent (Waller 2005: 85–87). Third, critics have also expressed concern over the judiciary’s continued lack of independence. One

Introduction

3

example of this was the case of the oil tycoon and politically ambitious Mikhail Khodorkovsky who was imprisoned for tax fraud in 2005. Whether guilty or not, it was widely believed in Russia that his arrest owed more to political pressure than any possible financial impropriety on Khodorkovsky’s part (see Moscow News, 13–19 April 2005: 4). Khodorkovsky’s fall had the dual advantage from Putin’s perspective that it both removed a political opponent whilst also providing an opportunity for the state take-over of his vast Yukos oil empire. Finally, Putin has been accused of strengthening the power of the state at the expense of personal liberty and freedom of speech. Putin appears particularly intolerant of any form of public criticism. Independent television was soon taken over by the state and although the print media remain largely in private hands, the majority has succumbed to heavy self-censorship. Investigative reporting, which was such a feature of the first war in Chechnya (1994–1996) has largely disappeared today. This is unsurprising when there appear to be such risks in speaking out. Some critics of the regime, like Khodorkovsky, are imprisoned; others, like the media tycoon Boris Berezovsky, have fled the country. Anna Politkovskaya, the antiKremlin journalist who reported extensively on the war in Chechnya, met an even worse fate when she was gunned down in Moscow on 7 October 2006 – Putin’s birthday. The following month, the ex-KGB spy, Alexander Litvinenko, who had written a book about secret service activities in Russia, died in London as a result of radiation poisoning. Although the Kremlin has denied any involvement in either killing, such scandals reflect badly on Putin’s Russia. Widely perceived in the West as a gangster state, Russian journalists accept that Russia’s image abroad is probably as bad as it has been since the dark days of the pre-perestroika Soviet period (see Demchenko 2006). In the area of foreign policy, Putin faced equally difficult problems on coming to power in 2000. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia had ceased to be a superpower. It retained its nuclear capability, took over the Soviet Union’s seat as a permanent member of the UN Security Council and later became a member of the G8. Nevertheless, the economic collapse of the 1990s had a major impact on every aspect of foreign policy. Most notably, Russia lost much of its independence as it became heavily indebted to the West. Its military power was also greatly reduced as a result of unavoidable cuts in the defence budget. According to official Russian figures (which underestimate actual defence expenditure), Moscow in 2006 spent only half that of Britain on defence and 25 times less than the US (Putin 2006: 8). In his annual address to the Federal Assembly on 10 May 2006, Putin acknowledged the extent to which the military had been run down in the post-Soviet period. ‘Not a single new ship was built between 1996 and 2000 and only 40 new items of military equipment were commissioned by the armed forces,’ he said. ‘The troops carried out military exercises on maps, only on maps, the navy never left the docks and the air force never got to fly’ (2006: 8). Out of a total force of 1.4 million in 1999, Putin reported that barely 55,000 were combat-ready (2006: 8). The Russian President lamented his country’s precipitate decline in international status. Putin famously declared in 2005 that the collapse of USSR was ‘the greatest geopolitical catastrophe’ of the twentieth century (Putin 2005: 1). This was not, however, the general attitude in Washington. There were concerns in the White House over some of the possible consequences of

4

Russia, America and the Islamic World

the Soviet collapse, including issues such as WMD proliferation, the smuggling of fissile material and the sale of nuclear expertise to other states, but Washington had achieved its long-term cold war aim of defeating the USSR and neutralising Moscow as a credible military threat to the United States (see Trofimenko 1999: 271). Putin proved to be more active in foreign policy than Yeltsin. A number of key official documents were issued shortly after Putin became President, including the National Security Concept (2000), the Military Doctrine (2000) and the Foreign Policy Concept (2000). Although they had their different perspectives, they all reiterated the need for a more pragmatic foreign policy based on the pursuit of Russian national interests. In general terms, national interests were defined as secure borders, peace and stability at home and rising economic prosperity in the country as a whole. Since then, Putin has picked out international terrorism and WMD proliferation as particular problems which would require international co-operation to resolve (Putin 2006: 7). Putin’s foreign policy did not represent a major shift from the past, but it proved easier to pursue national interests as the economy revived. In early 2007, Putin announced that Russia’s external debt of $165 billion had been paid off and that Moscow had built up hard currency reserves worth $303 billion as well as an impressive $185 billion stabilisation fund (Frolov 2007a). As a result, Russia was no longer dependent on Western aid. On the contrary, Europe was now heavily reliant on Russian energy supplies with an estimated 25 per cent of all the continent’s natural gas coming from Russia (The Times, 27 December 2006: 45). When Putin on three separate occasions turned off, or threatened to turn off, the oil and gas to neighbouring states, Georgia, Ukraine and Belarus during a dispute over prices, it forced the rest of Europe to reconsider its dependence on Russian energy. Putin defended his actions by arguing there was a need to end energy subsidies to Soviet successor states (Frolov 2007a). Critics, however, tended to view these strong-arm tactics as an unsubtle attempt by Moscow to reassert itself in its own backyard whilst also reinforcing Russia’s re-emergence as a great power (see Cheney 2006). Russia’s economic revival played a key role in increasing Moscow’s influence in the world, but Putin was equally determined to rebuild the military after years of decline. Defence spending has risen rapidly since 2000, but still remains at the relatively low level of about 2.7 per cent of GDP. This may well rise after Sergei Ivanov announced in 2007, as one of his last acts as Defence Minister, a large increase in military spending over the next four years with major new investment in nuclear missiles (The Guardian, 9 February 2007: 20). Nevertheless, even now, both the intent and the funding is lacking for Moscow to try to resuscitate the old Soviet military behemoth. Instead, Putin wants to create a smaller professional military, which would be more flexible, more mobile and better suited to contemporary security challenges, which would include fighting the war on terrorism and managing trouble spots around Russia’s long and vulnerable borders (Putin 2006: 8). Putin continues to see a role for nuclear deterrence but with a much reduced arsenal (Putin 2006: 8). Thus, shortly after coming to power in 2000, he persuaded the State Duma to ratify both the START II and the Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty and pushed through the Strategic Offensive Reduction Treaty (SORT) in 2002 which committed Russia to halve its long-range nuclear missiles to between 2,200 and 1,700 by the year 2012.

5

Introduction

The United States emerged from the cold war as the sole superpower in the world. Washington’s domination of the international system brought forth comparisons with the 1950s which George W. Bush certainly seemed to believe. For after a brief flirtation with isolationism, President Bush adopted a unilateralist, highly interventionist foreign policy strategy based on the assumption of America’s continuing and overwhelming power. The notion of the United States as a hyperpower might always have been exaggerated, but Washington certainly seemed to bestride the post-cold war world (see Table 1.1). The United States appeared equally blessed with hard and soft power. In 2005, the US was estimated to generate almost a third of the world’s total GDP and to spend roughly half the world’s total defence budget (Nordhaus 2005: 1). As a result, Washington enjoyed a decisive advantage over all its competitors in every field of military endeavour, but most especially in logistics, intelligence and high-technology weaponry. The US remained the only country in the world with an effective global reach and a military capability to fight major wars unilaterally. Table 1.1

Country

Comparative economic and military data (2006)

Population

GDP (trillion)

Per capita income

Military % of GDP spending on defence total (billion)

Russia

142.8m

$1.7

$12,100

$24.9

2.7

USA

298.4m

$12.9

$43,500

$453.3

4.0

Great Britain

60.0m

$1.9

$31,400

$61.4

3.0

Japan

127.4m

$4.2

$33,100

$40.0

1.0

China

1.3bn

$10.0

$7,600

$35.0

1.4

India

1.0bn

$4.0

$3,700

$19.4

3.0

Notes: GDP and per capita calculations based on purchasing power parity. Russian military expenditure is probably under-estimated due to a lack of transparency in official figures and the fact that military expenditure continues to be allocated to ministries other than the Ministry of Defence. Source: Economic data from The CIA Factbook <www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook>; The World Bank . Military data from: Reuters, 26 May 2006 (accessed 11 February 2007).

The American dominance of the international capitalist system has come under greater challenge in recent years. The 25 countries of the EU combined produce roughly the same total GDP as the US, whilst the economies of Russia, India and China are booming. Indeed, it has been estimated that if the current economic growth rates continue, China’s total GDP could overtake America’s by 2020 (Jacques 2005: 31). Putin has no desire to distance Moscow from Washington, but he has sought improved relations with all of America’s leading economic competitors. The EU remains Russia’s biggest trading partner and its biggest source of internal investment

6

Russia, America and the Islamic World

(see Gower 2004: 238), whilst Putin has also made a great point of upgrading relations with India. On a visit to India in January 2007, Putin stated that his aim was to raise bilateral trade between the two countries to $10 billion by the year 2010. Defence Minister, Sergei Ivanov, was in the country the same month and signed an agreement to collaborate over the construction of a new fighter jet. Russia was also building two nuclear reactors in India, it was contracted to build two more and Ivanov indicated they were prepared to build up to ten in all (Walker 2007). Relations have improved most markedly, however, with China. The two countries have resolved the long-standing border dispute and forged the Shanghai Co-operation Organisation in 2001 as a counter-balance to American power. Beijing supports Moscow’s call for a multipolar international system (see Foreign Policy Concept 2000: 2) and the two countries have regularly found themselves on the same side in opposition to Washington on major disputes since 9/11. America’s military power proved decisive in bringing an end to war in the former Yugoslavia. It also brought a swift conclusion to the combat phase of the wars in both Afghanistan and Iraq. However, the military has proved less consistently successful in dealing with the more complex task of state-building. The military has played an important role in bringing peace to the former Yugoslavia, but it has proved to be far more difficult elsewhere. Recent history has shown that overwhelming military force may, on occasion, prove counter-productive since it can so easily alienate the indigenous population. As Washington discovers the limitations of the military in Iraq, it finds its options elsewhere in the world have become more constrained. Since February 2006, the Pentagon formally referred to the war on terrorism as ‘the long war’ (US Department of Defense 2006: 1). As the name suggests, the current struggle could last a generation and, unlike the cold war, it may have no clear or definite conclusion. As the American people begin to turn against their President, Washington seems less able to deal with important issues, such as WMD proliferation in Korea and Iran. It frequently finds itself in a minority on major disputes and increasingly frustrated by Russian and Chinese unwillingness to toe the line. As the limits of hard power become more apparent, America’s traditional advantage in soft power also seems to be eroding. An ever diminishing number of people views America as a model society – ‘a shining city atop a hill’ (Guardian/ ICM poll 2004). Anti-Americanism is nothing new, but it seems more widespread than ever (Sardar and Wyn Davies 2003). The nature of this anti-Americanism can vary. Sometimes its focus is George W. Bush, sometimes its US foreign policy, but sometimes (especially amongst the Islamist militants) it is a more general distaste for the American way of life. This latter form of anti-Americanism is the most difficult to deal with. For it extends far beyond issues which can cause a certain unease for Americans themselves – especially the more conservative and religious – such as the prevalence in society of drug taking, drunkenness, pornography and homosexuality. The militant Islamists, on the other hand, also attack what modern Americans perceive as central to their beliefs and identity – liberty, democracy, secularism, an independent legal system and the essential equality of the sexes. Whilst it may be possible to build pro-Western societies in the former Yugoslavia, it is always going to be more difficult in countries like Iraq and Afghanistan, where significant minorities reject Western culture in its entirety (Pew Global Attitudes Project 2006: 1–6). The

Introduction

7

battle for hearts and minds was won in Europe during the course of the cold war, but this was partly because those living the other side of the iron curtain had always seen themselves as European and part of Western culture. Karl Marx and Adam Smith were both working within the Western tradition. It is far from clear, however, that Western culture will prove decisive in winning America’s ‘long war’. There may not be a clash of civilisations, but the different cultures may make it harder for Western values to be accepted. Recent memories of Western imperialism also make current US foreign policy in the region more difficult for many Muslims to accept. The Aims of the Book This book is meant as a follow-up to my earlier monograph of 1997. That book considered US-Soviet relations in the context of the end of the cold war. This book is concerned with the same relationship, but the threat to the West is no longer MarxismLeninism and the Soviet Union. Instead, the two former enemies joined forces after 11 September 2001, identifying Islamist terrorism as the major security threat in the post-cold war world. The book utilises Samuel Huntington’s ideas on the ‘clash of civilisations’ as a framework of analysis. Huntington was right to identify culture as an important element of international relations, but this does not mean accepting his overall thesis. Nor should it preclude the consideration of other factors, including realist notions of national interest and liberal ideas on democracy and international law (see chapter 2). This book does not deal with every aspect of the US-Russian relationship, but concentrates on the major conflicts, crises and disputes which have involved the Islamic world in some form or other. The first half of the book considers the conflicts in Afghanistan, the Gulf, Yugoslavia and Chechnya which Huntington himself chose as examples of the clash of civilisations. It then moves on to more recent crises, including 9/11, the war in Iraq, the stand-off with Iran and the IsraelPalestine dispute. It concludes by considering the struggle for influence between Moscow and Washington and the reasons for the current deterioration in relations between the two countries. In the case of the first war in Afghanistan (1979–1989), Moscow and Washington were supporting different sides, but they both viewed the conflict within the cold war paradigm. Although the two superpowers tended to justify their role in the war in ideological terms – they were either defending freedom or the gains of Marxist revolution – in practice, they perceived it as part of a great power struggle for global dominance. To this end, they supported their respective proxy forces. Neither superpower fully realised at the time, however, that Muslims around the world saw the war in quite different terms. Increasingly, they viewed Afghan resistance to the Soviet occupation as a holy war (jihad) and the rebels as holy warriors (mujahideen). Both superpowers, in their very different ways, were unknowingly helping to construct a new form of militant Islamism – the Soviets through their occupation of Afghanistan and the Americans through their financial and military support of the mujahideen (see chapter 3). The Gulf War occurred after the fall of the Berlin Wall, but before the final demise of the Soviet Union. It was, however, frequently viewed as the first post-cold

8

Russia, America and the Islamic World

war conflict because the two former cold war enemies formed an alliance to compel Saddam Hussein to withdraw from Kuwait. President Gorbachev faced some domestic pressure during the crisis to break with the US on Iraq, but this was because of a possible loss of status or contracts rather than any particular concern over Moscow supporting the use of force against a Muslim nation-state. Nevertheless, Moscow’s somewhat ambiguous position on the Gulf War found parallels in the Islamic world. There was minimal support for Saddam’s invasion and annexation of Kuwait, but widespread disquiet over the ramifications of a US-led military victory over an Arab state in a region of such global economic and strategic importance (see chapter 4). The break-up of Yugoslavia was particularly difficult for Moscow. There was clearly a cultural affinity felt by many Russians for their Orthodox brethren in Serbia and it was deeply discomforting for them to see their old cold war enemy, NATO, bombing the Serbs in defence of the Muslim population in Bosnia and Kosovo. The Yeltsin administration suggested that Russia’s concerns were consistently ignored by the West, but Moscow remained active diplomatically in both cases in trying to secure a peace settlement which would avoid, or at least limit the effects of, defeat for the Serbs. It was an uneasy position for Moscow. Western action, especially in the case of Kosovo, was generally perceived to be a rare case of humanitarian intervention. It was also used as evidence to counter the claim of militant Islamists that the West was at war with the Islamic world. There was no clash of civilisations, it was argued, for NATO had intervened against Orthodox Christians to defend the Muslim population and save it from possible genocide. Moscow, on the other hand, found itself supporting the Serbs and Slobodan Milosevic, a brutal dictator, whom history has branded the main instigator of the violence in the former Yugoslavia (see chapter 5). The conflict in Chechnya started as a genuine national liberation struggle and Islam was relevant only insofar as it contributed to the collective identity of ethnic Chechens. Over time, however, this changed, even if militant Islamism gained only minority support in the Caucasus region. For Moscow, the conflict in Chechnya became the central focus of its war on terrorism. Despite concerns over proportionality and human rights violations in the republic, the West supported Moscow in its struggle with the Chechen rebels. In the first war, the West defended Moscow’s right to defend its territorial integrity against separatists and after 9/11 it was more prepared to acknowledge Chechnya as part of the war against international terrorism (see chapter 6). Al-Qaeda’s strike on the US territory on 11 September 2001 had a major impact on international relations. For it appeared to represent a serious challenge to the existing international status quo. Al-Qaeda was calling for a revolutionary shift in power towards the Muslim world and was prepared to use violence to achieve it. Al-Qaeda was difficult to deal with because it was not a state, it had no legal representatives who could discuss issues and do deals on its behalf. In any case, the militants showed no interest in negotiation or compromise, but simply issued demands which were both absolutist and vague. The initial response to 9/11 was for the world to unite against the militant Islamists. Russia and America, for the first time, formed a genuine partnership to overthrow the Taliban and destroy al-Qaeda bases in Afghanistan. Washington, on the one hand, acted both to exact punishment against the architects of the original

Introduction

9

crime and to reduce the risk of any similar terrorist outrage on the American mainland in the future. Moscow, on the other, had been discussing with its allies in Central Asia whether to intervene in Afghanistan long before the terrorist strike on the US. In fact, there had been growing fears of military incursions from Afghanistan into Central Asia ever since the Taliban took power in Kabul in 1996. Afghanistan had become a safe haven for militant groups from Central Asia, whilst al-Qaeda gave support to Islamist groups in the former Soviet Union. Therefore, when the US proved willing to remove the Taliban regime by force, it was a rare occasion when the interests of Moscow and Washington truly coincided. The US led the combat mission in Afghanistan, but the support of Russia, other Soviet successor states, and Moscow’s ally in Afghanistan, the Northern Alliance, played a not insignificant role in the swift defeat of the Taliban (see chapter 7). Yet, the partnership did not last. After Afghanistan, Washington identified Iran and Iraq as the principal threats to global stability. Moscow rejected the American analysis and condemned President Bush’s 2002 ‘axis of evil’ speech. Cynics blamed Moscow’s tendency towards obstructionism and its extensive economic interests in both countries. No doubt there was an element of truth in both accusations. Nevertheless, it is also clear that Moscow believed that Washington was exaggerating the threat emanating from Iraq and Iran. Whilst the US tended to view the terrorist threat in global, some would say monolithic terms, Moscow was more focused on the Caucasus and Central Asia. Of course, Putin argued strongly in favour of the thesis that the terrorist threat was globally inter-connected and also frequently expressed his country’s opposition to WMD proliferation, but he never saw Iran or Iraq as a threat to security in the former Soviet Union. Therefore, Moscow opposed the war against Saddam in 2003 and remained sceptical of the benefits of sanctions or military strikes against Iran (see chapters 8 and 9). The Palestinian issue is generally perceived to be a central reason for the rise in Islamic disaffection and militancy in recent times. Any end to Islamist terrorism, it is argued, would require a settlement to the Israel-Palestine dispute. Peace in the Middle East looks a distant prospect, but critics argue that George W. Bush should have spent more time seeking some kind of settlement rather than pursuing, what often appeared to be, a personal vendetta against Saddam Hussein. In fact, neither the US nor Russia viewed the Palestinian problem as critical to their own security. Both countries were signatories to the Road Map in 2003, but neither side invested much political capital in its implementation. The US allowed Israel to abandon dialogue with the Palestinians, despite this being central to the whole concept of the Road Map, and supported the imposition of a unilateral solution on Gaza and the West Bank. Moscow, for its part, was opposed to Israeli unilateralism and called for a return to negotiations and the Road Map, but continued to give support to rejectionist groups, like Hamas, and rejectionist states, like Iran and Syria (see chapter 10). Moscow has continued to view the territory of the former Soviet Union as its own backyard. It has largely accepted the loss of the Baltic States to the West, but has acted vigorously to maintain its influence elsewhere. Central Asia and the Caucasus are particularly important to Russia economically because of their natural resources, and the trade routes and gas and oil pipelines which cross the region. As a result of 9/11, Putin allowed a US military presence in Central Asia, but he

10

Russia, America and the Islamic World

has sought to minimise American influence in the region since the defeat of the Taliban. Washington’s policy of promoting democracy across the former Soviet Union has consolidated the US position in Georgia and Ukraine, but it has provided an opportunity for Moscow to reassert its presence elsewhere as local leaders fear the destabilising consequences of American policy. Democracy promotion has also contributed to the down-turn in relations between Russia and the US (see chapters 11 and 12). To conclude, much changed after 9/11, but the British academics, Caroline Kennedy-Pipe and Nicholas Rengger (2006), were right to remind us of certain continuities. Culture and religion are more important than before and Islamist terrorism poses a new kind of threat in the post-cold war period. Terrorism, and most particularly suicide bombings, are difficult to prevent and can cause intolerable loss of life. Yet it remains unclear that al-Qaeda has the power or support to pose a realistic threat to the international system itself. As a result, the fundamental problems facing the world remain remarkably familiar to students of international relations – the utility of military force, the balance to be struck between liberty and order, the relevance of international law, and the consequences of the inequitable distribution of wealth and power. The problems may be familiar but, as this book will show, this makes them no easier to resolve than in the past.

Chapter 2

The Post-Cold War World and the Clash of Civilisations The Cold War System World War II brought an end to the old multi-polar world which had been dominated by the European powers. After a period of uncertainty, a new international system was established on the rubble of war with America emerging as the dominant economic and military power. The US enjoyed a nuclear monopoly for four years after the end of the war and the size of its economy had more than doubled between 1939 and 1945 to a point where the US economy generated 50 per cent of the total world’s output in 1945 (Paterson 1979: 15). In contrast, the Soviet Union had been devastated by war – 27 million Soviet people had lost their lives and much of the economy and infrastructure west of the Urals had been destroyed. Yet over time, the Soviet Union rebuilt its economy and invested in its military and slowly emerged as the state best placed to challenge America’s pre-eminence. This political rivalry between America and the USSR led to the cold war. Its particular intensity was due to the ensuing ideological struggle and the nuclear arms race. Both the US and the Soviet Union believed their ideologies – liberal capitalism and Marxism-Leninism respectively – had universal relevance and both sought to promote them around the world. Since no compromise or accommodation appeared possible between state socialism and liberal capitalism, conflict of one kind or another seemed inevitable (see Halliday 1993: 21–34). At the same time, the development of nuclear weapons made the cold war uniquely dangerous. By the late 1960s, it was accepted that the two superpowers had the capability to destroy, not only each other, but all of human civilisation. Still the nuclear arms race continued through the 1970s and the early 1980s at even higher levels of intensity. However, as time went on, people got used to the cold war. There were still inherent dangers within the bipolar system, but the cold war was increasingly perceived to have assumed stabilising features (see Crockatt 1993: 59–81). Most notably, the destructive nature of nuclear weapons meant that military strategy had to change. No longer did it make sense for military strategists in the two superpower capitals to plan to fight and win a war. In a nuclear war, there could be no winners. Therefore, it became incumbent on leaders to reduce the risk of direct superpower conflict and the possibility of nuclear war. This meant the leaders of the two superpowers acting less provocatively towards each other and respecting the vital interests of the other side. Insofar as the world avoided direct superpower conflict, nuclear deterrence could be said to have worked. Of course, there were wars on the periphery of the system which were very bloody – for example in Vietnam and Afghanistan – and no one could ever

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discount the possibility of nuclear war by misadventure or miscalculation, but as the cold war system matured after the Cuban Missile Crisis in October 1962, the American academic, John Lewis Gaddis, was able to argue that the post-war period should be viewed, not as the cold war, but as ‘the long peace’ (1986: 99–142). Gaddis was right to point out the stabilising features of the cold war, but the implication that the international system would persist for the longer term proved mistaken. Nevertheless, Gaddis was far from alone in this assumption. Virtually everyone was taken by surprise when the cold war ended so suddenly in 1989 and without a major conflict. Most commentators had believed that the leaders in the Soviet bloc had both the repressive means and political will to maintain the Marxist-Leninist system, but this proved wrong on both counts. In fact, Gorbachev and some other Eastern Europe leaders had become deeply disillusioned with the poor performance of the system by the mid-1980s and were eager for reform. Gorbachev summed up his view in 1984 when he said to his wife Raisa, ‘we can’t go on living like this’ (1997: 212). The state-controlled economy was being out-performed by the West, whilst the one-party system was dictatorial and too rigid to respond to changing conditions at home and abroad. De Tocqueville famously declared that the most dangerous time for any dictatorship is when it tries to reform, and so it proved in the Soviet bloc countries. Reformist leaders in the Soviet Union, Poland and East Germany discovered they could not control the process of change in their countries as reform turned to revolution from below. The communist leaders generally accepted the need for change and peace was largely retained as a result. Others, most notably Nicolae Ceausescu in Romania, tried to resist the tide of change through further repression but they were no more successful in defending the system, whilst the attempt led to bloodshed and tragedy. Marxism-Leninism died as a governing ideology in Europe when the Berlin Wall came down on the night of 8–9 November 1989 and this was finally confirmed when the Soviet Union, the birthplace of Marxism-Leninism, collapsed as a state two years later. A few months after the demise of the USSR, the Russian President, Boris Yeltsin, went to Washington and declared to both Houses of Congress that Marxism-Leninism in Russia was dead and it would never rise again in his country (International Herald Tribune, 18 June 1992: 1). The end of the cold war appeared to represent a clear-cut victory for the West. Yet, it was not a traditional military victory. The USSR had lost no major war during the cold war and post-Soviet Russia retained a formidable conventional military capability and a nuclear arsenal which could still threaten the world. Instead, the West’s triumph was one based on ideas. Simply put, liberty, democracy, the market and free trade had proved more successful than the Marxist-Leninist alternatives. The West had been able to provide guns and butter, as it was often said, but equally importantly, it was also able to offer a level of freedom that the people of the Soviet bloc could only dream about. The Main Post-Cold War Theories When the Berlin Wall came down, there was something approaching euphoria in the West. The cold war is over, it was said, and the West has won. This triumphalist

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attitude was taken up by Francis Fukuyama, who argued with reference to Hegelian philosophy that the collapse of Marxism-Leninism represented ‘the end of history’ (1989: 3–18). Liberal democracy had defeated the major contending ideologies of the twentieth century – fascism in World War II and communism in the cold war – and the history of ideological competition was finally over. The core demand within a liberal democratic system was that legitimacy to govern should be based on the free will of the people. Fukuyama argued that such legitimacy was clearly superior to that based on the will of God or any ideological or biblical texts. Indeed, the popular will was the only conceivable legitimate authority in the modern world and, in that sense, liberal democracy represented the final stage of political development. The ‘end of history’ thesis was controversial, but it contained many ideas shared by liberals and liberal internationalists. For they believed the end of the cold war had opened up a great opportunity for the world to unite around shared liberal values and principles – both political and economic. Liberal internationalists welcomed the advance of market economics, including privatisation and free trade which, they argued, would improve international growth rates and reduce worldwide poverty. Many also argued that the extension of the global market would also encourage the extension of liberty and democracy to former Marxist-Leninist dictatorships. Liberal internationalists argued that liberty and democracy were of value in themselves, but suggested that they would also lead to good governance and a reduction in conflict domestically and around the world (see Doyle 1983; and Halperin 2005). This issue will be taken up further elsewhere in this book, but most particularly in chapters 11 and 12. Another important part of the liberal internationalist agenda is its emphasis on international law and international organisations. The behaviour of states would no longer be based solely on power, but would be governed by international law. Regional and international organisations would monitor international law, promote understanding between states and encourage the peaceful settlement of disputes (Deutsch 1955). The system would not dispense with violence altogether. There would still be cases when the will of the international community would have to be forcibly implemented in cases of blatant violations of international law, as occurred in 1991 after Iraq under Saddam Hussein invaded and annexed its neighbour, Kuwait. However, liberal internationalists expected violence to be greatly reduced over time as states came to recognise the benefits of such a system (see Sanders 1985). Both George H. W. Bush and Mikhail S. Gorbachev spoke of building a New World Order based on these liberal precepts. Such terminology faded from popular discourse, however, after the Gulf War of 1991, but elements of this liberal internationalism remained. President George W. Bush, for example, has stressed the importance of freedom and democracy in confronting international terrorism and extremism in the Middle East. On the other hand, he has been comparatively dismissive of international law and international organisations (see, for example, Perle 2003; Fukuyama 2006: 4). In contrast, these are the particular aspects of the liberal agenda that Yeltsin and Putin have consistently emphasised. In both countries, the leaders appear to be adopting liberal internationalist ideas to pursue national interest rather than create a world united around liberal principles. Moscow saw the UN and international law as a means of restraining the power of the US at a time when its own military power was

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greatly reduced, whilst international law looked attractive because of its emphasis on state sovereignty and the limited right of external intervention in the internal affairs of all sovereign states – including Russia. Washington, for its part, was sceptical of international law and the UN for the same reason that Moscow favoured them. The US was the dominant state in the post-cold war world and had little incentive to have its pursuit of national interest constrained by others. Washington’s revived interest in the promotion of democracy around the world certainly had its idealistic champions at home, but it was viewed in many quarters as simply another way of pursuing its national interest. Critics suggested that Washington wanted to create an American, or at least a more pro-American, world rather than a more specifically liberal one (Kennedy-Pipe and Rengger 2006: 551). Traditional International Relations theorists were generally neither surprised nor particularly critical of American behaviour. The majority remained sceptical of the idea of a world united around liberal values. Samuel Huntington’s theory on the clash of civilisations (of which, more below) was part of a more general critique of ideas exemplified by Francis Fukuyama’s ‘End of History’ thesis. Huntington (1993a and 1996) dismissed the claim that the world could ever unite around a liberal agenda as hopelessly idealistic and culturally Western-centric. Huntington was one of a number of critics who could be termed fragmentists in contradistinction to the liberal universalists. Fragmentists argued that there had always been divisions in the world and there was no reason to believe this would stop with the fall of the Berlin Wall. Fragmentists, however, were often in disagreement over where the most fundamental fissures lay and what the most likely cause of major war would be in the post-cold war world system. On the right, John Mearsheimer (1990: 5–56) argued that the post-cold war world was likely to see a return to nationalism and ethnic conflict, with nation-states continuing to pursue their own narrow national interests rather than acting in the wider interest of the global community, as liberal internationalists hoped. Indeed, at the core of fragmentist thinking was a basic rejection of anything we could meaningfully describe as the ‘international community’ and a deep suspicion of regional and international institutions which made such claims (Perle 2003). On the left, theorists argued that the major division in the international system was economic. Radicals argued the continuing existence of poverty and inequality in the world was a major contributor to conflict and war (Chomsky 1994). Capitalism was more successful than state socialism in generating wealth, but it seemed wholly incapable of distributing wealth on anything like an equitable basis. Furthermore, Eric Hobsbawm (1994) feared the dominance of liberal economics in the post-cold war period would lead to even greater inequality. With the socialist challenge gone, he argued, there was no longer any constraint on big business and high finance to maximise their profits or on the governing class to stop it dismantling the welfare state. The Western consensus between the governed and the government, it was argued, was under threat in a system of untrammelled international capitalism. There was some evidence to back up Hobsbawm’s claims. For example, the 1999 UNDP Human Development Report showed that the income gap between the richest fifth of the world’s population and the poorest fifth, which had stood at 30:1 in 1970 had risen to 60:1 in 1990, and risen again to 86:1 by the century’s end (Halliday 2001: 66). It was Javier Solana, not a radical theorist but the former Secretary General of

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NATO and the current High Representative of the CFSP of the EU, who wrote in his 2003 policy paper, that almost three billion people – half the world’s population – lived on less than two euros per day; 45 million continued to die every year as a result of hunger and malnutrition; and sub-Saharan Africa was poorer in 2003 than it had been ten years previously (Solana 2003: 3). Robert Kaplan (2000) offered an even more pessimistic vision of the post-cold war world. Like the radicals, he portrayed a world divided between the rich north and the impoverished south. But he predicted the people of the south would live increasingly in a world of failed states, rogue states, warlordism, terrorism, disease and environmental degradation. In Kaplan’s eyes we faced a return to medievalism, where concepts such as justice and equality were largely meaningless. In his vision, the prosperous and stable West would seek to build a defensive wall to protect itself from the chaos, anarchy and economic collapse outside. In a globalised world, it was not a strategy Kaplan expected to be successful. Samuel Huntington’s Theory Amongst the fragmentists, however, it was Samuel Huntington and his theory on the clash of civilisations which emerged as the most effective challenge to liberal internationalism. His ideas were first introduced in an article in the influential American journal, Foreign Affairs, published in 1993 and further developed in book form three years later. Its influence in both the academic and international community was due, in part at least, to the fact that it appeared to offer an explanation for the wars in the Balkans and the Middle East whilst also seeming to predict the coming war on terrorism (see Kennedy-Pipe and Rengger 2006: 544). After the failure of international relations theories to predict the end of the cold war, this latter point was far from insignificant. Huntington’s theory had three key features: first, his emphasis on the importance of culture in the post-cold war period; second, his belief that people of the same culture would increasingly form blocs across national borders; and third, competition between these cultural blocs (or civilisations, as he called them) was the most likely cause of major war in the post-cold war world. Huntington acknowledged the continued importance of national, ethnic and economic divisions which other fragmentists had identified, but he emphasised the cultural divide because, he wrote, culture was basic and fundamental and helped define a person’s self-identity (1993a: 29). In the cold war, Huntington said the main question was: ‘whose side are you on?’ now it is: ‘who are you?’ (1996: 125). Ideological allegiance, he said, is more flexible and fluid than cultural identity. In the West there used to be a saying: if you are not a communist by the age of 18 you have no heart, if you are still a communist at 30 you have no brains. Ideological belief can change, he was saying, but cultural identity is more permanent. It is possible to have joint citizenship – to be half French and half Arab – it is far more difficult, in Huntington’s own words, to be ‘half Catholic and half Muslim’ (1993a: 27). Huntington called these cultural entities civilisations. Both his definition of culture and his categorisation of civilisations caused controversy, but in his book he identified eight major civilisations – Western, Latin American, Slavic-Orthodox, Muslim,

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Hindu, Confucianist, Japanese and African. Huntington argued: ‘Civilizations are differentiated from each other by history, language, culture, tradition, and most important, religion’, and since these differences are ‘the product of centuries’, they will not disappear any time soon (1993a: 25). International Relations theorists have long recognised that difference can be a cause of tension and conflict. Fear, suspicion and even hatred of ‘otherness’ can be manipulated by various forces to incite violence. However, in cases of cultural difference, positions tend to be more absolute and, according to Huntington, conflict becomes correspondingly more likely (see Bartley 1993: 16). He acknowledged that there would always be conflict over other issues and that nation-states would do most of the fighting for some time to come, but he argued that the ‘most violent and most prolonged conflicts’ would be those between different civilisations (Huntington 1993a: 25). ‘In the coming years,’ he wrote, ‘the local conflicts most likely to escalate into major wars will be those, as in Bosnia and the Caucasus, along the fault lines between civilizations. The next world war, if there is one, will be a war between civilizations’ (1993a: 38–39). For this to happen, Huntington argued that peoples of the same culture will rally round and unite – especially in times of crisis or when they are under threat from others outside the cultural group. Huntington wrote: ‘in civilizational conflicts, unlike ideological ones, kin stand by kin’ (1996: 217). Hence, his vision of cultural blocs forming in opposition to each other in what he called ‘the clash of civilisations’. Huntington acknowledged that intra-civilisational conflict occurs (for example Sunnis fighting Shias in Iraq), but he argued that such conflicts would be ‘less intense and less likely to expand than conflicts between civilizations’ (1993a: 38). Huntington acknowledged that ‘civilisation rallying’, as he referred to alliance building within a particular culture, had thus far been limited, but he claimed it was growing, ‘and it clearly has the potential to spread much further’ (1993a: 38). In fact, it is far from clear that this has happened, but this is an issue that will be a recurrent theme throughout this book. Why has culture, according to Huntington, emerged as the major division in the modern international system? In large part, it may have been the result of the end of the cold war. The structural constraints of the bipolar system were released and this allowed forces other than ideology to rise in importance. But why culture, rather than the nation, the ethnic group or class? Huntington cited four basic factors. First, he argued that civilisational consciousness was a reaction to economic modernisation which undermined both the traditional way of life and the nation-state. Religion, according to Huntington, ‘moved in to fill in this gap, often in the form of movements labelled ‘fundamentalist’’ (1993a: 26). Religion was able to provide both the identity and the connection with the past that modernisation seemed to be threatening. A second important factor was globalisation (1993a: 25–6). As a result of globalisation, communications and interaction between civilisations increased. Instead of this leading to greater understanding and tolerance of difference, as liberals might have hoped for, Huntington argued it only highlighted the absolutist nature of the cultural divide. A Western visitor to a Muslim country would soon realise that cultural differences were fundamental rather than peripheral. It was so much more than a simple matter of worshipping different prophets and adopting different dress codes. Third, Huntington argued that the increase of regionalisation in recent times reinforced cultural identity

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across national borders (1993a: 27–9). According to Huntington, the creation of regional organisations, like the EU, encouraged people to extend their allegiance beyond the locality and nation. Huntington argued, however, that the most successful of these regional organisations were likely to be those with members from the same civilisation. Thus, he implied that the EU would have a better chance of surviving in the future if it retained its current predominantly Christian base. Finally, Huntington argued that a source of potential conflict was the power and dominance of the West in the post-cold war system. ‘A West at its peak of its power confronts the non-West that increasingly has the desire, the will and the resources to shape the world in non-Western ways’ (Huntington 1993a: 26). During the cold war, the US was constrained by the balancing power of the USSR, but this was no longer the case after the fall of the Berlin Wall. Increasingly, people viewed the United States as a hyper-power which had the power to do exactly what it wanted in the world (see Halliday 2001: 90–109). Traditional realist thinkers, however, thought that unipolarity was unsustainable in the medium to longer term (see Mearsheimer, 1990). Since all states act in their own national interest, realists believed it was inevitable that a bloc of states would ultimately emerge to challenge the dominant power. Huntington was essentially arguing the same, but suggesting that the challenge to Western dominance in the post-cold war period would come, not from a bloc of power-maximising states, but from blocs of states or transnational groups of one civilisation seeking to defend and promote their own culture. In many respects, Huntington’s theory was written as a warning to the West and he seemed most exercised by the perceived Islamic threat (although Confucianism was also viewed as a possible challenge to the international status quo). Thus, he invoked images of Islam’s ‘bloody borders’ (1993a: 35), and the 1,300 years of conflict along the ‘fault line’ between Western and Muslim civilisations (1993a: 31). Huntington’s ideas led him to offer some recommendations on how the West should defend its own culture in this less predictable and more challenging post-cold war world. First, he favoured greater unity within the Judaeo-Christian world. Second, he recommended the formation of alliances with other civilisations, like the SlavicOrthodox and Latin American, which he saw as being closest to the West. At the same time, he advocated a military build-up by the West so that it could defend itself more effectively against the main civilisational threats of Islam and Confucianism. Finally, he argued, in a rather different tone, for greater efforts on behalf of the West to understand the religious and philosophical assumptions underlying other civilisations, as well as the ways in which those civilisations perceive their own interests. Huntington concluded: ‘For the relevant future, there will be no universal civilization, but instead a world of different civilisations, each of which will have to learn to coexist with the other’ (1993a: 49). Huntington’s original article in 1993 elicited a heavy post-bag at the offices of Foreign Affairs. The next edition was filled with initial responses to his thesis. The majority was critical. In particular, there were doubts over his central concept of civilisations. The divisions between civilisations were seen as far less clearcut than implied by Huntington. Liu Binyan, for example, argued that migration has complicated the picture and resulted in cross-fertilisation of ideas between civilisations. Religion might have become more important in certain parts of the

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world, but it was less obvious in Western Europe after years of secularism or in former Marxist-Leninist states after years of atheistic propaganda (1993: 21). The greater likelihood of violence across civilisational borders is also challenged. Thus, the academic Fouad Ajami argued that civilisations will always be willing to co-operate based on perceived shared interests. ‘States will consort with any civilization, however alien,’ he wrote, ‘as long as the price is right and the goods are ready’ (1993: 6). Jeane Kirkpatrick further argued that violence within rather than between civilisations has proved to be the more explosive. As evidence, she cites Stalinism, Pol Pot, the holocaust and World War II, whilst even today the most explosive conflicts appear to be within the Muslim world (1993: 23). Furthermore, as will be shown in this book, the conflicts identified as civilisational by Huntington can often be interpreted in quite different ways. Thus, the war in Yugoslavia could be viewed as a bid by the Serbs for territorial aggrandisement, whilst the Gulf War could be interpreted as a conflict between two Muslim peoples in which the West acted as a partisan mediator (see Kirkpatrick 1993: 23). Underpinning much of the criticism of Huntington’s thesis was a challenge to his idea that civilisations would become the core unit in international relations. Ajami was only one of a number who argued instead for the continued pre-eminence of the state (Ajami 1993: 6). Arguably, the power of the state might have declined somewhat in recent times as a result of interdependence, globalisation and the rise of nongovernmental actors (including terrorist ones), but the state remains a recognisable entity in contrast to civilisations. As Kennedy-Pipe and Rengger wrote, civilisations are ‘notoriously slippery’ as concepts (2006: 543). Civilisations certainly have no means of raising money and creating and commanding a unified military force. Insofar as civilisations exist, they will remain coalitions of states and dependent on the actions of their constituent members. The closest to any such entity is NATO and the EU with its embryonic European military force, but even the West remains far from constituting any kind of civilisational unit as envisaged by Huntington, not least because of the divide, which appears to have grown since 9/11, between Europe and the US. Nevertheless, critics in certain quarters dismissed Huntington’s ideas as just as Western-centric as those theories he had criticised. Kishore Mahbubani saw the thesis as a response to Western decline and the concomitant rise of non-Western civilisations (1993: 13). Others, yet more critical, perceive the demonisation of Islam within its overall concept (see Lawson 2003: 69). For all its defects, however, it is not difficult to understand the theory’s continued resonance. Huntington avoided what many saw as the naive optimism of Fukuyama’s vision and identified a division in the world that seemed both novel and real. After the terrorist attacks on Washington and New York on 11 September 2001, the theory appeared to be particularly prescient. As a result, the term – ‘the clash of civilisations’ – entered the lexicon of academics, politicians and journalists around the world. Huntington’s View on Russia Huntington was most concerned about Western civilisation and its position in the world, but his theory was most certainly global in ambition. Much of his book was

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taken up with a discussion of actual and potential civilisational conflicts around the world and Russia is one country discussed in this context at some length. How far is Huntington’s thesis relevant to post-Soviet Russia, and to what extent does it extend our understanding of Russian foreign policy and the problems facing Russia today? There were at least three aspects of Huntington’s theory which are particularly pertinent to Russia. First, he described Russia as being at the centre of the so-called Slavic-Orthodox civilisation – one of the eight major civilisations he cited in his theory (1993a: 25). Second, he described Russia as a ‘torn country’ – torn between East and West (1996: 141). Third, he claimed that Russia lay on a civilisational fault line between the Christian and Muslim worlds, which could account for the number of violent conflicts directly involving Moscow (1993a: 38–39). Russia as the centre of the Slavic-Orthodox civilisation The fact that Huntington identified Russia as being the centre of the Slavic-Orthodox civilisation was important because it signified that Huntington believed Christian Russia was fundamentally different from the West. Thus, Huntington emphasised Russia’s separate historical development from the West. He emphasised that Russia had little or no experience of such major events in European history as the reformation, the renaissance and the enlightenment. As a result, Russia remained a backwater on the eastern fringe of Europe, as many Western visitors to the country have remarked over the years (see Figes 2002: 62). Because of its isolated development, Russia had a different attitude to the rest of Europe on matters such as individualism, liberty, democracy and the rule of law (Huntington 1996: 139). Russia’s more collective spirit, its greater deference towards authority and the lack of any separation between church and state could, at least in part, explain the authoritarian strain throughout Russian history. In a recent poll conducted by the Levada Center in early 2005, 63 per cent expressed a positive view of the Communist Party in Soviet times, whilst a majority expressed a preference for Lenin and Brezhnev as leaders over Gorbachev and Yeltsin. Similar percentages have been replicated over the last 15 years and there seems to be little divergence in view on this issue between young and old and even communist and voters of more reformist parties (Belikov 2005: 2). Determining the relative importance of political culture amongst any number of other factors, however, remains a central problem for this kind of analysis. For the negative views of Gorbachev and Yeltsin might have little to do with public attitudes towards democracy and rather more to do with the fact that they are both identified in most Russian minds with the collapse of the Soviet Union, the decline in international status and economic penury. Russia as a ‘torn country’ Huntington’s claim that Russia is a ‘torn country’ was, in many ways, a reference back to the oft-rehearsed debate between the Slavophiles and Westernisers. Geographically, Russia is indisputably both European and Asian, but the vast majority of Russians have always lived west of the Urals and many see themselves as wholly European. Westernisers argue that Russia is a part of Europe and its future development lies

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with Europe. The Slavophiles, on the other hand, have emphasised the uniqueness of the Russian nation and that ‘deeply spiritual and mysterious entity’, the Russian soul (Figes 2002: 66). The division outlined by Huntington does appear to have some reality in the perceptions of the people. Vladimir Putin, for example, said shortly before his election as President in 2000: ‘Russia is a diverse country, but we are a part of West European culture. No matter where our people live, in the Far East or in the south, we are Europeans’ (2000: 169). Nevertheless, not all of Putin’s subjects would agree with their President. In a poll taken in January 2000, 52 per cent, a small majority, declared themselves to be Europeans, but as many as 48 per cent said they were ‘definitely not’, or ‘probably not’ European (New Russian Barometer, VIII, 2000). The concept of a ‘torn country’ was important to Huntington’s analysis because it suggested there was potential for an alliance with the West (1996: 242). Huntington argued that the differences between Russia and the West were too fundamental to allow for a merger between the two Christian civilisations in the near future, but he recommended an alliance to counter what he described as the far greater threat of Islam (1993a: 23). Huntington conceded that the alliance might be difficult to manage because of the existing cultural differences, but argued the West should be tolerant of occasional Russian lapses from the straight and narrow. Since he was writing his book as the first Chechen war still raged, the implications were clear. He wrote of the importance of a balance of power and suggested that part of the agreement between Russia and the West could include: ‘Western acknowledgement of the security problems, actual and potential, which Russia faces from Muslim people to the south ... and to be favorably disposed towards ... steps Russia might need to take to deal with such threats’ (1996: 242). Russia on the civilisational fault line Huntington argued in 1996 that Russia had been directly involved in three civilisational conflicts or ‘fault line wars’ – in Afghanistan, 1979–1989, Tajikistan 1992–97 and Chechnya since 1994 (1996: 275). All these have been wars fought by Russia against predominantly Muslim peoples. Russia has been involved in other conflicts – in Moldova and Georgia, for instance – but as Huntington’s theory suggested, these three civilisational wars have been the most violent, the most prolonged and proved to be the most intractable. Huntington cited another case where, at times, war looked possible – between Moscow and Kiev. The stakes were certainly high. After the Soviet Union broke up, there was disagreement over the status of Crimea and disputes over the division of the Black Sea Fleet (one of the biggest navies in the world) and over Ukraine giving up its nuclear weapons to Russia. Yet all these major disputes were resolved without resort to violence. Huntington argued that at least one reason for the peaceful outcome of the stand-off was the fact that Russia and Ukraine belonged to the same Slavic-Orthodox civilisation (1996: 37). There may be some truth in this theory at least to the extent that the majority of Ukrainians and Russians found the prospect of war unthinkable. Their lives and histories were too closely intertwined, with Kiev Rus being described in most history books as the cradle of the Russian nation. However, the crisis in the winter of 2004 over the presidential election in Ukraine revealed the cultural division that runs through the

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country, with the East being predominantly Orthodox and more pro-Russian, and the West (before World War II, it was a part of Poland) more Catholic and pro-Western. However, Ukraine has not split along civilisational lines as one reading of the theory might have expected. Culture certainly played a part in all the above conflicts but, as stated earlier, other factors had to be taken into account also. For example, the war in Afghanistan could be viewed as a holy war to liberate Muslims from atheistic communism, but it could also be seen in terms of a national liberation struggle against Soviet occupation. The war in Tajikistan also had elements of a jihad, but in essence it was a largely unsuccessful rebellion by different ethnic groups, tribes and Muslim groups to overthrow the pro-Russian communist regime. In Chechnya too, the conflict originated in a nationalist desire for independence from Russia, even though more militant rebels increasingly used the rhetoric of Islamist militancy. Indeed, all these conflicts took on a cultural aspect over time which attracted a certain amount of civilisational rallying across borders. In Afghanistan, for example, the mujahideen received aid from many Islamic states, including Saudi Arabia and Pakistan, and many thousands of Muslims came to offer their support to the rebels. According to many accounts, it was the victory over the Soviet Union in Afghanistan that inspired Osama bin Laden (a member of the mujahideen) to commit himself to the global liberation of the Muslim world. The rebels in both Tajikistan and Chechnya also gained some support from fellow Muslim states and militant groups, like al-Qaeda. The significance of these foreign fighters, however, has long been disputed, with the majority of commentators arguing that these conflicts are best understood in domestic terms (see chapters 6 and 11). The limits of civilisational rallying have also become visible in all these cases. For example, after the withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan in February 1989, the different factions of the mujahideen fought a protracted and bloody struggle for power in Kabul. It is also noticeable that in the terrorist campaign launched by Osama bin Laden and his acolytes, the largest number of terrorist victims have been Muslims. In 2005, there were 11,000 recorded terrorist attacks worldwide; 14,600 were killed as a result of these attacks and approximately 25,000 were wounded and 34,780 kidnapped. Of these victims, 20 to 25 per cent were Muslim (US State Department 2006: statistical annex: 7). Osama bin Laden’s jihad has tended to attract only those Muslims attracted to his narrow vision of Islam (see worldpublicopion. org 2006). Russian Perspectives on the Clash of Civilisations No country was more affected by the end of the cold war than Russia. It might have been expected, according to Huntington’s theory, that Russia would seek to replace its Marxist-Leninist ideology and its loss of international status with religion. To some extent, this has happened. Russia remains a secular state, but Russian Orthodoxy has been restored as an important and highly respected institution in Russian life (Waller 2005: 240). The Patriarch has become a significant figure in Russian life who, for example, oversees the inauguration of the Russian President. The rights of religions

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have been guaranteed in law, although foreign messianism has been restricted since 1997 and Russian Orthodoxy enjoys pre-eminence. Since communist days, the state has permitted the building and restoration of many cathedrals, churches, monasteries and theological seminaries. After the collapse of the USSR, it was decided to rebuild the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour on the banks of the Moskva River. Originally, it had been built to unite the people of Tsarist Russia and commemorate victory over Napoleon. As a result, the cathedral was always perceived by Russians to be a national, as well as a religious, symbol. It was destroyed by Stalin as part of his anti-religious campaign with the intention of building a monument to proletarian culture, but it proved too difficult to build anything on the marshy land and it became a celebrated open-air swimming pool for the remainder of the Soviet period. Despite the cost, Yeltsin approved the cathedral’s reconstruction as a symbol of the rise of a new Russia after the years of communism. The number of Russian people who identify themselves as Orthodox believers has grown from about 30 per cent in 1989 to 50 per cent today (Knox 2003: 18). However, this growth flattened out in the mid-1990s and has scarcely risen since. Furthermore, a number of surveys have shown that church attendance in Russia is low and possibly one of the lowest in Europe (Knox 2003: 18). According to the most recent survey, only 7 per cent of those who identified themselves as Orthodox Christians went to church once a month or more; 19 per cent went several times a year; 29 per cent went once a year or less; and 45 per cent never went to a church service at all (Knox 2003: 59; see also Borzenko 1993: 5–8; Bacon and Wyman 2006: 43–45). Such polling figures suggest that most Russians perceive Orthodoxy as a national identifier at least as much as a belief system. Both Russian Presidents, Yeltsin and Putin, identified themselves as Orthodox believers, but Putin is the more devout. He is among the 7 per cent who attends church most weeks and regularly receives communion (Moskovskie novosti, 27 October–2 November 2004: 10). Russian Orthodoxy is the dominant religion in Russia, but it is not the only one. Russia is both a multi-national and a multi-faith state. Major religions include Judaism, although over a million Jews have emigrated since the late 1980s, mainly to the US and Israel, reducing the total number in Russia to approximately 300,000 (see Knox 2003: 18–19; Bacon and Wyman 2006: 16). There are also other Christian groups in Russia, including Catholic, Lutheran and Evangelical, but the second biggest religious group is Muslim. There are thought to be roughly 20 million Muslims in Russia – about 15 per cent of the total population and the number is growing rapidly (Moscow Times, 20 October 2003). Like all religions, Islam made the most of liberalisation under Gorbachev and it has experienced a real revival over the last fifteen years. In 1993, there were only 870 mosques in Russia, but today there are over 7,000 (Waller 2005: 241). There are also over 100 madrassas and other educational centres (Pravda.ru, 16 October 2003; Mukhametshin 2006: 1). Initially under perestroika, there was little upturn in the observation of Muslim rites and traditions especially amongst the older and urban intelligentsia of Russia (Ro’i 2001: 13). Yet more recent surveys have shown that Russian Muslims remain more observant than the rather lax Russian Orthodox believers. Russian Muslims go to mosques twice as often as Orthodox believers, pray more and are generally more diligent about observing religious rules and prescriptions (Knox 2003: 19). Russian

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Muslims are made up from 40 ethnic groups, but concentrated in nine republics (in the Volga region, Asian Russia and the North Caucasus), whilst a further million also live in Moscow. Russian Muslims may not be united but it has become clear that Islam offers them a strong self identity (Ro’i 2001: 14). Like most leaders around the world, the political authorities in Moscow have generally been reluctant to link Islam and international terrorism. However, Vasili Sredin, Deputy Foreign Minister, made a speech in September 1999, two years before 9/11, and said: ‘A serious challenge to the world is religious extremism, in particular that which uses Islam as cover. Islamic extremists are trying to create a whole chain of hot spots in the world in order to destabilise the situation in individual states. This is confirmed by their acts in Afghanistan, Algeria, Bosnia, Kosovo and now also in Russia (Chechnya and Dagestan) and Kyrgyzstan. Religious extremism together with separatism and terrorism harbours an especially dangerous threat to international security and stability’ (Jonson 2004: 65). At a meeting with senior diplomats in January 2001, President Putin called for ‘international co-operation’ to combat the emerging threat of international terrorism (Jonson 2004: 66). Five years later, at a world summit of religious leaders in Moscow in the summer of 2006, Putin stated his fear that the world was ‘practically being forced into a conflict of civilisations’, but at the same time, he indicated his desire to avoid any such confrontation (New York Times, 13 July 2006). The Putin government has good reason not to view the world in Huntington’s terms. Given the multi-faith nature of Russia, any clash of civilisations would be likely to rip the country apart. Thus, President Putin described the Russian Muslims as ‘a valuable and integral part of the Russian people’ (Pravda.ru, 16 October 2003). He has also gone out of his way to emphasise Moscow’s support for the Islamic world. In a speech to the Organisation of Islamic Countries in December 2005, he said that ‘Russia has always been the most loyal, reliable and consistent defender of Islamic interests’ (Pravda.ru, 14 December 2005). Putin has argued that ‘... terrorism must not be identified with any particular religion, cultural tradition or mode of living’ (Pravda.ru, 16 October 2003). He reiterated this two years later on a visit to Chechnya when he described the extremist ideas of terrorists as a ‘false’ reading of Islam (Mosnews.com, 12 December 2005). Putin’s views were echoed in an article in Pravda in 2003 by Kratov, an envoy of the Karachayevo-Cherkassia government for religious organisations. Kratov emphasised the theological similarities between Christianity and Islam and argued the believers of the two religions had many interests in common (2003: 2). He went on to praise the Orthodox and Muslim clergy: ‘The relations between the Russian Orthodox Church and Islam can be called an example of the inter-confessional co-operation which has greatly affected the stabilisation of the situation in certain regions and in the Northern Caucasus on the whole’ (2003: 2). Whilst others paint a less rosy picture of relations between the clergy of the two religions, they remain equally sceptical of Huntington’s theory on the clash of the civilisations. For a theme of the coverage of both Russian Orthodoxy and Islam in Russia emphasises not unity within the two religions, but internal schisms (Pravda. ru, 4 October 2004: 1). The liberalisation of Russia inevitably led to theological disputes between clergy and activists. In rough terms, the debate was mirrored in both religions with conservatives wishing to emphasise the importance of traditions

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and modernisers wanting to make their respective religions more accessible and relevant to the Russian people of today. A further debate shared by the two religions was the issue of their earlier collaboration with the Soviet regime. Critics argued that collaborators had forfeited their right to lead whilst others said it had been necessary to save their religions from complete destruction. There is no single organisation speaking for the interests of Russian Muslims and all the evidence suggests it is unlikely to emerge in the near future (Mukhametshin 2006: 1–2). The two religions share common concerns, including a lack of finance and a shortage of worshippers, but there are also areas of antagonism. Orthodoxy’s privileged position in society has caused irritation, whilst prejudice exists amongst the Russian public. Zoe Knox highlighted anti-Muslim feeling regarding the building of an Islamic cultural centre in Moscow (2003: 19). She wrote that the mobilisation of thousands of residents, some politicians and even Orthodox clergy used a discourse ‘saturated in racial stereotypes and references to the Islamic threat’ (Knox 2003: 60). Putin defined himself as a man who wanted to restore the people’s pride in being Russian. Russian nationalism has strengthened as a result. Unpleasant aspects of nationalism have also emerged in racial attacks and rising levels of anti-semitism and anti-Muslim feeling. The nationalist parties, Zhirinovsky’s Liberal Democratic Party of Russia and Rodina [Motherland] scored more than 20 per cent of the vote in the last parliamentary elections in 2003. With the Communist Party, which has over time become more nationalist in orientation, receiving 12.6 per cent of the vote, nationalism is clearly a strong sentiment amongst the Russian people. Putin has sought to accommodate some of these concerns in his overall policy stance. Few leading thinkers or politicians, however, could be classified as old-fashioned Slavophiles who would argue that Russia should orient itself exclusively towards the Slavic world. Nationalism has tended to turn more specifically against the US and the West. Putin represents a wing of Russian opinion which continues to favour cooperation with the West when that coincides with national interests; others, however, perceive the US and the West as the primary enemy. Zyuganov and the Communist Party offer a mix of left-wing politics and the restoration of Russian pride. The Party Programme argues in favour of state ownership, the restoration of the USSR and an end to Western dominance in the world. A stated aim of the party is ‘to stop the growth of Russophobia, Westernisation and Americanisation, to end the vandalism of history and the cult of envy and to halt the rise of debauchery, egoism and individualism’ (CPRF Party Programme 1997). Out of this strand of anti-Westernism emerged Alexander Dugin’s form of Eurasianism. Dugin also characterised Western civilisation as ‘spiritually empty, false and monstrous’ (Dugin 2002: 1). The uniqueness of Russia, he said, was a positive value which must be protected and promoted. Dugin called on Russia to emerge once again as a great power and perceived the US as the main obstacle to this aim (Dugin 2002: 1–2). In an article in the popular Russian newspaper, Argumenty i fakty, no 1, 2005, Dugin sought alliances in Asia, including China and some Muslim states, as well as some countries in Western Europe, most notably France and Germany, which would be directed against the overweening dominance of the United States. Dugin formed his Eurasia Movement in 2002 and was reported to enjoy some support in

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high echelons in the Russian establishment, including the Putin administration and the Orthodox clergy. Relations with the US Given the views of the nationalists and communists, it is scarcely surprising that the relationship between Moscow and Washington, as Samuel Huntington predicted, has often been fraught. It appears, however, this is more as a result of both sides pursuing their own perceived national interests rather than any deep-seated cultural difference. As a result, there have been issues of mutual interest, such as the war on international terrorism, when both sides have co-operated. Russian nationalists, however, feel that the West has manipulated Russian weakness to their own advantage. The West encouraged the break-up of state-owned industry and the opening up of the post-Soviet economy to the West. As the Soviet Union collapsed and its main cold war alliances, the Warsaw Pact and the CMEA, were broken up, the Western equivalents, NATO and the EU, were strengthened and expanded into Eastern Europe and, in the case of the three Baltic States – Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania, as far as former Soviet territory. In the wake of 9/11, the US moved further into the Caucasus and Central Asia, both to defeat international terrorism and, Russian critics said, to seize control of oil and gas supplies. However, as Russia gained in power due to a renewed emphasis on order and its consolidation of energy resources in state hands, the West sought to undermine the Putin regime through attacks on the state of democracy in Russia. The cutting off of gas supplies to Ukraine in January 2006 sent jitters through the West as well as the rest of the former Soviet Union. It showed Putin was willing to use energy as a political lever at a time when Europe had become highly dependent on Russian oil and gas. Russia no longer possesses a realistic military threat to the outside world, but it seemed Moscow had discovered the value of soft power. There was genuine antagonism towards the West in some quarters in Russia. Yet, most Eurasianists favour an alliance with ‘old Europe’ whilst perceiving the US as the real enemy. Putin may have similar instincts, but he recognises the importance of the United States in the post-cold war world. Putin declined to support the US and Britain in their war against Saddam Hussein in 2003, but still gave George W. Bush a ringing endorsement shortly before the 2004 presidential election arguing he was best placed to defeat international terrorism (see The Guardian, 19 October 2004: 2). Eurasianist and nationalist views notwithstanding, Putin does not appear to be out of step with general Russian views on America. Public opinion on the US tends to be very volatile and highly dependent on particular international events, but polls have generally shown that more than some two-thirds of the Russian population hold generally positive views of the United States. This went down to one-third as a result of NATO bombing during the Kosovo war in 1999, but rose again to over 80 per cent in the wake of the Beslan School siege in September 2004 because of strong American support for the Russian authorities at the time. The approval rating for the US was far higher in Russia than in many European countries, never mind Islamic states. Support in Russia for Western Europe tends to be even higher, even though there is a belief that the Europeans are less supportive of the Russians’ war

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on terrorism (see Nationwide VCIOM surveys, 1999–2002; and Moskovskie novosti, 27 October–2 November 2004: 2). Conclusion It appears that Huntington was right in highlighting culture as a factor in understanding Russian policy since the end of the cold war. Estimating its relative importance, however, remains difficult. Other elements, most notably national interest and domestic politics, seem often to be rather more important. No one has really disputed the idea that perceived difference can lead to conflict and this is unlikely to change in the post-cold war world. However, Huntington’s central claim of ‘civilisational rallying’, that kin will stand by kin, appears far less convincing. There have been occasions when Russians have felt empathy towards fellow Orthodox Christians, most notably in Yugoslavia, but national interest tends to overcome them in the end. Huntington recommended an alliance between Russia and the West and this has happened to some extent in fighting the war on terrorism. Elsewhere, as Huntington predicted, this relationship has proved more troublesome. The West tended in the early days, as advised by Huntington, to turn a blind-eye to democratic lapses under Yeltsin and approved or ignored Russia’s tough counter-terrorist policies in Chechnya. In general terms, the West has tended to be less willing to condemn Russian actions against Muslims (in Azerbaijan, Tajikistan and Chechnya) than against other minorities in Russia (the Baltic Republics, Georgia and Moldova). Nevertheless, as views on the war on terrorism have diverged since Afghanistan and the Russian economy has begun to recover, George W. Bush has become more critical of the Putin regime and, in particular, of its perceived retreat from democracy. Both countries see advantages in co-operating on issues of mutual interest, but the war on terrorism is no longer the uniting force it once was.

Chapter 3

The Soviet War in Afghanistan Introduction Samuel Huntington has argued that the war in Afghanistan was the first ‘civilizational war’ (1996: 246), although this was not how it was viewed in either Moscow or Washington. In the two superpower capitals, the conflict was viewed within the paradigm of the ongoing cold war. The Soviet Union intervened in December 1979 to support its ally in Kabul and protect its southern flank. Washington, on the other hand, saw an opportunity to undermine Soviet power, and supported the rebels to this end. However, a significant number of rebels, or mujahideen (holy warriors) as they called themselves, perceived the war in a rather different way. For them, it was not just a war of national liberation, although the forced withdrawal of the Soviet Union from Afghanistan was a central aim, it was also a jihad or holy war. During the cold war, many local conflicts swiftly became internationalised. In the case of Afghanistan, however, it was not just the West but also much of the Muslim world, which rallied around in support of the mujahideen. Indeed, the war became a great Islamic cause, and one of Osama bin Laden’s professors at university, Abdallah Azzam, declared it a duty of every Muslim to fight the Soviet Union in Afghanistan (Burke 2004: 73). The mujahideen did indeed receive considerable outside aid to fund their jihad. It was estimated that about $10 billion worth of aid was provided between 1980 and 1992 – the majority coming from the US and Saudi Arabia (Rashid 2001: 18). Pakistan also became a base for the mujahideen, whilst some 25,000 Arab volunteers were trained by Pakistani intelligence and fought on the side of the rebels (Huntington 1996: 247). By all accounts, victory against the Soviets left behind a self-confident and fearsome mujahideen. They had become well-armed and experienced fighters, and they set up camps, training grounds and logistical facilities in a number of countries, as well as elaborate trans-Islamic networks of personal and organisational relationships across the Muslim world (Huntington 1996: 247). As a result, the war had unexpected consequences for both superpowers – for the victor as well as the defeated. Background Afghanistan was the USSR’s southern neighbour close to the strategically important regions of the Persian Gulf and the Indian Ocean. Yet Josef Stalin in his time as General Secretary paid little attention to Afghanistan and argued the country was socially too backward for a successful Marxist-Leninist revolution to take place there. According to Stalinist doctrine, non-Marxist states could never become reliable allies of the Soviet Union. ‘If you’re not with us, you’re against us’ was the

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Stalin dictum (Zhdanov 1991). Stalin’s successor, Nikita Khrushchev, on the other hand, was more optimistic about the future course of history. Recognising the depth of anti-imperialist feeling after World War II, Khrushchev saw an opportunity that Moscow could exploit in the developing world. As a result, Khrushchev was prepared to seek good relations with non-Marxist states to improve Moscow’s standing in the world. As long as a country was not in the Western camp, Khrushchev was prepared to deal with almost anyone. Khrushchev amended Stalin’s slogan to read: ‘If you are not against us, you are with us’ (Khrushchev 1956). In part because he was willing to offer economic and military aid on favourable terms, Khrushchev had some early success in attracting a number of third world states into the Soviet sphere of influence (see Center for Defense Information 1986: 706). However, in the 1960s, some of his closest colleagues, including Ben Bella in Algeria, Nkrumah in Ghana and Sukarno in Indonesia, were overthrown, and his successor Leonid Brezhnev adopted a more hard-headed attitude towards the third world. Without rejecting Khrushchev’s more open stance towards possible allies, Brezhnev placed far greater stress on the need to promote local communist parties and Soviet-type systems in the third world before offering material support (see Golan 1988). Afghanistan followed this general pattern, and relations between Moscow and Kabul improved from 1953 when Khrushchev became leader. Under Brezhnev, Moscow began to give significant backing to the oppositionist communist party, the People’s Democratic Party of Afghanistan (PDPA), even though the party was deeply divided and enjoyed little apparent support in the country. The policy looked far-sighted, however, when the PDPA in alliance with a handful of disaffected army officers took advantage of the volatile nature of Afghan politics and the general disillusionment with the government to seize power in April 1978. Later called the April Revolution, it lacked any kind of popular support, and should more accurately be described as a putsch (Polyakov 1989: 33). Although coups were not unusual in Afghanistan, the PDPA’s seizure of power seemed to take most people by surprise. As Stalin had said some three decades earlier, Afghanistan hardly seemed the most likely place to experience a Marxist-Leninist take-over. It was an impoverished, semi-feudal state divided ethnically with cross-cutting clan and tribal loyalties complicating the situation further. It was also a deeply religious society, predominantly Sunni, but the Shia minority constituted about 15 per cent of the total population (see Table 3.1). Table 3.1

Ethnic and religious divisions in Afghanistan, 1979

Population of Afghanistan in 1979: 27 million, of which 44% were Pashtun; 25% Tajik; 10% Hazara; 8% Uzbek; 13% other. The vast majority of Afghans are Muslim, of which 84% are Sunni and 15% Shia. Sources: CIA Factbook <www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook>; Martin McCauley, Afghanistan and Central Asia: A Modern History (London: Longman, 2002), p. 60.

Documentation retrieved from the Soviet archives after the end of the cold war shows that Moscow had little prior knowledge of the 1978 coup even though the main leaders had all been trained in the Soviet Union (Dobbs 1992a: 1). Indeed,

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Moscow had misgivings about the coup, fearing (quite rightly) that the PDPA would have difficulty in staying in power (Morozov 1991: 37). Nevertheless, Moscow saw advantages in supporting the revolution and was quick to recognise the new government in Kabul. The closeness of the two countries was acknowledged when a Treaty of Friendship and Co-operation was signed by the end of 1978. Amongst other things, the treaty offered Kabul security guarantees which were later cited to legitimise the Soviet invasion a year later, in December 1979. Divided before the revolution, the PDPA split almost immediately after taking power into two factions – the radical Khalq (the masses) and the more moderate Parcham (the banner). The Khalq faction took effective power, and the leader of the defeated Parcham faction, Babrak Karmal, was forced to flee to Czechoslovakia. The Khalq faction itself was also far from united with a prolonged power struggle between the leading figures, Nur Mohammed Taraki and Hafizzulah Amin, defining the period prior to the Soviet intervention. However, Taraki, a close confidant of Brezhnev, became President after the April Revolution, and unwisely sought to impose radical reform on the deeply conservative country of Afghanistan. Taking Moscow’s reforms in Soviet Central Asia after the Bolshevik Revolution as a model, the PDPA pressed ahead with the redistribution of land, the secularisation of the state, and the liberation and education of women. In truth, Taraki was unable to achieve much of his programme due both to ingrained conservatism in the rural areas of Afghanistan and the active opposition of the landowners and clergy – the two most influential groups in Afghan society. Political opposition to the PDPA government became violent by the summer of 1978, and unrest had spread to almost all the provinces of Afghanistan by the end of the year. Moscow backed the Taraki government with economic aid and, by spring 1979, an estimated 7,000 Soviet advisers were present in the country. Despite this support, the government was increasingly unable to deal with the growing unrest. The depth of the problem was really brought home to the Soviet leadership in March 1979 when a major uprising in Herat, Afghanistan’s second city, led to the deaths of 3,000 people, including 40 Soviet military advisers. In response, the Soviet politburo held a three-day emergency session to discuss the growing crisis and Moscow’s possible policy options (Cordovez and Harrison 1995: 36–7). As a result, senior Soviet military officers, led by Army General Ivan Pavlovsky, Deputy Defence Minister and Chief of the Soviet Ground Forces, made two visits to Afghanistan in April and August to review security there (Krasnaya zvezda, 18 November 1989: 3). The uprising also led to a crisis inside the PDPA which resulted in the promotion of Hafizullah Amin, Taraki’s more radical opponent, to the post of Prime Minister. Under considerable domestic pressure, Taraki visited Moscow on 20 March 1979 to plea for help to save the revolution. The Soviet leadership offered Taraki helicopter gunships, pilots, technicians and about 700 paratroopers to guard Kabul airport, but the option of Moscow becoming directly involved militarily was rejected. Alexei Kosygin, the Soviet Prime Minister, told Taraki that Soviet military intervention would solve little and was likely only to exacerbate the problem (Dobbs 1992a: 7; Gromov 1994: 43). However, when the crisis continued to worsen, Moscow was forced to reconsider its position. In a fateful decision, Moscow accepted Taraki’s judgement that Prime Minister Amin was destabilising the country and backed a plan

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to assassinate him. It was a highly risky strategy even in a country like Afghanistan where such actions were not uncommon. In the event, the assassination attempt of 14 September 1979 failed, Amin became president, and Taraki was captured and subsequently executed for his part in the plot. This changed everything for Moscow (Dobbs 1992a: 7). Instead of the unstable and unpredictable Amin being overthrown, he had become the indisputable leader in the country. Taraki, Moscow’s closest ally in Afghanistan was dead, and the Soviet Union was clearly implicated in the plot to kill the new President. All of Moscow’s efforts over the years to court Kabul appeared to be in ruins. For Moscow, the situation was particularly sensitive due to the Islamic revolution in neighbouring Iran which was happening at the same time. Iran under the Shah had been America’s closest and most important ally in the Gulf region, but Washington faced expulsion by the ruling ayatollahs. Any withdrawal from Iran would represent a major diplomatic defeat for Washington, but there were fears in Moscow that America might seek to compensate by moving into Afghanistan (International Affairs [Moscow], June 1980: 116). Given the breakdown in relations between Amin and Moscow, a window of opportunity had opened up for the US, and much to the consternation of the Kremlin leadership, Amin did indeed begin to make overtures towards Washington. Amin told an influential American newspaper that ‘We want the United States of America to consider realistically the affairs of this region and further provide us with aid’ (Washington Post, 25 October 1979). However, President Carter failed to respond. In the context of the cold war, this appeared to be a major mistake. One explanation for this remarkable failure of American diplomacy seemed to be Jimmy Carter’s obsession with the ongoing crisis in Iran, which meant his administration misinterpreted the significance of Amin’s tentative approach (Dobbs 1992a: 7). Moscow’s intelligence services knew of Amin’s approach to the US and this only increased the urgency of Soviet deliberations over the future of Afghanistan. It would have been difficult for Moscow to contemplate any loss of influence in the country, but the prospect of America replacing the Soviet Union on its southern border was perceived, in the context of the cold war, to be quite unacceptable. Moscow had been seriously discussing the possibility of military intervention since spring 1979 (Gromov 1994: 43). The failed assassination attempt and Amin’s approach to Washington, in the eyes of the leading members of the Soviet politburo, had made some kind of direct intervention unavoidable (Dobbs 1992a: 7). In October, Marshall Pavlovsky, head of Soviet Ground Forces, was sent to Afghanistan to conduct detailed reconnaissance to plan the invasion. All the key decisions up to that time had been made by an ad hoc group of leaders, including Brezhnev, Ustinov, Gromyko and Andropov, but the decision to intervene militarily in Afghanistan was only put before the full politburo on 12 December 1979. Typical of the Soviet period, the politburo ratified the decision unanimously without any discussion of the implications of military intervention (International Affairs [Moscow], March 1990: 88).

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The Soviet Intervention Thus, on the night of 24–25 December 1979, the Soviet invasion of Afghanistan began as Soviet planes started bombing Kabul. Two days later on 27 December, about 1,000 troops, including crack Alpha troops, stormed the Presidential Palace where Amin and his family lived. The plan was to arrest Amin and present his removal from power as a domestic affair, but the mission went badly wrong when Amin refused to surrender. Instead, he and his family were killed in the subsequent shoot-out, and Babrak Karmal, leader of the Parcham faction, was brought back from exile by Moscow to replace Amin as President. Although Karmal was a more moderate figure than either Amin or Taraki, as Afghan leader he was always perceived internally and by the rest of the world as a Soviet puppet. As a result, he was never able to win over the vast majority of the population or the Afghan elite, including the landowners and clergy. The Soviet Union defended its intervention with reference to the 1978 Treaty of Friendship and Co-operation and declared that the Soviet troops had been invited in to defend the revolution (Pravda, 31 December 1979: 4). This was a highly contentious reading of events. Although Taraki, as leader, had requested military aid at various times since 1978, the fact that Amin, the internationally recognised leader of Afghanistan and the only person with the constitutional right to ask for military assistance, had been killed by the invading Soviet troops undermined Moscow’s case. In further justification for its intervention, the Kremlin also made reference to external interference in Afghanistan which it was claimed had destabilised the country (International Affairs [Moscow], May 1980: 104–105). Although dismissed at the time as wholly disingenuous, this claim was not entirely without substance. Whilst the suggestion that Amin was a CIA agent was patently ridiculous, Pakistan, a close ally of the US, had shown a keen interest in the unfolding events in its neighbouring country (Literaturnaya gazeta, 6 February 1980: 14). This had led to genuine concern in Kabul, not least because of Pakistan’s long-standing territorial claims on Afghanistan. However, the international community remained unimpressed by Moscow’s arguments. The UN overwhelmingly condemned the Soviet intervention by 114 votes to 18, with only the Soviet Union’s most loyal allies in Eastern Europe and Cuba, supporting Moscow. The UN also demanded the immediate and unconditional withdrawal of Soviet troops from Afghanistan (Maley 1989: 13). In the context of the cold war, there was little doubt that the invasion would lead to a severe down-turn in East-West relations. Despite Brezhnev’s claims to the contrary, it was clear that the Soviet Union had breached international law in invading a sovereign state. President Carter, for his part, perceived the Soviet intervention as opportunism as Moscow sought to take advantage of regional instability to push towards the Indian Ocean and the oil fields of the Persian Gulf. This, however, was a bad misreading of events (see Dobbs 1992a). The military intervention in Afghanistan was almost certainly a defensive action aimed at consolidating Moscow’s position in an allied state on its southern border at a time of regional upheaval. The initial invasionary force numbered only 70,000 troops, rising to a peak of 108,000 in 1985, which hinted at the limited nature of Moscow’s commitment – certainly, nothing like

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the half a million American troops in Vietnam at its peak. However, the intervention was significant since it represented the first time in its history that the Soviet Union had deployed a significant number of troops outside its own recognised sphere of influence in Eastern Europe. According to the logic of the cold war, Washington felt obliged to respond. However, it was never prepared to intervene directly to drive the Soviet Union out of Afghanistan – this would have risked a major superpower conflict and the possibility of nuclear war – the US did, however, impose sanctions on the Soviet Union and President Carter agreed to give military aid to those opposed to the pro-Soviet Kabul government. The Soviet intervention was also important because it severely undermined Moscow’s relationship with the Islamic world. Certain figures in the Brezhnev administration had hoped to take advantage of the Iranian Revolution to extend its influence in the Persian Gulf, but the ayatollahs had almost as dismissive an attitude towards the Soviet Union and its atheistic ideology of Marxism-Leninism as it did towards the US and its devotion to conspicuous consumption (see chapter 9). The invasion of Afghanistan in December 1979 only confirmed the ayatollahs in their view that there was little to choose between the two superpowers. The USSR was another imperialist power whose claim to act on behalf of the poor and oppressed of the world had been revealed by its actions in Afghanistan to be pure hypocrisy. The Soviet Union, for its part, never invaded to prevent the spread of Islamic fundamentalism at home, although this became more of an issue when Gorbachev was planning withdrawal (see Gromov 1994: 22–55). In fact, the Soviet Union, like many other countries, severely underestimated the importance of the Islamic revival in 1979. Muslim soldiers from Soviet Central Asia were amongst the first to be deployed in Afghanistan, but Moscow became deeply disturbed over reports of fraternisation with the mujahideen. As a result, a number of predominantly Muslim regiments were returned home before their tour of duty was completed. As Kosygin had earlier warned Taraki, the Soviet intervention solved nothing and exacerbated some of the problems facing the PDPA government. One problem that the Soviets had not foreseen, however, was mass desertions from the regular Afghan army. Moscow had been relying on military support to stabilise the country, but one estimate suggested that almost half of the regular army deserted in the first months of 1980. Military bases were set up in Iran and in Peshawar along the Afghan-Pakistan border, from where the mujahideen launched attacks on the Soviet occupying forces. For much of the war, the mujahideen claimed to hold three quarters of the country. The Soviets did not possess the manpower to expel the rebels or seal the border, but they were able to maintain their position in the big cities, and some of the north of the country bordering the Soviet Union. The supply routes to the cities were dangerous but generally under control of the Soviet military. Negotiations for Peace The war soon became bogged down in a stalemate. The rebels were not strong enough to force Soviet withdrawal, but the Soviet forces were unable to win over the hearts and minds of the populace. As a result, Babrak Karmal’s government

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was almost wholly dependent on the Soviet Union for its continued existence. When Moscow realised that the intervention was likely to be more prolonged than originally expected, Soviet diplomats at the UN indicated an interest in negotiations as early as May 1980 (Harrison 1988: 36). This was followed up with a further flurry of diplomatic activity when Andropov took over from Brezhnev in 1982, and the Soviet press for the first time began reporting the war more honestly. No longer was the war portrayed to the Soviet people simply as a humanitarian intervention with the Soviet troops helping the locals to build roads, schools and hospitals. Instead, it was acknowledged that the Soviet forces were confronting opposition and they were suffering casualties (Krasnaya zvezda, 18 November 1989: 3). Negotiations under the auspices of the UN progressed to the extent that a timetable for withdrawal was agreed in February 1983, but the Andropov initiative came to nothing because the Kremlin insisted on a continued role for the Soviet-backed PDPA in the Afghan government (Cordovez and Harrison 1995: 91–96). It was only when Gorbachev came to power in March 1985 that the diplomatic process began to make real progress. After an initial push for a military victory, he came to the conclusion by the end of the year that the war was unwinnable and its continuation was detrimental to the Soviet Union’s international image – not least in the Muslim world. The war was also costing about $5 billion per year which the Soviet Union could ill-afford as Gorbachev prepared the country for economic and political reform (Rashid 2001: 18). In October 1985, Gorbachev got the politburo to back his commitment to negotiate a Soviet withdrawal, but without any detailed substance, the decision seemed largely meaningless and hardly progressed the process beyond Andropov’s earlier initiatives (International Affairs [Moscow], January 1990: 12). Against opposition in the party, Gorbachev finally went public at the 27th CPSU Congress in February 1986 and called for an end to the war. He referred to the conflict as a ‘bleeding wound’, but the phrase which committed Moscow explicitly to withdraw from Afghanistan was later excised from the final published transcript (Shevardnadze 1991: 47). The omission revealed the continuing sensitivity of the issue, as well as the relative weakness of Gorbachev’s position at that time. The military was still effectively calling the shots in Afghanistan. The West tended to be dismissive of Gorbachev’s early initiatives. It appeared that Gorbachev, like Andropov before him, was still insisting on a role for the PDPA in the transitionary government in Kabul (Gorbachev 1986: 88–89). This was never likely to bring an end to the conflict since it was unacceptable to both the West and the mujahideen. The West was similarly dismissive when Gorbachev announced the unilateral withdrawal of 7,000 troops in July 1986. The number of troops was scarcely significant and the announcement had the look of propaganda rather than a meaningful attempt to get negotiations started. But dispositions were going on behind the scenes which changed opinions in the West. Thus, two of Gorbachev’s most reformist colleagues, Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze and the head of the International Department Anatoly Dobrynin, indicated privately to American officials in September 1986 that the Soviet Union was ready to pull out (Oberdorfer 1992: 236). The formal decision on the Soviet withdrawal came at the politburo meeting of 13 November 1986, although still no formal deadline was set. At this meeting, Gorbachev argued that there was no prospect of imminent victory and the

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Soviet intervention in Afghanistan ‘should be concluded in the swiftest possible time’ (Dobbs 1992b: 7). As part of this process, Babrak Karmal, who had always been opposed to withdrawal, was dismissed and replaced by the former head of the Secret Police, Dr Najibullah. On an official visit to Moscow in July 1987, Najibullah was given the formal timetable for withdrawal, which would be completed within two years (Krasnaya zvezda, 18 November 1989: 3). Yet, negotiations dragged on as Soviet officials, including most notably Shevardnadze, sought to preserve some kind of representation for the PDPA after Soviet withdrawal. Najibullah, for his part, attempted to make his rule more acceptable to the Afghan people by introducing a series of radical reforms in the country, many of which predated similar reforms later carried out in Eastern Europe and the Soviet Union. To this end, Najibullah introduced a new constitution in 1987 creating a multi-party system and an economy based on the market and private property. Elections were held the following year and a coalition government was formed. The PDPA was still the dominant force, but Najibullah declared: ‘Our party is not a communist party’ and said the April 1978 Revolution was ‘not a proletarian or socialist revolution’ (Avakov 1989: 16). After the Soviet Union’s pull-out in February 1989, the PDPA went so far as to formally renounce Marxism and in August 1991 declared Afghanistan an Islamic state. The reforms looked radical on paper, but Najibullah was unable to make much of a difference to people’s lives, still less to the ongoing conflict in the country. Najibullah was deeply distrusted by most people inside and outside Kabul. He had blood on his hands from his time in the Secret Police, and lacked legitimacy since he had been imposed on his country by the Soviet Union just like his predecessor, Babrak Karmal. The Soviet Withdrawal Finally, after prolonged negotiations, Moscow made the necessary concessions and the Geneva Accord was signed on 14 April 1988 (see Cordovez and Harrison 1995: 247–252). The accord committed the Soviet Union to withdraw within a ten-month deadline, although the last Soviet soldier left the country ahead of schedule on 15 February 1989. However, the war did not end after Soviet withdrawal and, in part, this was due to omissions in the peace agreement. For the Geneva Accord was no more than an agreement between the governments of Kabul and Pakistan – neither the US nor the USSR signed the accord. Furthermore, there was no commitment on behalf of the mujahideen to stop fighting and there was no demand for the PDPA government to give up office. This latter omission was accepted in the West because intelligence suggested that the Najibullah administration would be overthrown once the Soviet army had departed. The likelihood that this would involve a bloody power struggle was greatly enhanced, however, when the agreement allowed both superpowers to continue to supply arms to their respective clients. Against the odds, Najibullah remained in power for a further three years after the Soviet withdrawal. How was he able to last so long? The most important reason was division within the opposition. The mujahideen had always been riven by political divisions and personal animosities (for example, between Burhaneddin Rabbani and

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Gulbuddin Hekmatyar), but these had largely been put aside to fight the Soviet Union and to remove the PDPA from power. However, these divisions re-emerged after the Soviet withdrawal as different groups within the mujahideen fought for ultimate power in Kabul. There were at least seven different groups based in Pakistan – the Peshawar 7 – which were divided along clan and ideological lines. The group in Iran was smaller and less influential; it received less Western aid and was highly suspicious of the Peshawar 7, but was itself deeply divided between the Sunnis and Shias. Such divisions led to confusion on the battlefield and lowered morale amongst the rebels. Masoud, the Tajik leader and later leader of the Northern Alliance, was one of only a handful of leaders who retained some respect because of his military acumen and his willingness to fight on the front line. Most other mujahideen leaders preferred to live in Peshawar, a long way from the gunfire, and discuss the progress of the war the other side of the Afghan border. Masoud was an inspirational military leader, but he later proved to be less imposing as a political leader in peace time. Politics in Afghanistan changed dramatically in the wake of the failed Moscow coup in August 1991 and the emergence of Boris Yeltsin as the leading political figure in Russia. In September, Yeltsin as Russian President signed an agreement with George Bush to stop all military aid to the warring factions by the start of the following year. The Yeltsin administration also advised the more moderate elements of the mujahideen that Moscow would no longer support Najibullah as leader. As his position in Kabul weakened, a number of key military officers switched sides, ultimately forcing Najibullah to resign in April 1992. The Tajik, Burhaneddin Rabbani, took over as President in June with Moscow’s backing. Najibullah rejected safe haven in Russia and he was still in Kabul when the Taliban entered the city in 1996. Najibullah was summarily executed by the Taliban and, in a portent of the future brutality of the new government, his mutilated body was dragged through the streets of the capital. The Costs of War At the time of the Soviet withdrawal in February 1989, American policy in Afghanistan appeared to be a major success. At minimal cost to Washington, the Soviet Union was defeated and its status irrevocably undermined. Arguably, its defeat encouraged revolt in Eastern Europe and precipitated the fall of the Berlin Wall a few months later (see Piontkowsky 1990: 168–9). America had backed the mujahideen against the Soviet occupiers and after a decade of resistance, the Afghans had been able to liberate themselves. Reagan’s self-styled freedom fighters had triumphed with the US providing nothing more than verbal support and military aid. Jimmy Carter began this process, but it was continued and extended by his Republican successor. US aid totalled almost $5 billion to the mujahideen from 1980, peaking in the years 1987–1989 when Washington provided $630 million (Rashid 2001: 18). Ronald Reagan not only provided more military aid, he also provided higher quality equipment. Most notably, from mid-1986, Washington began its delivery of shoulder-held Stinger anti-aircraft missiles. The Stingers complicated life for the Soviet occupiers and made it more difficult to supply

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some towns and military bases in Afghanistan. Although the effectiveness of the Stingers may have been exaggerated (see Cordovez and Harrison 1995: 199), there can be little doubt that US support for the mujahideen over a prolonged period of time played a key role in their final victory. Yet what appeared to be a major victory for the West in the context of the cold war looks somewhat different today. The war had a devastating impact on Afghanistan society. Out of a population of 27 million, an estimated one million were killed over the ten year period of Soviet occupation, many more were wounded, and seven million were made homeless, many of whom sought refuge outside the country. The refugee camps in Pakistan, in particular, proved fertile territory for the spread of militant Islamism. This was encouraged by the Saudis who supplied almost as much aid to the mujahideen as the Americans, most of it going to sponsor Wahhabism, their own radical brand of Islam. The US too fuelled Islamic militancy as an estimated 75 per cent of US money went, via the Pakistani secret services, to the ‘more fundamental Islamist groups’, with ‘50 per cent of the total going to the most extreme Sunni fundamentalist faction led by Gulbuddin Hekmatyar’ (Huntington 1996: 247). President George H. W. Bush became so concerned over the possibility of the mujahideen seeking to export their hardline doctrine to other Muslim countries that he offered to buy back some of the US military equipment after the war, including the 500 Stinger missiles. The mujahideen failed to take up the offer (International Herald Tribune, 23 July 1993). After the Soviet withdrawal, however, Afghanistan was largely forgotten by the great powers. Afghanistan was divided up amongst the warlords and the violence continued with terrible loss of life. As a result, the country descended into chaos and religious extremism. The war of liberation became a civil war as the leaders of the mujahideen turned the guns on each other. Once again, there was no unity within the Muslim world. Ironically, Kabul had remained largely untouched by the war throughout the Soviet occupation, but this changed as the subsequent power struggle centred on the capital city. After the fall of the Najibullah government in 1992, power switched hands violently on numerous occasions until the Taliban, led by Mullah Omar, finally took control of the country in 1996. Initially, the victory of the Pakistan-backed Taliban was welcomed in Washington as it seemed to bring a certain level of stability to much of the country. This was not the case in the Kremlin, however. For the Taliban had defeated the pro-Moscow opposition, including the Uzbek leader Dostum in 1998 and then squeezed out Masoud and his Northern Alliance into the north-eastern corner of the country. Moscow poured in aid to Masoud as they feared the possible consequences on Central Asia and the Caucasus of a radicalised Afghanistan unified under Taliban rule (Jonson 2004: 58). By the end of 1999, the Taliban claimed control over more than 80 per cent of Afghanistan (Jonson 2004: 58). Yet the Taliban failed to win over the support of the people. Its rule was based on a particularly harsh and ascetic form of Islamic teaching which was alien to mainstream Afghan culture. Increasingly, the Taliban was viewed as a government maintained largely by the support of its neighbour, Pakistan. Furthermore, the Taliban leader, Mullah Omar, had opened up his country to Osama bin Laden and other Islamic militants. Their presence further radicalised Afghanistan and led to its international isolation. It seemed Kabul had abandoned

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Marxism-Leninism only to embrace another fundamentalist ideology. From the Western point of view, the defeat of the Soviets in Afghanistan in 1989 might have helped end the threat from communism, only to create another in the form of Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda. The Russians, for their part, discovered they could withdraw their forces from Afghanistan, but could not escape the long-term implications of their ill-advised cold war adventure.

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Chapter 4

The Gulf War, 1990–1991 Introduction On 2 August 1990, Iraq invaded and occupied Kuwait. Six days later, Saddam Hussein annexed his small neighbour and declared Kuwait to be Iraq’s nineteenth province on 28 August. Saddam had unilaterally abolished a sovereign state and a member of the United Nations. Meanwhile, Iraqi troops were gathering menacingly on the Saudi border. Few thought Saddam would risk military action against Saudi Arabia, but neither Arab nor Western intelligence had predicted Iraq’s earlier action against Kuwait. President George H. W. Bush worked diligently through the UN for a diplomatic solution to the crisis. On the day of the invasion, the UN Security Council passed resolution 660 (UNSCR 660) calling for Iraq’s unconditional withdrawal and the complete restoration of sovereignty to Kuwait. An emergency session of Arab states on 10 August permitted the deployment of US troops in Saudi Arabia to deter the possibility of further Iraqi military attacks (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 100). At the time, the US deployment was perceived to be purely defensive, but by the end of October President Bush decided that a more offensive posture was required (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 203–211). Bush was able to build a broad coalition and UNSCR 678 was successfully carried on 29 November. It specifically threatened the use of force if Saddam did not withdraw unconditionally from Kuwait by the deadline of 15 January 1991. Moscow was deeply divided over how to deal with the crisis when it first broke. Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze, an Atlanticist, believed the Soviet Union had little alternative but to join an alliance with the West (Chernayev 1993: 306–7). Iraq had clearly violated international law and Kuwaiti sovereignty had to be restored. Indeed, the crisis, in his view, provided Moscow with an opportunity to shed its cold war image and reveal its commitment to the New World Order (Shevardnadze 1991: 103). Shevardnadze argued that a united response within the international community to Saddam’s act of aggression was the best way of resolving the issue without recourse to war. Shevardnadze did believe, however, that the threat of military force was necessary to back up UN resolutions demanding Iraqi withdrawal (Soviet News, 5 December 1990: 403). Shevardnadze was more ambiguous over whether Moscow should contribute troops to any UN military action. In principle, however, he was clear that as a great power and a permanent member of the UN Security Council, the Soviet Union should be prepared to do so (Soviet Weekly, 3 October 1990: 331). Others within government, on the other hand, were more cautious. The most outspoken of Shevardnadze’s opponents could be found amongst the military and the nationalist deputies based around the Soyuz [Union] group in parliament (Beschloss

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and Talbott 1993: 247). They were far more suspicious of America’s motives in the Gulf and dubious that America’s response to the crisis was based on moral principles and respect for international law. There was also the issue of double standards. For Israel, America’s closest ally in the region, had long defied the UN by holding on to the occupied territories after 1967 without ever incurring international sanctions. These anti-Western groups argued that the US was acting to gain control over the oil in the Gulf and to re-emphasise its dominant position in the world. Nationalists argued it was in the interests of Moscow to limit America’s growing influence in the Gulf (see Sovetskaya Rossiya, 12 February 1991). Yevgeni Primakov represented the middle way. He was a Eurasianist, Arabist and international adviser to Gorbachev and later became Foreign Minister in Yeltsin’s government. After the Helsinki summit in September 1990, Primakov increasingly gained the ear of Gorbachev. Primakov had some sympathy with the nationalist point of view, but tended to emphasise the regional implications of any international response to the crisis. Thus, Primakov condemned the Iraqi annexation of Kuwait, but rejected the use of military force to reverse it. Primakov feared war would severely destabilise a region of strategic importance to Moscow and the world as a whole. He also rejected Shevardnadze’s demand that Moscow break all ties with Saddam Hussein, arguing that Baghdad remained an important ally of the Soviet Union (Soviet News, 16 January 1991: 16). Primakov won the argument in Moscow. Shevardnadze resigned at the height of the crisis on 20 December 1990 and Moscow’s policy was heavily criticised in certain quarters in the West for its equivocation and apparent duplicity (see Freedman, R. 1991: 17). Iraq’s Intervention Baghdad had been a close ally of the USSR since 1958, formalising an ever closer relationship in 1972 when the Treaty of Friendship and Co-operation was signed. Economic and military ties remained close throughout the period even though diplomatic relations soured in the late 1970s as a result of the Baath party’s brutal repression of Iraqi communists. After Saddam took power in 1979, relations worsened further when Moscow remained neutral during Iraq’s prolonged and bloody war with Iran between 1980 and 1988. Given Moscow’s good relations with Kuwait, it became easier for Gorbachev to abandon Saddam after the invasion of his small neighbour. Indeed, the Iraq crisis was seen as an opportunity for Gorbachev to improve relations with the West which he saw as vital to underpin his economic reforms at home (Chernayev 1993: 306–307). Moscow saw the invasion of Kuwait as a blatant violation of international law and a potential threat to regional security (International Affairs [Moscow], November 1990: 51). Therefore, Moscow supported UNSCR 660 on 2 August, and Secretary of State, James Baker and Eduard Shevardnadze, signed a joint declaration the following day at Vnukovo airport in Moscow condemning Iraq’s actions (Shevardnadze 1991: 101). Moscow also agreed on 6 August to the imposition of economic sanctions on Iraq, although this raised more objections at home. Critics of sanctions argued that they would disproportionately affect the Soviet economy since Moscow supplied more than half of all Baghdad’s military equipment

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(SIPRI 2003) and earned almost a third of its hard currency earnings from its trade with Iraq (Soviet Weekly, 15 November 1990: 15). There were also understandable concerns over payment defaults under an economic sanctions regime. Although Gorbachev backed sanctions, he was hoping the Arab world would find a speedy and peaceful settlement to the crisis (Soviet Weekly, 6 September 1990: 1). In this, he was sorely disappointed. The Arab League did indeed condemn Saddam’s aggression against Kuwait with a majority of 14–2 (and 5 abstentions), but there was less agreement over what could be done about it (Huntington 1996: 248). Iraq possessed the strongest army in the region at that time and most military strategists thought it would be difficult for the Arab states – even united in an alliance – to force Saddam out of Kuwait (Weitz 1990: 3). This helps explain the decision on 10 August to allow the deployment of US troops on Arab soil, but it remained a highly controversial issue in the region. Osama bin Laden argued that the Arab states should have been able to resolve the crisis themselves (Burke 2004: 136). The deployment was used as further evidence of the degenerate nature of many regimes in the Islamic world. In particular, Islamist critics argued that oil-rich Saudi Arabia should no longer be dependent on the West for its security, and should recognise that the presence of infidel soldiers in the holy land was sacrilegious. Bin Laden went as far as offering his mujahideen forces to Saudi Arabia to help defend itself against Saddam’s expansionism (Burke 2004: 136). The offer was never taken seriously. There were early signs of a fundamental split in Moscow over the approach to the Gulf crisis. As Shevardnadze met with Western leaders and sought a diplomatic solution through the United Nations, Primakov was named as Gorbachev’s special envoy to Iraq. Whilst Shevardnadze, on the one hand, favoured a united international approach, Primakov, on the other, pursued a unilateral strategy in Baghdad. Shevardnadze wanted the UN to make a clear and non-negotiable demand that Saddam withdraw unconditionally from Kuwait, Primakov sought a compromise settlement. Shevardnadze thought the threat of force was vital and even considered Soviet participation in any military operation (Soviet News, 17 October 1990: 348). Primakov was opposed to war and favoured a more flexible negotiating stance which offered Saddam a dignified form of retreat. Primakov, who knew the Iraqi leader personally, argued that Shevardnadze’s policy would only make war more likely. He told a Soviet journalist it was all very much about Arab pride: ‘If Saddam faces a dilemma as he sees it – to be eliminated or go to war – he will go to war (Soviet News, 16 January 1991: 16). Despite doubts in the West, Primakov believed that a compromise settlement was possible. He argued that Saddam had invaded Kuwait largely for economic reasons. Iraq was almost bankrupted by the Iran-Iraq War of 1980–1988 and Saddam saw Kuwait’s rich oil-fields as a ready source of extra income. Primakov hoped that some of Saddam’s economic demands could be satisfied if Iraq were granted an outlet to the sea and joint access to the disputed oilfields of Rumilia (Soviet News, 16 January 1991: 16). Iraqi withdrawal would also be linked to an international commitment to try to resolve the Arab-Israeli conflict, together with the creation of an international commission of Arab states to consider Iraqi territorial claims to Kuwait (Beschloss and Talbott 1993: 272). However, when presented with Primakov’s proposals on his first visit to Baghdad on 4–5 October 1990, Saddam equivocated. Saddam emphasised that Kuwait was

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an integral part of Iraq, but also stated that he was prepared to consider withdrawal ‘under certain circumstances’ (Saivetz 1994: 201). Primakov took this latter phrase to mean that there was still room for further negotiation. Washington was always suspicious of Moscow’s unilateral diplomacy which it saw as undermining agreed UN policy, but Primakov’s position was further eroded by Shevardnadze when he told visiting American officials that Primakov was acting on his own initiative and had no support from the Foreign Ministry (Beschloss and Talbott 1993: 274). The effect of Shevardnadze’s intervention was to highlight the divisions within the Kremlin and reduce further Moscow’s influence on the Gulf in international circles. Despite this, Gorbachev’s special envoy returned to Baghdad on 28 October. On his return, Primakov reported back that Saddam had appeared more sober and realistic at this second meeting. According to Primakov, he had abandoned his earlier claim that Kuwait would always remain Iraq’s nineteenth province. ‘I am a realist,’ Saddam had told Primakov, ‘and I know I will have to go’ (Soviet News, 16 January 1991: 16). Gorbachev welcomed this shift in position and argued that the international community should explore it further. President Bush, however, was dismissive. He thought it was another of a growing number of examples of Saddam simply playing for time. Saddam’s strategy appeared to be to hold tight and hope that the coalition would lose interest and fracture under the pressure of its internal divisions (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 203–211). In fact, Bush’s response to Moscow’s diplomacy was to increase US troop deployments in the Gulf. On 8 November 1990, Bush made an announcement that American troops in the Gulf would be doubled to 500,000 in preparation for military action to restore Kuwaiti independence. Desert Shield would become Desert Storm (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 211). Nationalists in the Soviet Union became deeply concerned over the US military buildup in the Gulf which was the biggest since Vietnam. The Warsaw Pact’s chief of staff, General Lobov, argued that the US deployment formed ‘an arch between NATO’s eastern wing and Saudi Arabia’ and posed a potential threat to the Soviet Union, only 200 kilometres from the Caucasus (Soviet Weekly, 6 September 1990: 1). Nationalists, independent of the central government, sent two delegations around the Gulf states calling for an Arab solution to the crisis. Nevertheless, despite concerns over the possible consequences of war which extended well beyond Russian nationalists, Bush’s sustained diplomatic effort won majority support for UNSCR 678 on 29 November. The resolution declared that ‘all necessary means’ (diplomatic language for military force) would be used if Saddam had not withdrawn from Kuwait by the deadline of 15 January 1991. Only Cuba and Yemen voted against the resolution, but crucially China, as a permanent member, and a leading arms supplier to Iraq (SIPRI 2003), decided against using its right of veto and abstained, after a last minute trip to Beijing from Shevardnadze. Gorbachev agreed to the resolution after gaining two promises from Bush. First, Bush said he would consult with Moscow at every stage of the crisis; and second, he said that all American troops would be withdrawn from the Gulf after Kuwait had been liberated (Vassiliev 1993: 351). Moreover, Washington formally acknowledged for the first time that the Soviet Union had a positive role to play in resolving the ArabIsraeli dispute and Bush made a commitment to hold an international conference on the issue as soon as possible after the end of the Gulf crisis. Shevardnadze provided

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the official Soviet view when he said that the resolution was not a green light for war, but offered the last chance for a peaceful settlement to the crisis. The resolution, he said, clearly showed the determination of the coalition to restore Kuwait’s independence and territorial integrity, but the deadline of 15 January 1991 still gave Saddam more than enough time to pack his bags and leave (Vassiliev 1993: 341). Secretary of State James Baker was sent to Geneva on 9 January 1991 to have direct talks with the Iraqi Foreign Minister, Tariq Aziz. Bush said he wanted to go the ‘extra mile’ for peace, but the trip was mainly designed to appease his domestic critics. Freedman and Karsh described it as ‘a mile too far’ (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 235). Opponents of the diplomatic initiative believed it could give Saddam reason to believe the coalition feared the prospect of war. This was just the kind of mixed signals that Washington had earlier criticised Primakov for sending out to Baghdad. Nevertheless, the bottom line for Washington remained the unconditional withdrawal of Iraq from Kuwait, and Tariq Aziz proved unwilling to compromise on this central issue. As a result, Baker came out of the meeting with his Iraqi counterpart to announce that no progress had been made – in effect, declaring war on Iraq. Gorbachev rang Bush on 11 January. He reiterated Soviet support for UNSCR 678, but asked for the deadline to be pushed back. Bush rejected the suggestion, arguing that it would serve no useful purpose (Beschloss and Talbott 1993: 303–4). It would allow Saddam to consolidate his position in Kuwait and complicate the coalition’s military campaign as spring approached. Yet both leaders faced unease in their respective countries as the drums of war grew louder. In the US Senate, on 12 January, the majority in favour of war was as low as five (52–47), whilst in Moscow on the same day, the Supreme Soviet demanded Gorbachev take ‘additional steps’ to reach a political settlement (Soviet News, 16 January 1991: 11). However, it was unclear, at this stage, what those additional steps could be. Bush was not prepared to back down and Saddam had painted himself into a corner. Saddam continued to make tempting offers to the coalition, but crucially fell short of Bush’s demand of unconditional withdrawal. Finally, the UN Secretary General, Perez de Cuellar, went to Baghdad to see if Saddam was serious about compromise. Saddam showed his contempt for the UN mission, however, by keeping the Secretary General waiting for two days before he finally deigned to meet him on 13 January – just two days before the UN deadline for withdrawal. The meeting, when it came, was a disappointment. Saddam made no explicit commitment to withdraw and Perez de Cuellar himself described his trip to Baghdad a failure (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 269). France, too, had close links to the Saddam regime and was second only to Moscow in terms of arms supplies to Iraq in the period 1973–1990 (SIPRI 2003). Therefore, Paris was equally eager to avoid conflict if at all possible, and persisted with diplomatic initiatives. This included a draft French proposal on the eve of the air strikes which called on Iraqi withdrawal in return for an international conference on the Middle East. When Roland Dumas, the French Foreign Minister, met the Iraqi ambassador in Paris to discuss the peace plan, however, he was told that anything was possible if he visited Baghdad and met with Saddam Hussein. The French, like the rest of the international community, saw this as just yet another delaying tactic and refused to take up the offer (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 273). The permanent members of the UN Security Council still discussed the French proposal on 14 January,

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but Britain put forward a more forceful proposal calling for Iraq’s strict adherence to UNSCR 678. The Soviet Union’s decision-making was in disarray at this time as Alexander Bessmertnykh was about to take over from Shevardnadze as Soviet Foreign Minister. Initially, Vitali Vorontsov, who attended this meeting, favoured the British proposal, but later switched after further consultation with Moscow, in favour of Paris. All this last-minute wrangling proved irrelevant, however, because the French later withdrew their proposal saying that it had ‘not met with the least response from the Iraqi side’ (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 274). On 16 January 1991, Bush rang Gorbachev and gave him two hours notice of the start of the air strikes. Once more, the Soviet President asked for a delay of up to 48 hours, but this was rejected (Gorbachev 1995b: 246). Gorbachev then phoned his ambassador in Baghdad and told him to meet again with Saddam and demand immediate and unconditional withdrawal or his country would face the most terrible consequences (Gorbachev 1995b: 247). Saddam, however, showed his contempt for Moscow when he refused to receive the Soviet ambassador (International Herald Tribune, 22 February 1991: 3). Saddam was willing to accept his fate, but the real cost would be paid by his country. The Air War At 7 pm Washington time on 16 January 1991, Desert Storm began with massive allied air strikes against Iraqi military positions. The Iraqi air defence system was rendered ineffective within a couple of hours, giving the coalition monopoly of the skies after the first week (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 303). As war took over from diplomacy, the Soviet Union, which did not participate in the military action, took a back seat. Gorbachev appeared on Soviet TV on 17 January regretting the onset of military action in the Gulf. He blamed Saddam for intransigence, but declared that the USSR had done everything possible to avoid war (Pravda, 18 January 1991). Almost immediately, however, Gorbachev began calling on Bush to end hostilities. As early as 18 January, Gorbachev asked Bush for a two to three day ceasefire to allow Saddam to review his position and withdraw. Then, two weeks into the air war, Gorbachev expressed concern over the apparent one-sided nature of the conflict (Gorbachev 1995b: 248). No longer did Saddam look like a powerful dictator of a regional military power, instead he looked like a weak leader of a defenceless third world country which was being destroyed by America’s superior firepower and technology. Alexander Bessmertnykh, the new Foreign Minister, took these concerns to Washington and found Secretary of State James Baker in sympathetic mood. In a joint US-Soviet statement on 29 January, the two countries offered a ceasefire if Iraq gave an ‘unequivocal commitment to withdraw’ (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 375). The statement was accompanied by a promise that both Moscow and Washington would make efforts to promote Arab-Israeli peace once the withdrawal was complete. This sounded very close to the pre-war proposal from the French and was seen at the time to represent a shift in the American position, but Baker was out of step with the President. George Bush could see no possible reason to compromise at a time when the coalition was clearly winning the war. Thus, the implications of the joint

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statement were repudiated by President Bush within hours of its release. It was clear that divisions over the Gulf crisis did not only exist in the Kremlin. The Central Committee of the CPSU passed a resolution on 31 January demanding a new commitment on the part of the Soviet government to seek a political solution to the war. Gorbachev’s influence over Washington by this time was minimal, but he did make a keynote speech on 8 February. He once more reiterated Moscow’s commitment to all the UN resolutions relevant to the Gulf crisis, but he continued: ‘the logic of the military operations and the character of the military actions are creating a threat going beyond the mandate defined by those resolutions’ (Soviet News, 13 February 1991: 42). By this time, Saddam faced humiliation on the battlefield, and wanted Moscow to help extricate himself from potential catastrophe. Primakov met Saddam in Baghdad for a third time on 13 February and afterwards declared ‘a glimmer of hope’ in the Iraqi President’s negotiating position (Freedman, R. 1991: 15). On Friday 15 February, Baghdad radio announced that the Revolutionary Command Council was ready ‘to deal with the Security Council Resolution 660, with the aim of reaching an honourable and acceptable solution, including withdrawal’ (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 378). On the basis of this broadcast, Gorbachev asked Bush to postpone the ground offensive until after a visit to Moscow of Foreign Minister Tariq Aziz on 18 February, but by this time Washington had become increasingly suspicious of the Soviet Union’s intentions (Freedman, R. 1991: 16). It seemed Gorbachev was working to save Saddam Hussein, and even the French were unsympathetic to the idea of discussing the issues once again in the UN Security Council (Beschloss and Talbott 1993: 334). Nevertheless, Gorbachev and his colleagues worked hard on a peace proposal. On 21 February, the Iraqis finally agreed to their complete and unconditional withdrawal from Kuwait over a six week period. This represented a major concession from Baghdad, but Bush said six weeks was too long. After further negotiations between Baghdad and Moscow, the pull-out period was halved to three weeks, and on that basis, Iraq accepted UNSCR 660 and said withdrawal would begin the day after a ceasefire was called. In return, the bilateral agreement with Moscow stated that all UN resolutions relating to Iraq would be lifted (Soviet Weekly, 28 February 1991: 3). Gorbachev also gave a separate guarantee that Iraq’s territorial integrity would be preserved along with its governmental structures, and he said that Moscow would oppose any attempt to punish Saddam personally (Soviet Weekly, 21 February 1991: 1). General Schwarzkopf was willing to accept the Soviet peace plan, but President Bush was not prepared to allow Saddam to dictate the terms of the ceasefire (Cohen, E. 1994: 146). Thus, in response to the Soviet initiative, Bush put forward a counterproposal. It required the withdrawal of Iraqi troops to begin by noon 23 February, with total withdrawal from the country completed within a week, and from the capital city of Kuwait city within 48 hours. It also rejected any Iraqi demands that the ceasefire should be called before the withdrawal began or that any UN resolutions would be lifted automatically (Soviet Weekly, 28 February 1991: 3). Bush was simply not prepared to allow Saddam any face-saving formula at this late stage. He saw an opportunity to destroy Saddam and, in line with UNSCR 678, prevent him from threatening to destabilise the region again in the foreseeable future.

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The Ground Offensive When Saddam failed to respond to Bush’s demands, the ground offensive against Iraq was finally launched on 24 February 1991. The allies cut deep into Iraqi territory to block the Iraqis’ retreat as they were driven back by allied forces sweeping across the Saudi-Kuwaiti border. The absence of any aerial cover gave the Iraqi forces no effective defence, whilst the six-week bombardment from the skies had undermined morale. With command, communications and intelligence already rendered ineffective, the backbone of the Iraqi army was defeated within 48 hours (Freedman and Karsh 1993: 398). When the ground war was launched, the official Soviet response was one of regret arguing that it was unnecessary since the Iraqis had already accepted UNSCR 660. The official release went on to say that the differences between Baghdad and the coalition were ‘not too wide’ and ‘lent themselves to resolution within the UN Security Council framework within a day or two’ (Soviet Weekly, 28 February 1991: 3). Some inside the USSR felt that Bush had shown an over-eagerness to go to war. Pravda attacked the US saying that Washington sought ‘sole leadership of the world’ (Pravda, 25 February 1991), and Gorbachev said relations with the US had become ‘fragile’ (Vassiliev 1993: 344). However, when it became clear that the coalition forces were overwhelming the Iraqi military, the Soviet Union’s critical stance towards the ground offensive shifted markedly, and Moscow called on Baghdad to accept all twelve UN resolutions, whilst pressing the US to swiftly conclude hostilities. As its troops fled from coalition gunfire, Iraq surrendered on 28 February after only 100 hours of ground warfare. Baghdad accepted the UN terms for peace and attended the ceasefire talks on 2 March 1991. Pressure inside and outside the US led Bush to declare a ceasefire, although, from a military point of view, there were good reasons for continuing the war a little longer. The elite Iraqi Republican Guard was surrounded and could have been destroyed, along with much of the rest of the Iraqi armed forces. However, international opinion had shifted since the start of the war. Whilst the US-led coalition had escaped with under 400 combat losses, it was estimated that between 60,000 and 100,000 Iraqi military personnel were killed or injured in action (Matthews 1993: 313–316). One American pilot had famously compared his targeting of Iraqi soldiers to a ‘turkey shoot’ (Pilger 1992: 100). The formidable Iraqi army had been humiliated. The American public wanted an end to hostilities which looked increasingly inhumane rather than heroic. Bush ceded to public opinion believing his main war aims had all been achieved – Kuwait had been liberated and the effectiveness of the Iraqi war machine had been much reduced. Furthermore, the US was now in a position to impose draconian peace terms on Baghdad. UNSCR 687 which was adopted on 3 April 1991 laid out the peace terms for Baghdad. Undoubtedly, they were tough. In some eyes, the stringent and highly intrusive measures added to future resentment in Iraq and even, to some extent, in the wider Arab world (see Halliday 1994: 109–130). The international community appeared to want not just surrender but total submission. Iraq was no longer allowed to possess WMD and the international community would seek to monitor this in a highly intrusive way. An international commission was also set up to study the

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long-standing territorial dispute between Kuwait and Iraq which Saddam had cited at the beginning of the crisis as legitimising the annexation of his neighbour. Its conclusions displeased Baghdad since it meant losing the naval base at Umm Qasr and part of the Rumilia oilfield. Nevertheless, the border was redrawn in 1993 and under pressure from Moscow, Saddam finally recognised the new border on 10 November 1994 (Moscow News, 3 November 1994). Conclusion After Afghanistan, the Gulf War appeared to be another great success for the US. A broad coalition of some thirty states had acted decisively to uphold international law and the sovereignty of a member state of the UN. Casualties on the coalition side were kept to a minimum, whilst Iraq’s ability to pose a threat to the region was considerably reduced by the war and subsequent peace terms. President Bush stated that the New World Order had survived the challenge from Saddam Hussein. However, any hopes of a united international community dealing with a compliant Iraq were soon dashed. Washington expected Saddam to be overthrown after such a decisive defeat on the battlefield, but he survived. Saddam retained sufficient power to brutally suppress uprisings against his rule by the Kurds in the north and by Shia Marsh Arabs in the south. Initially, Bush was reluctant to intervene, but he was eventually embarrassed into action. A safe haven was established in April 1991 to protect the Kurds and a no-fly zone was established in the summer in the south of the country. It seemed odd to many that the US had been prepared to go to war to defend the sovereignty of Kuwait, a semi-feudal state, but then was so slow to intervene in Iraq to protect civilians from Saddam’s repression. In part, this was because Bush faced some international opposition which prevented the safe havens policy being formally approved by the UN. Both Moscow and Beijing objected to the policy on the grounds that it contravened a core principle of international law which prohibited external intervention in the internal affairs of sovereign states. They also expressed concern over the effective partition of the country which could lead to problems in Turkey with its own Kurdish minority and conceivably increase Iranian influence in a much weakened Iraq. President Bush made a point of praising Moscow’s role in upholding the New World Order, but others were far more critical. Moscow supported all the UN Security Council resolutions relating to the crisis, but was perceived in Washington to be undermining its authority through Primakov’s unilateral initiatives. Moscow appeared to be using its influence to defend Saddam’s interests. In his memoirs, Shevardnadze was sympathetic to Gorbachev’s efforts to avoid war, but he was dismissive of his diplomatic efforts thereafter. In Shevardnadze’s eyes, Gorbachev appeared intent on preventing Saddam from being defeated militarily despite the consequences for the region and Moscow’s future relations with the West (Shevardnadze 1991: 106). Worse, the policy failed and undermined Moscow’s image in the world. After the coalition’s comprehensive victory, Gorbachev was forced to scrabble to restore some authority. Therefore, despite the economic costs, Moscow felt obliged to back

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the UN ceasefire terms and to maintain sanctions on Iraq until Baghdad had fulfilled all its commitments under UNSCR 687. The international community believed it had acted to uphold international law and stability within the international system. The Islamic world, on the other hand, was rather more ambivalent about the action. Many Arab and Islamic states joined the US-led coalition. Egypt, Saudi Arabia and Syria supplied substantial forces, whilst lesser numbers were also supplied by Bahrain, Bangladesh, Kuwait, Morocco, Oman, Pakistan, Qatar and the United Arab Emirates. Turkey played its part too by allowing coalition forces to use its bases and by closing the pipeline running through the country from Iraq to the Mediterranean. However, some other countries backed Saddam, including Iran, Jordan, Libya, Mauritania, Yemen, Sudan and Tunisia, as well as the Palestinian groups, the PLO and Hamas (Huntington 1996: 248). Popular opinion was also deeply divided. Polls in the region suggested the more open and democratic the state, the more likely it was that the public would be opposed to the military action (see Seddon 1991: 104). Many thought the war was fought to preserve Western economic interests and to prove America’s continuing dominance of the world. Saddam Hussein led a secular state, he was hated by Osama bin Laden, yet his willingness to stand up to the might of the West in the Gulf, gained him support in much of the Islamic world. However, it was hard to view the Gulf War in terms of a clash of civilisations (see Huntington 1996: 249). As Jeane Kirkpatrick has argued, the war was not civilisational, but a conflict between two non-Western states – Iraq and Kuwait (1993: 23). The Muslim world was clearly divided by Saddam’s actions, but the Gulf War still played a part, at least, in encouraging militancy and antagonism towards the West.

Chapter 5

The Wars in Yugoslavia: Bosnia and Kosovo Introduction Samuel Huntington characterised both Afghanistan and the Gulf War as civilisational conflicts, but Yugoslavia was the first where such ideas were commonly held. The Catholic, Orthodox and Muslim cultures lined up against each other along the civilisational fault line in the Balkans and, as Huntington might have predicted, the break-up of the Yugoslav federation produced brutality and bloodletting on a scale not seen in Europe since World War II. Yugoslavia also seemed to provide a good example of alliances being formed on a cultural basis – of ‘kin standing by kin’ (Huntington 1993a: 37–38). Thus, the Russians backed their Orthodox brethren in Yugoslavia, despite their policy of military aggression and ethnic cleansing in Bosnia and Kosovo. Catholic Europe, on the other hand, tended to support the Croats. Whilst the Serbs were demonised, Croat misdemeanours were generally ignored, including their military intervention in Bosnia in the winter of 1992. Meanwhile, Muslims came to the support of the Bosniacs. Iran and Saudi Arabia supplied arms to the beleaguered Sarajevo government, whilst a number of foreign Muslim fighters came from all over the world to defend the faith in Bosnia (Huntington 1993a: 37–38). Yet as this chapter will show, the situation was rather more complex than such an outline might suggest. Cultural difference played a role in the break-up and subsequent civil war in Yugoslavia. However, it should not be exaggerated. It is at least possible to argue that economic problems combined with an inflexible political system were equally important in explaining the collapse of the federation (see Ajami 1993: 7). There were also limits to cultural alliance building. The Russian government, for example, wanted to prevent humiliation for the Serbs, but at key moments in both Bosnia and Kosovo national interest took precedence in the Kremlin’s thinking over any civilisational ties. And most important of all, the West, led by the US, ignored any obvious cultural loyalties and used military force to defend the Muslims against Orthodox Christians. It could justifiably be argued that the international community’s response to obvious human suffering in Bosnia was dilatory, especially compared to the rapid deployment of armed forces to defeat Saddam Hussein in the Gulf a year earlier. Nevertheless, in the case of Kosovo, the West moved far more quickly to defend the Muslim Albanians despite opposition within the UN Security Council and concern over the legality of military action. The West’s willingness to act decisively in Kosovo seemed to indicate, at a minimum, that it was not engaged in any systematic assault on the Islamic world. In fact, the case of Kosovo was frequently cited in the West as evidence that there was no global clash of civilisations.

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The Fall of Yugoslavia Yugoslavia was created out of the ashes of World War I. It was a multi-ethnic state set up in a highly unstable part of Europe. After a short and brutish existence, it collapsed as a state amidst inter-ethnic conflict in 1941. Tito (Josip Broz), who had organised the Partisan resistance during the war, used his stature and charisma to put the country back together again. He enjoyed genuine support amongst the people of Yugoslavia but, as a man with a Croat father and a Slovene mother, he was always sensitive to the issue of nationalism. He tried to deal with the problem through a complex constitutional arrangement which gave all ethnic groups a stake in the federation whilst recognising that the Serbs were pivotal to the future of the postwar Yugoslav state. For the Serbs were the largest group in Yugoslavia, a country of minorities, comprising 42 per cent of the total population (Brogan 1992: 422). In Tito’s balancing act, the Serbs were allowed to dominate the federal institutions of party and military, whilst political power was devolved to the six republics and the two Serb provinces of Kosovo and Vojvodina, which made up the federal system. To ensure the interests of the different nations were respected, all the republics and provinces had the right of veto on matters of importance. The political system based on devolution and consensus decision-making made it difficult to govern effectively. It was often said that Yugoslavia did not have a oneparty system like other Marxist-Leninist states in Eastern Europe, but an eight party system – one for each republic and province. It was just about workable whilst Tito was alive. He had the authority which allowed him to cut through the bureaucracy and obstructionism. However, after his death in 1980 with the country facing mounting economic problems, it became apparent that every national group within the country was dissatisfied with the existing status quo (see Cviic 1991: 60–63). There was no agreement, however, on how to reform it. The wealthier Catholic republics, Slovenia and Croatia, which had close ties to Germany and Austria, wanted still more autonomy so they could introduce radical economic reform, liberalise foreign trade and escape the limitations of state ownership and central planning. Serbia, on the other hand, one of the poorer republics with fewer wealthy patrons, was less confident of thriving in the competitive world of global capitalism and sought a stronger, more centralised state, which would both streamline the decision-making process and strengthen the Serb position within the federation. The Serb leader, Slobodan Milosevic, recognised that the Tito compromise was crumbling and projected himself as a Serb nationalist after becoming leader of the Serb Communist Party in 1987. The key moment in his transformation from an orthodox communist to a Serb nationalist came in 1989 when he visited the province of Kosovo. The home of many holy sites, Kosovo was perceived to be the cradle of Serb nation, but the Muslim Kosovar Albanians made up a large and growing majority in the province (see Table 5.1). At a meeting with the Serb minority, which took place on the 600th anniversary of the Battle of Kosovo, Milosevic publicly sided with the Serbs against the Kosovar authorities. ‘No one should dare to beat you,’ he declared in response to reported police attacks on the Serbs, and committed himself to the defence of the Serb minority in Kosovo (Silber and Little 1995: 37). In part, to fulfil his pledge, he acted to strengthen the position of Serbia within the

The Wars in Yugoslavia: Bosnia and Kosovo

Table 5.1

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The distribution of ethnic groups in Yugoslavia before the war

Republic

Capital

Population (1989)

Major national/religious groups (1981 census)

Bosnia

Sarajevo

4.0m

Croatia Macedonia Montenegro Slovenia Serbia [Serbia also includes two provinces (1991 census)] Kosovo Vojvodina

Zagreb Skopje Titograd Lublijana Belgrade

4.5m 2.0m 0.5m 2.0m 9.3m

Muslim (39.5%), Serb (32%), Croat (17%) Croat (80%), Serb (12%) Macedonia (67%), Albanian (20%) Montenegrin (68%) Muslim (13%) Slovenian (90%) Serb (66%), Albanian (14%), Hungarian (3.5%)

Pristina Novi Sad Total

1.9m 2.0m 22.3m

Albanian (77%), Serb (13%) Serb (54%), Hungarian (19%) Orthodox (41%), Catholic (31%), Muslim (12%)

Source: Adapted from Eastern Europe and the CIS (London: Europa Publications, 1992), p. 277.

federation. From 1989, Milosevic abrogated the autonomy of the two Serb provinces, Kosovo and Vojvodina, and brought the republic of Montenegro under the effective control of Belgrade. These moves disturbed the delicate balance of power in Yugoslavia which had been so carefully constructed by Tito, whilst the ruthlessness of Milosevic’s methods further alienated most non-Serbs. The polarisation of opinion within Yugoslavia became apparent in a series of elections in the republics during the course of 1990 when nationalists were elected in both Slovenia and Croatia. After the elections, Slovenia held a referendum in December 1990 and 88.5 per cent voted for outright independence from Yugoslavia. With Croatia supporting the Slovenes, and threatening to follow their lead, the international community had to confront the stark reality of Yugoslavia breaking up and all that could imply for the future of the Balkan region. With memories of how nationalist conflict in the Balkans had sparked a global confrontation in 1914, the international community was desperate to avoid the break-up of the country. Lord Carrington, acting on behalf of the EC, attempted to keep Yugoslavia together through proposing the creation of a confederal structure, but it proved too late (Glenny 1996: 215). The Slovenes and Croats now wanted full independence to escape from the increasingly nationalist Milosevic, whilst the Serbs were resistant to any further devolution of power. When the Carrington plan was rejected, Slovenia and Croatia joined together on 25 June 1991 to formally declare their secession from Yugoslavia. Most of the international community condemned the declaration. The Soviet Union, which was itself in danger of collapse at the time, supported international efforts to forestall the move. The Soviet Foreign Minister, Alexander Bessmertnykh, declared that a single, independent Yugoslavia was ‘an important element of stability in the Balkans and in Europe as a whole’ (Pravda, 29 June 1991: 1). The US sounded even more critical when Secretary of State, James

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Baker, said that the West would not recognise Slovene independence ‘under any circumstances’ (The Independent, 24 June 1991). In the circumstances, the Yugoslav National Army (JNA), which was dominated by Serbs, felt it had the implicit support of the international community when it moved against Slovenia to maintain the territorial integrity of the state. However, the war lasted just ten days before the EC brokered a ceasefire on 7 July 1991 according Slovenia de facto independence. However, hopes that other issues in Yugoslavia could be resolved as speedily proved misplaced. In the context of Yugoslavia, Slovenia proved to be a special case. Ethnically, it was virtually homogenous (see Table 5.1) and the December 1990 referendum had proved that support for independence was almost unanimous. Furthermore, Belgrade had come to the view that Slovenia was of secondary importance. There was a more urgent need to transfer the JNA to Croatia to defend the Serb minority there at a time when inter-ethnic violence was escalating in the republic. It is important to note, however, that in accepting defeat in Slovenia, Milosevic was effectively abandoning the idea of creating a united and more centralised Yugoslavia. From this time on, he sought to create a Greater Serbia carved out of the existing republics of Croatia and Bosnia where the majority of the Serb diaspora lived (Bebler 1993: 82). In April 1990, Franjo Tudjman was elected in Croatia on a nationalist ticket and resurrected many of the old nationalist symbols of the past. This revived memories of World War II when many thousands of Serbs were massacred by the Ustashi in independent Croatia. Fearing the consequences of Tudjman’s election victory, the Serb minority set up their own autonomous province of Krajina on Croatian territory. Towards the end of autumn, the territorial dispute spilled over into violence, escalating into all-out civil war after the Croat declaration of independence in June 1991. With JNA support for the Krajina Serbs, the war quickly degenerated into something far more destructive than anything seen in Slovenia. At the Moscow summit in July 1991, Bush and Gorbachev issued a joint statement condemning the violence and demanding respect of human rights on both sides. However, it was a period of deep divisions within the Kremlin and Gorbachev was losing control over his own government. His own Defence Minister, Dmitri Yazov, agreed on 10–11 August 1991 to a secret $2 billion arms deal with the Serbs which included the delivery of helicopter gunships, rocket launchers and tanks (Glenny 1996: 61). The deal never went through, however, because the Moscow coup of 18–21 August intervened and as a consequence the hardliners were marginalised as the reformers around Yeltsin took control in Russia. The collapse of the arms deal, however, did not seem to affect the Serb war effort as they succeeded in consolidating their position in Krajina. In an attempt to stop the violence, the UN (UNSCR 713), backed by Moscow, resolved to impose an arms embargo on all parties within Yugoslavia from September 1991. The practical effect of the arms embargo, however, was to strengthen the position of the Serbs (cynics argued this had always been Moscow’s aim), since they dominated the JNA and were in possession of most of the country’s weapons. The international community also debated the merits of formally recognising the independence of Slovenia and Croatia. The Germans favoured recognition. Bonn argued that the EC should not oppose the democratic will of the Croat and Slovene

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people and argued that non-recognition only served to legitimise Serb brutality against secessionist republics. Other states in the EC were suspicious of German motives, given their historical and cultural ties to Croatia and Slovenia and feared that recognition would lead to the complete disintegration of Yugoslavia and imply, erroneously, a readiness on the part of the international community to defend the sovereignty of the newly independent states. The Germans in a moment of hubris, nonetheless, went ahead and unilaterally recognised the independence of the two breakaway republics in December 1991. The EC had little alternative but to follow suit on 15 January 1992. To many, however, the dispute seemed purely academic since Yugoslavia had effectively broken up already and after Slovenia’s victory in the ten-day war, even Milosevic showed little interest in keeping the federation together. The decision was also made easier for the EC because the Soviet Union, with its cultural ties to the Serbs, had collapsed by this time. The reformist Yeltsin administration formally recognised the independence of Slovenia and Croatia in February, some two months before Washington. Bonn’s argument that recognition would de-legitimise the use of force and encourage a political settlement in Croatia seemed vindicated when a ceasefire was signed in January 1992. A UN Protection Force (UNPROFOR) was set up and 14,000 troops were sent in June to Krajina to monitor the agreement. No US troops were deployed, but Yeltsin agreed, in an unprecedented move, to send 1,000 Russian peacekeepers. The deployment provided a useful opportunity for Yeltsin to emphasise Russia’s break with its communist past and its willingness to play a more constructive role in international relations in the future. The Russian presence was also important in convincing the Serbs that their interests were represented within UNPROFOR. However, the ceasefire was unsatisfactory in many respects and failed to deal with the underlying problems. The ceasefire was only signed after the Serbs were in occupation of Krajina (formally made up of West Slavonia, East Slavonia and Krajina itself), which comprised roughly 30 per cent of Croatian territory. The UN peacekeepers were deployed to keep the two sides apart, but to many Croats it seemed that they were there effectively to protect the Serb war gains in Krajina. The ceasefire notwithstanding, Zagreb remained firmly opposed to the loss of any Croatian territory to the Serbs. Its alliance with the US and Germany proved vital in finally taking back Krajina three years later. The War in Bosnia The ceasefire in Croatia left the Republic of Bosnia-Hercegovina dangling in a dangerous and disintegrating Yugoslavia. Bosnia was the most ethnically mixed of all the Yugoslav republics – about 40 per cent were Muslims (Bosniacs), 33 per cent Serb, and 17 per cent Croat. Bosnia was vulnerable to a carve-up between the Serbs and Croats as Yugoslavia began to fall apart. Neither Tudjman nor Milosevic believed Bosnia to be a bona fide nation-state, but viewed it as little more than an administrative area created by Tito for the purposes of realpolitik. Indeed, before the war broke out, Milosevic and Tudjman met in March 1991 with the aim of partitioning Bosnia between themselves (Glenny 1996: 149). However, the elected

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Bosnian leader, the Muslim Alija Izetbegovic, hoped to prevent this happening by holding a referendum in March 1992 where the people would have the chance to vote for independence (Glenny 1996: 164). The Serb minority boycotted the referendum, but the Croats and Bosniacs voted overwhelmingly for secession. In response, the Serbs, just as in Croatia earlier, set up their own autonomous region with its own government based at Pale with Radovan Karadzic as leader. Despite Izetbegovic’s reassurances that he wanted to create a secular and pluralist state, Belgrade helped fan Serb fears that his ultimate goal was the creation of an Islamic state in Bosnia (Glenny 1996: 154). As Bosnia moved towards independence, the Bosnian Serbs launched a vicious war from spring 1992. The aim was to carve out a separate but sustainable Serb republic on the territory of Bosnia. The Serbs employed a policy of ethnic cleansing to create an ethnically pure Serb republic through the killing, terrorising and forcible ejection of Bosniacs from territory held by the Serb forces. Such was the Serb military dominance that by the end of 1992, they were in control of about 70 per cent of Bosnia. It was at this point that the Croats abandoned their alliance with the Bosniacs and embarked on their own land-grab. It seemed Milosevic and Tudjman were partitioning Bosnia as they had always planned, but by force. In this squeeze from both sides, the Bosniacs were reduced to about 10 per cent of Bosnian territory, mainly in and around Sarajevo. To survive as a state, the Bosniacs needed external support. Izetbegovic requested aid, but the West was ill-prepared to act decisively to prevent the bloodshed. Intervention seemed even more impractical after the war became a three-way affair at the end of 1992. The international community was simply not willing to fight on behalf of the besieged Muslims on two fronts – against both the Serbs and Croats. It was estimated that about 400,000 troops would have been needed to enforce a peace, and almost as many to maintain it over a prolonged period of time (Freedman 1994–95: 61). As no state or combination of states was willing to contemplate deployment on that scale, mediation appeared to be all the international community was prepared to offer. At first, Moscow supported the Western position. It formally acknowledged Serb responsibility for the war and backed UN economic sanctions against Belgrade in May 1992. Moreover, Moscow also approved the UN decision to extend UNPROFOR to Bosnia in September. However, the UN troops were not deployed in Bosnia to keep the peace – even a precarious one, like in Croatia – because there was no peace to keep. Instead, the UN forces were deployed to provide humanitarian aid to civilians and monitor the conflict in the hope of militating against the worst excesses of the war. In October 1992, Moscow also supported the No-Fly Zone over Bosnia to stop Serb aerial attacks, and accepted that NATO would police it, although any military action had to get prior approval from the UN – a process that became known as the ‘dual key’. The ‘dual key’ gave greater legitimacy to NATO actions, but created enormous problems since the UN, with Moscow a permanent member of the Security Council, proved reluctant to countenance NATO air strikes to punish Serb violations of international law. This was not simply obstructionism on Moscow’s part. There was a real problem in trying to provide humanitarian aid on the ground whilst bombing Serb positions from the air. The Serbs could respond to NATO air strikes by taking unarmed UN personnel hostage in areas they controlled or by refusing to

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allow aid to pass through to the Muslim population. In effect, the UN programme in Bosnia was wholly dependent on the goodwill of the Serb forces. The first major peace plan for Bosnia was finally unveiled in January 1993, and it was sponsored by the EC and the UN. Known as the Vance-Owen Peace Plan (VOPP), after the names of the two chief negotiators, it proposed that Bosnia remain a sovereign state within its current boundaries but be divided administratively into ten cantons: Sarajevo would be a multi-ethnic canton, the other nine would be divided equally between the Muslims, Serbs and Croats. The VOPP required the Serbs to give up about 30 per cent of their war gains and envisaged the deployment of up to 75,000 UN troops to police the final agreement. Although most of the international community, including Moscow, strongly backed the plan as the best available in the circumstances, the US remained ambivalent. President Clinton had come to power critical of his predecessor’s policy in Yugoslavia and argued that the VOPP both appeased Serb ethnic cleansing and was also unfair to the Muslims. Because of this injustice at the centre of the plan, Clinton argued, it could not offer the prospect of a long-term peace. In the absence of US support, the protagonists on the ground felt little pressure to accept the deal and, as a result, the VOPP followed other peace deals into the waste bin (see Freedman 1994–95). As an alternative, President Clinton proposed what became known as the ‘lift and strike’ option in February 1993. The idea was to end the arms embargo which was unequally hurting the Bosniacs and give air support to their war effort on the ground. The central argument was that every sovereign state has the right to defend itself and if the international community was unprepared to intervene on their behalf, then the least it should do is give the Bosniacs the means to defend themselves. The proposal was met unenthusiastically in Moscow and the rest of Europe. The implicit aim of the ‘lift and strike’ option was to escalate the war, but this ran directly counter to everything Britain, France and Russia had been trying to do up to that point. The view in most European capitals was that the Bosniacs had already lost the war and the only role remaining for the international community was to get the best possible deal for the defeated Muslims. The VOPP may not be ideal, but most Europeans felt it was the best the Bosniacs could reasonably expect (see Owen 1995: chapter 4). There was also the fear that the longer the war dragged on, the greater the likelihood of the war spreading beyond the borders of Bosnia and engulfing all of the Balkans. This was the nightmare scenario. As a result, the containment of the Bosnian conflict had become an end in itself and Clinton’s ideas on justice for the Bosniacs an irrelevance. Although ‘lift and strike’ was formally rejected as a policy in Bosnia, in practice things were changing in Western capitals. The US and Germany circumvented the arms embargo to help build up Croatia’s military capability. At the same time, NATO began to make limited air strikes against Serb positions in Bosnia, albeit to punish the Serbs for particular transgressions rather than, as Clinton had envisaged in his plan, to materially assist the Muslim war effort on the ground. Yet progress was slow and in the face of growing public disquiet, the UN adopted a ‘safe areas’ policy in May 1993 to defend the Muslims in six designated areas – Sarajevo, Srebrenica, Gorazde, Zepa, Bihac and Tuzla. However, the UN commitment was based largely on bluff since insufficient troops were deployed in those areas to both defend and

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disarm the Bosniacs as required by the UN. As a result, the Bosniacs used the relative security of the safe areas to launch military attacks on Serb positions. The Serbs, for their part, saw this as justification enough to attack the safe areas, which they were able to do with virtual impunity. Formally, the UN could use force only to defend themselves and not the civilians within the safe areas (Owen 1995: 355). As a result, the UN safe areas policy, along with the UN and the entire international effort in Bosnia was almost wholly discredited. From about this time, Western commentators began to detect a tilt in Moscow away from the Western position and more towards the Serbs (see, for example, Lynch and Lukic 1993: 29–32; Andersen 2000: 187). This was generally attributed to a more nationalist turn in domestic politics in Russia from 1993, but this was only part of the story. For the shift in policy was also a result of growing discontent in Russia over the overall strategy of the international community. The notion that the Serbs were solely to blame for the war in Bosnia was one that was often challenged inside Russia, but the argument gained credibility when the Croats intervened in Bosnia from the end of 1992. The Croat action did not exculpate the Serbs as some Russian parliamentarians suggested, but it did challenge the notion that only Belgrade should be subject to economic sanctions. If Belgrade, why not Zagreb too? In the summer of 1993, the Russian parliament called for an end to economic sanctions which were costing Moscow an estimated $3.5 billion, and also demanded formal recognition for rump Yugoslavia, which now consisted of Serbia and Montenegro (Izvestiya, 29 June 1993). Yeltsin refused to accept parliament’s demands on these specific points, but Moscow did seek to improve relations with Belgrade. In contrast, the US position towards the Serbs toughened after a bomb killed 69 civilians and wounded 200 in the Sarajevo central market on 5 February 1994. TV cameras were there to capture the horrifying event which, in turn, galvanised Western public opinion. President Clinton now argued for decisive action against the Serbs and threatened NATO air strikes to remove the heavy weaponry around Sarajevo and end the siege of the city. When Moscow rejected Clinton’s proposal at the UN Security Council, it was heavily criticised for failing to keep in step with the West (see Crow 1993). No doubt, Moscow’s rejection was, in part, a result of its recent shift in policy, but it should also be remembered that Clinton’s proposal represented a decisive shift away from NATO’s earlier position. Air strikes had been rejected by the international community back in the spring of 1993 because of their likely ineffectiveness and the danger to UN peacekeepers on the ground. For Moscow, nothing had changed fundamentally to alter these assumptions. From the Moscow perspective, the Sarajevo market bombing was a tragedy, but no worse than a whole series of similar attacks over the period. So, in an attempt to forestall a NATO attack, Vitaly Churkin, Russia’s special envoy, conducted some urgent bilateral diplomacy with the Bosnian Serbs which resulted in getting Pale to voluntarily withdraw its heavy weaponry from around Sarajevo. As part of the deal, Russian forces moved in to those positions vacated by the Serbs to prevent them falling into the hands of Pale’s enemies. The Russian troops were greeted by the Serbs like conquering heroes, and the Russian army newspaper, Krasnaya zvezda, proudly declared that the deal showed that Russia was still a great power. Only Russia, it claimed, had the trust of the

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Bosnian Serbs and could have negotiated such a deal (Krasnaya zvezda, 19 February 1994). In this, Krasnaya zvezda might have been right, but many in the West still viewed the Russian initiative with considerable suspicion. For whilst the guns fell silent temporarily, there was no end to the siege, and the Serbs simply took the opportunity to move their troops from Sarajevo to Gorazde, where they proceeded to bombard another safe area. Once again, the Russians sought a negotiated settlement with Pale to end the siege of Gorazde, but on this occasion failed to reach an agreement. Churkin was furious. It showed a lack of gratitude for Moscow’s facesaving efforts in Sarajevo, whilst publicly revealing the limited extent of Russian leverage over their Orthodox brethren. It also gave NATO a pretext to bomb Serb positions around Gorazde. Yeltsin condemned the air strikes (Pravda, 13 April 1994), but they succeeded in forcing the Serbs to retreat. Critics of the West’s passivity in Bosnia used Gorazde as an example of what concerted military force could achieve if the politicians showed the political will (see Rieff 1995: 156–7). By this time, Washington had already started to play a far more pro-active role in the conflict. First of all, Washington sponsored a peace deal between the Muslims and Croats in March 1994 to end their war in Bosnia and create a joint federation on Bosnian territory. Second, Washington was instrumental in setting up the Contact Group the following month. Washington had become frustrated with the UN and the EC, and favoured the Contact Group because it had only five members – the US, Russia, Britain, France and Germany – representing the main groups in Bosnia. It streamlined decision-making, and the Group put forward a new peace proposal in May 1994. According to the Contact Group Plan, Bosnia would remain a sovereign state within its current borders, but instead of the complex canton system proposed in the VOPP, Bosnia would be divided into just two administrative regions, with 51 per cent of territory going to the new Muslim-Croat federation and the rest to the Bosnian Serbs. Radovan Karadzic rejected the plan, but this led to the complete isolation of the Bosnian Serbs. Slobodan Milosevic had been working behind the scenes since 1993, together with Moscow, for a negotiated settlement and he came out firmly behind the Contact Group Plan. The plan also provided Milosevic with an opportunity to abandon Karadzic who had begun to challenge his position amongst the Serbs. Thus, Milosevic completely undermined Karadzic’s bargaining position in August 1994 when he formally cut all economic and political ties with Pale. Russia, for its part, used the Serb split, to break its own ties with Karadzic (Segodnya, 4 August 1994: 1). At the same time, Moscow moved closer to Milosevic in the hope of mediating a compromise settlement. Foreign Minister Kozyrev went as far as to describe Milosevic as ‘the leader of the peace party’, and pressed for a lifting of economic sanctions once a ceasefire had been agreed (Izvestiya, 3 August 1994: 3). Izvestiya later wrote: ‘One gets the impression that the Bosnian Serb leaders have totally discredited themselves in the eyes of Russian foreign policy makers, and that henceforth the Kremlin intends to deal only with Slobodan Milosevic’ (Izvestiya, 9 August 1994: 3). From this moment, it became all but impossible for even the most fervent Russian nationalist to demand unity with the Orthodox Serbs when the two leaders, Milosevic and Karadzic, were divided over the fundamentals of policy.

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The Croat forces, on the other hand, thanks to military aid from the US and Germany, were at last strong enough to take back West Slavonia in May 1995 and Krajina in August. The Serbs living in those areas were forced to flee. This victory over the Serbs opened up a supply route for the Croats to deliver arms to their new Muslim allies in Bosnia. Yet, it appeared to many at the time that the international effort in Bosnia was collapsing. The Serbs had resumed their siege of Sarajevo and taken 300 UN troops hostage (including 13 Russians) in response to further limited NATO air strikes. Two UN safe areas fell to the Serbs – Srebrenica in July and Zepa in August. These defeats, however, galvanised the international community into action and on 30 August 1995, NATO finally began a concerted two-week air campaign against Serb positions, which Yeltsin described, in a moment of grotesque hyperbole, as ‘genocide’ (International Herald Tribune, 13 September 1995). In fact, the NATO air strikes destroyed much of the Serb command and communications on the battlefield and allowed the Muslim-Croat alliance to take advantage and push back the Serb forces to approximately the 49 per cent of territory outlined in the 1994 Contact Group Plan. As the Serbs faced further defeats on the battlefield, Milosevic was delegated by the Pale parliament to be the sole peace negotiator on behalf of the Bosnian Serbs. With Karadzic sidelined, progress was rapid. A ceasefire was signed on 5 October 1995 and after three weeks of hard bargaining in Dayton Ohio, a peace agreement, based on the Contact Group plan, was finally signed on 22 November 1995. The Croats emerged as the main victors from Dayton. They had escaped the opprobrium of the West despite its intervention in Bosnia at the end of 1992 and had been rewarded with an independent Croatia which was confederated to half of Bosnia. The other ethnic groups, however, were less happy. Milosevic could claim to have created a Greater Serbia with the creation of the Republica Srpska on Bosnian territory. However, Serb nationalists were dismayed that control of the Bosnian capital, Sarajevo, was given to the Bosniacs, whilst they had lost all their war gains in Croatia. The Muslims, however, lost most of all. They gained control of the capital Sarajevo, but had to share their half of Bosnia in an uneasy alliance with the Croats. The consensus view was that the NATO air strikes had finally brought peace to Bosnia, but this was only part of the story. The more interventionist line taken by the Americans was indeed crucial in ending the war. Their backing for the nationalist Tudjman regime allowed the Croats to take back Krajina from the Serbs and the NATO air strikes also weakened the Serb position in Bosnia and allowed the Croat and Muslim forces on the ground to drive back the Serbs. However, it was not obvious that the final Contact Group Plan was any better than the VOPP which the Americans had played a part in undermining two years earlier. The real difference between VOPP and Dayton was that the US was prepared to put its military muscle behind the latter deal (Glitman 1996–97: 75). The willingness of the Germans and Americans to build up the Croat army in contravention of the arms embargo was vital in ultimately defeating the Bosnian Serbs, but the role of Milosevic in ending the war should not be overlooked either. Milosevic pushed for a negotiated settlement from 1993 and he was even prepared to abandon the Bosnian Serbs in the summer of 1994 when Karadzic rejected the Contact Group Plan. Without Milosevic on board, there is little reason to think that compromise would have been reached at Dayton.

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Moscow faced criticism in some quarters in the West for its pro-Serb stance and opposition to NATO air strikes, which arguably delayed a final peace settlement (see International Herald Tribune, 12 January 1995: 5). Like most nations involved, Russia deserves some criticism, not least for some of its anti-NATO rhetoric, but the central thesis is unconvincing for a number of reasons. First, the Serbs made their biggest land-grab in Croatia and Bosnia at a time when Moscow fully supported Western policy on Bosnia. Even after the rise of more nationalist thinking in Russia from 1993, Moscow still supported the main international peace proposals on Bosnia – the Vance-Owen Peace Plan in 1993 and the Contact Group Plan from 1994. Russia can, therefore, justifiably claim to have remained largely within the parameters of international consensus on Yugoslavia throughout the crisis. It is quite true, however, that Russia was the country most opposed to military action, but Moscow was often only articulating views widely held elsewhere. Everyone understood that war in Bosnia could only be concluded through some kind of a negotiated compromise settlement. In the circumstances, Moscow had an important role to play as the Serb representative on the UN and in the Contact Group. The presence of Russian peacekeepers in Bosnia as part of IFOR also helped to reassure the Serbs that their interests would be taken into account in the post-war settlement. The War in Kosovo The resolve of the international community was tested again shortly afterwards in the Serb province of Kosovo. After Milosevic abolished Kosovar autonomy in 1989, the Kosovar Albanians set up a parallel government led by Ibrahim Rugova which declared independence in 1991. In practical terms, the declaration of independence had little practical effect and, in the face of continuing repressive policies from the Serb authorities, the more radical KLA (Kosovar Liberation Army) gained more support in the province. Founded in 1993, the KLA came to prominence after an uprising against the Serb authorities in March 1998. By the end of that summer, the KLA, led by Hashim Thaci, claimed 35,000 members and was thought to be in control of about 30 per cent of the province (MccGwire 2000: 4). Belgrade took action against the KLA and, in the process, drove many Muslims from their homes in what appeared to be a return to ethnic cleansing. After failed attempts by the Contact Group (now also including Italy) to negotiate a solution to the developing crisis in Kosovo, the UN issued an ultimatum (UNSCR 1199) on 23 September 1998 calling on both sides to end the violence. NATO also threatened air strikes if Belgrade refused to comply. Milosevic backed off, and in a deal brokered through the US, he withdrew some Serb forces from the province on 13 October 1998. The OSCE was delegated by the UN (UNSCR 1203) to monitor the ceasefire on the ground with 1,000 observers, whilst NATO continued its surveillance of Kosovo from the air. However, the deal never dealt with the underlying problem of Kosovar autonomy, and the OSCE had neither the power nor the mandate to prevent a return to violence in the province. When a grave containing the bodies of 45 Kosovar Albanians was uncovered in Racak in January 1999, the international

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community recognised that there was a real danger of the province descending into the kind of genocidal war witnessed earlier in Bosnia. In a desperate attempt to prevent this happening, the Contact Group sponsored talks between the two sides at Rambouillet, near Paris, in February 1999. Negotiations proved difficult and long drawn-out, but the KLA was persuaded to accept a compromise deal in mid-March which offered Kosovo autonomy, but not outright independence – although a referendum on the future status of Kosovo within three years was implicit in the deal. The proposal also demanded the disarmament of the KLA, the partial withdrawal of Serb forces from Kosovo, and the deployment of NATO troops throughout Yugoslavia to monitor the peace and protect the returning Muslim refugees. It was made quite explicit at Paris that any rejection of the deal would lead to military action. However, the Serbs still rejected the West’s proposal, most concerned, it seemed, over the prospect of Kosovo independence and the role of NATO as peacekeeper (see Weller 1999: 102–23). After the failure of the Rambouillet talks, NATO carried out its threat and started bombing Serb positions from 24 March 1999. The NATO air strikes lasted 78 days before Milosevic finally sued for peace on 10 June. In the final peace agreement (UNSCR 1244), which was fully backed by Moscow, all Serb troops were withdrawn from Kosovo, international peacekeepers moved in and Kosovar Albanian refugees were able to return to their homes. Kosovo became a UN protectorate, policed by the NATO-led KFOR. Although a Constitutional Framework, drawn up in April 2001, allowed for a provisional institution of self-government (PISG), the UN Mission in Kosovo (UNMIK) retained many key powers and Kosovo’s political status remained in a state of limbo many years after the war had ended. Nevertheless, after the embarrassments suffered by the international community over Bosnia, Kosovo was viewed in the West as a major success (see Solana 1999: 114–120). The bombing went on longer than anyone had expected, but in comparison to the three years of war in Bosnia, the conflict was relatively short and the number of casualties correspondingly lower – 10,000 compared to an estimated 100,000 in Bosnia. A by-product of the war was the fall of Milosevic who was thrown out of office by his own people on 5 October 2000 after accusations of ballot-rigging. A year later, he was sent to the Hague to face war crime charges. Although Milosevic died in March 2006 before a judgement had been served, it appeared to many that the liberal internationalist agenda had been revived in Kosovo. NATO’s timely action had averted a major humanitarian disaster and, unlike in the Gulf War, there could be no accusation of the West acting for selfish nationalist reasons. Kosovo was one of the poorest regions in Europe – it possessed no oil, and was scarcely a region of strategic importance. To many, Kosovo seemed to be a rare case of an ethical foreign policy in action (Roberts 1999: 102–123). Yet, even in a case like Kosovo, there were criticisms of Western policy. First, it was argued that the war could have been avoided. The peace proposal put forward by the West at Rambouillet, it was said, was deliberately designed to legitimise war (Hudson 2003: 23). Although the overall proposal was reasonable, aspects of the deal made it very difficult for the Serbs to accept (MccGwire 2000: 11). These included the promise of a referendum on Kosovar independence and the unimpeded access of NATO forces throughout Yugoslavia – and not just Kosovo – to monitor the peace.

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Although Washington denies it (see Rubin 2000: i), the offer was also transmitted to the Serbs in the form of a non-negotiable ultimatum. Yet, in the subsequent peace agreement, the most controversial aspects of the Rambouillet deal had been removed. There was no reference in the final deal to any referendum on independence and the peacekeepers would now be led, not by NATO, but by the UN; and their deployment would be restricted to Kosovo alone. Critics suggested that if such an offer had been on the table at Rambouillet, a deal might have been reached without the need to go to war (see McGwire 2000: 11). Washington was dubious. US leaders said that Belgrade was never interested in any compromise deal at Rambouillet. Indeed, Milosevic’s contempt for the peace process was clearly revealed when he refused to attend the talks, whilst subsequent evidence showed that the Serbs were already preparing for a renewed assault on the KLA (Rubin 2000: i). A second criticism of the NATO action concerned military tactics and the exclusive use of air strikes. Air strikes minimised the chances of allied casualties, but seemed of minimal utility against ethnic cleansing, which generally involved Serb soldiers entering Kosovar homes and threatening the inhabitants. Air strikes from 15,000 feet up also increased the likelihood of identifying and hitting the wrong targets, as the bombing of a Kosovar refugee convoy and the Chinese embassy showed (see Byman and Waxman 2000: 5–38). Indeed, the immediate effect of NATO action seemed to be entirely counter-productive. For there was an escalation in Serb ethnic cleansing of Kosovar Albanian areas and the subsequent refugee problem, in turn, threatened to destabilise neighbouring Macedonia. It was estimated that four times as many people were killed and displaced during the bombing than before it (Mandelbaum 1999: 3). Exact numbers are impossible to determine, but between 1,000 and 5,000 civilians are believed to have died during the air strikes, the majority, however, were killed by the Serbs. The air strikes undoubtedly degraded the Serb infrastructure and undermined Serb morale, but in military terms they had little impact. It was estimated that only 14 tanks, 18 armoured personnel carriers and 20 artillery pieces were hit by NATO during the 78 days of bombing (The Guardian, 4 September 2000: 4). Indeed, as the war dragged on, there were growing disputes inside the alliance over the utility of continued air strikes and renewed talk from mid-May of the need for a ground invasion if the campaign against the Serbs were ever to be won. A third criticism of the NATO air strikes concerned their legality (see Guicherd 1999: 19–34; and Glennon 1999: 2). NATO was bombing Serbia, a sovereign state, which might be acting in the most appalling way towards an ethnic minority, but it remained doubtful that it had violated any accepted international law. The scale of the Serb atrocities had scarcely reached levels that could be described as genocide – a term in the UN Charter which could legitimise external intervention. Kosovo was still recognised internationally as a province within Serbia and therefore, in law, an internal matter for the sovereign state concerned. Moreover, Yugoslavia had not attacked nor threatened another state. Therefore, NATO could not claim it was acting in self-defence, which appeared the only grounds for military action according to its own founding Washington Treaty. The weakness of the Western case in law was evident in its unwillingness to seek explicit approval for its actions in the UN Security Council. It suspected, no doubt correctly, that Russia and China, as permanent members of the Security Council, would veto any military action against

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Serbia. This provided an interesting precedent for the subsequent dispute in the UN over the use of force against Iraq in 2003. The West, for its part, rejected the idea that the NATO action was illegal. The UN gave no explicit approval for the use of force, but the West argued it was implicit in a number of its resolutions. Thus, under Chapter VII of the UN Charter, war may be permissible if a state poses a threat to peace and security in the region, and UNSCR 1199 of September 1998 established that the Serb actions in Kosovo posed such a threat. There was also a problem with the implementation of international law. Both China and Russia had made it absolutely clear right from the start that they would veto any resolution permitting the use of force against Serbia, but how far should NATO feel constrained by Moscow and Beijing? China was a dictatorship with a bad human rights record, whilst Russia had shown itself willing to use brutal methods in repressing its own national minority in Chechnya. How far should such states have a right to prevent humanitarian intervention in Europe? A further defence of Western policy suggests that the action might have been technically a violation of international law, but it was justifiable on ethical grounds. Radical security theorists had long been arguing that the rights of individuals and ethnic minorities should take priority over the rights of states (see Booth 1991). According to this argument, the international community should be rather more concerned about the fate of the fleeing Kosovar Albanians rather than the sovereignty of Milosevic’s brutal dictatorship. In such circumstances, justice should override legality (see Wheeler 2001: 145–163). However, the ethical dimension of the war might not have been quite as clearcut as perceived at the time. Whilst the international community focussed on justice for the Kosovar Albanians, the Serb minority also suffered. Most Albanian refugees were able to return to their homes, but thousands of Serbs fled the province for fear of reprisals. The remaining Serbs live in conclaves protected by international peacekeepers. Political progress has been made, but over half of the population remains mired in poverty and problems between the two ethnic groups persist. The Kosovar Albanians are desperate for full independence, whilst Belgrade remains opposed. As the Serbs voted in January 2007 for nationalist-conservatives in Belgrade, the latest UN report by Martti Ahtisaari was offering Kosovo effective independence, albeit under international supervision (Markedonov 2007). Kosovo would have its own flag, anthem, constitution, government and parliament. It would also be able to negotiate international agreements and join international organisations. Its independence, however, would be constrained by the presence of international military forces and an International Civilian Representative with the authority to block government decisions. The West approves the plan, but Moscow is doubtful. Putin has declared that Moscow will only support the plan if Belgrade approves it (Putin 2007: 3). Moscow recognises parallels with some secessionist movements on the territory of the former Soviet Union. Abkhazia, South Ossetia and Transdniester, for example, want to secede from Georgia and Moldova respectively and become members of the Russian Federation (see Frolov 2007b). Although international law has become more permissive in regard to secession, it has still wanted to discourage the possible spiralling effect of ever smaller national minorities seeking secession from the secessionists (see Moore 1997: 903). Montenegro had already seceded from what remained of rump Yugoslavia in 2006. It is at least possible, therefore,

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that Moscow’s perceived obstructionism on Kosovo may reflect genuine concern over the setting of possible precedents in international law which could have a direct impact on Russian security. Russia’s role Russia was a leading critic of the NATO intervention in Kosovo. It refused to accept the Western analysis of the causes of instability in Kosovo. Moscow viewed the KLA as a terrorist organisation (as did the UN up to 1998) which was acting provocatively to engineer Western intervention (Hudson 2003: 23). Despite backing the OSCE monitoring mission, Yeltsin reassured Milosevic in June 1998 that Moscow would oppose any air strikes against Serbia (The Guardian, 15 June 1998: 19). He also told the international community at Rambouillet that Moscow would veto any resolution at the UN on the use of force (Rubin 2000: xi). Moscow failed to prevent the air strikes, but its continued opposition was public and dramatic. Prime Minister Primakov ordered his plane bound for the US should be turned around and head for home when he heard that the bombing had started. Two days after the bombing began, Moscow tabled a resolution at the UN Security Council which demanded ‘an immediate cessation of the use of force against the former republic of Yugoslavia’ (Rossiiskaya gazeta 26 March 1999: 2). Russia’s draft resolution, however, was rejected. Twelve of the fifteen states on the Security Council were opposed to an immediate ceasefire. Only China and Namibia supported the Russians. NATO chose to interpret the rejection of Russia’s proposal as post facto approval of its actions. Moscow, however, took a rather different view. Yeltsin in his memoirs wrote that all the rules that had been established by the UN during the long post-war decades collapsed when NATO bombed Belgrade. He went on: ‘Soon the force of only one country or one group will decide everything in the world. Instead of the mentality of a world peacemaker, we are seeing the psychology of a world enforcer and a dictator country’ (Yeltsin 2000: 256). Putin later said that Moscow would ‘never have agreed to that type of interference in the internal affairs of another country. That sort of behaviour cannot be justified, even for so-called humanitarian reasons. I believe the operation itself was a major mistake in international relations and a violation of the founding principles of international law’ (Putin 2000: 178). It was not just the legal position which exercised minds in the Kremlin. They were also deeply concerned that it was NATO taking military action against one of their allies (see FBIS, Daily Report 1999). For NATO, the old cold war security organisation, had already extended its remit and only just enlarged to take in the three former Warsaw Pact states of Hungary, Poland and the Czech Republic. Yeltsin complained that the West wanted to dominate the post-cold war system with NATO acting as ‘the world policeman’ (Yeltsin 2000: 258). In response to the air strikes, Moscow temporarily froze relations with NATO and withdrew its mission from Brussels and suspended participation in the Partnership for Peace programme. Kosovo was seen as a portent for the future. NATO ignored Russian security interests in Europe and bombed an ally, arguably in violation of international law (see Putin 2000: 174).

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On 19 April, as the bombing continued, Yeltsin declared that Moscow would never abandon Milosevic (Buckley 2001: 162), and there was even talk in some quarters of Russia and Belarus joining a Slavic union with Milosevic’s Serbia (Yeltsin 2000: 264). Yet, Russian policy began to shift as NATO showed no sign of stopping the aerial bombardment. Against growing fears of a possible ground invasion, Moscow became more active in seeking a negotiated settlement in Kosovo. Thus, for the first time, at the G8 conference on 6 May 1999, Russia publicly accepted the idea of a strong international presence to police the peace in Kosovo (SIPRI 2000: 31). A week later, Yeltsin sacked Prime Minister Primakov, who was unpopular in the West, and appointed Viktor Chernomyrdin as his special envoy to Belgrade. When Chernomyrdin first met Milosevic, he was much surprised to discover that the Serb leader still believed that Belgrade could win the war (Chernomyrdin 2000: 1). Milosevic argued that the Serb people would rally round in support of his leadership and fight any invasionary force (Yeltsin 2000: 264). It was true that the Serb people had rallied round when the bombing first started, but public support soon faded and splits were widening in his own government (MccGwire 2000: 11). Chernomyrdin made it abundantly clear to Milosevic that he could not expect any Russian military support in the event of a ground invasion (Yeltsin 2000: 264). Moscow finally backed NATO’s peace terms on 2 June 1999, and Milosevic accepted them the following day. As Yeltsin noted, in at least one respect, the final agreement was worse for the Serbs than that offered at Rambouillet (Yeltsin 2000: 265). For it demanded total, rather than partial withdrawal of Serb forces from Kosovo, and this induced many more Serbs to flee the province. The final agreement divided Kosovo into five zones, but there was no zone for Russia. Yet Milosevic wanted Russian peacekeepers to ensure that the Serb minority was not driven out of Kosovo altogether (Chernomyrdin 2000: 3). The Kosovar Albanians, however, were highly suspicious of any Russian participation in policing the peace deal. Moscow, therefore, attempted to seize territory unilaterally. About 200 Russian troops, previously on peacekeeping duties in Croatia, made an unannounced dash to Pristina airport on 11 June and refused to allow the British to establish its camps at the airport. A full-blown crisis ensued. American officers even called for strikes against Russian positions, but the other peacekeeping countries were opposed (SIPRI 2000: 31). A week later, the crisis resolved itself when it was agreed to allow Russian participation in the multi-national peacekeeping brigade – out of a total KFOR of 40,000 troops, about 3,000 were Russian. Nevertheless, Moscow’s unilateral action achieved little and at great cost to Russia’s image abroad. It also overshadowed Chernomyrdin’s diplomatic efforts which had helped bring an end to the war in Kosovo. Yet this, in so many ways, was typical of Yeltsin’s foreign policy. It upset the maximum number of people for the smallest possible return. Conclusion How far is it possible to say that culture influenced Russian policy in Yugoslavia? There was no doubt that there was some cultural connection between the two Orthodox nations and, as Yeltsin noted in his memoirs, policy-makers could scarcely

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ignore the rise of nationalism in Russia from 1993 (Yeltsin 2000: 259). The Serbs, like the Russians, lived in a multi-ethnic state which was on the fault line between different civilisations. Both the Serbs and Russians felt they were misunderstood by the West and their historical role in containing the Muslim threat in Europe underappreciated. As a result, Kosovo became something of a rallying point for the rising anti-Americanism in the country which reached its height during the conflict. A poll taken in March 1999 found 90 per cent of Russians were opposed to the NATO air strikes in Kosovo (Williams and Golenkova 2001: 209). Demonstrations were held outside the US embassy in Moscow and, at one point, the police detained a group of extremists who had driven past the embassy with a grenade launcher ready to be fired (Yeltsin 2000: 259). The Duma passed resolutions denouncing the war, whilst deputies called for Russia to break the UN arms embargo. Communists held negotiations with Milosevic over the possibility of forming a Russian-Serb alliance, whilst the nationalist leader, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, tried to sign up Russian volunteers to fight in Kosovo (Andersen 2000: 198). Yet support for the Serbs did not appear to be as deep-rooted as cultural theories might have supposed. Six months after the end of the NATO air strikes, 78 per cent of those polled said they had no sympathy for either side in Kosovo or had no interest in the topic (New Russia Barometer VIII, Fieldwork January 2000). In March 1999, 74 per cent thought Kosovo would lead to a decline in relations with the West (Williams and Golenkova 2001: 209), but by August only 17 per cent thought relations would deteriorate (Nationwide VCIOM survey, 18–21 August 1999). Furthermore, evidence of civilisational rallying seemed very limited. Despite Zhirinovsky’s efforts, few Russians were willing to fight on the side of the Serbs. In the Bosnian war, Western intelligence suggested that no more than 500 Russians were fighting in the republic and not all of those were on the side of the Serbs (Izvestiya, 5 February 1994: 3; Huntington 1993a: 37). This was not entirely surprising, since virtually all the protagonists in Bosnia (whatever their religion) were Slav. Many of the volunteers, it appears, were simply mercenaries, eager for a chance to make some money. Any thought of some kind of Slavic union, which was floated by some nationalists and communists at the time of the Kosovo conflict, was quickly forgotten. The Slavs were always divided by religion, and even the Orthodox Serbs of Belgrade and Pale were divided from 1994 during the Bosnian war. Yeltsin has denied that his policy was driven by any cultural affinity to the Serbs (Yeltsin 2000: 256–7). Yeltsin personally disliked Milosevic, especially after the Serb leader supported his opponents in the Moscow coup of August 1991. In his memoirs, Yeltsin described Milosevic as ‘one of the most cynical politicians I have ever dealt with’ (2000: 265). It appeared that national interest rather than cultural allegiance governed Russia’s policy towards the wars in Yugoslavia. Moscow was prepared to ally with Milosevic to emphasise its growing independence from the United States and Milosevic saw advantage in support from Russia. However, Churkin, the Russian envoy said at the height of the Bosnian war that Russia ‘will never get into a confrontation with the world community over the map of Bosnia’ (Izvestiya, 21 April 1993: 3), and Yeltsin in his memoirs dismissed Kosovo as a distraction whose main importance was the way it threatened to undermine his Western policy (2000: 265). It was always more than this. There was real empathy between the Russians

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and the Serbs, but Moscow’s main concern became the management of Serb defeat in the face of overwhelming Western military superiority (see Chernomyrdin 2000). The prevention of an ally’s humiliation became the best way for Russia itself to save face.

Chapter 6

The Conflict in Chechnya Introduction After nationalism brought down the Soviet Union in December 1991, there were fears that it could also destabilise the newly independent Russian Federation. Although there were considerable pressures on the state, the majority of commentators argued at the time that Russia would survive as a sovereign state (see, for example, Ross 2000; and Evangelista 2002). There were over 100 different ethnic groups in Russia but the centrifugal forces were much reduced compared to those in the Soviet Union. This was so for a number of reasons. First, in the latter days of the Soviet Union ethnic Russians made up barely 50 per cent of the population, but in the Russian Federation they comprised 83 per cent of the total – a significant majority (Waller 2005: 67). Second, non-Russian ethnic groups in Russia were numerous but comparatively small in size. The Tatars were the second biggest ethnic group after the Russians, but according to the 2002 census, they constituted only 3.8 per cent of the total population (Waller 2005: 67). Third, non-Russian ethnic groups constituted a majority in only ten out of the then 89 administrative regions of the Russian Federation (including Chechnya, Dagestan, Ingushetia and KabardinoBalkaria), and a plurality in just Tatarstan (48 per cent) (Ross 2000: 96). Even in these republics, however, ethnic Russians always constituted a significant minority. As a result, ethnic Russians dominated the Russian Federation, and secessionist pressures from ethnic minorities have been correspondingly lower than in the Soviet Union. None of which is to suggest that nationalism is unimportant in contemporary Russia. On the contrary, nationalism remains strong in some regions of the federation and most notably in the Caucasus. Political and socio-economic inequality within the federation also added to the centrifugal tendencies within Russia. For as the economy collapsed and capitalist reform was introduced, differentials widened, not only between individuals, but also across the regions of the Russian Federation. Regions with natural resources, such as oil-rich Tatarstan, and prestigious cities, like Moscow and St Petersburg, prospered, whilst others which were resource poor or more dependent on manufacturing industries, like Dagestan and Tuva, struggled. It was estimated that average per capita income in Moscow when Putin came to power was at least three times the national average and more than ten times that in impoverished Dagestan (Ross 2000: 87). Differentials on this scale tended to undermine feelings of community and national unity. A perception of disadvantage could easily find expression in nationalist and separatist discourse. There was a clear need for the devolution of power after the over-centralised days of the Soviet Union and Yeltsin encouraged the Russian regions to ‘take as

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much sovereignty as they could digest’ (Pravda, 9 August 1990). After the collapse of the Soviet Union, however, Yeltsin expended considerable energy in securing the territorial integrity of the Russian Federation. To this end, he drew up the Federal Treaty in March 1992, which all 89 regions signed up to eventually, with the single and notable exception of Chechnya. Most regions recognised the need to clarify relations between the centre and periphery but the treaty, in fact, was something of a compromise document. It committed all the signatories to remain ‘subjects’ of the Russian Federation [subyekty federatsii], but accorded different levels of autonomy to different regions. Tatarstan only signed the treaty in February 1994 after it had been granted ‘special status’ within the Russian Federation, which accorded the republic control over most of its political and economic affairs, including foreign trade and foreign policy. One commentator said its special status meant, in effect, that Tatarstan had become a ‘state within a state’ (Ross 2000: 88). This unequal treaty, as it became known, was unsatisfactory in many ways, not least because it led to even greater disparities in both power and wealth across the federation. There were hopes that the Russian Constitution, which was adopted in December 1993, might deal with this central problem. In fact, it only added to the confusion with the Federal Treaty formally remaining ‘operative’, whilst the flexibility clause in the constitution formally allowed separate bilateral agreements between the centre and the periphery. As a result, instead of there being one federation, critics argued there were 89 different relationships with the centre (Ross 2000: 99). Therefore, when Putin came to power in 2000, he had considerable support in the country for his policy of centralising power, limiting the autonomy of the regions, and simplifying centre-periphery relations. This process began almost as soon as Putin became President when he created seven super-regions in May 2000 to oversee the 89 subjects of the federation. Regional leaders were stripped of their right to sit in the upper house of parliament, the Federation Council, and instead were appointed to a new, weaker consultative body, the State Council. The number of federal subjects was reduced in January 2007 to 88 and it is due to drop further in coming years. Putin’s most dramatic move, however, was to abandon direct elections for regional leaders in the wake of the Beslan school tragedy in September 2004. Putin argued that the terrorists were exploiting the weakness of central authority to further their long-term goals and spread instability across the federation (Putin 2000: 142). Therefore, there was a need, he claimed, for the centre to reassert its control over the regions. The Position of Chechnya The Federal Treaty showed that few local leaders wanted outright independence, but nationalist pressures remained strong in the Caucasus region. The Caucasus was ethnically mixed, politically volatile and fiercely independent. Located between the Caspian and Black Seas, it was also a region of considerable economic and strategic importance. The Russian border split the Caucasus in half. Republics to the north, including Chechnya, Dagestan and Ingushetia, remained a part of the Russian Federation, whilst Armenia, Georgia and Azerbaijan to the south became

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independent and sovereign states. Chechnya, itself, was a small republic roughly the size of Northern Ireland, about 1,000 miles south of Moscow and with a population of about 900,000 according to the 1989 census. Although the majority was ethnic Chechen, there was also a sizeable Russian minority making up roughly a quarter of the total population. The Russians were concentrated mainly in Grozny (50 per cent of the capital’s population was Russian) and the area north of the Terek River (the Nadterechny District). The ethnic Chechens themselves were divided into more than 100 teipy, or clans, with many owing primary allegiance to the teip rather than the nation. These clan loyalties made it more difficult for a leader to govern in the name of the Chechen people. Post-Soviet leaders, such as Dzhokhar Dudayev and Aslan Maskhadov, attempted to overcome this difficulty through appeals to the majority religion of Islam, even though this tended to alienate the non-Muslim minority. Chechnya’s economy, based on the oil industry, had been important in the Soviet period. It not only had some oil deposits, but also oil processing plants and a number of valuable oil pipelines crossing the republic. In fact, its economic potential seemed to convince Dudayev, that Chechnya could prosper as an independent state. Unfortunately for Chechnya, its economic importance also made it less likely that Moscow would give it up without a fight. Chechnya’s history had long been tied up with Russia’s. After a long and bloody war, Russia finally brought Chechnya into the Tsarist empire in the early 1860s. However, the Chechens never accepted their integration into the Russian state or empire and used every opportunity to escape its control. Thus, Chechnya briefly won its independence in the chaos following the Bolshevik Revolution of 1917 before being forcibly incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1922. Such insubordination led to a deep mistrust of the Chechen people in Moscow. Fearing another bid for independence during World War II, Josef Stalin, a man from the Caucasus himself, claimed the Chechens had collaborated with the Nazis and, on those grounds, deported virtually the whole Chechen nation to Kazakhstan and Siberia in 1944. A third died en route, whilst those unable or unwilling to leave were shot or, in some cases, even burnt to death in their homes (see Bennett 2001: 200–204). Many Chechens who emerged later as major figures in the post-Soviet independence movement, like Dzhokhar Dudayev and Aslan Maskhadov, were brought up in exile in Kazakhstan. Khrushchev was no less critical than Stalin of nationalism as an ideology, but his policies showed greater humanity towards the minority nations within the USSR. A year after Khrushchev exposed Stalin’s excesses in his Secret Speech of 1956, Chechens were allowed to return to their homeland. Yet, they still faced suspicion and discrimination. Almost uniquely amongst autonomous republics in Soviet Russia, Moscow prevented ethnic Chechens from taking high political office until Gorbachev’s reformist administration when Doku Zavgayev was appointed as Chechen party boss in June 1989. The First War The authorities should not have been surprised, therefore, when nationalism returned to Chechnya as the Soviet Union began to break up. Initially, Yeltsin

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seemed unconcerned when the Chechen leader, Doku Zavgayev, was overthrown by Dzhokhar Dudayev in September 1991. Zavgayev had alienated himself from the Yeltsin camp by remaining neutral during the Moscow coup in August. Dudayev, on the other hand, had supported Yeltsin against the hardliners and used the opportunity to brand Zavgayev an unreconstructed communist. Married to a Russian and an officer in the Soviet air force, Dudayev looked a reasonably safe bet as a future Chechen leader (Yeltsin 2000: 51). However, Moscow turned against Dudayev when he brought forward elections to October and manipulated the vote to get elected President with 85 per cent of the vote on a 55 per cent turn-out (Bennett 2001: 51). Some anti-secessionist districts within Chechnya, including Ingushetia, Nadterechny and Urus Martan never voted, and there were also reports of ethnic Russians being harassed (see Delovoi Mir, 25 February 1995). As a result, Moscow declared the election null and void. When Dudayev ignored Moscow and declared Chechnya’s independence in November 1991, Yeltsin imposed a state of emergency and dispatched a few hundred Interior Ministry troops to the dissident republic. However, Dudayev’s forces were waiting and, having relieved them of their weaponry, sent the Russian troops back home on buses. After Yeltsin’s heroic victory over the communists in the August coup, this act of defiance by a handful of Chechen rebels was perceived to be a particular humiliation. Yeltsin imposed a partial economic blockade on Chechnya and henceforward refused to negotiate directly with Dzhokhar Dudayev. Yeltsin’s nationalities adviser, Galina Starovoitova, however, adopted a more conciliatory position. Thus, she encouraged Dudayev to sign the Federal Treaty and accept autonomy for Chechnya within the Russian Federation. When Tatarstan finally signed up in February 1994, there were renewed hopes that Dudayev might follow suit, but he steadfastly refused to compromise. Chechnya never signed the Federal Treaty and the republic also boycotted the December referendum on the 1993 Constitution. Dudayev argued, therefore, that Chechnya had, in effect, seceded from Russia and, as a result, the republic was no longer bound by Russian law. This was a position later tested and rejected by the Russian Constitutional Court in July 1995 (Seely 2001: 291). Initially, Dudayev’s defiance of Moscow won him support amongst the Chechens, but his intransigence soon polarised opinion in the republic. His main base of support was in the poorer more rural and mountainous regions of southern Chechnya. Elsewhere, he faced growing opposition. The Russian minority was generally opposed to both Dudayev and the notion of Chechen independence, whilst the Ingush, who had been forcibly incorporated into the Checheno-Ingush Republic in 1936, had become increasingly alienated by Dudayev’s policies. As a result, they seceded from the republic and formally joined the Russian Federation in July 1992. Dudayev himself was a most unlikely nationalist and an unconvincing Muslim. He presented himself as the saviour of the Chechen people but he had never set foot in Chechnya before returning in 1991 to overthrow Zavgayev. He promoted Islam as a unifying force in the republic, but he had fought against the mujahideen in Afghanistan and was largely ignorant of the Muslim religion and its practices. Most embarrassingly, he was unable to say, live on TV, how often a Muslim should pray each day (Bennett 2001: 244). Dudayev was a maverick with no experience of

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political office. Beyond declaring independence for Chechnya, he seemed to have no policy programme at all. As discontent rose, Dudayev abandoned the last pretence of democracy and closed down parliament in June 1993, he also banned all opposition groups and introduced direct presidential rule. When Dudayev’s political opponents took to the streets of Grozny in protest, police opened fire and killed up to fifty people (Moskovskie novosti, 16–22 December 1994: 1–2). From this point, Dudayev lost any remaining legitimacy to rule. As warlords took over large parts of the republic, the economy broke down, unemployment rose, and crime levels soared. At the same time as Dudayev was losing control in Chechnya, Yeltsin was trying to consolidate his position back in Moscow. After a strong showing by the nationalists in the State Duma elections of December 1993, Yeltsin shifted to the right. As a result, the moderate Galina Starovoitova was replaced as nationalities chief by Sergei Shakhrai and Yeltsin’s political adviser, Emil Pain, who had advocated a moderate line on Chechnya, was marginalised. After hostages were taken in May 1994 in the Russian town of Mineralnye Vody in the northern Caucasus, Yeltsin felt he had to act (Service 2002: 157). The fact that the kidnapping took place outside Chechnya was further evidence that instability was extending beyond that small republic. In Yeltsin’s mind, the time had come for Dudayev to go. Yeltsin cast around for an alternative Chechen leader and finally landed on the warlord, Umar Avturkhanov, whose main base of support was in the northern, pro-Russian Nadterechny district (Bennett 2001: 313). Avturkhanov set up a Provisional Council in June 1994 as a form of government-in-waiting. Moscow donated a reported 40 billion rubles, and sent troops and military equipment in support of Avturkhanov’s push for power (Moskovskie novosti, 16–22 December 2004: 1–2). It appeared that Dudayev’s position in Chechnya was weak and it would not require much to topple him. But not for the first or last time, Moscow badly misread the situation. Moscow both over-estimated Avturkhanov’s support and underestimated the military capability of Dudayev’s regime. Dudayev proved he still had enough loyal troops to defend Grozny when Avturkhanov marched on the capital city on 26 November 2004. The attempted coup was an ignominious failure. Even worse for Yeltsin, Moscow’s involvement was uncovered when 12 Russian soldiers were killed and another 19 arrested. Dudayev paraded the Russian prisoners on television and threatened to execute them all. Although this threat was swiftly retracted, Yeltsin, now surrounded by hardliners, decided to intervene directly in Chechnya with military force. The action was intended to remove Dudayev, formally integrate Chechnya into the Russian Federation, stabilise a rapidly deteriorating situation in the republic and end Russia’s humiliation at the hands of Dudayev once and for all. Oleg Lobov, chair of the Security Council, predicted a ‘short victorious war’ (Gall and de Waal 1997: xii). Defence Minister, Pavel Grachev said Russian forces could take Grozny with just two paratroop regiments in two hours (Aron 2000: 566). A swift victory would have the added virtue of giving a timely boost to Yeltsin’s ailing political fortunes and would also act as a warning to any other dissident republics in the Russian Federation. The military action was approved by the Security Council (Yeltsin 2000: 59), and air strikes began on 2 December 1994. Nine days later, the ground assault on Grozny was launched. However, the war did not go as planned. Despite complete

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mastery of the skies and an advantage on the ground of almost three to one (40,000 Russian troops faced at most 15,000 rebel forces), the first Russian attack on Grozny was easily repelled by the rebels. Poor planning and a lack of organisation were largely responsible. Many of the Russian casualties were young conscripts who had been thrown untrained and unknowingly into the front line. Yeltsin’s reputation as a politician never fully recovered from his general mismanagement of the war. Due to his hospitalisation for an operation on his nose, Yeltsin only appeared on TV on 27 December to defend his decision to go to war – more than two weeks after the ground war had started. Russian TV, however, freed from the censorship of the Soviet days, told a deeply embarrassing tale of failure and incompetence which further undermined public support for the war. It was only in late January 1995, after almost three months of fighting and the loss of thousands of lives, that Grozny, the capital city, finally fell to the Russians, although the fighting continued until Samashky, the last rebel stronghold, was taken in April. Thereafter, the rebels simply retreated to the mountains in the south to prepare for a mix of guerilla warfare and terrorist attacks against the Russian occupiers. On the ground in Chechnya, it seemed some elements of the Russian military were out of control. There was an increasing number of reports in the media and from human rights organisations detailing war crimes and human rights violations committed by the Russian forces. The Chechen rebels, for their part, were launching increasingly audacious terrorist raids which outraged Russian public opinion. The most notorious occurred in June 1995 when a group of militants led by the Chechen Shamil Basayev seized a hospital in Budennovsk in Dagestan (Moscow News, 30 June–6 July 1995: 3). Over a thousand patients and employees of the hospital were taken hostage and over a hundred were killed in two failed attempts by the Russians to end the siege by force. In the final agreement which ended the siege, the remaining hostages were freed but, much to the embarrassment of the Kremlin, the terrorists were allowed to return to Chechnya. The conflict had reached an impasse. The rebels were unable to force the Russians out of Chechnya, but the Russians, in turn, could not defeat the rebels and bring peace and stability to the republic. In the meantime, casualties mounted on both sides in the conflict. The war split the political establishment in Moscow. Majorities in both the Duma and Federation Council were opposed to military intervention and parliament went as far as to seek Yeltsin’s impeachment in 1999 over his conduct in the war. Much of the military was opposed to the war too, and even the secret services had privately advised against military intervention (Seely 2001: 233–35; Lieven 1998: 88 and 106). Amongst the Russian public, there was little sympathy for the Chechen cause, but a consistent majority always came out in opposition to the war (see Moskovskie novosti, 24 February–2 March 1995: 3). The extent of public disillusionment, however, was most clearly revealed in a poll in March 1996 when a majority supported Russia’s unconditional withdrawal from Chechnya (Lieven 1998: 139– 140). With presidential elections approaching and Yeltsin’s popularity at an all-time low of 5 per cent in early 1996 (White 2000: 95–96), political pressure was mounting to end the war in Chechnya. An opportunity for a settlement finally arose when Dudayev was killed by a Russian bomb in April 1996. Dudayev’s successor, Zelimkhan Yandarbiyev, was

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more radical than his predecessor, but he recognised Moscow’s weakness at that time and saw the upcoming presidential election as a good moment to conclude a favourable deal for Chechnya. A ceasefire quickly followed in May and a peace agreement was signed at Khasavyurt on 31 August, shortly after Yeltsin’s reelection as President. Within the terms of the agreement, Chechnya was not granted independence – a final decision on its status was postponed until December 2001 – but Chechnya was accorded a high level of autonomy and, most importantly, all Russian troops had to be withdrawn by November 1996 (see Nezavisimaya gazeta, 3 September 1996: 3). Whilst most Russians were grateful that the nightmare of Chechnya was finally over, the agreement remained controversial in certain right wing circles in Moscow. Nationalists and sections of the military, in particular, viewed the Khasavyurt Agreement as a humiliating defeat for Russia. The Inter-War Period Elections were held on 27 January 1997 to elect Dudayev’s successor. Aslan Maskhadov was elected President with 64 per cent of the vote, and international observers deemed the election free and fair, even though the turn-out was low and anti-independence candidates were not allowed to stand (Lieven 1998: 145). More importantly, however, Moscow accepted the result, believing Maskhadov to be more of a pragmatist than the other leading presidential candidates, Shamil Basayev and Zelimkhan Yandarbiyev (Roy 2003: 3). Maskhadov had been a former officer in the Soviet army who had gained credibility in the republic as the commander-in-chief of the rebel forces in Chechnya during the war (Lieven 1998: 145). Just as with Dudayev, this relatively positive perception of the Chechen President did not last long. Maskhadov was as firmly committed to Chechen independence as all the other candidates, but he was also desperate to restore stability to the republic. Maskhadov met Yeltsin in the Kremlin in May 1997 to ratify the Khasavyurt agreement and promised the Russian President that ‘there would be no place for terrorists and kidnappers in Chechnya’ (Aron 2000: 666). In return, Yeltsin promised inward investment to help rebuild the infrastructure and shattered economy of Chechnya. In fact, neither leader kept his promise as the Khasavyurt peace agreement unravelled and Chechnya descended into a period of lawlessness even worse than that experienced during Dudayev’s time. Maskhadov faced familiar problems to his predecessor in trying to govern the republic and proved equally inept at dealing with them. In an attempt to buy off his opponents, he handed out government posts to radical Islamists, including, most controversially, Shamil Basayev, who was appointed deputy Prime Minister. The initiative failed, however, and Maskhadov proved unable to hold his coalition government together. Basayev finally left the government in spring 1998 to form his own militant opposition with the Saudi-born Omar ibn Khattab. From this point, Maskhadov lost all remaining control over the republic. Warlords set themselves up across the republic and grew rich through organised crime and kidnapping. A small number of foreign Islamists also arrived in Chechnya with their own jihadist agenda and Chechnya became one of the most dangerous places in the world. It was

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estimated that as many as 1,300 people were killed in the inter-war period between 1997 and 1999, whilst many more thousands fled the republic in fear of their lives (Seely 2001: 304). As the republic descended into anarchy, Maskhadov dissolved the legally elected parliament in March 1999 and introduced Shariah law. This may have been another attempt to appease his militant opponents, but the actual effect was to alienate his more moderate supporters and allow radical Wahhabists to operate more openly in Chechnya (Chufrin 2000: 166). Back in April 1998, the Basayev-Khattab group publicly declared its long-term aim to be the creation of a union between Chechnya and Dagestan under Islamic rule and the expulsion of Russia from the entire Caucasus region (Lieven 2000a: 9). It appeared that the Islamic revolution had finally arrived a few months later when radical Wahhabists took over two villages in Dagestan. On 8 August 1998, about 1,000 militants led by Basayev and Khattab crossed the border from Chechnya in support of the uprising. Moscow responded with force and drove the militants back over the border. About 1,500 died in the battle, including over 200 Russian soldiers (Anonymous 2000: 53; and Lieven 2000b: 326). At this stage, there was no suggestion in Moscow of pursuing the rebels into Chechnya, but this all changed in September when Russia suffered a series of brutal terrorist attacks. Military bases and civilian apartment blocks were targeted across Russia – in Moscow, Volgodonsk and Buinaksk in Dagestan – killing 300 in total. Responsibility was never claimed by any group, but immediate suspicion fell on the Chechens. Indeed, Shamil Basayev had openly threatened to unleash a wave of terror on Russia as his forces pulled out of Dagestan the previous month (Keesings 1999: 43120). However, conspiracy theories circulated in Russia after FSB agents were discovered on 22 September 1999 in a Ryazan apartment block apparently planting explosives similar to those used in Moscow. Suspicions were fuelled when the FSB initially said the sacks were filled with sugar, but then changed its story and claimed their agents were just involved in a training exercise. Whilst the vast majority of Russians swung behind the government and supported the war, others remained unconvinced, and believed that the authorities had used the terrorist attacks as a means to manipulate public opinion and legitimise renewed military action in Chechnya (Bennett 2001: 546–47). The evidence suggests that terrorists from the Caucasus were responsible for the September attacks, but there was little doubt that the Russians used them as an opportunity to go to war. Moscow had long been planning a renewed assault on the lawless republic. Sergei Stepashin, the former Prime Minister, has stated that plans to intervene in Chechnya were made in March 1999 after the kidnapping and murder of the Russian General, Gennadi Shpigun, who was supposed to be under Maskhadov’s protection in Chechnya (Seely 2001: 309). Some in the Putin entourage might also have seen an opportunity to make his name. He was little known when he was appointed Prime Minister by Yeltsin in August 1999, but his uncompromising stance on Chechnya after the apartment bombings certainly raised his profile. It was not so obvious at the time, however, that Chechnya would be such a vote winner (see Putin 2000: 140). In fact, Putin’s political advisers argued against his becoming too closely identified with Chechnya after Yeltsin’s experience, and Putin himself reportedly believed that Chechnya was a poisoned chalice which could well end his

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political career (Putin 2000: 139). Whatever the truth, Putin’s conduct of the war undoubtedly won him considerable public support and contributed to his subsequent victory in the spring 2000 presidential elections (Nichols 2001: 164–5). The Second War Putin vowed to defeat the Chechen terrorists within two weeks (Keesings 1999: 43119), and initially, it appeared he might achieve his aim. The second campaign looked better planned and better organised than the first. To minimise Russian casualties (and learning the lessons of NATO’s campaign in Kosovo), Moscow bombed Chechen targets extensively over a prolonged three week period. Unlike NATO, however, Russia needed to introduce ground troops to take territory from the Chechen rebels, but this time went in with massive force. At the height of the campaign there were almost 100,000 Russian troops fighting in Chechnya, two-anda half times the force of 1994 (SIPRI 2000: 44). Putin has later admitted, however, that the majority were untrained conscripts and referred to ‘kids who had never seen combat’ before being sent to fight in Chechnya (Putin 2006: 8). As a result, the main assault on Grozny, which began on 25 December 1999, was again beaten back by the rebels. However, Putin was determined to take Grozny before the presidential election in March and he subsequently acted with considerable brutality to achieve his aim (see Human Rights Watch 2003: 1–11). Grozny was indeed captured before March but, in the words of one Russian newspaper, it was turned into a ‘slaughterhouse’ and virtually ‘razed to the ground’ in the process (Moskovskie novosti, 9–15 February 2001: 1). In contrast to the first war, however, Putin enjoyed general support across the political spectrum for his fight against the Chechen rebels. In a VCIOM poll in December 1999, 67 per cent backed the military action. Only Yavlinsky’s reformist Yabloko party was opposed, but it suffered as a result in the parliamentary elections which took place at the end of the year. Some have argued that the support was due to Putin’s tighter grip on the media in its reporting of the war (see Gerber and Mandelson 2002: 6). This may be partially true, but it does seem the Russian public believed there was a difference between the first and second wars. Yeltsin was perceived to have acted precipitately, whilst Putin, in contrast, was responding to a genuine attack on Russian sovereignty. Putin also had the support of the Moscow establishment this time round. The respected Russian journalist, Sergei Roy, defended the use of force in Chechnya in a series of articles in the liberal journal, Moscow News. He wrote, the ‘stop the war’ supporters demand negotiation with Maskhadov and Basayev, withdrawal from Chechnya and independence from Russia, but this strategy had been tried, he said, between 1996 and 1999. ‘It ended in the total unspeakable breakdown of all civilisational norms and the breakdown of health, education and social security systems in Chechnya; it ended in public executions for marital infidelity and public beatings, and with the territory ruled by warlords recognising no law but that of the jungle and engaged exclusively in criminal activities like stealing oil from pipelines, drug trafficking, gun-running, hostage-taking, and more’ (Roy 2002b: 3). The Chechen militants were perceived

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as terrorists and, in the words of Roy, no compromise was possible with those who threaten the security of the Russian state (Roy 2002b: 3). After Grozny fell to the Russians, Putin declared victory. He imposed direct rule on the republic in June 2000 and selected Akhmed Kadyrov as Chechen President. In March 2001, he announced that the Russian military would be withdrawn and replaced by a much smaller number of interior and specialist troops (SIPRI 2001: 43–44). Yet, there was little sign of normalisation in the republic. Russian forces continued to patrol the dangerous streets of Grozny and conducted regular sweeps [zachistki] to pick up suspected Chechen terrorists. Most Chechens saw the zachistki as indiscriminate and many innocent people were tortured and ‘disappeared’, never to return to their homes. The total number killed since 1994 has been estimated by the Institute of War and Peace Reporting at between 50,000 and 100,000 civilians and 13,000 and 20,000 combatants, whilst the number of refugees has reached the hundreds of thousands (The Guardian, 14 December 2002: 20). Exact numbers are impossible to determine, but undoubtedly the costs of Russian policy have been truly awful. Furthermore, some commentators have argued that Russia’s policy has been entirely counter-productive and has helped radicalise the people of Chechnya and the whole of the Caucasus region (see Lapidus 2005). Terrorism continued after Putin declared victory, but it was not entirely clear how far it was furthering the aims of the militants. Terrorism is about publicising the cause, demoralising the enemy, mobilising the repressed and forcing the government to change policy (Townshend 2002: 12–13). There are suggestions it has only been truly successful in the first of these. In October 2002, suicide bombers took 700 hostages amongst the audience, actors and staff at the Dubrovka Theatre in Moscow (see Moscow News, 30 October–5 November 2002: 2–3). The high profile attack certainly brought the plight of the Chechens to an international audience and there was some sympathy, even among the hostages, for the Black Widows who had turned to terrorism after their husbands and sons had been killed in the Chechen conflict. All the terrorists were killed in a commando raid after the disabling narcotic Fentanyl had been pumped into the auditorium, but the debate soon shifted to the competence of the authorities when 110 hostages also died of the effects of the poison. There was no residual sympathy for the Chechen cause, however, when the militants took hostage over a thousand pupils, parents and teachers at Middle School Number 1 in the North Ossetian town of Beslan in September 2004 (see Moscow News, 8–14 September 2004: 1–4). The fact that the lives of school children were used as a bargaining chip only seemed to reveal the depths of barbarity to which the terrorists had descended. The rescue attempt was botched, but it was hard for the militants to escape responsibility for the 330 deaths, over half of whom were children. Foreign Minister, Sergei Ivanov, referred to Beslan as ‘our September 11’ (Taheri 2004: 11). President Putin was clearly shocked by Beslan, but refused to accept that his policies in Chechnya were in any way responsible. Instead, in a speech on the tragedy, he argued that the terrorists had a much broader agenda than independence for Chechnya: ‘They are striving to split the country apart, they are seeking the breakup of our state, the collapse of Russia’ (Rossiiskaya gazeta, 14 September 2004: 1). Therefore, it was necessary, he said, to reaffirm national unity, to centralise the state and strengthen executive power in the Kremlin. Putin also set up the National Anti-

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Terrorist Committee in February 2005, headed by the FSB chief, Nikolai Patrushev, to improve co-ordination of counter-terrorist operations across Russia (Vedomosti, 30 August 2006: A2). Putin did acknowledge, however, that the socio-economic position in the north Caucasus played its part in the radicalisation of certain sections of the population. Income per capita in the region, he said, was a third lower than average, and 75 per cent lower in Ingushetia. Putin bemoaned the failure of the state to combat terrorism and to deal with its roots which he said lay ‘in the region’s continuing mass unemployment, in the lack of an effective social policy, and in the low educational levels of the younger generation’ (Rossiiskaya gazeta, 14 September 2004: 1). A special federal commission on the North Caucasus was set up to promote welfare and security in the region. The Normalisation Process Putin was criticised in some quarters for not negotiating directly with the democratically elected leader of Chechnya, Aslan Maskhadov (Rybkin 2002). Maskhadov was portrayed by such people as a moderate who was eager for a compromise deal with Moscow. He certainly made many efforts before his death in 2005 to open a diplomatic channel but was constantly rebuffed by the Kremlin. Moscow tended to see Maskhadov as a sort of Yasser Arafat figure who spoke differently to different audiences. Whilst he talked of democracy and peace to the West, he was also on the UN list of terrorists and Moscow claimed to have evidence that he was implicated in many major terrorist atrocities across Russia, including Dubrovka and Beslan (see Shermatova 2005: 4). Nevertheless, in the context of Chechen politics, Maskhadov was probably something of a moderate. He was a nationalist rather than an Islamist militant who would have been satisfied with independence rather than Basayev’s desire for an Islamic caliphate stretching from the Caspian to the Black Sea (Roy 2002b: 3). Thus, some kind of deal might have been possible with Maskhadov. The problem for Maskhadov, however, was that he had lost all authority in Chechnya. He was not in a position to deliver on any peace deal even if one had been agreed. Since there was no effective leader to deal with in Chechnya, rather like the Israelis in Palestine, Putin argued that he had little alternative but to impose his own settlement on the republic. As part of this process, a referendum was called by Moscow in March 2003 to approve a new constitution which offered Chechnya ‘wide autonomy’ but as ‘an integral part of the Russian Federation’ (Moskovskie novosti, 26 March–1 April 2003: 3). The high turn-out of 80 per cent and a majority of 96 per cent in favour of the constitution led many observers to doubt the validity of the vote. International agencies, including the Council of Europe led by Lord Judd, argued that conditions in Chechnya at that time were hardly conducive to a free and fair election (see Sunday Times, 5 October 2003: 27). The legitimacy of the result was further undermined because Russian soldiers serving in Chechnya were allowed to vote whilst those of the armed resistance were not. Doubts over the referendum, however, did not prevent presidential elections from going ahead as scheduled on 5 October 2003. The sitting President, Akhmed Kadyrov, who was the Kremlin’s choice, was duly elected with

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82 per cent of the vote (Moscow Times, 8 October 2003: 1). However, the integrity of the election was undermined once again, when Kadyrov’s leading opponents, Aslakhanov and Saidulayev, withdrew from the race, whilst Aslan Maskhadov was not allowed to stand. As a result, Kadyrov was widely viewed outside Moscow as Putin’s puppet. In fact, Kadyrov was always more than that. He had fought against the Russians in the first war, but defected to Moscow because of the desperate state of Chechnya and its incompetent nationalist leadership. Kadyrov had his own, albeit limited, base of support in the republic and maintained his position with methods every bit as uncompromising as those of the Russians. Under his leadership, the conflict turned inward and became less a nationalist conflict for independence and more a power struggle between different Chechen leaders. In the circumstances, it was scarcely a shock when Akhmed Kadyrov was assassinated in a bomb blast at a sports stadium in Grozny on 9 May 2004, but it remained a major blow to Putin’s normalisation programme. The less well-known Alu Alkhanov was elected as Kadyrov’s successor, but Kadyrov’s son, Ramzan emerged as the effective power behind the throne. Appointed Prime Minister in March 2006 and President on his thirtieth birthday on 15 February 2007, he continued the strong-arm tactics of his father. Kadyrov has his own private militia, the so-called Kadyrovtsy, which is estimated to be 8,000 strong. Ramzan Kadyrov and his Kadyrovtsy are feared in Chechnya, but he claims his methods have had some success in stabilising the republic. The rebels’ position has certainly weakened over the last few years. All their rebel leaders have been assassinated by the Russians – Dudayev in 1996; Yandarbiyev in Qatar in 2004; Maskhadov in 2005; and Abdul-Khalim Saidulayev in 2006. The greatest coup of all for the Russian authorities, however, was the death of Shamil Basayev in July 2006. Basayev had been prominent in the first war, he led the intervention in Dagestan which sparked the second war and claimed responsibility for a whole series of terrorist atrocities, including those at Budennovsk, Dubrovka and Beslan (see Moscow News, 22–28 September 2004: 2). As critics of Russian policy point out, the deaths of Chechen terrorists will not end the conflict. There are always likely to be others to come in and take over (see Pain 2005: 4). Nevertheless, these were all major figures in the Chechen rebellion. Taken alongside others who have been killed, including a number of leading foreign radicals, these represent significant losses for the rebels. The number of terrorist attacks in Chechnya has declined over the last two years and Russian intelligence estimated in 2006 that the number of active terrorists in Chechnya might be as low as fifty (Vedomosti, 30 August 2006: A2). This has all translated into growing optimism amongst the people of the republic. Inward investment from Russia has made a difference to every day life in the republic and thousands of Chechens are beginning to return to their homes. There is some evidence, however, to suggest that instability has shifted from Chechnya to neighbouring republics. Dagestan remains a major site of terrorism, whilst both North Ossetia and Ingushetia experienced a fifty per cent increase in the number of terrorist attacks in the first half of 2006 over the same period the previous year (Moscow Times 28 August 2006: 3).

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The Islamic Factor Although religion appeared unimportant when the Chechen conflict started in 1994, by the time of the second war in 1999 the republic had become more Islamicised. Individuals, like Maskhadov and Basayev, had become radicalised, whilst militant Islam had become a more effective mobilising force amongst Muslims across the north Caucasus region (see Mirsky 2004: 2). Although the majority in Chechnya remained Sufis, it was estimated that the number of more radical Wahhabists had grown to about 10 per cent by the beginning of the second war (Chufrin 2000: 166). How far this Islamisation was a result of external forces, however, remained a matter of debate. The Putin administration had emphasised the international connection long before 9/11. For example, Putin accused Osama bin Laden of funding the Chechen militants in 1999 (Rossiiskaya gazeta, 16 November 1999), and argued that ‘an Islamic axis of terrorism’ had formed which included Chechnya and the Caucasus (Kendall 2002: 20). Critics, on the other hand, tend to underplay al-Qaeda and the foreign connection (see Trenin and Malashenko 2004: 79). For them, the war is the result of a home-grown independence struggle and the subsequent radicalisation largely a result of Russian conduct during the war (see also de Waal 2002: 58; and Lapidus 2005). In an interview with a British newspaper, the independent Russian journalist, Anna Politkovskaya, was dismissive of the international connection. ‘When, after Beslan, he [Putin] began to state that we were seeing virtually the hand of bin Laden, it was appalling. What has bin Laden got to do with it? The Russian government created these beasts, brought them up, and they came to Beslan and behaved like beasts’ (The Guardian, G2, 2004: 7). There are obvious benefits for the government in portraying the conflict in Chechnya as part of the war on international terrorism. Nevertheless, some kind of foreign connection does exist in Chechnya, even if determining its importance remains difficult. Evidence suggests that most states in the Islamic world have generally been cautious in their relations with Chechnya. Only the Taliban in Afghanistan ever formally recognised Chechen independence, but al-Qaeda has always viewed Chechnya as part of the global jihad. Osama bin Laden mentioned Chechnya in his original fatwa against America in 1996, and the Chechen militants have received extensive funding from abroad (Burke 2004: 163). Russian intelligence estimated that the group led by Basayev and Khattab had received $30 million from Osama bin Laden (Anonymous 2000: 62), whilst groups in Saudi Arabia and Pakistan were also providing funds (see Moskovskie novosti, 30 October–5 November 2002: 3). Chechens have also been involved in the global jihad. An estimated 4,000 people from Chechnya and the North Caucasus have been abroad to undergo ‘intensive training in Wahhabism’ (Chufrin 2000: 166). Many of the leading figures in the Chechen conflict, including Shamil Basayev himself, were reported to have attended camps in Afghanistan. Al-Qaeda also set up training camps in the chaos of Chechnya after 1995 and Osama bin Laden was reported to have visited them on a number of occasions (Gunaratna 2002: 5). Furthermore, Ayman al-Zawahiri, the chief ideologist in al-Qaeda, at one stage sought refuge in the republic. Chechen fighters have also been identified in many current hot spots outside the Caucasus, not only in Russia, but also in Afghanistan, Iraq and Kashmir.

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There have been a number of highly influential figures amongst the foreign contingent in Chechnya too, including ibn-ul Khattab, Abdul Waleed al-Ansari and the current leader, Abu Havs al-Urdini. Their exact connection to al-Qaeda is not always certain, but reports suggest they all got to know Osama bin Laden during the Soviet war in Afghanistan (see Burke 2004: 231). Bin Laden was reported to have sent all of them to fight in the civil war in Tajikistan in 1993 and then on to Chechnya two years later (Moskovskie novosti, 29 September–5 October 2004: 2). The foreign leaders were influential through their external connections, and controlled much of the money coming into the country. This led occasionally to conflict with some ethnic Chechen leaders. Maskhadov appeared to set himself up in opposition to the foreigners who were allied to militants surrounding Basayev. Indeed, the Jordanian Khattab was reportedly killed with a poisoned letter by supporters of Maskhadov in March 2002 (Moskovskie novosti, 12–17 May 2002: 4). Khattab had helped set up training camps in Chechnya after his arrival in 1995. Together with Basayev, he also master-minded many terrorist atrocities and precipitated the second war when he led the militants across the border into Dagestan in August 1999. His successor, as leader of the foreign contingent, was Waleed from the Arabian Peninsula and he is thought to have introduced the tactic of female suicide bombers, prominent both at Dubrovka and Beslan. Waleed was killed in a gunfight with Russian troops in April 2004 and he was succeeded by Abu Havs. Born in Jordan and married to a Chechen woman, Havs became an instructor in one of the terrorist training camps after his arrival in Chechnya in 1995. Both Russian and American intelligence believe that Havs has al-Qaeda links and he was also thought to have helped plan and finance the Beslan siege. The foreign contingent in Chechnya has always been relatively small, and one commentator estimated the number in 2001 as low as 200 (de Waal 2001: xvviii). Nevertheless, it would appear their influence was disproportionate in radicalising a section of the Chechen rebels. The conflict in Chechnya has destabilised the region, but the militants’ hope of an Islamic caliphate spreading across the Caucasus seems as far away as ever. Although support for radical Islamism has grown, it remains of little attraction to the majority. Divisions between the Muslims have also made co-operation across borders more difficult. There is resentment between local and foreign activists, differences between the Wahhabists and Sufis, as well as national and local interests which have hindered unification along Islamic lines (see Trenin and Malashenko 2004: 71–102). The Western Role Critics have argued that Western governments have been all too ready to accept Moscow’s view of the Chechen war and have consistently turned a blind eye to Russian atrocities in the republic. It is certainly true that the West has generally been sympathetic to Moscow over its problems in its small southern republic. During the first war, the West characterised the conflict as a struggle for independence and sided with Moscow against the separatists. Thus, the West refused to recognise Chechen independence and accepted Russia’s right to protect its borders. President Clinton said: ‘Russia has not only the right but also the obligation to defend its stability and

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territorial integrity’ (Kommersant, 19 November 1999: 1). The main criticism of the West related to proportionality which President Clinton raised privately with Boris Yeltsin in February 1995. The Council of Europe and the OSCE also publicly expressed their concern over the terrible loss of life in the republic (see Evangelista 2002: 144–45). Initially, the West sounded far more critical of the second war, with Europe particularly outspoken. The French President, Jacques Chirac, described the war as ‘a tragic mistake’ (Kommersant, 19 November 1999: 1), and the EU described Russia’s actions as ‘totally unacceptable’ (Chufrin 2000: 177). The UN Human Rights Commission passed a resolution in April 2000 in favour of an EU motion which criticised Russia ‘for disproportionate and indiscriminate use of military force, particularly against civilians’ (BBC 25 April 2000). At the same time, the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly (PACE) suspended Russia’s voting rights over Russia’s part in the Chechen conflict, although they were restored in January 2001 after the body was granted greater access to the region. In June 2000, President Clinton made a speech to the State Duma in which he said that he recognised Russia’s right to protect its territorial integrity, but disagreed with its war in Chechnya ‘because it had caused large numbers of civilian casualties while lacking a clear path towards a political solution’ (BBC 5 June 2000). After 9/11, however, the West became more willing to characterise the conflict as a war against international terrorism. On 26 September 2001, Bush told reporters he accepted there were ‘terrorists in Chechnya, Arab terrorists associated with the al-Qaeda’ and told the Chechen rebel leaders to sever all links with international terrorism (Bush 2001b: 1380). Gerhard Schroeder, Chancellor of Germany, also called for a re-evaluation of Russia’s war in Chechnya in the light of 9/11 (Hooper and O’Flynn 2001: 1). The Director of the CIA, George Tenet, later went on to acknowledge that Chechnya is ‘breeding a new generation of terrorists who threaten the west’ (CNN 2002: 1). Bush continued to express concern over proportionality and demanded the Russians discriminate in their counter-terrorist activities more clearly between civilians and combatants (RFE/RL 2002: 1), but little was done to ensure compliance. In return, Putin became an invaluable ally in Bush’s war on terrorism. The American victory over the Taliban destroyed al-Qaeda’s base in Afghanistan which strengthened Russia’s position in the Caucasus and Central Asia, although more jihadists sought refuge in Chechnya and the Pankisi Gorge in Georgia as a result. Whilst Western governments were generally supportive of Russia’s policy in Chechnya, that was not always how it was perceived in Moscow. For Moscow, the West’s criticisms of Russian behaviour never seemed to take account of the threat the Chechen militants posed to the territorial integrity of the Russian state. These were not terrorists based many thousands of miles away faced by the US after 9/11, they were living in the heart of the Russian Federation itself. Moscow became frustrated over the West’s emphasis on human rights in the light of the terrorists’ own brutality in Beslan and elsewhere. The West seemed more interested in the rights of the terrorists, as one journalist wrote, than the rights of the victims (see Roy 2002a: 3). Foreign Minister Lavrov noted that the US had also curtailed certain freedoms in the wake of 9/11, notably in Guantanamo Bay and Bagram air base in Afghanistan

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(The Guardian, 16 September 2004: 17). The West was also accused of adopting double standards regarding its policy proposals for Moscow in Chechnya. Western governments were constantly calling for negotiations with Maskhadov, but there was no suggestion of President Bush seeking a negotiated settlement with Osama bin Laden or other leaders of al-Qaeda (Moscow News, 8–14 September 2004: 4). Another issue of concern was the apparent willingness of Western countries to grant asylum to those accused of terrorism in Russia (Moscow News, 22–28 September 2004: 2). Thus, Maskhadov’s spokesman, Akhmed Zakayev, and his Foreign Minister, Ilyas Akhmadov, were granted political asylum in Britain and America respectively. Furthermore, the oligarch, Boris Berezovsky, has also found a home in Britain where he continues to plot against Putin, despite the suspicion that he funded Chechen rebels in the past (Laughland 2004: 23). Nationalists in Russia argue that the West is not a partner in Russia’s war with terrorism. On the contrary, the West, according to the nationalists, is planning to force Russia out of the Caucasus and take control of the oil and gas in the region, and the Chechens are a means to that end (Laughland 2004: 23). Conclusion The situation in Chechnya is highly complex. Russia has been severely criticised for its brutality in Chechnya which might well have promoted rather than contained Islamist radicalism. The critics have called for a political, rather than a military solution, to the conflict. Most have accepted that this involves the exclusion of extreme jihadists, but figures like the former Soviet President, Mikhail Gorbachev, have encouraged negotiations with more moderate Chechen leaders (Moscow News, 22–28 September 2004: 5). Although Putin always refused to deal with Maskhadov before his death, in a general sense Putin could argue he has acted according to the demands of his critics. The most extreme leaders have not been marginalised, as suggested, but assassinated, whilst Putin has been willing to pick out Chechen leaders he feels he can deal with – essentially the Kadyrovs. The Kadyrovs, however, only appeared less radical than Maskhadov in one respect – they were willing to accept Chechnya’s continued membership of the Russian Federation. The Kadyrovs have gained a reputation in the republic as hard men. Repression rather than growing legitimacy appears to be the basis of the current tentative moves towards normalisation. However, this would not appear to be a suitable basis for a long-term solution. Chechnya is a small place, but it has always been deeply divided between ethnic groups and clans, and this remains the case today. Clan politics has remained an important factor in Chechnya politics. Moscow still has 50,000 troops in the republic and likes to portray itself as a neutral peacekeeper. After recent history, it remains unclear whether it will ever be viewed by the majority of Chechens in that light.

Chapter 7

9/11 and the War on Terrorism Introduction On the morning of 11 September 2001, 19 Arabs (15 from Saudi Arabia, 2 from Yemen and one each from Lebanon and Egypt) hijacked four passenger planes shortly after taking off from East coast cities in the United States. There were a total of 233 passengers and 33 crew on board. Two planes were flown into the World Trade Centre in New York, one hit the Pentagon in Washington and one, which was thought to be heading for the Capitol building, was brought down by the passengers in rural Pennsylvania. All passengers, crew and hijackers perished in the attacks along with many hundreds on the ground. In total, 2,973 lost their lives on that day (The Times, 27 December 2006: 39). Suddenly, the world looked very different as terrorism moved to the top of the political agenda in Washington and elsewhere around the world. Terrorism was nothing new, but 9/11 was the most dramatic and bloody evidence that it had entered a new global era. The terrorists were not representatives of a single state, nor did they have state-defined objectives. Instead, their objectives were global and based on a particular interpretation of Islam. Although al-Qaeda never admitted responsibility, it soon became apparent that Osama bin Laden’s group was behind the attack. From August 1996, bin Laden had declared war on America, and al-Qaeda had been held responsible for a number of strikes against US targets leading up to 9/11 – in Somalia (1993), Saudi Arabia (1996), Kenya and Tanzania (1998) and the USS Cole (2000). 9/11 had all the hallmarks of an al-Qaeda terrorist attack. It was a well-planned, co-ordinated suicide mission, undertaken without warning and without any apparent concern over civilian casualties. 9/11 was only different to these earlier terrorist atrocities in its scale and its daring in attacking targets in the heart of America. All of America was horrified by the unprecedented loss of life. The British academic, Richard Crockatt, was not alone in seeing September 11 as ‘a turning point in American foreign relations’ (Crockatt 2003: 7). The attack certainly showed that Bush’s instinct for isolationism was no longer a realistic option. The US faced a real and direct security threat which Washington had to confront. In an address to Congress on 20 September, Bush declared his commitment to defeat terrorism and announced that US defence spending would rise from $300 billion in 2001 to over $500 billion in 2007 (The Guardian, 9 February 2007: 20). In this long war on terrorism, Bush saw no room for neutrals. ‘Either you are with us,’ he said, ‘or you are with the terrorist. From this day forward, any nation that continues to harbor or support terrorism will be regarded by the United States as a hostile regime’ (Bush 2001a). The rhetoric was viewed as simplistic in some quarters, but it accorded with the mood of the American people at the time. On 14 September, both Houses of

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Congress passed a resolution (with only one vote in the House of Representatives opposed) authorising the use of ‘all necessary and appropriate force against those nations, organisations or persons in order to prevent any future acts of terrorism against the United States’ (Crockatt 2003: 147). There was a unanimity for war in America that was completely lacking in the build-up to military action in either the Gulf and Yugoslavia. The attack on the US mainland, it seemed, required a quite different response to that of possible violations of international law or human rights in those earlier cases. Afghanistan and 9/11 After the Pashtun-dominated Taliban took control of Kabul in 1996, al-Qaeda was allowed to set up its headquarters and training camps in Afghanistan. An estimated 20,000 volunteers passed through the al-Qaeda training camps in Afghanistan over the subsequent five year period (Time, 26 May 2003: 28). Prior to 9/11, Washington had tended to view al-Qaeda as an irritant rather than a major security threat. President Clinton had launched cruise missiles against terrorist training camps in north-east Afghanistan in response to the co-ordinated bombing of the two US embassies in Kenya and Tanzania on 7 August 1998 which had killed more than 300 and injured 5,000. Twenty were killed and thirty injured in the US retaliatory strikes which elicited much international condemnation, but they caused minimal damage to alQaeda. After 9/11, Bush decided more decisive action had to be taken and al-Qaeda had to be destroyed as an organisation once and for all. The only practical way of doing this was through invading Afghanistan and overthrowing the government. When the Taliban refused the American demand to close the terrorist camps and extradite bin Laden to stand trial (see Bush 2001a), the US had its casus belli for launching its military campaign, Operation Enduring Freedom. Air strikes began on 7 October and the ground offensive followed twelve days later. In total, the United States deployed 60,000 troops with support from 15,000 coalition forces (O’Hanlon 2002: 48). They also enjoyed support on the ground from the Northern Alliance, the only remaining Afghan opposition group in the country, made up of another 15,000 active fighters (O’Hanlon 2002: 49). The US and coalition forces soon overwhelmed the Taliban and al-Qaeda forces and the Northern Alliance took Kabul on 12 November. When Kandahar, the stronghold of the Taliban leader, Mullah Omar, fell on the night of 8–9 December 2001, the US-led forces were able to claim victory. Although both Mullah Omar and Osama bin Laden evaded capture, there can be no doubt that the military campaign was a major success. The extreme Islamist Taliban regime was overthrown, al-Qaeda’s organisation was disrupted and its training camps in Afghanistan were destroyed. Casualties on the coalition side were minimal – less than 50 coalition and Northern Alliance forces in total died on the battlefield. In contrast, the Taliban and al-Qaeda forces suffered badly – anything between 8,000 and 12,000 were killed (O’Hanlon 2002: 55), and about two-thirds of their leadership were either captured or killed by the end of 2003 (see Burke 2004: 259–60).

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The speed and comprehensive nature of the victory was in stark contrast to the earlier Soviet attempt to overcome rebel forces in Afghanistan. Experience shows, however, that reconstruction and state-building can be a far more complex process than regime change. Eight hundred civilians had died in the war (NATO 2004: 6), but the majority in Afghanistan seemed to welcome the overthrow of the Taliban regime. The leaders of the different ethnic groups had agreed by December 2001 to establish an interim government representing all non-Taliban elements in the country, with Hamid Karzai, of the majority Pashtuns, nominated as its head. After a new constitution was drawn up, presidential elections were held on 9 October 2004 which were, in the circumstances, remarkably free and fair. Turn-out was 70 per cent and with the majority voting along ethnic lines, Karzai was the overwhelming victor with 55.4 per cent of the vote – some three times more than his nearest rival. Karzai had a clear mandate, but his government faced enormous problems. After more than two decades of war, Afghanistan was one of the poorest and most backward countries in the world (see Table 7.1). Annual per capita income was only $822, many were malnourished, and average life expectancy was just 45 years (UNDP 2004: 45). Conditions were slow to change under the new regime and the Taliban took advantage to move back into its former strongholds of Kandahar and the Helmand province (NATO 2004: 5). By the winter of 2006–07, the 6,300 NATO peacekeepers in Afghanistan were facing significant Taliban resistance (The Guardian, 20 December 2006: 19). With Afghanistan unable to prevent terrorists crossing the border from Pakistan, the security situation in Afghanistan looked bleaker than at any time since the overthrow of the Taliban in 2001. Table 7.1 Country Afghanistan Tajikistan Uzbekistan Turkmenistan Iran Pakistan

Afghanistan’s per capital income compared to its neighbours* US dollars 800 (2004) 1,300 2,000 8,900 8,900 2,600

Note: Per capita income worked out on the basis of purchasing power parity. *All the statistics are for 2006 except where indicated. Source: CIA Factbook <www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook> (accessed 11 February 2007).

Even more worrying for the international community, however, is the fact that the war in Afghanistan has not stopped global terrorism. Elements of al-Qaeda have regrouped, other militant Islamist organisations have prospered and Osama bin Laden’s ideas have continued to inspire a minority amongst the disaffected and radicalised Muslim population around the world. Terrorist attacks have continued at regular intervals since 9/11. The Middle East, Asia and Europe have all been hit. The US State Department reported in 2006 that there had been 11,000 terrorist

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attacks worldwide over the previous twelve months, killing a total of 14,600 people. In Afghanistan alone, there were 489 incidents in 2005 with 1,533 people killed, injured or kidnapped as a result of terrorism (US State Department 2006: appendix 7–8). Such statistics showed clearly that the war on terrorism is far from won. But with Muslims making up a third of all deaths from terrorism, they also showed that terrorism was not just a problem for the Western world (US State Department 2006: appendix 7–8). The Aims and Structures of Al-Qaeda Al-Qaeda was formed after the defeat of the Soviet Union in Afghanistan in 1989. Al-Qaeda, usually translated as ‘the base’, was very different in structure from Lenin’s highly disciplined, hierarchical Bolshevik party. It is true that al-Qaeda did have a small, tightly-knit group of militants at the centre, including bin Laden and al-Zawahari, but no equivalent of Lenin’s democratic centralism. There was little organisation as such, no formal membership, just links of varying degrees of closeness with like-minded individuals and groups across the globe (Burke 2004: 232–3). AlQaeda tended to see itself as an enabling institution which financed, trained and gave logistical support to terrorist operations around the world. The actual level of al-Qaeda participation in terrorist acts varied from case to case. On occasion alQaeda might take a leading role (such as 9/11), but at other times (for example, the attempted shoe-bombing by Richard Reid) it might simply approve a proposal put forward by supporters (Burke 2004: 232–3). After the embassy bombings in Africa in 1998, bin Laden said it was ‘not his job to organise such attacks; it was his job to create awareness about the injustices done by the US to Muslims, to provoke and incite Muslims against America’ (Yusufzai 2001: 2). During its time in Afghanistan, al-Qaeda was at its most effective as an enabling institution, but after the destruction of its organisation by the Americans in late 2001, its chief role was an inspiration for aspirant Islamists around the world (see Burke 2005: 4). But what are al-Qaeda’s ideas which seem to inspire so many Muslims? As a result of its loose organisation, there is no coherent programme or manifesto, just a handful of brief statements from Osama bin Laden and other al-Qaeda leaders. The picture is further complicated because different leaders and different groups linked to al-Qaeda all have their own particular priorities. This has all led to confusion in the West over the ultimate aims of the militant Islamists. However, there appear to be three core principles which al-Qaeda and, to a lesser extent, other like-minded Islamist groups seem to share. First, al-Qaeda favours an extreme version of Islam – a form of Wahhabism – which it seeks to promote in the Muslim and non-Muslim world. Based on a literalist reading of the Koran, adherents demand the Muslim world return to the purity and asceticism of Muhammed. Such an aim was initially perceived to be less of a threat to the West than to the existing regimes in the Muslim world. Indeed, much of Osama bin Laden’s early invective appeared to be directed against regimes in the Muslim world. Bin Laden was particularly critical of the ruling elite in his homeland, Saudi Arabia, which, he argued, had become decadent, corrupt, un-Islamic and perverted by the West and the Western way of life. In an interview

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published shortly after 9/11, bin Laden said that the Taliban-controlled Afghanistan was the only country he regarded as a true ‘Islamic state’, and went on: ‘I don’t consider Saudi Arabia an Islamic country’ (The Observer, 11 November 2001: 3). Although Wahhabism was the state religion in Saudi Arabia, its royal family viewed bin Laden as such a threat to stability that al-Qaeda was expelled from the country in 1992, and by 1996 the Taliban was one of the few regimes in the Muslim world willing to allow al-Qaeda to operate on its territory. A second important element in al-Qaeda’s thinking is the claim that Muslims are being systematically oppressed all around the world. This included oppression by Arab governments, but the focus shifted over time on to the West (very broadly defined) and Western foreign policy in particular. Thus, the West was condemned for its support of Israel and its occupation of Muslim lands. It was also criticised for its support of Muslim oppression in Palestine, Kashmir, Chechnya and Bosnia, and its attacks on Muslims in the wars against the Taliban and the people of Iraq. Thus, in a statement made shortly after 9/11, bin Laden argued that the Islamic world has suffered, ‘its sons are killed, its blood is shed, its sanctuaries are attacked,’ he said, ‘and no one hears and no one heeds’ (bin Laden 2001: 1). Al-Qaeda was different from other militant Islamist groups in declaring a fatwa against America and its allies in 1998. This was controversial amongst militants, many of whom saw the promotion of their vision of Wahhabism in the Muslim world as the priority. However, bin Laden saw the dominance of the West as a major obstacle to achieving that objective and, more pragmatically, believed that an attack on the West would help unite the fragmented Islamic world (Burke 2004: 168). In his perspective, the post-cold war world remained essentially bipolar: ‘The world has been divided into two sides,’ he said, ‘The side of the believers and the side of the infidels’ (bin Laden: 2001: 2). It sounded very much like Samuel Huntington’s clash of civilisations, but not the West versus the rest, but Wahhabists versus infidels. Third, and most importantly, bin Laden argued that Muslims had to rise up and defend themselves against this attack from the world of the infidels. ‘Every Muslim has to rush to make his religion victorious. The winds of change have come to eradicate oppression from the island of Muhammed, peace be upon him’ (bin Laden 2001: 2). To achieve victory, al-Qaeda promoted the use of violence, including violence against civilians. In February 1998, bin Laden said ‘to kill Americans and their allies – civilian and military – is an individual duty for every Muslim who can do it in any country in which it is possible’ (Burke 2004: 175). In an interview with a Pakistani journalist, bin Laden defended the targeting of civilians, by arguing that all Americans were ‘responsible for the atrocities perpetrated against Muslims because they elect Congress’ (The Observer, 11 November 2001: 2). Congress approves government policy, he went on, and people pay taxes to fund support for Israel. This is a ‘defensive jihad’, he went on. ‘I say that if we don’t get security, the Americans too won’t get security ... The Israelis forces occupy our land and the American troops are on our territory. We have no option but to launch jihad’ (The Observer, 11 November 2001: 2–3). After expressing support for the suicide bombers in the 9/11 attack, he said the West will never be safe until ‘all the infidel armies leave the land of Muhammed’ (bin Laden 2001: 2). To challenge those Muslims who say that Islam is a religion of peace, militants cite the so-called ‘sword verses’ of the Koran,

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where it is stated: ‘Fight and slay the pagans wherever ye find them, harass them and be in wait for them’ (9:56). Suicide might be a sin according to the Koran, but suicide bombers are viewed by militants as martyrs who will be rewarded in heaven for their sacrifice. Bin Laden hoped that al-Qaeda would mobilise and radicalise the Muslim world and to some extent it has been successful. Jason Burke argues that the Islamic world has become more radicalised, if not more united, and there has been a surge of anti-Westernism since 9/11 (2004: 274). Bin Laden’s ideas on the ‘cosmic struggle’ have spread, especially among the ‘young and angry’, leading local groups to view their particular concerns as ‘part of one titanic battle’ (Burke 2004: 274 and 276). In the circumstances, what can the outside world do? States clearly have a duty to take action to secure the safety of their citizens against the terrorist threat, but they also need to ponder why a small minority of Muslims is acting in this way. To some extent possible answers depend on the particular interpretation of al-Qaeda’s motives. Some argue that al-Qaeda and other militant groups have genuine grievances and specific demands (see, for example, Esposito 1999: 271; Yusufzai 2001: 2–3; Wilby 2005: 24). It is important, therefore, to review Western policy critically, and accept that its policies over a prolonged period of time have led to radicalism and antiWesternism in the Muslim world. Policy changes, including statehood for Palestine, independence for Chechnya and the withdrawal of Western troops from Muslim lands would be an important first step in bringing Islamist terrorism to an end. Of course, the road to peace would be long. The West would be most reluctant to give up its economic and strategic interests in the Middle East. It would also take time to alter the Muslim mind-set and engender trust. The terrorist leaders might never be convinced but, as Burke argues, the important thing in conflicts of this sort is to win over the hearts and minds of the ordinary 1.3 billion Muslims living in the world today (see Burke 2004: 288–291). To others, however, it seems that al-Qaeda has taken local and particular conflicts, such as Palestinian statehood, and used them for its own larger purpose. Thus, it is argued that Osama bin Laden has bigger fish to fry than Palestine and the occupied territories. The West, in this scenario, has become a scapegoat for all the ills of the Muslim world – the poverty, unemployment, and the backwardness of so many Arab states. This view, for example, has been put forward by Saad al-Fagih, a Saudi dissident and director of the Movement for Islamic Reform in Arabia (The Guardian, 13 May 2003: 20). The tendency of such thinkers is to perceive the struggle in more global and cultural terms. Thus, the US State Department described al-Qaeda’s current goal to be the establishment of ‘a pan-Islamic Caliphate throughout the world by working with allied Islamic extremist groups to overthrow regimes it deems ‘non-Islamic’ and expelling Westerners and non-Muslims from Muslim countries – particularly Saudi Arabia’ (2004: 1). With such broad and absolutist demands, there is little the world can do (or should do) to appease the terrorists. It is a vision which the majority in the Muslim world, never mind the non-Muslim world, find unacceptable. Yet bin Laden’s terrorist methods seem to show that he has no interest in negotiation or compromise. Dick Cheney summed up this point of view in May 2003: it was time to ‘recognise the fact that the only way to deal with this threat ultimately is to

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destroy it. There’s no treaty can solve this problem, no peace agreement, no policy of containment ... we have to go find the terrorists’ (The Guardian, 14 May 2003: 1). The International Response Many have argued that the outside world was slow to recognise the growing threat of al-Qaeda through the late 1990s. It was only after the co-ordinated strikes against the US embassies in 1998 that the international community began seriously to register its concern over the rise of al-Qaeda-sponsored violence. President Clinton warned the UN General Assembly in a speech in September 1998 that terrorism had become a global phenomenon. ‘It is a grave misconception to see terrorism as only, or mostly, an American problem,’ he said. ‘Indeed, it is a clear and present danger to tolerant and open societies and innocent people everywhere. No one in this room, nor the people you represent are immune. Terror has become the world’s problem’ (Clinton 1998). The UN responded by formally registering Osama bin Laden as a terrorist, and in October 1999 (UNSCR 1267) called on the Afghan government to surrender bin Laden and his associates for trial for the bombing of the two US embassies. Mullah Omar, however, refused to comply describing Osama bin Laden as a ‘guest of Afghanistan’ and condemned the US as ‘the biggest terrorist in the world’ (Rashid 2001: 75). On 15 October 1999, the UN unanimously agreed to impose limited sanctions on Afghanistan – including the banning of flights to and from Afghanistan and the freezing of bank accounts worldwide. In 2000, the UN (UNSCR 1333) called on the Taliban to ‘cease the provision of sanctuary and training for international terrorists and their organisations’. International condemnation did not constrain bin Laden, however, and on 12 October 2000, the USS Cole in the port of Aden was attacked with 17 killed and 40 injured. In June 2001, Washington warned the Taliban government that America reserved the right to defend itself in the event of any further attacks on US targets and said it would hold the Taliban responsible for any further atrocities committed by terrorists sheltering in Afghanistan. The UN backed America and just two months before 9/11 reiterated its earlier demands for an end to Afghanistan being used as a base for terrorist activities (UNSCR 1363). So when the Twin Towers were struck on 11 September 2001, neither al-Qaeda not the Taliban could have been surprised by the international response. America’s allies interpreted 9/11 as an attack, not just on America, but on the West and the Western way of life. The British Prime Minister, Tony Blair, said: ‘This is not a battle between the United States of America and terrorism, but between the free and democratic world and terrorism. We, therefore, here in Britain stand shoulder to shoulder with our American friends in this hour of tragedy, and, we like them, will not rest until this evil is driven from our world’ (Blair 2001: 2). On 12 September, NATO proclaimed 9/11 an act of war against one of its members and for the first time invoked article 5 of its charter, meaning that the Atlantic Alliance was prepared to go to war in defence of the United States (NATO 2004: 1). Support for America was not limited to its Western allies. Vladimir Putin was the first political leader on the telephone to the White House after the attack to express sympathy to the American

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people and to offer support in the war on terrorism (Kendall 2001: 161). In the Muslim world, Iraq and Libya were notable for their silence, but others, including Syria and Iran, condemned the action of the terrorists (see chapter 9). There was a general feeling of shock and outrage amongst the international community which was reflected at the UN Security Council which condemned the terrorist attack on 12 September and called on its members to bring the perpetrators to justice (UNSCR 1368). Both this UN resolution, and a subsequent one approved on 28 September noted the ‘inherent right of individual or collective security defence’ (UNSCR 1373). Therefore, the UN was implicitly supporting the use of military force against al-Qaeda and the Taliban. In contrast to the war against Iraq in 2003, the US had overwhelming support for the military action in Afghanistan. Yet President Bush never requested NATO assistance, nor did he seek to get explicit UN approval. Bush retained a deep suspicion of international organisations, and had no desire to be constrained by them. 9/11 was viewed in Washington as an issue of national security, and Bush was prepared to do whatever was necessary to protect the United States. It was very much an American operation, but Washington did not go to war alone. The British and the Northern Alliance, in particular, were involved, but the unilateral impulse of Washington caused unease in some parts of Europe (Peterson and Pollack 2003: 7–8). There were also grave doubts over what was seen as an over-reliance on the military to defeat Islamist terrorism. The speedy defeat of the Taliban stilled the complaints of many, but in what everyone saw as a battle as much for the hearts and minds of ordinary Muslims, concern was expressed over the high number of civilian casualties and the treatment of prisoners captured in Afghanistan (O’Hanlon 2002: 55–56). Designated as unlawful combatants, those captured in Afghanistan were not granted the rights of prisoners of war under the Geneva Convention. Many believed that it was even more important in the circumstances for Western countries to be seen rigorously to uphold international law and act according to liberal democratic principles. Stories of mistreatment of prisoners and disrespect for their religion only deepened distrust amongst ordinary Muslims and confirmed the militants’ in the duplicity and depravity of the West. The Russian Response Vladimir Putin’s attitude towards international terrorism was formed through his struggle with the militants in Chechnya. Yeltsin had often described the Chechen rebels as terrorists, but it was Putin who argued they were part of a global movement. Whilst many Western commentators were reluctant to admit any international influence in the Chechen uprising, Putin had long been arguing that Russia and the West were fighting a common enemy in militant Islamism. In September 1999, Putin emphasised this point in a meeting with President Clinton and reiterated it in an article in The New York Times shortly afterwards (Putin 1999). Later at the G8 conference in Okinawa in July 2000, Putin had declared that the world was confronting ‘a crescent of Islamic terrorism’ stretching from the Philippines through Afghanistan, Chechnya and on to Kosovo (Kendall 2001: 166). Russia’s National

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Security Concept and Military Doctrine, both published in 2000, put more emphasis than their predecessors on the threat of international terrorism and Putin himself was also eager to stress the need for a common international response. At a meeting with senior diplomats in January 2001, Putin concluded by saying: ‘Quite obviously a terrorist international is emerging ... and it is in our direct interests to contribute to the establishment of effective mechanisms of international cooperation in every area’ (Jonson 2004: 66). For Putin, therefore, 9/11 proved to him that his analysis had been correct, whilst providing an opportunity for the world to come together to defeat the militants in the Caucasus, Central Asia, Afghanistan and elsewhere. In a TV broadcast to the Russian people on 24 September 2001, Putin described the al-Qaeda terrorist attack on the US as ‘barbaric’ (Kendall 2001: 161), and said that ‘Russia would provide all the information at its disposal about terrorist bases, and its secret services would co-operate fully with the West’ (Sakwa 2004: 216). Moscow backed the US-led war against Afghanistan despite the possible precedents that were set. Putin later said: ‘Everything done in Afghanistan goes against international law, but circumstances dictated it’ (Moscow News, 13–19 March 2002: 4). There was a clear potential for a major shift in US-Russian relations because of Moscow’s support over 9/11. There seemed to be little dispute in the Kremlin over sharing intelligence, which was welcomed in Washington. A Russia-America Working Group had already been set up in 2000 to consult on counter-terrorist activities in Afghanistan. Moscow had long experience of Afghanistan and had useful intelligence through its long-term support of the Northern Alliance. More controversial was allowing the US access to military bases in Central Asia (for Russian views, see Moscow News, 4–10 September 2002: 4). Whilst the Foreign Ministry emphasised that the countries of Central Asia were independent states with the right to determine their own decisions, the Defence Minister Sergei Ivanov initially ruled out any NATO presence in the region. The Chief of the General Staff, Anatoli Kvashnin, said, ‘Russia has not considered, and is not planning to consider, participation in a military operation against Afghanistan’. He went on to remind the countries of Central Asia of their ‘bilateral and other obligations’ to Russia (Herspring and Rutland 2005: 273). It took some time for Putin to win over the Defence Ministry and army officers that it was in Russia’s interest to actively support the US, but it was finally agreed to allow the US a presence in Central Asia after a six-hour meeting of the Power Ministries on 22 September (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 360). Military bases were set up in Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, whilst coalition forces also moved into Tajikistan. US positions in Central Asia facilitated the war in Afghanistan, especially since America’s closest ally in the region, Pakistan, was in turmoil itself over the rise of militant Islamism in the country. The decision showed the US and the rest of the world that Russia remained an important actor on the global stage. In the immediate aftermath of 9/11, relations with the US improved dramatically. On 18 October, Secretary of State, Colin Powell, declared: ‘Not only is the cold war over, the post-cold war period is also over’ (Washington Post, 3 November 2001). President Bush appeared to agree and described Russia as ‘a reliable partner in the war on terrorism’ (Moskovskie novosti, 3–9 November 2004: 4). ‘Today, the world’s great powers find themselves on the same side,’ he said, ‘united by common dangers of terrorist violence and chaos’ (Greenstein, 2003: 120). In the earlier cases of Bosnia

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and Kosovo, Russia had opposed military action and this had at best complicated the diplomatic process, and at worst made a peaceful settlement more difficult to come by. On this occasion, Moscow’s support for the US had further isolated the Taliban and helped gain international support for military action. Moscow also extended its support for the Northern Alliance, the main anti-Taliban force in Afghanistan before the war. Putin met some of its leaders in Tajikistan in October to discuss military strategy, and substantially increased military aid (Moscow News, 24–30 October 2001: 3). Moscow never took an active part in the US-led military campaign, although it did help with some specialised tasks, including minesweeping and the pin-pointing of targets inside Afghanistan. Washington became concerned over reports that Moscow was encouraging the Northern Alliance to push towards Kabul before the Americans, and a small contingent of Russian forces later entered the capital but only, it seemed, to re-establish the Russian mission there. After its experiences in the 1979–1989 war, there was never any suggestion that Russian forces should take part in peacekeeping, but it took pride in being the first country to introduce a ‘fully-fledged programme of humanitarian aid’ (Buckley 2003: 225). Why did Putin decide to support the American war on terrorism? First, as stated earlier, he had long been arguing that global terrorism was a common threat to Russia and the world. Foreign Minister Ivanov declared shortly after 9/11 that ‘Chechnya and Afghanistan are branches of one tree’ (O’Loughlin 2004: 287). There was growing evidence that rebels in Chechnya and Central Asia were being supported by the Taliban and al-Qaeda. Ivanov accused the terrorists of seeking to ‘forcibly absorb dozens of states, including a substantial part of Russian territory’ (Moscow News, 1–7 May 2002: 1). Ivanov, therefore, argued that it was in Russia’s national interest to back the US in its war on terrorism. If the US was successful in destroying the Taliban and al-Qaeda, it would help Russia in its struggle with terrorism at home (Moscow News, 1–7 May 2002: 1). Second, Moscow hoped to increase its influence in Afghanistan and be in a better position to reduce the terrorist threat to Russia itself. After its part in winning the war, there were hopes that the Northern Alliance would play a prominent part in any future government. However, this was resisted by Washington and Islamabad, whilst the majority Pashtuns were suspicious of the Tajik and Uzbek-dominated Northern Alliance (Moscow News, 14–20 November 2001: 2). Hamid Karzai, a Pashtun, who was chosen as leader, was perceived to be very much pro-Western. Yet, as Ivanov said, Moscow was ‘far from indifferent to what position a new Afghan leadership will adopt in respect to Russia’ (Moscow News, 1–7 May 2002: 2). Ivanov wanted ‘stable and friendly relations’ and, to this end, met with Karzai on a number of occasions (Moscow News, 1–7 May 2002: 2). Furthermore, within days of the fall of the Taliban, Moscow gave emergency aid to Afghanistan which ‘helped avert a largescale humanitarian disaster in the region’, and thereafter sought to work with the UN and Karzai government to help rebuild a strong and stable Afghanistan (Moscow News, 1–7 May 2002: 2). Moscow had an obvious interest in preventing Afghanistan from once more becoming a centre for the export of Islamist militancy to the territory of the former Soviet Union. Moscow’s actual influence in Afghanistan, however, has remained fairly limited. For NATO and the West have dominated peacekeeping and state-building in the country. This is scarcely surprising since the idea of a significant

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number of Russian troops re-entering Afghanistan is tolerable to neither Kabul nor Moscow for the foreseeable future. Third, support for the American war on terrorism would show Russia’s continuing importance in the post-cold war period. As stated earlier, there can be little doubt that Russia played a significant role in the overthrow of the Taliban even if its actual participation in the war was minimal. It was also hoped Moscow’s support would lead to improved relations with the US. At the time, the US had a rather negative image of Russia, especially after its perceived obstructiveness over Kosovo. Putin’s domestic critics, however, have been rather dismissive of any policy gains as a result of its partnership with Washington (see Karaganov 2001: 2). Nevertheless, Putin did feel that, for a while at least, he got more understanding from Western governments of his problems in trying to deal with the militants in Chechnya. Furthermore, there was continued co-operation on counter-terrorism between the two countries. The US-Russian Counter-Terrorism Working Group meets twice a year and there has also been greater co-operation between the FSB and FBI, involving such things as the sharing of information and intelligence, which, it is claimed, has led to the arrest of a number of suspected terrorists (US State Department 2006: 114). Table 7.2

Russian public opinion on the war against terrorism

A. Do you support the US military action in Afghanistan? October 2001

November 2001

Yes

47%

52%

No

41%

38%

Sources: Nationwide VCIOM Surveys for October see Moscow News, 14–20 November 2001: 3. for November, Nationwide VCIOM Survey, 23–26 November (accessed 17 May 2002). B. Are you worried about strengthening the US position in Central Asia? Yes

63%

No

24%

Don’t know

13%

Source: Nationwide VCIOM Survey, 25–28 January 2002 at C. What is the best way of defeating terrorism? Primarily, the use of military force

69%

Primarily, negotiate

25%

Source: Nationwide VCIOM Survey, April 2002 (accessed 17 May 2002).

Putin was able to win considerable domestic support for his pro-US policy. The military and the Communist Party, led by Zyuganov, remained sceptical, but most political parties in the State Duma backed the President (Buckley 2003: 228–230). The public was also generally supportive of Putin’s policy position (see Table 7.2). 80 per cent of Russians said that 9/11 was not just a concern for the US, but for

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‘all humanity’ (Nationwide VCIOM Survey 24–29 September 2001). A majority approved the military operation in Afghanistan and 50 per cent of those questioned agreed that the Taliban posed a threat to ‘world civilisation’ (Nationwide VCIOM Survey 26–29 October 2001). However, there was little support for Russian involvement in the war, and there was also concern over the American presence in Central Asia (Buckley 2003: 230). There were also widespread fears over the possible destabilisation of Central Asia, of new terrorist attacks on Russia and a flood of refugees into the country (Moscow News, 14–20 November 2001: 3). It was a difficult time for Russia and Russian Muslims. The Muslim leadership in Russia was divided over 9/11 and the war in Afghanistan. The Council of Muftis in Russia, representing about 80 per cent of all Russian Muslims, was largely supportive of Putin’s position, but its influential co-chair, the Sheikh Nafigullah Ahir, backed the Taliban and declared the military action in Afghanistan to be illegitimate. At the same time, there were reports of attacks on Muslims on the streets of Moscow, whilst sections of the media chose to view 9/11 in terms of a clash of civilisations, dividing the population, as one writer said, into Slavs and non-Slavs (Moscow News, 14–20 November 2001: 3). 9/11 did bring about a change in US-Russian relations, but it was only temporary. There continued to be differences of opinion on a number of important issues. Moscow disapproved of Bush’s ‘axis of evil’ speech in January 2002 and refused to support America’s war in Iraq the following year. It was concerned over Washington’s unilateral abandonment of the ABM treaty, the enlargement of both NATO and the EU, and the continued restrictions on US-Russian trade due to the Jackson-Vanik amendment – a hangover from the cold war. Yet, Putin said in a keynote speech on 12 July 2002 that the relationship with the US remained an ‘unconditional priority’ (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 362). He went on to back George W. Bush personally in the 2004 presidential election, arguing that he was best placed to defeat terrorism. ‘International terrorists have set as their goal inflicting the maximum damage on Bush to prevent his election to a second term. If they succeed in doing that, they will celebrate a victory over America and over the whole anti-terror coalition. In that case, this would give an additional impulse to international terrorists and to their activities, and could lead to the spread of terrorism to other parts of the world’ (The Guardian, 19 October 2004: 2). Like Bush, Putin favoured a strong military response to the threat of global terrorism. This is a view largely shared by the Russian public who tended to view themselves on the front line against global terrorism (Black 2004: 44). This was one area where Putin was at odds with ‘old Europe’ and his allies over Iraq.

Chapter 8

Gulf War II: Iraq 2003 Introduction Few states could look back over the years at their policies towards Saddam Hussein’s regime with much satisfaction. A large number of states, including the US, UK and France, had helped to build up Saddam’s military power in the early days, seeing his secular state as less threatening than that of Iran under the mullahs (see Coughlin 2002: 188–191). Moscow’s relations with Iraq, however, were particularly close and complex. Moscow had interests in Iraq’s oil business and was Baghdad’s leading military supplier from 1973 up to Saddam’s annexation of Kuwait in 1990 (SIPRI 2003). In the name of international unity and the New World Order, Moscow supported the UN’s tough sanctions policy toward Saddam after the Gulf War. However, by 1994 Moscow’s position had shifted due in large part to the rise of Russian nationalism and increasing economic difficulties at home. Russia favoured the phased re-integration of Baghdad into the international community in the hope of both moderating Saddam’s behaviour and reviving its business and trade interests in Iraq. Moscow’s policy was thwarted by 9/11 and the Bush administration’s response to the terrorist atrocity. As Washington prepared to extend its war on terrorism to Saddam Hussein’s Iraq, Putin sought to defend Russia’s economic interests in the country by opposing military action. Putin failed in this his primary aim, but it appeared his more low-key diplomacy had avoided much of the opprobrium directed at France and the French President, Jacques Chirac. Yet, Moscow has found that relations with the United States have cooled since Moscow defied Washington over Iraq. After the First Gulf War When the Gulf War came to an end on 28 February 1991, it appeared to be one of the most decisive military victories in history. Kuwait had been liberated and its sovereignty fully restored. The Iraqi military had not been destroyed in the war, but its capabilities had been gravely weakened. Furthermore, the peace terms, outlined in UNSCR 687 and passed on 3 April 1991, seemed to be tough enough to contain any future Iraqi threat to the region. There were five elements to the peace agreed between Iraq and the rest of the international community. First, the UN set up a commission to demarcate the contested Iraq-Kuwait border and the UN guaranteed the inviolability of the resultant border. Second, the UN demanded an end both to Iraqi terrorism and its support of terrorism. Third, it called for the destruction of its chemical and biological weapons, research programmes and manufacturing capabilities related to them. Fourth, it also demanded the destruction of all ballistic

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missiles with a range of 150 km together with relevant production facilities and demanded unconditional Iraqi agreement not to use, develop, construct or acquire any of these weapons. Fifth, it required an unconditional Iraqi commitment not to acquire or develop nuclear weapons. A UN Special Commission (UNSCOM) was set up to work alongside the IAEA to monitor Iraqi compliance on these matters and the UN Security Council emphasised its willingness to take further steps if necessary to secure peace and security in the region. In the meantime, economic sanctions, first imposed on 6 August 1990 in response to Iraq’s attack on Kuwait, were to remain in place until Saddam had complied fully with all the UN demands. However, it soon became apparent to the international community that victory was incomplete as long as Saddam Hussein remained as Iraqi President. Saddam presented himself to his fellow Iraqis and the rest of the Muslim world, not as a defeated and humiliated war-time dictator, but as a heroic figure who had dared to defy the West and survived to tell the tale. He proceeded to rebuild his power base in Iraq and then went on to defy the international community throughout the post-war period. He plotted the assassination of both the Emir of Kuwait and the former US President, George H. W. Bush in 1993, and repeatedly challenged the no-fly zones imposed by the international community after the war to protect the Marsh Arabs and Kurds from further attacks by the Iraqi state. Most notably in the context of the future war with the US, Saddam also failed to co-operate with, and over the years wilfully obstructed, the work of the UN weapons inspectors, thereby increasing suspicions over Saddam’s intentions regarding a possible WMD programme (Coughlin 2002: 284). In October 1994, Saddam stirred himself once more and moved 10,000 troops close to the Kuwaiti border. It appeared that Saddam might be preparing for another military strike against his small neighbour. However, the US was able to deploy a formidable show of force in rapid time to deter any such intention. Controversially, after the Gulf War, the US had negotiated a series of ‘ghost bases’ in Saudi Arabia and elsewhere in the Gulf, which were fully equipped and combat-ready within hours. Washington believed that its show of strength was decisive in forcing Saddam to back down. Moscow was less sure. Up to this point, Yeltsin had backed America’s uncompromising position towards Saddam. Yeltsin had even publicly supported punitive air strikes against Iraqi positions in 1993 in response to the assassination plot against George H. W. Bush (Izvestiya, 29 June 1993: 1). On this occasion, however, Moscow stepped out of line to pursue its own independent policy. Foreign Minister, Andrei Kozyrev, dashed to Baghdad as the crisis broke and managed to persuade Saddam, not only to demobilise his forces, but also to recognise the new Iraq-Kuwait border which had been redrawn by the UN commission a year earlier. In return, Kozyrev called for an end to economic sanctions within 6 months (Moscow News, 4–10 November 1994: 2). Moscow claimed its own diplomacy rather that America’s show of strength had been crucial in defusing the crisis. However, Washington was deeply irritated by Kozyrev’s initiative. Washington believed that Saddam’s defiance should not be rewarded with promises and concessions, whilst any apparent differences amongst the international community would only be exploited by Baghdad. This crisis highlighted the growing divisions within the international community over how to deal with the threat from Iraq, and economic sanctions became a central

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issue. Initially, Moscow supported their continuation, and Yeltsin had sent two warships to monitor the embargo back in September 1992. Over time, however, resolve in Moscow and the rest of the international community began to dissipate. In part, this was because of a growing unease over the consequences of a sanctions policy which was bringing misery and despair to ordinary Iraqi citizens whilst having little apparent effect on the Saddam administration. Moscow argued that the progressive easing of sanctions could encourage Saddam to moderate his behaviour both at home and in his dealings with the outside world (Moscow News, 16–22 December 1994: 2). Moscow had also become concerned that sanctions were hitting Russia disproportionately hard. A 1994 report estimated that Russia had lost $30 billion in the four years since the imposition of sanctions, and was owed $8 billion by Baghdad (Moscow News, 21–27 October 1994: 5). This was money an impoverished Russia could ill-afford to lose. Although Washington was reluctant to make concessions to Saddam, it recognised that the visible suffering of the Iraqi people was losing it international support. As a result, the US agreed to amend its sanctions policy and permit Iraq to export a limited amount of oil to buy food and medicine. This was approved by the UN in 1995 and the so-called oil-for-food programme had started to operate by December 1996. The programme improved living conditions in the country, although not everyone seemed to benefit. A disturbing UNICEF report, published in March 1998, found that a quarter of all Iraqi children remained ‘chronically malnourished’, whilst a tenth were ‘acutely malnourished’ (Coughlin 2002: 311). The US blamed the Saddam regime and argued that the extra money had been spent on ‘missile technology and military materials’ (Bush 2002b: 3). Certainly, Saddam used the plight of the Iraqi children as propaganda at a time when he had largely circumvented the sanctions system anyway (Coughlin 2002: 314–315). For the oil-for-food programme was open to corruption and many were involved in secret deals with Saddam and illicit smuggling of oil (see Coughlin 2002: 315). The West tended to view Saddam’s manipulation of the programme for his own personal gain as another example of callous irresponsibility towards his own people and his abiding contempt for the international community (see Bush 2002b: 3). The West also became highly suspicious of Moscow’s role in the oil-for-food programme. For, having lobbied hard for the programme, Russian officials and businesses were amongst those who profited most from their close connections with the Saddam regime. Even the Russian Foreign Ministry itself was reported as receiving backhanders from Saddam (Moscow Times, 15 October 2004: 1). The Iraq Survey Group report, published in September 2004, found that Russian actions undermined the sanctions policy and weakened the credibility of the UN itself. It went on to conclude that ‘Saddam [had] needed both Moscow’s political clout in the UN and its economic expertise and resources to sustain his regime from the 1990s’ (Iraq Survey Group 2004: 52). The Change in US Policy Neo-conservatives within the Bush administration had long perceived the containment policy of Saddam Hussein’s Iraq to be a failure, and the food-for-oil debacle only

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confirmed them in their view that the UN was irrelevant, corrupt and incompetent (see Newsweek 17 November 2003: 40; Perle 2003). For neo-conservatives, the terrorist attack on New York and Washington on 11 September 2001 was further evidence that US policy towards Iraq had to change. US intelligence reported shortly after 9/11 that Islamic terrorists were planning an even bigger attack on the US, possibly using a dirty bomb, which would make an area the size of Manhattan uninhabitable for years. Therefore, al-Qaeda was suspected of looking for WMD and Saddam was viewed as a possible source (Coughlin 2002: xxix). Although there was no evidence of Saddam supporting al-Qaeda, he had most certainly backed terrorist groups in the past (see Coughlin 2002: 41 and 121). Furthermore, UNSCOM had been forced to leave Iraq in December 1998. As a result, the extent of Saddam’s weapons programme was largely unknown, but George W. Bush felt he could no longer take any risks with US security. He became convinced that he had to adopt a more pro-active policy towards the Saddam regime. In his first State of the Union address after the overthrow of the Taliban in Afghanistan on 28 January 2002, Bush described Iraq as a part of the ‘axis of evil’, which threatened peace and stability in the post-cold war world (Bush 2002a: 3). Bush had decided that Saddam had to be removed from power once and for all. The US published its new National Security Strategy in September 2002 which, in the context of the gathering war clouds over Iraq, included two innovations which attracted particular attention. First, the US arrogated the right to itself of pre-emptive military action and, second, the US declared its willingness to act unilaterally if necessary to defend its national interests. ‘While the United States will constantly strive to enlist the support of the international community,’ it stated, ‘we will not hesitate to act alone, if necessary to exercise our right of self-defence by acting pre-emptively against such terrorists to prevent them from doing harm against our people in our country’ (White House 2002: 6). Pressure, however, was placed on Bush, most notably from Colin Powell and Tony Blair, to seek international approval for the war against Saddam. Reluctantly, the President went to UN Headquarters in New York on 12 September 2002, but made little attempt, in his speech to the General Assembly, to seek approval or defend Washington’s policy on Iraq. Instead, he turned the debate around and argued that it was the UN’s authority that was at stake. ‘Iraq has answered a decade of UN demands with a decade of defiance,’ Bush said. ‘All the world now faces a test, and the United Nations a difficult and defining moment. Are Security Council resolutions to be honored and enforced, or cast aside without consequence? Will the United Nations serve the purpose of its founding, or will it be irrelevant?’ (Bush 2002b: 3). Leaders must confront the grave and gathering danger, he said, or stand aside and allow the US to act (Bush 2002b: 4). Bush’s threats did appear to have some effect on both Saddam and the international community. On 8 November, the UN Security Council voted unanimously for UNSCR 1441, which threatened ‘serious consequences’ if Iraq failed to comply fully with all its international obligations – including, most importantly, those relevant to WMD. Saddam, for his part, had already agreed on 16 September to allow UN inspectors to return to Iraq without conditions. He also provided the UN with a detailed dossier on 7 December 2002, as required by UNSCR 1441, in which he claimed that Iraq had fully complied with UNSCR 687 and had destroyed all its chemical and biological

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weapons. Moscow accepted the conclusions in the dossier which accorded with its own intelligence. Putin had said back in October that Russia had no reliable evidence that Iraq had WMD and he doubted that Saddam had the capability to rapidly produce nuclear weapons (ITAR-TASS 11 October 2002). The US, however, was dismissive and declared the Iraqi dossier was full of inaccuracies and omissions (Meyer 2005: 258). To back up this claim, Secretary of State, Colin Powell, gave a presentation to the UN General Assembly on 5 February 2003 which sought to provide evidence of weapon sites and research laboratories in Iraq. Hans Blix, head of the new United Nations weapons inspection commission (UNMOVIC), reported to the UN three times on WMD (on 30 January 2003, 14 February and 7 March), and each time said that he was unable to locate any significant violations of the relevant UN resolutions and asked for more time to investigate American claims further. It was Hans Blix’s call for more time that fractured the international community beyond repair. The US-led coalition was building up a total force of 250,000 troops in the Gulf and was not prepared to accept the need for any further delay. In the eyes of Washington, Iraq had already had more than a decade to comply with all the UN demands, including UNSCR 687. The Saddam administration remained a dangerous and destabilising force in the region and had to be forcibly removed from power. France, Germany and Russia, on the other hand, issued a joint statement on 10 February calling on Saddam to disarm, and arguing that force should only be used as ‘a last resort’ (Golan 2004: 437). Moscow argued that the weapons inspectors should be allowed to complete their work whilst simultaneously encouraging Saddam to cooperate fully with UNMOVIC (ITAR-TASS 5 February 2003). If Hans Blix found that Saddam was in ‘material breach’ of UNSCR 1441, then, Putin said, Russia would be prepared to toughen its position at the UN Security Council (Golan 2004: 438; Katz 2003: 46). There was also division within the international community over the implications of UNSCR 1441, and whether there needed to be a so-called second resolution to approve the use of force. The US had always perceived the original resolution as the trigger for war. What else could ‘serious consequences’ mean? Russia, China and France, on the other hand, had issued a joint statement when UNSCR 1441 was passed declaring that the UN resolution ‘excludes any automacity in the use of force’ (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 364). Indeed, Sergei Lavrov, Russia’s ambassador to the UN at the time, argued that UNSCR 1441 had actually removed the imminent threat of war and opened a path towards a peaceful resolution of the crisis (ITAR-TASS 8 November 2002). Britain took a middle path. It worked hard on trying to find acceptable wording for a second resolution whilst denying it was ever absolutely necessary to authorise the use of force. On 24 February, Britain submitted a draft second resolution which gave Saddam a deadline of 17 March to disarm (The Guardian, 10 March 2003: 1). Moscow, supported by Germany, proposed an alternative which involved step-by-step disarmament by Iraq and regular reports from weapons inspectors. Its critical failing, however, from the point of view of Washington, was the absence of any deadline or any automatic sanction for noncompliance (Golan 2004: 440). Washington suspected that Moscow was seeking to defend Saddam’s interests once again as it had done in the first Gulf War. Such concerns grew when Yevgeni

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Primakov, in an echo of that earlier crisis, visited Saddam in Baghdad on 22 February. It was assumed at the time that Primakov was seeking some kind of last-minute compromise deal, but he has since stated that he went to encourage Saddam to resign as leader, as this appeared to be the only way of avoiding another tragedy for the Iraqi people (Golan 2004: 440). Britain, for its part, was unable to get the nine votes it needed for its second resolution at the UN Security Council to be passed. Of the fifteen members, only the US, Spain and Bulgaria were committed to supporting Britain. France, as a permanent member, had stated clearly its intention to veto any resolution which approved military action and, after some equivocation, Paris got the support of two other permanent members, Russia and China (Moscow Times, 12 February 2003). Believing no resolution was better than a vetoed resolution, Britain withdrew its proposal on 16 March and the US-led coalition prepared for war without any explicit authorisation from the international community. For Bush and Blair, this was no different from Kosovo when again the UN had failed to formally authorise military intervention (see Perle 2003: 1–2). On that occasion, the successful outcome of the war had generally been perceived to have overridden possible concerns over the legality, or otherwise, of the military action. The same, they hoped, would apply to Iraq. Yet, the cases were different and not only because the post-war period in Iraq has thus far turned out so badly. For in the case of Kosovo, the vast majority of the international community, despite a few dissenting voices, supported military action to defend the Kosovar Albanians from ethnic cleansing. In Iraq, on the other hand, military action enjoyed far less support – and most notably amongst democratic countries – for many reasons. First, in the complex world of Middle Eastern politics, outcomes were always unpredictable. There were grounds for thinking military action could promote rather than contain the terrorist threat. Second, there appeared to be no immediate humanitarian crisis to justify Bush’s impatience with the UN process. There was no equivalent of the television pictures which showed Kosovar Albanians being forced to flee from their homes by Serb soldiers. Instead, the case for war was based on the rather technical point of Saddam having defied the UN since the Gulf War of 1991, specifically over the issue of destroying his weapons of mass destruction. Despite Bush’s claims, there was little evidence of significant links between Saddam and al-Qaeda (Borger 2004: 1 and 5). In sum, it appeared that Saddam had been effectively contained by the international community and posed a minimal threat to his neighbours and the outside world in general. With Western governments split down the middle over Bush’s policies, millions went on the streets across Europe to oppose the war. Many eminent lawyers came out in public to declare the proposed forcible regime change illegal – a view later supported by the UN Secretary General, Kofi Annan, himself (Washington Post 24 September 2003: A1). As Francis Fukuyama later argued, whatever our thoughts on the legality or morality of military action against Saddam, it was clear that the UN Security Council had not given the US and UK a mandate to act on its behalf (Fukuyama 2006: 97).

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The War Ignoring the UN and much of Western opinion, the US-led coalition, comprising 49 nations and a total of 315,000 troops, launched the war against Iraq on 20 March 2003. Moscow condemned Washington and Foreign Minister, Igor Ivanov, said he feared the war could expand into ‘a clash of civilisations’ (Golan 2004: 442). Russian intelligence expected the coalition to face difficulties in overcoming the Iraqi forces on the battlefield. Military strategists in Moscow thought the coalition had too few forces on the ground to take Baghdad and feared that any attempt to take the Iraqi capital would result in a bloodbath (see Woodward 2004: 404–405; Moscow News, 2–8 April 2003: 3). In fact, the Rumsfeld strategy of employing relatively few ground forces and relying on US technology and massive firepower to inspire ‘shock and awe’ in the enemy proved to be a great success in the combat phase of the war. For the peace-keeping and state-building phase, however, the numbers fell far short of requirements. Nevertheless, many Iraqi soldiers faced with the overwhelming military power of the US, simply chose to take off their uniforms and return home rather than risk their lives and fight the invading forces (Woodward 2004: 403). There was a brief period ten days into the war when the advance was halted by a combination of bad weather and resistance from unconventional militias, such as the Feyadeen Saddam, but otherwise progress was rapid. The US marines entered Baghdad on 7 April and had taken complete control of the capital city just two days later. In a highly symbolic act, the Iraqi people, helped by some US soldiers, pulled down a statue of Saddam Hussein in central Baghdad and it was all witnessed worldwide live on television. After Baghdad, coalition forces then moved into the north of the country and took the towns of Kirkuk, Mosul and, finally on 14 April, Saddam’s birthplace, Tikrit. In a moment of vainglory, President Bush kitted himself out in a US air force flight suit and, on 1 May, formally declared victory on board the USS Abraham Lincoln. Standing in front of a banner which read, ‘Mission Accomplished’, he declared that ‘major combat operations in Iraq have ceased’. In grandiloquent phrases, the US President said, ‘the tyrant has fallen’ and ‘Iraq is free’, but he did go on to warn the American people that the war against terrorism was not yet over (Woodward 2004: 412). This speech has attracted a lot of criticism since, but his overall analysis seemed accurate at the time. The US had won another decisive military victory in the post-cold war era. Washington estimated that 30,000 Iraqis had been killed, whilst in comparison only 139 US military had lost their lives up to the formal end of the war on 1 May 2003 (Woodward 2004: 407). The Baath political leadership was destroyed and the repressive structures of the Saddam regime had been dismantled. Subsequently, Saddam’s two sons, Qusay and Uday, were killed in a shoot-out on 22 July 2003. Saddam himself was captured a few months later and hanged by the Iraqi state in December 2006. Moscow, however, seemed less impressed by the US victory. The Russian commentator, Lilia Shevtsova argued that the United States had emerged from the war looking massively powerful, but also more reviled than ever (Moscow News, 7–13 May 2003: 4). The Communist newspaper, Pravda, wrote that Washington had acted outside the law and ignored the UN and, in the process, alienated much

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of the Arab world (Pravda 10 April 2003). Instead of regime change in Iraq being an important victory in ultimately overcoming international terrorism, as Bush promised, Moscow seemed to be warning that it could, in fact, have the reverse effect and encourage a growth in Islamist militancy. State-building and Insurgency America could reasonably claim victory in war but, as Moscow predicted, it has proved far more difficult to win the peace. Few in Iraq mourned the overthrow of Saddam, but there were differences amongst the various groups in Iraq. Only the Kurds openly welcomed the US occupation, whilst the minority Sunnis, who held a privileged position under Saddam, were generally opposed to the US intervention. Even many Shias, who had suffered discrimination and brutal repression under Saddam’s rule, tended to view the Americans as an occupying force (Hendrickson and Tucker 2005: 7). Therefore, instead of being greeted as liberators, as the coalition had hoped, the US faced the prospect of state-building in a more unfriendly environment for which it was singularly ill-prepared (see Fukuyama 2006: 115; Hendrickson and Tucker 2005). The immediate effect of Saddam’s overthrow was criminality, lawlessness, and anarchic violence. Having dismantled the institutions of government and state security, the US found it had too few troops to stabilise the situation (Hendrickson and Tucker 2005: 8–9). Confidence in the occupying authorities was further undermined as security collapsed in many parts of Iraq, whilst the provision of basic amenities, such as electricity, gas, and water, was either intermittent or non-existent. In the immediate aftermath of invasion, everyday existence became far worse for the majority of Iraqis, even if optimism for the future, in the summer of 2003, remained remarkably high (see Yougov poll 2003: 13). It was against this background of violence and instability that the US sought to build democracy in Iraq. Leading figures on the right in Washington despaired over the delay, but sovereignty was finally restored to the Iraqis on 28 June 2004 (see Hendrickson and Tucker 2005: 9). Parliamentary elections followed on 30 January 2005, with an impressive turn-out of just under 60 percent despite all the threats and harassment from the anti-democracy militants. Turn-out was lowest amongst the Sunnis, who comprised only 20 percent of the population and feared marginalisation within the US-sponsored democratic project by the majority Shias (60 percent) and the pro-Western Kurds (17 percent). Efforts were made, however, to include all minorities in the political structures of Iraq and a new constitution was drawn up on that basis, which was formally ratified by 78 percent of the electorate in October 2005. New parliamentary elections followed in December and, for the first time, there was no official Sunni boycott of the democratic process. A majority of Sunni leaders had been persuaded that the best way to influence the future structures of the Iraqi state was through participating actively in the political process. After lengthy deliberations, a coalition government led by the Shia Prime Minister, Nuri al-Maliki, and comprising Sunnis and Kurds, was finally formed in the spring of 2006. President Bush placed considerable hope in democracy stabilising the country and undermining militancy and sectarianism in Iraq. Despite all the problems, there

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appeared to be grounds for optimism towards the end of 2005. The high turn-out in elections, alongside a series of opinion polls, proved that, at the very least, the Iraqi people were not predisposed against democracy because of their religion, culture or history. On the contrary, in a Time-ABC poll of late 2005, 67 percent of Iraqis thought democracy was the best political system for Iraq, although support for the emerging political system remained markedly lower in Sunni areas (see Table 8.1). Any optimism, however, had to be tempered by the rising levels of violence within the country. Table 8.1

Time-ABC poll in Iraq, October–November 2005

1. Which of these systems would be best for Iraq? Democracy

67%

Dictatorship

26%

Islamic state

14%

2. What different regions and Iraqi groups think* Entire country

Kurdish area

Shiite area

Baghdad area

Sunni area

Life is better since the war

51%

73%

59%

59%

25%

US right to invade Iraq

46%

80%

58%

47%

16%

Feel very safe in neighbourhood

63%

91%

82%

70%

21%

Approve new constitution Oppose coalition forces

70% 64%

88% 22%

85% 59%

79% 72%

36% 85%

*1,711 Iraqis were interviewed in person in October–November 2005 Source: Time Magazine 19 December 2005, pp. 38–39.

According to an official US report, a third of all terrorist attacks in the world in 2005 took place in Iraq causing over 20,000 casualties (US State Department 2006: appendix p 7–8). Sectarian violence, however, reached new heights in the wake of the bombing of the Golden Mosque in Samarra – one of the holiest shrines in Shia Islam – on 22 February 2006. With 50 to 60 Iraqis killed on a daily basis, according to the former Prime Minister, Iyad Allawi (The Independent, 20 March 2006: 2), the US was forced to accept that Iraq was facing incipient civil war (Khalilzad 2006: 1). President Bush blamed militants and external forces, including al-Qaeda and Iranian militia, who, he said, ‘recognized the mortal danger that Iraq’s elections posed for their cause’ (Bush 2007: 1). Privately, the Bush administration also despaired of the Maliki government which appeared either unable or unwilling to act against sectarian violence. A bipartisan report, chaired by the former Secretary of State James Baker and former Congressman Lee Hamilton, acknowledged the weakness of the Maliki government and the security services, but went on to argue that the US presence had

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become part of the problem and recommended the staged withdrawal of American forces from a combat role by 2008. The report also favoured re-integrating members of the old regime into the institutions of state, and recommended the US re-engage with neighbouring countries, including Iran and Syria, to help stabilise the situation in Iraq (Baker and Hamilton 2006: xiii–xv). President Bush accepted the need for a change in strategy and sacked his Defence Secretary, Donald Rumsfeld, one of the architects of the Iraq campaign, in response to poor mid-term election results in November 2006. However, backed by the Maliki government, Bush rejected the main recommendations of the Baker and Hamilton report (Bush 2007: 1–4). Instead, Bush proposed a more than 20,000 increase in US forces to help the Maliki government retain control over Baghdad and its environs where 80 percent of the sectarian violence was taking place (Bush 2007: 1–2). Although Bush made reference to democracy, his ambitions for Iraq seemed much reduced since the start of the campaign. Instead of arguing that a democratic Iraq could act as a beacon of hope across the Middle East, he declared that the country must not be allowed to become a ‘safe haven’ for terrorists (Bush 2007: 1). Whether this new strategy will be able to attain even Bush’s more limited aims is open to doubt. The American public increasingly views the war as a tragic folly. No weapons of mass destruction have been found and the al-Qaeda presence in Iraq only became a reality after the US-led invasion. As Iran’s influence increases in the country, many commentators argue that Tehran, one third of Bush’s axis of evil, has emerged as the main victor from the war. At least, President Bush can claim he succeeded in his primary aim of overthrowing Saddam Hussein. For Saddam was, incontrovertibly, a most brutal dictator. He was tried for his crimes against humanity and ultimately executed by the Iraqis on 30 December 2006. Since when, Saddam personally has ceased to pose a threat to US interests or the stability of the Middle East region. Russia’s Role A number of critics, both inside and outside Russia, have argued that Putin’s policy on Iraq was a failure (see, e.g. Arbatov 2003; Golan 2004; Katz 2003; Lukin 2003). Galia Golan, for example, argued that Putin made the same mistakes as Gorbachev in the Gulf in 1990–1991 and Yeltsin in Kosovo in 1999. According to the critics, Putin first tried to stop the war but failed. He then condemned the war when it started, but once it became clear that the coalition forces were winning, he made ‘a rapid diplomatic retreat and sought reconciliation with the US’ (Golan 2004: 429–30). All these twists and turns in policy, it was argued, were largely designed to protect Russia’s economic interests in Iraq, which he also failed to do (Arbatov 2003: 4). Worst of all, Putin was perceived by his critics to have been naive (Lukin 2003: 1–2). Putin feared that Russian investments, unpaid debt, and future contracts would all be lost if Saddam were overthrown. Yet, there was little to be gained, it was argued, from opposing Washington. A number of official US representatives had made it clear that a Russian veto at the UN would risk Russian investments in Iraq, as well as American co-operation in other areas of foreign policy (Waller 2005: 266). The Bush administration had long been committed to regime change in Iraq and Putin,

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according to his critics, failed to recognise the power realities which his alliance with Schroeder and Chirac could not change. The US had the power and the political will to act unilaterally. In those circumstances, Putin’s opposition to Washington endangered, rather than protected, Russia’s interests in Iraq. Moscow further risked its good relations with Washington as the US-led coalition swept into Iraq to overthrow Saddam. Western intelligence suggested that Moscow continued to provide Saddam with military equipment, including anti-tank missiles, night vision goggles and jamming equipment, after the war had started (Katz 2003: 47). This was always denied in Moscow, but well-connected newspapers in Russia, such as Nezavisimaya gazeta, reported at the time that Moscow was providing intelligence briefings to Iraqi officials on a daily basis during the war (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 9 April 2003). Later media leaks suggested that Moscow had spies in the US Command Centre in Doha, but not all the information that was passed on to the Iraqis was accurate, suggesting that some of it might have been planted deliberately by the US (Moscow Times, 27 March 2006: 1). A low point in relations between the two countries was reached in early April when the US fired on a diplomatic convey which included Vladimir Titorenko, the Russian Ambassador to Iraq. Titorenko believed the attack was deliberate, and Nezavisimaya gazeta explained America’s attack by suggesting that the ambassador was taking secret Iraqi files to Syria which the US was eager to get hold of (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 9 April 2003; Moscow Times, 27 March 2006: 1). As it became clear that Iraqi resistance, contrary to what Russian intelligence had expected, was melting away, Moscow sought reconciliation with Washington. Putin went so far as to ring Bush on 24 March, at a difficult time in the war, to offer sympathy to a fellow commander-in-chief as he grappled with the stresses and strains of leading a country at war (Woodward 2004: 404–05). Then, on 3 April 2003, Putin declared publicly that ‘Russia is not interested in seeing a US defeat in Iraq’, and called for co-operation with the US (Moscow News, 18–24 June 2003: 4). After the war was won, however, Putin lobbied for a UN, rather than a US, administration in Iraq, and was opposed to the lifting of sanctions. Putin feared handing over the Iraqi oil industry to the Americans would mean losing any remaining chance of reviving the $20 billion contract to help develop Iraq’s West Qurna oil-field. Moscow noted at the time that the US had secured 85 percent of Iraqi oil-fields on the first day of the military campaign which suggested to the Kremlin that oil, contrary to Bush’s claims, had always been an important factor in Washington’s decision-making on the war (Arbatov 2003: 4). However, Putin had to change tack once more when it became clear that the US would not give up the spoils of war to the UN. Therefore, Moscow backed UNSCR 1483 on 22 May (approved unanimously by the UN Security Council, but with Syria absent) which ended sanctions on Iraq, and UNSCR 1546 (8 June 2004), which implied both post facto approval of the war and acceptance of the US administration of Iraq – albeit on a temporary basis (Arbatov 2003: 4). In return, vague promises were made by Washington regarding the protection of Russian economic interests (Moscow News, 18–24 June 2003: 4), but Putin was later forced to write off 90 percent of Iraq’s debt. In part, Putin was simply accepting reality, but he also hoped the write-off would mean Moscow was better placed for future contracts once the

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insurgency was over. It seemed to many, however, a rather poor return on Putin’s Iraq policy. Yet Putin stated after the war that he had no regrets regarding his policy on Iraq. For Moscow might have been isolated over its policy in Kosovo, but this was certainly not the case in Iraq. On the contrary, it was the US which was out of step with the international consensus. Furthermore, Putin’s approach also won majority support at home in Russia (see Nationwide VCIOM Survey 2003). As the war started, 80 percent of Russians polled expressed their opposition (Nationwide VCIOM Survey 2003), whilst Russian Muslims were even more critical, with 90 percent condemning the US military action (Golan 2004: 434). Putin argued that he had to take cognisance of Muslim opinion especially when Talgat Tadzhuddin, head of the Central Ecclesiastical Administration of Muslims in Russia, publicly declared a jihad in response to the war against both the US and Russia (Izvestiya, 15 March 2003: 2). Moscow feared the consequences of this declaration, but apart from a protest in Dagestan, Tadzhuddin’s call went unheeded. The State Duma described the war as an act of ‘aggression’ (Kommersant, 22 March 2003: 1), but there was little support outside the Communist Party for Moscow to extend its opposition beyond the purely rhetorical (Katz 2003: 51). There were demonstrations in some Russian cities, but the one that took place in Red Square was clearly state-sponsored. It appeared the Russian public was less exercised by events in Iraq, despite a general distaste for the war, than it had been earlier when fellow Orthodox Serbs were fighting in Kosovo. At the time, it seemed Putin had managed the crisis in the Gulf reasonably well. He had controlled a potentially difficult situation at home and had also managed relations with Washington rather better than his French and German counterparts. Although Moscow had adopted a consistent line against forcible regime change, Putin was able to shelter behind the more vociferous opposition of President Chirac and Chancellor Schroeder. Washington also sensed a greater willingness to compromise in Moscow than in either Paris or Berlin. Putin was eager to maintain good relations with the US as far as possible. Thus, in late January 2003, Putin implied that force might be required if Saddam continued to obstruct the weapons inspectors (ITARTASS 28 January 2003), and on 12 February he said he valued unity in the UN Security Council, but would not support the ‘unjustified’ use of force (ITAR-TASS 12 February 2003). In fact, Putin only formally announced his intention to veto the British resolution on 10 March 2003, but even then said he had no wish to utilise Russia’s right. Michael Jasinski (2003), surveying the Russian perspective of the crisis in Iraq, argued that Moscow had no desire to alienate Washington and would have abstained had the British resolution ever come to a vote. On the eve of the war, Russia’s representative at the UN, Sergei Lavrov, told Bush that Moscow would not seek to embarrass Washington with any last minute initiatives at the UN and Bush even thanked Putin for not seeking to inflame his own public against the US in contrast to Chirac and the French (Woodward 2004: 372). In sum, there was no breakdown in US-Russian relations despite the differences in policy over Iraq. Yet Andrei Fedorov from the Foreign and Defence Policy Council in Moscow proved to be right when he suggested that the US public would be ‘less favourable’ towards Russia after the divisions over Iraq (Moscow News, 26 March–1 April 2003: 2). Relations between the two countries have indeed soured

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since the war. There have been divisions over Iran, the Palestinian issue, Moscow’s energy policy and Washington’s renewed push for democracy promotion throughout the former Soviet Union. The Iraq crisis showed that Putin was willing to adopt a more independent foreign policy. As the money rolled in from soaring oil and gas prices, he was in a better position to do so. Conclusion Moscow’s record on Iraq was mixed. Russian intelligence was wrong in supposing that Donald Rumsfeld’s military strategy in Iraq would lead to stalemate and a bloodbath, but Moscow was right in doubting that Saddam had the WMD which could threaten the stability of the region. Moscow was also right in fearing that the invasion would prove counter-productive and lead to a rise in Islamic militancy. On the other hand, Igor Ivanov’s public concern that the military action could precipitate a clash of civilisations has proven to be, at best, only partially correct. In fact, the invasion has led to sectarian violence inside Iraq on a scale no one ever expected. There is little sign of Huntington’s ‘kin standing by kin’. Instead, if Iraq continues to descend into anarchy, there is a fear of a major civil war between Sunnis and Shias spreading across the Muslim world (Khalilzad 2006: 1). The persistent threats from Washington of military action against both Syria and Iran, whether real or not, are only adding to a feeling of insecurity across the region. There is a need, as argued by the Iraq Study Group, for the West to seek more urgently than ever a comprehensive peace in the Middle East (Baker and Hamilton 2006: xv).

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Chapter 9

Iran and Nuclear Proliferation Introduction Iran has long been a major power in the Gulf. It has a large, young and rapidly growing population of over 70 million, made up predominantly of Shia Muslims. Potentially, the country is extremely wealthy being well-endowed with natural resources. It is second only to Russia in terms of natural gas reserves, whilst it is also the world’s fourth biggest producer of oil. Its geo-political position makes it strategically important too. Located between the Caspian Sea, the Indian Ocean and the Persian Gulf, it has substantial influence over the distribution of oil and gas to the world. Iran borders Pakistan, Afghanistan, Iraq, Turkey and some of the newly independent countries of the Caucasus and Central Asia. Yet, despite being a southern neighbour of the Soviet Union, Iran remained a close ally of the United States for much of the cold war. Everything changed, however, after the Islamic Revolution of 1979. Thereafter, Washington perceived Iran as a rogue state and a destabilising presence in the Gulf. Washington has, therefore, become deeply suspicious of Moscow’s close relations with Tehran in recent times and its willingness to rebuild Iran’s military and nuclear capability. Critics argue that Moscow is being short-sighted, and abandoning its long-term interests for short-term economic benefit and to reassert its growing independence of American foreign policy (Portillo 2006: 17). Moscow, however, has a fundamentally different perception of Iran to Washington. Iran is not perceived to be a major security threat to Russia. On the contrary, it is perceived to be a friendly state which has consistently sought stable relations with Moscow (see Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 313) The Shah After World War II, Iran was America’s main client state in the Gulf and a key ally in the wider Middle East. When the democratically elected Prime Minister, Muhammed Mussadiq, sought to reduce his country’s dependence on the West and nationalised Iran’s oil and gas industries, he was overthrown in an Anglo-American inspired coup in 1953. Muhammed Reza Palahvi was restored to the Peacock Throne as Shah and he soon allowed the Western companies to return. The Shah also sought to modernise the country, and launched an ambitious programme of industrialisation and land reform whilst also introducing some social reforms, including the emancipation of women. However, much of the Shah’s policy programme was dismissed by the clergy and traditionalist elements in the country as unwanted Westernisation which was alien to Iranian culture. This was very much the complaint of the Ayatollah

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Ruhollah Khomeini whose opposition to the Shah led to his forced exile from the country in 1964. However, opposition to the Shah was by no means limited to conservative forces within the country. For the Shah’s increasingly dictatorial methods roused widespread resistance across the political spectrum. The much feared secret police, the SAVAK, which was founded in 1957, remained a major force in Iranian politics throughout his reign, whilst multi-party politics effectively ceased in 1975 when all officially registered political parties were merged into one – the Iran National Resurgence Party. The Iranian economy generally prospered under his rule, especially after the OPEC oil hike in 1973, which the Shah had actively supported, but too much of the oil wealth was spent on the military and the aristocracy. The resultant societal inequalities became another source of discontent as the Shah’s rule approached its end. When Jimmy Carter became US President in 1977, his greater emphasis on ethics in international relations put more pressure on the Shah to improve his human rights record at home. It was a particularly difficult time for the Shah with the Iranian economy experiencing something of a downturn in fortunes. The response to Carter’s demands was mixed. On the one hand, the Shah released some political prisoners, opened up prisons for international inspection and reduced the powers of SAVAK; but on the other, he continued to brutally repress the growing opposition in the country. It was never going to be easy for the Shah to satisfy the very different demands of the opposition. The middle class wanted more modernisation; the traditionalists wanted a return to Islamic values; whilst the left wanted an end to Western imperialism in the country. The traditionalists, however, gained the upper hand in the ongoing struggle for influence within the country. This process began when Ayatollah Khomeini’s son died in suspicious circumstances in October 1977. The political temperature rose further in January 1978 when seventy theology students in Qom were gunned down by the authorities for protesting over a newspaper article critical of Ayatollah Khomeini. The article was reportedly authorised personally by the Shah himself. It was widely believed that the slaughter of the theology students was the beginning of the end for the Shah. Despite introducing further reform, the Shah was unable to control the growing protest movement. On 4 September 1978, hundreds of thousands marched to demand Ayatollah Khomeini’s return to Iran from exile. In the wake of a general strike which was paralysing the country, a new government was formed in December 1978 with Shahpur Bakhtiar elected as leader by the Iranian parliament. Bakhtiar had served as Deputy Labour Minister in the popular Mussadiq government and was known as a moderate critic of the Shah. Bakhtiar attempted to win over the people through a raft of reforms which included the dissolution of SAVAK, freedom of speech, legalisation of political parties, the arrest of corrupt officials, the release of political prisoners and, crucially, a greater role for clerics in drafting laws. A private agreement with the Shah had also determined that Iran would return to being a constitutional monarchy as it had been for twelve years between 1941 and 1953. However, Khomeini, still in exile, refused to recognise the Bakhtiar government and called for the continuation of demonstrations and strikes. In an attempt to satisfy the protestors, Bakhtiar forced the Shah to leave Iran, for what turned out to be the last time, on 16 January 1979, and allowed the Ayatollah Khomeini to return

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on 1 February. The Ayatollah received a hero’s welcome with an estimated three million people lining the streets of Tehran to greet his homecoming (Hiro 2005: 130). Much to the dismay of the Iranian authorities, however, Khomeini still refused to deal with Bakhtiar and set up his own provisional government in parallel with the existing government in Tehran. Dual power did not last long, however. Amidst street fighting, the Bakhtiar government, which had been deeply divided throughout its brief existence, fell on 11 February 1979 and the Prime Minister was forced to go underground. Khomeini’s absolute victory over the Shah and the Westernisers was confirmed when the people voted overwhelmingly in a March referendum for Iran to become an Islamic Republic. (Hiro 2005: 132). A second referendum followed soon afterwards in December which approved Iran’s new Islamic constitution. It was a complex document which introduced a new kind of political system. It was a system based on Islamic law but it did include democratic elements, including elections to top posts and to parliament (Majlis). Ultimate political authority, however, was accorded to a learned scholar of Islam – initially the Ayatollah Ruhollah Mustafavi Khomeini – who would be elected for life by the directly elected Assembly of Experts. The Khomeini Regime The Soviet Union had been marginalised in Iran throughout the Shah’s reign, but as unrest grew, partly in response to Carter’s human rights policy, Moscow looked on with interest. The communists played a minor role in destabilising the Shah, but the Islamic revolution appeared to offer Moscow strategic opportunities in the context of the cold war. America’s expulsion from Iran represented a major defeat for Washington and this fact was re-emphasised when radical students took 66 Americans hostage in the US embassy in Tehran on 4 November 1979. Ayatollah Khomeini clearly approved the action and, it was rumoured, the later President Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was also involved at the time. Millions of Iranians participated in state-sponsored demonstrations against the US. It was the ultimate humiliation for the United States and most particularly for President Carter whose foreign policy innovations were blamed by conservatives in Washington for the loss of Iran. Carter’s embarrassment was compounded when a rescue mission was aborted in April 1980 after eight US servicemen were killed in a helicopter accident. Negotiations finally brought the release of the hostages on 20 January 1981, after 444 days of captivity, but Khomeini refused to allow them to leave Iran before Carter had left office a defeated man (Hiro 2005: 251). Zero-sum calculations which dominated cold war thinking suggested that a defeat for the United States was a victory for the Soviet Union. However, it soon became clear that Moscow would not be able to take full advantage of America’s expulsion from Iran. For a start, Khomeini was not interested in playing the cold war game. Whilst the United States and Israel were designated as the primary enemies of Tehran, the Soviet Union was not far behind in this particular hierarchy. The United States was the ‘the great Satan’ in Khomeini’s terminology, but the Soviet Union went under the rather disparaging appellation of ‘the little Satan’ (Frolov, et al. 2006: 4). Khomeini’s negative view of the Soviet Union was not entirely surprising. Iran had experienced

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Russian imperialism both in its Tsarist and Bolshevik clothing. Most recently, Iran had been invaded by the Soviet Union in 1941 in an agreement with Britain, but Stalin had then subsequently proved distinctly reluctant to withdraw at the end of World War II despite his earlier commitment to do so (Calvocoressi 1996: 428–9). The USSR’s imperialist instincts were confirmed in Khomeini’s eyes shortly after the formation of the Islamic Republic when Soviet troops marched into Afghanistan in December 1979. Khomeini had no intention of allowing Iran simply to slip from the embrace of one superpower to that of another (Frolov, et al. 2006: 4). Moscow, for its part, became increasingly concerned over the nature of the Khomeini regime. Aspects of policy, including extensive nationalisation, appeared in line with Marxist-Leninist ideas and there appeared to be no a priori reason to condemn the revolutionary attacks on the Iranian opposition. There was unease in Moscow, however, when the pro-Moscow Tudeh Party was outlawed in 1983 and 18 Soviet diplomats were expelled from Iran as spies the same year (Hunter 1987: 83). There was also concern over Ayatollah Khomeini’s public commitment to export his vision of Islam around the world. It appeared he was willing to ignore the rules of international behaviour and support terrorism and subversion in other sovereign states – not unlike Lenin after the Bolshevik Revolution, but with a very different end goal in mind. The hostage crisis was a severe embarrassment for President Carter, but Khomeini’s willingness to use such unorthodox methods was deeply worrying for Moscow too. Like most states, the evidence suggests that the USSR misread events in Iran and underestimated the importance of the revolution in terms of the future rise of Islamic militancy around the world, but it was obvious that Khomeini’s policies represented a potential threat to Moscow’s control over the Caucasus and Soviet Central Asia. Whilst the vast majority of the 50 million Soviet Muslims were Sunni and had closer cultural links to Turkey, Khomeini’s Shia revolution in Iran could conceivably become a rallying point for co-religionists inside the USSR. The Iran-Iraq War (1980–1988) Khomeini’s period as Supreme Leader of Iran was dominated by revolutionary turmoil at home and an eight-year war with Iraq. The long-standing border dispute between the two countries erupted into war on 22 September 1980 when Saddam Hussein invaded to seize Iranian territory. Saddam believed that the revolutionary turmoil in Iran had weakened the regime sufficiently to offer the possibility of victory against his much bigger and more powerful neighbour. Saddam also appears to have been encouraged by other Arab states which feared the destabilising effects of the Islamic Revolution in Iran. There were also suspicions that President Carter backed the military attack too, hoping the war would unseat the Khomeini regime and allow the American hostages to come home (Hiro 2005: 251). However, Iran survived the initial onslaught from Iraq and Tehran had recovered its lost territory by June 1982. Thereafter, Tehran looked like the only winner. Khomeini refused to stop fighting the war, however, without heavy reparations from Iraq and the overthrow of Saddam Hussein. For many in the international community, victory for the radical Islamic state of Iran against Saddam’s secular regime was

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unacceptable (Calvocoressi 1996: 441–2). Iranian control of the Gulf was perceived to be a threat to both regional security and the international economy. To prevent an Iraqi defeat, Saddam received considerable military aid from many countries, including France, Russia, and some Arab states. Iran, in turn, got some support from radical third world states, but generally had to rely on covert military supplies from other sources. Ironically, much of the military equipment with which it fought the war was American, bought during the Shah period. An estimated one million people were killed and the economies of both countries were devastated during the eight years of conflict. Yet the pointlessness of it all was underscored by the fact that the border remained in virtually the same place as it had been when the war started. However, Khomeini perceived certain political advantages in continuing the war for so long. It was both a means of maintaining revolutionary fervour in the country and of uniting the country against opponents of the Islamic Republic (see Hiro 2005: 135). But as Khomeini came towards the end of his time in office, he accepted more moderate counsel and signed up for the UN-sponsored ceasefire in July 1988, although a peace agreement was agreed only in 1990, after his death and shortly before the coalition-led war to liberate Kuwait from Iraqi occupation. From Gorbachev to Putin When Gorbachev came to power in March 1985, he was eager to improve relations with Iran, the Soviet Union’s southern neighbour. Potentially, there were clear economic and strategic benefits for Moscow. The growing influence of the pragmatists in Tehran, centred around the speaker of parliament, Ali Akbar Hashemi Rafsanjani, also meant that Iran was more open to Moscow’s overtures than before. Thus, in February 1986, the Soviet Deputy Foreign Minister, Georgi Kornienko, visited Tehran and agreed to expand economic and trade relations and to conduct joint oil exploration in the Caspian Sea. Further obstacles to improved relations were removed when the Iran-Iraq War ended in 1988 and the Soviet Union withdrew from Afghanistan the following year. In February 1989, Shevardnadze became the first Soviet Foreign Minister to visit Tehran since the Islamic Revolution when he met the Ayatollah Khomeini and described the meeting as ‘a turning point in relations’ between the USSR and Iran (O’Connor 2005: 2). Nevertheless, the death of Ayatollah Khomeini on 3 June 1989 seemed to offer better opportunities for Moscow to increase its influence in the Gulf. After the turmoil of the Khomeini era, there were hopes for stabilisation when Ali Husseini Khamanei was chosen as Khomeini’s successor. Iran was desperate to rebuild its economy and military and saw Moscow as a possible partner. The United States was not an option since it had severed all diplomatic relations with Tehran after the hostage crisis in 1979. Moscow, on the other hand, needed hard currency, but had been forced to forfeit lucrative contracts in Iraq after the Gulf War because of international sanctions. In the circumstances, Iran looked an attractive alternative (see Moscow News, 16–22 March 2005: 5). Moscow’s main exports related to energy, nuclear expertise and armaments. When Rafsanjani visited the USSR in June 1989 he was most interested

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in rebuilding the military. Thus, Moscow agreed to provide Iran with T-72 tanks, air defence equipment, sophisticated naval mines, MiG-29s and Su-24 aircraft and kilo class submarines. Much to the consternation of the West, the two countries even issued a joint communique stating they had agreed to collaborate on the ‘peaceful use of nuclear energy’ (O’Connor 2005: 3). Relations with Moscow continued to improve after the fall of the Soviet Union in December 1991. The collapse of its superpower neighbour clearly improved Iranian security, but Tehran acted cautiously on the territory of the former Soviet Union. It did not seek to take advantage of Moscow’s weakness and made no attempt to export Islamic revolution to the newly independent states of the Caucasus and Central Asia. On the contrary, Tehran backed Moscow in Armenia’s struggle with Azerbaijan over Nagorno-Karabakh and played a positive role in helping Moscow conclude a ceasefire to the civil war in Tajikistan in 1997. Iran adopted a low profile on the conflict in Chechnya and joined Moscow in opposing the Taliban rule in Afghanistan from 1996 (Freedman, R. 2004: 6; Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 315). In part, Tehran’s position on these conflicts was simply the result of strategic considerations, but it was also a cool reflection of its limited power and influence in regions not open to Persian culture and the Shia branch of Islam. In return for Iran’s co-operation, Moscow continued to cut profitable arms deals with Tehran despite Western concerns, and in January 1995 won an $1 billion contract to complete the construction of a nuclear reactor at Bushehr (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 314). In sum, relations between Moscow and Tehran were generally very good, but there remained areas of dispute – most notably over oil and its distribution. A bilateral agreement had been signed on the division of the oil-fields beneath the Caspian Sea, but the collapse of the Soviet Union complicated matters with the emergence of five littoral states (Iran, Russia, Kazakhstan, Turkmenistan and Azerbaijan) instead of the former two (Iran and the USSR). Tehran wanted the equal division of the oil-fields amongst the five littoral states, even though Iran only constituted 13 percent of the Caspian Sea shoreline. Russia and the other three Soviet successor states wanted the division to reflect the length of shoreline (O’Connor 2005: 6). The difference in terms of oil income to the states involved was considerable and Putin thought it important enough at one point to mount naval exercises to deter Iranian attempts to intimidate Azerbaijan (Freedman R. 2004: 6). The other area of dispute relates to the use of oil pipelines and the construction of new ones. Enormous amounts of money are to be made out of oil pipelines and both Tehran and Moscow are desperate to maximise possible revenue. Whilst Washington has become increasingly suspicious of Moscow’s willingness to use oil and gas as a bargaining tool, it is even more suspicious of Iran and wishes to ensure that any new pipelines bypass Iran. The US became ever more critical of Russia’s evolving arms trade with Tehran. Under great pressure, Moscow signed the so-called Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement on 30 June 1995, in which the Russian authorities agreed not to sell any advanced conventional or ‘destabilising’ weapons to Iran. It was further agreed that Moscow would honour existing agreements, but all arms supplies to Iran would then cease on the last day of 1999 (O’Connor 2005: 5). In an attempt to further isolate Iran, the US passed a law in Congress in 1996 placing sanctions and secondary sanctions on other countries’ firms and multinationals which did business in Iran. There were

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doubts that this conformed with international law, but Russian firms, along with some others, suffered as a result. Thus, in January 1999, the US imposed sanctions on three Russian scientific laboratories for advising Iran on nuclear and missile technology. Later, in September 2003, the US placed sanctions on the Russian arms firm, Tula Instrument Design Bureau, for selling laser-guided artillery shells to Iran (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 316). When Putin became Russian President, he angered Washington by abrogating the Gore-Chernomyrdin agreement in November 2000 and resuming arms sales to Iran. Defence Minister Igor Sergeyev visited Tehran in December to set up prospective arms deals worth over $3 billion (O’Connor 2005: 5–6). The Iranian President, Muhammed Khatami, returned the compliment and visited Moscow in March 2001, expressing an interest in both buying more submarines and acquiring TOR-M1 surface-to-air missiles, whilst also exploring the possibility of building another nuclear reactor (O’Connor 2005: 6). Critics of Moscow saw the unilateral abrogation of the GoreChernomyrdin agreement as further evidence of Russia’s essential unreliability (see Freedman, R. 2004: 6). Others, however, perceived America’s unwillingness to deal directly with Iran as counter-productive. Washington decided which states were rogue states, according to Moscow, and then told the rest of the world how to deal with them – negotiate with North Korea, invade Iraq, isolate Iran. Such arrogance was deeply resented in Moscow (see Shevtsova 2003: 4; Mironov 2006: 1). Iran was not a Western-style democracy, but neither was it a totalitarian monolith. This was revealed when the reformer, Muhammed Khatami, became President after a landslide victory in the 1997 election. The reformist momentum was confirmed when pragmatists performed strongly in the Majlis elections of February 2000. It seemed the majority of the population supported the Islamic underpinning of Iranian society but wanted modernisation within that general framework. Iran is a young society. Two-thirds of the population is under 30 years of age and this group has led the drive for reform in Iran. It is true, however, that the limits of democracy were starkly revealed when the reform process was blocked by the conservatives – most notably by Khamanei, the judiciary, and the Guardian Council (the latter using its power to prevent reformist candidates from standing in subsequent elections). As a result, Khatami was left increasingly isolated during his eight years in office and the conservatives had managed to re-capture all the institutions of power by 2005. However, the conservatives have found widespread youthful resistance to turning the cultural clock back to the values of the Khomeini era. This is apparent in the many small ways in which the population continues to defy the authorities, such as watching satellite television or stretching the codes on women’s dress (The Sunday Times [News Review], 11 February 2007: 8). 9/11 Tehran condemned the terrorist attacks on the US in September 2001 and saw itself as an ally of the United States in the war on terrorism. The Iranian Defence Minister, Ali Shamkhani, supported the idea of military strikes against terrorist bases inside Afghanistan in line with UNSCR 1368, although Tehran never formally approved

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military action against the Taliban and al-Qaeda, and was quick to express concern over the number of civilian casualties (Hiro 2005: 279–280). Tehran’s support was not a surprise, for it had been consistently opposed to Taliban rule in Afghanistan. This was in stark contrast to some of America’s closest allies in the region, such as Pakistan and Saudi Arabia, whilst Washington itself had initially welcomed the Taliban take-over in Afghanistan (Hiro 2005: 280). Tehran, along with Moscow, had backed the main opposition group to the Taliban, the Northern Alliance (Moscow News, 24–30 October 2001: 3). After the overthrow of the regime in Afghanistan, Iran had played a prominent role at the Bonn peace conference in helping to install Hamid Karzai, the West’s favoured candidate, as leader of the interim government. Furthermore, Tehran pledged $560 million over the following five years to help with reconstruction in Afghanistan (Hiro 2005: 281). It came, therefore, as a considerable shock to the Tehran leadership to find Iran cited as part of the ‘axis of evil’ in President Bush’s State of the Union speech in January 2002 (Bush 2002a: 3). It also surprised Russia and the EU, both of which had been seeking to deal with any outstanding problems with Iran through diplomacy and negotiation. Tehran was also cautious in the build-up to war in Iraq, encouraging Saddam to co-operate with the UN (Hiro 2005: 281). Yet, after the war, Bush started to talk of regime change in Tehran and publicly backed the anti-government demonstrations which were spreading across Iran in the summer of 2003. On 15 June, he said: ‘This is the beginning of people expressing themselves towards a free Iran, which I think is positive’ (The Guardian, 16 June 2003: 11). Condoleezza Rice condemned the Majlis election of 2004 as flawed and, as a result, argued that Iran had shifted from being an authoritarian to a totalitarian state (Hiro 2005: 367). She also described Iran as an ‘outpost of tyranny’ in January 2005 and expressed her belief in ‘transformational diplomacy’, which was understood to mean regime change (Hiro 2005: 366). Bush maintained the pressure on Tehran in his State of Union Address of 2 February 2005 when he said, ‘Iran remains the world’s primary state sponsor of terrorism – pursuing nuclear weapons, while depriving the people of the freedom they seek and deserve’ (Hiro 2005: 366). It seemed that some of the claims of Bush and Rice were becoming self-fulfilling prophecies. For when the ultra-traditionalist Mahmoud Ahmadinejad was elected as President in June 2005 it meant that all Iranian institutions were now in the control of the conservative hardliners. Ahmadinejad defeated the more pragmatic Rafsanjani in a run-off election on a 60 percent turn-out. The extent to which the vote represented the public turning away from reform and towards Islamic fundamentalism is not entirely clear. The experienced commentator on Iran, Dilip Hiro, favours the view that it was more about practical political issues. He argues that Ahmadinejad in his election campaign better addressed the concerns of the majority in Iran, which included corruption, rising inflation and widening inequalities (Hiro 2005: 376). Ahmadinejad might be a new and unpredictable factor in Iranian politics, but it should be remembered that he does not possess absolute power. One commentator even referred to Ahmadinejad as a ‘fragile leader’ (Frolov, et al. 2006: 6). Ahmadinejad enjoyed widespread support at the time of his election, most particularly in rural areas and amongst the working class. However, this support seems to be slipping as he fails to deliver on his campaign promises (The Observer, 28 January 2007: 35). The middle

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class, meanwhile, have always been more suspicious of his Islamic fundamentalism. Evidence of this was a student demonstration in December 2006 at Tehran’s Amir Kabir University against Ahmadinejad and his clampdown on academic freedom since becoming President (The Guardian, 18 December 2006: 14). The outside world, however, remains deeply concerned over his foreign policy. Most controversially, in October 2005 Ahmadinejad declared that ‘Israel must be wiped off the map’ (Hiro 2005: 380), and then outraged the world the following December when he dismissed the holocaust as ‘a myth’ (The Guardian, 15 December 2005: 15). Since Tehran is also funding leading rejectionist groups, Hamas and Hezbollah, Israel sees Iran as a major security threat. Israel’s Prime Minister, Ehud Olmert, described Ahmadinejad as ‘a psychopath’ and likened him to Hitler (The Sunday Times, 30 April 2006: 24). Russia’s Foreign Minister, Sergei Lavrov, described Ahmadinejad’s remarks as unhelpful, but Moscow was unwilling to go further, fearing it could affect trade (Hiro 2005: 380–81). Much to the dismay of Israel, Moscow has continued to sell weapons to Tehran, including a deal worth $1 billion which involved laser-guided bombs and TOR-MI missile systems capable of destroying guided missiles (Hiro 2005: 379). Moscow also found itself caught up in international controversy over whether Iran wanted to acquire its own nuclear weapons. Nuclear Proliferation Long before Ahmadinejad was elected, the international community feared that Iran was developing nuclear weapons under the cloak of its civilian nuclear energy programme. As a signatory to the Non-Proliferation Treaty, it was perfectly legitimate for Iran to get nuclear energy for civilian purposes. The central problem, however, was that the techniques and processes needed for the manufacture of nuclear energy are similar to those needed to develop a nuclear bomb. This makes the monitoring of non-nuclear states very difficult and a matter of utmost sensitivity. However, the prospect of a nuclearised Iran – a radical Islamic Republic dedicated to the destruction of Israel – was perceived to be unacceptable by the majority of the international community. In the days of the Shah, the US had encouraged Iran to develop a civilian nuclear energy capacity and the West German firm, Siemens, won the lucrative contract in 1974 to build a nuclear reactor at Bushehr. However, Khomeini cancelled the contract after the Islamic revolution and the nuclear plant was subsequently heavily damaged in the war with Iraq in the 1980s. When the West proved unwilling to resume its construction after Khomeini’s death, Tehran turned to Moscow. Since 1995, when Moscow signed the contract to complete the construction of the Bushehr reactor, it has been closely involved in the development of Iran’s nuclear industry. The Bushehr plant remains unfinished but it is expected to come on stream in 2007. Moscow has also trained nuclear scientists to run it and provided Iran with considerable technical expertise over the years. Moscow has always argued that it is perfectly legitimate to help Iran acquire nuclear energy for peaceful purposes. At the same time, Putin has emphasised

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that Moscow is as much opposed to nuclear weapons proliferation as the EU and America. In his annual address to the Federal Assembly in 2006, Putin said he saw proliferation as ‘a serious danger’ to international stability, and went on: ‘I stress that we unambiguously support strengthening the non-proliferation regime, without any exceptions, on the basis of international law’ (Putin 2006: 7). Furthermore, Moscow acknowledged that if Iran acquired WMD it could destabilise the Gulf, whilst positions inside the former Soviet Union would also be in range of Iranian nuclear missiles. As the crisis deepened after the election of Ahmadinejad, Putin issued a joint statement with Bush declaring straightforwardly that ‘Iran should not have a nuclear weapon’ (Moscow News, 16–22 March 2005: 5). Twelve months later, after a meeting with the German Chancellor, Angela Merkel, Putin said that ‘Russia, the Federal Republic and our European partners and the United States have a very close position on the Iranian problem’ (Parsons 2006: 1). There was one important difference, however. Moscow was far more reluctant than the other powers to contemplate any form of sanction against Iran if Tehran were, indeed, found to be developing nuclear weapons (Moscow Times, 30 May 2006: 3). Tehran, for its part, has always denied that it has any interest in developing its own nuclear weapons. Yet suspicions were aroused when satellites in December 2002 discovered that Iran was secretly building two further nuclear installations – one a centrifuge plant near Natanz, the other a heavy water plant near Arak. This was not in contravention of the Non-Proliferation Treaty, but Iran was required by the treaty to inform the IAEA of their construction (Hiro 2005: 282). Neither plant had anything to do with Russia, but their existence put renewed pressure on Moscow to curtail its co-operation with Tehran. As a result, Moscow persuaded Tehran to sign an additional protocol to the Non-Proliferation Treaty in October 2003 which permitted more intrusive monitoring of Iran’s nuclear sites (Hiro 2005: 282). Moscow argued the additional protocol signified that Tehran was uninterested in, and would in any case be unable to acquire, nuclear weapons, thus legitimising Russia’s continued co-operation with Iran. In the light of which, Russia agreed in November to build a second power-generating reactor at Bushehr and to sell Iran air defences to protect those reactors (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 370). Unfortunately, from Tehran’s perspective, further evidence of suspicious activities was discovered in 2004 as a result of monitoring conducted in line with the additional protocol. Allied with revelations in February of a leading Pakistani nuclear scientist, Dr Abdul Qadeer Khan, selling nuclear secrets to a number of states, including Iran, the crisis deepened further. Although Washington was increasingly suspicious of Tehran, the EU troika (Britain, Germany and France) proposed a deal in November 2004 in which Iran agreed to suspend uranium enrichment and reprocessing programmes, both vital processes in the manufacture of nuclear weapons, in return for trade and technical assistance (Hiro 2005: 292). The election of Ahmadinejad in June 2005 seemed to dash any hopes of any such compromise. Within days of taking office, Ahmadinejad replaced Hassan Rohani, Iran’s top negotiator on nuclear matters, with the more hard line, Ali Larijani, and abrogated the agreement to suspend uranium enrichment. Iran then started processing a new batch of uranium at its underground plant at Natanz in November 2005, and Ahmadinejad declared in April 2006 that the process had been

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successful. In a keynote speech to the UN in September 2005, he reiterated the fact that Iran wanted to develop nuclear energy for civilian purposes only. Iran had no intention of developing its own nuclear weapons, he claimed, but declared his country’s inalienable right to do so if it deemed the time was right (The Guardian, 18 November 2005: 22). At the time, Ahmadinejad seemed to enjoy widespread support within the country for his position on nuclear weapons. It was a matter of both status and security. For Iran perceived itself to be a major regional power with a right to possess a nuclear capability. As Larijani said in an interview, Iran was surrounded by nuclear powers, Israel, India and Pakistan, which had successfully defied the international community and developed their own independent nuclear weapons (The Guardian, 23 June 2006: 15). Furthermore, nuclear weapons were perceived to be an effective deterrent in a dangerous world, and there were those in Iran who felt the best way to avoid a military strike from the US was to acquire a nuclear capability. Conceivably, nuclear weapons might have saved Iraq in 2003 and they were at least one explanation for Washington’s unwillingness to take action against North Korea. Moscow took centre stage from February 2006 in an attempt to negotiate some kind of compromise which could satisfy both Tehran and the international community. The essence of Moscow’s proposal was that the enrichment of uranium would take place in Russia to ensure it was processed only into the low-grade fuel needed for power stations and then it would be shipped to Iran to be used in their nuclear plants, whilst spent nuclear fuel would be shipped back to Russia. The exact terms of the deal, however, remained vague and it was never likely to look attractive to Tehran. For Iran was unwilling to give up the right of enrichment and to become wholly dependent on Russia for its nuclear energy (Moscow Times, 30 May 2006: 3). The crisis further deepened when Iran was referred to the UN in March and the Majlis responded by threatening to withdraw from the Non-Proliferation Treaty and to stop all co-operation with the IAEA. Members of the US administration then began to talk of military strikes against nuclear installations in Iran (The Observer, 16 April 2006: 29). Although the international community tried to dampen such feverish speculation, an article in April 2006 by the well-connected investigative reporter, Seymour Hersh, intensified the atmosphere of crisis when he argued that President Bush was planning a military attack on Iran before he left office (Baxter 2006: 13). In practice, there seemed to be severe limits on what the international community could do. First of all, it was highly unlikely that the US would get consensus in the UN Security Council even for limited, targeted military strikes against known nuclear sites. Sergei Lavrov indicated Russian opposition when he said that any military strike could spark a ‘dangerous explosive blaze’ across the Middle East (The Observer, 16 April 2006: 29), and in May 2006, Moscow joined forces with Beijing to indicate the two countries would not approve any use of force against Iran over its nuclear programme (RFE/RL, 16 May 2006). In any case, Hugh Barnes, director of the Foreign Policy Centre’s Democracy and Conflict Programme, argued that any military action was likely to be counter-productive for a number of reasons. First, Iran had the means to respond to any military attack by blocking the flow of oil to the West through the Straits of Hormuz. Second, Tehran could also use its influence

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amongst Shia militias in Iraq to escalate the insurgency there. Third, Tehran was also likely to withdraw from the Non-Proliferation Treaty and expel all UN inspectors from the country, making it almost impossible to monitor the possible development of nuclear weaponry in Iran. Fourth, whilst some in the US seemed to expect the Iranian people to rise up against the regime if bombs started to fall, Barnes expected the reverse with the people uniting around their beleaguered government (The Observer, 16 April 2006: 29). In fact, no one can be certain what would happen if the US decided to use either targeted strikes against known nuclear sites or a broader military attack aimed at regime change, but the experience of Iraq does not engender confidence. However, there were hopes in the spring of 2006 of a compromise deal. Tehran feared international isolation as it was economically so dependent on exports. Its main ally, Russia, had also begun to distance itself from Tehran, criticising Iran for enriching uranium and emphasising its commitment to non-proliferation (Moscow Times, 30 May 2006: 3; and Romanov 2006: 1). On 8 May 2006, the process of reconciliation began when President Ahmadinejad sent a letter to George W. Bush. It was the first communication between the two countries for 27 years and called for direct negotiations with Washington to resolve the nuclear impasse. The US responded positively when Condoleezza Rice said on 31 May 2006 that Washington would negotiate directly with Iran if it suspended enrichment-related and reprocessing activities under IAEA monitoring for the full duration of the talks. A new proposal from Russia, the EU and the US, which would form the basis of these talks, was passed to Iran on 6 June 2006. This would accept Iran’s civilian nuclear programme and allow Iran to enrich a limited amount of uranium as permitted within the terms of the Non-Proliferation Treaty. In return, Tehran would be obliged to fully comply with the Non-Proliferation Treaty, it would not seek to develop its own nuclear weapons and would allow intrusive monitoring by the IAEA. Up until this concession, Washington had insisted on an absolute end to all uranium enrichment in Iran. When Ahmadinejad finally rejected this proposal at the end of August 2006, Washington argued that some form of sanction should follow. Moscow, on the other hand, remained uneasy. However, after Putin indicated in September that Iran was a special case within the international community in wanting both nuclear capability and the elimination of a sovereign state and a member of the UN (Zolotov 2006), Moscow finally agreed on 23 December 2006 to the introduction of a sanctions regime. The sanctions were limited, however, and aimed mainly at blocking the delivery of ‘sensitive nuclear materiel and equipment’ (UN 2006: 1). Conclusion Moscow has formed close relations with Iran since the end of the cold war. It has found a ready customer for its arms and nuclear expertise – especially since the US has long refused to trade with Iran. However, Washington has been critical of the relationship. For Washington, it appeared to be yet another example of Moscow supporting an unsavoury regime. Iran favours the destruction of Israel, it supports the insurgency in Iraq and is a sponsor of terrorism elsewhere. For the US, a nuclearised Iran is

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the nightmare scenario. Moscow has committed itself fully to the non-proliferation regime, but rejects America’s approach to Tehran. ‘Strong-arm methods,’ according to Putin, ‘rarely achieve the desired result and their consequences can even be more terrible than the original threat’ (2006: 7). Instead of isolation and threats, Moscow favours diplomacy and negotiation. The weakness in Moscow’s stance is that it foresees no meaningful sanctions if Iran fails to comply with international demands. Moscow’s position suggests that it perceives Iran’s possible acquisition of nuclear weapons as undesirable, but not intolerable. This is not the case for the Americans (strongly backed by the Israelis), who believe nuclear proliferation could severely destabilise the region and lead to an arms race amongst Iran’s neighbours. To prevent this happening, targeted military strikes remain very much on the American agenda. The IAEA report, published on 22 February 2007, found that Iran had continued its enrichment of uranium in defiance of the December UN ultimatum to stop. Furthermore, Iranian plans suggested that Tehran would be in a position to have its own bomb by the end of the year (The Guardian, 23 February 2007: 21). Yet, Moscow’s position might not be as irresponsible as some of its critics maintain. Things might be changing once more in Iran. Ahmadinejad is looking more isolated as President – his popularity is declining and there is evidence that some within the political establishment are becoming nervous over his provocative nuclear policy. Meanwhile, some alternative sources claim that Tehran is further away from developing a nuclear capability than the IAEA has suggested (Beaumont 2007: 34). The US seems to believe that 2007 is the year when important decisions over Iran will have to be taken. Russia is not alone in thinking the deadlines may not be quite so close. There may still be time for negotiation and compromise.

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Chapter 10

Israel and the Palestinian Question Introduction The Middle East has been a particular focus for violence and conflict in the post-cold war period. A crucial source of this unrest is the Israel-Palestine dispute. Few believe a settlement to this issue would end violence and conflict across the Middle East but, as the Iraq Study group suggested, it would be a most important step forward (Baker and Hamilton 2006: xv). Yet the international community has only shown periodic interest in this vital issue. Whilst there is general agreement that a two-state solution should be the basis for a settlement in which both Israel and Palestine coexist as sovereign states within secure borders, there are fundamental differences over how this end goal can be achieved. A complicating factor is the persistence of rejectionist views in the region, due both to the radicalising of the Muslim world and the militarisation of Israeli foreign policy. The History Moscow, Washington and the allies of the two cold war superpowers supported the creation of Israel at the UN in 1947 and the USSR was the first foreign state to recognise Israel’s independence a year later. All the Middle Eastern countries at the UN in 1947 voted against the partition of Palestine, but Andrei Gromyko, who was head of the Soviet mission at the UN at the time, defended his country’s position by arguing it was ‘the most acceptable solution’ to a difficult problem (Vassiliev 1993: 304). Gromyko characterised Soviet policy as a mix of pragmatism and morality, arguing that both Jews and Palestinians had historical claims to the territory, but the Jews deserved their own state since they had ‘suffered more than any other nation’ (Vassiliev 1993: 304). Whilst Gromyko was probably referring to the holocaust, he could not have been unaware of Russia’s historical ill-treatment of Jews which had contributed to the rise of the worldwide Zionist movement from the late 19th century. Yet most commentators believe that Stalin’s support for Zionism was based less on any feelings of moral responsibility towards the Jews and rather more on realpolitik. For Stalin believed that a Jewish nation-state would reduce French and British influence in the Middle East and he expected Israel to favour the USSR because of the historical connections between the two countries (Vassiliev 1993: 303). In the early twentieth century, two-thirds of all Jews lived in the Tsarist empire (which included Poland), and a large number had emigrated to Israel due to antisemitism in Russia (Vassiliev 1993: 297 and 308).

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Although French and British influence in the Middle East did fade in the postwar years, the cultural links failed to lead to a close relationship with Moscow. On the contrary, Israel remained firmly in the Western camp during the cold war with the US increasingly replacing Europe as the dominant external power in the region. Moreover, Israel proved its military strength and independence through winning the war of independence in 1949. In the process, Israel expanded its territory from approximately 56 per cent to 80 per cent of Palestine forcing thousands of Palestinians to flee from their homes. The Palestinians lost the rest of their land when Jordan seized the West Bank and Egypt took Gaza. They became a stateless people, like the Jews before them, and largely forgotten until the formation of the PLO in 1964 and Yasser Arafat became its leader five years later. Moscow had no more interest in the Palestinian cause than any other country, but Stalin turned against Israel for two main reasons. First, Stalin became concerned over the possible divided loyalties of Soviet Jews, even though there was little evidence that there was much of a problem. Soviet Jews had fought alongside other Soviet troops in World War II and were twice as likely as ethnic Russians to join the Communist Party (Vassiliev 1993: 307). However, Stalin’s suspicions were heightened when Golda Meir, the Israeli ambassador to Moscow who had been born in Ukraine and was well connected in the country, actively encouraged Soviet Jews to emigrate to Israel. Stalin’s second concern was that Israel could be used as a tool of American imperialism. This became apparent when the Soviet Anti-Fascist Committee proposed the creation of a Jewish Soviet Republic on the territory of the Crimea. Stalin was outraged by the proposal, and not out of any concern for the interests of the Crimean Tatars (Khrushchev 1971: 280). Instead, he saw this as an attempt by the agents of American Zionism to wrest the Crimea away from the USSR and set up an American imperialist outpost which could become a serious threat to Soviet security. All the members of the Anti-Fascist Committee were arrested, including the Jewish wife of the Foreign Minister Molotov, who was sent into internal exile. According to Khrushchev, Stalin never trusted Molotov again after he chose to abstain on the vote to condemn his wife (Khrushchev 1971: 280). In a growing atmosphere of state-sponsored anti-Semitism, Stalin launched the Doctor’s Plot in 1952 when he accused a number of Jewish doctors of poisoning some of his closest associates. Diplomatic relations with Israel were broken off as Stalin prepared to unleash a second Great Terror across the Soviet Union. Fortunately, the country was spared further mass bloodletting by Stalin’s death on 5 March 1953. Stalin’s successors ended the stand-off and quickly restored diplomatic relations with Israel. Yet policy towards Israel remained contradictory at its heart. On the one hand, Moscow officially accepted Israel’s right to exist; on the other, Moscow armed rejectionist Arab states putting them in a position to threaten Israel’s very existence. Some commentators have argued that for some time after the death of Stalin, Moscow saw its interests as being served by the continuation of the Arab-Israeli dispute. Moscow was able to increase its influence in the Middle East and simultaneously limit America’s through its willingness to arm the major Arab states (see Vassiliev 1993: 75; Freedman, R. 1985: 40–64). After Khrushchev supported Nasser over the Suez Crisis in 1956, the Arabs moved closer to the USSR and Moscow, in turn, set up a number of military bases in the region. However, the Six-Day War of 1967

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required Moscow to review its policy. The war was almost as much a humiliation for the Soviet Union as for its Arab allies. Israel’s pre-emptive strike allowed Israel to seize all of Palestine from Egypt and Jordan, causing a second great flight of Palestinian refugees. Israel expanded further too by also taking the Sinai from Egypt and the Golan Heights from Syria. In the context of the cold war, there was little option but for the Soviets to rearm their allies after defeat if they wished to retain a presence in the region. However, the dangers of war and the political ramifications of Arab defeat forced the Brezhnev leadership to moderate its position on the ArabIsraeli dispute. Therefore, Moscow backed UNSCR 242 in November 1967 which called for Israel to withdraw from the territories occupied after the Six-Day War, but in return also implicitly demanded the Arab states recognise Israel. Neither side abided by UNSCR 242. The Arab states failed to recognise Israel as a reality of post-war Middle East politics and Israel refused to withdraw from the occupied territories. In protest, the Soviet Union once again broke off diplomatic relations with Israel – this time for approximately 24 years – effectively excluding itself from any international negotiations on the Arab-Israeli issue. In Israel itself, there were debates over what to do with the occupied territories. On the one hand, there were the moderates who supported the idea of ‘peace for land’. Israel should withdraw from the occupied territories if the Arab states acted in accord with UNSCR 242 and formally recognised Israel’s right to exist. Then there were the pragmatists who argued that Israeli security had been improved by the wartime acquisitions and the occupied territories – in total, or in part – should only be given up as long as it did not compromise security. Finally, there were the right-wing nationalists and orthodox believers who argued that the occupied territories were part of Biblical Israel and should remain a permanent part of the new state. From the late 1970s, this seemed to be the government’s aim too with Israelis encouraged to settle in the occupied territories despite such actions being a violation of the 4th Geneva Convention (article 49). In 1977, there were only 5,000 Israelis living in the occupied territory, but today there are an estimated 200,000 on the West Bank and roughly the same number in East Jerusalem (Bowker 1996: 69; Newsweek, 22 November 2004: 26–27). The October War of 1973 found the two superpowers on different sides once again. Although Egypt and Syria were once more defeated by the Israelis, it was not the political or military humiliation of 1967. The Arabs had taken Israel by surprise this time and 2,500 Israelis were killed in the conflict – an almost four-fold increase over the Six-Day War. The Arabs lost many more lives – about 16,000 in all – and were unable to win back any lost territory, but the war did have the effect of shattering Israeli confidence in the existing status quo. No longer could the Israelis think they could live forever at peace within their expanded boundaries (see Bowker and Williams 1988: 97–113). Whilst Moscow could take some of the credit for the improved military performance of their Arab allies, the October War did not improve the Soviet position in the Middle East. The US and Israel remained highly suspicious of the Soviet Union and continued to exclude Moscow from any peace talks on the Middle East, and in 1976, Anwar Sadat, the leader of Egypt – the most important Arab state in the region – believing he had a better chance of winning back the Sinai with the support of the White House, abandoned Moscow in favour of Washington.

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This was a severe blow to Moscow and left it with allies largely amongst the more radical Arab states. At the same time, the Arab states tended to become less dependent on Moscow in the aftermath of the October War because of the oil price rises in the 1970s which made some Middle Eastern countries very wealthy. Some countries in Western Europe which were heavily dependent on Middle Eastern oil also shifted towards a more neutral position on the Arab-Israeli dispute. This had the effect of pushing Israel further into the embrace of Washington to become, in the words of Soviet propaganda, a ‘tool of US imperialism’ (see Vassiliev 1993: 310). It seemed that a peace settlement in the Middle East might be possible when the Egypt-Israel Peace Treaty, mediated by Jimmy Carter’s White House, was signed in 1979. According to the terms of the treaty, Israel returned the Sinai to Egypt and, as a quid pro quo, Egypt recognised the state of Israel – the first Arab state to do so. Anwar Sadat’s alliance with the US appeared to have borne fruit, whilst many in the West hoped that the Sadat-Begin agreement could be used as a template for further agreements. Moscow, however, was opposed to the deal. The Brezhnev leadership favoured a comprehensive deal rather than a series of bilateral agreements which could play one Arab state off against another (Sella 1993: 22). Moscow’s view had resonance in much of the Middle East which tended to view Anwar Sadat as a traitor to the Arab world. As a result, Egypt was expelled from the Arab League for 10 years and Sadat was assassinated on 6 October 1981 by an Islamic militant. Hopes of progress on the Arab-Israeli dispute seemed to die with Sadat. No further agreements were signed between Israel and the Arab states until Gorbachev came to power in 1985 and the cold war finally came to an end six years later. The PLO One reason why the Middle East remained a place of conflict was that there had been comparatively little effort by the international community to resolve the Palestinian question. To try to correct this situation, the PLO was formed in 1964. The PLO was riven with divisions, but Yasser Arafat and his Fatah faction became dominant from 1969. After becoming leader, Arafat promoted terrorism as a policy to get the Palestinian issue back on the international agenda. However, his methods alienated much of the international community, and his absolutist demand that the Palestinian state should be restored to the pre-1947 borders was also out of line with international opinion. Whilst Arafat was calling for the destruction of Israel, the UN continued to support a two-state solution to the dispute. Moscow backed the PLO after Yasser Arafat became leader, although the relationship was often uneasy. Moscow trained PLO officers and gave military support to the PLO from 1972 (Vassiliev 1993: 315). Nevertheless, in 1976, the Soviet Union formally put forward a peace proposal based on UN 242, but at odds with the PLO’s position at the time. It called for Israeli withdrawal from the territories taken in the 1967 Six-Day War, the establishment of a Palestinian state and the right of all states in the region to independence – including Israel – with their security provided by international guarantees. Moscow was offering a two-state solution and encouraged the PLO to unify around the Soviet proposal. Relations with the PLO

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improved steadily over the years. In 1978, Moscow recognised the PLO as the sole representative of the Palestinian people (Vassiliev 1993: 315–316). In 1981, the PLO was awarded embassy status in Moscow and a fully fledged embassy in 1988 after Yasser Arafat formally renounced terrorism. The attitude of other Middle East states towards the PLO varied. Initially, based in Jordan, the PLO moved to Lebanon after defeat in the Jordanian civil war in 1971. As the PLO used Lebanon as a base to launch an increasing number of terrorist attacks on Israel, Israeli forces intervened in 1982. Israel destroyed the PLO headquarters and Arafat was forced to flee to Tunis. It was an historical low point for Arafat and the PLO. Arafat’s aim of creating a Palestinian state seemed further away than ever and he was forced to undertake a fundamental review of PLO strategy. For Israel, the invasion of Lebanon seemed to have achieved its primary aim in defeating the PLO, but in other respects it was a dismal failure. The invasion and occupation of Lebanon, which only ended in 2000, lost Israel international support. The destruction of the PLO headquarters in the Lebanon was arguably legitimate, but not the massacre of hundreds of Palestinian civilians sheltering in camps at Sabra and Shatila. The Israeli forces did not participate directly in the massacre, but they surrounded the area and allowed the Christian militia to enter the refugee camps bent on revenge for the killing of their leader, Bashir Gemayel. It was the bloodiest single event during the Lebanon civil war and one of the worst in the history of the ArabIsraeli conflict. A 1983 Israeli commission of enquiry found Ariel Sharon, who was Israel’s Defence Minister at the time, bore ‘personal responsibility’ for the massacre and should not be allowed to hold public office again (Sunday Times, 8 January 2006: 19). After the massacre, Sharon became a reviled figure in the Arab world. Furthermore, the invasion of Lebanon failed since there was no end to the terrorism directed against Israel. Hezbollah was formed to fight Israeli occupation of Lebanon and Syria became the dominant force in the country. At the same time, a number of radicalised Arab states shifted closer to Moscow. The Gorbachev Period When Gorbachev came to power in 1985, he did not substantially alter Soviet policy on the Palestine question itself. He continued to back the two-state solution and the two relevant UN resolutions, 242 and 338. However, both resolutions were vague on specifics and Gorbachev too had little to say on key issues, such as the exact borders of any future Palestinian state, the status of Jerusalem in any two-state solution and the fate of the Palestinian refugees (Golan 1990: 273–4). However, Gorbachev was keen to improve relations with Israel. Ever since 1967, Moscow had virtually no formal contact with Israel at all. Gorbachev told Assad when the Syrian leader visited Moscow, that he considered this situation was ‘not normal’ (Pravda, 15 April 1987). The absence of any formal diplomatic relations had severely restricted Moscow’s diplomatic activity in the Middle East which, in turn, had limited trade with the region. Gorbachev was determined to change this, and he wanted Moscow to be able to negotiate directly with Israel.

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In line with his new thinking on foreign policy, Gorbachev distanced Moscow from the more radical Arab states in the Middle East. One early sign of this shift occurred when Moscow registered only mild criticism of the United States’ bombing of Gaddafy’s Libya in April 1986 after a terrorist attack on US servicemen in Berlin. Gorbachev, however, recognised that a far more important issue for Israel was Jewish emigration from the Soviet Union (Vassiliev 1993: 312). All emigration from the USSR had been tightly controlled by the state and remained at very low levels since Stalin’s day. Emigration policy did not discriminate against Jews as such, but the prevalence of anti-Semitism in the Soviet Union further legitimised Israel’s campaign. However, the whole issue got caught up in cold war politics since Jewish emigration was strongly supported by the US. To encourage detente, Leonid Brezhnev relaxed constraints and allowed about 250,000 Soviet Jews to emigrate to Israel in the 1970s (Golan 1990: 267). The policy was controversial in Moscow as it appeared to set some unwanted precedents. Much to the discomfort of the Kremlin, other minority groups began to campaign for the right to emigrate, whilst the expected benefits in terms of improving relations with the US never seemed to materialise (Golan 1990: 267). Gorbachev, however, approached the issue as consistent with his overall programme of reform. Restrictions on the practice of most religions, including Judaism, were eased along with restrictions on travel and emigration. From 1988, thousands of Jews took up the opportunity to leave the Soviet Union for Israel with many subsequently moving on to the United States. Although this shift in policy was welcomed in Israel, it created problems with Moscow’s Arab allies. Gorbachev tried to get agreement with Israel that Soviet immigrants would not settle in the occupied territories, but any agreement was largely ignored (Golan 1990: 268). Nevertheless, relations improved with Israel dramatically during Gorbachev’s time in office. The combination of domestic reform, the end to restrictions on emigration and the Soviet Union’s more constructive attitude towards the Middle East led to growing trust between the two sides, although full diplomatic relations were only resumed in October 1991. The fortunes of Yasser Arafat were also revived during this period when the first intifada [the ‘shaking off’] erupted in the occupied territories in December 1987. Ordinary Palestinians rose up in protest against the continued Israeli occupation of the West Bank and Gaza. It was a peaceful rebellion which achieved more than the PLO or international leaders had managed over many years of struggle. The TV images, broadcast around the world, of Palestinian children throwing stones at Israeli tanks seemed to capture perfectly the relationship between the oppressor and the oppressed. Arafat was able to ride the tide of renewed Palestinian nationalism, but the intifada also gave birth in Gaza to Hamas – another more radical representative of the Palestinian people, which came to challenge the PLO for supremacy in the occupied territories. The Soviet Union supported the intifada, but when Arafat visited Moscow in April 1988 Gorbachev encouraged him to compromise on his overall goals (Soviet News, 13 April 1988: 134). Moscow, it seems, had some influence in both bringing the disparate PLO factions together and changing its policies (see Golan 1990: 275; Sella 1993: 48). Thus, in November 1988, the Palestine National

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Council voted to create a Palestinian state and, at the same time, endorsed UNSCR 242, which in effect meant the formal recognition of Israel’s right to exist. The PLO’s recognition of Israel seemed to be a turning point in Middle Eastern politics. The Soviet Union had played a key role and after formally renewing relations with Israel, it was rewarded by being co-chair of the Madrid Conference on the Middle East in October 1991. Yet this was a most difficult time for Gorbachev. The Soviet Union was disintegrating, its economy was in free-fall, and President Gorbachev’s power had visibly eroded since the failed coup of August 1991. Despite all of Gorbachev’s diplomatic efforts, Moscow once more found itself peripheral to the negotiations on Palestine and Israel. The Yeltsin Period Russia played little part in the next major step towards a comprehensive settlement to the Israel-Palestine dispute. In September 1993, Yitzhak Rabin and Mahmoud Abbas, met in September and signed the Declaration of Principles on Interim SelfGovernment Arrangements, otherwise known as the Oslo Accords. In the Accords, the PLO formally accepted the right of Israel to exist and abandoned terrorism. In return, Israel recognised the PLO as the sole representative of the Palestinians and accepted the creation of a Palestinian Authority – not at this stage a Palestinian state – on parts of Gaza and West Bank (see Oslo Accords 1993). As a consequence of Oslo, the first intifada came to an end and Yasser Arafat returned to Palestine in 1994 for the first time in 40 years and received a hero’s welcome from his people. In line with the Oslo Accords, the new Palestinian Authority (PA) was set up with its headquarters in Ramallah on the West Bank. It was a great moment for Arafat after his years of exile in Tunis in the 1980s. He was a genuinely popular figure amongst Palestinians and it was no surprise when he was elected President of the PA in 1996 winning 87 per cent of the vote. When Primakov became Foreign Minister in January 1996, he was eager for Moscow to play a bigger role in helping to negotiate an end to the Palestinian dispute (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 325). In part, Primakov simply wanted to raise Russia’s profile internationally and Moscow’s good relationship with Arafat offered an opportunity to do this. However, Primakov was also an acknowledged expert on the Middle East who genuinely believed that Russia’s intervention could be a force for good. Moscow’s long-standing support for the PLO put it in a good position to convince the Palestinians of the merits of the Oslo process and make it more likely to succeed. Russia was generally perceived to have adopted a more even-handed approach towards the Palestine-Israel dispute since Gorbachev, but Primakov’s intervention was not welcomed in either the US or Israel. Russia’s continuing support of anti-Israel states, such as Syria, Iraq and Iran, added to suspicions of Moscow’s motives (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 327–328). As a result, some of Russia’s genuine attempts to broaden its relations across the region were blocked. Most Palestinians celebrated the creation of the PA, but disillusionment soon set in when it became clear that Israeli diktat still held sway in the occupied territories and there was no end to the grinding poverty suffered by the majority of Palestinians.

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As a result, after a brief hiatus, violence returned to Gaza and the West Bank. In the face of impending crisis in the occupied territories, Ehud Barak was elected Prime Minister of Israel in 1999 with a commitment to try and find a long-term solution to the Palestinian problem. Barak extended the Oslo process and attempted to satisfy many of the Palestinians’ outstanding complaints. For the first time, an Israeli government accepted the idea of a Palestinian state, which Barak proposed would consist of all of Gaza and 90 per cent of the West Bank. Palestinians would also have control over East Jerusalem, and enjoy shared administration of the Temple Mount/ Haram al Sharif – a holy place for both Muslims and Jews. On the thorny issue of Palestinian refugees, now estimated at between four and five million, Barak refused to allow them to return to Israel. With a population barely above 6 million, of which about 15 per cent was already Palestinian, such an influx of people, it was feared, would destabilise the state of Israel and distort the make-up of the population. It was simply unacceptable for Barak to contemplate an Israeli state with a Jewish minority. Barak, however, accepted the right of refugees to settle in the new state of Palestine within the borders he was proposing. The majority of Israelis believed this was a most generous package. It appeared to offer virtually everything the Palestinians had been demanding over the years. Arafat, however, feared he would not be able to sell the deal to his own people. A majority seemed to believe that the return of all the territories taken in the 1967 SixDay War was the absolute minimum requirement for any long-term peace deal. There were also deep-rooted suspicions of Israel and doubts that the Barak government would deliver fully on its part of the deal. These suspicions were compounded when the right-winger Ariel Sharon made a highly publicised visit to the Temple Mount on 28 September 2000 to emphasise Israel’s continued rights over this holy site. Although Sharon was not a member of the Israeli government at the time, it was sufficient to provoke an uprising amongst the Palestinians. This second intifada was less spontaneous than the first and was orchestrated and directed by Yasser Arafat. The Israeli government always blamed the PLO for manipulating the Sharon visit to legitimise the rejection of the Barak deal. At this point, both the Israeli leadership and public lost faith in Arafat as a negotiating partner. For all his talk, Arafat remained a terrorist in Israeli eyes committed to violence rather than diplomacy (Naveh 2002). Israel argued that no long-term settlement was possible whilst Arafat remained as leader of the PLO. US President George W. Bush seemed to agree when in June 2002 he called on the Palestinians to elect new leaders ‘not compromised by terror’ (Bush 2002c: 1). The Sharon Government It was largely because of this disillusionment with Arafat and the PLO that the Israelis voted for the right-wing nationalist and leader of the Likud party, Ariel Sharon, in the parliamentary elections of February 2001. Sharon promised his people security rather than any more futile negotiations with terrorists. Thus, from June 2002, Sharon started to build a security fence to reduce the chances of Palestinian terrorists crossing into Israel. The International Court at the Hague publicly condemned

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the fence which cut into existing Palestinian territory on the West Bank, divided some towns, and cut off some Palestinians from their places of employment. The fence simply added to the complications of life for the majority of Palestinians in the occupied territories who also faced increased road blocks and Israeli attacks (The Guardian, 10 July 2004: 15). Sharon justified this new policy in the name of defeating terrorism. To this end, he also targeted major Palestinian terrorists, including Sheikh Yassin, leader of Hamas, who was killed by Israeli forces in March 2004, and his successor, Sheikh Rantissi, who suffered the same fate only 26 days later. There were fears over the possible repercussions of assassinating Arafat, but he did not escape Sharon’s attentions. In March 2002, after suicide bombers had killed 30 Israelis, Israeli forces seized Ramallah and destroyed much of Arafat’s Moqata headquarters. When Arafat refused to accept Sharon’s offer of a one-way ticket into exile, he and his headquarters were put under a long-term siege until he was allowed to leave shortly before his death in 2004 to receive medical treatment in a French military hospital. The international community became uneasy over Israeli tactics and put pressure on Sharon to sign up for the so-called Road Map in April 2003 (Road Map 2003). The Road Map offered little that was new, but it did emphasise the need for a bilaterally negotiated peace settlement. It also set deadlines for a three-stage process which required the end of Palestinian terrorism, Israeli withdrawal from Gaza and the West Bank and, finally, the creation of a Palestinian state by the end of 2005. The deadlines, however, were missed almost as soon as the ink was dry on the deal. Sharon, who had always been doubtful about the Road Map anyway, ignored its central plea for negotiation and decided to impose a unilateral solution. The Sharon initiative included the withdrawal from Gaza (where only 8,000 of the total 400,000 Israeli settlers lived) by September 2005, the simultaneous withdrawal from four small and isolated settlements in the West Bank and the promise to withdraw from more in the future. Sharon faced opposition to his plan within his own nationalist party, and so formed a new one, Kadima, in November 2005 to push through his ideas. However, outside Israel, many doubted that Sharon’s plan would ever provide the Palestinians with a viable state, whilst the new security fence was beginning to look like a permanent border between Israel and the new Palestinian state. Sharon’s position was complicated when Arafat died in November 2004. The government policy of an imposed solution had been based on the proposition that it was impossible to deal with the Palestinian leader. However, Mahmoud Abbas (who had written a doctorate in Moscow on the holocaust) was elected by the Palestinian people on a reformist platform as Arafat’s successor in January 2005. Mahmoud Abbas wanted a return to the Road Map which he had helped to devise, and an end to Sharon’s unilateralism. The new President of the PA called for a halt to Palestinian terrorism, but he also demanded a viable Palestinian state and a realistic discussion of the refugee problem. However, Mahmoud Abbas lacked the charisma of Arafat and against the background of a failing economy and accusations of corruption, the PLO lost support amongst the Palestinian people. As a result, Hamas surprised everyone, including itself, when it won the election in January 2006 to the Palestinian Legislative Council (PLC). Since the majority of Palestinians favoured the two-state

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solution, it was assumed by most commentators that its rejectionist position regarding Israel was not the main reason it won the election (see Hjammer 2004: 32).. Sharon fell into a terminal coma in January 2006, the same month that Hamas won the election. Sharon’s supporters argued that the electoral victory of Hamas was further evidence that no compromise settlement was ever possible with the Palestinians. When the new Hamas government of Ismail Haniyeh refused to recognise Israel, sanctions were imposed on the Palestinian Authority. Aid to the PA worth about $1 billion per year (a third of which comes from the US) was held back, whilst Israel withheld tax revenues owing to the PA and imposed restrictions on border trade and the daily labour flows from Gaza and the West Bank into Israel (World Bank 2006c: 1). These were significant sanctions which only increased the suffering of an impoverished people. The Putin Period Despite the 1.2 million who had emigrated from the former Soviet Union to Israel since 1948 – more than a third of the total of immigrants (The Times, 27 December 2006: 35) – the Russian public has shown little interest in the Middle East and the Palestinian question. In a poll in February 2006, 49 per cent said they had no interest in the subject, although the number with a favourable view of Israel had dropped over the last five years from 30 per cent to 24 per cent (Kolesnikov 2006: 1). Therefore, public opinion has put little pressure on the Putin administration to address the issue with any urgency. However, Putin has continued Moscow’s more even-handed approach on Palestine. Moscow, therefore, backed the Oslo process and was a part of the Quartet (US, EU, UN and Russia) which drew up the Road Map in 2003. Moscow rejected the unilateralism of Sharon and his successor, Ehud Olmert, including the withdrawal from Gaza and the construction of the security fence, instead favouring a return to negotiations between the two sides based on the Road Map (Freedman, R. 2004: 3). Moscow condemned the rise in Palestinian terrorism since the start of the second intifada in 2000, but in stark contrast to both Israel and the US, continued to view Arafat as a vital factor in any future peace settlement (Freedman, R. 2004: 3). This was emphatically underlined by Moscow when the Russian Foreign Minister, Igor Ivanov, visited Arafat in his besieged Ramallah headquarters in 2003. The visit outraged Israel and the US, but Moscow’s position on Palestine was closer to that found in much of the Middle East and Western Europe. Such Russian initiatives led Israel to remain suspicious of Moscow, but there was no return to the stand-off of the cold war era. Ariel Sharon and his government ministers were frequent visitors to Moscow and President Putin told the Israeli Prime Minister in October 2002, ‘Russia will never help Israel’s enemies’ (Donaldson and Nogee 205: 320). Some 13 months later Sharon repaid the complement and said that ‘Moscow was a true friend of Israel’ (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 330). Moscow might not have been as influential internationally as it once was, but Israel could not afford to ignore Russia. After the mass emigration from the late 1980s, about a fifth of the Israeli population was ethnic Russian, whilst Russia could claim the third largest Jewish community in the world after Israel and the United States (Donaldson and Nogee 2005: 329; and

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Vassiliev 1993: 297). Moreover, trade between the two countries had increased tenfold in Yeltsin’s years, and had risen to $1 billion per year by the time Putin became Russian President in 2000 (Donaldson and Nogee: 325). Yet, relations between the two states remained awkward. Israel was aware of the perceived shift towards authoritarianism under Putin, which arguably was accompanied by a greater willingness on Moscow’s part to side with Israel’s enemies, including Iraq and Iran. Another example of this shift occurred, in Israeli eyes, when President Putin invited a delegation from the new Hamas government to Moscow in March 2006. Since Russia demanded no concessions from Hamas prior to the meeting, the invitation seemed to be in contravention of the previously agreed policy of the Quartet (Quartet Statement, London 30 January 2006, SO31/06). Moscow was the first member of the Quartet to meet with Hamas, but it was not alone in seeking rapprochement with the organisation. Turkey, for example, had also invited the newly elected Hamas government to Ankara. Russian Foreign Minister, Sergei Lavrov, argued in favour of dialogue and used the meeting to demand Hamas unite with Fatah, renounce violence and recognise Israel. He did, however, attempt to distance himself from the position of the US and the EU by stressing the fact that Moscow respected the democratic choice of the Palestinian people (Bigg 2006b: 1–3; BBC 2006a: 1). The Palestinian Authority had become deeply divided since the Hamas victory. In practice, Palestine had to come to terms with a period of dual power. Hamas had won a clear majority in the PLC (73 out of 132 seats), but the key post in the PA, the presidency, remained in the hands of the Fatah leader, Mahmoud Abbas. According to the constitution, the President has the right to veto all legislation which can only be overturned by a two-thirds majority in the PLC. Abbas also controls part of the security forces and can sack the government if it does not follow his programme. At the inauguration of the PLC, Mahmoud Abbas called on Hamas to renounce violence, recognise Israel and honour past agreements. In May 2006, Abbas threatened to hold a referendum on the issue of recognition if the Hamas government refused to change policy. It was a vote Mahmoud Abbas expected to win since all the polls pointed to a large majority in favour of the two-state solution (The Guardian, 26 May 2006: 1). There were also divisions within Hamas itself. The Hamas Prime Minister, Ismail Haniyeh, seemed to accept the so-called Prisoners’ Document in June 2006 which called for a national unity government and the establishment of a Palestinian state on 1967 borders (The Guardian, 26 May 2006: 19). This declaration was backed by Russia and welcomed in the West, where the apparent shift in policy by Hamas was attributed to the economic sanctions and political pressure placed on the Palestinian Authority (RIA Novosti 2006a: 1). However, other factions, led by the Hamas leader in exile, Khaled Meshal, refused to give up their struggle and attacks on Israel continued. Israel responded in the summer of 2006 with overwhelming force which included the bombing of ministry buildings in Gaza and the arrest of political leaders. Combined with a major assault on Hezbollah in Lebanon in July 2006, it was part of Israel’s unilateralist policy aimed at destroying rejectionist groups in the region. Thus far, Israel has failed. Hezbollah, backed by Iran, not only survived in Lebanon, it came out of the war with its prestige enhanced. Its resilience surprised the Israelis. Reports suggested that Russian-made anti-tank missiles RPG-

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29s, imported from Iran and Syria, proved to be the most effective in repelling the Israeli advance (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 7 August 2006: 8). The Saudis decided at the beginning of 2007 to intervene in the political process in an attempt to stop the internecine fighting between Hamas and Fatah. The Saudis had also become concerned over the growing Iranian influence in the region which they believed was not promoting a peaceful settlement (The Guardian, 7 February 2007: 15). King Abdullah chaired a meeting on 7 February between Ismail Haniyeh and Mahmoud Abbas in the Saudi holy city of Mecca. The leaders of Hamas and Fatah, tempted by the offer of Saudi aid, finally agreed to form a government of national unity. The Hamas leaders continue to make apparently contradictory statements on the issue of Israel, which makes the normalisation of relations with the PA more difficult, but there is at least a glimmer of hope for progress. Ehud Olmert’s government has also come under recent public pressure to find a negotiated settlement after the failed war in Lebanon. Conclusion In recent times, Moscow has consistently preferred diplomacy and engagement to isolation and sanctions – whether in Iraq, Iran or the Hamas-led government in Palestine (although most notably not at home in the case of Chechnya). The policy might infuriate the US and Israel, but France (also within the Quartet) has some sympathy with such an approach, whilst Russia is far closer to majority opinion in the Muslim world (Eke 2006: 2). The West has found itself in an absurd position in Palestine of advocating democracy and then refusing to accept the result when the people fail to vote for the Western-approved candidates. This opens up the whole of the US democracy promotion project to the charge of hypocrisy. There is also deep irony in the West imposing sanctions on the occupied in Palestine rather than the occupiers – all the more so since Western policy has contributed to the bankruptcy of the PA. The Palestinian authorities cannot pay its 160,000 workers, the hospitals are short of medicines and the economy is in severe recession. In Gaza unemployment is as high as 44 percent; per capita income has dropped by 40 per cent over the last 3 years; and 70 per cent are defined as living in poverty (McGreal 2006: 10). There are dangers in such circumstances for militant Islamists to manipulate to their advantage the feeling of despair amongst so many Palestinians (Colvin 2006: 22). Moscow’s policy is also full of contradictions and it can make no claims for the success of its policy of engagement. There are dangers, however, that the policy of Israel and the US will generate more radicalism amongst the Palestinians. Suspicion remains that Israel has abandoned negotiations because it believes a viable Palestinian state remains a threat to Israel’s future existence. The foreign Islamist militants have not always shown much interest in the Palestinian question in the past, but there are signs of al-Qaeda seeking to manipulate current difficulties in the PA. As the experienced Middle East expert, Avi Shlaim has written, the biggest issue for most Muslims and Arabs today is Israel’s oppression of Palestinians and US support for Israel (2005: 26). The Palestinian issue remains the most intractable, but also the most important if the international war on terrorism is ever to be won.

Chapter 11

The Caucasus, Central Asia and ‘The Coloured Revolutions’ The Fall of the Soviet Union Marxist-Leninist theory taught that nationalism was a bourgeois concept which would disappear under communism. Nationalism was perceived to be a creation of the ruling elite to encourage harmony across the class divide and legitimise the political and economic status quo. However, a real harmony of interest, according to Marxist-Leninists, was impossible in class-ridden societies and could only be found in the classless communist system. Moscow argued there was evidence in the Soviet experience to support Marxist-Leninist theory. Statistics in the 1970s seemed to show that the nations of the USSR were drawing together as differences between them faded. Economic differentials across the different nations were narrowing, party membership was more evenly spread, inter-marriage was increasing and the job market seemed more open to all nationalities than ever before (White 1993: 150–151). Any cases of nationalist unrest were dismissed as counter-revolutionary hangovers from a bourgeois past and forcibly repressed by the state in the name of socialist progress. Leonid Brezhnev was so convinced by his own propaganda that he declared in the mid-1970s that the nationalities problem in the Soviet Union had been ‘solved, in full, finally and irreversibly’ (Brezhnev 1974: 30). This looked premature in such a large country whose population had grown towards 290 million by the time of Brezhnev’s death in 1982. There were also over 100 different nationalities in the USSR. Many were small and the Slavs made up approximately two-thirds of the total population. Nevertheless, the cultural differences within the Soviet Union were often very great. The academic, Victor Zaslavsky, once remarked that the USSR was as unlikely a union as a putative one between Norway and Pakistan (Bremmer and Taras 1993: xxii). There certainly seemed few common interests to bind together such diverse nations as the Christian, urban, well-educated and relatively well-off Estonians of the northern Baltic Republics, for example, and the Muslim, predominantly rural and impoverished Kyrgyz in the southern Central Asian region. The union had been kept together through a combination of concentrating power in Moscow and repressing any kind of nationalist demands. However, even Stalin had not been able to abolish national identity altogether. As a result, the state maintained the fiction of a federation. Thus, the union was divided along national lines into different administrative regions. All these regions were accorded different rights in Soviet law, but the fifteen Union Republics were at the apex of the federal system. Alone amongst the national regions, the Union Republics had the right of secession according to article 72 of the 1977 Soviet Constitution.

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This right appeared purely formal at the time, but it was worth noting that it was the fifteen Union Republics which seceded from the Soviet Union in December 1991 and were successful in reconstituting themselves as independent sovereign states. When Gorbachev came to power, he was still repeating the official Soviet line as late as the winter of 1987 that the nationalist question had been ‘solved’ (Soviet News, 4 November 1987: 400). Insofar as he acknowledged nationalist demands, he argued that they could be satisfied within the general framework of his overall reform programme. Glasnost allowed the articulation and dissemination of national culture, whilst democratisation and economic reform would have the practical effect of devolving power away from the centre (see Soviet News, 6 July 1988: 251). Yet it soon became clear that devolution was not enough for at least some of the nations within the Soviet Union. The three Baltic Republics, which had only been incorporated into the Soviet Union in 1940, were at the forefront of the nationalist drive. As a result, Estonia was the first Union Republic to declare sovereignty in November 1988 – a claim short of independence, but demanding that its own laws should take precedence over those from the centre. Such was the gathering momentum of nationalism in the late Gorbachev period that by the end of 1990 all other fourteen Union Republics had followed Estonia’s lead and declared their sovereignty too. Nationalism received a further boost in the parliamentary elections at the union and republic levels in 1989 and 1990 respectively. A number of nationalists were elected to the Supreme Soviet in 1989, but when popular fronts won majorities in parliament in Georgia and the three Baltic Republics the following year, Gorbachev had finally to sit up and take notice. He was desperate to keep the Soviet Union together, but came to recognise the need for radical reform if it were ever to be saved (Gorbachev 1997: 444). To this end, Gorbachev worked long and hard on legal and constitutional changes to centre-periphery relations, but it was a painfully slow process with many hardliners implacably opposed to any moves that potentially could undermine the union (Gorbachev 1997: 445). After rising nationalist unrest in the Baltic Republics and the Caucasus, Gorbachev tried to unblock the log-jam by calling a referendum in March 1991 on a new Union Treaty to replace Lenin’s original 1922 version. However, the referendum created more problems than it solved. Six out of the fifteen republics – the three Baltic Republics, Georgia, Armenia and Moldavia – boycotted the vote, thereby largely undermining the original purpose of the referendum (see Lapidus 1992: 63). Nevertheless, amongst the remaining nine Union Republics – the three Slav and six Muslim republics – there was a clear majority in favour of the treaty and the retention of, what Gorbachev promised to be, a much reformed Soviet Union (see Table 11.1). The final version of the Union Treaty, which was drawn up three months after the referendum, granted the Union Republics extensive autonomy within the USSR. The centre would retain decision-making power over defence, foreign policy, energy, communications, transport and the budget, but all other policy areas would be put under the jurisdiction of the individual Union Republics. Most important of all, the republics would be responsible for the collection of all taxes, including union taxes, allowing them unprecedented power over federal finances. The proposal was too much for a handful of hardliners who launched an ill thought-out coup attempt in August 1991 to try and salvage both the Soviet Union and Marxism-Leninism (see

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Table 11.1

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Results of the 17 March 1991 referendum

Question: Do you consider it necessary to preserve the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics as a renewed federation of equal, sovereign republics in which human rights and freedoms of all nationalities will be fully guaranteed? (in percentages) REPUBLICS

TURNOUT

YES

NO

ABSOLUTE MAJORITY

Russia

75.4

71.3

26.4

52.8

Belorussia

83.3

82.7

16.7

68.9

Ukraine

83.5

70.2

28.0

58.1

Slavic republics

Central Asian republics Kazakhstan

88.2

94.1

5.0

83.6

Kirgizia

92.9

94.6

4.0

87.7

Tajikistan

94.4

96.2

3.1

90.2

Turkmenistan

97.7

97.9

1.7

95.7

Uzbekistan

95.4

93.7

5.2

89.0

Transcaucasian republic Azerbaijan

75.1

93.3

5.8

69.7

Total

8.00

76.4

21.7

56.0

Boycotted union referendum: Moldavia, Estonia, Latvia, Lithuania, Armenia, Georgia. Source: Adapted from Pravda, 27 March 1991, pp. 1–2.

Gorbachev 1991; Stapankov and Lisov 1992). Its failure, however, only speeded up the dissolution of the USSR. The coup attempt also convinced many erstwhile supporters of Gorbachev’s Union Treaty that meaningful reform was not possible within any kind of Soviet Union dominated from Moscow. When it became clear that the Union Treaty was dead, Gorbachev sought agreement among Union Republic leaders for a looser political arrangement which would look more like a confederation of states (see White 1993: 181). All his efforts were undone, however, when Ukraine reversed the result of a few months earlier and voted overwhelmingly for independence in December 1991. Since any union without Ukraine was unthinkable for Moscow, the Russian President Boris Yeltsin pursued his own solution to the nationalities problem. He met with the other two leaders of the Slav republics in Belorussia and issued a joint declaration on 8 December 1991 announcing the dissolution of the Soviet Union and its replacement by a Commonwealth of Slavic States. The five republics of Central Asia felt betrayed by the decision. They had remained the most committed to the Soviet Union but had not been consulted over its future. On 21 December, however, the Slavic Commonwealth was extended to include the Central Asian states and it was renamed the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS). It was also opened up to others to join. The Baltic States refused to sign up and have successfully pursued

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a post-Soviet future outside the Russian orbit, confirming their full integration into the West when they joined the EU and NATO in 2004. However, all the other twelve Soviet successor states became members of the CIS, although Moldova and Azerbaijan delayed ratification and Georgia only joined in 1994 after considerable arm-twisting from Moscow. Gorbachev felt betrayed by the actions of his fellow Slav leaders, but had no option but to recognise reality (Gorbachev 1997: 848). Left without a Soviet Union to govern, he resigned as President on Christmas Day 1991 and the Soviet Union formally ceased to exist at the turn of the year.. Nationalism, it seemed, had proved stronger in the Soviet Union than MarxismLeninism (see Carrere d’Encausse 1991: 236). Samuel Huntington also laid claim to the importance of culture in understanding the Soviet Union’s fall and argued that multinational states, like the USSR and Yugoslavia, were particularly susceptible to breaking up when they lay across civilisational fault lines (1993b: 187 and 190). No doubt, as pointed out by Zaslavsky earlier, cultural difference did play a significant role. However, the forces that precipitated the collapse of the Soviet Union were largely intra-civilisational. The Christian republics of Georgia and the Baltics were at the forefront of the largely anti-Russian nationalist drive towards secession. The Muslim republics, on the other hand, were least interested in independence and remained eager to preserve the union in some form. The rise in religious consciousness tended to emerge most strongly after, rather than before, the collapse of the USSR. The Commonwealth of Independent States The Commonwealth of Independent States was never meant to be a successor to the Soviet Union. It was not a state and had no authority in international law. The CIS was an organisation which provided a forum for Soviet successor states to discuss issues of mutual interest. There was provision for central institutions – principally the Council of Heads of States and the Council of Heads of Government which met at least twice a year and an executive committee which provided administrative continuity between summits. But these institutions lacked the power and authority to implement policy across the CIS. When the Commonwealth of Independent States was born, its medium-term future was immediately in doubt. Would it remain essentially a talking shop as apparently conceived by its founders? Or would it be seen as simply a transitionary body designed to manage the break-up of the Soviet Union and fade away after this process was completed? Or would it develop into an organisation, more like the EU, which would encourage political, economic and, perhaps even military, integration? Logic suggested that the years of interdependence within the USSR would encourage the maintenance of close links between the Soviet successor states. However, more short-term nationalist interests tended to predominate. Initially, Yeltsin and his first Foreign Minister, Andrei Kozyrev, adopted a policy of benevolent neglect towards the CIS. Russia, as the dominant state in the region, generating about 60 per cent of the total wealth of the Soviet Union (Aslund 1995: 104), was reluctant to allow its development and reforms to be obstructed by the poorest and more conservative states. As time went on, the widening differences

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between the economic structures and performances of CIS states made integration all the more difficult to contemplate. With protectionism spreading across the former Soviet Union, the ruble zone had essentially broken down by 1994. It appeared the CIS would cease to have any relevance at all, but when Primakov became Foreign Minister in 1996, he placed far more emphasis on the other Soviet successor states. This continued under Putin with the CIS officially being designated Moscow’s top priority in foreign policy (Waller 2005: 257). After 9/11, Moscow made statements reiterating this fact and placed on record its willingness to use force to defend its interests in the region (Waller 2005: 263). Yeltsin had already understood that Russia’s economy could not function effectively without maintaining good relations with the Soviet successor states. Moscow was particularly keen to expand its economic interests in the Soviet successor states and protect the oil and gas supply routes across the CIS. However, Moscow often preferred to pursue these policy aims outside the official framework of the CIS. Initially, however, Yeltsin and Kozyrev saw the main benefits of the CIS to be security-based. After the fall of the Soviet Union, Russia found itself inside long, unfamiliar and largely unguarded borders. These porous borders made Moscow more vulnerable to political instability and conflicts spilling over into Russia. Moscow, as the dominant power in the region, had some responsibility to maintain stability in the former Soviet Union. Moscow also recognised the danger of allowing security vacuums to emerge if Russia failed to act which, Kozyrev feared, would ‘be filled by forces that are by no means always friendly and in many cases are downright hostile to Russian interests’ (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 19 January 1994: 1). The CIS was also introduced to manage the break-up of the Soviet military. It offered the prospect of the Soviet military remaining together under CIS command. The unpredictable consequences of breaking up the military of a superpower made such an option look highly attractive to many both inside and outside the former Soviet Union. However, any hopes of a united CIS military command were dashed when Ukraine declared its intention to set up its own national defence force. Other states followed suit, including most notably Russia in the spring of 1992. The CIS military command was formally abandoned in September 1993, but this did not signify an end to all military co-operation across the former Soviet Union. The Collective Security Treaty was signed in May 1992, in which article four sanctioned miliary assistance should one of their number be subject to an act of aggression (Krasnaya gazeta, 23 May 1993). There were clear limits to the effectiveness of the treaty, however. First, not all the Soviet successor states signed up. Ukraine and Moldova were non-signatories of the original treaty and Georgia, Uzbekistan and Azerbaijan also withdrew in 1999. Second, the Collective Security Treaty only dealt with conflicts between sovereign states. Yet the most pressing security problems in the CIS were internal and non-state threats, such as terrorism. The treaty also highlighted more general weaknesses with the workings of the CIS. For few agreements enjoyed unanimous approval and even fewer agreements were implemented. States did not even always attend summit meetings. Putin recognised the failings of the CIS and argued the need for reform (Putin 2006: 10). However, Russia, like other members, has still frequently sought to deal with problems through ad hoc arrangements with one or more states. The primacy of the

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CIS has also been undermined through the formation of other regional organisations. These included the Eurasian Economic Community and Central Asian Co-operation Organisation which were largely concerned with encouraging inter-state trade; the revamped Collective Security Treaty Organisation formed in 2002 and the Shanghai Co-operation Organisation set up in 2001 by Russia and China to deal with security issues, including Islamist terrorism. All these organisations had Russia as a dominant participant, but there were others, most notably, the GUAM (Georgia, Ukraine, Azerbaijan and Moldova), which was set up in 1997 with US encouragement to challenge Moscow’s predominance in the region (see Table 11.2). Table 11.2

Major regional organisations in the former Soviet Union

1. Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS (first formed in 1991). Members: Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Georgia (since 1994), Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Moldova, Russia, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, Ukraine, Uzbekistan. 2. Central Asian Co-operation Organisation (CACO) (first formed in 1991, extended in 2002). Members: Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Tajikistan; Uzbekistan; Russia (from 2004). 3. Collective Security Treaty Organisation (CSTO) (The Collective Security Treaty was signed in 1992; the CSTO was formed in 2002). Members: Russia; Armenia; Belarus; Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Tajikistan; Uzbekistan (withdrew 1999-2006). [Left in 1999: Azerbaijan; Georgia.] 4. Eurasian Economic Community (founded in 2000). Members: Russia; Belarus; Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Tajikistan; Uzbekistan (from 2006). 5. GUAM (founded in 1997). Members: Georgia; Ukraine; Azerbaijan; Moldova (Uzbekistan was a member between 1999-2006). 6. Shanghai Co-operation Organisation (SCO) (founded in 2001). Members: China; Russia; Kazakhstan; Kyrgyzstan; Tajikistan; Uzbekistan. The Caucasus The dissolution of the Soviet Union resolved some nationalist issues, but exacerbated others. This was because the nature and the strength of nationalism differed greatly across the Union Republics. Those like the Baltic Republics where nationalism was strong but defined largely in terms of opposition to Russia were able to win independence with relative ease. The Baltic Republics wanted to return to their status as sovereign states that they had enjoyed in the inter-war years and once this was achieved their primary aim had been achieved. There remained issues regarding naval bases and the large Russian minorities living in Estonia and Latvia, but in general terms secession was remarkably amicable. The Baltic Republics were, however, in many respects, a special case. Elsewhere, the nationalist struggle

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proved far more complex. In the Caucasus, for example, national identity was also strong, but it was not only determined by a republic’s relationship with Moscow. Relations with neighbours and near-neighbours were also vital in identity formation. Historically, the Caucasus region had been a site of Turkic and Persian rivalry. There was, therefore, tension between the two Orthodox states, Georgia and Armenia, and Azerbaijan, the only Muslim state in the Caucasus. Azerbaijan’s close relations with Turkey were resented especially in Armenia with its memory of a genocidal attack on its people by the Ottoman Empire between 1915–1917. Turkey, incidentally, always denied the charge of genocide and claimed the casualties were victims of World War I and not the result of any systematic attack on the Armenian population. Whatever the truth, Yerevan tended to view Moscow, for all the subsequent difficulties in the relationship, as more of a protector than a repressor of the Armenian nation. The region remains ethnically mixed and politically volatile, but it is also strategically important. It is rich in natural resources, and its location means it is a vital transit route from the oil and gas fields in the Caspian Sea and Central Asia to Western Europe. Nagorno-Karabakh The history of tension between Armenia and Azerbaijan had been contained for much of the Soviet period, but the issue of Nagorno-Karabakh became the catalyst for an outbreak of hostilities as the Soviet Union began to break up. Nagorno-Karabakh was an autonomous republic, located on Azeri territory but with an Armenian majority, which the Soviet authorities had unilaterally placed under Azeri jurisdiction in 1923. Taking advantage of Gorbachev’s perestroika, Nagorno-Karabakh voted in 1988 to secede from Azerbaijan and rejoin Armenia. This proposed move was bitterly opposed in Azerbaijan and led to demonstrations and a series of racial attacks in both Baku and Yerevan. Since there were scores of similar ethnic disputes across the Soviet Union, Moscow was opposed in principle to the unilateral revision of borders (Carrère d’Encausse 1991: 55). However, the crisis dragged on with periodic bouts of violence until all-out war erupted after the collapse of the Soviet Union in December 1991. At this point, Armenian forces invaded Azerbaijan and created a corridor about three miles long and seven miles wide to connect Nagorno-Karabakh to Armenia. After further skirmishes, Armenia expanded further ending up in occupation of approximately one-seventh of the Azeri landmass. This humiliating defeat led to political turmoil in Baku and ultimately to the remarkable return to power in the summer of 1993 of the old Brezhnevite politburo member, Gaidar Aliev. After his return, a ceasefire was agreed in May 1994, but without dealing with Nagorno-Karabakh’s status or Armenian occupation of Azeri territory. Moscow remained formally neutral in the dispute despite Yerevan’s clearcut aggression against a fellow CIS member. Baku and Ankara have imposed a trade embargo on Yerevan, but generally the Azeris have been unable to attract much in the way of Muslim support for their cause (Ajami 1993: 9). Despite such problems with defining the crisis in terms of his clash of civilisations theory, Huntington perceives Russia’s acceptance of Armenia’s aggression in cultural terms – the Orthodox world uniting against the Turkic Muslims (Huntington 1996: 38). There may have been some

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truth in this latter point at the time. Moscow was certainly suspicious of the Azeri leadership as the Soviet broke up. However, Moscow has since sought to improve relations with Baku, largely for economic reasons. Armenia won the war, but it is landlocked, resource-poor and relatively isolated. Yerevan faces mass emigration as a result of its failing economy. Living standards in Azerbaijan are scarcely any better (see Table 11.3), but its part-ownership of oil fields in the Caspian Sea has attracted Western inward investment. A BP-led consortium has built a pipeline to carry Caspian oil from Baku through Georgia and, circumventing Russia, to the Turkish port of Ceyhan. This pipeline, which was funded by the US, provided an important new source of oil for the West, whilst underlining Azerbaijan’s economic potential and its independence from Russia. However, comparatively little of the new oil wealth has thus far trickled down to the ordinary people of Azerbaijan. Ilham Aliev took over as leader when his father died in 2003, but the continued corruption in the country and the lack of democracy is blamed for the relatively poor economic performance. Widespread poverty and the occupation of Azeri territory are the main sources of popular pressure on the Aliev government. Table 11.3 Country

Soviet successor states: members of the CIS Capital

Pop. (millions)

Leader

GDP (ppp)

Per capita (ppp)

Kazakhstan

Astana

15.2

Nazarbayev

$124.3bn

$8,200

Kyrgyzstan

Bishkek

5.2

Bakiyev

$10.6bn

$2,100

Tajikistan

Dushanbe

7.3

Rakhmonov

$8.7bn

$1,200

Turkmenistan

Ashgabat

5.0

Berdymukhamedov $39.4bn

$8,000

Uzbekistan

Tashkent

27.3

Karimov

$48.2bn

$1,800

Armenia

Yerevan

2.9

Kocharyan

$13.4bn

$4,500

Azerbaijan

Baku

7.9

Aliev

$37.9bn

$4,800

Georgia

Tbilisi

4.6

Saakashvili

$15.5bn

$3,300

$70.6bn

$6,900

Central Asia

Caucasus

Slavic/European Belarus

Minsk

10.2

Lukashenko

Russia

Moscow

142.8

Putin

$1.5tr

$11,100

Ukraine

Kiev

46.7

Yushchenko

$340.4bn

$7,200

Moldova

Chisnau

4.4

Voronin

$8.1bn

$1,800

(ppp = Purchasing Power Parity) Source: Adapted from the CIA Factbook at www.cia.gov/cia/publications/factbook (accessed 11 September 2006).

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Georgia Georgia’s relations with Russia were always complex. Like Armenia, Georgia had traditionally looked on Russia as its protector against any potential Islamic threat, but within the Soviet Union this perspective changed. Increasingly, Moscow was seen as a repressive presence which had restricted the country’s progress and over time threatened Georgian culture. As a proud, independent and fiercely patriotic people, the Georgians embraced the growing nationalist movement in the Soviet Union in the late Gorbachev period. Nationalism in Georgia, however, only became a mass movement after a peaceful demonstration in Tiblisi was gunned down by the state authorities in April 1989, killing 19 and injuring many more (Soviet Weekly, 15 April 1989: 4). Ordinary Georgians were outraged and blamed both the central authorities in Moscow and the Soviet system itself for the tragedy. Consequently, nationalists won a majority of seats in the Georgian parliament in October 1990 and the nationalist leader, Zviad Gamsakhurdia, was elected President the following May. Gamsakhurdia had gained renown and respect in Georgia as a dissident in the Soviet period. As a political leader, however, he was incompetent and his intolerance towards the minorities in Georgia destabilised the republic and alienated many of his erstwhile supporters. Such was the disillusionment with his leadership that Gamsakhurdia was ousted from power by his government colleagues in December 1991, just a few months after his election and, forced into exile. Moscow backed the coup with force of arms against this virulently anti-Russian nationalist. The former Georgian party boss and Soviet Foreign Minister, Eduard Shevardnadze – popular in the West, but less so in some hardline circles in Moscow – returned to newly independent Georgia in March 1992 and was formally elected President in October. Georgia was a small country of less than five million people, yet there were three autonomous regions on its territory – Ajaria, Abkhazia and South Ossetia. They all had Muslim majorities and Russian minorities and they all resisted control from Tbilisi as the Soviet Union began to fall. South Ossetia and Abkhazia declared sovereignty almost immediately after Gamsakhurdia’s nationalists won the parliamentary election in October 1990; and the South Ossetians wanted to merge with the neighbouring republic, North Ossetia, which was formally a part of the Russian Federation. The South Ossetian demand was unacceptable to Gamsakhurdia who sent troops to the province. Fighting broke out from late 1990 and thousands of Ossetians fled north to their compatriots. After Shevardnadze’s return to Georgia, a cease–fire, backed by Moscow, was agreed in summer 1992. No merger was allowed, nor did South Ossetia win independence, but it did gain autonomy, and Georgian and Russian peacekeepers patrolled the border with North Ossetia. Abkhazia, however, proved to be a more difficult problem for Shevardnadze. After Abkhazia declared independence in 1992, Georgian troops were sent to put down the secessionist movement. Since ethnic Abkhazians only made up about 18 per cent of the population of the province, Shevardnadze expected a quick and easy victory. When victory proved elusive, Shevardnadze blamed the Russians for supporting the breakaway province (Izvestiya, 17 March 1993: 1). Officially, Moscow was neutral in the conflict, but even Russian newspapers reported that separatists were receiving military aid and air cover from Russia (Izvestiya, 17 March 1993: 1). How far this

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support had the Kremlin’s approval or was the result of an independent policy from within the Ministry of Defence was far less clear. As Abkhazia fell to the separatists, Gamsakhurdia returned from exile to challenge Shevardnadze for the presidency. With the prospect of his country collapsing in the face of civil war, Shevardnadze had little option but to turn to Moscow for help in October 1993. Having played a role in destabilising the country, Moscow now intervened to defeat Gamsakhurdia and secure a deal in Abkhazia. Abkhazia was granted autonomy, with Russian peacekeepers operating alongside a UN military observer mission. In return, Russia got Shevardnadze to join the CIS in 1994 and to allow Russian military bases on Georgian territory (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 5 February 1994: 3). This agreement gave Moscow access to the Black Sea, including Poti, a major terminus of rail and roads from Tbilisi. Russian strategy, it seemed, had been successful. Moscow had regained its influence in Georgia, a state of vital economic and strategic importance (Dale 1996: 127). Cultural allegiance played no role in this. On the contrary, Moscow backed the Muslim separatists in South Ossetia and Abkhazia against the Georgians for strategic reasons. National, rather than cultural, interests seemed to dominate Moscow’s thinking in the Caucasus. Central Asia Central Asia was always a rather uncomfortable member of the Soviet Union. It was the last region to submit to Soviet rule after the Bolshevik Revolution and subsequently became something of a colonial backwater. It was the poorest part of the Soviet Union and its economy was primarily monocultural – based on the production of cotton. Russians comprised a significant minority in all the Central Asian Republics and took most of the top jobs. Despite its neo-colonial status, nationalism in Central Asia was relatively weak (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 25 December 1992: 1 and 3). This was so for at least two main reasons. First, Stalin had drawn the borders between the republics on the ‘divide and rule’ principle. The borders, therefore, had little logic in terms of the divisions between ethnic groups. Only Turkmenistan was relatively homogenous with 72 per cent of the population being ethnic Turkmen. In Tajikistan, 25 per cent of the population was Uzbek, whilst the major Tajik cities of Samarkand and Bukhara were actually located outside the republic in neighbouring Uzbekistan. Kazakhstan was the most Russified of the five Central Asian republics. Only 52 per cent of the republic was made up of ethnic Kazakhs and they only became a majority after the mass emigration of Russians in the wake of the Soviet Union’s collapse in December 1991. A second reason for the weakness of nationalism in Central Asia was the lack of an educated and politicised local elite, so necessary in the eyes of most theorists to the emergence of a nationalist agenda (see Gellner 1983). Central Asia was predominantly rural and the people often felt a prior allegiance to the clan, the region and religion. For Islam remained a significant cultural force throughout the region, despite the years of repression in the Soviet Union (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 25 December 1992: 1). When the Soviet Union fell, the communist elites in Central Asia were fearful of the future. Unlike elsewhere in the Soviet Union, however, the leaders in Central

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Asia were not removed by popular rebellion. With the exception of Nabiyev in Tajikistan who was ousted in 1992, the rest of the old guard was still in power well over a decade later. Yet after the abandonment of Marxism-Leninism, the leaders had to find alternative sources of legitimation for their continued rule. There were some early, rather tentative attempts to embrace Islam, but the political elite came to view the religion as a destabilising force with a cross-border appeal which could challenge their position of power (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 21 January 1993: 5). Leaders, therefore, tended to reclaim nationalism, even though it often meant the invention not only of tradition but also, on occasion, of a written language. Nationalism also proved flexible enough as an ideology to allow the leaders to maintain autocratic systems to preserve both public order and state sovereignty. The most reformist leader was Askar Akayev in Kyrgyzstan, who hoped a more liberal economic and political regime would attract outside investment in a country short of its own natural resources. Akayev had some early success and Kyrgyzstan even became a member of the World Trade Organisation in 1998. Its economy, however, remained dependent on its neighbours for energy and Western investment began to dry up over time. At the other extreme, Sapamurad Niyazov, chosen as leader in Turkmenistan in 1985, ruled in an eccentric and absolutist way. All political parties in Turkmenistan were banned, Hindu and Christian organisations were thrown out of the country, and torture and the death penalty were used both frequently and indiscriminately. Known as Turkmenbashi (father of all Turkmens), he created a personality cult that could rival Stalin’s. Niyazov wrote a code of behaviour for all Turkmens and even renamed the month of January after himself and April after his mother. Like Stalin, Niyazov also adopted an isolationist foreign policy. Turkmenistan was a member of the CIS, but it remained outside all the other major regional organisations, including the Central Asian Co-operation Organisation, the Collective Security Treaty Organisation and the Eurasian Economic Community. Niyazov was elected as president for life in 1999, but died suddenly of a heart attack in December 2006 The great hope for the region, however, lay in its abundance of oil, gas and minerals. Of the five Central Asian states, only Kyrgyzstan had few natural resources. Turkmenistan, on the other hand, could boast the fifth largest natural gas reserves in the world and Kazakhstan the largest crude oil reserves in the Caspian Sea. Indeed, if Kazakhstan achieves its target of tripling current output by 2015, it would be in a position to rival Iran in total oil production within a decade (Moscow Times, 30 August 2006: 4). The exploitation of Central Asia’s natural resources was rather neglected by Moscow in the Soviet period in favour of the oil and gas fields in Siberia. This changed after the fall of the Soviet Union. Central Asia has become once more an arena for great power rivalry as Russia, China and the West all seek to exploit the region’s riches. Civil War in Tajikistan The war in Tajikistan started in 1992 when the communist leader, Rakhman Nabiyev, was overthrown after rioting in Dushanbe, the capital city of Tajikistan. The subsequent war of succession was a result of many factors. Islamism was one, but equally important, if not more so, were ethnicity, clan rivalry, regionalism, poverty

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and anti-communism (Nezavisimaya gazeta, 21 January 1993: 5). The complexity of it all was exemplified by the main opposition group, the United Tajik Opposition (UTO), which was a rather unwieldy coalition of Islamist and democratic groups. Moscow paid relatively little attention to the escalating problems across Central Asia until the fall of Nabiyev in September 1992. As fighting reached the Tajik capital, Moscow finally intervened ostensibly to protect the 300,000 Russians living there and prevent the conflict spreading to neighbouring republics. About 25,000 Russian troops moved in, and with the backing of the other states in Central Asia, restored the government to power, but under the new leadership of Emomali Rakhmonov. It was estimated that up to 50,000 were killed during the war and hundreds of thousands fled the republic (Rubin 1993–1994: 87). The majority fled to Russia and other Central Asian states, but at least 40,000 also crossed the border into Afghanistan (Izvestiya, 21 December 1993: 3). A large number of Tajiks already lived in the north of Afghanistan. A CIS peacekeeping force was deployed in September 1993, comprising troops from Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Uzbekistan (Jonson 2004: 51). Tajikistan’s economy was in ruins. The Rakhmonov government became almost entirely dependent on Moscow for its security and economic survival. It was estimated that roughly 70 per cent of government expenditure was covered by Moscow subsidy (Rubin 1993–94: 81). The fighting did not stop after Rakhmonov’s elevation to the leadership, however, and Russian commentators began to talk about Moscow facing a new Afghan scenario in Tajikistan (Izvestiya, 24 February 1993: 5). Russian troops were once again propping up an unpopular and repressive regime in the face of Muslim and nationalist opposition. Adding to the pressure on the Tajik government and the peacekeepers were cross-border raids from Afghanistan which began after the fall of the Najibullah government in April 1992. The threat from Afghanistan increased substantially when the Taliban took over Kabul in 1996 with a more explicitly expansionist policy. The Taliban threat encouraged the more moderate parties in Tajikistan to search more urgently for a final settlement. Yevgeni Primakov, the new Russian Foreign Minister, was successful in mediating a peace agreement in June 1997 (Jonson 2004: 60). A coalition government was set up, still with Rakhmonov as head, but with about a third of all government seats reserved for the opposition. This ended the war, but failed to bring stability to the country. For the authorities were unable to gain control of the whole country, and they remained challenged by Tajik warlords and Uzbek Islamists. Ahmed Rashid argues in his book, Jihad, that post-war Tajikistan was the most democratic state in the region and should, therefore, become a model for other Central Asian states to follow (2003: 86). The coalition government survived despite all the problems in the country, and Tajikistan was the only Central Asian state which allowed an Islamic Party to operate legally. Indeed, the Islamic Renaissance Party (IRP) emerged from the civil war as the second biggest party in Tajikistan. It had seats in the coalition government and won 8 per cent of the vote in the last parliamentary election in the spring of 2005. Forcing the Islamic groups to come out from the underground and offer practical solutions to the very real problems of Central Asia is perceived by Rashid as a means of nurturing them away from the vague banalities of extremism (2003: 134). The problem for Tajikistan as a model state, however, is that

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it remains impoverished, unstable and largely dependent on Moscow for its security and economic well-being. The Rise of Militant Islamism in Central Asia As stated earlier, nationalism was relatively weak in Central Asia during the Soviet period, but political Islamism was no different. The Soviet attempt to create a sovetskii chelovek [Soviet person] – someone devoted to the Soviet Union and socialism rather than one’s nation – had largely failed, but it was not without some purchase in Central Asia. Its colonial status notwithstanding, living standards in Central Asia were often higher than in neighbouring Muslim states outside the Soviet Union and social welfare, education and the rights of women were generally better and more extensive. Islam, however, had always remained important in central Asia both as a religion and as a focus for collective identity. Therefore, the increase in popularity for Islam in the post-Soviet period was entirely predictable. The Islamic Renaissance Party was the first major Islamic party to emerge in Central Asia. It was formed in Tajikistan in 1990 and came to prominence during the civil war. However, the IRP was more moderate than many other Islamist organisations. It was sceptical of the benefits of jihad as a means of promoting Islam. Moreover, the creation of an Islamic state was not a primary aim and it was, therefore, prepared to sit in a secular coalition government in Tajikistan with the pro-Russian Emomali Rakhmonov as leader. The IRP has a presence across Central Asia, but it is only allowed to operate legally in Tajikistan. It has lost public support in Tajikistan in recent times, however, as its place in the government has not brought noticeable improvements in the economic or security situation in the country. The IRP was founded and based in Central Asia, Hizb ut-Tahrir (HT), on the other hand, had no roots in the region. Founded in Jordan and Saudi Arabia in the 1950s, it seemed mostly concerned with Arab issues, but it still succeeded in spreading rapidly across Central Asia. The HT first established a presence in Uzbekistan in 1995 but later gained considerable influence in both Tajikistan and Kyrgyzstan as well. HT has bases around the world and is relatively wealthy. Its supporters come predominantly from the professional classes and the city, in contrast to most Islamist groups. Its prescriptions for Central Asia, however, are vague and distinctly short on detailed policy. In essence, it perceives an Islamic caliphate across Central Asia as a necessary prerequisite to resolving the deep-seated problems of the region. HT is opposed to Western culture and Western forms of government, including democracy and socialism (Rashid 2003: 121). Like the radical Wahhabists, however, HT is also virulently anti-Shia who are viewed as little better than infidels. Hizb ut-Tahrir is notable, however, in rejecting violence as a means of furthering its aims. There is no evidence of HT members taking part in terrorist acts, but it supports resistance to the occupation of Muslim lands in Afghanistan, Iraq and Palestine. The Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU) is the most radical and violent of the Islamist groups that have emerged in Central Asia in the post-Soviet period. It originated in the Fergana Valley, and was founded in 1998 by Tohrir Yuldushev and Juma Namangani with funding from the Taliban and Osama bin Laden (Rashid 2003:

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148). Its primary aim was the removal of the Karimov dictatorship in Uzbekistan and its replacement by an Islamic state under Sharia law. Increasingly, it has extended its original purpose to seek, like Hizb ut-Tahrir, an Islamic caliphate across all of Central Asia. The IMU has bases in Afghanistan, Kazakhstan, Tajikistan and Uzbekistan, and has even spread its operations to the Muslim-dominated province of Xinjang in China. Unlike HT, however, it advocates violence and jihad as the only means of achieving its aims in a region of dictatorships. The IMU has, indeed, carried out numerous terrorist attacks in Central Asia. For example, on 16 February 1999, there was a series of car bombs in Tashkent which targeted the Uzbek government. Several people were killed, over a hundred were injured, but President Karimov narrowly escaped with his life (Jonson 2004: 55). In August 1999 – the same month as some Chechen rebels invaded Dagestan – a group of IMU rebels led by Namangani made incursions into the Batken region of Kyrgyzstan and took a number of hostages, including four Japanese scientists working for a mining company (Jonson 2004: 63). About a year later, in August–September 2000, around 200 IMU fighters launched a well-coordinated, multi-pronged offensive in south Kyrgyzstan and South East Uzbekistan. This time, however, Kyrgyzstan was better prepared, and by the end of October 2000, the IMU commander Namangani had withdrawn his forces and retreated to Tajikistan and Afghanistan (Jonson 2004: 67). Militant Islamism has grown in strength, but it is doubtful that it has the strength and support to take power in any of the Central Asian republics. Nevertheless, the regimes in Central Asia have responded to the perceived threat with increasing levels of repression. Askar Akayev had made some effort to govern Kyrgyzstan in a more open way, but he found this impossible to continue after 1999 when his country became the target of IMU attacks. Other Central Asian leaders also put pressure on him to clamp down to prevent Kyrgyzstan becoming a safe haven for militant groups. The centre of terrorist activity, however, remained Uzbekistan, which was probably the most brutal and repressive of all the dictatorships in the region. After banning all opposition parties in Uzbekistan, Karimov introduced the Law on Freedom of Conscience and Religious Organisation in May 1998. It was aimed at stopping the growth of Islamist militancy, but it went much further than this and attacked almost all public displays of devotion. One example of this was the growing number of men with beards and women with hijabs (head covering) who were being called in and questioned by the Uzbek police. The response of the West to the abuses being perpetrated by governments across Central Asia was generally restrained. Words were spoken regarding the need to respect human rights, but there was an underlying understanding of the need for tough measures to counter the growing terrorist threat. In 2000, the US categorised the IMU as a terrorist organisation with links to Osama bin Laden and al-Qaeda. Its terrorist nature appeared to be incontrovertible, but the decision was still criticised in certain quarters (see Rashid 2003: 173). On the one hand, it implied support for the strong-arm tactics employed by Karimov against his political opponents and, on the other, it limited the chances of Washington acting as a neutral mediator able to end both the terrorism and the violation of human rights in the region. In many respects, the terrorist attack on America on 11 September 2001 provided Central Asia with a political opportunity. All the Muslim states of the Caucasus and

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Central Asia came out in support of the US-led war on the Taliban. Levels of support varied, however, with Uzbekistan highly pro-active and quick to allow the US to set up a military base on its territory (Moscow News, 12–18 December 2001: 4). Kyrgyzstan also allowed the US use of a military base whilst Tajikistan permitted coalition forces to be deployed in the country. Turkmenistan, which was less troubled by Islamist terrorism than the other Central Asian states, was more cautious, but Niyazov still permitted overflights of Turkmen territory during the war against the Taliban (US State Department 2006: 122–125). Azerbaijan, in the Caucasus, helped the war effort by sharing intelligence and granting fuelling and landing rights to the US. Moreover, Baku worked alongside the Turks as peacekeepers in Afghanistan after the war was won (US State Department 2006: 88–89). The IMU, in contrast, fought alongside the Taliban and al-Qaeda in Afghanistan against the US-led coalition. It suffered heavy losses as a result, but it was not destroyed. It was forced to withdraw from Afghanistan, but maintained bases in Tajikistan and the Fergana Valley. The IMU has since turned on American interests in Central Asia and in September 2004 attacked the US embassy in Tashkent. As stated elsewhere, Putin also supported the US war on terrorism and encouraged Central Asia to co-operate with the US. The actual importance of Putin’s intervention, however, was not entirely clear. For there were already good reasons for Central Asia to support the American war effort in Afghanistan. The majority had a clear interest in seeing an end to the radical Taliban government. Indeed, there had been meetings with Russia and the leaders of Central Asia in Almaty, and later in Dushanbe, to discuss policy options after the Taliban took power in Kabul in 1996. Although there was no agreement over a response, Karimov, who felt most threatened by the Taliban and the IMU presence in Afghanistan, favoured intervention in support of the Northern Alliance (Jonson 2004: 57). Therefore, there was a feeling of some satisfaction amongst the leaders of the region when the US, the only remaining superpower, committed itself after 9/11 to the overthrow of the Taliban and the destruction of terrorist bases in Afghanistan. There were also other possible benefits in backing Washington. For Central Asian leaders could hope for more Western aid and inward investment and greater political support for their own war against terrorism at home. The influential commentator, Ahmed Rashid, however, warned against offering support to the dictatorial regimes in Central Asia. The grinding poverty and rampant corruption had led to public disillusionment with the various governments whilst the brutal repression of political opposition, he argued, had actually encouraged Islamist militancy which had been virtually unknown in the region before 1991 (Rashid 2003: xxii). In fact, Bush appeared to accept much of Rashid’s argument. Once the war with the Taliban was won, he was willing to be more critical of the Central Asian regimes and supported the wave of democratisation that washed across the former Soviet Union from 2003. The effectiveness of Bush’s democracy promotion policy, however, was undermined by his relative lack of interest in the poverty and gross inequalities that bedevilled the region. This will be discussed further below and in more general terms in the next chapter.

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The ‘Coloured Revolutions’ The series of democratic uprisings across the former Soviet Union after 9/11 became known as the ‘coloured revolutions’, although the symbol of rebellion was, as often as not, a flower. Thus, in Ukraine, it was the ‘orange revolution’, in Georgia the ‘rose’ and in Kyrgyzstan, the ‘tulip’. The revolutions followed a similar pattern. Elections were held which were deemed fraudulent for one reason or another by independent observers. The people then took to the streets in protest forcing new elections or the resignation of the government head. Georgia was the first to succumb to popular rebellion in 2003. Eduard Shevardnadze had lost support as leader because of rising crime, widespread corruption and deepening poverty. After parliamentary elections in November, his government was accused of ballot-rigging and hundreds came out in protest. Shevardnadze resigned as President and he was replaced by Mikhail Saakashvili, a young, US-educated lawyer. Saakashvili stood, with strong American backing, in presidential elections in January 2004 and won a remarkable 96 per cent of the vote (Shaffer 2003). President Bush clearly encouraged other states to follow Georgia’s example when he described the ‘rose revolution’ as ‘a beacon of liberty’ for the rest of the Caucasus and Central Asia (Bush 2005: 1). Washington was already Georgia’s ally, but relations grew closer after the revolution. Washington poured in economic aid and US officers trained Georgian forces in counter-terrorism to combat the militants from Chechnya and Central Asia who were seeking refuge in the Pankisi Gorge. In return, Georgia contributed monitors and peacekeepers to both post-war Afghanistan and Iraq. One of Saakashvili’s first trips abroad was to Baku to confirm Georgia’s support for the controversial US-funded Ceyhan oil pipeline. Moscow failed to prevent its construction despite its very public opposition. Saakashvili further alienated the Putin administration by attempting unilaterally to bring the quasi-independent regions of Ajaria, South Ossetia and Abkhazia back under Georgian control (Moscow News, 10, 16–22 March 2005: 3). He argued their autonomy was threatening Georgian territorial integrity, but his action appeared to violate the peace terms agreed earlier by his predecessor. Nevertheless, Saakashvili was successful in Ajaria, forced its leader into exile and renogotiated a deal in 2004. Both Abkhazia and South Ossetia, however, continued to resist pressure from Tbilisi. Saakashvili demanded that Moscow stop its support for those two rebellious provinces, but Moscow refused. At the height of the crisis in the summer of 2004, there were genuine fears that the two countries were moving towards war. Russian military trucks travelling towards South Ossetia were impounded by Georgian authorities whilst Saakashvili threatened to sink Russian shipping entering Abkhazian waters. War was avoided and there were intimations of a more consensual relationship when Putin agreed in May 2005 to withdraw all Russian troops from Georgia within a three and a half year period. However, tensions rose again when Moscow raised gas prices in January 2006, and then in May imposed a ban on the import of Georgian wine, ostensibly for health reasons. This latter move was almost as devastating as the gas price hike since the Georgian economy was heavily dependent on the production of alcohol, and the Russian market constituted 70 per cent of its total wine exports. In Ukraine, the pro-Russian candidate, Victor Yanukovich, was declared victor of the November 2004 presidential election, but international monitors declared

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the vote neither free nor fair. In the ‘orange revolution’, thousands of Ukrainians, dressed in the colours of the opposition party, came out on to the streets of Kiev in protest. After prolonged debate in an atmosphere of growing national crisis, the Supreme Court finally agreed to a re-run of the election. The pro-Western Victor Yushchenko won the re-run on 26 December 2004 with 52 per cent of the vote. Moscow was embarrassed by the result since it had strongly backed Yanukovich (Wilson 2005: 94–5). Putin had paid an official visit to Kiev during the election campaign and made a point of being photographed standing beside his preferred candidate at the hustings. Moscow was also reported to have donated $300 million to the Yanukovich election fund (Aslund 2005: 3). The dubious tactics of some of Yanukovich’s supporters, however, were revealed when Yushchenko’s face was badly disfigured and his life put in danger by dioxin poisoning in the run-up to the first election. There is no proof of Moscow’s involvement, but its reputation was further sullied simply by association (Wilson 2005: 96–104). On the other hand, Victor Chernomyrdin, Russian Ambassador to Kiev, blamed Western interference for overturning the result of the election (Moscow News, 20–26 April 2005: 4). Moscow was sceptical of the independence of the international monitors (see Anonymous 2005: 1), and the Russian media claimed that the Yushchenko campaign received $21 million from abroad with the exiled oligarch Boris Berezovsky co-ordinating the distribution of funding (The Independent, 12 November 2005: 24). The Russian argument seemed to be less that the initial result had been fair than the West had no right to intervene in a country of such historical importance to Moscow (Wilson 2005: 174–5). Ukraine had long seen its future as part of Europe. After the ‘orange revolution’, Moscow feared Kiev would hasten its bid to join both the EU and NATO. The Russian State Duma declared that accession to NATO would have ‘very negative consequences for relations between our fraternal peoples’ (The Guardian, 8 June 2006: 20). Sergei Lavrov emphasised that Soviet successor states had the right to determine their own fates, but he warned of a ‘colossal geopolitical shift’ if Georgia and Ukraine ever joined NATO (The Guardian, 8 June 2006: 20). Moscow has sought, as in Georgia, to reinforce its position in Ukraine through playing the energy card. Oil and gas prices were raised after Moscow briefly cut off supplies in January 2006. The US was critical of Russian action. Dick Cheney declared: ‘No legitimate interest is served when oil and gas become tools of intimidation or blackmail, either by supply manipulation or attempts to monopolize transportation’ (2006: 7). President Yushchenko was criticised both by his own government and the electorate for agreeing to the price rises. Yushchenko lost the subsequent parliamentary election in March 2006 and, in a most remarkable U-turn, he was forced to appoint his bitter rival, Yanukovich, as Prime Minister in August 2006. Before this setback for the forces of democracy in Ukraine, it appeared that the wave of democratisation might also be about to sweep across Central Asia when the President of Kyrgyzstan, Askar Akayev, was forced to resign on 24 March 2005. OSCE monitors had cast doubt on the legitimacy of parliamentary elections which, once again, stimulated mass demonstrations in the capital, Bishkek. Akayaev stepped down and was replaced as President by Kurmanbek Bakiyev. Moscow blamed the West for initiating the unrest in Kyrgyzstan, and pointed out that the

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majority of independent newspapers, opposition parties and NGOs which were agitating for regime change were all financed by Western organisations, like Soros and Freedom House (Moscow News, 6–12 April 2005: 2). Others in the Russian media acknowledged, however, that much of the unrest was genuine, and a result of poverty, economic decline and a general loss of confidence in the government (Moscow News, 30 March–April 2005: 3). The demise of Akayev, however, was a clear warning to the other regimes in the region. Akayev had become far more autocratic since taking office in 1991, but he remained one of the less repressive and corrupt leaders in Central Asia and he even seemed to have retained the support of Western governments almost until the end. If he succumbed to popular protest, then no one looked safe. This might have been in Islam Karimov’s thoughts when he was confronted with an uprising in the Uzbek town of Andijan in May 2005. Karimov, however, had no intention of stepping down like Akayev or Shevardnadze. Instead, he restored order through the brutal repression of the rebellion. Independent monitors estimated that many hundreds were killed in the crackdown, Uzbek authorities reported that 180 terrorists perished in total. The US had an important air base in Uzbekistan which it continued to use for its peacekeeping duties in Afghanistan, but it had become increasingly embarrassed by Karimov’s dictatorial methods. The US presence appeared to contradict Washington’s democracy promotion policy for the region (see The Guardian, 15 May 2005: 17). Karimov had been receiving extensive aid from the West and an estimated $15 million for the use of the Kharsi-Khanabad (K2) airbase (The Guardian, 1 August 2005: 10). However, in response to the events in Andijan, the US called for an independent investigation to discover what exactly had happened. It was at this point that Washington’s tightening grip on Central Asia began to loosen. Karimov, strongly supported by Moscow, accused the Western media and human rights organisations of deliberately destabilising the country. In July, Karimov ordered the Americans to withdraw from K2 by the end of the year and banned US overflights of its territory. Nurridin Zainiyev, the governor of Kashkadar region where K2 was located, said: ‘Wherever American bases crop up, so does a fundamentalist mood and so do enemies of America, and we don’t want to be caught between the two’ (The Guardian, 27 August 2005: 22). Karimov survived the Andijan crisis with support from Moscow. In return, Karimov moved closer to the Kremlin. Uzbekistan left the nominally anti-Russian regional organisation, GUAM, joined the Eurasian Economic Community for the first time in 2006 and rejoined the Collective Security Organisation in the same year. The US continued to press for democratisation in Soviet successor states, but it seemed the process had stalled. Nursultan Nazarbayev, the long-standing President in Kazakhstan, was able to get re-elected in December 2005 without facing the public protests that had greeted such results elsewhere. In Azerbaijan, there were protests over the parliamentary elections on 6 November 2005 which both the OSCE and Council of Europe criticised as deeply flawed. The results stood, however, although President Ilham Aliev compromised to the extent of ordering rerun elections in a handful of constituencies (BBC 2006b: 2). Alexander Lukashenko in Belarus, depicted in Washington, as the last dictator in Europe (Moscow News, 9–15 February 2005: 5), also survived a presidential election in March 2006 despite

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popular protests and accusations of electoral fraud. Indeed, Lukashenko followed Karimov’s example, and maintained his position, with support from Moscow, by the use of force. Hundreds of protestors were beaten and arrested, dissidents disappeared, whilst Alexander Milinkevich, leader of the opposition, was jailed for seven days for attending an ‘illegal’ demonstration. Vice President Dick Cheney condemned the electoral campaign in Belarus and argued that ‘there is no place in Europe whole and free for such a regime’ (Cheney 2006: 7). Nevertheless, the autocrats, backed by the Kremlin, managed to re-establish their dominant position in their respective countries. How long this can last, however, is a matter of debate. How far these consolidated autocracies will establish stability or promote further extremism is another unknown. It may well depend on economic growth and rising living standards in each individual country. The one certainty is that the outcome will vary across the territory of the former Soviet Union.

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Chapter 12

America and Russia: Democracy Promotion Introduction By the time of his second term, democracy promotion had become the centrepiece of George W. Bush’s foreign policy. His administration argued that democracy brought peace and prosperity. It was, therefore, perceived as a medium to long-term solution to many existing international problems. Bush’s focus was on the Middle East, expecting democratisation across the region ultimately to reduce militancy and international terrorism. Democracy promotion, however, was a global strategy and Bush also encouraged the consolidation of democracy in the former Soviet bloc countries. Inspired by the overthrow of Slobodan Milosevic in 2000, the Bush administration supported popular uprisings against corrupt and repressive regimes across the territory of the former Soviet Union. As noted in the previous chapter, the world witnessed peaceful and democratic revolutions in Georgia (2003), Ukraine (2004) and Kyrgyzstan (2005). After the overthrow of the Taliban in Afghanistan, Bush also became more critical of the perceived retreat from democracy in Putin’s Russia. Moscow, for its part, perceived ulterior motives in Washington’s shift in policy, and regarded Bush’s more active intervention in Russian domestic affairs as a violation of its sovereignty and a potential threat to its stability and recent economic recovery. Bush and Democracy Promotion The cold war period was always portrayed in the West as a struggle between freedom and totalitarianism. The policy of containment demanded the defence of supposed democratic regimes, such as South Korea and South Vietnam, against communist aggression, but little was done during this period to promote democracy in Marxist-Leninist states. Instead, the West, with few exceptions, tended to promote international stability and order ahead of freedom and democracy. The West did indulge in certain arguably subversive acts, including the transmission of radio broadcasts into unfriendly states. Yet having encouraged rebellion in Hungary in 1956, the West watched on as the uprising was brutally repressed by Soviet forces (Gaddis 2005: 167). Thereafter, the West was rarely willing to go beyond verbal support for dissidence within the Soviet bloc and sometimes fell far short of even that. In 1976, for example, when the dissident writer Alexander Solzhenitsyn first arrived in the United States after being exiled from the USSR, President Ford was

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advised not to meet him for fear of provoking the Kremlin (Gaddis 2005: 189). President Reagan became frustrated with such deference towards dictatorships and set up the National Endowment for Democracy (NED) in 1983 as a private, nonprofit-making organisation that channelled state aid to pro-American civil society groups in the communist world. Reagan’s greater willingness to actively support dissident groups, such as Solidarity in Poland, was believed by many, including the current Secretary of State Condoleezza Rice, to have been important in helping to bring down the Berlin Wall (see Gaddis 2005: 218–222; Zelikow and Rice 1995). Nevertheless, his successor, George H. W. Bush initially adopted a rather more cautious approach. To his later embarrassment, Bush in a speech in Kiev in August 1991 ignored the growing nationalist movement in Ukraine and just a few months before the republic achieved independence called on the Ukrainian people to pursue their political future inside the Soviet Union. Later known as the ‘Chicken Kiev’ speech, it appeared to typify the West’s preference for stability and order over the possible risks of national liberation (see Feduschak 2004: 1). Such caution faded along with communism, and the end of the cold war appeared to offer a unique opportunity to build a New World Order based on liberal democratic values. President Clinton came to power in January 1993 and argued that containment should be replaced by a new US foreign policy based on, what he called, enlargement – the enlargement of the free community of market democracies around the world (Clinton 1993: 649–653; Brinkley 1997: 115–116). In the immediate post-cold war period, the Clinton administration focused primarily on Russia due to its strategic and economic importance. A whole series of Western-based agencies, such as the US Agency for International Development (USAID), NED, the Eurasia Foundation, Freedom House and the Soros Foundation became active in post-Soviet Russia. Aid and advice poured into Russia in the immediate post-Soviet period, but critics have argued that democracy, for all the rhetoric, was never a real priority for the West at that time (see Marsden 2005: 196). In the 1990s, democracy promotion was a distant fourth on the list of US assistance priorities after denuclearisation, economic reform and humanitarian projects. Only a fraction of total US aid to Russia in the early period of transition was actually spent on democracy promotion. Of the total assistance to Russia, which amounted to $5.45 billion between 1992 and 1998, only $130 million was aimed directly at advancing democracy (Russian and Eurasian Program 2000: 39). Liberal economic reform, introduced in January 1992 by Yeltsin, was a top priority for the West. Much Western money went into sponsoring a policy of shock therapy – a radical attempt to rapidly transform the state-controlled Soviet economy into a liberal, free-trading economic system. Yet the policy led to a decade of economic misery for the vast majority of Russian people, whilst a few oligarchs took advantage of the highly corrupt privatisation process to make massive sums of money. The combination of economic collapse and ever widening income differentials arguably endangered the whole democratisation process (see Halperin 2005: 138). A further of Clinton’s democratisation policy in Russia was that much of the aid was directed more towards keeping Yeltsin in power rather than trying to strengthen the institutions and processes of democracy itself (see Marsden 2005: 50–51). There are many examples of this, but there are two notable cases during this

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period. First, the US backed Yeltsin’s unilateral decision to close down the Russian Parliament – the Congress of People’s Deputies – in September 1993. Parliament had become obstructionist, resistant to reform and increasingly irresponsible in its actions. Nevertheless, the Supreme Court ruled its suspension to be unconstitutional. Ignoring such rulings, the West continued its support of Yeltsin even after he had ordered a military assault on the parliament building (the White House) to clear out the remaining deputies who had refused to leave (Clinton 2005: 549; Singer 1993). 187 were killed in the subsequent assault and the ringleaders were arrested. Yeltsin tried to present the military assault as a necessary response to an attempted political coup by the red-brown alliance – a group of hardened communists and proto-fascists – but the Russian public was largely unconvinced. According to one poll, only 25 per cent supported the storming of the White House, whilst 50 per cent disapproved (Waller 2005: 16). The second case concerned the re-election of Boris Yeltsin as Russian President in 1996. The US offered aid and advice to the Yeltsin campaign despite grave doubts over the legality and fairness of the entire electoral process (see Lloyd 1998: 85–90). The Russian media openly favoured Yeltsin in the election. His Communist rival, Gennadi Zyuganov was scarcely seen on TV and when he did appear, he was portrayed in a uniformly negative light. The American advisers were credited with pushing the idea of negative campaigning and characterising Zyuganov an unreconstructed Stalinist (see Lloyd 1998: 85). There were also accusations that Yeltsin overspent his campaign budget. Most telling of all, however, was the mainstream media’s failure to report on Yeltsin’s illness despite his being unable to campaign in the second round. The failures of US policy were such that the British academic, Lee Marsden, concluded that ‘Russia was less democratic at the end of the Clinton’s presidency than at the beginning’ (Marsden 2005: 1). Perhaps because of Clinton’s perceived failure, George W. Bush appeared initially uninterested in Clinton’s enlargement policy and looked more like an old-fashioned realist with isolationist tendencies (Crockatt 2003: 142–143). Furthermore, Bush tended to define US national interests on the campaign trail in a narrow way. He expressed doubts over the benefits of America becoming involved in peace-keeping and state-building abroad, and hinted that he was keen to withdraw US troops from Bosnia (see Prestowitz 2004: 35: Halper and Clarke 2004: 135; Fukuyama 2006: 46). However, the terrorist strike of 11 September 2001 brought about a fundamental change in Bush’s outlook on foreign policy. In particular, isolationism no longer seemed a realistic option. Since the US had suffered an unprovoked attack, it was incumbent on Bush to pay more attention to the outside world and this led him to reconsider the issue of democracy promotion more seriously. Later he came to argue that dictatorships and failed states were a breeding ground for disaffection and militancy. ‘For as long as whole regions of the world simmer in resentment and tyranny – prone to ideologies that feed hatred and excuse murder – violence will gather and multiply in destructive power, and cross the most defended borders, and raise a mortal threat. There is only one force of history that can break the reign of hatred and resentment, and expose the pretensions of tyrants, and reward the hopes of the decent and tolerant,’ the President proclaimed, ‘and that is the force of freedom’ (Bush 2005: 2).

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President Bush was not just offering a critique of the contemporary situation, he was also arguing that it was America’s duty to actively promote democracy ‘with the ultimate goal of ending tyranny in our world’ (Bush 2005: 2). Most controversially, this has involved the military overthrow of dictatorial regimes in Afghanistan and Iraq, but more commonly the US has sought simply to encourage, directly or indirectly, democratic forces in other sovereign states. In his speeches, Bush has said it is important to strengthen existing democratic institutions and his Vice-President, Dick Cheney, confirmed this when he said: ‘Through direct aid and active diplomacy, the United States will continue our strong support for the development of democratic institutions that are transparent, accountable and decentralized’ (Cheney 2006: 6). However, the emphasis shifted over time to providing greater support for civil society, involving aid and training for opposition parties, independent media, human rights groups, and other NGOs (see Cheney 2006: 6; USAID 2005: 1; Moscow News, no 12, 30 March–5 April 2005: 3). As noted in the last chapter, Washington supported the ‘coloured revolutions’ in Georgia, Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan. In each case, the result of an election was disputed and the masses, mobilised by Western-backed human rights NGOs, came out on the streets in protest. The respective leader stepped down and new elections held. This was regime change by peaceful means. Although these democratic revolutions were largely the result of indigenous factors, the effect of American support should not be underestimated. It influenced the nature of the protests and helped spread the democratic movement across borders. Democratic revolution, however, has not always been successful. Islam Karimov in Uzbekistan responded to an uprising in May 2005 with repression and has remained in office with Russian backing. Yet Washington continued to back democratic revolution and made it clear that it wanted to see the removal of Alexander Lukashenko as the Belarussian President (Beissinger 2006: 1). Condoleezza Rice even privately informed Putin that Belarus could expect its own ‘orange revolution’ in the upcoming elections in March 2006 (Moskovskie novosti, 27 April–3 May 2005: 5). However, Lukashenko, like Karimov before him, survived – again with Moscow’s support – but using tactics condemned by Washington. Although Vice President Cheney claimed that ‘Russia has nothing to fear and everything to gain from having strong, stable democracies on its borders’ (Cheney 2006: 8), Putin remains deeply unhappy about Washington’s interference in Belarus, a country on Russia’s Western border and a potential buffer to NATO’s eastern expansion. Yet despite all the doubts in the West regarding many aspects of Bush’s presidency, there was considerable support across the political spectrum for his policy of democracy promotion. There might have been deep reservations in some quarters regarding the export of democracy by military means, but many on the left welcomed the return of ethics to international relations discourse (see Wilson 2005; Cohen, N. 2006: 13). No longer was the West doing nothing in the face of grotesque human rights violations and hiding behind the notion that international law forbade foreign intervention in the internal affairs of another sovereign state. Those on the right, meanwhile, tended to view the spread of democracy and market liberalism as confirming the superiority of their own Western values. As Fukuyama said as the Berlin Wall fell, modern history seemed to be a narrative outlining the

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triumph of liberal democracy (see Fukuyama 1989: 3). What is more, there were statistics which seemed to back up such ideas. In 1988, an estimated two-thirds of the world’s states were non-democratic, but by 2002 this proportion had been reversed (Halperin 2005: 11). Finally, democracy promotion appealed to pragmatists of all political persuasions, since a growing body of evidence seemed to prove the benefits of democracy – for the individual, the group, the state and the international system as a whole (see Hutton 2006: 1–2). Thus, proponents of democracy promotion argued that democracy was not only a good in itself for ordinary members of society in allowing freedom of speech, the right of association and providing a more accountable government, it also offered the prospect in more general terms of peace and prosperity. The philosopher Immanuel Kant had long since argued that democracies were less war-like than dictatorships. Michael Doyle adapted Kant’s ideas to suggest that, whilst it is clear that modern democracies do fight wars, ‘they don’t fight each other’ (see Doyle 1983). Data from David Singer’s ‘Correlates of War’ project went some way to backing up this claim when it found that ‘established democracies fought no wars against each other during the entire twentieth century’ (Russett and Starr 1996: 173). Known as the democratic peace theory, the American academic, Jack Levy, declared it to be the closest we are ever likely to get in international relations to ‘an empirical law’ (Levy 1989: 270). Russett and Starr tried to extend the argument and said: ‘the more democratic each state is, the more peaceful their relations are likely to be’ (Russett and Starr 1996: 173), and Russett explained this correlation by arguing that ‘democracies have other means of resolving conflict between themselves and therefore do not need to fight each other’ (Russett 1993: 4). Much of the evidence looks convincing, but there is an obvious problem in trying to define what is actually meant by democracy. Core elements might include an accountable government, competitive elections, an independent media and legal system, as well as the existence of some kind of civil society. It might also be possible to determine a number of states which could be described as fully democratic according to such criteria, but problems still remain. Are all these factors equally important? Is it possible, for example, to have a democratic system without an independent media? In any case, what is meant by independent? Can independence simply be equated with private ownership? For example, was it obviously better for the Russian public when Russian TV was controlled by the likes of Berezovsky rather than Russian state? In practice, it is also difficult to judge whether a state in transition has reached the end-goal of democracy. For the notion of a consolidated or established democracy, referred to in Singer’s quote above, is also a complex concept. Samuel Huntington has argued that a democracy can claim to be consolidated when the voluntary and orderly transfer of power has been completed at least twice (Huntington 1991: 266–267). In a detailed study by Halperin, Siegle and Weinstein, longevity is also stressed as the key to determining whether a state is a mature democracy or not. The longer a democracy has existed, they argue, the less likely a reversal back to dictatorship (2005: 75). In that same study, Halperin et al. argue enthusiastically for what they call the ‘democratic advantage’, but they were less willing than Michael Doyle to talk in absolutes. However, their study confirmed that democracies, both in the developed

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and developing world, were indeed less likely to be involved in violence of any kind – both internal and international. For example, of 49 low-income states embroiled in civil conflict from 1990 to 2000, only eight were found to be democracies (Halperin 2005: 96). Yet the fact that some democracies were involved in conflict showed that other factors needed to be considered in relation to inter and intra-state violence. To this end, they discovered, for example, that the level of economic development and the extent of interdependence with the outside world – through trade and membership of regional or international institutions – were also important in understanding the prevalence of violence within and between states (Halperin 2005: 99). Raymond Cohen, in another study, also found that democracy was not a sufficient explicator for the absence of war. In the case of Latin America, he showed that peace was sustained over the last century despite a mix of democratic and non-democratic political systems (Cohen, R. 1994: 214–215). Placing too much faith in the democratic peace theory, he concluded, can lead to democracies ignoring other possible sources of peace and stability, and to their erroneously rejecting the possibility of peaceful relations with non-democratic regimes (Cohen, R. 1994: 223). Although equal caution is required in assessing the link between democracy and economic development, the study by Halperin, Siegle and Weinstein showed that amongst states in the developing world, the economies of democracies had grown 50 per cent more rapidly than dictatorships since 1960, whilst 95 per cent of the worst economic performances over the same period had been overseen by non-democratic governments (Halperin 2005: 13). Such statistics look impressive, but there are some important exceptions and autocratic China, comprising a quarter the population of the world, is only the most obvious. Since 1978, the People’s Republic of China has enjoyed record levels of economic growth, year on year, despite remaining a one-party dictatorship. China has transformed itself in less than thirty years from a comparative economic backwater into one of the world’s biggest economies. In Russia too, it could be argued that economic growth only took off after years of decline when Putin took office in 2000 and began, what many have characterised as, his retreat from democracy. In sum, the correlation between democracy and successful economic development might exist as a general trend, but as with Michael Doyle’s theory, other factors have to be brought into the equation as well. Transition theory has shown that, amongst other things, stable borders and a peaceful domestic environment are both important for effective economic development (Hughes 2000: 45). Some former proponents of democracy promotion, like Francis Fukuyama, have begun to argue that Huntington might not have been entirely wrong after all when he argued in his 1968 book, Political Order in Changing Societies, that a strong state was a necessary prerequisite amongst poorer states for economic take-off (Fukuyama 2006: 126– 127). Fukuyama has subsequently prioritised an effective state and liberal legal system over ‘democratic participation’ and an accountable government, and quotes approvingly Fareed Zakaria’s view that ‘modernizing authoritarians might be preferable in some cases to feckless democracies’ (Fukuyama 2006: 140). Fukuyama acknowledges that modernising authoritarians are a rare breed, but Vladimir Putin might just be willing, at least privately, to accept the sobriquet for himself.

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Yet even if some of the collective advantages of democracy are taken on board, there still remain a number of practical problems in seeking to export it abroad (see Beissinger 2006: 1). First, democracy might be viewed by the locals as an alien imposition rather than a genuinely indigenous development. This can undermine domestic support and ultimately threaten the democratisation process itself. The current situation in Iraq could be an example of this. Francis Fukuyama has largely accepted this critique and argued that hostility towards the United States and George W. Bush in particular has undermined the President’s ‘noble aim’ of promoting democracy around the world (Fukuyama 2006: 47). Second, it is possible that the democratic roots in a country might be weak if it needs an ‘extra shove from outside’ (Beissinger 2006: 1). In those cases, there is a good chance that the democratic revolution will prove short-lived. The reversion back to authoritarianism could be through an unconstitutional take-over or even through the election of a populist or anti-democratic government. Many in Ukraine felt that the ‘orange revolution’ had ended when Yanukovich returned as Prime Minister in the Yushchenko government just two years after his election as President had been deemed fraudulent by the authorities in Kiev. In the case of Kyrgyzstan, it is far from clear whether the new President, Kurmanbek Bakiyev, will be any more liberal and democratic than his predecessor. President Bush had to acknowledge that building democracy in former authoritarian states is ‘difficult work’ and went on: ‘While peaceful revolutions can bring down repressive regimes, the real changes and the real challenge is to build up free institutions in their place’ (Bush 2005: 2). The final concern over the export of democracy is that the resultant democratic revolution might not be successful. In fact, the encouragement of revolt by the West might lead to brutal repression or the destabilisation of society and, in those circumstances, the cause of democratisation could easily be put back many years. Arguably, this happened in Hungary in 1956. In more recent times, Uzbekistan and Belarus could be viewed as other examples, although the long-term effects of the clampdown in those two countries still remain uncertain. As Mark R. Beissinger has noted, the ‘coloured revolutions’ in Georgia, Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan were successful crucially because the existing regimes chose to stand down rather than fight (Beissinger 2006: 3). This cannot be guaranteed in all cases (as Uzbekistan and Belarus showed), making the active support of democratic revolutions, as George W. Bush’s father might have noted, a high risk strategy. Russian Foreign Minister, Sergei Lavrov, was also cautious: ‘It is not only impossible to introduce democratic values into one society or another,’ he said, ‘it’s also dangerous’ (Pravda.ru 19 May 2005). Lavrov was being too absolute. The West imposed democracy on both Germany and Japan after World War II, and both states emerged as stable, prosperous and peaceloving democracies. It may be, however, that circumstances were uniquely propitious in each case. Both states were defeated in war and accepted unconditional surrender. Both were remarkably ethnically homogenous, and society in both cases largely accepted the degeneracy of the existing system and craved something new. This craving also applied to most of Eastern Europe as the cold war came to an end. They did not view liberal democracy as an alien system. On the contrary, the vast majority in those countries felt a part of Western culture and wanted to embrace the Western way of life. It would be wrong to emphasise the differences between the aspiration

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of Europeans and those living in the Middle East, but it is clear that significant minorities in the Middle East reject the West and Western culture absolutely (see Pew Global Attitudes Project 2005: 2–3). Although polls suggest general support amongst most Muslims for the ideals of democracy, cultural difference makes the export of Western values a more problematic and risky project. Russia’s views on the West lie close to those of Eastern Europe, but, as Huntington might have suggested, it still remains torn in many respects between the East and the West. Russia and Democracy Promotion As George W. Bush prepared for his second term in office, his administration became more publicly critical of Putin’s perceived drift towards authoritarianism. On a trip to Brussels shortly after his re-election in 2004, President Bush called on the Putin administration ‘to renew its commitment to democracy and the rule of law’ (RFE/ RL 2005: 1). A few weeks later, the new Secretary of State, Condoleezza Rice, told journalists on a flight to Moscow that the Kremlin’s backsliding on democracy was ‘very worrying’ (The Guardian, 20 April 20005: 15). In particular, she expressed concern over the centralisation of power in the Kremlin, the reduction of institutional constraints on the President, the weakness of the legal system, and the state takeover of national television. In the most hard-hitting speech of all in Vilnius in May 2006, Dick Cheney made it clear that the US had kept its eye on Russia. ‘In Russia today, opponents of reform are seeking to reverse the gains of the last decade,’ he said. ‘In many areas of civil society – from religion and the news media, to advocacy groups and political parties – the government has unfairly and improperly restricted the rights of her people’ (Cheney 2006: 7). The Bush administration was not alone in criticising the direction of Putin’s policies. Francis Fukuyama argued that ‘Russia under President Vladimir Putin was clearly moving to undo many of the liberal reforms of the Yeltsin era’ (Fukuyama 2006: 58), whilst the Russian Mikhail Zakharov wrote that ‘the period of relatively pluralistic democracy has in fact come to an end’ (Moscow News, no 13, 6–12 April 2005: 4). The OSCE, for the first time during the post-Soviet period, cast doubt on the propriety of both the Duma election in December 2003 and the presidential election of 2004, whilst Freedom House in 2005 changed Russia’s designation from ‘partly free’ to ‘not free’ (Kuchins 2006: 1). The US-EU summit in Vienna on 22 June 2006 also publicly criticised the state of democracy in Russia (G8 2006). Although Putin retained mass support domestically, a growing number of influential Russians were also expressing doubts over Putin’s commitment to democracy. These included the exiled (and largely disgraced) ex-oligarch Boris Berezovsky; the liberal (and highly respected) journalist Anna Politkovskaya; the reformist politician, Andrei Illiaronov, who resigned in protest from Putin’s government in December 2005 and the exchess champion and Putin’s political opponent, Gary Kasparov, who claimed the President’s supporters were preventing him from appearing on Russian TV. Although conditions are better than in the Soviet period, Russia is far from a Western-style democracy. It is not an autocracy, but in the words of Halperin, Siegle and Weinstein, Russia ‘has a long way to go in establishing democratic institutions that can assure

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transparency in government behaviour and hold government officials accountable for their actions’ (Halperin 2005: 99). As a result, in their study, Russia is categorised as a ‘democratiser’ – a state in transition but one, like many, which has regressed in many areas of policy (see Halperin 2005: 68). Under George W. Bush, US assistance for democracy promotion has grown both in gross terms and as a percentage of total US aid. Congress authorised $50 million to be spent by the state for this purpose in the year 2003 (Russian Democracy Act 2002: section 6), and the USAID reported that as much as 40 per cent of its total aid to Russia was spent directly on democracy and civil society in 2005 (USAID 2005: 1). A 2002 US Congress Report argued that this commitment was necessary because ‘a democratic and economically stable Russian Federation is inherently less confrontational and destabilizing in its foreign affairs’ (Russian Democracy Act 2002, section 3:1). Such a view seemed corroborated when the US noted that Russia’s retreat from democracy coincided with a more anti-Western policy. At the Vienna summit in June 2006, the EU and US issued a joint statement lamenting the fact that Russian foreign policy was so often at odds with the West (G8 2006). Increasingly, Moscow was seen as backing authoritarian regimes opposed to the West in the Middle East and Asia, whilst using strong-arm tactics with its neighbours. Vice President Dick Cheney accused Russia of using oil and gas ‘as tools of intimidation or blackmail’against Ukraine, Georgia and even Western Europe (Cheney 2006: 7). Although there was no complete breakdown in US-Russian relations, it was clear that the relationship had deteriorated considerably since the alliance over the war in Afghanistan in 2001. For their part, Russian leaders became nervous over America’s increasingly vocal interventions in Russian domestic politics. The ‘coloured revolutions’ proved that the US could promote regime change in areas of vital importance to Russia without recourse to war. There is little sign of unrest in Russia at present, but Putin fears that the upcoming Duma and Presidential elections in 2007 and 2008 respectively could provide a focus for popular protest. Putin has warned the people that the state would react in ‘a legal but tough way’ against any such ‘unconstitutional’ actions (The Guardian, 26 April 2005: 19; and 6 September 2005: 15). In January 2006, Putin also took action to reduce the likelihood of a ‘coloured revolution’ at home by restricting the autonomy of civil society. He approved a law in January 2006 to create an agency to oversee the activity of the approximately 400,000 NGOs in Russia and to close those using foreign money for political purposes or engaging in activities unrelated to their stated goals (RIA Novosti 2006: 1). Putin has been determined to reduce external influence in Russian politics. ‘Let us,’ he said, ‘resolve the internal problems of Russia ourselves’ (International Herald Tribune, 21 July 2005: 3). Moscow remains dubious that the motives for democracy promotion in Russia are entirely benevolent. Instead, it is perceived as just another means for the US to pursue its own national interests at Moscow’s expense. In a speech in May 2006, Putin was scathing: ‘How quickly all the pathos of the need to fight for human rights and democracy is laid aside,’ he said, ‘the moment the need to realise one’s own interests comes to the fore’ (Putin 2006: 8). Evidence of America’s perceived hypocrisy was provided by Dick Cheney’s visit to Kazakhstan to invest in new oil pipelines from Central Asia. The day after denouncing the state of democracy in

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Russia in his Vilnius speech, Cheney travelled to Kazakhstan to praise the leadership qualities of Nursultan Nazarbayev – a man not known for his commitment to democratic principles (Greenberg and Kramer 2006: 2). Two of Nazarbayev’s political opponents were murdered prior to the flawed election in December 2005, which won Nazarabayev a third six-year term with 91 per cent of the vote. Moscow explains Bush’s more recent enthusiasm for democracy in Russia as a response to the country’s growing economic power and international independence. It is seen as an attempt to weaken the Putin administration and contain Moscow’s growing influence in the world, and most particularly in the CIS. For Moscow denies that there has been any fundamental reversal of democratic principles which could ever justify Washington’s shift in policy since 2003. It is certainly true that democracy in Russia falls far short of the Western model. It is also disappointing that Putin has not used his great political authority to encourage more democratisation. Instead, too often, his first instinct appears to be further centralisation and state control. Nevertheless, Putin’s fiercest critics seem to have a selective memory when it comes to the Yeltsin’s years. Corruption and political assassination did not start when Putin took office. The new political system introduced after the storming of the White House in 1993 was born in violence, and it is also worth remembering that both wars in Chechnya began whilst Yeltsin was still President. In practice, the Yeltsin era was overshadowed by economic collapse. The vast majority of the Russian public was plunged into poverty and powerlessness during his time in office as a small coterie around Yeltsin made the country safe for oligarchs. The Yeltsin administration could scarcely be viewed as a model of accountable democracy. The differences between the Yeltsin and Putin periods should not be exaggerated. In fact, critics concentrate on the process of decision-making in Putin’s Russia and generally find it wanting. However, policy outcome is also an important element in any democratic system. The opinion polls show that Putin has given the Russians what they want, although the process by which he has determined and implemented such policies has not always been made in a fully democratic manner. Putin, himself, has acknowledged that Russia is not yet a Western-style democracy, but offers two, possibly contradictory, explanations. The first suggests that Russia is still in a state of transition and the process towards democracy remains incomplete. This implies, at least, that a Western-style democracy is still possible in Russia and it has not as yet been achieved due to the particular problems it has faced. Not only has Russia had to transform its economy and political system like all other former Marxist-Leninist states, it has also had to get used to living within unfamiliar borders after the break-up of the Soviet Union and come to terms with its much reduced international status (Hughes 2000: 45). States never find such adjustments easy, but public attitudes suggest that full democratisation is not impossible. Despite a certain nostalgia for the Soviet Union in the country which Putin apparently shares (Putin 2005: 1), opinion polls in Russia have consistently shown majority support for the concept of democracy (see New Russian Barometer II–XIII), and a comparative poll revealed that Russia was ‘about the global median in its support for democratic values’ (Kuchins 2006: 2). The second explanation is cultural and rather challenges some of the above poll findings. It suggests that politics in Russia are always likely to be different to that

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in the West because of its particular ‘history and tradition’ (RIA Novosti 2005: 3). In Putin’s mind, Russian-style democracy was always likely to accord a far greater role to the state than in the West. When Putin was campaigning to become President for the first time, he argued that the Russian public had become worried by the weakening of the state after the fall of the Soviet Union. In his Millennium Address in December 1999, he said: ‘The public looks forward to a certain restoration of the guiding and regulating role of the state, proceeding from Russia’s traditions as well as the current state in the country’ (Putin 2000: 214). ‘Russia needs a strong state power,’ he said. ‘I am not calling for totalitarianism. History proves all dictatorships, all forms of authoritarian government are transient. Only democratic systems are lasting. A strong state power in Russia is a democratic, law-based, workable federal state’ (Putin 2000: 215). Putin’s concerns are in line with critics who have cautioned against imposing a one-size-fits-all form of democracy on all states, irrespective of their history, culture and traditions. A minimalist state with a highly individualist culture has served America well, but it may not be applicable to all developing states (see Smith 2000: 63). In a speech, George W. Bush seemed to accept the point: ‘when the soul of a nation finally speaks, the institutions that arise may reflect customs and traditions very different from our own. America will not impose our own style of government on the unwilling. Our goal instead is to help others find their own voice, attain their own freedom, and make their own way’ (Bush 2005: 2). Given the critical statements of the Bush administration, however, it does not seem to view Putin’s strengthening of the Russian state in these terms. Conclusion There has clearly been a deterioration in US-Russian relations in recent times. Suspicion and distrust have grown on both sides. Dick Cheney has put the onus on Russia to change. Russia, he said, has a choice to make about the future at home and abroad: ‘None of us believes that Russia is fated to become an enemy’ (Cheney 2006: 7). He went on: ‘A Russia that increasingly shares the values of this community can be a strategic partner and a trusted friend as we work toward common goals’ (2006: 8). But his position ignores Washington’s part in the downturn in relations. Democracy promotion has alienated the Kremlin, whilst Bush’s foreign policies have polarised the world. Moscow’s links with Iran, Syria and Hamas might have upset Washington, but it is not obvious that its engagement with those countries and groups is less appropriate than America’s ostracism. In fact, it is the US and the UK who seem to find themselves more isolated than Russia on these kinds of issues. Moscow still wishes to co-operate with Washington where possible, including the war on terrorism and WMD proliferation (see Putin 2006). The US also remains an important trading partner if Russia’s current economic upturn is to be maintained when energy prices start to fall again. But Putin is a Russian nationalist who has endeavoured to restore pride to his country. This means actively pursuing Russian national interests, even if on occasion, this antagonises Washington. No doubt, Putin is sometimes playing to the gallery on this – if far less than Yeltsin – since standing up to Washington has become a popular policy amongst his nationalist backers. Nevertheless, Russia is

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acting no differently to most states in the international system. States strive to pursue their own national interests, and more powerful states are better placed to pursue them more effectively. As Russian economic power grows, Moscow is more likely to become more assertive in relations with other states, whether the country drifts further towards authoritarianism or becomes a more open democracy.

Chapter 13

Conclusion As stated in the previous chapter, relations between Moscow and Washington have deteriorated markedly in recent years. Putin‘s tough speech to a conference on global security in Munich in February 2007 appeared only to confirm that fact (Putin 2007: 1–17). Although still claiming Bush as his friend, Putin took the opportunity to speak his mind and avoid ‘pleasant but empty diplomatic terms’ (2007: 1). In the speech, Putin said he never wanted Russia and America to return to cold war rivalries, but he was highly critical of America’s attitude towards Moscow which he characterised as unnecessarily aggressive. NATO had expanded, he said, and had placed frontline troops on Russian borders in violation of earlier promises given when the Warsaw Pact was abolished at the end of the cold war. Furthermore, this was all happening against the background of Russia withdrawing from its military bases in Georgia and reviewing its strategic position in Moldova (Putin 2007: 6). Moscow was also strongly opposed to the proposed deployment of defensive missile systems in Poland and the Czech Republic. Washington said the deployment was not directed against Russia, but none of the anti-Western rogue states, according to Putin, have missiles of a range which could threaten Europe in the near future (2007: 5). Meanwhile, Washington’s democracy promotion programme seeks to destabilise Russia and decouple Moscow from its allies in the former Soviet Union. In general terms, Putin blamed unipolarity and the supremacy of the United States for the rising level of global insecurity. He defined unipolarity as a world where there is one centre of authority, one centre of decision-making, and one centre of military force – a world with ‘one master, one sovereign’ (2007: 2). This was not a democratic world system, he said, and Putin viewed it as inherently unjust and unsustainable over the longer term. The US takes it upon itself to set the international agenda and then expects all other countries to follow its lead in a respectful and orderly fashion. However, unilateralism, Putin claimed, had led to American ‘disdain for the basic principles of international law’ (2007: 2). International law was important, he said, because it can act as a form of ‘stone wall’ to protect different nations in an uncertain world (2007: 3). In fact, ‘unilateral and frequently illegitimate actions have not resolved any problems,’ he continued. On the contrary, ‘they have caused new human tragedies and created new centres of tension’ (2007: 2). Indeed, America’s eagerness to use military force had plunged the world into ‘an abyss of permanent conflict’ (2007: 2). This, in turn, had made the world feel more insecure and encouraged the arms race which, ironically, had become a cause of growing concern to Washington (2007: 3). Putin welcomed the emergence of a more multipolar world as America’s global dominance is being challenged by the emerging economies of China, India, Brazil and Russia (2007: 3). However, he rejected the return to balance of power politics and favoured a world system in which states’ behaviour was regulated by

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international law, and the use of force was only permissible if approved by the UN (2007: 4). These are fine principles which liberal internationalists would applaud. In essence, it would represent a return to the New World Order outlined by Bush senior and Gorbachev at the time of the first Gulf War. However, Washington has a right to be suspicious of Moscow. Putin seems to perceive international law and the UN more as a means of constraining the US rather than as a real basis for a new world system. For Russia showed little interest in winning international support for its war against the Chechen rebels. Moscow has also proved dismissive of reports of human rights violations in Chechnya on a scale unmatched by anything committed by the Americans in Guantanamo Bay. Furthermore, Moscow has often adopted a neo-imperialist attitude in its dealings with the Soviet successor states, whilst countries in Eastern Europe still fear the possible implications of Russia’s growing economic and military power. Putin’s position on America’s military intervention in Afghanistan was interesting in this respect too. He acknowledged that ‘everything done in Afghanistan goes against international law’, but argued that, on this occasion, any such concerns should be overridden by the greater threat posed by al-Qaeda and the Taliban regime (Moscow News, 13–19 March 2002: 4). It would appear from this statement that military action is legitimised in Moscow’s eyes with reference not to international law, but to perceived threats and security interests. Moscow and Washington were in agreement on such threat assessments regarding Afghanistan, but less often elsewhere. In general, as this book has shown, Moscow (like Washington) has generally allowed national interest to dominate its thinking on foreign policy. In practical terms, Putin has done little to encourage the emergence of a new world order based around liberal internationalist principles. Instead, Moscow has found itself, too often from the Western perspective, on the side of tyrants and rogue regimes. Thus, Russia has been seen to defend the interests of Milosevic, Saddam and Ahmadinejad in a series of post-cold war crises. Putin has also defended the repressive regimes of Karimov in Uzbekistan and Lukashenko in Belarus when both came under American pressure to democratise. This has led to claims of Moscow acting irresponsibly. It has also led to some arguing in favour of isolating countries such as Russia and forming a coalition of democratic states (Clark 2007: 2). In essence, this may not be much different from Samuel Huntington’s call for a closer alliance of Western states. However, a democratic coalition sounds equally impractical. There is no reason to suppose that a democratic coalition, any more than Putin’s Russia, would always be willing to toe the American line, and without Washington it is not obvious how effective any democratic coalition would be. In fact, the divisions over Iraq showed that the basic fissures in the contemporary world do not lie straightforwardly along autocratic and democratic lines. Nevertheless, Putin is wrong to be so disdainful of democracy. There is sufficient evidence to show that internal political structures can both affect foreign policy and the levels of militancy inside a country. However, democracy alone is clearly not sufficient in itself to eliminate militant Islamism. The home-grown suicide bombers in London prove that. Other factors have to be taken into account too, although their relative importance might well vary in each case. Thus, Putin has tended to

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put more emphasis on reducing inequality and poverty as a long-term solution to Islamist terrorism (Rossiiskaya gazeta, 14 September 2004: 1). Critics argue that Islamist terrorists are not always impoverished and their countries of origin are often comparatively wealthy, whether it is Britain or oil-rich Saudi Arabia. Yet Putin was surely right to cite poverty and poor social conditions in the Caucasus as one of the more important factors in the rise of militancy in that particular region. Finally, the policies of both Washington and Moscow towards the Muslim world must also come into the equation. Leaders in both Washington and Moscow seek to deny their relevance, but opinion polls consistently show that significant minorities in the Islamic world perceive systematic oppression by the great powers. It is true that neither Iraq nor Chechnya caused Islamist terrorism, but those wars have clearly added to a feeling of persecution within much of the Muslim world. Both Bush and Putin have placed considerable emphasis on the military in dealing with terrorism. Undoubtedly, there is a place for the use of force. There are occasions when the extremists cannot be appeased and need to be confronted. Indeed, Putin’s strong-arm tactics in Chechnya (which he frequently criticises when used by the Americans) have arguably restored some kind of order which has encouraged inward investment in the republic and offered some hope to the Chechen people for the first time in many years. Yet force can achieve only so much. There appears little prospect of an end to the ‘long war’ without also winning the battle for hearts and minds. Recent polls show that Islam plays an increasingly important part in the lives of many Muslim people. It also appears that a significant number in Muslim countries welcome the growing influence of religion in their countries’ politics (Pew Global Attitudes Project 2005: 1). However, there is little evidence of growing support for Osama bin Laden’s extreme version of political Islamism (Pew Global Attitudes Project 2005: 1; and 2006: 3). Terrorism has alienated the West, but it has also divided the Muslim world. The Muslim world is far from becoming an extremist monolith. This provides greater room for negotiation and compromise between the Muslim and Western and Orthodox civilisations. This needs to be taken advantage of. The long war has gone on long enough.

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Index Abbas (Mahmoud), 129, 131–132, 133, 134 Abkhazia, 62, 143–144, 150 Afghanistan, 6, 8–9, 27–37, 84–94 aid, 29, 30, 32, 35, 36 and Iran, 116 and Moscow, 30–35, 90–94, 168 Soviet war, 7, 20–21, 27–37 US war, 8–9, 84–85 Ahmadinejad (Mahmoud), 116–117, 121, 168 and nuclear proliferation, 118–119 and the US, 120 and Israel, 117 Aid, 36, 92, 143–144, 149–150, 152, 156, 158, 163 to Iraq, 113 to mujahideen, 21, 27, 32, 35, 36 to Palestine, 132, 134 to Russia, 4, 156, 163 to Yugoslavia, 54, 55, 58 Akayev (Askar), 145, 148, 151–152 Al-Qaeda, 8, 9, 10, 21, 81–85 aims, 86–89 and Afghanistan, 84, 168 and Central Asia, 148, 149 and Chechnya, 79 and Iran, 115–116 and Iraq, 98, 100, 103, 104 and Palestine, 134 Russian view of, 91–92, 168 Western response, 88–90 Amin (Hafizullah), 29, 30, 31 Andijan uprising, 152 Anti-Americanism, 6, 40, 88 in Russia, 24, 65, 163 Anti-Semitism, 24, 123, 128 Arab League, 41 Arafat (Yasser), 77, 124, 126, 127, 128, 130 death, 131 return to Palestine, 129

Russian view, 132 under siege, 131 Armenia, 68, 114, 136, 137, 140–142 August coup (1991), 35, 52, 65, 70, 129136–137 Avturkhanov (Umar), 71 Azerbaijan, 26, 68, 114, 137, 138, 139, 140–142, 149, 152 Aziz (Tariq), 43, 45 Azzam, Abdallah, 27 Baker (James), 43, 44, 51–52 Bakiyev (Kurmanbek), 142, 151, 161 Baltic Republics, 9, 25, 26, 135, 136, 137, 138, 140 Barak (Ehud), 130 Basayev (Shamil), 72, 73, 75, 77, 79, 80 assassination of, 78 and Dagestan, 74 and Khattab, 74 training of, 79 Belarus, 64, 140, 142, 152–153, 158, 161, 168 Berezovsky, Boris, 3, 82, 151, 159, 162 Beslan School siege, 2, 25, 68, 76–81 Bessmertnykh (Alexander), 44, 51 bin Laden (Osama), 21, 27, 37, 83, 86–89, 169 and Central Asia, 147, 148 and Chechnya, 79–80 and Israel, 87 and the Taliban, 36, 84 and the Gulf, 41, 48 and America, 83, 87 Blair (Tony), 89, 98, 100 Blix (Hans), 99 Bosnia, 8. 16, 23, 49, 51, 53–59, 60, 87 Contact group plan, 57 Dayton peace plan, 58 ‘lift and strike’ policy, 55

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and NATO, 54, 55, 56, 57, 58 Russian policy, 54, 56–57, 59, 65, 91–92 safe areas, 55–56, 58 US role, 57, 58, 157 Vance-Owen Peace Plan (VOPP), 55 war, 53–59 Brezhnev (Leonid), 19, 28, 30, 125, 126, 128, 135 Budennovsk hospital siege, 72, 78 Bush (George H. W.), 13, 35 attempted assassination, 96 ‘Chicken Kiev’ speech, 156 Gulf War (1990–1991), 39, 42–45, 47, 52 New World Order, 13, 168 Bush (George W.), 5, 6, 9, 13, 25, 94, 98, 105, 106, 149 and Arafat, 130 and ‘axis of evil’, 9, 94, 98, 116 and democracy promotion, 10, 150–153, 155–166 foreign policy, 5–7, 98 on Chechnya, 81 on Iran, 116, 118, 119, 120 on Iraq, 97–104 on Israel-Palestine, 130 on NATO, 90 on new world order, 13 on Russia, 26, 91 and terrorism, 83–84, 157 Bushehr nuclear reactor, 114, 117, 118 Carter (Jimmy), 30, 31, 32, 35, 110–112, 126 Caucasus, 9, 16, 23, 25, 36, 42, 74, 76, 82, 109, 112, 140, 141, 150 ethnic division, 67, 68 and Iran, 112, 114 and Islam, 8, 23, 79, 80 nationalism, 136 response to 9/11, 148–149 and Russia, 9, 77, 81, 91, 144, 151, 169 Ceausescu (Nicolae), 12 Central Asia, 9, 135, 137, 140, 144–145 energy, 141, 145, 163 and Iran, 109, 112, 114 and Islamism, 9, 92, 147–149 response to 9/11, 148–149 Russian policy to, 9, 29, 81, 91, 146 and US, 9, 25, 91, 94, 150, 151, 152, 163

Chechnya, 8, 20–21, 67–82, 164, 168, 169 Beslan school siege, 2, 25, 68, 76–81 casualties, 76 Dubrovka theatre siege, 76 first war, 69–73 human rights violations, 72, 75, 76, 81–82, 168 inter-war period, 73–75 Islam, 79–80 Khasavyurt agreement (1996), 73 media reporting, 3, 72 public opinion, 72, 75 second war, 74–77 terrorism, 72, 74, 90 Western role, 80 Cheney (Dick), 153, 165 and al-Qaeda, 88–89 and Russian energy policy, 151, 163–164 and democracy promotion, 153, 158, 162, 163, 164 Chernomyrdin (Viktor), 64, 114, 115, 151 China, 5–6, 160, 167 and Iraq, 42, 99, 100 and Russia, 24, 140 and Yugoslavia, 61, 62, 63 Chomsky (Noam), 14 Clash of civilisations, 7, 14, 15–18, 26 and al-Qaeda, 87, 94 and fall of the USSR, 138 and Georgia, 144 and the Gulf, 48, 101, 107 and Nagorno-Karabakh conflict, 141–142 and Russia, 18–21 and Yugoslavia, 8, 49, 64–66 Clinton (Bill), 55, 90 and al-Qaeda, 84, 89 and Chechnya, 80–81 and enlargement, 156 and Iraq, 42, 99, 100 and Russia, 24, 140, 156–157 and Yugoslavia, 55–56 CMEA, 25 cold war, 11–12, 155–156 Collective Security Treaty, 139, 140, 145, 152 ‘Coloured revolutions’, 150–153, 158, 161 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), 137–140, 164

Index Communist Party of the Russian Federation (CPRF), 7, 24, 93, 106 Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), 19, 124 Comprehensive Test Ban Treaty, 4 Confucianism, 16, 17 Contact group, 57 Council of Europe, 77, 81, 152 Croatia, 50, 52, 58, 59, 64 declaration of independence, 51 defeat of Serbs, 58 US support, 55 war, 52–53 Dagestan, 23, 67, 68, 72, 74, 78, 80, 106, 148 Dayton Peace Plan, 58 Defence missile system, 167 Defence spending, 3 Russia, 4, 5 US, 83 Democracy promotion, 10, 107, 134, 149, 150–153, 155–166 and Russia, 162–165 Democratic peace theory, 159–160, 168 Dictatorship of the law, 2 Doyle (Michael), 159, 160 Dubrovka theatre siege, 76, 77, 78, 80 Dudayev (Dzhokhar), 69, 70–72 death of, 72, 78 and Islam, 70 Dugin, Alexander, 24–25 Egypt, 83, 124, 125, 126 and the Gulf, 48 peace treaty (1979), 126 ‘End of history’ thesis, 13, 14 Energy Charter (1991), 2 ‘Enlargement’ strategy, 94, 156, 157 Eurasia Foundation, 156 Eurasia Movement, 24–25 Eurasian Economic Community, 140, 145, 152 European Union, 5–6, 17, 18, 25 Fatah, 126, 133, 134 Federal Treaty (1992), 68, 70 Feyadeen Saddam. 101 Foreign Policy Concept (2000), 4

189

France, 43–44 Freedom House, 152, 156, 162 Fukuyama (Francis), 13, 14, 18, 100, 158–159, 160, 161, 162 Gaddis, (John Lewis), 12 Gamsakhurdia (Zviad), 143–144 Gaza, 9, 124, 128, 129, 130, 132, 134 Gazprom, 2 Geneva Accord (1988), 34 Geneva Convention, 90, 125 Georgia, 136, 143–144 and Abkhazia, 143–144, 150 and Chechnya, 69, 81 and Ossetia, 143, 150 and Rose Revolution, 150 and Russia, 4, 20, 26, 62, 150, 167 and US, 10, 150 Gorbachev (Mikhail), 8, 12, 13, 19, 136, 138, 168 and Afghanistan, 32, 33 and the Gulf conflict, 40–41, 44, 47–48 and Israel-Palestine, 127–129 and the new world order, 13, 168 Guantanamo Bay, 81, 168 Gulf Conflict (1990–1991), 39–48 Air war, 44–45 Ground war, 46–47 peace terms, 46–47, 95–96 safe havens, 47 Gulf War (2003), 95–107 and Iran, 104, 116 insurgency, 103–104 Russian policy, 101–102, 104–107 state-building, 102–103 US policy, 97–100 US-Russian relations, 106–107 Hamas, 48, 117, 128, 131, 133, 165 election, 131–132 and Russia, 133 and Fatah, 133–134 Haniyeh (Ismail), 132, 133, 134 Havs (Abu), 80 Hekmatyar (Gulbuddin), 35, 36 Hezbollah, 117, 127, 133–134 Hizb ut-Tahrir (HT), 147 Hobsbawm (Eric), 14 Human Development Report (1999), 14

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Hungarian uprising (1956), 155, 161 Huntington (Samuel), 7, 14–26, 87, 159, 160, 168 and Iraq, 107 and Russia, 18–21 and Yugoslavia, 54, 61, 62, 63 Illiaronov (Andrei), 162 India, 5–6, 119, 167 Ingushetia, 67, 68, 70, 77, 78 International law, 7, 10, 13, 14, 115, 118, 158, 167, 168 and Afghanistan, 31, 84, 90 and Iraq, 39, 40, 47, 48, 100 and Israel, 130–131 and Yugoslavia, 54, 61, 62, 63 International organisations, 13 International terrorism (see terrorism) intifada, 128, 130 Iran, 6, 9, 109–121 Bushehr, 114, 117, 118 IAEA Report, 121 nuclear weapons, 117–120 and US, 111, 120 and Russia, 114–115, 117–118, 119, 120 sanctions, 114–115, 120 and the USSR, 111–112, 113–114 war with Iraq, 112–113 Iraq (see also Gulf conflict and Gulf War), 6, 8, 9, 161 economic sanctions, 96–97 relations with Russia, 95, 96–97 war with Iran, 112–113 Iraq Dossier, 98–99 Iraq Study Group (2006), 103–104, 107, 123 Islam, 87–88 Islamic Movement of Uzbekistan (IMU), 147–148, 149 Islamic Renaissance Party (IRP), 147 Islamism, 147–149, 168 Israel, 123–134 and Moscow, 123–126, 129–130, 132–133 October War, 125 Road Map, 131 Six-Day War, 125, war in Lebanon, 127, 133–134 Ivanov (Igor), 92, 101, 107, 132 Ivanov (Sergei), 4, 6, 76, 91

Izetbegovic (Alia), 54 Jihad, 7, 21, 27, 73, 79, 81, 87, 106, 147, 148 Kadima party, 131 Kadyrov (Akhmed), 76–78, 82 Kadyrov (Ramzan), 78, 82 Kant (Immanuel), 159 Kaplan (Robert), 15 Karadzic (Radovan), 54, 57, 58 Karimov (Islam), 142, 148, 152, 158, 168 Karmal (Babrak), 29, 31, 32, 34 Karzai (Hamid), 85, 92, 116 Kasparov (Gary), 162 Kazakhstan, 114, 137, 140, 142, 144, 145, 148, 152, 163, 164 Khatami (Muhammed), 115 Khattab (ibn-ul), 73, 74, 79, 80 Khodorkovsky (Mikhail), 3 Khomeini (Ayatollah), 101, 110–112, 113, 117 Khrushchev (Nikita), 28, 69, 124 Korea, 6, 115, 119, 155 Kosovo, 59–64 casualties, 61 international law, 62–63 KLA, 59, 63 Racak massacre, 59 Rambouillet talks, 60 Russia’s role, 63–64 UN report (2007), 62 Kozyrev (Andrei), 57, 96, 138, 139 Kurds, 47, 96, 102, 103 Kuwait, 8, 13, 39–47, 95, 96, 113 Kyrgyzstan, 23, 91, 140, 142, 145, 148, 150, 151–152, 161 Lavrov (Sergei), 82, 99, 106, 117, 119, 133, 151, 161 Lebanon, 127, 133–134 Liberal Democratic Party of Russia, 24 Liberal internationalism, 13–14, 60, 168 Litvinenko, Alexander, 3 ‘Long Peace’, 12 ‘Long War’, 6–7, 169 Lukashenko (Alexander), 142, 152–153, 158, 168

Index Maliki (Nuri al), 102, 103, 104 Marsh Arabs, 47 Maskhadov (Aslan), 69, 73–74, 77 Mearsheimer (John), 14 Military Doctrine (2000), 4, 91 Milosevic (Slobodan), 8, 50–54, 168 fall of, 60, 155 and Bosnia, 57, 58 and Kosovo, 59–65 Mujahideen, 17, 21, 27, 32–35, 41, 70 US aid to, 35–36 Mussadiq (Muhammed), 109, 110 Nagorno-Karabakh, 141–142 Najibullah, 34, 35 National Endowment for Democracy (NED), 156 National Security Concept (Russia), 4, 91 National Security Strategy (US), 98 NATO, 18, 25, 89, 138, 151, 158 in Afghanistan, 85, 90, 92 and the Gulf, 42 and Russia, 63, 167 and Yugoslavia, 8, 54–65 Nazarbayev (Nursultan), 142, 152, 164 New World Order, 13, 39, 47, 95, 156, 168 Niyazov (Sapamurad), 145, 149 Northern Alliance, 84, 92, 116, 149 Nuclear deterrence, 11–12 Nuclear proliferation, 117–120 ‘Oil for food’ programme, 97 Oligarchs, 156, 164 Omar (Mullah), 36, 84, 89 Operation Enduring Freedom, 84 Orange revolution, 150–151, 161 Organisation of Islamic Countries, 23 OSCE, 151, 152 and Chechnya, 81 and Russia, 162 and Yugoslavia, 59, 63 Oslo Accords (1993), 129–130, 132 Ossetia, 62, 76, 78, 143, 144, 150 Pakistan, 21, 27, 31, 34, 35, 36, 48, 79, 85, 91, 118, 119 Palestine, 9, 123–134 economic conditions, 134 sanctions, 132, 134

191

Soviet policy, 127 Palestinian Authority, 129, 133 Peshawar Seven, 35 PLO, 126–127, 128, 132 Politkovskaya (Anna), 3, 79, 162 Powell (Colin), 91, 98, 99 Primakov (Yevgeni), 40, 139, and the Gulf, 40, 41–42, 45, 99–100 and Kosovo, 63, 64 and the Middle East, 129 Public opinion, 25–26, 93, 162, 164, 169, Muslim views of West, 162, 169 Russian views of democracy, 164 Russian views of terrorism, 93 Russian views of the US, 25–26 Putin (Vladimir), 1–4 and Chechnya, 74–75 and the CIS, 139 defence policy, 3–4 and democracy promotion, 158, 163, 167 economic policy, 1–2, 4 energy policy, 4, 25, 150, 151 foreign policy, 3–4, 5–6, 25–26 and international law, 13–14, 167, 168 and Iraq, 104–107 and Kosovo, 63 and the Orange Revolution, 151 political policy, 2–3, 68, 76–77, 162–164 and terrorism, 89–91 transition, 164–165 and the US, 25–26, 94, 167 Ramallah, 129, 131, 132 Rambouillet talks, 60–61, 64 Reagan (Ronald), 35, 156 Realism, 14, 17 Rice (Condoleezza), 116, 120, 156, 158, 162 Road Map (2003), 9, 131, 132 Rose Revolution, 150 Rumsfeld (Donald), 101, 104, 107 Russia, 1–4 and clash of civilisations, 21–25 Constitution (1993), 68 culture, 19–20 economy, 1–2 identity, 20, 22–23 Jews, 22 Muslims, 22–24, 94 political system, 162–164

192

Russia, America and the Islamic World

nationalism, 24, 67 Orthodoxy, 19, 21–24 regional politics, 67 transition, 164–165 and the US, 25–26 Saakashvili (Mikhail), 142, 150 Saddam Hussein (see also Gulf conflict and Gulf War), 47–48, 168 execution, 104 and al-Qaeda, 98, 100 war with Iran, 112–113 Sakhalin-2 project, 2 Serbia, (see also Yugoslavia), 49–66 relations with Russia, 64–66 Shah of Iran, 109–111 Shanghai Co-operation Organisation (SCO), 6, 140 Sharon (Ariel), 127, 130–132 Shevardnadze (Eduard), 143–144, 150 and Afghanistan, 34 fall, 150 and the Gulf, 39–40, 41–42; 47 ‘Shock and awe’ strategy, 101 ‘Shock therapy’, 156 Slavophiles, 19–20 Slovenia, 51–52 Solana (Javier), 14–15 Solzhenitsyn (Alexander), 155–156 Soros Foundation, 152, 156 Soviet Union, 3, 9, 11, 138 fall, 12 and nationalism, 135–136 Russian views of, 19 Stalin (Josef), 22, 27, 28, 69, 112, 123, 124, 128, 135, 144 Stinger missiles, 35–36 Tadzhuddin (Talgat), 106 Tajikistan, 20–21, 145–147 Taliban, 8–9, 35, 36, 84, 168 and Central Asia, 147 insurgency, 85 and Tajikistan, 146 Iranian view, 115–116 Taraki (Nur), 29–32 Tatars, 67, 68 Terrorism, 4, 7, 83–89, 169 war on, 83–94

US-Russian relationship, 93 Russian polls, 93–94 Russian response, 90–94 Tito (Josip Broz), 50, 51, 53 Tudjman (Franjo), 52, 53, 54, 58 Tulip Revolution, 150–152 Turkey, 47, 48, 109, 112, 133, 141 Turkmenistan, 145, 147, 149 Ukraine, 4, 10, 137, 139, 140, 156, 161, 163 independence, 137 Orange revolution, 150–151, 161 and Russia, 4, 20–21 Union Treaty, 136 United Nations (UN), 168 and al-Qaeda, 89, 90 and Georgia, 144 and Iran, 113 and Iraq, 39, 43, 46–47, 95–96, 98–99, 100 and Yugoslavia, 49, 52, 54, 55–56, 61, 62 US Agency for International Development (USAID), 156, 163 US, 5–7, 155–166 and Afghanistan, 8–9, 84–85 and al-Qaeda, 81–85 and Iraq, 97–100 power, 5–7, 11, 17 and Russia, 25–26 and Yugoslavia, 55 Uzbekistan, 148, 149, 152, 158 Vance-Owen Peace Plan, 55 Wahhabism, 36, 74, 79, 80, 86, 87, 147 Waleed (Abdul), 80 Warsaw Pact, 25, 42, 63, 167 War on terrorism (see terrorism) Weapons of Mass Destruction (WMD), 4, 96 West Bank, 9, 124, 125, 128, 129, 130, 131, 132 Westernisers, 19–20 Yanukovich (Victor), 150–151, 161 Yeltsin (Boris), 12, 13, 157, 164 Chechnya, 71–72 impeachment, 72 and Kosovo, 63

Index and Iraq, 96 re-election, 157 Yugoslavia, 6, 8, 49–66 Bosnian war 53–59 Carrington plan, 51 Dayton, 59 and EC, 53 Kosovo war, 59–63 German view, 52–53

Rambouillet talks, 60–61, 64 Soviet view, 52–3 the fall, 50–53 Yukos, 3 Yushchenko (Victor), 142, 151, 161 Zakayev (Akhmed), 82 Zhirinovsky (Vladimir), 24, 65 Zyuganov (Gennadi), 24, 93, 157

193