More than Fake News: Lessons Learnt by Ukraine — Volodymyr Yermolenko
If politics was an “experimental science” and history was its experimental protocol, Ukraine would be the most fruitful field of study of Russian propaganda. Today, Ukraine is learning a lot from Western countries, but when it comes to counteracting Russian expansion, it apparently has experience that other countries, most likely, lack. The events that took place after 2014 in Central Eastern Europe, Western Europe and even in the United States — disinformation, defamation of democratic institutions, cyber attacks, meddling in internal politics — gave Ukrainians a feeling of déjà-vu, something they had experienced much earlier.
It is not surprising that StopFake was established in Ukraine rather than anywhere else. It is one of the most famous Ukrainian information projects, a tool, and experience of “unmasking” fake news, fictitious stories, mythologized statements and manipulated photos and videos. The experience possessed by this project is actively considered by the world and is applied to new needs.
However, the understanding of Russian propaganda and countering it should not be limited only to the “fight against the fake.” The problem is much more profound: Russian propaganda is not just a lie and not always a lie. Sometimes it states half-truths, sometimes it points at real problems, and sometimes it plays semitones. Propaganda is a discourse — that is, a whole chain of messages, statements, arguments, images, metaphors, real or not, fictitious or not, which have a particular purpose.
The purpose of Russian discourse could be considered the pursuit of power and dominance. That is how it is traditionally seen by those who analyze the authoritative backstage discourse after the Second World War, particularly after the German “critical theory” or the French philosophy of the 1960s-1970s.
The will for power, no doubt, is present in Russian propaganda too. However, in my opinion, one crucial detail distinguishes it from other examples of propaganda, misinformation, or misleading strategies familiar to Western observers — for which they often lack proper optics. Russian propaganda discourse positions itself not so much in terms of relations of power, as in terms of relations of war. Ukraine is living through this — they do not want to hold sway over us, they want to destroy us. However, there is no guarantee that for the final goal for modern Russia is Ukraine. Russia probably does not seek to destroy the Western world physically, but in any case, it strives to erase its concepts.
In this section, I will try to summarize the conclusions that Ukrainians have drawn from their permanent existence alongside Russian propaganda. The main lesson is that the logic of this propaganda is precisely in maintaining a strategy of destruction: either the destruction of a particular reality or the destruction of certain concepts. That is why it should be taken seriously.
Not only misinformation: how democracy itself becomes a fake
The theme of democracy is one of the crucial issues that Russian propaganda works with.
However, Russian propaganda’s work with democracy is not straightforward. It would be naive to expect just a simple thesis from it — allegedly, Western democracy is evil, and that is it. Today, everything is much more complicated.
In fact, the Russian regime is actively using a democratic argument to legitimize itself. After all, today’s authoritarian Russia thinks in terms of democracy, unveils itself as democracy, sees itself at least “decorated” with democracy — therefore, it is ready to criticize others from the point of view of democracy.
This hybrid of “authoritarian democracy” simultaneously brings nearer and distinguishes modern Russia from the left totalitarianism of the communist USSR or the right totalitarianism of Italian fascism or German Nazism of 1920–1930. On the one hand, German Nazism, Italian fascism, and Russian communism used democratic rhetoric, presenting themselves as “true” democracies that are formed by the general “will of the people” (or class) embodied in the will of its leader — the “Duce”, “leader” or “Fuhrer”. We often forget about this “democratic rhetoric” of totalitarianism of the twentieth century.
On the other hand, they put forward a program for the building of society and state that was radically different from the classical idea of democracy. The term “totalitarian,” which at first was used by the Italian fascist ideology to denote its regime, envisaged monolithic unity, homogeneity, “totality” of society — it should be a mono-organism pierced by one idea, one chain of institutions and one conviction[1]. Its main opponent was plurality.
Now everything has changed. Authoritarian regimes ceased to combat the idea of plurality. Instead, it has become a reality that cannot be avoided. Neo-authoritarian regimes, in Russia, Turkey, China, etc., live in an ocean of opportunities and, therefore, have to take it into account. However, they can reckon with it either by adaptation or by aligning this plurality with themselves. Typically, they choose the second option, therefore their primary tactic is to turn multiplicity into a fake.
This is customary for the Russian propaganda discourse in Ukraine and Europe. They do not fault them for the lack of “authority,” hierarchy, a strong hand, an effective repressive apparatus or a single ideology. No, the charges are quite different: democratic — Ukraine and EU countries allegedly lack freedom, respect for minorities, justice and liberalism. Ukraine is bad not because it is not sufficiently “authoritarian” or not sufficiently, say, Orthodox, but because it is not “democratic” enough.
The identification of post-Maidan Ukrainian powers as a “junta” became a classic and well-known one. After 2014, politics is interpreted as a realization of a certain “scenario” from outside. They say undemocratic and intolerant “Nazis” control power in Ukraine. Poroshenko’s rule is described as a “dictatorship”, and this claim is sounded by people close to Yanukovych’s regime. (For example, Oleksandr Klymenko, one of the most famous representatives of the “Yanukovych Family” and the “wallet” of his regime, talks about the “dictatorship”. Now he is presenting himself on the part of (fake) “civil society”.
The purpose of all these images is to emphasize the “undemocratic” opponent (or enemy) in order to convince everybody that Russian authoritarianism is, in fact, not authoritarianism at all.
Raising the issue of the democratic legitimacy of Western countries, the Kremlin’s ideology is attempting to distract the most common argument from itself and, at the same time, to hit right into the heart of the opponent’s identity. You criticize us for lack of democracy — but look at yourself, you are no better, you are even worse. The thesis of the democratic illegitimacy of power is a constant refrain regarding post-Maidan Ukraine, but it is also directed against the EU itself. The thesis of a shortfall of democracy in Europe is a favorite thesis of Russian propaganda channels in reference to the European Union. These counter-arguments operate according to whataboutism logic: the aim is not to respond to criticism, but arrange for opponents to be killed by their own arguments.
For example, it is notable how Russian media operating in Ukraine pick up the concept of hybridity and apply it to Ukraine itself. Hybridism is a concept that, Ukrainian and Western commentators have used to describe Russian aggression since 2014. The concept means that Russian aggression is not a classic war but a mixture of military, information, energy, diplomatic, and economic actions.
However, to depreciate this concept, Russian propaganda “returns” it to the critics: look at yourself — you are the hybrid ones. The website ukraina.ru, funded by Russia and designed to bring Russian official information sources to the Ukrainian audience, frequently uses this concept in reference to “Ukrainian hybridization” and “hybrid junta”.
Also, look at the narrative regarding separatist “republics” in the Donbas region. They are a classic example of constructed puppets, proxies: the technology of realization of a large player’s interests via “independent hands,” allegedly without engaging this player. However, the Russian narrative regarding them is democratic, even “ultra-democratic”[2].
Separatist entities identify themselves as “national republics” formed through “popular referendums.” Their leaders call themselves “People’s Governors” from the very start (Pavel Gubaryev was “People’s Governor of Donetsk region” in 2014; today he remains within the bodies of the so-called “DNR”). Their armed forces were called “self-defense” and “people’s militia.” All these names created an illusion of “movement from below,” a genuine democratic uplift, and “organic” self-creation. However, despite the fact that the Russian vector really received support from the local population, the separatism of “certain regions” of the Donbas would be impossible without proper “heating up” from outside. That is, without the massive activity of Russian organizations in Donbas in the 1990s-2000s and “fierce” heating up in the spring and summer of 2014.
The reality on the ground, however, is completely contrary to the “democratic” discourse. Take freedom of speech: the media discourse in the so-called “DNR/LNR” is definitely authoritarian (according to studies, over 82% of media messages are complimentary towards the authorities of the separatist “republics”, 18% are neutral, and there are almost no critical reports; the front pages of printed materials are often published with portraits of local leaders).
The case of the “DNR/LNR” is particularly crucial because it is the most “raw” and “inexpert” (for it was created at “local” level). However, it is an illustrative example of the game between “democratic” rhetoric and de facto authoritarian reality. These quasi-states are “people’s” — but actually, people have no voice in there. “Democratic” — but the media only praise the authorities. The “militia” maintains defense, but the army of a neighboring state plays a critical role.
Russia criticizes the weaknesses of Ukrainian democracy through a similar approach. Russian propaganda blames Ukraine for the lack of freedom of speech — e.g. because of the ban on Russian social networks or the searches of the Vesti publishing house. However, Russia is primarily worried about manifestly pro-Russian media or media with Russian capital, represented as “independent” media — even “the only” independent media in Ukraine; since only those media outlets which are utterly dependent on Russia itself can be “independent”.
When the pro-Russian columnist and journalist Oles Buzyna was killed in Kiev in 2015, Dmitriy Kiselyov, perhaps the main Russian propagandist, called him “the greatest Ukrainian of his generation.” However, Buzyna’s “greatness” for Russian propaganda was only in his denial of the legitimacy of Ukrainian identity. He was known for his self-stylization to the white officers of the Russian Empire — the same as Girkin, the main leader of acts of sabotage in spring 2014, which led to the war. The major volte-face of Russian propaganda is as follows: the “greatest” Ukrainian can only be a person who puts Ukraine in doubt, who wants to erase Ukraine as a failed state. The greatest “natives” are only those who want to sacrifice themselves for the empire.
In Russia, the values of “freedom of speech” apparently do not apply to Ukraine. So as to divert suspicions of “authoritarianism,” they imitate and theatricalize. There is no freedom of speech — instead, there is a bad theater, where freedom of speech is “played.” In addition, they play according to a well thought out scenario, where one point of view is by necessity presented as a true one and the opposite one — as false — with the obligatory tagging.
Talk shows with “Ukrainian” speakers — or guided ones (they are not well known in Ukraine — though in Russia they are presented as famous bloggers ) are top-rated on Russian television, or from the circle of Yanukovych’s former “elite”: politicians, “political scientists” experts, etc. The mission of the Ukrainian guest is to be an object of public condemnation and mockery.
For example, Dmytro Suvorov, “Ukrainian political scientist” (in Ukraine he is not very famous, although he is a frequent guest on Russian television) was a guest recently on the Pust’ govoryat (“Let them talk”) talk show on Russia’s central Channel One. During the live program, he expressed an explicitly provocative remark (it is hard to imagine that the editors of the channel did not sanction it), after which he was thrown off the show with screams of “get out of here.” And he left the studio quite obediently.
Here are other examples: the presenter on an official Russian channel is never an impartial moderator. He actively helps one of the sides, and invited “Ukrainian” guests are ridiculed no matter what they are talking about. This is like a media “rethinking” of the Soviet court system, in which the judge, and sometimes even the lawyer, were actively assisting the prosecutor.
In other words, Russia likes to play democracy for the purpose of its denial — or, using the words of French philosopher Marcel Gauchet, to use “democracy against itself.”
For this purpose, they use not only fake talk shows, fake institutions or fake “people’s republics” but also fake “civil society.”
In this book, we write in the main about one of the techniques of current Russian propaganda: the “shop floor initiative” and many letters in support of Russia and the Russian vector. (For example, “letters from trade unions demanding Ukraine return to Russian markets — which were closed by Russia itself.) At some point, those Ukrainian media outlets that were under the influence of Moscow began to actively publicize these letters.
Similarly, the technique of fake “public organizations” was actively used. They were preparing the ground for the coming of Russian authorities in 1990–2000. Russian soft power has always been preparation for hard power.
This is how the logic of a new “floating” authoritarianism, or a flexible oligarchy, works: if we are doomed to live with elements of democratic institutions, it is necessary to use these institutions for their own benefit and give “democratic legitimacy” to something that by its nature is not democracy at all. Fake democracy serves, therefore, as an instrument of the enemies of democracy, a virus, and simulacrum, which is intended to discredit and destroy democracy within itself.
Cynical mind: how ideologies change their masks
The use of democracy against itself and the use of the value of freedom of speech against itself are interesting examples of Russian doublespeak. Because, on the one hand, Russian propaganda says that in Ukraine and Europe dissidence and freedom of speech are suppressed. On the other hand, Western democracy is doomed to collapse, freedom of speech “went too far” because it ignores the traditional and religious values that are the basis of identity. On the one hand, there is a crackdown on “dissent” in Ukraine and Europe but, on the other hand, dissidence is evil. Russian propaganda often uses values like cards in a poker game: when they need liberals, they use liberals; when they need traditionalists, they use them. For the Kremlin’s propaganda, there is nothing dissonant in this contradiction between values: suspicious of “formal” logic with its demand for the identity of concepts, Russian propaganda believes that one concept can be easily changed for another.
There are also similar accusations of corruption, which Russian propaganda often spreads, with regard to Ukraine. This accusation is fair (Ukraine has still not made serious progress in the fight against corruption), but it is important from where this criticism comes. Russian propaganda often draws attention to Ukraine’s low position in world corruption rankings. However, the problem is that Russia’s rating is by no means better, so the “point of criticism” is entirely inappropriate here. Russia often criticizes Ukrainian reforms, their halts or delays, from a perspective of an “ideal point” that can coincide with the opinion of Western democracies. The problem is that in Russia itself, the situation with reforms is even worse; and the current Russian regime is ridiculing Ukrainian pro-Western reforms no less than their failure.
In Ukraine, Russian or pro-Russian propaganda murmurs that there are no better or worse standards of the organization of social or political life — there are only pragmatic interests. And that the current reforms in Ukraine allegedly serve someone’s practical interests. For example, anti-corruption activists and anti-corruption institutions, whose “financial sources are well known,” are implementing not so much the desire to clear society of corruption, but their trivial struggle for power. That is how the idea of anti-corruption reform — and any reform at all — is depreciated. Born in the West (in the era of the neo-Marxist “critical theory” of the 1950s), the idea that somebody’s “interests” and ideology may stand behind “universal” values is now actively disseminated in the post-Soviet area. Being in love with great ideas, it became fruitful ground for the “discourse of suspicion.” The Western art of suspicion is used against the West itself and raised to the extreme: there are no “universal” values at all, there is a cynical reasoning behind every ideal and, therefore, a model for transforming society into a more just and more humane one cannot exist.
Using the term of Peter Sloterdijk, if the Western intellectual thought long ago that he understood the problem of “cynical reason,” then modern Russian ideology takes a real enjoyment in it. Only the “cynical reason” allows the ridiculing of something that would have to limit human and national selfishness.
In general, it is not important for Russian propaganda what ideology lies at the root of the Russian project, but how an ideology can be used for its pragmatic goals. In modern Russia, as in the entire post-Soviet area in general, including Ukraine, ideologies are changeable, mutative and gaseous. They are quickly adapted to new realities; they can be rapidly “tooled for” what they need at this particular moment. The Kremlin uses the rotation of ideologies: postmodernism for youth, left-liberal ideas for the critical Western public, right and conservative ideas for a large number of Russian citizens. Ideologies are subject to rotation depending on the tactics, just as the football coach uses rotation of the team during matches. There is no single idea that is irreplaceable; and there is an entire set of “alternative ideas,” that can be “released on the field” when the original ideas do not work.
The set of this rotation often includes values that Russia interprets as the values of their enemy, namely “Western civilization.” However, they are directed against the enemy itself, proving that the opponent does not meet his own values. Thus, it achieves a simple goal: to discredit the idea on which the imaginary enemy builds its society, and the desire to win over its most avant-garde social groups.
War is peace: how Russia attacks through reconciliation
Democracy is used to mask authoritarianism, and “freedom of speech” to mask the “general party line.” The peace is, accordingly, used to hide the war — everything is Orwell-like, nothing more.
“War is peace” — Orwell-style, and Russia is the most skillful in waging war when it shows itself as a peacemaker.
In this book, we have analyzed the “peacemaker’s” narrative, which seeks to solve the problem of the Ukrainian “civil war,” allocating responsibility to Kyiv that “does not comply with the Minsk Agreements” and continues to “endlessly fuel the war.” The fault lies with the victim; its defense is interpreted as “war fueling,” and external aggression as a craving for peace.
This topic has moved today into a global context: Russia offers its “services” as a peacekeeper not only to Ukraine but also to Syria or North Korea.
However, the Ukrainian — and post-Soviet — experience has shown that these peacekeeping ambitions cannot be trusted. “Peacemaking” for Russia has everywhere been only a mask for military expansion.
The narrative of the Second World War can be recalled, when liberation from Nazism was accompanied by atrocities of a new occupation, which were justified by the rhetoric of “liberation.” We can recall the invasion of Afghanistan by the USSR in December 1979, when official news channels reported that Soviet troops were brought in “at the request” of the Afghan Government. One may recall the destabilization in Georgia, where Russian “peacekeeping troops” were brought into South Ossetia in 1992, and since 1994, “peacekeepers” — mostly Russians — have implemented their actions to resolve the “Georgian-Abkhaz conflict.” Russia took advantage of South Ossetia forces in 2008: when one of the parties to the conflict is a “peacemaker,” the situation can be easily turned for its own benefit. A reminder of Moldova, where the 14th Russian army, again, positioned itself as a “peacemaker.”
The tactic of “war through peacekeeping” is very successful in Donbas. Russia launches a war “by proxy,” and then brings in “humanitarian convoys,” which they do not permit to be inspected (perhaps they had something to hide). It then initiates the “Minsk Agreements,” which is another episode of “forced peace” under Russian conditions (the “return” of Donbas to Ukraine as a “Trojan horse,” which is completely controlled by Russia but votes in Ukrainian elections). Furthermore, it plays the game of “UN peacekeepers” only on the demarcation line (de facto legitimizing the separatist “republics”). All this was done just to hide its aggressiveness behind the mask of humanity and to negotiate the best conditions of peace.
Apocalyptics: how everything around is getting closer to its “final hours.”
We have talked about various tactics of masking, hybridization, “dialectization”: authoritarianism is masked as democracy, war as peace, one ideology as another, and so on.
However, there is an important invariant that supports and nourishes this rotation of ideologies. It is the Apocalyptic Discourse.
The essence of this discourse is reduced to a simple message: the forms of society that oppose Russia are doomed to destruction and are experiencing their final hours. What exactly will lead them to these “final hours”? Will it be the internal “contradictions” of opponents of the Russian system or “active actions” by Russia itself? The options may vary.
Ukraine, for example, is depicted as a failed state: the country is about to collapse; the idea of creating a Ukrainian political culture is “absolutely utopian”; Ukraine is “absolutely dependent” on both the West and Russia. Ukraine is also portrayed as a country on the brink of economic collapse — with authorities who “strip off the last layer of skin”. RIA Novosti, an official Russian news agency, is convinced that Ukraine is in for its “last autumn”; the authors assure that if you do not see the imminence of this “apocalypse”, you are either blind, or you live in “a parallel universe” or are under the influence of the “evaporation of toadstool.” As for Ukraine, the metaphor “Ruins” is used actively (in Russian and Ukrainian, from these two words, one can even create a rhyme that obviously inspires Russian political marketers).
Ukraine’s desire to protect itself from Russian aggression and to seek external support is interpreted as an act of self-destruction. Russian propaganda sees the presence of US and NATO troops at the Independence Day Parade as an example of Ukraine’s “full dependence”. Soldiers of partner countries are called “a parade of occupation troops”; and the US is allegedly preparing for the inevitable “partition of Ukraine”. Ukraine — and Eastern Europe in general — is in for new chaos, emptiness, a desert (“wasteland”). They will be “dead lands” between two centers of civilization: Western and Russian.
In this situation, so new Russian propagandists say, Russia does not strive to destroy Ukraine, but merely “rescues it from suicide”. However, while until now Russia was “kind” (during the annexation of Crimea, war on Donbas, war in Georgia, actions by the Russian army in Moldova, Soviet repression, and during the Gulag — is what the creators of these messages probably mean), then from now on it will not be like that — and Russia’s neighbors are in for “a gloomy future”. What is important here is the diametric difference between the narratives of Europeans and Russians about their neighbors: the EU is trying to convince neighbors that it would be better with them (perhaps it is the European Neighborhood Policy — but at least the positive aspirations are obvious). Meanwhile, Russia tries to convince neighbors that things will get worse without Russia — apparently even worse than with it.
Iskander Khisamov, editor-in-chief of ukraina.ru [3], which is sponsored by Russia, goes even further: he takes the premonition of Ukraine’s collapse for granted and, at the same time, he warns against dealing with Ukraine too light-mindedly. He says Ukraine is already a threat to Russia. This is how Proteus of the propaganda discourse transforms — the victim quickly turns into an aggressor; the occupation is explained by the need for “self-defense.” The silent conclusion from Khisamov’s thesis is that Russia must treat present-day Ukraine with even greater aggression. Another “official” commentator urges recognition that Kyiv “declared war against Russia a long time ago” (sic!), therefore, “It should be punished — adequately, rigorously, and effectively.”
This policy of disaster and apocalyptics of Russian discourse towards Ukraine translates into the form of a “third Maidan.” Here we also see the duality of propaganda consciousness: the Kremlin’s official line interpreted Maidan of 2013–2014, as well as the Orange Revolution of 2003–2004, in a clearly negative way, often on the edge of hysteria and despair. Maidan was a symbol of the “junta,” “neo-Nazis” and “external scenario.” Today, however, the Russian information machine uses the metaphor of Maidan for opposed purposes: Maidan is welcomed, it is actively “predicted,” and it is seen as inevitable — an example of the “last autumn.” The “taste” of the third Maidan is “in the air“, “they are shouting about it from newspaper pages, TV screens,” people are “whispering about it in the kitchens“.
Here we see a serious substitution of notions: pro-Western democracy is bad in itself, but when it serves the interests of Russia, it is good. The Maidan which brought the “junta” into power, is bad and illegitimate but the alleged “third Maidan” that will overthrow the “junta,” would be positive and correct.
Characteristically, Maidan is used as a metaphor to denote any protest that takes place in Ukraine. This is an interesting hyperbole because a protest is the symptom of a healthy democracy. Those societies where no protests occur are sick Instead, for Russia, any rally contains an apocalyptic threat. It will allegedly turn into a “new Maidan” that will destroy Ukraine.
That is why Russian information tools use every opportunity to prevent the threat of rebellion — even when it is necessary to resort to distortions. A recent example: information banners on pro-Russian Ukrainian websites stating that “Kyiv is in for an autumn rebellion.” The message of this banner is simple — in autumn there will be a sociopolitical collapse in Ukraine. However, the banner leads to the text “Tuka: Kyiv is in for an autumn rebellion,” where Heorhiy Tuka, both a former volunteer and governor of Luhansk Region, warns about fake (not real) protests. Russian propaganda, however, traditionally uses this message to support the opposite message.
“Apocalyptic” thinking is characteristic for Russian intellectual culture — since the nineteenth century, from Chaadayev and Dostoyevsky to Solovyov and Berdyaev. Russian communism was largely a projection of Orthodox apocalyptics on Marxist concepts. When reading Lenin or Stalin, one can get this feeling: the class struggle is moving into its “final phase” and, therefore, it requires rapid, cruel and impatient actions. The impatient expectation of the “end of the story,” its imminence, and the desperate desire to get rid of those who “detain” this imminence. The process seems to be switching today from Stalin’s times to Putin’s times — in a more relaxed and glamorous form, but with no less fascination with the “last days.”
The Apocalyptic Discourse involves the striving of Russian propaganda to diminish the success of its opponents. The discourse “it is bad anyway” and “everyone is bad anyway” does not permit the selecting and seeing of what is negative, and what is positive.
Let us take the visa-free regime with the EU, which Ukraine received recently. One of Russia’s TV channel, for example, informed that it “can be canceled at any moment.” Another one focused on problems with crossing the border or scuffles on it. The editor of ukraina.ru is trying to reduce everything to simple triggers: the topic of the “visa-free regime” comes along with homosexuality: “gays and visa waiver” is “a sexual blind corner of the Ukrainian revolution”. RIA Novosti, the official Russian “news agency,” revealed a secret: “after September 11, many citizens will be surprised to learn that they are denied entry to the EU”[4]. September 11 has come and gone, but nothing has changed with Ukrainian “visa-free travel.” However, it did not stop Russian propaganda: it will be looking for other “dates of the end of the world.”
In other words, if Russian propaganda actively exploits the problems of Ukraine or Europe, then it actively denies the successes of its opponents.
Deconstruction of successes here is not an instrument of critical re-evaluation or an attempt to inject doubt into mythologized reality; on the contrary, it is a new religion of cynicism. Its purpose is not as critical as it is destructive — not to stimulate the search for a solution to a problem but to persuade the viewer — even the successes out there, abroad, will not save opponents from the indisputable apocalypse.
How exactly does Russian propaganda see the possibility of “the end” of Ukraine? Very often through the prism of the idea of “the clash of civilizations.”
In fact: current Russian propaganda often sees “Russianness” and the “Russian World” not as a nation, but as a separate civilization. An important narrative about the “clash of civilizations,” which must definitely pass through the territory of Ukraine, is related to this. According to one Russian resource, the construction of a “new and multipolar world” involves “defining clear borders” between the new geopolitical players — civilizations. One of such borders passes “across the Dnipro or even more to the West”.
The reflection on the plurality of civilizations is not a Russian invention. It is the invention of those whom Russia considers its enemies — “Western civilization.” The themes of the “plurality of civilization” were born in European romanticism (primarily German — Herder, and French — Ballanche) at the beginning of the nineteenth century and was revived closer to the end of the century and early twentieth century by the authors of the various “philosophies of history”, from Toynbee to Spengler. Simultaneously, it penetrates Russia — Lev Gumilyov or Nikolay Danilevsky; and subsequently, it gets to the Russian Eurasians of the 1920s (Prince Trubetskoy, Suvchinsky, Savitsky, early Florovsky and others). After the collapse of the USSR, it becomes crucial for Russian neo-Eurasians, whose ideologist, Aleksandr Dugin, is a well-known theoretician of the “Russian Spring” and of the current Russian expansion into Ukraine.
In addition, there is another parallel influence (and it is Western as well) — the famous book “Clash of Civilizations” by Samuel Huntington. It also says that the “civilizational split” passes through the territory of Ukraine, more in Western Ukraine than in Central Ukraine. For many modern Russian theorists, Huntington’s text was not a description of reality but a call for action: if Ukraine is really “divided” between civilizations, we must definitely grab “our” piece of civilization. “Krymnash” (Crimea is ours), “Donbassnash” (Donbas is ours) cannot be understood without this ulterior motive: political boundaries between states are fictional; therefore, they can be violated; just borders between “civilizations” are “true.”
However, Huntington’s forecasts for Ukraine proved to be wrong. He tirelessly denied the possibility of a war between Russia and Ukraine (they allegedly belong to one “civilization” and, therefore, war between them is impossible) — and he was wrong. Serious splits may indeed cause wars in the twenty-first century, though they are related not to static “civilizations,” but more to dynamic projects of modernization and demo-modernization — the movement towards greater freedom and equality or reverse motion towards less freedom and equality. The current war in Donbas is not a war between ancient and immovable “civilizations.” It is rather a war between Western civilization and what the Ukrainian-Georgian philosopher Vakhtang Kebuladze calls “the shadow of civilization” — the simulation of Western civilization and simultaneous opposition to Western culture, which modern Russia often is.
Subhumans are everywhere: how to dehumanize the enemy so it would be easier to hate him
One of the most interesting and, at the same time, most shocking themes of Russian propaganda is not only the diverting of the narrative in the direction of fiction but also rigid dehumanization of the enemy.
In our study, we have shown the most famous and the most striking examples: the story of a “crucified boy” in Slavyansk; the Ukrainian authorities allegedly promise every soldier “a piece of land and two slaves”; about a “raped epileptic pensioner;” about “concentration camps for Russian speakers;” about “the extermination of bullfinches” (because they have the same colors as the Russian flag), and so on.
All these examples impress with their absurdity and, at the same time, with the potential of dehumanization that they provide. However, dehumanization and fantasy, oddly enough, do not reduce but increase the “truthfulness” of a story for a person who is ready to perceive it. People believe in such propaganda because they want to believe in terrible, inhuman, and eerie things. After all, some people can continue to believe in themselves, just feeling that others are worse than they are. Only having a picture of absolute evil in front of their eyes, do people think that their lives — sometimes good, sometimes bad — can have justification.
Today, for example, the active use by Russian propaganda of a term like “genocide” is related with such dehumanization. The term, which has very serious weight and serious consequences is very “quick to make” for Russian propaganda. Russian propaganda accuses any action by the Ukrainian authorities of being “genocide”, which one way or another is connected with the theme of identity — either the “genocide of Russian speakers,” or the “language genocide,” or any other.
The concept of “genocide” in Russian propaganda has lost its meaning — but not its effectiveness. Andrey Karaulov, a well-known journalist and laureate of prestigious Russian television awards, recently published a book called “The Genocide of Russians in Ukraine. What the West is silent about”[5].
Crimea’s annexation was justified precisely by the future “genocide” at the hands of mythical Ukrainian nationalists, and official Russia justified its military presence in Donbas precisely through the need to counteract the “genocide of the Russian-speaking population.” The Russkaya Vesna (“Russian Spring”) site (rusvesna.su) has a special tag, “Genocide of the Russian-speaking population”; its themes are the intentional destruction of Donbas by Ukraine. Russian media outlets call current European reforms “social genocide”[6].
The main thing in demonization is the mixture of fantasy and dehumanization: it is necessary to create the image of the most terrible enemy, who commits dishonest and terrible acts — so that he can be denied the last vestiges of humanity.
Just like Stalinist propaganda of the 1930s, Russian propaganda is now creating the image of an enemy who seeks evil for the sake of evil and, therefore, people believe in the most fantastic stories.
Be afraid of us: how Russia threatens to exterminate
The image of absolute evil causes the only reaction, the desire for ruthlessness in response. If your opponent is dehumanized, you can do with him whatever you want. We all remember the crimes of Nazism, but we often forget how Nazism developed an image of the Jewish enemy — as an image of a race that is ruthless to all living things (e.g. practicing “ritualistic killing”) and, therefore, deserves ruthlessness in response. If, however, this enemy is already on the verge of “apocalypse,” then he only needs to be helped a little. That is why another argument actively reinforces the thesis of the apocalypse’s proximity — that Russia itself is capable of causing this apocalypse.
During Dmitriy Kiselyov’s famous broadcast, he talked about the “Perimeter” — or “Dead Hand” automated nuclear response system — that is capable of turning America into “radioactive ash.”
However, few people notice that this theme and this thesis were not singular: the instruments of Russian propaganda continue to push the idea. Sputnik wrote about this system recently, calling it “a doomsday machine”. This material is an adaptation of a report by RIA Novosti, where the Russian nuclear system is referred to as the machine of “Guaranteed retaliatory Armageddon”.
Examples of intimidation in which Russia indirectly threatens Western countries and, at the same time, stimulates aggressive “patriotism” within its society — are not isolated instances. In February 2015, St. Petersburg’s Channel 5 broadcast a report that was an answer to the refusal by Western leaders to attend a Victory Day Parade on May 9 in Moscow.
The leitmotif of the report is as follows — if you are not coming to us, we will come to you with tanks and weapons. Warsaw is 300 kilometers away, so, they say, the T-90 tank will reach the Polish capital “in less than a day.” 1,800 kilometers to Berlin “for the modern army — is no distance at all,” Russian “journalists” continue, illustrating their theses by video graphics with arrows, to show how quickly the Russian army will reach the German capital. Furthermore, against the background of residential buildings (apparently the territory of former East Germany, former “military towns” of the Red Army), we see the lowering of the German flag and hoisting of the Russian flag. As if Russia has seized power in Germany, calmly and without resistance. Russian soldiers can arrive by foot to the nearest capitals, cities like Prague, Vilnius, Riga or Tallinn, , “as it was 70 years ago.” The story ends with the threat of a nuclear strike: Russia’s Western partners will not see “Iskander” and “Satan” because they can be “transported outside of Russia only by air.”
On the Internet there are aggressive and intimidating viral videos, whose message is simple: you should be afraid of Russia. “Be afraid of Russians,” says one of them; “They are Russians. Do not mess with them,” says another; “Russians. Why we won’t defeat them,” joins in the third one, and so on, ad infinitum. In social networks there are also widespread memes about Russian missiles destroying Western cities, particularly London, the capital of the Russian oligarchy.
All this creates the lingering impression that Russian propaganda is aimed at preparing for a major war — both its own population and potential enemy states. According to the logic of “zoopolitics,” the main aspiration is not to win more than your competitor but to lose less than your enemy and, at the same time, be ready for losses, deaths, destruction, at the hands of the “apocalypse”.
Instead of conclusions: a killer comedian
Peter Pomerantsev has come up with a brilliant diagnosis for Russian propaganda: “nothing is true, and everything is possible.” It is possible to agree with Peter in many respects: messages, ideas, statements, tactics, extremes — everything in today’s Russian discourse is either consolidating, or dissolving into the air, becoming gaseous and elusive, baffling, denting the foundation, leaving in doubt, deceiving, and then it provides an opposite idea, etc., indefinitely.
In this sense, Russian propaganda is genuinely “postmodern” — in that sense when the concept of “postmodern” fell to Russian soil in the 1990s: an era where there was no longer any certainty, but where everything was possible.
However, the postmodernism — post-truth — of Russian propaganda is only an instrument, but not the essence. This is its aesthetic side, but not political; this is its form, but not the content. This is the tactic of misleading, obscuring, and confusing — but there is a goal behind all of this, and it is much less playful. This goal is to win the war.
Today’s Russia reminds us of the Joker from the famous Batman movies: outwardly a comedian who plays and juggles, but inside he is a killer.
We can argue whether this new “fog” tactic is a testimony to the “post-truth” era, or rather whether it is a continuation of already known and repeatedly tested narratives. After all, the Russian “post-truth” has long roots. It did not come unexpectedly. The point of its creation is a game with the truth that was typical of the Soviet era. Andrey Vyshinsky, Attorney General of the USSR and Stalin’s “right hand” during the Great Terror, declared in his book on the theory of punishment in the Soviet system: the basis of trials is not “the Procrustean bed of formal logic, which is locked in the ‘yes — yes, no — no’ range of judgments, but ‘really scientific method’ — that is ‘Marxist dialectics.’” This meant one thing: that white could turn into black, black into white — because no formal logic operates, because nothing preserves its identity, because truth can be regarded as a lie and a lie as truth — after all, this is “dialectics.” It was the result of the “post-truth” that flourished in the USSR in the 1930s: its readiness to use fakes, fabricated stories, myths, fantasies not only for information propaganda but even for court decisions, particularly decisions on death sentences. According to Vyshinsky, all these decisions are based on the “dialectic combination of the principle of suppression and coercion with the principle of persuasion and re-education”[7].
Ukraine was the subject of “post-truth” work long before the present time. The court trials involving the Ukrainian intelligentsia in the late 1920s and early 1930s were mostly fictitious. The Holodomor that took the lives of about 5 million people was concealed, as if it had never happened. The West began to detect crimes of Stalinism together with its lies rather late on, and only with the “show trials “ of 1936–1937. However, then it was already late: Western commentators were shocked by the whimsicality of the accusations, but this only indicated that Stalin’s regime was no longer afraid of being blamed for lies. It was modern German historian Karl Schlögel who noted that in show trials “the meaning of the trial was not to seek evidence, but to tell a fantastic story that would cause fear and confusion”[8].
One of the main Ukrainian lessons learned from the confrontation with Russian propaganda is the following: it is not something accidental; it has deep roots and broad traditions. These roots lie in the fact that Russia presents itself in the world as a country that is continually making war, and not building peace. A country that is primarily focused on destruction, not on creation. These roots reach at least the Soviet era, with its complete dissolution of respect for empirical truth in the ideas of “dialectics” and the “higher” truth of history. Perhaps these roots go even further, right into the depths of the Russian Empire.
When Ukrainians observed Russian aggression in Georgia in 2008, they knew that Ukraine would be next, so they perceived the annexation of Crimea and the war in Donbas as a repetition of what has already happened before. When Russian propaganda began to attack American Democrats, the German police, or Macron’s campaign in France, Ukrainians were among the few who were not surprised: we saw a repetition of previous events.
If the same techniques have been repeated through the decades, if they have not disappeared, if they have overcome the limits of major political projects like the Russian Empire or the USSR, then they are able to live longer than we believe. That is, they are much more consistent than meets the eye.
Therefore, protection from them should be much more systematic and resolute than desired.
[1] It is a paradox, but in those days, in the 1920s-1930s, a lot of people thought in terms of a combination of “democratic” and “totalitarian” styles: if a nation has “internal unity,” “totality,” then its enemy is diversity and plurality, and not a “totalitarian” idea.
[2] They exist exclusively due to the Kremlin’s support; the war in Donbas was launched through the direct intervention of Russian contractors like Girkin, Motorola, Bezler, Babay and Russia’s elite Special Forces. When in the summer of 2014 it seemed that the Ukrainian army was about to complete the conflict, the intervention of regular Russian forces led to the defeat of the Ukrainian Army in Ilovaysk and the beginning of the so-called “Minsk process.” Today, the Kremlin’s “curators” control the power of the self-proclaimed “DNR/LNR”. (see here for more details http://ukraineworld.org/2017/04/ten-things-you-should-know-about-russian-involvement-in-ukraine/)
[3] Characteristically, ukraina.ru uses photos of RIA Novosti, the official Russian news agency, almost all the time.
[4] After September 11, many citizens will be surprised to learn that they will be denied entry to the EU for violating the “visa-free” regime, which does not allow long-term residence and working in Europe.”
RIA Novosti Ukraine: http://rian.com.ua/country/20170818/1026874095.html?utm_source=smi2
[5] Andrey Karaulov. The genocide of Russians in Ukraine. What the West is silent about. Ed. Algorithm, 240 p.
[6] These “reforms” are in fact social genocide, and the impact will step up the decline of the hryvnia, connected with the drain of gold reserves, and growth of inflation. RIA Novosti Ukraine: http://rian.com.ua/country/20170818/1026874095.html?utm_source=smi2
[7] Averbakh I. From crime to work. Edited by A.Ya. Vyshinsky. Moscow, OGIZ, 1936, p. VI.
[8] Schlögel K. Moscow, 1937. Cambridge, Polity Press, 2012. Kindle Edition, p. 72.