If you are not a soldier by proxy, you are an intelligence officer by proxy.

The Unrivalled Rivalry — The Thrilla in Manila turns 50

Sep 28, 2025 by Mark Daniel

Fifty years have passed since that grotesque yet glorious night that only the unforgiving sport of boxing could offer up: the Thrilla in Manila, the third and final meeting between “the greatest,” Muhammad Ali, and “Smokin’” Joe Frazier. Defined in the twilight of the divisive politics of the Civil Rights movement in the United States, it remains the greatest rivalry in the history of sport.

The score sat at one apiece. It was the conclusion of the previous two meetings — the rubber match and final dance — contested between two titans of the heavyweight division in boxing’s golden era. The WBC heavyweight world championship was on the line. Ali had once again regained the crown, having defeated and dethroned “Big” George Foreman — the juggernaut who had dismantled Frazier to claim the title, only to be bamboozled by Muhammad’s brilliant “rope-a-dope” tactic in a worldwide shock upset.

This final stanza between Ali and Frazier was fought in the Philippines on 1 October 1975 at 10:45 a.m., scheduled to accommodate the 68 countries worldwide who were tuning in. The downside was that, despite the morning hour in Manila, the arena heated to somewhere between 40–50°C (≈104–122°F). The sweltering heat was not simply confined to the arena. The country was also ready to boil over amid an inflation crisis and the 20-year rule of the kleptocrat Ferdinand Marcos, who reportedly financed the promotion with the poverty-stricken nation’s scarce wealth.

Half a century later, what those two men did within the confines of that squared ring on that now-immortal morning of championship boxing has echoed across the decades. Its fabric is etched into the DNA of boxing’s rich, diverse, and ethically contradictory history. Few events before or since capture what it means to suffer — and to inflict — the beating of a rival: the beautiful yet brutal pugilistic poetry witnessed that night.

Upon entering the ring both men had suffered defeats. Ali had suffered his first loss to Frazier four and a half years earlier (1971), at a time when anger and racial division had moved from the streets into popular culture and sporting arenas. His legs had weakened from the inactivity of exile — he was suspended from the sport after refusing to be drafted into the Vietnam War — and he then suffered his second loss at the hands of Ken Norton, who not only defeated him but also broke his jaw in the process. Fueled by emotional energy and a desire to avenge political injustice, Ali adapted and would later avenge both losses.

Frazier had been viciously dismantled by the formidable George Foreman, who bounced him from pillar to post in a one-sided destruction that saw Frazier relieved of his heavyweight championship with relative ease. It’s hard to watch him hit the canvas time and again. To Frazier’s credit, he was down plenty — and then some more — but he was never out: a stubbornness that defined his career and legacy.

The history books will tell us this was a world heavyweight championship title fight. However, to both Ali and Frazier it was more than that. It was a fight to declare the championship winner of the other. No rivalry in boxing has captured the attention of the world like Muhammad Ali and Smokin’ Joe Frazier. Every elite sportsman needs the perfect dance partner — Ali and Frazier were certainly that. Both were Olympic gold medallists, yet that is about as far as the similarities extended: Muslim vs Christian, dissident vs establishment, and Black vs White. The only problem was that Frazier was neither establishment nor white. Yet that was no obstacle to Ali, who described Frazier as a “Gorilla,” “Uncle Tom” and “flat-nosed ugly pug.” One cannot imagine a more racially stereotyped way to describe a proud Black man. But Ali was a showman, and specifics meant little against the interests of promoting a fight by inflaming existing tensions in society — even if that came at the expense of this Black brother, whom he pushed into the archetypal position of a white man’s champion in the public eye.

Ali was more akin to a ballet-dancing poet than a fighter. Standing at 6 ft 3 in, he was athletic and handsome, with a physique to envy. He had the hand speed of a lightweight and the fleetness of foot to make a fight look like a dance. To say he was gifted is an understatement.

Frazier, on the other hand, was much shorter (standing under 6 ft), dark-skinned with thick, trunk-like legs, short arms and a frame that resembled a rugby player. He wasn’t the box of fun that spat poetry like his counterpart, nor was he all that charming in front of a camera. Frazier came from the South, the son of a sharecropper who knew life’s hardships before he could tie his own shoelaces. Nonetheless, Frazier had his own way with words that still have public appeal today: “It’s real hatred. I want to hurt him. I don’t want to knock him out. I want to take his heart out,” he said in the pre-fight build-up.

For a white power structure under threat, and despite the successes of the Civil Rights movement, one can imagine moderately educated armchair racists chuckling at the irony of this social battle being played out between the oppressed themselves as two Black men performed on a global stage. But this was not a stage on which the performers left unscathed; both men would never be the same again. Like honours bestowed upon war dead in conflicts that should never have been fought, terms such as “glory,” “guts” and “grit” serve to romanticise away the damage inflicted on two men who never had any place opposing each other in the first place.

As fitting as that analogy is, the embedded rules of engagement were just as clear. There was no three-knockdown rule per round; the judges scored the winner of a round five points and the loser four. Muhammad claimed a majority of the first six rounds with his lightning-quick, crisp punches that caught not only the public’s eye but also the judges’. From round six onwards Frazier started “Smokin’,” unforgivingly targeting Ali’s torso to slow his mobility. If you watch the fight you can hear the thud of leather on flesh — it’s brutal, but also beautiful to watch him constantly lumber forward, taking lick after lick only to unleash punches sent from hell in response.

Ali threw flurries of punches in bunches with success. When Frazier made him miss, he certainly made him pay, knocking Ali’s head back to generous roars from the crowd each time. Ali’s success came while fighting on the outside at range; his speed and ring craft proved far superior in terms of pugilism. Joe knew this and forced Ali against the ropes, where maximum damage could be delivered. The short arms were an advantage at close range; with Ali’s back against the ropes his fleetness of foot was useless. Frazier had a field day as he pummelled the body and head of Ali — so much so that Ali’s corner screamed at him to get off the ropes and to move!

The “rope-a-dope” tactic used to fool George Foreman was useless against a Joe Frazier who knew how, where and when to pick his shots — and pick his shots he did. This was a war of two men, two styles and a pure, relentless determination from both: determined to crush the other and determined not to lose. As each bell rang at the end of a round, Frazier marched back to his corner, solely focused on the job at hand. His face swelled more and more as each three minutes passed. Ali would slump, arms hanging over the ropes before taking his stool; the signs of the fight and the toll it was taking were plain.

The ebb and flow of the fight in who was winning differed; both had moments of brilliance and domination of the other. Ali would always find a way to rally and halt Frazier’s attacks in true champion style. Frazier absorbed punches as if he enjoyed it, his head being swung from one side to another as Ali unleashed his own unforgiving blows. Smokin’ Joe started to tire and momentum began to swing back in favour of Ali.

Despite Islam being a minority religion in the Philippines — Muslims represent only about 6–10% of the population — some recordings seem to capture someone in the crowd shouting “Allahu Akbar” in the twelfth round (notably, Ali was a practising Muslim). The twelfth was later named The Ring magazine’s “Round of the Year” for 1975, but it was the thirteenth that saw Ali punch Frazier’s mouthpiece clean out of his mouth and into the crowd. Frazier’s face was grotesquely swollen; his eyes had narrowed to slits from the swelling, leaving him unable to pick up Ali’s thumping right hands as they landed repeatedly. Effectively blind in his left eye, Frazier fought through rounds 12–14 with very little, if any, vision.

With a wisdom that can only come from an elder, Eddie Futch — Frazier’s trainer — had seen enough and decided his charge had no business going back out for the fifteenth round. He halted the proceedings. Frazier urged him to let him continue, pleading, “I want him, boss,” but to no avail. Futch had seen all he wanted in the previous rounds: “Sit down, son — it’s all over. No one will forget what you did here today,” he said before signalling to the referee to end it. Muhammad Ali was declared the winner and retained his status as champion. He briefly rose from his stool, raised one arm, then collapsed back down. He later claimed it was the closest he had ever felt to death.

Prior to Eddie Futch halting proceedings, it’s rumoured that Ali had told his corner to remove his gloves before the start of the fifteenth. A former Philadelphia fighter who knew Frazier, Willie “The Worm” Monroe, supposedly tried to alert Frazier’s corner but was unsuccessful before Futch told the referee to halt proceedings. As in all monumental clashes, there is a “what if” moment, leaving fans with questions we will never know the answers to — a mythology both camps would refer to in the decades that followed. The rivalry, unrivalled by any other, had come to an end. To some, it was too early; to others, it came at the right time.

Eddie Futch saved both men that night when he halted the fight — not just from each other, but from the anger born of an establishment structured to end in their destruction. Not unlike the wars that characterised the era, they were willing, armed proxies, put in position to settle other people’s disputes while those same people sat comfortably in their chairs at home and in seats of power. With Frazier fighting blind and Ali on death’s door, neither man knew when to quit — or when enough was enough.

To mere mortals we might think we know when we have had our fill… but Ali and Frazier were not like that. As the mythology goes, they are champions, boxing’s royalty, fistic fight gods, and — if we see things clearly — martyrs: the war dead those terms imply. But cynicism aside, and recognising that such mythology remains the blood-stained stage on which the cogs of our collective history turn, their names will forever ring loud within boxing’s rich history. More than that, their rivalry transcended sport and entered the annals of human history and politics.

Long after the men had hung up their gloves the war of words continued. Joe struggled for years to forgive Muhammad, who, I personally believe, realised the hurt he had caused with his words aimed at Joe — the man who once petitioned for Ali to have his licence to fight reinstated while suspended from boxing for his refusal to fight in Vietnam. Joe even helped him financially during those times. Frazier carried that hurt for many years afterwards. When asked, he said: “Truth is, I’d like to rumble with that sucker again — beat him up piece by piece and mail him back to Jesus…. Now people ask me if I feel bad for him, now that things aren’t going so well for him. Nope. I don’t. Fact is, I don’t give a damn. They want me to love him, but I’ll open up the graveyard and bury his ass when the Lord chooses to take him.”

Later in life Frazier did seem to cool somewhat on the hurt he carried when he said: “The Butterfly and I have been through some ups and downs and there have been lots of emotions, many of them bad. But I have forgiven him. I had to. You cannot hold out forever. There were bruises in my heart because of the words he used. I spent years dreaming about him and wanting to hurt him. But you have got to throw that stick out of the window. Do not forget that we needed each other, to produce some of the greatest fights of all time.”

Ali would later remark, “I’m sorry Joe Frazier is mad at me. Joe Frazier is a good man. If God ever calls me to a holy war, I want Joe Frazier fighting beside me.”

Joe Frazier passed away on 7 November 2011, aged 67, after complications from liver cancer, and Muhammad Ali died on 3 June 2016, aged 74, following years of ill health related to Parkinson’s disease. Ali died a wealthy man, dividing his time between Louisville and a summer home in Michigan, while Frazier died living above his gym in the gritty, working-class streets of Philadelphia. Ali’s memorials were large-scale affairs — tributes from stars and former presidents — whereas Frazier’s funeral was discreet and reportedly paid for by Floyd Mayweather Jr.

Even in death the contradictions and ethical quagmires endure: forever divided, yet inseparable in the story of modern boxing — no serious fight historian can mention one without the other.

Ricky Hatton (1978–2025): Forever a Champion

Sep 23, 2025 by Mark Daniel

The world of boxing is in mourning following the death of Ricky “The Hitman” Hatton, who has passed away at the age of 46. An English icon and one of Britain’s most beloved sons, Hatton was more than a former multiple-weight world champion — he was a man of the people. With his northern wit, warmth, and humility, he was as relatable outside the ring as he was ferocious inside it.

Born Richard John Hatton in Stockport, Greater Manchester, Hatton grew into one of the most magnetic figures of modern boxing. A cheeky chappie with a charm that endeared him to the masses, he carried with him an everyman spirit that made fans feel like they knew him personally. In the ring, however, he was uncompromising. Known for his relentless, no-nonsense style, Hatton became feared for his signature liver shot — a weapon that left opponents crumpled and cemented his reputation as one of the sport’s most punishing body punchers.

Hatton’s career record speaks volumes: 45 wins, 32 by knockout, against only 3 defeats. He claimed world titles across multiple weight classes, defeating the likes of John Thaxton, Ben Tackie, Kostya Tszyu, Jose Luis Castillo, Luis Collazo, and Paulie Malignaggi. His willingness to test himself against the very best saw him step into the ring with Floyd Mayweather Jr. and Manny Pacquiao during their primes — contests he lost, but in doing so he demonstrated his fearless spirit and won enduring respect.

In 2005, Hatton was named Ring Magazine Fighter of the Year and ESPN Fighter of the Year, the first British boxer ever to receive both honours. His battles filled arenas from Manchester to Las Vegas, and he carried with him a legion of loyal supporters who followed him in their thousands, draped in flags and roaring his name. Few fighters in history have inspired such devotion.

Yet Hatton’s impact extended beyond boxing. Open about his personal struggles, he became an advocate for mental health awareness, speaking candidly about the challenges he faced outside the ring. His honesty gave strength to many and revealed the depth of his courage, which was not only physical but emotional.

Hatton’s passing leaves behind a void not only in British boxing but in the culture of the sport itself. His was a career that embodied blood, guts, and glory — but also laughter, warmth, and humanity. He will be remembered not just as a world champion, but as a man who carried the hopes of a nation and never stopped fighting for them.

Rest in peace, Ricky Hatton. Forever a champion.

Ukraine in the Eyes of Western Observers

Aug 14, 2025 by Sanyo Fylyppov

In the eyes of Western observers, Putin is often portrayed as a wild, uncontrollable beast — which, in reality, is not entirely accurate.

At least one of Putin’s rumored and illegitimate children, Elizabeth Rudnova, lives in Europe — the very Europe that Russian propaganda paints as the “true aggressor,” pushing poor Ukraine into war against Russia. And, as you might guess, this child is far from the only relative of the Russian elite residing comfortably on the liberal side of the old Iron Curtain.

Putin’s relationship with his “Western partners” (a favorite phrase of his before the full-scale invasion) was once described by an opposition journalist in exile, who claimed that after speaking with Trump, Putin supposedly kept bowing to the telephone for another 15 minutes. Apocryphal or not, such stories feed the perception that the collective West exerts influence over him.

One of the most striking examples often cited is the supposed voluntary withdrawal of Russian troops from Kyiv and other occupied regions at the very beginning of the war. Putin repeatedly explained this move as an attempt to avoid heavy bloodshed after receiving calls from European leaders, who, he claimed, argued that Ukraine could not sign a peace agreement under such conditions. Later, he bitterly complained that he had been deceived — that instead of a lasting peace, the West began supplying even more weapons to Ukraine.

Another sign of what some might interpret as an unspoken “code of honor” is the apparent untouchability of certain Ukrainian high-ranking officials during the war. Russian missile and drone strikes have repeatedly hit residential areas in Kyiv and other cities, causing extensive civilian damage. Yet there is little publicly available evidence of similar attacks on the elite suburbs outside Kyiv — areas such as Koncha-Zaspa, home to many of Ukraine’s political aristocracy. These multimillion-dollar estates, often far out of proportion to their owners’ official salaries, lie at roughly the same distance from the capital as the tragically famous Bucha. Whether by coincidence or design, there are few, if any, confirmed cases of an MP’s or former president’s home being hit — including those belonging to members of the current administration.

Putin often complains about the West sending massive amounts of weapons to Ukraine. Ukraine is split by the massive Dnipro River, and much of the equipment headed to the eastern front must cross it via bridges. Commercial air traffic is virtually non-existent during wartime, so these crossings are key arteries for military logistics. Russia has shown it can strike with precision deep inside Ukrainian territory — even penetrating Kyiv’s air defenses with long-range missiles — and it has damaged or destroyed some bridges, such as the Antonivka crossing near Kherson. Yet the main supply routes over the Dnipro remain usable, keeping Ukraine’s lifeline to the front intact. The question lingers: for a military that claims to be so fearsome, why has Russia not made the destruction of these supply lines more of a priority?

These reasons are enough to start talking about the true beneficiaries of the war — chief among them, the same “conversation partner” engaging Putin in high-profile talks in Alaska.

Of course, Putin has to “save face.” He must maintain his role as the ultimate villain of our time — a modern composite of Hitler’s image. Naturally, he can’t openly grovel before Trump in front of the cameras. But the structural advantages remain clear.

The U.S. has effectively cut Europe off from Russian oil and gas — pivoting to U.S.-supplied LNG and crude by tanker, a shift that began even before the current administration. Meanwhile, under Trump, Washington strongly encouraged European allies to keep buying American-made weapons to support Ukraine. Though not mandatory, these deals — often brokered through NATO coordination — have favored U.S. suppliers and come without noticeable discounts.

As a further layer, the April 2025 U.S.–Ukraine Minerals Agreement created a jointly managed reconstruction fund linked to Ukraine’s natural resources. While Ukraine retains full ownership and control over extraction, the U.S. now holds privileged access and influence.

Europe can accuse Putin of war crimes all it wants, but recognition of Russia as an aggressor ultimately hinges on Washington. The U.S. can suspend its own sanctions at will — even to clear the way for a Putin visit. Both Western and Russian media cast him as an unhinged dictator, yet in truth the tail is wagging the dog — and in this case, the “tail” is another nuclear power: the United States.

This isn’t the first time we’ve seen such a dynamic. After World War II, the collapse of Europe’s empires left one dominant power — the United States, now the self-styled world’s policeman. Its geography gives it a rare advantage: no borders with serious rivals (and Cuba hardly counts), creating a protected environment in which to consolidate and project its “axis of democracy” worldwide.

Choosing Alaska as the venue is an ironic reminder of America’s invulnerability. Even in the most extreme scenario — a public “thrashing” of Putin followed by a walkout — the outcome still favors Washington. Likewise, if an agreement emerges, it will be on U.S. terms. It’s a textbook example of structuring the game so that every plausible outcome serves your own interests. Peace or no peace, America profits.

Trump’s latest claim almost reads like a joke: that Putin’s generals could have taken Kyiv in four hours but got lost in the maps and chose the longest routes, dragging the war out for three years. It’s hard not to chuckle. Who better than Trump to know it wasn’t faulty navigation but Western intervention that stopped Russia from seizing the capital — just as, in the early years of the war, it prevented Ukraine from striking inside Russian territory.

It’s a reminder of how real power works: shaping outcomes by setting the limits of both sides’ actions and controlling the narratives around them. Trump’s quip feeds a story of Russian blunder, but beneath it lies a different reality — one in which Washington’s choices define the battlefield as much as the combatants themselves. As sharp Ukrainian analysts like to say, “The locals’ problems don’t concern the pale-faced.”

Rubashov, Koestler, and the Theory of Relative Maturity

Mar 25, 2024 by Jack Goldsmith

Awaiting the outcome of his secret trial in a cold Soviet prison, the Old Bolshevik Rubashov reflects on a long and bloody career as Party revolutionary. In his meditations, Rubashov attempts to make sense of the arc of history. How could, despite the idealism of Soviet socialism, reality unfurl to produce a merciless authoritarian state? How could the culmination of his and his comrades’ revolutionary efforts result in Stalinism? He makes no attempt to excuse himself of his own involvement in the violent work of achieving the liberation of the proletariat. Though fate has cast him into his cell, he just as easily could have ended up on its opposite side.

The output of his musings is an explanatory framework for human political development, christened the theory of relative maturity.

Rubashov’s theory posits that human societies do not follow a linear trajectory to political and economic emancipation, but rather swing back and forth – much like a pendulum – from dictatorship to democracy, contingent upon a given society’s inexperience and mastery over their technological environment. Dictatorships emerge from the early stages of material development, when societies are ‘immature’ and new technological capabilities are alien to them; democracies are only earned once the masses have conquered these technologies.

With every new technical development, there is a subsequent and protracted period of collective learning. Political maturity can thus never be measured against some objective standard: it can only be assessed relative to the stage of the society’s material development. Once mass-consciousness rises, and political subjects understand their new technologies, as well as the consequences thereof, often taking years, decades, and generations, democracy is ultimately and inevitably attained. This lasts until the arrival of a new technological epoch, whereupon the masses are then cast back into relative immaturity as tyranny resurfaces.

The Industrial Revolution opened up the possibility of global supply chains and ostensibly limitless economic growth, yet brought with it new forms of war, conquest, and repression. The dawn of the twentieth century was accompanied by the full force of new age weaponry, brought to bear on untold casualties during the First World War. Chemical weapons and heavy artillery the counterweight to penicillin and widespread commercial travel. How many farmhands from across Russia’s great expanse were sent to the Eastern Front to witness this awesome power firsthand – to see their comrades thrown into the meatgrinder and succumb to these Industrial Age horrors? How many then, fewer still, did return to their motherlands to see the grounds they once sowed be torn apart by great metal machines, swapping their ploughs for pickaxes? The speed with which industrialization transformed societies into something totally alien gave scarce time for this transition to be properly comprehended. The resulting vacuum, borne in the tempest of nationalism and ideology that marked the early twentieth century, was easily filled with the order and security of empire.

The flaw in the Soviet system, Rubashov argues, was its presumption that mass-consciousness scaled with technological development, and that all what was required to achieve liberation was the forcing out of the old guard to bring the idyllic society into being: The exorcism of the Rousseauian man’s corrupting socio-material influences. Similarly, the naïve idealism of the liberal West did not escape Rubashov’s analysis – itself equally incapable of making sense of the loom, the steam engine, the radio. “The capitalist system will collapse before the masses have understood it.”

However totalising and however accurate, the treatise Rubashov sets forth holds considerable value for making sense of our time. The early 1990s saw the end of the Soviet bloc and the advent of the Internet. Once thought to be the tools with which the world chart a path to unambiguous liberalization, the age of the digital has, in almost equal measure, been harnessed for repression, control, and global strategic contest. Social media burgeoned in the 2000s to do untold damage to democracy, to interpersonal relationships, and to the human psyche. No sooner than when we began to collectively understand these effects did the hype of the next thing – the vogue and mystique of artificial intelligence – usurp social media’s place. For decades, we have blanketed the world in hydrocarbons and pesticides while remaining ignorant to the latent health effects of microplastics and forever chemicals: the former having penetrated the blood-brain barrier and the latter rendering the entire planet’s rainwater undrinkable.

We’re looking ahead, we don’t have time to look back. Move fast and break things until nothing but a trail of destruction is wrought in our wake. Quantum, gene-editing, the outer limits of space – let’s break those next.

What is perhaps distinct about our time to that of Rubashov’s is the uniquely countervailing effect our modern technologies have towards mass enlightenment. The diminution of attention spans, social fracturing, and simulacra of modern social media, the sustained cognitive impairment from environmental pollutants, the asymmetric warfare capabilities offered by the surveillance state and lethal autonomous weapons systems: all work against our global political development and force the pendulum backwards, closer to tyranny.

As these cascading challenges scale, and our collective ability to understand and intervene diminish, the call for authoritarian leadership may resound ever more clearly. Our modern global economic system is a vestige of the Bretton-Woods Post-War lull. Its short-term prosperity is unravelling, and the world’s governments can only kick a can so far. The reverberating whiplash unto the next generations that will soon be felt is nothing short of unbridled intergenerational warfare. In times of uncertainty, fear, mistrust, and hostility rouse the authoritarian resident within each of us – a call which is beckoned by those willing to push demagoguery and domination.

It is unclear if Arthur Koestler, the author of the 1941 novel Darkness at Noon in which Rubashov and the theory of relative maturity are located, is arguing vicariously through the Old Bolshevik, or merely confining the theory inside his character as a form of cathartic release for his own participation in bloody revolution. Rubashov, a political prisoner, is of course doomed: the outcome of his trial known before it has begun. Rubashov dies, and so too, the theory of relative maturity with him, never reaching its complete expression. Koestler, however, survived through Stalinism to see the other side of the Iron Curtain. A journalist-cum-intelligence operative fighting against European fascism in the 1930s, Koestler became disillusioned with communism’s ideals after his imprisonment in Spain, where he bore witness to almost daily executions of his fellow revolutionaries. The Party’s continuous devaluing of human life and ugly commitment to ends-justifying-means saw him abandon his support shortly before the Second World War. Koestler then joined the British government’s anti-communist foreign propaganda wing, funding much of his work and casting a long shade of doubt as to the integrity with which he advanced Rubashov’s thesis.

As a totalising framework for history and human political development, the theory of relative maturity is not recognised among the ranks of Hegel’s Spirit, Fukuyama’s end of history, or Diamond’s guns, germs, and steel. Yet, its depiction of humanity as in perpetual tension with its technological environment – and thus itself – reveals valuable insight into our current moment. At this eleventh hour, will we overcome our collective inability to properly understand our techno-historical standing? Or will the pendulum thrust us backwards into a dark age of despotism?

The Russo–Ukrainian Civil War

Jan 19, 2024 by Alexey Ilin

The following article was written by Alexey Ilin & Roman Kusaiko

The war between Russia and Ukraine is not an ordinary conflict between two states. The men (and women) across the trenches speak the same language, share the same traditions, and their faces also look very similar. Modern Ukraine and Russia are only one generation old, and the age of both an average Ukrainian and an average Russian is a little over 40, meaning the majority of people from the belligerent states were actually born in the same country – the Soviet Union. Thus, a conflict between people from the same cultural and historical background has many characteristics of a civil war, and defining the Russo–Ukrainian conflict as such may actually help to better understand the actions of authorities, seemingly illogical decisions, and the protracted yet brutal character of the ongoing crisis.

One People?

Even one year since the war broke out, many Western people do not understand why Russia invaded Ukraine, or why the so-called ‘special military operation’ could be the only way to overcome the boiling crisis between the two neighbours. Consequently, there was no surprise Western media portrayed Russia, and Putin as its leader, as an aggressor. The situation is trickier with the Ukrainians. Some of them, especially those sympathetic to Russia in Donbass, have no doubts. Others still refuse to understand why Russians would need to fight them. In a video from the warzone published by the Telegram channel ‘Karymat’, a Ukrainian soldier decries a paramilitary fighter from the Wagner Group: ‘Am I not a Russian to you? Is a Ukrainian not a Russian? Our grandfathers were fighting together, were they not Russians? Why did you come to kill my children?’

Back in 2014, Ukraine’s president Volodymyr Zelenskyy, who was still a comedian at that time, remarked, ‘I want all of us to speak one language and understand each other … We cannot stand against the Russian people because it’s the same people’. In the 2021 Direct Line annual broadcast, Russia’s president Vladimir Putin also called Russians and Ukrainians ‘one people’. However, this time Zelenskyy (by now Ukraine’s president) rebuffed Putin, stating, ‘We are definitely not one people. Yes, we share common history, remembrance, neighbourhood, relatives, our victory over fascism [Nazi Germany] … But we, I repeat once again, are not one people … Each of us has his own way.’ Nevertheless, even after invading Ukraine, Putin continued to call Russians and Ukrainians ‘one people.’ He also expressed partial agreement that the conflict could be called a civil war albeit between people living in two different states.

The ‘civil’ aspect of the Russo–Ukrainian conflict can also be attributed to the idea that both nations belong to the same civilisation. Russian history starts from the Kievan Rus’, which was located primarily on the territories of modern Russia and Ukraine, while also encompassing minor parts of modern Poland and the Baltic states. The feudal fragmentation and upcoming Mongol invasion destroyed the Kievan Rus’ as a state and social system. Some of its regions fell under Polish control, while others became Mongol vassal states. Only after centuries of struggle and the rise of the Tsardom of Russia did broad territories of Kievan Rus’ fall under Russian control. Shared history, ethnicity, religion, and linguistic similarities are among the reasons why Russians, Ukrainians and Belarusians are considered ‘one people.’ For instance, according to the maps in Samuel Huntington’s 1993 essay ‘The Clash of Civilizations?’ and his 1996 book The Clash of Civilizations and the Remaking of World Order, Ukraine belongs to the Orthodox civilisation, which is centred around Russia and the Russian people.

In Russia itself, a similar civilisational concept was embodied by the ideology of the so-called ‘Russian World’ (Rus. Русский мир). Vladislav Surkov, a well-known ex-aide of Putin, also made multiple attempts to describe the concept, finally extending it from the strictly territorial or linguistic criteria to almost any Russian sympathisers who share Russian values and ideas. Unlike Huntington, Surkov was not a scientist but rather a bureaucrat, politician and writer who described the concept in strictly utilitarian means, resulting in a long, vague and ambiguous definition. Unsurprisingly, his political strategy failed.

Russian territorial expansion went in several directions. Eastern and Southern expansions took place relatively late in comparison to expansions in the European direction. This lack of clarity today allows Russia to justify its advancements in the East and South. On the other hand, the criteria of respect regarding Russian power and military overextends the concept without sufficient compensation, which allows Russian opposition and pro-Western Ukrainians to criticise the motives of current ruling elite and Russo–Ukrainian unity in general.

Nevertheless, as part of the Russian Empire, within the Soviet Union and even as a sovereign state, Ukraine has had some of the strongest ties with Russia in the entire post-Soviet era, with the exception of Belarus, which formed a ‘Union State’ supranational structure with Russia. As of 2021, 65% of Ukrainians use Russian language in daily communication. After the conflict in Eastern Ukraine broke out in 2014, up to five million Ukrainians moved to Russia for permanent residence. Leaked videos and interviews by Western media confirm that the Ukrainian military still uses Russian language on a regular basis. As for employment – Russian recruiters do not see any difference between Russian and Ukrainian job candidates, as the latter do not need a visa or a work permit. Nevertheless, due to the gradually escalating conflict and terrorist attacks in Russian cities, a thorough background check may be conducted. Finally, Russians are the second-largest ethnic group in Ukraine, while almost three million Russian citizens identify as Ukrainian. Regardless of the polls and recent geopolitical developments, the idea that Russia and Ukraine belong to one civilisation is still credible based on historical and factual data. However, such an idea has its limitations – the political and ideological dynamics of the last decade indicate its continuous erosion.

What Makes the Civil War ‘Civil’?

Most dictionaries define civil war as a ‘war fought between groups of people living in the same country’ (e.g. Cambridge Dictionary). Some definitions call it a conflict between a state and non-state actors in the state’s territory. These wars can be classified into two types of conflict: when the insurgents are trying to secede from the state, and when they are trying to overthrow the central government. Secession may also pursue one of two goals: either to establish a new independent state (as South Sudan did in 2011) or to join a neighbouring state (as Texas joined the United States in 1845 after seceding from Mexico in 1836).

The term ‘civil war’ is frequently used to describe a conflict that is not fought on an international level. In other words, a civil war is a ‘’domestic or ‘national’ war – fought between members of the same nation. The terms ‘country’ and ‘nation’ are usually treated as identical, even though they may represent different entities. According to National Geographic, ‘the word ‘nation’ can also refer to a group of people who share a history, traditions, culture and, often, language – even if the group does not have a country of its own.’ We have a broad array of evidence that Russians and Ukrainians are still very close to each other in terms of their history, culture and heritage, as well as the fact that they often speak the same language. Today, these peoples belong to two different countries, but we understand that several million Ukrainians live in Russia, several million Russians live in Ukraine, and each of them calls their country of residence ‘home.’ Moreover, both peoples used to share the same mother country – the Soviet Union. Even though this country ceased to exist more than 30 years ago, the ties between members of the Russo–Ukrainian nation were not severed, and the people’s commonality has largely survived the political decoupling. The ‘Russian World’ lived on as a ghost of a greater nation that used to exist within a larger country. Therefore, we may presume that the international war between the Russian and Ukrainian states also has a ‘civil war’ dimension – a conflict within the one Russo–Ukrainian nation.

Historical Repetitions

The current conflict seems shocking because it happened after many decades of peace in Europe and after signing the Helsinki Final Act of 1975. The Cold War after was a time of political and military competition but also a time of relative peace. The inception of dramatic changes was triggered by the collapse of the Warsaw Pact, Eastern European socialist regimes and the USSR itself. During the last years of the Soviet Union, internal conflicts and cross-border issues started escalating. There were multiple clashes within and between former ‘brotherly people’ in Moldova, Uzbekistan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan, Armenia and Azerbaijan, Russia, and Georgia. Ukraine seemed an exception, but its ascension into the whirlpool of turmoil was imminent for the following reasons.

Like others in the USSR, Ukrainian border policy originated after the October 1917 coup and the results of the Russian Civil War that followed. The period from 1917 until 1924 was the most turbulent, which unleashed the potential of nationalism in the former imperial outskirts. After the genie of nation-building escaped the bottle, the USSR had few options to choose from. The Bolsheviks granted national minorities special autonomy and representation in the federal government. At the same time, deliberate border arrangements, the primate of party structures in the Soviet Republics and on the federal level, and a complicated procedure of cadre advancements all guaranteed the stability of the new state. These foundations were eroded during perestroika, when the Communist Party, especially on the federal level, was deprived of real authority after a series of legal changes. Consequently, the USSR quickly collapsed. The legal procedures of independence proclamations by the former socialist republics are still under question, as well as the justification of border changes during their existence within the union. In the case of Ukraine, historians and lawyers usually refer to the Crimean issue and the early declaration of independence, which automatically question Ukraine’s borders regardless of the Budapest Memorandum of 1994.

Secondly, throughout history, Ukraine was always at the epicentre of Russian politics, and initially served as a buffer between Russia and the West. Even the term ‘Ukraine’ did not have a unified meaning – it was continuously changing and primarily reflected the border region between Moscow Tsardom and its neighbours. Ukrainian territory was always disputed between the Russians, Polish and Ottomans. Moscow always needed access to either the Baltic or the Black Sea as well as needing a buffer against its two primary enemies, who were preventing Russia’s expansion. The conflict with Poland was a conflict between two Slavic nations divided on the premise of religion and regional domination. However, the threat of Muslim expansion sometimes brought two rivals together. The complexity of Russo–Polish relations and the imminent threat of the Ottoman conquests of Europe reflect the complexity of the situation of modern Ukrainian lands as disputed between three regional powers.

During its wars with Western neighbours, primarily the Livonian Order and Poland, Russia suffered several sensitive defeats across the sixteenth and seventeenth centuries before making sufficient gains following the Russo–Polish War of 1654–1667. In 1686, even Kyiv was purchased from the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth when the Treaty of Perpetual Peace was signed. The expansion in the Baltics coincided with the turmoil in Ukraine and betrayal of Ivan Mazepa, hetman of the Zaporozhian Host and the Left-Bank Ukraine. Some historians claim it was the moment when the ancestor of the current Ukrainian flag (blue and yellow) was born. The emergence of Ukrainian nationalism as an act of betrayal of Russia is used to claim its inferior nature and even to raise biblical connotations of Ukraine as a prodigal son, adding to the argument of ‘internal’ rather than international conflict.

Finally, Russian acquisitions in the south of Ukraine were the result of long-term conflicts with the Crimean Khanate and the Ottomans. The territory of Ukraine was divided into three major parts: Sloboda Ukraine, Malorossiya and Novorossiya. All three somehow related to the creation of the border or buffer territory between the Moscow Tsardom and her primary rivals (Poland and the Crimean Khanate / Ottomans). These territories were gradually incorporated into the Russian Empire. Moreover, if Malorossiya was incorporated sooner after the conquests in the West, Novorossiya (literally New Russia), including Crimea, was created later, with strong sentiments relating to the imperial iconography and its prominent leadership. The complicated structure of Ukrainian lands became even more complex after the partition of Poland and in the Soviet period, when Romanian and Hungarian lands became minor parts of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic.

After 1917 and during the Russian Civil War, the territory of modern Ukraine was one of the primary battlefields controlled by the Central Powers (Germany and Austria-Hungary), Whites (Russian conservatives and monarchists), Reds (Bolshevik communists), Anarchists from Huliaipole, Polish, and Reds again. That historical period, as previously in the seventeenth century, showed signs of betrayal and complexity of allegiance of the local population. It also had modern connotations: the Ukrainian leader, Pavlo Skoropadsky, was under heavy influence of the European powers, signing deals over the country’s agriculture; also, the local population did not solidly support any side, changing allegiance from Reds to nationalists, Whites and back to Reds depending on the political and economic situation. For a brief historical period, there were even two Ukraines: West Ukrainian People’s Republic and Ukrainian People’s Republic, with complicated mutual relations. The first one ended up as part of Poland while the second became one of the pillars of the USSR.

There is no surprise that such a historical complexity put its heavy mark on these lands, further aggravated during the Soviet era through controversial policies of forging cadre and national development by Petro Shelest and later Vladimir Sherbitsky, as well as the subsequent rehabilitation and incorporation of former Ukrainian nationalists into the state authorities.

Religious Turmoil

Civil wars are often caused or complicated by a religious rift. Russian historians usually claim that Mazepa’s scheming is inseparable from understanding the religious betrayal that happened in 1595, when religious hierarchs in Kyiv pleaded their allegiance to the Roman Catholic Church. Moscow Tsardom was an Orthodox Christian state. German barons with the support of the Catholic Church started their expansion into the East through Poland and the lands of the current Baltic States. The eastward expansion aimed to take over not only the lands but also the minds of people, establishing a foothold for further operations into the Orthodox lands. However, the religious conflicts were put on hold when their mutual enemy, the Ottomans, arose as the most threatening enemy of the European continent.

The influence of Catholicism did not end with the 1595 union. There have been three different churches operating in modern Ukraine: Catholic, Ukrainian Greek Catholic Church, and Ukrainian Orthodox Church (Moscow Patriarchy). During the presidency of Petro Poroshenko, the autocephalous Orthodox Church of Ukraine became a prominent player on the religious scene as an attempt to supplant the Moscow Patriarchy. In essence, the goal from the sixteenth century remains unchanged – only Moscow can be a fair competitor to the West. The smaller churches, regardless of their title, will inevitably fall under either a Western political agenda or the influence of the Roman Catholic Church.

Recently, news revealed more religious clashes between the Orthodox congregation loyal to the Moscow Patriarchy and raiders acting in favour of the Orthodox Church of Ukraine. The religious component makes the conflict even more complex because it involves not only ethnic Russians or people from the same historical background but also adherents of the same branch of Christianity.

One Truth

The religious turmoil in Ukraine is a vivid demonstration of the fact that the divide between the warring parties lies not only on the battlefield, but also in the hearts and minds of the people. In civil wars a brother often turns against brother and father against son, just like the New Testament foretold it almost two thousand years ago (e.g. see Matt. 10:21). The history of the twentieth century proved that people can fight for a political cause with a religious-like zeal, especially when they are indoctrinated to believe that their cause is ‘[the] one and only truth.’ Again, it brings us to the example of the Russian Civil War (1918–1921), being the most prominent of its kind. It was very common for the members of the same family to fight for different sides – either for the White Army or for the Red Army. All movements had its distinctive ideology and utilised various tools of propaganda. Each side claimed that their goal was to save Russia from destruction and to protect its people. Both sides blamed each other for betraying Russia’s national interests and serving as puppets of the foreign powers. Both the Whites and the Reds pledged to fight to the end, until their adversary was wiped from the face of Russia. Soviet poet Robert Rozhdestvensky wrote a poem about the war that contains the following lines: ‘There are many paths in the field, but there is only one truth’ (Rus. Много в поле тропинок, только правда одна). These words express the religious-like mindset of a civil war. One nation – one truth.

Just like a hundred years ago, the new civil war has broken many families and friendships. In a typical example, a Russian person calls his family member or friend in Ukraine and discovers that his companion supports the Ukrainian cause and denounces the Russian invasion. This perplexes the caller, who sincerely struggles to believe that a person he used to know so well has ended up on the opposite side. ‘You are one of us! How can you be with them?’ he wonders. The Ukrainians use similar arguments in their conversations with Russians. One such talk occurred between the soldiers in the video mentioned in the beginning of this article. ‘You have nothing to fight for here. Surrender and come over to our side. Or just leave and go home,’ the Ukrainian soldier told the Wagner Group fighter.

Both sides acknowledge their kinship and admit that they could actually live in peace. Yet the fighting continues, and its brutality and intensity only escalate. The Ukrainians blame their Russian adversaries for being brainwashed by Putin’s propaganda, so they often call them ‘orcs’ or ‘zombies’ – because of the letter Z that the Russian soldiers wear on their uniforms. The Russians in turn call the Ukrainians ‘puppets of America/the West/NATO’ and claim that the war would have never taken place if America had not meddled in the affairs of the Slavic people. Thus, each side imagines the ultimate end of this conflict from quite a similar perspective: defeating the military of their opponent, toppling its government, either directly or through a revolution, dismantling the propaganda machine that brainwashes its citizens, and opening their eyes to let them ‘see the truth.’ As for now, each enemy soldier is not only a unit on the battlefield, but also a host of a hostile ideology, whether the Russian World or Ukraine’s Western choice. In order to win this ideological war, each host must either be converted to the ‘true side’ or annihilated. This partly explains why both sides fight each other brutally to the point of committing war crimes.

Solutions?

At the beginning of the ‘Special Military Operation’ (SMO), Vladimir Putin and the Russian government initially declared that the objective was to defend the people of Donbas from the Ukrainian aggression. It is hard to dispute that at the beginning of the conflict, the Russian military could have used surprise attacks to bomb barracks and government offices, and attempted to paralyse the government, electric plants, gas pipelines, and communication with the West, in order to inflict maximum damage and force Ukraine to accept all terms and prevent NATO from interfering. Yet none of this was done. Many analysts worldwide argue whether it was right or wrong, whether Putin committed a strategic mistake or whether his later change of plans was adequate. Seldom do the commentators appear to bear in mind that such a great surprise offensive, distantly resembling the U.S. invasion of Iraq or the NATO operation in Yugoslavia, was simply impossible. And the main reason is this – that the Kremlin regards Ukrainians as ‘one people.’ That is the principal reason why the gas pipeline still works, Ukraine earns money for gas transit, its people do not warm themselves with campfires, and electric infrastructure is attacked only when necessary to paralyse or disrupt the military operations. This also explains why, at the beginning of the SMO, Putin asked the Ukrainian military command to attempt a coup against the current regime.

It is obvious that the ultimate goals of the SMO gradually changed from mild to the most serious scenarios, including toppling the Ukrainian government and dismantling a sovereign Ukrainian state. In accordance with this escalation, many Russian media, blogs and Telegram channels started further promoting the idea that Ukraine was an artificial country and a failed state, Ukrainian culture was absurd, Ukrainian people were largely Russian people brainwashed by Western propaganda (except for a small minority in the West who used to belong to Poland or Austria over a hundred years ago), and that in conclusion Ukraine had no right to exist and therefore most of its territory had to be integrated into Russia. Ukraine itself is often called ‘State-404,’ nowadays, and one of the objectives of the SMO is explicitly to put an end to ‘Ukrainism’ (Rus. украинство), which can be defined as an ideology of an independent Ukraine with its own language and culture.

In a similar fashion, many Ukrainian nationalists believe that Ukraine can only find safety and freedom when the imperialist Russia no longer exists. In their view, Russia needs to be partitioned into several independent states, losing the status and might of a great power and thus the ability to subjugate its neighbours. This line of thinking can be traced back to the books and articles of Stepan Bandera – the chief ideologist of Ukrainian nationalism. In his work Perspectives for a Ukrainian Revolution, he envisioned a national liberation movement for various ethnic minorities within Russian territory. In Bandera’s view, a series of such revolutions would chip away various territories from Russia and thus put an end to Moscow’s imperialism. This also explains why many Ukrainians support the idea of an independent Chechnya-Ichkeria.

Russians and Ukrainians each calling for their adversary’s destruction is another sign that this war is a civil war. A broad array of data from previous civil wars fought around the globe in the twentieth century shows that negotiated settlements are not effective in ending civil wars, as these conflicts tend to recur. A decisive military victory when one side vanquishes the other is the most effective way to end a war. This idea is present in Monica Duffy Toft’s book Securing the Peace: The Durable Settlement of Civil Wars. Indeed, all the attempts at a diplomatic settlement of the Ukrainian conflict, whether mediated by the East (China) or West (the European Union), have failed. Both sides continue to fight fiercely. The Russian media assure their citizens that the Ukrainian armed forces are crumbling and that victory is close. Kyiv places its bets on the new Western armaments and on a new counteroffensive to retake Donbas and Crimea. Each side’s propaganda keeps repeating the same statement: ‘We cannot lose this war’. This is a typical civil war dynamic. No negotiating with the enemy – fight to the end – the winner will write the history and decide the fate of our people.

A Way Out?

There is no easy way out of this Russo–Ukrainian civil war. Any negotiated settlement is liable to achieve nothing more than a short-lived armistice until one of the sides violates the ceasefire. Zelenskyy’s government has repeatedly stated that they will not surrender any Ukrainian territory to Russia, while the Russian leaders insist that Crimea’s status is non-negotiable. Moreover, Putin will never accept Ukraine joining NATO and the EU, even in a ‘sawn-off’ format without Crimea and Donbas. Both Russia and Ukraine have gone all in; both leaders have rolled the dice. A Russian victory will bring Ukraine into the ‘Russian World’, and establish a durable and lasting peace until the next political crisis hits Russia or a new nationalist awakening happens in Ukraine. A Ukrainian victory will derail Putin’s entire political strategy and possibly his government as well. It is very speculative whether the Russian Federation will collapse in the same way the Soviet Union did in 1991, but there can be no doubt that Moscow will lose the ability to project its power beyond its borders for a considerable period of time. It is also possible that the ‘Russian World’ ideology will be abandoned and a new cohort of leaders – more liberal and Western-oriented – will come to power. As the fighting rages on, the adversaries from both sides of the one quasi-nation agree upon one thing: the outcome of this war will be decided on the battlefield.

If you are not a soldier by proxy, you are an intelligence officer by proxy.

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