The second explanation that also immediately arises is the persistent sense of victimhood, which is embedded in the language: “we are victims of the West”; “we are victims of the Horde“; “we are victims of the authorities and the regime”; “we are victims of immigrants”; “we are victims of the capitalists”; “we are victims of circumstance”; “we are victims of revolution and war”; “we are victims of the Soviet era”, “we are victims of the 1990s”; and so on and so on. Again, this wide range of culprits who have victimized us enables us to integrate the image of victim into any ideological matrix. But all of these versions of victimhood are united by a sense of resentment, a sense of mediocrity, a sense of lacking something, and these feelings are constantly reproduced and cultivated. This language has no room, of course, for a critique of our own history and culture’s imperialism. We are not to blame: we are victims ourselves, our history is a victim, our culture is a victim. How can our sense of victimhood be squared with the fact that we ourselves have victimized others? The perception of ourselves as victims is one of our privileges, one of our special rights; it is our manifest destiny. However, the criticism of imperialism, the emergence of voices who declare themselves our victims, who want to discern our history and culture’s violence, subjugation, and injustice towards them, undermines this language’s entire foundation and our image of ourselves as victims. It undermines the foundation on which we stand, our privilege of being unique. And this triggers pushback and resistance, of course.
Source: Sergey Abashin (Facebook), 23 June 2023. Translation and photo, above, by the Russian Reader
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The generation of scholars who started studying the Soviet Union in the late 1980s and early 1990s were also shaped by their firsthand experience of the country. When they travelled as foreign students to Moscow, they found impoverished people. Empty shelves and pervasive poverty made Russians look like victims of the Soviet regime, and financially, Soviet Moscow seemed more like a European periphery than an imperial metropole, which they associated with material affluence.
The wave of decolonisation in Africa, the Middle East, South and Southeast Asia, which started after World War II, was accompanied by rigorous academic discussions and scholarship of colonial legacies and tools of violence.
By contrast, the 1991 dissolution of the Soviet Union did not result in similar scrutiny of the Russian imperial legacy.
For metropolitan Western Europe and the United States, Europe stood for metropolitanism – a place from which the world was colonised, not a place of colonisation. Accepting colonial history within Europe made little sense, so the colonial nature of Russia remained unchallenged.
In Russia itself, the dominant narrative was one of victimhood. Russians learned to see themselves as a special nation that sacrificed its own wellbeing for the sake of non-Russians in the Soviet Union. “Let us stop feeding them” was the slogan Russians used to explain Moscow’s decision to let the colonies go in 1991.
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A recent article from the American Political Science Association (APSA) examined how the words used to describe Central Asia sometimes reinforce the region’s image as being part of Russia or the Soviet Union. Amid growing awareness of Central Asia’s colonial history, some argue it is time to move beyond terms such as “post-Soviet,” “near abroad,” or “Russia’s backyard” when referring to Central Asia today. Join host Bruce Pannier for a thought-provoking conversation on decolonizing Central Asian discourse with the co-authors of the APSA article: Botakoz Kassymbekova, a lecturer and assistant professor of modern history at the University of Basel; and Erica Marat, a professor at the National Defense University’s College of International Security Affairs.
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Putin’s propaganda builds on seeing Russia as both victimized by the West and entitled to regional dominance over Ukraine, Belarus, Central Asia, and the South Caucasus. Russia’s sense of its lost greatness in 1991 after the demise of the Soviet Union fuels a sense that it is the innocent victim of outside powers. Its shrunken geography and collapsing economy made post-Soviet Russia economically poor compared to the wealth accumulated by Western colonial metropoles. Soviet socialism as a global anti-capitalist force had failed to bring the same level of prosperity. Russian intellectuals became preoccupied with their own imagined marginal position vis-à-vis the West fueling the denial of the true colonial nature of the Soviet regime.
At the same time, Russian political elites expect loyalty from former Russian colonies that includes knowledge of the Russian language and political loyalty, and unity in opposition to Western influence. According to such an imperial view, Russian rule over non-Russian populations is not colonialism but a gift of modernity. It is a deeply altruistic act for the sake of backward people. Rejection of Russian cultural dominance, including building independent foreign policy and contesting the Russian view of Soviet history, is an act of political disloyalty. In Central Asia, for instance, Russian ambassadors routinely condemn states’ prioritization of indigenous languages as attempts to limit the rights of the ethnic Russian population. Such search for independence triggers a sense of victimhood in Russia, as if disagreement with the Russian imperial self-image is an attack on Russian cultural greatness.
Putin coupled Russia’s innocent victim narrative with a historical self-image of a civilizing power against former Soviet republics that sought closer ties with the West. The Russian imperial myth allows identity mobilization around militant patriotism while also helping the state keep the public passive and uncritical. Putin recently spoke about Russia’s imperial identity when announcing the military attack on Ukraine: “It was necessary to immediately stop this nightmare—the genocide against the millions of people living there, who rely only on Russia, hope only on us.” Western leaders’ naming atrocities in Bucha a genocide further deepened the Russian regime’s sense of victimhood. The Russian Defense Ministry stated that the West is collectively attacking Russia. Feeling humiliated by the West, the Russian public was simultaneously supporting Russian aggression in former Soviet territories. Economic hardships can be reframed as a burden unjustly borne by a victim-savior or as an imperial duty of those who humanely seek to liberate the world from evil.
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