4. The American people are not going to war with Russia over Ukraine, full stop.

SENIOR U.S. OFFICIAL, February 2014, the Crimea Operation. FROM IMPERIAL GAMBLE, Marvin Kalb 2015. Novorossiya badge in cover photo.

IN THE WEST, the post-Yanukovych government in Kiev seemed like heaven on Earth, a place for the birth of democracy; in Moscow, it seemed like hell, an anti-Russian cabal in its own backyard. “Unacceptable” was Putin's response. He had a plan, and he had every intention of putting it into effect. 4,525 words

On February 26, 2014, three days after the Winter Olympics dropped its final curtain, hundreds and then thousands of pro-Russian demonstrators began appearing on the streets of Simferopol, the capital of Crimea, demanding that Crimea become part of Russia. They seemed to come out of nowhere. Within hours, pro-Kiev demonstrators took to the streets, arguing that Crimea remain part of Ukraine. They were ethnic Ukrainians, joined quickly at the hip by Muslim Tartars, who were deeply suspicious of anything Russian. Soon emotional clashes erupted between pro-Russian and pro-Kiev mobs—fistfights followed by angry scuffles, each side denouncing the other's agenda and intent. At the time the clashes attracted little attention in the world's newsrooms, worth no more than a four-sentence account on one agency wire.

On February 27, the next day, matters began to escalate. Again, thousands of demonstrators, pro- and anti-Russian, fought in front of the regional parliament. An old woman was trampled to death; three people were injured. Nearby, armed gunmen seized two government buildings and planted a Russian flag on top of one of them.

In Kiev, on February 28, acting president Oleksandr Turchynov ordered the Ukrainian army, a force more in name than power, to stand by for action against “potential aggression.” This was a sad joke, for everyone knew that the Ukrainian army was in shambles, unable to engage in a serious fight. In Simferopol, the pro-Russian governor, Sergiy Aksyonov, newly appointed to the job, asked Putin for “help” to ensure public security. This was part of an obviously rehearsed scenario. He also closed the air space over Simferopol, as reports circulated that Russian transport planes were flying into the capital.

In Washington, a suddenly wary Obama called Putin to warn him that “there will be costs” should Russia persist in intervening in Crimea. One of the likely “costs” was the United States applying economic sanctions against Russia. No one ever seriously considered the United States using its military power to stop Russia. “The American people are not going to war with Russia over Ukraine, full stop,” said one senior administration official.¹

By daybreak, on March 1, the world seemed to have turned a corner. Putin had brazenly flown “little green men” into Crimea. Within hours, it seemed, without firing a shot, they occupied the entire peninsula, seizing control of government buildings, airports, and communication centers.²

“little polite green men”

In Moscow, Putin went through the motions of asking his tame Federation Council for permission to use Russian troops “in connection with the extraordinary situation in Ukraine and the threat to the lives of Russian citizens.” The troops would remain in Ukraine “until the normalization of the political situation.” It was immediately noted in Western chanceries that Putin was speaking of “Ukraine,” not just Crimea. Within hours, the Duma gave its permission.³

Obama, alarmed by the news, again picked up the phone and spoke with Putin for more than an hour. According to a White House briefing, the president expressed his “deep concern” about “Russia's clear violation of Ukrainian sovereignty and territorial integrity.” He warned the United States would pull out of a planned June G-8 summit meeting in Sochi, adding that Russia's “continued violation of international law will lead to greater political and economic isolation.”⁴ Putin denied that Russian troops had invaded Crimea while stressing his “concern” about “real threats” to Russian citizens in Ukraine. “Frankly, this is our historical territory and Russian people live there,” Putin later explained. “They were in danger, and we cannot abandon them.”⁵

Later on March 1, a statement issued by Putin's office said that “in the case of any further spread of violence to Eastern Ukraine and Crimea, Russia retains the right to protect its interests and the Russian-speaking population of those areas.”⁶ Critics instantly recalled Hitler's explanation for the German annexation of the Sudetenland in 1938. For the record, critics also noted that there were no reported “threats” to the “Russian-speaking population” of Ukraine. None. Putin had created a pretext.

An international chorus of “concern” ensued. Britain's Prime Minister David Cameron contributed his “deep concern,” saying “everyone must think carefully about his actions.”⁷ The UN Security Council met in emergency session, and the spokesperson for Secretary General Ban Ki-moon appealed for “an immediate restoration of calm and direct dialogue.”⁸

Over the tumultuous weekend of March 1–2, Putin ignored such appeals for “calm” and “dialogue.” He saw a “threat” to Russian interests in the new pro-Western regime in Kiev. He felt the need to crush it, even if the cost was Western economic sanctions. Having seized Crimea, he moved into the Donbas region of Ukraine, where pro-Russian sentiment was traditionally strong. Again, overnight, it seemed, pro-Russian rallies popped up in Donetsk, Kharkov, Luhansk, Mariupol, and even the southern port city of Odessa, instigated by Moscow and organized by Russian special forces in the region. More than 7,000 demonstrators tried to occupy City Hall in Donetsk, but they failed, repulsed by Ukrainian police. However, they succeeded in hoisting a Russian flag in the center of the city. They sang Russian folk songs, while denouncing the Kiev regime as “right wing” and “fascist.” In Kharkov, Ukraine's second-largest city, as many as 100 people were injured during rival demonstrations by thousands of pro- and anti-Russian throngs. For a time, supporters of the post-Yanukovych government in Kiev were flushed out of City Hall, and a Russian flag was run up the flagpole atop the building. For centuries, this region of Ukraine has been the heart and home of many ethnic Russians. Therefore, Putin imagined he could quickly win their sympathy and support, and take control of the Donbas, just as he had Crimea. But the Donbas proved to be a much more daunting and complex challenge. Ethnic Ukrainians, Tartars, and others objected to Russian intervention. They rallied against the Russian rebels, forcing Putin to adjust his tactics. He learned to play musical chairs. Sometimes the Russians took charge of rebel operations; at other times, they needed to be more discreet.

Putin soon came to realize that it made much more sense for Russia to control Ukraine, not to occupy it. Not only would occupation be costly, it would also be bloody. What Putin wanted was a friendly, obliging government in Kiev. But, much to his regret, the moment he seized Crimea, he lost Ukraine, certainly the western half of the country. For many Ukrainians, the loss of Crimea stoked their nationalist, pro-Western sentiment, aligning them strategically with the European Union and even NATO. As Putin viewed this shift in Ukrainian sentiment, he had now to control the southeast quarter of Ukraine, meaning first to seize it, and then freeze it, much as he had frozen Abkhazia and South Ossetia in his mini-war with Georgia. Then, all other things being equal, he could arrange an acceptable modus vivendi between this corner of Ukraine and Kiev. In the process, Russia would have to be assured that Ukraine would NOT adopt anti-Russian policies and programs.

The Annexation of Crimea

Occupying Crimea was only half the job; the remaining half was to formally annex the peninsula. Putin wanted it all to appear to be a legitimate exercise, a natural extension of popular will. At a March 4 news conference, the question arose about the “legitimacy” of Russia's actions in Crimea. This bugged Putin. “We are often told our actions are illegitimate, but when I ask, ‘Do you think everything you do is legitimate?’ they say yes.” It was time for Putin to point to his favorite bête noire. “Then,” he continued, “I have to recall the actions of the United States in Afghanistan, Iraq, and Libya, where they either acted without any UN sanction or completely distorted the content of such resolutions, as was the case with Libya.”⁹ He was also asked about the presence of Russian troops in Crimea, a question that was to plague him throughout the enfolding crisis. (The Pentagon had just disclosed that as many as 20,000 Russian troops had entered Crimea.)¹⁰

“The people who were blocking the Ukrainian army units in Crimea were wearing uniforms that strongly resembled the Russian Army uniform,” a Western journalist noted. “Were those Russian soldiers, Russian military?” he asked.

“Why don't you take a look at the post-Soviet states,” Putin replied. “There are many uniforms there that are similar. You can go to a store and buy any kind of uniform.”

“But were they Russian soldiers, or not?” the journalist persisted.

“Those were local self-defense units,” Putin said.¹¹ That was a lie. The next day, the U.S. State Department listed it as number one of ten “false claims” Putin made about Ukraine.¹²

Likewise, the Russian minister of defense, Sergei Shoigu, when asked a similar question, responded with a two-word, back-of-the-hand dismissal: “Complete nonsense,” he hissed. But, journalists pressed on, what about the Russian equipment? What about the armored vehicles with Russian military license plates? The minister replied that he had “no idea.”¹³ (Six weeks later, Putin would correct the record, admitting that there had been Russian troops in Crimea from the beginning.¹⁴ Time and again, when trapped in a blatant lie, he would tell the truth, but only if it suited his purposes.)

To satisfy Putin's desire for a fig leaf of legitimacy, the newly installed pro-Russian leaders announced that there would be a referendum in Crimea. A simple set of questions would be put to the voters, a majority of whom were ethnic Russians: Do you want to remain part of Ukraine, or do you want to become part of Russia? On March 16, the day of the referendum, huge crowds formed in Simferopol's Lenin Square. They celebrated, many shouting “Russia! Russia!” while others carried the tricolored Russian flag. It was the same scene in Sevastopol, the naval base for Russia's Black Sea fleet. When exit poll numbers were aired later that evening, showing well over 90 percent had voted for union with Russia, everyone cheered, pumping their fists in the air.¹⁵ (Skeptical scholars in Washington later came upon contradictory evidence, suggesting the percentage was much smaller.)

“We're Russian,” one businessman told a reporter, “and we want to live in Russia.” A film director echoed a similar theme, but added religion to his comment. “I'm Orthodox, and Orthodoxy began in Crimea,” he said, referring to the conversion and baptism of the Kievan prince Vladimir the Great in 988. “Orthodox people must be reunited.” He meant the Slavic, Orthodox union of Russia, Belarus, and Ukraine. “This is all Russia—greater Russia, minor Russia, and white Russia.”¹⁶ These strong sentiments upholding Slavic unity help explain why so many Russians have difficulty in viewing Ukraine as a separate, independent nation.

On Russia's border with eastern Ukraine, thousands of Russian troops began bivouacking, raising questions about a possible Russian drive into Ukraine, while across the border many thousands of pro-Russian demonstrators in Kharkov scuffled with police and shouted “Putin! Putin! Putin!” and “Crimea, we are with you.” The demonstrators tried smashing into the governor's office, but they were repulsed, at least on this Sunday, and they then marched to the Russian consulate, according to a New York Times reporter, “carrying Russian flags and freshly made red banners that read ‘Russian Spring.’ ”¹⁷ Obama, in a call to Putin, stressed that the United States would not recognize the Crimean referendum and warned that Russia would now face “additional costs.”¹⁸ The “costs” were in a set of mild economic sanctions against Russia announced later that day by the White House. They included travel bans and asset freezes on several Russian officials, but not Putin.¹⁹ Secretary Kerry, in a parallel call to Russian foreign minister Lavrov, pointed to “continuing provocations” in the Donbas and accused the Russians of fomenting unrest there.²⁰

Both sides had already begun to talk past each other, volume going up, mutual understanding going down. They were to continue to follow that pattern, with only minor exceptions, for the rest of 2014 and well into 2015.

On March 18, 2014, Russia officially annexed Crimea, and Putin delivered Russia's explanation in the form of a history lesson, as much a Rorschach test on Putin's psyche as it was a justification for Russian irredentism. In the West Putin was demonized, but in Russia his poll numbers jumped to new highs. He had accurately read the mind of the Russian people. They needed a psychological boost, and Putin provided one.

“Today, there is a kind of renaissance. People are feeling that their country is strong again, but it is not about aggression,” said Olga Kryshtanovskaya, a sociologist exploring Russia's political elite. “After the Soviet Union collapsed, we were losing territories—losing and losing and losing. Now, Crimea is a symbol that we have stopped losing, we are gaining.”²¹ Yet, at the time, it was not entirely obvious that Crimea was a win-win for Russia. Many in the West worried that a full-blown civil war could yet erupt in Ukraine, dragging Russia and the United States into a proxy conflict of no benefit to either country. Others, with a bent toward history, anguished over the prospect of Russians killing Ukrainians and Ukrainians killing Russians, knowing all the while that both peoples shared a common Slavic tradition, an Orthodox Christian faith, and an allegiance to a core history harkening back to tenth-century Kievan Rus’.

Though Ukrainians and Russians share a common faith, they have, since 1992, seen a split develop between their church hierarchies. Ukraine's Orthodox patriarch, Metropolitan Filaret, announced the creation of a new Ukrainian Orthodox Church, known as the Kiev Patriarchate. It was to stand on its own, independent of the Russian Orthodox Church—a religious divide reflecting the political divide that persists to this day.²²

The prevalent fear in Ukraine was that Russia would never acknowledge its status as a free, independent, and sovereign nation. The prevalent fear in Russia was that the new regime in Kiev would be chronically pro-Western and anti-Russian, unable to see the inherent benefits of friendly relations with Russia. In fact, according to reliable polls, 68 percent of Ukrainians favored being both independent of and friendly toward Russia.

From Crimea to the Donbas

Over the next few weeks, the crisis in, and about, Ukraine deepened. Putin, having pocketed Crimea, ordered more Russian troops to the Ukrainian border (the number now approached 30,000) and dispatched small numbers of special forces, plus military equipment, across the border to such pivotal cities as Donetsk, Luhansk, and Kharkov. There they would, over the next few weeks, help organize a Donbas rebellion against the Kiev regime. Once again, Obama urged Putin to “move back [Russian] troops” from the Ukrainian border as a way of lowering tension.²³ He was baying at the moon. Obama was still of the view that he could offer Putin an “off-ramp,” a way of de-escalating the crisis, and he would accept it. It was a naive view. The president and other Western leaders were angry at Putin and baffled by his aggressive actions. They were absorbed by one question: Was Putin planning to occupy all of Ukraine, or just the Donbas? Their uncertain answer: He coveted only the Donbas, but…would he then move against all of Novorossiya?

A ‘Novorossiya’ military badge worn throughout the war in Donbass.

Everyone seemed to agree that Putin's strategy was to instigate a pro-Russian rebellion in the Donbas. There would be violence—that was assumed. Kiev would fight—if for no other reason than to retain its clout in this vitally important region. Putin was banking on local support, believing that ethnic Russians in the Donbas would be cheered by the Crimea takeover, thrilled by this show of Russian power and daring, and, in the belief that they had boarded a train of destiny, try to duplicate the Crimean fait accompli in southeastern Ukraine. They would first organize mass demonstrations. Then they would seize City Hall. And, finally, they would hold a referendum, a popular display of democratic legitimacy. That appeared to be Putin's plan, and, for the most part, it worked. From time to time, Putin needed to improvise, to coo one day and shout the next, to be belligerent and then accommodating. But, in the larger scheme of things, he stuck to his guns.

In Donetsk, on April 6, more than 2,000 pro-Russian demonstrators stormed City Hall and demanded a Crimean-style referendum. The sooner the better, they shouted. This time, they succeeded in occupying the first and second floors. They declared themselves to be a “People's Republic,” proudly pro-Russian. They wanted nothing to do with Kiev, which they described as “foreign” and “fascist.”

On the same day, in Kharkov and Lugansk, in an obviously well-coordinated operation, thousands of pro-Russian demonstrators went through the same motions. They too stormed City Hall, occupied the first and second floors, demanded the setting up of a “People's Assembly,” and announced two referendums—one on May 11 for the “autonomy” of their region and the other on May 18 either for a declaration of independence or a joining up with Russia. In neither proposed referendum was there the option of remaining in Ukraine.

Over the next few days, separatist demonstrators echoed the same demands in other east Ukrainian cities, such as Mariupol, Horlivka, and Sloviansk, whose mayor, Nelya Shtepa, expressed the feelings of many Donbas natives. “I cannot object to them (rebels),” she said, “since [they] consider Russia [their] elder brother, and we cannot fight with Russia.” Shtepa was later abducted temporarily by the rebels; then after her release the Kiev government accused her of supporting the rebels.²⁴ That in time was to change. Everyone understood that the separatists represented Russian policy and interests. Indeed, among the separatists were Russian “advisers.” Everyone spoke Russian, which eased communication between the advisers and the advised.

On April 7, Ukrainian army and police regained control of the city halls in all the rebellious cities. There were casualties, but not too many. In Kiev, government officials, hearing of these mini-victories, entertained the notion that the rebels could easily be defeated. Without Russian backing for the rebels, yes—they could be defeated; but with Russian support, no—they could not be, and for one simple reason: Russia was the stronger party. During the summer, Kievan officials were to learn that Ukraine was no military match for Russia.

Proxy War

From April to September 2014, the Ukrainian civil war lurched forward, then stumbled backward, but followed an essentially predictable path—with each step, unfortunately, drawing the Russians and the West into deeper commitments to incompatible goals: for the Russians, a totally submissive Ukraine; for the West, a free and independent one. Neither side's goal could be realized without a bigger war—which neither side wanted.

At the start of what was to become a civil war in Ukraine, the rebels, working with Russian advisers, seemed to carry the day, occupying government buildings in one village, town, or city after another. April 12 was a particularly successful day, their pro-Russian message spreading through the Donbas. Kievan leaders were alarmed, realizing, perhaps for the first time, that the rebels were laying down a serious challenge to their rule over Ukraine's eastern half, (less than half). Because they knew the Russians were supporting the rebels, they wondered how far Putin would go.

On April 15, fearing there was no option, Ukraine's acting president, Turchynov, announced the start of “an antiterrorist operation” against pro-Russian separatists.²⁵ The announcement sounded impressive, but it fooled no one. The Ukrainian army was simply not up to the task. Just as the rebels had been calling the Kiev leaders “fascists,” Kiev was now referring to the rebels as “terrorists.” Invective and bullets then began to be the only means of communication between the two sides.

Within a few days, however, the “anti-terror operation” stalled, when rebel separatists seized six armored vehicles in the town of Kramatorsk, taking the steam out of Kiev's “offensive.”

Diplomats, meeting urgently in Geneva on April 17, mumbled about the need for “de-escalation” of the crisis, fearing a wider war. But the fighting seemed only to escalate when three Ukrainian police were killed in Mariupol and three rebels were killed near Sloviansk. Each side blamed the other for the increasing violence.

On May 1, Kiev upped the ante, when it reinstated conscription and warned that Ukraine was now on “full combat alert.” That meant Ukraine was preparing for all-out war, adding organized, ultra-conservative, anti-Russian militias to the weak regular army. Whether this also meant that Kiev had struck a political deal with extremist, right-wing parties was not known.

On May 2, the civil war spread to Odessa, the jewel on the Black Sea. Pro-Russian and pro-Kiev demonstrators clashed. They carried flags and banners, shouted at one another and engaged in limited shoot-outs. Many were hurt, dozens arrested. In the ensuing mayhem, forty-two people were killed, many burned to death when the building in which they had sought safety was torched. Over the next few days, Odessa lived in violence and fear. Pro-Russian rebels went on a rampage, claiming they were defending the “Russian homeland.” They beat Ukrainian officials and attacked police headquarters.²⁶ There was a growing fear, not just in Kiev but also in Moscow, that the fighting was now getting out of hand.

At this moment in the crisis, for the first time, Putin did what he was to do several times over the next few months: he adjusted his policy, while not abandoning his ultimate goal. He met in the Kremlin on May 7 with the Swiss president, Didier Burkhalter, who happened also to be the head of the Organization for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), and told him that Russia opposed the May 11 referendum, putting him in direct opposition to the rebels. He also said he favored “direct dialogue” between Kiev and the separatist rebels—which had always been his position, but not that of the rebels—and considered the upcoming May 25 presidential elections in Ukraine to be a step “in the right direction” (he had earlier opposed the elections). Putin also promised that Russian troops maneuvering near the Ukrainian border, a cause of considerable concern in the West, would be “withdrawn.” “They are now not near the border,” he assured the Swiss president.²⁷ For those in need of a sound-bite, Putin then summarized his position: “cease-fire, de-escalation of tensions, dialogue, and elections.”

Putin struck all the right chords—welcome music to the ears of anxious Western diplomats who yearned for peace and harmony. If his intent was to head off another round of Western sanctions, which were then being threatened, he succeeded, at least for the time being. Prime Minister Arseniy Yatsenyuk, who had a way with words, dismissed Putin's new and nuanced position as “hot air.”²⁸ Kiev's Foreign Ministry added that while Ukraine favored “a full-scale national dialogue,” it would be “impossible and unthinkable with terrorists,” meaning that Kiev would not talk to the rebels, not then anyway.²⁹

In any case, there were two immediate questions: would the rebels obey Putin and postpone their May 11 referendum, and would Russian troops actually be withdrawn from the Ukrainian border? A rebel spokesman in Donetsk, patronizingly describing Putin as a “balanced politician,” said he would have his answer in twenty-four hours.

It was to be a “no”; the rebel referendum would be held as scheduled, suggesting an uneven, unpredictable relationship between the rebels and Putin. He did not have them under his complete control. Indeed, a number of rebels read Putin's objection to their May 11 referendum as a form of “betrayal.” “So Russia has abandoned us as well,” moaned one rebel spokesman. “Well, we will just have to fight the fascists on our own.” Another rebel, describing Putin as a “coward,” said: “Instead of helping the Russian people here, he is betraying us. He will pay for this with a revolution in Red Square.”³⁰

[The Referendum without the Kremlin permission demonstrates that Putin did not create the separatists as westerners insist. He supported ethnic Russians that were already on the move.]

And his troop withdrawal promise? The United States and NATO said there was no evidence of a withdrawal. This was to happen again and again—a Putin promise of withdrawal, followed by either no action or such limited action as to be inconsequential.

A Brief Respite for Elections

May 25 was Election Day in most of Ukraine, except in the rebel-held southeast, who weren’t permitted to vote, and, not surprisingly, the man with the money won the presidency. Petro Poroshenko, known as the “Chocolate King”—a billionaire who owned a chocolate empire, a TV station, and many manufacturing plants—won 56 percent of the vote and became Ukraine's president at a testing time of war, economic chaos, and regional alienation. He also had extensive business interests in Russia, which reflected the closeness of Ukraine's economic relations with Russia but which also raised hope that he, better than other Ukrainian politicians, could somehow work with Putin and end the war. Actually, Poroshenko, who spoke both Russian and English, did establish a working relationship with Putin, and they did manage to arrange a fragile cease-fire in early September. But they did not trust each other (naturally, they represented the two sides of a bloody civil war), and they could not summon up the magic formula for ending the war. Two days before Poroshenko's election, Putin said he would “respect” the results, which was not as strong as “recognizing” the results, but, in the world of diplomacy, it was better than nothing.

Poroshenko, in his first TV address, promised to devote himself to bringing “peace to a united and free Ukraine,” a phrase loaded with not quite hidden conditions: “united,” meaning he would not allow the Donbas to break away from Ukraine; and “free,” meaning a Ukraine free of Russian control. He had been in Ukrainian politics for a long time, and he knew the words and phrases that were red meat for Ukrainian nationalists. Like any pro, he tried to sound both firm and flexible. He pledged to visit the Donbas, while stressing that the “sovereignty and territorial integrity” of Ukraine would never be sacrificed. He announced new parliamentary elections on October 25, and he implied that he would negotiate with the rebels. He did not call them “terrorists.”³¹ Interestingly, in the next few days, the Ukrainian army, bolstered by unofficial alliances with right-wing militias, went on the offensive. Using combat jets, helicopters, and airborne troops, the army attacked a number of rebel positions, including a contested area near Donetsk airport. More than forty separatists were reportedly killed.³² The rebels fought back. They shot down a Ukrainian helicopter near Sloviansk, killing fourteen troops, including a general, and they battled their way into two Ukrainian military bases near Luhansk, and occupied them.³³ Even before this round of fighting, NATO, encouraged by the Ukrainian offensive but wary of Russia's ultimate objectives, pledged to increase its force levels in Poland and the Baltics, partly to ease the concerns of allies close to Russia, partly to be ready if Russia moved to the west. ³⁴

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