A fresh look at political culture in Russia and Ukraine

The conflict which broke out in 2014 brought into sharp focus Ukraine’s split identity. The Maidan Revolution, which began in Kyiv and spread throughout the country in the winter of 2013-2014, represented a crisis in Russia’s ability to influence a Ukrainian society that was proclaiming its alignment with the pro-European path. Since then, the political climates of Ukraine and Russia are often depicted as almost binary opposites: one patrimonial and authoritarian, the other democratic and liberal. The fact that only a few decades ago Ukrainian politics was depicted in largely the same colours as Russian politics was quickly forgotten. This has unfortunately led to deep misunderstandings. Ultimately, as the phrase goes, the truth lies somewhere in the middle.

Point of divergence

Political culture, the idea at the centre of this analysis, might not have all the answers – but it is a good starting point, one that can take us to the roots of the phenomenon. Using this as a guide, Kushnir retraces the history of the Russian-Ukrainian conflict. Insights start to emerge that seem self-evident and leave the reader astonished that the problem had not yet been addressed from this perspective. He endeavours to fill the gap in the literature: to take a good step back, assess the facts from a historical perspective and find the points of divergence between the two cultures.

The author’s upbringing in Ukraine and exposure to its political culture gives him an insider perspective, largely absent from western analyses of Ukrainian politics. Though it may present a danger of viewing Russian political culture through the lens of a Ukrainian narrative, he tries his best to avoid this bias. Kushnir’s academic career has been based in western institutions, which is evident in his methodology. A Ukrainian perspective and a western methodology is not a unique blend, but it is rather rare and lends strength to the analysis.

Ukraine and Russian Neo-Imperialism is not just for the expert, it can also serve as a guide for those less familiar with the intricacies of Russian and Ukrainian political processes and the history of their mutual relations. Kushnir addresses discrepancies between the two political cultures by examining the historical experiences, institutional structures, national identity, religious attitudes, as well as the symbolic thinking inherent in each culture. We get a thought-provoking understanding of both Russian and Ukrainian political symbolism and traditions, through history up to the present day.

The main aim of the book, which Kushnir makes clear, is to provide a comparison of the two political cultures in order to address two commonly held assumptions. Firstly, to substantiate the claim that Russian expansionism is predefined by its imperial traditions and historical memories, which constitute the modus operandi of the state’s domestic and foreign policies. The second assumption of the book is that Ukraine is inherently more democratic in its understanding of power, linked to the co-existence of two political symbolic traditions: Dweller (or Soviet) and Cossack. The methodology builds from two established frameworks: Eric Voegelin’s political symbolism and Maurice Halbwachs’s collective memory. Kushnir deepens the analysis by bringing in geopolitical perspectives, and cites the work by Halford Mackinder, Arnold Toynbee, Jacques Ellul and Samuel Huntington. The cumulative effect of this richly layered analysis is a thorough scrutiny of the political, symbolic and civilisational dimensions of Russian and Ukrainian identities.

Symbolism

The book is divided into two major parts and consists of five chapters. The first two chapters focus on Russian political culture and the final two are dedicated to Ukrainian political culture, with chapter three being a transition between the two. The first section addresses Russian national identity, political symbolism and the tradition of imperialism, especially in its contemporary form and in the context of aggression in Ukraine.  The second section of the book, which scrutinises the Ukrainian historical experience of state building, pays particular attention to Cossack semi-statehood, and political symbolism in modern Ukrainian politics. Kushnir also tries to explain the rationale and drive behind its revolutionary movements.

The analysis of Russian political symbolism is rather comprehensive. Kushnir supports the premise that Russian political culture stems from the traditions of Byzantium and the Golden Horde, which were adopted when Russia was first emerging as a model for statehood. These ancient traditions called for centralised political power and patrimonialism, where power and legitimacy are highly concentrated in the great leader, who sits above the law, infallible and awe-inspiring. Nuance then arises with one of the most enduring features of Russian political symbolism, sistema (as initially defined by Alena Ledeneva), which penetrates all levels of social and political life and defines the power hierarchy for each of its members. But ultimately Kushnir locates the heart of Russian symbolic thinking in an influential idea developed by Sergey Uyarov in 1833, the triad: three gravitational poles of orthodoxy, autocracy and nationality which, working in harmony, constitute the very being of the Russian universe. Though not explicit in the public discourse today, Kushnir argues that this triad remains fundamental to Russian political symbolism and informs both internal and external decision-making.

Turning to Ukraine, Kushnir traces the roots of its political culture to the Zaporozhian Sich and argues that its influence is seen in all major features of contemporary Ukrainian identity. He draws historical comparisons of Cossack symbolism to recent political events, in particular the 2014 EuroMaidan. Among the convergences of symbolism, Kushnir lists the ability to self-organise, the appearance of numerous grassroots leaders, as well as the reconstruction of the institutionalised structures of the Sich during the protests. The most curious parallel is the insight that, similar to the Cossack experience, grassroots leaders are usually only effective during the revolutionary period and fail in the process of transition and reconstruction. This helps to clarify why leaders in contemporary Ukraine have been so reluctant to implement much needed reforms, which are pursued in a selective, vague or incomplete manner.

Yet the Cossack identity is not universally shared among Ukrainians. Because of its size and history, there are also strong conservative and conformist impulses which owe more to the centuries of Russian influence. It is not a mere copy of the Russian triad, however, and it does not function in the same way since competing local narratives are too dynamic for identical execution. Kushnir describes those more attuned to this second identity as ‘dwellers’. The dichotomy of the two Ukrainian identities, according to Kushnir, will not cease to exist and, if overlooked, will continue to create unrest in the social integrity of society. The solution lies in treating the dichotomy as an asset and survival mechanism of the communities living on the great border – that is between Asia and Europe.

Considering the traditional view of Ukrainian political culture, either as a copy or a polar opposite of Russian political culture, Ukraine and Russian Neo-Imperialism offers a fresh, balanced and vibrant conceptualisation. Overall, the book will be an enlightening read for those who are not well-acquainted with Ukrainian political culture, and for specialists who are looking for a new perspective on the complexities of Ukrainian-Russian relations.

Margaryta Khvostova is a student at the Graduate School for Social Research (GSSR) of the Institute of Philosophy and Sociology of the Polish Academy of Sciences.