The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations: Structures, Actors, Issues 2020056800, 2020056801, 9781138543676, 9781351006262, 9781032018546

Table of contents :
Cover
Half Title
Series
Title
Copyright
Contents
List of illustrations
Notes on contributors
Abbreviations and acronyms
Introduction: through a handbook: the study of EU-Russia relations
Part 1 Evolving relations
1 The history of Russia-European Union relations
2 The dynamics of state and societal actors in Russia’s policy on the EU
3 Intra-European Union dynamics: the interplay of divergences and convergences
4 The normative deadlock in EU-Russia relations: hegemony without influence
5 Ideas and normative competition in EU-Russian relations
Part 2 Theories, methods and learning
6 Realism and the study of EU-Russian relations
7 Power in EU-Russia relations: more than meets the eye
8 (Neo-)Institutionalism
9 Europeanisation
10 Methods of economic analysis
11 Constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations
12 The EU-Russia relationship through the lens of postcolonial theory
Part 3 Political and security relations
13 The political and security relationship
14 The EU and the Russian Federation and human rights: similar vocabularies, opposing grammars
15 The human rights agenda in EU-Russia relations: from a political to politicised dialogue
16 Cyber security in EU-Russia relations
17 EU-Russia relations in Justice and Home Affairs: a mismatch between form and content?
18 The member states in EU-Russia relations: drivers of cooperation and sources of conflict
19 Legal approximation: the Russian perspective
Part 4 Economic relations
20 Russia-EU economic relations: from moderate pull to normative push?
21 EU-Russia energy relations
22 Policy of sanctions in Russia-EU relations
23 EU-EAEU common economic space
24 EU-Russia relations in the science and technology field: the persistence of the legal framework in the context of selective engagement
Part 5 Social relations
25 Civil society in EU-Russia relations
26 Building trust through academic cooperation?
27 EU-Russia cultural relations and identity politics
28 Unsocial media in the EU and Russia
29 Epistemic communities in EU-Russia relations: a dialogue of the deaf?
Part 6 Regional relations
30 EU, Russia and the question of Kaliningrad
31 The Northern Dimension
32 EU-Russian cross-border cooperation, its instruments and programmes
33 Russia and the EU in the Arctic
34 From a ‘common’ to a ‘contested’ neighbourhood: connecting levels of analysis in EU-Russia interaction
Part 7 EU, Russia and global governance
35 Russia in the liberal world order
36 EU-Russia-US relations: diverging visions on European security
37 Russia and the EU in Asia
38 The EU, Russia and the Middle East
39 EU-Russia relations in multilateral governmental frameworks
40 Unrealised potential: the EU and Russia in regional multilateral institutions
Index

Citation preview

“This collective volume maps, unpacks and takes stock of EU-Russia relations in all their complexity, multiplicity and versatility. It does so in a crisp, balanced, original and authoritative manner, building on its authors’ respective and complementary strengths to make meaningful empirical, theoretical and practical contributions to the study of EU-Russia relations. The authors not only shed light on the past and present of the current crisis; they also reflect on the factors likely to shape this relationship in the future.” David Cadier, Centre for International Studies (CERI) at Sciences Po, Paris, France

“The study of EU-Russia relations is coming of age. This Handbook brings together a representative group of scholars to take comprehensive stock of this maturing field. It analyses the main issues as well as points of divergence, even conflict, and brings badly needed analytical clarity to a relationship currently fraught with problems.” Hiski Haukkala, Tampere University, Finland

“A comprehensive and well-balanced picture of the EU-Russia relations presented by serious scholars from both sides. The book demonstrates the complexity of this uneasy and sometimes controversial relationship, arguing against reductionist black-and-white approaches common on both sides of the European-Russian divide.” Andrey Kortunov, Director General, Russian International Affairs Council, Russia

“Strategic stalemate became a new normal [in] EU-Russia relations. But this is not how Brussels and Moscow imagined a bilateral future almost three decades ago. This volume takes readers on a guided tour through multiple vicissitudes in the complex [EU-Russia] relations. Most importantly, this timely read reveals in great detail why, in spite of enduring economic interconnectedness, sides, over the last few years, fell further apart.” Stanislav Secrieru, European Union Institute for Security Studies

The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations

The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations offers a comprehensive overview of the changing dynamics in relations between the EU and Russia provided by leading experts in the field. Coherently organised into seven parts, the book provides a structure through which EU-Russia relations can be studied in a comprehensive yet manageable fashion. It provides readers with the tools to deliver critical analysis of this sometimes volatile and polarising relationship, so new events and facts can be conceptualised in an objective and critical manner. Informed by high-quality academic research and key bilateral data/statistics, it further brings scope, balance and depth, with chapters contributed by a range of experts from the EU, Russia and beyond. Chapters deal with a wide range of policy areas and issues that are highly topical and fundamental to understanding the continuing development of EU-Russia relations, such as political and security relations, economic relations, social relations and regional and global governance. The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations aims to promote dialogue between the different research agendas in EU-Russia relations, as well as between Russian and Western scholars and, hopefully, also between civil societies. As such, it will be an essential reference for scholars, students, researchers, policymakers and journalists interested and working in the fields of Russian politics/studies, EU studies/politics, European politics/studies, post-Communist/ post-Soviet politics and international relations. The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations is part of the mini-series Europe in the World Handbooks examining EU-regional relations established by Professor Wei Shen. Tatiana Romanova is Associate Professor at St.  Petersburg State University and at HSE University, Russia. Maxine David is Assistant Professor at Leiden University, the Netherlands.

Routledge International Handbooks Europe in the World Handbooks (sub-series) Series Editor: Wei Shen, Deakin University, Australia, and EU-Asia Centre, ESSCA School of Management, France

THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF EU-AFRICA RELATIONS Edited by Toni Haastrup, Luís Mah and Niall Duggan THE ROUTLEDGE HANDBOOK OF EU-RUSSIA RELATIONS Structures, Actors, Issues Edited by Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David

The Routledge Handbook of EU-Russia Relations Structures, Actors, Issues

Edited by Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David

First published 2022 by Routledge 2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN and by Routledge 605 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10158 Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business © 2022 selection and editorial matter, Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David; individual chapters, the contributors The right of Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David to be identified as the authors of the editorial material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publishers. Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation without intent to infringe. British Library Cataloguing-in-Publication Data A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Romanova, Tatiana, editor. | David, Maxine, editor. Title: The Routledge handbook of EU-Russia relations : structures, actors, issues / edited by Tatiana Romanova, and Maxine David. Other titles: Routledge handbook of European Union-Russian relations Description: Abingdon, Oxon ; New York, NY : Routledge, 2021. | Series: Routledge international handbooks | Includes bibliographical references and index. Identifiers: LCCN 2020056800 (print) | LCCN 2020056801 (ebook) | ISBN 9781138543676 (hardback) | ISBN 9781351006262 (ebook) Subjects: LCSH: European Union countries—Relations—Russia (Federation) | Russia (Federation)—Relations—European Union countries. | Russia (Federation)—Politics and government—1991– Classification: LCC D1065.R9 R68 2021 (print) | LCC D1065.R9 (ebook) | DDC 341.242/20947—dc23 LC record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020056800 LC ebook record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2020056801 ISBN: 978-1-138-54367-6 (hbk) ISBN: 978-1-032-01854-6 (pbk) ISBN: 978-1-351-00626-2 (ebk) Typeset in Bembo by Apex Covantage, LLC

Contents

List of illustrations Notes on contributors Abbreviations and acronyms

Introduction: through a handbook: the study of EU-Russia relations Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David

xi xii xix 1

PART 1

Evolving relations

13

  1 The history of Russia-European Union relations Konstantin Khudoley and Maciej Raś

15

  2 The dynamics of state and societal actors in Russia’s policy on the EU Tatiana Romanova

26

  3 Intra-European Union dynamics: the interplay of divergences and convergences Sandra Fernandes

37

  4 The normative deadlock in EU-Russia relations: hegemony without influence Viacheslav Morozov

48

  5 Ideas and normative competition in EU-Russian relations Joan DeBardeleben

58

PART 2

Theories, methods and learning

69

  6 Realism and the study of EU-Russian relations Nicholas Ross Smith and Anastassiya Yuchshenko

71 vii

Contents

  7 Power in EU-Russia relations: more than meets the eye Tom Casier

82

 8 (Neo-)Institutionalism Natalia Zaslavskaya

93

 9 Europeanisation Paul Flenley

105

10 Methods of economic analysis Vasily Astrov

116

11 Constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations Petr Kratochvíl

129

12 The EU-Russia relationship through the lens of postcolonial theory Elena Pavlova

139

PART 3

Political and security relations

149

13 The political and security relationship Dmitry Danilov

151

14 The EU and the Russian Federation and human rights: similar vocabularies, opposing grammars Rick Fawn

162

15 The human rights agenda in EU-Russia relations: from a political to politicised dialogue Larisa Deriglazova

173

16 Cyber security in EU-Russia relations Elena Chernenko

184

17 EU-Russia relations in Justice and Home Affairs: a mismatch between form and content? Anna A. Dekalchuk

195

18 The member states in EU-Russia relations: drivers of cooperation and sources of conflict Anke Schmidt-Felzmann

206

viii

Contents

19 Legal approximation: the Russian perspective Mark Entin and Paul Kalinichenko

217

PART 4

Economic relations 20 Russia-EU economic relations: from moderate pull to normative push? Richard Connolly and András Deák

227 229

21 EU-Russia energy relations Irina Kustova

241

22 Policy of sanctions in Russia-EU relations Ivan Timofeev

252

23 EU-EAEU common economic space Yuri Kofner and Dmitry Erokhin

263

24 EU-Russia relations in the science and technology field: the persistence of the legal framework in the context of selective engagement275 Paul Kalinichenko PART 5

Social relations

287

25 Civil society in EU-Russia relations Elena Belokurova and Andrey Demidov

289

26 Building trust through academic cooperation? Larisa Deriglazova and Sirke Mäkinen

300

27 EU-Russia cultural relations and identity politics Liubov Fadeeva

312

28 Unsocial media in the EU and Russia Maxine David

323

29 Epistemic communities in EU-Russia relations: a dialogue of the deaf? Sabine Fischer

335

ix

Contents

PART 6

Regional relations

345

30 EU, Russia and the question of Kaliningrad Pertti Joenniemi

347

31 The Northern Dimension Dmitry A. Lanko

356

32 EU-Russian cross-border cooperation, its instruments and programmes Gleb Yarovoy 33 Russia and the EU in the Arctic Alexander Sergunin 34 From a ‘common’ to a ‘contested’ neighbourhood: connecting levels of analysis in EU-Russia interaction Laure Delcour

366 379

392

PART 7

EU, Russia and global governance

403

35 Russia in the liberal world order Maxine David and Ruth Deyermond

405

36 EU-Russia-US relations: diverging visions on European security Maria Raquel Freire

417

37 Russia and the EU in Asia Vasilii Kashin

428

38 The EU, Russia and the Middle East Tuomas Forsberg

439

39 EU-Russia relations in multilateral governmental frameworks Elena Kropatcheva

449

40 Unrealised potential: the EU and Russia in regional multilateral institutions460 Sergey Utkin Index471 x

Illustrations

Figures 10.1 Revealed comparative advantages in Russia’s trade with the EU, 2016. 10.2 Levels of import tariff protection in Russia and the EU, in %. 10.3 Selected components of Russia’s balance-of-payments with the EU, in billion EUR. 10.4 Selected indicators of institutional quality, 2017. 10.5 Inward FDI stock and FDI-related income, 2016. 20.1 Share of EU and emerging and developing Asia in Russian trade, 1992–2018. 20.2 Share of Russia and emerging and developing Asia in EU trade, 1992–2018. 20.3 Russian GDP expressed as a percentage of EU GDP at market exchange rates and purchasing power parity (PPP), 1992–2018. 32.1 Decision-making process in the ENPI CBC Programmes (based on the example of ENPI CBC ‘Karelia’). 33.1 Kolarctic programme 2014–2020 area. 33.2 Karelia CBC Programme 2014–2020 area.

118 119 122 122 124 234 235 236 371 385 386

Tables 5.1 Values emphasised by the EU and Russia before and during the Ukraine Crisis of 2014 7.1 The taxonomy of power 7.2 Gross domestic product, current prices (billions USD): EU-28, Germany and Russia 21.1 Summary of EU-Russia energy relations 32.1 EU-Russia ENI CBC land-border programmes 2014–2020

63 83 84 246 372

xi

Contributors

Vasily Astrov is Senior Economist at the Vienna Institute for International Economic Studies (wiiw), with a focus on macroeconomics, energy issues, Russia and Ukraine. He is also Editor of the wiiw Monthly Report, worked as a consultant for the Austrian National Bank and was involved in projects for the European Commission and the Austrian government. He holds degrees from Warwick University (UK), University of Münster (Germany) and Saint-Petersburg State University (Russia). Elena Belokurova is a Lecturer at the Faculty of International Relations and Political Science, North-West Institute of Management, the Russian Academy of National Economy and Public Administration. She is also Director of the German-Russian Exchange in St.  Petersburg, Russia. Her research interests are civil society, EU-Russia cross-border cooperation and local politics. She has published over 50 academic articles and books. Tom Casier (PhD) is Jean Monnet Chair and Reader in International Relations at the Brussels School of International Studies (BSIS) of the University of Kent. He is currently Director of the Global Europe Centre. His research focuses on EU-Russia relations, with a particular interest in power and identity. An edited volume (with Joan DeBardeleben) entitled EU-Russia Relations in Crisis: Understanding Diverging Perceptions was published with Routledge in 2018. Recent articles have appeared in Cooperation and Conflict, Geopolitics, International Politics, Contemporary Politics, Europe-Asia Studies and others. Elena Chernenko has a PhD in History from the Lomonossov State University in Moscow

(2009). Currently, she is a special correspondent for the Kommersant daily newspaper focusing mainly on cyber security, non-proliferation and arms control. In journalism since 2003. She is a member of the board of the Council on Foreign and Defence Relations, member of the board of the PIR-Center and member of the Munich Security Conference MYL programme. Richard Connolly is Director of the Centre for Russian, European and Eurasian Studies (CREES) and Senior Lecturer in Political Economy at the University of Birmingham. His research and teaching are principally concerned with the political economy of Russia. He is also an associate fellow on the Russia and Eurasia programme at Chatham House and editor of the academic journal, Post-Communist Economies. He is the author of Russia’s Response to Sanctions, published by Cambridge University Press in 2018 and of The Russian Economy: A Very Short Introduction, published by Oxford University Press in 2020. Dmitry Danilov is the Head of the Department for European Security Studies at the Institute of Europe, Russian Academy of Sciences, Professor at the MGIMO University, Vice-President at the Russian Association of European Studies (AES). He has taken part in the preparation xii

Notes on contributors

of analytical reports for Russian state and governmental bodies and for international organisations. He specialises in European security issues, transatlantic relations, Russian foreign and security policy, and peace-keeping and conflict prevention and is author of about 200 scientific publications. Maxine David (PhD, University of Surrey, UK) is a Lecturer in European Studies in the Insti-

tute for History, Leiden University, Netherlands. Her research interests centre around foreign policy analysis and the foreign policies of the EU, Russia, United Kingdom and United States. She is particularly interested in how any and all of these actors interact regarding issues related to values, information and disinformation, and international intervention. She has edited and contributed to previous volumes on National Perspectives on Russia and Modernisation in EU-Russia Relations. András Deák is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Strategic and Defense Studies, Budapest and the Centre for Economic and Regional Studies, Budapest. He received his doctorate (PhD) in International Relations in 2003, from the University of Economic Sciences, Hungary. His research fields cover economic processes in the post-Soviet space, integration into the world economy and energy policy in particular. His research activities include foreign and energy policy analysis, political and corporate consultancy on Hungarian and some civil activities in energy conservation. Joan DeBardeleben (PhD, University of Wisconsin-Madison) is Chancellor’s Professor in the

Institute of European, Russian and Eurasian Studies at Carleton University (Ottawa, Canada), where she is also Co-Director of the Centre for European Studies. She held the Jean Monnet Chair in EU Relations with Russia and the Eastern Neighbourhood, co-funded by the Erasmus+ programme of the European Union, from 2016-2019. Her current research relates to EU-Russia relations, the EU’s Eastern Partnership policy, EU responses to the Ukraine crisis, and Russian regional elections. Anna A. Dekalchuk is an Associate Professor at the Department of Political Science and International Affairs and the Academic Director of the BA Programme in Political Science and World Politics of HSE University, St. Petersburg, Russia. She holds her MA degree in European political and administrative studies from the College of Europe in Bruges, Belgium, and a PhD from St. Petersburg State University, St. Petersburg, Russia. Her research interests cover EU studies, reforms in democracies and autocracies and social reforms in Russia. Laure Delcour (PhD and habilitation, Sciences-Po Paris) is an Associate Professor at Université

Sorbonne nouvelle (France) and a Visiting Professor at the College of Europe. Her research interests focus on the EU’s and Russia’s policies in their ‘contested neighbourhood’, domestic change in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus as well as region-building processes in Eurasia. Andrey Demidov works as a Scientific Coordinator at the Institute for Advanced Study at

Central European University. He received his PhD in the same institution in 2014 and since then has worked as a Visiting Professor at the CEU Department of Public Policy and as a PostDoctoral Fellow at ACCESS Europe (Amsterdam Center for European Studies) and a Lecturer at the University of Amsterdam. His research interests are: civil society, EU-Russia relations and EU public policy. Larisa Deriglazova is a Professor in the Department of World Politics at Tomsk State Uni-

versity, Russia. She studies EU-Russia relations with a focus on identity, human rights and xiii

Notes on contributors

academic cooperation. Her recent publications have appeared in Ab Imperio, Anthropological Forum, Siberian Historical Research, Anthropological Journal of European Culture, Russia in Global Affairs and Journal of Contemporary European Studies. Ruth Deyermond is Senior Lecturer in Post-Soviet Security in the Department of War Studies,

King’s College London. She has published in the areas of Russian foreign policy, US-Russia relations, and post-Soviet security. Her current research focuses on Russian foreign policy, particularly towards the post-Soviet space, and on the post–Cold War relationship between the United States and Russia. Mark Entin is the Head of MGIMO-University Department of European Law, Professor at MGIMO-University and Ural Federal University, Senior expert at Russian Institute of Strategic Studies and Member of Russian State Duma and Supreme Court expert councils. He received the Jean Monnet Chair and Jean Monnet Centre of Excellence. His research interests include EU and EAEU comparative law, human rights and ECHR law, Russia-EU legal and political relations, connectivity between Asia and Europe. Dmitry Erokhin received his BSc degree in Economics from the University of Bonn, and his MSc degree in Economics from the Vienna University of Economics and Business, where he is currently pursuing a PhD in International Business Taxation. He is a research assistant at the International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) in the international research project ‘Challenges and Opportunities of Economic Integration within a Wider European and Eurasian Space’. Liubov Fadeeva is Professor of Politics (Political Science Department) at Perm State University. She is Director of the European Information Centre at PSU. Her research interests include political identity, European identity politics (the politics of belonging), European civil society and the public, public intellectuals in comparative analysis, Russian foreign policy and identity politics. Rick Fawn is Professor of International Relations at the University of St Andrews in the United Kingdom. Among his books are Managing Security Threats along the EU’s Eastern Flanks (as editor) and International Organizations and Internal Conditionality: Making Norms Matter. Sandra Fernandes is Assistant Professor of International Relations and Political Science and researcher at the Research Centre of Political Science (CICP) at the University of Minho (Portugal). She holds a PhD in Political Science, with a specialisation in International Relations, from Sciences Po (Paris). Her research interests focus on European studies, the post-Soviet space, the European Union’s external action, the relationship between the European Union and Russia, foreign policy analysis, international security and multilateralism. Sabine Fischer is a Senior Fellow at the German Institute for International and Security Affairs/

Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik in Berlin. She was a team leader of the Public Diplomacy EU and Russia project in Moscow from 2019 to 2021. Her research interests are EU-Russia relations, Russian foreign policy and unresolved conflicts in the EU’s eastern neighbourhood. She holds a doctorate from Johann Wolfgang Goethe University Frankfurt and an MA from Johannes Guttenberg University Mainz. Paul Flenley is Senior Research Fellow and formerly Head of Politics and International Relations at the University of Portsmouth, United Kingdom. He is also an editor of the Journal of Contemporary European Studies.

xiv

Notes on contributors

Tuomas Forsberg is Director of the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies at the Univer-

sity of Helsinki and Professor of International Relations at Tampere University (on a leave of absence 2018–2023). His publications include The European Union and Russia (co-authored with Hiski Haukkala, Palgrave 2016) and articles in journals such as International Affairs, Journal of Peace Research, Review of International Affairs, Europe-Asia Studies, Security Dialogue and Journal of Common Market Studies. Maria Raquel Freire is researcher at the Centre for Social Studies and Professor of International

Relations at the Faculty of Economics of the University of Coimbra. She is the Coordinator of the Jean Monnet Centre of Excellence at the University of Coimbra. She is also Visiting Professor in the Post-Graduate Programme in International Relations, Federal University of Santa Catarina, Brazil. Her research interests focus on peace studies, particularly peacekeeping and peacebuilding; foreign policy; international security; Russia; and the post-Soviet space. Pertti Joenniemi is researcher at the Karelian Institute, University of Eastern Finland. He is a

scholar of International Relations and has focused more recently on the construction of identities and in this context various identity-related conflicts, employing above all psychoanalytical approaches. Paul Kalinichenko holds a Doctor of Legal Sciences degree in International and European

Law. He is a Professor in the Integration and European Law Department of the Kutafin Moscow State Law University, Jean Monnet Chair, Head of the European Law Department of the Diplomatic Academy at the Russian Foreign Ministry. His research activities essentially focus on EU external relations law, EU economic law and legal aspects of EU-Russia relations. He is engaged as a legal advisor in European law for the Ministry of Education and Science of Russia. Vasilii Kashin graduated from the Institute for Asian and African Studies, Moscow State University in 1996 and later worked in the Russian Academy of Sciences Institute for Far Eastern Studies, at the Vedomosti business newspaper, in the Russian Information Agency RIA Novosti as deputy chief of the Beijing office and as a senior research fellow in CAST, a Moscow-based defence industry consultancy. Currently Dr Kashin works for the Higher School of Economics and in MGIMO University as senior researcher and continues his work in the Far Eastern Studies Institute North-East Asia Center. Konstantin Khudoley is a Professor and Head of the European Studies Department at School of International Relations, St. Petersburg State University (Russia). He received his PhD (1978) and doctor (1988) of History from St. Petersburg University. His research interests include Russian (Soviet) foreign policy, the history of international relations and Europe. Yuri Kofner is a junior economist with a research focus on Eurasian economic integration. He

is a research assistant with the International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) in Vienna, Austria, where he participates in a research project on the challenges and opportunities of a potential EU-EAEU common economic space. He is also the Editor-in-Chief of the analytical media Eurasian Studies based in Munich, Germany. He is a PhD student with the Higher School of Economics, after having received his Bachelor’s and Master’s degree from the Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO). Petr Kratochvíl is a senior researcher at the Institute of International Relations in Prague who has recently taught at La Sapienza in Rome and at Sciences Po in Paris. His research interests

xv

Notes on contributors

cover European integration, international relations theory, Russian foreign policy and the ­religion-politics nexus. Professor Kratochvíl is the author of dozens of monographs, book chapters and scholarly articles. His most recent book, The European Union and the Catholic Church: Political Theology of European Integration (with Tomáš Doležal), won the prestigious Religion and International Relations Book Award of the American International Studies Association. Elena Kropatcheva is a researcher at the Institute for Peace Research and Security Policy at

the University of Hamburg. She holds a PhD (DrPhil) from the University of Hamburg. Her research focus is on Russian domestic and foreign policy as well as developments in the postSoviet space and their influence on European security. She has published on Russia’s ‘multilateralism’ within the CSTO and its policy towards the OSCE and NATO, as well as Russian security policy in general. Irina Kustova (PhD, University of Trento, Italy) is a Researcher at Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS), where she works on various issues concerning the energy transition and energy security. Among other things, she covers the external dimension of European energy and climate policies, including the climate agenda with Russia and best-practice transfer beyond the EU. Her work has been published in such journals as Journal of Contemporary European Research, Cooperation and Conflict, Journal of European Integration and Journal of World Energy Law and Business. Dmitry A. Lanko PhD (St. Petersburg State University 2002), works as Associate Professor at

the Department of European Studies of St. Petersburg State University and as Researcher at the Centre for Modernization Studies of the European University in St. Petersburg. His current research relates to international politics in the Baltic Sea Region and to the modernisation of Nordic and Baltic countries. Sirke Mäkinen is a University Lecturer in Russian and Eurasian Studies at the Aleksanteri Insti-

tute, University of Helsinki, Finland. Her current research focuses on international academic cooperation and educational diplomacy. Recent publications include articles in Europe-Asia Studies, Geopolitics, International Studies Perspectives, Journal of Contemporary European Studies and Nationalities Papers. Viacheslav Morozov is Professor of EU-Russia Studies at the University of Tartu, Estonia. His research interests include poststructuralism, postcolonial theory and critique, ideology and discourses in Russia and EU-Russia relations. Elena Pavlova PhD (St.  Petersburg State University in 2000), MA in international relations (University Complutense, Madrid, Spain), works as a senior researcher, Johan Skytte Institute of Political Science at University of Tartu, and Associate Professor at St.  Petersburg State University. Her current research relates to postcolonial theory, cultural studies, resilience and EU-Russia normative competition. Maciej Raś is an assistant professor at the Faculty of Political Science and International Studies, University of Warsaw, Poland. He received his PhD (2003) and habilitation (2019), both in Political Science, from the University of Warsaw. His fields of research cover international political relations, Russia’s foreign policy, the EU’s ‘Eastern Dimension’ and subnational actors in international relations. Tatiana Romanova is an Associate Professor at St. Petersburg State University and at the Higher School of Economics. She received the Jean Monnet Chair (2011) and Jean Monnet Centre

xvi

Notes on contributors

of Excellence (2015). Her research interests include EU-Russian economic, legal and political relations, normative competition, soft power/normative power, resilience, legal approximation, sanctions, energy markets and security, Russian foreign policy, EU institutions and decision-making. Nicholas Ross Smith is an Assistant Professor of International Studies at the University of

Nottingham’s campus in Ningbo, China. His research focuses on great power competition, with a particular geographic focus on Eastern Europe, especially Ukraine. He is the author of the books A New Cold War? published with Palgrave in 2019 and EU-Russian Relations and the Ukraine Crisis published with Edward Elgar Publishing in 2016 and has articles with The Journal of Politics, International Politics, and Global Policy. Anke Schmidt-Felzmann is a Senior Researcher at the Research Centre of the General Jonas

Žemaitis Military Academy of Lithuania (MAL). She holds a PhD from the University of Glasgow and was previously a research fellow in the Special Research Programme for International Studies at Utrikespolitiska institutet (UI) in Stockholm. Her research has addressed different aspects of the EU-Russia relationship, the European Neighbourhood Policy, energy supply security, Nordic-Baltic cooperation on security and challenges of conflict resolution in Ukraine. Alexander Sergunin is Professor of International Relations, St.  Petersburg State University and Moscow State Institute of International Relations, Russia. He received his PhD (History) from Moscow State University (1985) and habilitation (political science) from St.  Petersburg State University (1994). His fields of research and teaching include Arctic politics, Russian foreign policy thinking and making and international relations theory. His most recent book-length publications include Russia in the Arctic. Hard or Soft Power? (Stuttgart 2016) (with Valery Konyshev) and Explaining Russian Foreign Policy Behavior: Theory and Practice (Stuttgart 2016). Ivan Timofeev is an Associate Professor at MGIMO-University (Moscow, Russia). He defended

his PhD thesis at MGIMO and joined the University as a lecturer in 2006. Currently, he runs extensive research on US and EU sanctions policy and leads a course on sanctions for MA students. He is the author of more than 80 academic publications issued in Russia and abroad. Additionally, he has been a director of programs at the Russian International Affairs Council (RIAC) – a leading Russian think-tank – since 2011. Sergey Utkin has since 2016 headed the Strategic Assessment Section at the Primakov Insti-

tute of World Economy and International Relations (IMEMO), Russian Academy of Sciences. He holds a PhD in Political Science (International Relations), which he received at IMEMO in 2006. His research is focused on the foreign and security policy of the EU, the EU’s relations with Russia and the United States and Russia’s foreign policy in the EuroAtlantic area. Gleb Yarovoy is researcher at the Department of Geographical and Historical Studies at the Faculty of Social Sciences of the University of Eastern Finland. Cross-border cooperation between the European Union and Russia, Russia’s Arctic policy and regional cooperation in Northern Europe are among his research interests. Anastassiya Yuchshenko holds a PhD in Political Science from the University of Canterbury,

New Zealand. Her primary research interests are terrorism, security and power and the ways

xvii

Notes on contributors

they shape domestic and foreign policy. Her current research focuses on security threat perception and non-traditional threats and the incorporation of such threats in policy formation. Natalia Zaslavskaya is Associate Professor of European Studies at the School of International Relations, St. Petersburg State University. She received her Masters degree in European political and administrative studies at the College of Europe, Bruges, and PhD at St Petersburg State University. Her research interests include EU-Russian relations and IR theory.

xviii

Abbreviations and acronyms

AA ABM AC AEB AFSJ APEC ASEAN ATT BEAC BRI BRIC BRICS CAATSA CAR CBC CBM CBR CCI CCP CEE CEO CEPS CER CERN CERT-EU CFE CFSP CIS CoE COEST COMECON Comintern CSCE CSDP CSFSJ CSO

Association Agreement Anti-Ballistic Missile (Treaty) Arctic Council Association of European Businesses Area of Freedom, Security and Justice Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation Association of Southeast Asian Nations Arms Trade Treaty Barents Euro-Arctic Council Belt and Road Initiative Brazil, Russia, India, China Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa Countering America’s Adversaries Through Sanctions Act Central African Republic Cross-border cooperation Confidence-building measures Cross-border region Cultural and creative industries Communist Party of China Central and Eastern Europe(an) Chief executive officer Centre for European Policy Studies Centre for European Renewal European Organisation for Nuclear Research Computer Emergency Response Team of the EU Conventional Forces in Europe (Treaty) Common Foreign and Security Policy Commonwealth of Independent States Council of Europe Working Party on Eastern Europe and Central Asia Council for Mutual Economic Assistance Communist International Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe Common Security and Defence Policy Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice Civil society organisation xix

Abbreviations and acronyms

CSTO DASKAA DCFTA DDoS DETER DG DG RELEX DGAP DNS DOC RI DoS EAEC EAEU EaP EBRD EC ECHR ECT ECtHR ECU EEAS EEC EHEA EIB EIDHR EInDHR EMCDDA ENI ENP ENPI EO EP EPC e-PINE EPRS ESA ESDP ESPO ESS EST ETS EU EU-CEE EUGS EULEX Kosovo EUNIC EUREN Eurojust xx

Collective Security Treaty Organisation Defending American Security from Kremlin Aggression Deep and comprehensive free trade area/agreement Distributed Denial of Service Defending Elections from Threats by Establishing Redlines Act of 2019 Directorate General DG for External Relations Deutsche Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik Domain name servers Dialogue of Civilisations Research Institute Denial of service Eurasian Economic Commission Eurasian Economic Union Eastern Partnership European Bank for Reconstruction and Development European Communities European Convention on Human Rights (and Fundamental Freedoms) Energy Charter Treaty European Court of Human Rights Eurasian Customs Union European External Action Service European Economic Community European Higher Education Area European Investment Bank European Instrument for Democracy and Human Rights European Initiative for Democracy and Human Rights European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction European Neighbourhood Instrument European Neighbourhood Policy European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument Executive order European Parliament European Policy Centre Enhanced Partnership in Northern Europe European Parliamentary Research Service European Space Agency European Security and Defence Policy Eastern Siberia Pacific Ocean European Security Strategy European Security Treaty Emission Trading System European Union Central and Eastern European member states of the EU European Union Global Strategy European Union Rule of Law Mission in Kosovo European Union National Institute for Culture EU-Russia Expert Network European Union’s Agency for Criminal Justice Cooperation

Abbreviations and acronyms

Europol FAS FDI FEZ FIDH FIFA FIS FONOP FP FPC FTA FTD G7

European Union’s Law Enforcement Agency Federal Antimonopoly Service Foreign direct investment Free Economic Zone International Federation for Human Rights International Federation of Football Associations Federal Security Service of Russia Freedom of Navigation Patrols Framework programme Foreign policy concept Free trade area Facilitated Transit Document An international intergovernmental organisation consisting of the world’s seven largest, most advanced economies (Canada, France, Germany, Italy, Japan, the United Kingdom, the United States) G8 G7 plus Russia G20 An international forum for the governments and central bank governors from 19 countries (Argentina, Australia, Brazil, Canada, China, France, Germany, India, Indonesia, Italy, Japan, Mexico, Russia, Saudi Arabia, South Africa, South Korea, Turkey, the United Kingdom and the United States) and the EU GATT General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade GDP Gross domestic product GDPR General Data Protection Regulation GID General Intelligence Department (of the Russian Ministry of Defence) GONGO Government-organised non-governmental organisation GPM Great power management GRU Russian military intelligence HE Higher education HEI Higher education institutions HR High Representative HSE Higher School of Economics HuR Human rights ICC International Criminal Court ICT Information and communication technologies IFI International financial institutions IFRI Institut Français des Relations Internationals IGF Internet Governance Forum IGO Intergovernmental organisation IMEMO Institute of World Economy and International Relations IMF International Monetary Fund INF Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces (Treaty) Interreg Interregionality/interregional cooperation IoE Institute of Europe IPR Intellectual property rights IR International relations IRT EU-Russia Industrialist Round Table ISP Internet service provider ITER International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor xxi

Abbreviations and acronyms

ITU JHA JM JMA JMC JSC LGBT LNG LWO MD MED MENA MEP MFA MFN MGIMO MH17 MI MS(s) NATO NBA NCM ND NDEP NDPC NDPHS NDPTL NEAR NEI NGO NPE NPT ODIHR OECD OEWG OPCW OSCE OSW PACE PCA PEO PESCO PfP PI PPP R&D R2P RAMS   xxii

International Telecommunication Union Justice and Home Affairs Jean Monnet Joint Monitoring Authority Joint Monitoring Committee Joint Selection Committee Lesbian, gay, bisexual, transsexual Liquefied natural gas Liberal world order Ministry of Defence Ministry of Economic Development of Russia Middle East and North Africa Member of the European Parliament Ministry of Foreign Affairs of Russia Most favoured nation Moscow State Institute for International Relations Malaysia Airlines 17 Ministry of Interior of Russia Member state(s) North Atlantic Treaty Organisation New basic agreement Nordic Council of Ministers Northern Dimension Northern Dimension Environmental Partnership Northern Dimension Partnership on Culture Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-being Northern Dimension Partnership on Transport and Logistics Directorate General for Neighbourhood and Enlargement Negotiations Northern European Initiative Non-governmental organisation Normative power Europe Non-Proliferation Treaty OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development Open-ended working group Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe Centre for Eastern Studies Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe Partnership and Cooperation Agreement Presidental Executive Office Permanent Structured Cooperation Partnership for Peace Partnership Instrument Purchasing power parity Research and development Responsibility to Protect Russian Association for International Cooperation

Abbreviations and acronyms

RCA RCC REMID RF RFP RIAC RISI ROC Roskomnadzor

Revealed comparative advantage Russian Chamber of Commerce Research in Social Media and Information Russian Federation Russian foreign policy Russian International Affairs Council Russian Institute for Strategic Studies Russian Orthodox Church Federal Supervision Agency for Information Technologies and Communications Rossotrudnichestvo Russian Agency on CIS, Compatriots and International Humanitarian Cooperation RTI EU-Russian Roundtable of Industrialists S&T Science and technology SBT Small border traffic SC Security Council of Russia SCO Shanghai Cooperation Organisation SEZ Special Economic Zone SIPRI Stockholm Peace Research Institute SME Small and medium enterprise(s) SOMA Social Observatory for Disinformation and Social Media Analysis SORM System for Operative Investigative Activities (East) StratCom Strategic Communications Task Force SVOP Council on Foreign and Defence Policy SWP Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik TACIS Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States TEU Treaty on European Union TTIP Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership UK United Kingdom UN United Nations UNCTAD UN Conference on Trade and Development UNFCCC UN Framework Convention on Climate Change UNGA UN General Assembly UN GGE United Nations Group of Governmental Experts UNSC UN Security Council US(A) United States (of America) USD US dollar USSR Union of Soviet Socialist Republics VPN Virtual private network WEU Western European Union WHO World Health Organisation WTO World Trade Organisation ZOiS Centre for Eastern Europe and International Studies

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Introduction: through a handbook The study of EU-Russia relations Tatiana Romanova and Maxine David

The EU-Russian relationship, established in 1992 following the break-up of the Soviet Union and the emergence of the European Union, has experienced more than its fair share of tribulations since then. There are many routes to understanding and accounting for the nature of relations between these two actors, whether based on developments internal to the EU, to Russia or both, or based on events external to and, sometimes, outside the control of either or both the EU and Russia. Certain events and processes inside the EU have had a transformative effect on its relations with Russia; witness the 1995 and 2004 enlargements, as well as certain institutional reforms and policy initiatives, most notably the European Neighbourhood Policy and particularly the Eastern Partnership. For Russia’s part, changes in presidents and the accompanying processes, as well as the increased assertiveness of Russia following its improved economic standing, have all driven shifts in its relations with the EU. At the global, systemic level, NATO enlargements, the 1998–9 Kosovo crisis and the recognition of the latter as a sovereign actor by many EU and other states in 2008, and liberal interventionism generally are relevant foci. Equally, Russia’s actions to maintain its influence in the post-Soviet region and its exploits in Syria cannot be ignored when trying to understand the deteriorated state of relations in 2021. Events largely outside the control of both the EU and Russia, yet inevitably affecting them and their relationship, also rightly occupy the attention of analysts and politicians. Thus, the United States’ (declining) hegemony and the rise of actors from the global south and growing competition between the United States and China have presented both opportunities and challenges to the EU and Russia and inevitably, therefore, have impacted the relationship. Nevertheless, the EU-Russia relationship is a rich and varied one that is often reduced to its more contentious parts, that reductionism sometimes explained by, but more often obscuring, the numerous connections and interdependencies that exist in the relationship. This edited collection seeks to capture the variety of understandings of the EU-Russia relationship that exist in analysis today and to explore the relationship in multi-temporal, multiperspectival and multi-level terms. No single article or monograph can possibly capture all these dynamics in both comprehensive and intensive terms. As if to reinforce this idea, the very existence of this Handbook says much about the extent of EU-Russia relations and the difficulty entailed in capturing them. Little more needs to be said, therefore, about the rationale for producing this large collection. This chapter first explains the rationale and structure of the 1

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Handbook as well as its limitations, revealing the complexity of the EU-Russian relationship. It then identifies the cross-cutting issues explored in the Handbook (and today’s studies of EU-Russian relations) and, finally, summarises how contributors see the future of EU-Russian relations.

Editorial considerations The central goal of this book is to illustrate the ambit and the edifice of EU-Russia relations, providing students of the relationship with a guide to the range of materials and arguments through which it can be explored. With that idea in mind, the book gathers various perspectives on EU-Russia relations from the scholars of the EU, Russia and beyond, dealing both theoretically and practically with many of the areas that constitute the relationship. The Handbook provides readers with numerous tools to deliver critical analysis of the diversity of interactions, which are all too often highly polarised and very much a moving target for those studying them and seeking to forecast developments with respect to them. As such, many of the contributing authors discuss future scenarios and identify those processes which will be necessary to implement if the EU and Russia are to work constructively to deepen their relations and bring Moscow and Brussels closer to each other. Certain guiding principles were established early on to ensure that the Handbook would have relevance for a wide audience. That audience is seen as comprising advanced undergraduates; post-graduate students; and academics teaching on EU-Russia relations, comparative politics or other policy-linked courses. However, given the often febrile environment of these actors’ political relations, we also sought to deliver something that would be of interest to policymakers and other practitioners, for whom education on this relationship is of great salience, as well as to journalists and people engaged in civil society dialogue and cross-border cooperation. Therefore, as the two editors, we asked authors to tread carefully with respect to assumptions of knowledge. Consequently, each chapter reflects the current status of academic and policy debates in the specific subject matter and identifies the major areas of cooperation, contradictions and division – and their causes. In delivering their understandings of where the relationship stands today and how that came to be, we also asked the contributors to deliver thoughts on future perspectives. This preoccupation with past, present and future will, we hope, provide a solid understanding of the area of the relationship in question. Each chapter also contains an extensive bibliography, which facilitates those desiring to delve into more detail on a given subject. The book is structured into seven parts. The first, ‘Evolving Relations’, sets the scene for analysing EU-Russian relations. Chapters here review the historical aspects of the interactions between Russia and the EU, examine the decision-making and key players involved in the relationship on both sides (such as public institutions, business, societal players) and explore its normative aspects. An understanding of the longer context of the EU-Russia relationship is fundamental to grasping the state of any part of the relationship today. Equally, questions relating to normativity are pervasive and cross-cutting. Furthermore, analysis cannot proceed without a good understanding of the fact that a good number of actors play a part in the formulation of the relations and policy outcomes (or lack of them); the two chapters on actors and dynamics are therefore indispensable inclusions – and readings. The second part covers the theoretical and methodological aspects of how EU-Russian relations can be researched and what varying approaches tell us about the future of this interaction. The list of topics is far from exhaustive, but it covers those most essential and promising for research on the interactions. These chapters are devoted to realism (with all its sub-currents), 2

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varying perspectives on power, (neo-)institutionalism, Europeanisation, constructivism and postcolonial theory, as well as economic methods of analysis. This section presents a useful set of instruments for both the analysis and prognosis of the relationship. At the same time, each author raises questions about the limits of the utility of these instruments, suggests future research agendas and encourages dialogue between/among different approaches. As the contributors to this section implicitly make clear, it is worth emphasising the rich vein of empirics that the EU-Russia relationship provides for scholars theorising international relations and accordingly the editors’ view that more needs to be done to reconcile the area studies and international relations divide. Having established what might be considered the necessary foundations and lenses through which to analyse EU-Russia relations, the three subsequent parts of the Handbook move on to cover different types of activities in those relations. The third part includes chapters on the political and security relationship, human rights, cyber-security, interaction in the field of freedom, security and justice, and legal approximation, as well as the difficulties involved in synchronising EU-Russian relations with those between Russia and the individual member states. The fourth part dwells on economic relations. It includes chapters on general trade and investment issues as well as on energy, science and technology and the policy of sanctions, which has, regrettably, acquired salience in more recent years. Conventional wisdom would suggest that this fourth section covers the ‘meat’ of the EU-Russia relationship. In fact, the chapters here speak far less of imperatives than might be expected. The fifth part of this volume considers in detail the plurality of EU-Russian social relations, which are frequently underestimated. Chapters here are also key to revealing the complexity of the interactions and the fact that much of the relationship is preserved through even the most challenging of times. A good deal of the work here demonstrates a more cooperative nature than the overall image of the relations that usually prevails and constitutes a reminder to consider the multi-level basis of any international relationship. This part additionally reveals the heterogeneity of the EU and Russia. It includes chapters on civil society contacts, academic cooperation, social media and epistemic communities. The two final parts look at two different arenas for EU-Russia relations, which we define as regional and global levels. These two parts illustrate multiple arenas where the EU and Russia interact or are impacted by their separate relations with third countries. The part on regional relations covers the areas of rare cooperation and efficiency preserved (cross-border cooperation, Northern Dimension), the territories where cooperation has ambiguous paths and results (Kaliningrad, the Arctic), and the highly contentious and burning issues of relations in the shared/contested neighbourhood. Finally, the global part incorporates chapters on Russia and the liberal world order, the relationship in the EU-US-Russia triangle, the interaction of Brussels and Moscow in Asia and in the Middle East, as well as relations between Russia and the EU in various multilateral bodies (ranging from the UN through the OSCE to the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation). While developments inside Russia and the EU impact their relations with each other, they should not be seen through the prism of that relationship alone. Indeed, perhaps one of the pitfalls of a Handbook such as this is to suggest that the relationship is what matters most; it is all too easy to forget that the EU and Russia are distinct actors, each pursuing their own objectives and interests and each facing internal and external pressures that drive their actions and in which the other actor is not necessarily the primary consideration. That either the EU or Russia should be egocentric enough to view the other’s actions only through the lens of the impact on them is understandable, but the wider (or narrower) context should not escape the attention of analysts. The two editors see this structure as essential for the detailed analysis of EU-Russia relations but also understand its limitations. For example, the complexity of the EU as an actor 3

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is reflected in its institutions (the first part) but also in the fluid relations between the EU and national levels (the third part) and the intricacy of its participation in various multilateral fora (the seventh part). Similarly, economic relations can be treated as a part of transnational relations, together with different types of societal engagements between the EU and Russia, whereas sanctions are politically motivated and hence form an important aspect of part three. Meanwhile, norms and identity are an integral aspect of nearly all the parts and chapters of the Handbook. Finally, it is difficult to disassociate relations in the neighbourhood from political or economic relations between the EU and Russia. Even while acknowledging all this, analysis requires structuration and, inevitably, some simplification if understanding of the relationship in question is to follow. Equally, some onus must be placed on the reader, and we trust our readership to make the necessary connections. Some other challenges involved in the production of the Handbook do warrant explication at this stage. A significant challenge came in the fact of the degraded state of the EU-Russian political relationship and what that means for analysts and their deliberations. For, with respect to a polarised relationship in which events, processes and even their definitions are disputed, editors and authors face the challenge of identifying ‘facts’ and supporting evidence to deliver accurate and persuasive analysis. In an attempt to ensure a balance of arguments, this collection brings together a wide range of scholars. Those scholars also cover a range of professional experience and disciplinary backgrounds. However, while it is worth emphasising that one of the editorial priorities was to assemble Russian as well as EU/Western scholars, it is also worth expressing our understanding that balance is not synonymous with neutrality or impartiality. Indeed, delivering neutral or impartial arguments (which, depending on your theoretical lens, may or may not ever be achievable) may not be desirable if a competing priority is to deliver understanding not only of the EU-Russia relationship but of the analysis that interprets and even mediates it. Thus, we leave our readership to decide whether balance was achieved overall but reject criticism of any failure to achieve neutrality or impartiality in each and every chapter. Another challenge was identifying a full list of sub-fields in EU-Russia relations and finding authors to cover all these aspects. One does not need to look further than the Table of Contents to see that this was a challenge we did not fully meet. For certain subjects, scholars were so much in demand that we could not secure their time, hybrid threats being a case in point. Thus, certain gaps remain, whether in terms of an entire aspect of the relationship or one ‘side’s’ perspective on it. Some authors decided not to contribute their piece to the final Handbook, citing profound differences in views with those of the two editors. While respecting this choice, we consider it counterproductive for the study of EU-Russia relations as a whole and certainly antithetical to our underlying determination to build at least a scholarly bridge with respect to them. Moreover, that case was also revealing of the reluctance of some analysts to engage in debate about what constitutes evidence and to substantiate their argument in such a way as to make it compelling. We also regarded this as a micro-cosmic illustration of the (lack of) dialogue in the relations, which complicates finding solutions to the current impasse. Certain decisions were under our control and, in the interests of perhaps sparking further debate about the role of academic work, some explanation of our rationale for excluding some subject matter is warranted. Some topics constituted moving targets such that their inclusion here would have nullified our attempts to future-proof the chapters and the collection as a whole: the significance of the EU and Russia in sub-Saharan Africa or the gender agenda being good illustrations. The editorial perspective was that the academic work included here had to be grounded in the longer view. Most of the chapters end with some attempt to deliver forecasting about the possible future or futures of the relationship, but the line between forecasting and speculation, however fine, does exist, and was walked carefully here on the basis that some 4

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distance between events and their analysis should be in place in a volume that seeks to achieve what this one does. This should not, therefore, be read as a criticism of those seeking to deliver analysis of ongoing events. Whether these deliberate exclusions are viewed as to the credit rather than the detriment of the volume as a whole, we leave, again, to the readership but trust that any such conversations will take place within the context of discussion of the objectives of this – or any – (hand)book. Some topics are inescapable. It would have been surprising had the conflict in and over Ukraine, including Crimea, not been a reference point for a good number of the chapters. In fact, 2014 events and after in Ukraine were identified, whether implicitly or explicitly, by very many of our contributing authors as variously, a turning point, a black swan event, a symptom of larger issues or a cause of others. Our expectation that the Western Balkans would also arise in multiple different chapters was not met, however. Time will tell whether this is a justifiable omission or whether it is an example of scholars sometimes not seeing the early or even current signs of a problem brewing. A final note here is that at the time of manuscript completion, the United Kingdom was still in the EU. Thus, references to 28 member states or to the United Kingdom as a member are now inaccurate. What the United Kingdom’s departure means for EU-Russia relations is a matter of speculation at this point, but it is unlikely that any impact will be felt in the very near future, although the gap left by the United Kingdom’s departure in relation to the CFSP and CSDP is a cause of much speculation regarding how the EU will proceed here (Mills 2019). Most chapters were completed early in 2020, but for various reasons, they went to copyediting and printing only towards the end of that year. Many things have happened at different levels in the meantime that could have changed the dynamics of EU-Russia relations. At the global level, we all faced the threat of the pandemic, coupled with the United States and China undermining various international institutions (most notably the World Health Organisation) for the coordination of efforts against Covid-19. Additionally, the EU’s initial lack of internal solidarity was exploited by the Kremlin in propaganda terms, frittering away a valuable opportunity to show fellowship in EU-Russia relations, further cementing distrust. At the regional level, the space of the shared and competing neighbourhood has presented both sides with multiple challenges (the more acute being the conflict in Belarus between regime and civil society following the August  2020 presidential elections and the reignition of the conflict between Armenia and Azerbaijan in Nagorno-Karabakh). At the level of EU-Russian relations, the poisoning of a Russian opposition leader, Alexey Navalny, led to a serious rift in Russian-German relations, further undermining EU supporters of pragmatic engagement with Russia. The EU also advanced its Green Deal, which is to redefine EU-Russian energy relations in the short to medium term, a challenge that Russia is still to grasp. While undeniably important, these developments did not alter the dynamics in EU-Russia relations, which continue to be characterised by disengagement. Rather, already existing trends and processes were simply reaffirmed, both parties maintaining a holding pattern – waiting for precisely what is a matter of conjecture, as the chapters that follow make clear.

Cross-cutting issues There are at least seven cross-cutting issues that run both through the development of the EU-Russia relationship and this volume. The first is that of Russia’s identity, on the one hand, and the EU’s claim that it represents Europe, on the other hand. In his chapter on Europeanisation, Flenley accurately lays out the dilemma of Russia being treated as a part of Europe or as ‘Europe’s defining “other” ’. Both editors subscribe to the view that, on the basis of history and 5

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culture, Russia is very much a part of Europe. Therefore, we resisted, where possible, applying ‘European’ to the EU only in such a fashion as to exclude Russia. But we also recognise that this is not a universal viewpoint, especially among policymakers. Moreover, it also depends on whether Europe is defined in geographical, cultural or political (normative) terms. At the same time, as the Morozov, De Bardeleben and Pavlova chapters make clear, the question of belonging to Europe has defined to a great extent Russia’s present relations with the EU but also the position the EU has taken vis-à-vis Russia. The discussion on Russia’s European credentials is not only about identity but also ultimately about power relations (see Casier’s chapter), about the EU’s ability to exert normative influence over Russia and the readiness of the latter to accept this influence. The second cross-cutting issue, which comes out very vividly in Fernandes’s and SchmidtFelzmann’s chapters, is how heterogeneous and porous the EU is. This is all but a truism now, but few EU partners reflect this heterogeneity of the EU better than Russia, which for years has been reproached for trying to drive a wedge between EU member states and Brussels and so to challenge the EU’s consensus. It is for this reason that the potency of EU institutional changes is so often measured against the lessons from EU-Russian relations. It has also been argued that Russia remains a(n unflattering) mirror for the EU (David and Romanova 2019). Yet, tensions in relations with Russia, resulting from confrontation in the neighbourhood, Russia’s challenge of international norms and its crackdown on democratic freedoms (including the 2020 poisoning of Navalny as well as the lack of progress in pacifying, if not resolving, the situation in Eastern Ukraine) have resulted in the EU managing a considerable consolidation of its Russia policy. More recently, Moscow has been accused of exploiting the EU’s porosity, meddling in the EU’s internal affairs and using hybrid measures to threaten Brussels and the member states (ranging from disinformation, through alleged attempts to influence national elections, often via social media [see David’s chapter], to cyber attacks [see Chernenko] and attacks on individuals in the EU, such as was seen in Salisbury, England, in 2018 [see David 2018]). These trends also reflect a more universal development wherein international relations are increasingly about transnational engagements and cannot be limited to intergovernmental dialogue. To illustrate this further, Russia has long expressed concerns that the EU tries to influence its internal politics (see Belokurova and Demidov). This topic is further developed in the part on societal interaction between the EU and Russia, which demonstrates that EU-Russia relations comprise considerably more than that which is encapsulated at the intergovernmental level alone. Relatively speaking, Russia is a unified actor, but it cannot be forgotten either that, notwithstanding President Putin’s policy of reinforcing the authority of the federal centre, Russia is a federal state covering a vast swathe of territory, with various regions facing quite distinct challenges (including in relation to the EU; see the separate Yarovoy and Joenniemi chapters). Moreover, Romanova’s chapter draws attention to the multiplicity of Russian interests involved in the development of the policy on the EU, although they are not entirely visible, given that the current stage of confrontation with the West has resulted in the (willing or otherwise) consolidation of Russian elites under the aegis of patriotic conduct. In addition, Russia also promotes Eurasian integration, which theoretically should lead to the emergence of a supranational level, similar to that of the EU (see Kofner and Erokhin, part four). The third cross-cutting issue is that EU-Russia relations have always been a combination of cooperation/fostering interdependence and competition/mutual alienation. It would be a gross simplification to say that the 1990s were about cooperation, while today’s interaction is only about drifting apart. Even in the mid-1990s – as the chapter by Khudoley and Raś indicates – Russia demonstrated some resistance to the EU’s normative pressure. Similarly, contributors 6

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specify instances of today’s cooperation ranging from high-level political issues (like Iran or the Middle East in Forsberg’s contribution) through energy cooperation and selective climate change engagement (see Kustova) to economic (Connolly and Deak’s chapter) and societal interaction (part five), as well as regional engagements (Lanko; Yarovoy; and Sergunin, all part six). The permeability of borders for both positive and negative interdependencies (be it trade, educational exchanges and civil society dialogues or climate challenges, terrorism and pandemics) compel the EU and Russia to cooperate on common (but internal for each) threats. At the same time, alienation and mutual suspicion frustrate such cooperation. Hence, we can discern a shifting pattern of cooperation vs confrontation, but both components have featured throughout the years of EU-Russian relations. Geographical proximity and cultural closeness as well as economic relations ensure the two components will continue to feature. Yet, at the same time, the EU and Russia have never developed a cooperation reflex; their interaction remains secondary to their other formats of participation in world affairs, in particular, to the dynamic patterns of their separate interactions with the United States and, more recently, China. One possible reason may be – the realist would say – that this cooperation has never been essential for the survival of both actors; institutionalists would stress the weakness of existing structures of cooperation, whereas constructivists are likely to emphasise the problematics of identity, and postcolonial scholars would reveal power relations embedded in past interactions (see part 2 for more details). The fourth cross-cutting issue of this Handbook is an acute contradiction between the fundamentals of EU-Russian relations and EU-promoted selective engagement. At the level of fundamentals, the EU demands respect for norms and values as they are enshrined in the Treaty on European Union (TEU) as well as for the international liberal order and rules-based governance (EU 2016). Russia for its part requests equality as expressed in its major conceptual documents and respect for international law in its classical interpretation (Russian Federation 2016) but also revision of some norms so that Russia is granted a seat at the governing table, commensurate with the way it perceives itself (Romanova 2018). Indeed, Russia’s perception that it is insufficiently integrated into European structures has resulted in fierce discussions about Russia’s inclusion/exclusion (see, for example, Pavlova’s or Dekalchuk’s chapter) and the readiness of Russia to challenge the liberal order. Despite seeking to engage selectively, the sustainability of each actor’s engagement is doubtful at best. Any type of selective engagement is frequently conceptualised as a zero-sum game or proffered in a partial fashion, either furthering the EU’s values’ and norms’ agenda or representing Russia’s view that there is no sustainable solution without its full involvement and equal participation. The fifth cross-cutting topic is that of economic rationality. It has been another truism to talk about the importance of EU-Russian economic relations for both actors, as well as about the asymmetries in these relations where the EU makes up the biggest share of Russia’s trade and investments, whereas Russia is indispensable for the EU’s energy supply. Yet various contributions to this volume (Connolly and Deak; Kashin; Kustova; Timofeev) argue that structural changes are transforming what the parties have frequently perceived as their unilateral dependencies into a system where each is increasingly insignificant for each other economically. The increasing power of Asia in the global economy drives Russia to pivot eastwards (as do EU sanctions), increasing its trade with that region. The EU has embarked on energy transition, to decrease its reliance on Russian gas, but particularly oil and coal and potentially nuclear fuel. Hence, significant changes are eroding what many still perceive as the solid basis of EU-Russian relations. The sixth cross-cutting issue is that of how the EU and Russia talk past each other while using the same terms. The ubiquitous mentions of ‘equality’ are one illustration: for Russia, it is 7

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about the ability to participate in (and veto) key decisions; for the EU, it is more about the ability to express views and be heard but also to abide by the decision of the majority (of democratic nations). The views on multilateralism also support this distinction between the EU’s insistence on the will of the majority vs the right of Russia to decide and have a final say on major issues (see in particular the chapters of Kropatcheva; Utkin; and David and Deyermond). The EU and Russia also diverge on Europeanisation, which is about technical adjustments for Russia and about deep values’ transformation for the EU (see Flenley’s chapter). Both the EU and Russia frequently appeal to international law but differ on the interpretation. Similarly, the EU and Russia have different inclinations to accept the rulings of international bodies. These contradictions come up particularly vividly in the chapters by Chernenko, Danilov, Delcour, David and Deyermond, Kropatcheva, and Utkin. The fact that the EU and Russia use the same words to advance different agendas, with Russia increasingly frequently reinterpreting conventional (that is, Western, many Russians would say) definitions does little to simplify communication between Moscow and Brussels. At the opposite end of the scale, of course, is the difference in the EU and Russian discourse when addressing the same issues. The words that are used to describe 2014 events in Crimea (annexation in the West and repatriation and legitimate expression of people’s will in Russia) are the best illustration. The discourses advanced by the EU and Russia of course reflect many of the cross-cutting issues outlined previously. Where possible, the editors tried to emphasise these divergences, something aided by the fact that the authors represent so many different nationalities (though not, we would like to underline, necessarily what might be ‘their’ dominant national position) such that they inevitably draw on different official discourses, particularly, in different languages, English and Russian being the main. The final cross-cutting issue is that of false binaries in EU-Russian relations, either for the sake of easing analysis or with the intention of establishing right from wrong, creating various superior and inferior categories. Kratochvil, in his chapter, for example, reminds us of the tendency to classify the EU as a postmodern actor vs modern Russia (see also Joenniemi’s chapter). Here, the multiplicity of possible definitions of a concept creates problems. For instance, the notion of the EU as a postmodern actor can be critiqued for ignoring its continuing developments as a military actor, while other definitions would allow that the status of post-modernity is not contingent upon wielding only soft power. When it comes to Russia and soft power, its credentials in this regard are easily dismissed by those for whom soft power is writ in liberal notions of it, denying the possibility of an actor such as Russia reinterpreting and providing an alternative vision of what it might mean to be such a power. Values are another case in point, all too often in the EU case treated as separable from interests, while Russia pursues interests that lack a foundation in values. In reality, of course, values and interests should be regarded as two sides of the same coin.

What future for EU-Russian relations? For all the differences identified between the EU and Russia in terms of identity, interests and institutions, there are two striking similarities between them which should be borne in mind. First, both the EU and Russia seem to believe that time is on their side. The inherent belief of the EU is that the current international liberal order is fair and has to be preserved in its current form, as all actors are fairly accommodated in it. All divergences are treated as a betrayal of the compact begun with the Helsinki Final Act and cemented with the fall of the Soviet Union, meaning that the EU continues to hope the leadership of its partners (Russia in this case) will change, their civil society will develop and they will eventually embrace the 8

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order in the way it was imagined they would in 1991 (see, for example, EU 2016). Russia, by contrast, believes the world is in the process of dramatic change, the West in decline while other alternative voices are finally being heard. Hence, Russia merely has to see how matters will rearrange themselves and will eventually carve out a place which properly reflects its status (see, for example, Lavrov 2019). The second similarity follows from the first. Neither actor has a long-term plan of how to (re)construct relations with the other. The EU’s mantra that there is no return to business as usual is met in Russia with a simple statement that nobody in Moscow wants that. The EU also recognises a possibility for ‘selective engagement’ with Russia over matters of EU interest (Mogherini 2016: 33). Russia for its part declares that it is ready to cooperate pragmatically whenever and wherever the EU decides to do so, that it never halted relations and is ready to engage with the EU whenever the latter is ready for it (see, for example, Chizhov 2019). Hence, both sides are short on strategic thinking and goals and employ tactics to manage relations that are relics from the past. The European Parliament tried to alter this tendency recently, urging the High Representative for Foreign and Security Policy and the Council ‘to devise a new strategy for the EU’s relations with Russia’ (European Parliament 2020) and thus to give a long-term perspective to this interaction. Yet it lacked innovation, limiting itself to a reference to values and the cooperation of civil societies, a reiteration of the pattern of selective engagement already present. Nor does it answer the question of how this cooperation can happen in conditions when Russian authorities continue to limit the space for transnational civil society interaction (for a recent illustration, see Putin 2020). Practically all the Handbook contributors are rather pessimistic about the prospects for EU-Russian relations. In a short-term perspective, the only possible positive scenario is the maintenance of the status quo, neither side wanting to return to business as usual; mutual deterrence and selective engagement are likely features of this status quo, as is the perception of the possibility of a further decrease of economic and political relations. One major concern is how to prevent further worsening of the relations. In the areas where cooperation has been preserved (such as cross-border cooperation and the Northern Dimension, energy and the environment, education and science), no qualitative change is expected. Rather, most authors expect the continuation and extension of those projects previously launched or the instrumental use of international institutions with no qualitative overhaul. The overall lack of trust and the (perceived) difference in priorities and vision also mean that cooperation in potentially mutually beneficial areas, such as cyber security or the Middle East will (continue to) stall. At the same time, the suspension of various regular institutional bodies (summits, cooperation councils, dialogues) means that the parties are losing both the habit and skill of cooperating, especially at the transgovernmental and transnational levels, while the efficiency of that interaction which is preserved suffers. This therefore does not bode well for the medium- to longer-term perspectives. Contributors have identified at least three factors that could change this dynamic in the long run. The most frequently cited one is changes within Russia itself. They are expected to come as civil society in Russia grows more mature and hence demands changes from state institutions. These expectations also rely on the fact that Russia’s identity remains profoundly European, as the contributions of Morozov, DeBardeleben, Deriglazova, Flenley or Pavlova clearly indicate, and Russia’s normative offensive can, therefore, be tamed relatively easily should the political will to that effect arise. While some continue to believe that the EU should facilitate those changes, most contributors agree that this is the road that Russia has to take by itself at its own pace, meaning the EU would do better to adopt a wait-and-see attitude rather than risk impelling internal changes in Russia. As studies attest, Russian society is indeed increasingly unhappy with the course of Russia’s development, but that does not mean that 9

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Russian people are ready to protest (akin to their Ukrainian, Belarus or Kyrgyz peers) or go into politics to change that, nor is this critical attitude transferred to Russia’s foreign policy (Kolesnikov and Volkov 2019). The second – although less plausible – factor that might transform the present EU-Russia relationship is a fundamental change in the EU (see Morozov this volume). This factor manifests itself in the rise of populist movements and growing euroscepticism; the United Kingdom’s exit and the normative offensive of some EU member states, like Hungary or Poland. There are also reasons to claim that the present EU unity (member state and institutional) vis-à-vis Russia is reinforced as much by the Lisbon Treaty institutional changes as by the perception of threat coming from Russia. If the latter recedes, the EU’s divergence might lead to some changes in its relations with Russia. In this respect, the evolution of member states’ positions in the context of other developments is of a crucial nature. The events of 2020 demonstrated that an assertive Russian domestic and foreign policy leads to the EU consolidating its Russia policy along censorious lines. Finally, the black swan scenario, mostly including threats to both the EU and Russia, also cannot be excluded. This scenario could be linked to some global and structural, mostly catastrophic, changes or palpable threats to both the EU and Russia that will force them to unite. Naturally, as with any transformative, intervening factor, it is next to impossible to identify at present. This factor could potentially make EU-Russia relations vital for both the EU (including its national capitals) and Russia, something that the relations have always missed. Yet 2020 also demonstrated that an existential threat to the population, that is, a deadly pandemic, does not inexorably lead to any fundamental change in EU-Russian relations; rather it creates competition and alienation in new areas (vaccine development and certification). Hence, it appears that a threat with the capacity to compel a reassessment of the relationship will have to be exponentially larger, potentially on a scale to threaten the very survival of the state machine and the fundamentals of society. Whatever the driving factors for changes are, the evidence from this Handbook suggests that, in the long run, the relations will be more pragmatic and interest based, less value driven relative to the expectations of the 1990s, more transactional than transformative. A common long-term understanding of these interests remains to be achieved. The emphasis on interests is a sign of recognition that EU-Russia relations are driven not only by internal processes in both the EU and Russia but also by global dynamics and balances of various powers as well as structural issues. Hence, irrespective of who holds the Kremlin office, whatever the changes in the civil society of Russia, or how the EU evolves, some things are projected to stay the same. It also seems vital for a deepening of cooperation that, when designing this long-term agenda, the parties fully respect each other’s values and differences as well as practise equality; both parties have to feel fully integrated in the shared arrangements and therefore committed to their implementation; respect for the right of neighbours to decide on the course that they take domestically or internationally has to be upheld, while the efforts of the sides to contribute to the resilience of those actors are to be recognised. The history of Europe and that of EU-Russian relations will remain a very important resource for both grounding the respective positions and for building a new quality in the mutual relationship. Yet this development will – if indeed it ever does – take place in a different environment. Contributors diverge on the share of politics and economics in future relations. Some view geographical proximity and the density of economic and trade links as a safety net that will preserve a certain degree of cooperation in the relations. Others remind us that the structure of Russian external trade has been changing in the direction of mutual disengagement, intimating that the relationship in the longer term will concentrate mostly on political issues. Furthermore, 10

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a heightened global perspective will apply to this relationship. The EU and Russia might find themselves in a situation where they help each other balance the power of China, shying away from any confrontation between the United States and China, all the better to advance their economic relations in the world. An EU-Russian partnership might be essential to drive a global climate deal, while US-Russia security relations will affect the EU-Russian political dialogue (see Danilov; Freire herein). Finally, relations will develop in a situation of further integration in the information and cyber spaces, which makes transgovernmental interaction denser and less predictable and verifiable. Our contributors also outline a variety of policy consequences, stemming from the research in their issue areas. In the short term, most of them relate to how to construct the relationship in a situation where trust is lacking. Most contributors argue for the need to re-open institutional contacts. Some recommendations stemming from the practice of those specific relations that are preserved, that is, cross-border engagements, academic cooperation or expert consultations, are also worth considering. In the longer term, most recommendations revolve around the need to develop a shared vision (of interests), which has to precede the institutional overhaul of the relations. Yet institutions are necessary to guarantee both the realisation of this vision and the equality of the interactions (as Entin and Kalinichenko illustrate in the case of legal approximation). Finally, a piecemeal approach, which contributes to the building of trust at various levels of the relations (see Kofner and Erokhin as an example) and in different fora remains the most frequent option our contributors suggest. Both editors hope that this book will inspire more policy suggestions that will eventually lead to the improvement of EU-Russia relations. We trust, too, that it provides the necessary kindling for those students looking for research agendas to pursue, perhaps even playing some small part in the development of the analysts and policymakers of EU-Russia relations in the future.

Acknowledgements We are grateful to the University Association of Contemporary European Studies (UACES) for its small events funding; to the Institute of History, Faculty of Humanities, Leiden University for their matched funding; and to NORTIA: Network on Research and Teaching in EU Foreign Affairs and received financial support from the European Commission’s ERASMUS+ Jean Monnet Network funding [project number 587725-EPP-1-2017-1-NL-EPPJMO-NETWORK]. This all funded the January 2019 event ‘Perspectives on European Foreign Policy in the Context of Current EU-Russia Relations’ and the January 2019 EU-Russia Handbook contributors’ workshop, both held at the Institute for History, Leiden University, Netherlands. These workshops brought together many of the contributors to the Handbook, as well as scholars of European and Russian foreign policy more generally, and generated discussions that informed the thinking of those Handbook authors present.

References Chizhov, V. (2019) ‘Remarks at the Conference “Global Disorder. Towards Dialogue-Based Worldviews” within the 17th Dialogue of Civilisations Rhodes Forum’, Russian Mission to the EU, available at https://russiaeu.ru/en/news/ambassador-vladimir-chizhovs-remarks-conference-global-disordertowards-dialogue-based (accessed 9 January 2020). David, M. (2018) ‘UK–Russia relations: poisoned chalice or silver linings?’, Palgrave Communications, 4: 113, doi:10.1057/s41599-018-0168-7 David, M. and Romanova, T. (2019) ‘The EU in Russia’s house of mirrors’, Journal of Common Market Studies 57(S1): 128–40. doi:10.1111/jcms.12931 11

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EU (2016) ‘Shared vision, common action: a stronger Europe. A global strategy for the European Union’s common foreign and security policy’, available at https://eeas.europa.eu/topics/eu-global-strategy/ 17304/global-strategy-european-unions-foreign-and-security-policy_en (accessed 1 January 2020). European Parliament (2020) ‘Motion for a resolution to wind up the debate on the statement by the vicepresident of the commission/high representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy, pursuant to rule 132(2) of the rules of procedure, on the situation in Russia: the poisoning of Alexei Navalny’, 2020/2777(RSP), Brussels, 14 September. Kolesnikov, A. and Volkov, D. (2019) ‘My zhdem peremen  – 2. Pochemu i kak formiruetsya spros na radikal’nye izmeneniya’, Carnegie.ru, November, available at https://carnegieendowment.org/files/ Carnegie_Moscow_Article_Volkov_Kolesnikov_Rus_Nov2109_final.pdf (accessed 9 January 2020). Lavrov, S. (2019) ‘The world at a crossroads and a system of international relations for the future’, Russia in Global Affairs, 17(4), available at https://eng.globalaffairs.ru/number/The-World-at-a-Crossroads-anda-System-of-International-Relations-for-the-Future-20306 (accessed 9 January 2020). Mills, C. (2019) ‘What would a no-deal Brexit mean for UK and EU defence cooperation?’, House of Commons Library, 30 September, available at https://commonslibrary.parliament.uk/brexit/negotiations/ what-would-a-no-deal-brexit-mean-for-uk-and-eu-defence-cooperation/ (accessed 9 January 2020). Mogherini, F. (2016) ‘Remarks by High Representative/Vice-President Federica Mogherini at the press conference following the Foreign Affairs Council’, Brussels, 14 March, available at https://eeas.europa. eu/headquarters/headquarters-homepage/5490/remarks-by-high-representativevice-president-feder ica-mogherini-at-the-press-conference-following-the-foreign-affairs-council_en (accessed 12 August 2020). Putin, V. (2020) ‘Meeting of the Valdai discussion club’, available at http://kremlin.ru/events/president/ news/64261 (accessed 18 December 2020). Romanova, T. (2018) ‘Russia’s neorevisionist challenge to the liberal international order’, International Spectator 53(1): 76–91. Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation. Approved by President of the Russian Federation V. Putin’, MFA of Russia, 30 November, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/ guest/foreign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/content/id/2542248 (accessed 21 March 2019).

12

Part 1

Evolving relations

1 The history of Russia-European Union relations Konstantin Khudoley and Maciej Raś

Relations between the Russian Federation and the European Union (EU), their cooperation but also competition and even rivalry, have shaped the European order since the 1990s. Competition and rivalry gained in significance in the twenty-first century as the EU enlarged and deepened its engagement in the post-Soviet area. The contradictory interests of Russia and the EU ‘infected’ their cooperation with each other. The history of Russia-EU relations has shaped their policies towards each other as well, leading to disillusionment, misperception, distrust and eventually tensions (see also DeBardeleben; Morozov in this volume). Narratives about the evolution of Russia-EU relations, as presented by both parties, have diversified and become contradictory under the influence of their political goals. History is a science, but political elites tend to use it instrumentally to pursue their political objectives, which further complicates relations. This chapter traces the evolution of Russia-EU relations since the beginning of the 1990s, when Russia acquired sovereignty and the Treaty on European Union (TEU) entered into force, until 2019. Some references to the Soviet perception of integration processes in Western Europe are treated as a starting point. The main goals are to identify which factors influenced Russia-EU relations and to determine their relative significance, to examine the views of both sides on the factors that shaped each stage of the relations and to define to what extent these factors and views shaped the relationship. Three periods can be distinguished in the history of these relations: 1990s–2004, 2005–2014 and 2014 to present. During the first period, the institutional base for multidimensional cooperation was developed. Despite some political and economic challenges, both partners strove to strengthen cooperation. The EU enlargement in 2004 enhanced its influence over the Eastern European partners but elicited Russia’s counteraction, sometimes tough and irreconcilable with the EU’s position. The period between the mid-2000s and 2014 can therefore be described as a path to crisis, although the parties attempted to establish new rules for their partnership. The year 2014 was the most crucial for both actors. The West made another step eastward, and Russia reacted to it sharply, unleashing the most serious crisis since the end of the Cold War. Both Moscow and Brussels were surprised, disappointed, even shocked by the other side. ‘Western expansionism’ versus ‘Russian aggression’ have become dominant narratives. Hence, the collapse of the Soviet Union (USSR), the consequences of the 2004 enlargement and the 2014 crisis are three bifurcation points in the history of Russia-EU relations. 15

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The focus of this chapter is interdisciplinary. The authors analyse the importance of political, economic and other factors in the individual periods discussed. Emphasis is placed on political interactions. The evolving ‘nature’ (the political and social-economic system) of the Russian Federation is taken into account, along with asymmetries between the parties. References to varying perspectives on the history of Russia-EU relations and the Soviet period form the initial parts of the analysis.

Varying perspectives on the history of Russia-EU relations The evolution of Russia-EU relations has been studied in a slightly different manner in the Western and Russian literature. Much of our understanding of the history of Russia-EU relations stems from an EU-centric approach, whether through a focus on EU policies or EU variables. The English-language literature varies in its approach but shares a tendency to try to explain the evolution of the relationship, whether in narrower, wider, empirically or theoretically directed ways. Many authors focus on political relations, security, creating European order, or discourse related to these issues (Allison et al. 2006; Baranovsky 1997; Delcour 2017; Diesen 2015; Khudoley 2016; Leonard and Popescu 2007; Popescu and Wilson 2009; Sakwa 2015; Zaslavskaya and Averre 2019). The theoretical literature at times views the relationship through just one international relations theoretical lens (Akchurina and Della Sala 2018; Casier 2018; DeBardeleben 2012; Pänke 2015; Smith 2016; Tulmets 2014) and at others argues for the need to apply a different lens depending on the period under discussion or other determinants (Casier 2013; Klinke 2012; Forsberg and Haukkala 2016; Romanova 2015a) or delivers a more institutionalist account (Dragneva and Wolczuk 2012; Haukkala 2010; Hughes 2006; Kobayashi 2017; Romanova 2014). Some important insights are delivered through the constructivist approach (Averre 2005; Casier and DeBardeleben 2017; Liik 2018; Neumann 2017; Pänke 2015; Thorun 2009), while others adopt a far more technical, sectoral approach, especially related to the energy dialogue (Aalto 2007; Casier 2011; Krickovic 2015; Kuzemko 2014; Turksen 2018). Clearly, however, the English language scholarship has applied more theoretically driven approaches (Romanova 2019: 139). The analysis of Russia-EU interactions has usually reflected the climate of relations at a certain time. The shift from an ‘optimistic’ to ‘pessimistic’/‘pragmatic’/‘realistic’ vision of the relations and their future prospects is visible in the English-language literature. The ‘positive interdependence’ between the parties, based on (neo-)liberal assumptions, dominated in the post–Cold War period of the 1990s (Cooper 2003). Along with the gradual deterioration of the relationship and decreasing mutual confidence between the two actors, various scholars started emphasising the divergent interests expressed by the partners, as well as the ideational differences between them (Casier 2016; Ferrari 2015; Khudoley 2016; Liik 2018; Maass 2017; Prozorov 2016; Raś 2015; Sakwa 2018), noting that (neo-)realist (Smith 2016) or constructivist (Makarychev 2014) approaches would be more useful to study the Russia-EU relationship. By comparison, the Russian-language academic literature on the history of Russia-EU relations is not extensive. Russian scholars – compared with Western ones – have evidently been influenced by political views rather than theoretical attitudes. Two main visions are advanced: Euro-optimists and Euro-sceptics. Euro-optimists perceive Russia and the EU countries as two branches of the same civilisation, moving in the same direction but at different speeds and with some markedly different interests and/or concerns. They regard European integration as a successful project, encouraging Russia to undertake market and democratic reforms. All this should lead to Russia-EU rapprochement and a strategic partnership (Khudoley 2003). Euro-optimists believe in a convergence of the two societies’ value orientations, which should foster a sharing 16

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of common values. Thus, in discussions of the history of the relationship, emphasis is placed on the positives and connections; the challenges are treated as something secondary. From the standpoint of Russian Euro-sceptics, Russia and the EU countries belong to two distinct civilisations, following separate paths. The EU is not regarded as an optimal project; predictions are put forward as to its growing crisis and even its inevitable collapse. The misalignment of each actor’s value orientations is identified, relations between them deemed to be based on formulas such as ‘semi-partnership–semi-rivalry’, which might lead to confrontation. The EU’s enlargement triggered particularly negative judgments: since the mid-1990s, sceptics have therefore predicted an inevitable clash over the post-Soviet space. The history of the relationship is thus viewed as a continuous run of failures and attempts by the EU to intrude into ‘historical Russia’ (Shishelina 2006: 253). In the period 1991–2005, when Russia-EU relations mostly developed along an upward trajectory, Euro-optimists prevailed (Romanova 2015b). Later, the balance gradually shifted in favour of Euro-sceptics, the latter dominating after the mutual slapping of sanctions in 2014. Euro-sceptics are also driven by notions of a crisis of the ‘historical West’, popular among the higher strata of Russian society (Kulikov and Sergeitsev 2017), and the superiority of authoritarian state capitalism over liberal democracy (Karaganov 2018). A number of researchers have even referred to a ‘post-European Russia’ (Miller and Lukyanov 2016). Both the English and Russian language academic literature focuses in particular on the following areas: political relations; the ‘common neighbourhood’; energy dialogue; economic relations; cross-border cooperation; and cooperation concerning internal issues, including internal security (Romanova 2019: 137–9). Systemic differences and divergent political ‘natures’ (Shevtsova 2010), the role of elites (Kratochvíl 2008), the influence of EU member states’ interests and perceptions (Leonard and Popescu 2007; Liik 2018; Siddi 2018) and the US factor (Ferrari 2015; Gasztold 2020; Kanet 2009) or divergent international strategies (Averre 2009; Diesen 2015) are also taken into consideration. Some of them should be recognised as significant or even systemic/structural (touching fundamental aspects of the relationship).

The Soviet period During Soviet times, ideological and political factors definitely prevailed. That resulted from a sharp multidimensional confrontation between the two competitive political-economic systems. Although from the time of Peter the Great, the Russian Empire had considered itself a part of Europe, being actively involved in European politics, the USSR declared itself an antagonist of bourgeois Europe, proclaiming the creation of a new society based on qualitatively different values and stressing the reactionary nature of European integration (Lenin 1969: 352, 354). Therefore, Moscow considered the integration projects of the 1920s–30s as coalitions against the USSR and world socialist revolution. This policy was continued after the Second World War. The situation began to change only in the late 1950s, when the European Communities (EC) were developing at a rapid pace. The limited destalinisation of the mid-1950s favoured this process. Simultaneously, the USSR tried to integrate European socialist states; however, these efforts proved limited, which also stimulated a new Soviet policy towards the EC. The first, unsuccessful probing to establish relations was undertaken by Moscow in the 1960s, though the EC perceived it as a mere propaganda event (Lipkin 2016: 315–17). The issue of cooperation arose more seriously in the run-up to the Conference on Security and Co-operation in Europe (CSCE). Leonid Brezhnev recognised the EC as a reality then (Brezhnev 1972: 490). However, official relations were not established due to tensions between the USSR and the West in the late 1970s. The differences between the two actors prevented any real cooperation. 17

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Qualitative changes in Soviet policy occurred in the late 1980s–early 1990s, linked to Mikhail Gorbachev’s ideas of new political thinking and a common European home, implying a convergence of the two previously opposed sociopolitical systems. Within this framework, the USSR recognised the EC as both an economic and political entity, established diplomatic relations and signed the Agreement on trade and commercial and economic cooperation (European Communities and Soviet Union 1989). Gorbachev considered this an important step for integration of the Soviet economy into the world one.

The first stage: relations on the ascent (1991–2004) The collapse of the USSR and the establishment of the EU occurred almost simultaneously. Russia implemented democratic and market reforms, creating a good foundation for cooperation free from ideological dogmas and other Cold War legacies. The EU established diplomatic relations with Russia, extending to it the 1989 Agreement. Shared positions on important international issues were reflected in the UN’s activities, the Helsinki process and other international forums. The climate of the mutual relations was unprecedentedly benevolent. Politics played a positive role in Russia-EU relations then. In 1994, the partners signed a Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (EU and Russia 1994), announcing a commonality of values and the development of multi-dimensional ties with the aim of establishing a strategic partnership. The PCA became one of the pinnacles of Russia-EU cooperation, though Moscow perceived the PCA as reflecting Russia’s special status, whereas the EU treated it as a standard agreement for that part of the world. Although during Putin’s first presidential term, Russia continued its transition to state capitalism and strengthened sovereignty, it strove simultaneously to improve relations with the West. The 2000 Russian Foreign Policy Concept gave priority to Europe and assigned the EU a key role (a powerful shift from the USSR and Russia of the 1990s, when the Helsinki process dominated in Russia’s vision of the European order). The improvement of relations with the West in 2001–2002 positively influenced Russia-EU relations. The parties agreed on Russia’s accession to the WTO and the concept of a common economic space. Russia waived all objections to the 2004 EU enlargement and the PCA was extended to the new EU members. In the St Petersburg Declaration of 2003, the leaders of Russia, the EU and candidate states declared an aspiration to establish a strategic partnership. From 2004–2005, the partners developed roadmaps for the common spaces of: the economy; freedom, security and justice; external security; and research, education and culture. The roadmaps, however, represented an incoherent list of planned activities. Some Russian experts criticised the allegedly unilateral concessions to the EU (Karaganov 2005). Gradually, previously niggling political issues resurfaced in a negative form. They had first been visible during the EU’s ratification of the PCA, a process that faced serious problems because of the Western critique of Russian human rights violations during the Chechen conflict (1994–96), as well as of the state of democracy and the rule of law in Russia in general. The suspension of the privileges of Russia’s delegation in the Parliamentary Assembly of the CoE (PACE), provoked by another military action in Chechnya in 1999, was another important manifestation of Europeans’ discontent. Such an unfavourable assessment of Russia’s statehood was poorly received among Russian ruling elites. However, in the late 1990s, Russia-EU relations developed, despite the EU noticing and remarking on growing negative tendencies in Russian politics and economy. The EU supported Russia’s membership in the Council of Europe (CoE) to bolster Russia’s reforms and anchor it in European institutions. The RussiaEU intergovernmental and interparliamentary dialogue regularised once the PCA entered into force in December 1997. Yet, without Russia’s membership in the WTO, a significant part of 18

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the PCA did not work in practice. Moreover, weak Russian institutions could not properly implement those international commitments already accepted. The EU’s criticism of Russia’s domestic policy started creating much significant difficulty in the early 2000s, due to increasing violations of human rights and media freedom. The Kremlin considered EU declarations on the matter to infringe on Russia’s sovereignty. Sometimes, political factors influenced Russia-EU relations ambiguously. Significant contradictions arose due to the Balkan conflicts. Russia supported the Serbs. The EU, for its part, mostly supported NATO’s operation against Serbia during the 1999 Kosovo crisis but, at the same time, mediated to settle the conflict, assisted by Russia. The joint Russia-EU action significantly facilitated the ceasefire. Nevertheless, the 1999 Kosovo crisis would negatively influence Russia’s policy towards the West in the coming century. In 1999, the EU adopted its Common Strategy on Russia that Moscow considered aimed at softening contradictions between Russia and the West. The same year, Russia answered with the Strategy on developing the Russian Federation’s relations with the European Union in the midterm (2000–2010) (European Council 1999; Russia 1999). Although both strategies expressed a similar understanding of cooperation prospects, they were essentially different. The EU Strategy highlighted democratisation and the development of civil society, while the Russian one stressed political cooperation and economic issues. The latter document underlined the lack of Russia’s intention to become an EU member and the significance of integration in the post-Soviet geography. The attitude toward the EU’s enlargement became more critical due to objections from Russian business and the beginnings of Russia-EU competition over Eastern Europe. Rivalry concerning the ‘common neighbourhood’ began to cause serious conflicts. The EU openly supported democratic movements in the post-Soviet republics, especially in the cases of the ‘colour revolutions’ in Georgia (2003) and Ukraine (2004). The Kremlin perceived these actions as undermining its position in the area of Russia’s ‘privileged interests’. In this way, Russia and the EU came into open confrontation (Gretskiy 2010), something recognised as one of the turning points in Russia-EU relations, studied as a clash of divergent values, norms or interests (Casier 2016; Raik and Rácz 2019). From 1991–2004, politics prevailed over the economy and other fields of the relationship. The economic crisis in Russia became a decisive factor here. Asymmetry, in favour of the EU, was extremely visible in the economic relationship, especially in the 1990s, due to systemic weaknesses in Russia. In the 1990s, the EU championed the provision of economic aid to Russia. The implementation of numerous EU market standards in Russia contributed to the integration of the Russian economy into the world’s. The renaissance of the Russian economy in the early 2000s bolstered hopes to strengthen trade and investment relations: European business started looking at the growing Russian market with more interest (Raś 2015). There also occurred a significant shift in the development of human ties, which various European funds supported. However, it was from this time that the barriers erected by the EU’s visa regime began to interrupt the positive climate of mutual relations, especially when the EU’s enlargement raised the Kaliningrad issue. Nevertheless, the improving living conditions allowed many Russians to visit EU countries for tourism, study or even to settle. From 1991–2004, therefore, some serious disputes appeared, although neither the EU nor Russia treated them as ‘structural’, trying to develop mutually beneficial cooperation further. Both partners regarded the difficulties as typical for this early stage of relations. The EU tried to ‘anchor’ Russia in the West, influencing it with European values and norms. Russia, in turn, was searching for ‘its place in the world’ and overcoming its systemic crisis. The EU seemed to be a helpful tool for the Kremlin to reach both objectives. 19

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The second stage: moving towards competition (2005–2014) A gradual slowdown in the development of cooperation characterised this period, although hopes for increasing mutually beneficial relations shone at the end of the 2000s in particular. The world financial and economic crisis ‘encouraged’ both sides to make joint efforts. The ‘reset’ in US-Russia relations was also conducive to improving the atmosphere. Politics still played a significant role, although socio-economic factors influenced the relationship to a greater extent. High-level diplomacy continued but without significant practical effects. Both partners became quite sceptical about prospects for partnership: Moscow perceived the EU as having entered into a stage of long crisis, but Brussels believed that the crisis of 2008 had weakened Russia. Many initiatives were not bearing the expected fruits: despite numerous articles not working, the PCA was prolonged, due to the failure to negotiate a new ‘strategic agreement’; the four roadmaps were only partially implemented; the 2010 Partnership for Modernisation was unsuccessful. The most significant reasons for these deficiencies were growing differences concerning values and development models, as well as the Russian perception that the EU was participating in a wider Western attempt to subvert the international order, as most clearly signalled by the EU’s support for Kosovo’s independence. These factors accompanied increasing Russian assertiveness in international relations and aspirations to reach an independent (from the West) and equal (towards all powers) position in a transformed international order. This was therefore a shift towards the ‘logics of competition’ (Casier 2016: 382–3). Russia rejected EU normative hegemony (Haukkala 2010: 170) refusing to be a ‘norm-taker’ from the EU, which had positioned itself as a ‘norm-maker’ (see Pavolva this volume). Therefore, according to some authors, Russia-EU relations ‘became didactic and historicist’ (Prozorov 2016), based on the EU’s assumption that the solutions devised in Western Europe were applicable to Russia with its ‘intense security concerns and a very different historical experience’ (Sakwa 2018). It was also analysed as a turn from ‘democratisation to the modernisation’ (of Russia), a sign of a more pragmatic EU attitude. This meant moving towards cooperation based on mutual interests but not shared values (David and Romanova 2016; Romanova 2015a). The area of the ‘common neighbourhood’ became a conspicuous space of rivalry. It also resulted from some new EU members’ growing (‘hostile’ in the Kremlin’s eyes) activity (Poland and the Baltic republics, in particular), aiming at the Westernisation of some post-Soviet states. Moscow perceived this as a geopolitical game, driven by EU interests and ‘Russophobia’, but the United States’ strategy as well. Russia treated such attempts as a threat to its security and the stability of its political regime. The Kremlin was afraid of the influence of European values and standards on Russian society, and the EU and Russia became increasingly distrustful of each other. Following this, attacks in the media intensified on both sides. Some authors complained that the EU and its member states served as ‘American puppets’ that played out a scenario designed to reassert US control over Europe by blocking Russia-EU cooperation and reducing Russian sovereignty ( Johnston 2014; Sakwa 2015). Moreover, the Russian-Ukrainian ‘gas wars’ in 2005–2009 undermined Russia’s reputation as a reliable supplier of primary energy resources. Russia rejected membership of the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) and the ‘Eastern Partnership’ (EaP) project, as it felt treated unequally in such formulas of cooperation. Moreover, Moscow perceived both initiatives extremely negatively, as instruments of increasing EU interests in the post-Soviet area (Gretskiy et al. 2014). Meanwhile, Russia’s relations with some EU member states developed fairly well, though these prosperous relations were limited mainly to the economy or cross-border cooperation (see Yarovoy this volume). The EU accepted such a state of affairs, assuming that economic cooperation with Russia (‘doing business as usual’) was a significant advantage in conditions 20

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of poor political contacts. The EU enjoyed economic growth in Russia and higher profits obtained on its market. The Kremlin hoped that with such economic benefits, the EU elites could accept the systemic difference of Russia, and, at least partially, ‘understand’ Russia’s interests in the post-Soviet space. There was temporary, but significant, progress even in Russian-Polish relations (Poland was reported as ‘peculiarly anti-Russian’ among EU members then), as evidenced by the establishment of the Small Border Traffic (SBT) regime between some of Poland’s regions and the Kaliningrad Oblast’ in 2011 (Dudzińska and Raś 2014: 115– 16). The Polish-Russian Group on Difficult Issues, reactivated in 2008, prepared its report, presented as an example of overcoming fundamental differences in both countries’ approaches to collective memory (Rotfeld and Torkunov 2015). During that period, despite the growth of divergent interests, both parties were still cooperating closely over many issues. Trade relations in particular flourished. Cooperation at the subnational level was also positively distinctive: either interregional (with an important role for German regions) or cross-border (on the Russian-Finnish and Russian-Polish borderland, especially). Despite the failure of visa-free regime negotiations, citizens and civil societies increasingly interacted. Asymmetry seemed to be reduced thanks to the growing political, economic and military potential of Russia, although the technological gap in favour of the EU and the resource-based character of Russian economy still played a significant role. Nevertheless, deadlock, stagnation and fatigue were buzzwords often heard in the context of Russia-EU relations in the decade preceding the Ukrainian conflict (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016: 3). Russia’s economic recovery, its increasing confidence, assertiveness and suspicion of the West, the EU’s attempts to promote its norms and interests eastward and a growing values gap between the partners divided both partners to a growing extent.

The third stage: ‘hybrid friendship’ (2014–present) A transition to open confrontation has essentially taken place since 2014. Russia and the EU have taken completely opposite positions on all issues concerning the Ukrainian crisis (Euromaidan, Crimea, Donbass etc.). Brussels and Moscow introduced reciprocal sanctions. Moreover, other conflicts (e.g., Syrian, Venezuelan) have led to the deterioration of Russia-EU relations. The EU perceives Russia as one of the main external threats to its security, taking into consideration mostly ‘hybrid’ threats, including cyber-security and interference in political processes in the West. The majority of Russian elites see the EU as a source of threat to its domestic status as well as a challenge to Russia’s international position. This provokes tensions and a lack of trust between the EU and Russia, aggravated by the growing US factor in the fields of European politics, military and energy security. At the same time, the EU and Russia have been able to maintain political cooperation. There has been debate in the EU concerning the issue of ‘how to live with Russia’: that debate taking place between the member states, ‘inside’ the EU institutions (in the European Parliament, especially), as well as between the institutions (the Commission, the Parliament) and some EU member countries. Different proposals on future relations with Russia have appeared: i) to reduce contacts with Russia and isolate it (to some extent), to look for a more concessive Kremlin approach (postulated, e.g., by the UK and ‘Eastern flank’ countries) or ii) to do ‘business as usual’, with certain limitations connected with criticism towards Russia’s engagement in the political processes in the West and some crises. Adherents of the second option (e.g., Germany, France) have underlined that cooperation and its ‘spillover effect’ (influencing Russian citizens with European values, social and economic models etc.) would be more effective than the isolation of Russia (e.g., Siddi 2018). 21

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Russia tends to instrumentalise bilateral relations with some EU members to influence the EU decision-making process (see also Schmidt-Felzmann this volume). The Kremlin has tried to breach the EU’s ‘single front’ in the context of the Ukrainian crisis and the sanctions imposed by the EU in particular, so far without much success. Moscow has also been accused by the EU of interfering in political decision-making processes in many European countries to ‘destabilise democracies and erode trust in democratic institutions’ (European Parliament 2018). The Skripal case has provoked a serious crisis in diplomatic relations between the United Kingdom and its European allies on the one hand and Russia on the other (David 2018). Such Russian attempts have been perceived by either the EU institutions or the majority of EU member states’ elites as ‘hostile’. In reaction to the Ukrainian crisis and increasing Russian international assertiveness, most EU member states have supported strengthening NATO’s ‘Eastern flank’, also engaging Sweden and Finland in military cooperation. This shows how problems with one or some EU member states can become a problem for Russia’s relations with the EU more generally. Even in ‘times of trouble’, both sides have been able to maintain trade and investment cooperation. Russia-EU economic relations have remained at a similar stage. However, the factor of American liquefied natural gas (LNG) has appeared in the energy sector, perceived by Russia as competition to its plans to increase its influence in the European gas market. Due to the EU sanctions, Russian companies have had only limited access to the EU financial market and modern technologies (see Timofeev this volume). These sanctions have also impacted the Russian currency, although its depreciation also resulted from prolonged macro-economic problems in Russia’s economy and the collapse of oil prices. The EU’s economy has suffered from the political crisis as well, although on an incomparably smaller scale: the asymmetry of potentials playing its role once again. Readers could also think about relations in the humanitarian sphere, which have decreased slightly due to economic stagnation in Russia.

Conclusions The history of Russia-EU relations impacts present-day relations considerably. The rhetoric of both actors that refers to the evolution of mutual relations has become diversified under the influence of current political goals, emphasising the divergent systemic ‘natures’ of the EU and Russia, the values gap between them and their contradictory international strategies. The evolution of Russia-EU interactions, as well as the perceptions of that evolution, has led, on both sides, to the growth of disillusionment, misperception, distrust and – as a result – tensions. These feelings have interfered with the bilateral relationship, enhancing the effects of incompatible interests. Those factors that have influenced Russia-EU relations since 1991 will maintain their significance, although modified by new circumstances. It is quite easy to predict that political interests (both at the domestic and international levels), the economy (with a remarkable position for the energy sector) and systemic divergence or convergence will be the key factors shaping the relationship in the foreseeable future. They will be accompanied by the growing influence of external factors (the United States, China, changes in the global market and so on), cooperation at the subnational level or people-to-people relations (boosted also by technological progress). The ‘shared neighbourhood’ will probably provoke further tensions between the parties. However, a new factor will join the ‘traditional’ set: the policy of memory and identity, implemented by both sides and related to the evolution of mutual relations over the three decades analysed in the paper, underlying the hopes and positive achievements or disappointments and failures, as well as ‘othering’ the opposite side. In summary, on numerous occasions, the ECU has pioneered the establishment of ties, especially economic and humanitarian ones, between Russia (the USSR) and the West. However, 22

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that cooperation was important but never of vital importance to either party. That said, though an integral part of the West, the ECU has never stood to gain by an initiation of an aggravation of relations with Russia. In fact, there have never emerged such drastic contradictions or conflicts between these two as there are between Russia and NATO. Though never a factor driving the policies of those partners, Russia-EU relations have undoubtedly been characterised more by positivity than negativity. Therefore, when the time comes to normalise Russia-EU relations, their historical memory should help this process, although the significance of this should not be overestimated.

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2 The dynamics of state and societal actors in Russia’s policy on the EU Tatiana Romanova

This chapter explores government-level and societal explanations of Russian EU policy. Foreign policy analysis studies stress that multiple actors are involved in the policymaking (Hudson 2013; Morin and Paquin 2018; Rosenau 1976; Webber and Smith 2014). None of them provide a clear definition of an actor, which reflects its complexity and fluidity (especially when comparing different political systems). Actors are treated in this chapter as individuals or groups, including those working in formal or informal institutions, who are present in Russian-EU policymaking and have the capacity to make decisions and take actions or delegate authority to do so. Equally, however, one of the objectives here is to open the black box of Russia as an international actor. The definition of an actor is therefore stretched to include those groups who are the more influential agents as a result of the delegation of authority, as well as those who have visible capacity to shape decisions. Thus, the chapter identifies those public (state) actors who are present and shape Russia’s EU policy as a result of their place in the formalised decision-making process. Societal actors are also examined for how they exercise their influence, either because they directly engage with the EU at the transnational level or as a result of their influence on decision-making in Russia. Explanations grounded in these two levels – government and societal – should be examined for at least three reasons. First, Russian institutions are complex. Therefore, for example, proponents of the ‘deep state’ concept challenge the view that the departure of Vladimir Putin from the Kremlin will immediately change Russia. Hypotheses about a confrontation between Vladimir Putin’s friends (the ‘non-systemic political elite’) and bureaucracies (the ‘systemic elite’) have also been developed (Stanovaya 2017). Second, Russian foreign policy (RFP) illustrates recurrent institutional patterns when viewed through a historical perspective (these are: the power of the head of state, the strong influence of the intelligence community, the weakness of the legislative and judicial branches). Third, globalisation makes borders porous and bolsters transnational (business-to-business, non-governmental organisations [NGOs] and academia) relations (Keohane and Nye 1974; Romanova 2016; Webber and Smith 2014). Yet governmental and societal explanations of RFP remain scarce. Russia is conceptualised as a state where institutions are used and abused. It is illustrative that the Routledge Handbook on RFP (Tsygankov 2018) does not have any chapter on decision-making although the military; intelligence services and the Russian Orthodox Church (ROC) are examined as ‘instruments’. 26

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Otherwise, analysts privilege constructivist explanations (Feklyunina 2018; Leichtova 2014; Lo 2003; Mankoff 2011; March 2018; Thorun 2009). Attention is also focused on structural issues (Berryman 2018), geopolitics (Morozov 2018) and psychological explanations (Bukkvoll 2016; Forsberg and Pursiainen 2017). Some works focus on RFP decision-making in general (Averkov 2012; Salmin 2004; Sergunin 2016; Shiraev and Khudoley 2018; Trenin and Lo 2005), on how it comes into play in various regions (Rangsimaporn 2009; Sergunin 2008) or sectors (Godzimirski 2010; Lilly 2014). Certain Russian actors attract particular attention. Scholars emphasise: continuities in Russian intelligence (Galeotti 2016; Knight 2000; Pringle 2010), the versatile role of the military (Konyshev and Sergunin 2018; Kryshtanovskaya and White 2003; Vendil Pallin 2007), the role of the ROC in identity building and links with compatriots abroad (Petro 2018), while cross-border cooperation has bolstered an interest in research on the Russian regions (Busygina 2007; Joenniemi and Sergunin 2016; Makarychev 1999; Wenger 2001). This chapter first examines public actors and then societal actors. The goal of this analysis is three-fold. First, it unpacks the black box of RFP decision-making, demonstrating the multiplicity of actors. Second, it reveals recent changes in the relationship between actors, especially following the beginning of the confrontation with Ukraine and the West in 2014. Finally, Russian actors are juxtaposed with EU-Russian institutions. The conclusion outlines which Russian actors will shape EU-Russian relations in the future.

Public actors The 1993 Constitution and the federal laws ‘On Defence’ and ‘On Security’, as well as a series of decrees, in particular the most recent Foreign Policy Concept (FPC), divide competences among public bodies (Russian Federation 1993, 1996, 2010, 2016). However, provisions on decision-making remain schematic and their implementation is obscure. This is typical for most states (Webber and Smith 2014) but is more pronounced in Russia because the balance is tilted in favour of its leader (Averkov 2012; Shevtsova 2003; Shiraev and Khudoley 2018; Trenin and Lo 2005). The president of Russia is at the centre of this decision-making; their foreign policy duties are defined in articles 80 and 86 of the Constitution. They include determining the foreign policy course, representing Russia, protecting its sovereignty and territorial integrity and signing treaties. Russia is characterised by a hyper-strong president, who has nearly unlimited competences. This strength is attributed to Russian history (Trenin and Lo 2005 talk about foreign policy always being a tsarskoe delo), to its culture (the public preference for a strong leader) and, as is common elsewhere, to foreign policy being high politics. Vladimir Putin’s domination in foreign policy is also due to his consistently high approval rating, the regime’s control of television and the public’s desire for Russia to occupy superpower status internationally (Levada 2019). The confrontation that started in 2014 reinforced the president’s role in the RFP. The president is the primary interlocutor with the EU when it comes to strategic decisions, which reflects the centrality of this institution in Russia. The Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA), which serves as the framework for the EU-Russia relationship, presupposes summits twice a year, but they have been suspended since 2014, and since then, Putin has met EU top officials only on the margins of international events. Two bodies assist the president in foreign policy. One is the Presidential Executive Office1 (PEO, also referred to as the Kremlin or the Administration). Consisting of unelected bureaucrats, the PEO is sometimes referred to as the true Russian government because it assists the president with strategic decisions, leaving their implementation to government. The PEO’s head may carry out some foreign policy functions. Sergey Ivanov actively used this possibility 27

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(due to his intelligence and military background), while the incumbent (since 2016) Anton Vaino concentrates on the domestic agenda. The president’s foreign policy assistant, a PEO official (since 2012, a career diplomat, Yuri Ushakov) is in charge of all the president’s external engagements. The assistant also coordinates the work of the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA), Ministry of Economic Development (MED) and the Agency on CIS, Compatriots and International Humanitarian Cooperation (Rossotrudnichestvo). The second body assisting the president is the Security Council (SC). Established in 1992, it is in charge of all issues with security implications. The SC includes permanent members (prime minister, heads of the MFA, Ministry of Defence [MD], Ministry of Interior [MI], Federal Security Service [FSS], Foreign Intelligence Service [FIS], speakers of both chambers of the Federal Assembly), who meet at least once a week, and other members, who gather once a month. The Secretary of the SC (Nikolai Patrushev since 2008) oversees political and military questions (and hence competes with the foreign policy adviser in coordination). The relative institutional strength of the SC is a matter of debate (Averkov 2012; Jones and Brusstar 1993; Kryshtanovskaya and White 2003; Mankoff 2011). Its role has increased during Putin’s presidency and especially since 2014 (Stanovaya 2016). Confrontation with the West and operations in Syria have bolstered the salience of hard power and the authority of the military. The president’s consultations on foreign policy, which previously included ad hoc groups (Averkov 2012), now mostly take place in the SC. As a result, the institutional positions of the conservative, military and security services elite (siloviki) have increased at the expense of the more liberal one, which is concentrated in the government (on siloviki and liberals see Kryshtanovskaya and White 2003, 2005). As a result, predictably, the quality of the information supplied to the president has decreased (Treisman 2018: 20). The government, which comprises the prime minister, ministers, the intelligence community and respective bureaucracies, is charged with the implementation of foreign policy decisions. This task of implementation is frequently disregarded as unimportant. At the same time, Stanovaya (2017) rightly demonstrates that officials (the ‘systemic elite’) exploit their position to slow down many initiatives. Moreover, certain issues (like WTO membership or negotiations on a free trade area) require expert work, with ministries remaining repositories of relevant knowledge and hence having the capacity to exert some influence. Finally, the president’s reach should not be exaggerated when it comes to the nitty-gritty of decision-making. All this said, the internal coherence of the government is challenged by the fact that the ministers dealing with external relations and security are directly accountable to the president (this principle follows the Russian Empire’s traditions). The Federal Assembly cannot dismiss these ministers, and the prime minister’s authority over them is limited. The division of competences in external relations between president and prime minister seems clear cut at first sight. The former sets strategic priorities, the latter implements them. The president deals with political and security issues, while the prime minister concentrates on economic cooperation. The prime minister is the counterpart of the president of the European Commission, which reflects the official distribution of power in Russia. In reality, these distinctions are blurred. The president interferes in all fields (leaving only the practicalities to the government). Economic issues are politicised (particularly since 2014 when the West and Russia imposed sanctions). Putin’s move from the Kremlin to the White House in 2008 provoked hopes that the Russian political system would be rebalanced in favour of the government; hopes that were dashed when he returned to the Kremlin in 2012. These aspirations were resurrected with the talks about how to guarantee institutionally the departure of Putin after 2024, but the system was not rebalanced in favour of the government. 28

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The MFA develops the RFP strategy and implements it, following the president’s approval. Various decrees allocate the task of coordination to the MFA, but the SC and PEO compete for this job. The MFA is the repository of conservative thinking, placing a heavy emphasis on Russia’s status in the world arena. Despite the experience of Sergey Lavrov (foreign minister since 2004), analysts agree that the MFA mostly performs technical, implementing functions (Averkov 2012; Mankoff 2011). It directs an extensive web of diplomatic representations and a large Mission to the EU. This web provides first-hand knowledge about events on the ground and opportunities for swift contact with external partners. The MFA also supervises the work of Rossotrudnichestvo, which promotes cultural, educational and scientific links. The rest of the government is diverse when it comes to relations with the EU. The MED is the most liberal ministry. It managed Russia’s accession to the WTO and the modernisation agenda. The MED remains in charge of economic issues (including the WTO and suspended EU-Russian negotiations on a free trade area). It is also the only other body that has its representations (trade missions) across the world, thus having its own infrastructure to rely on when contacting foreign counterparts. The MI, on the other hand, has been responsible for putting a brake on EU-Russian visa liberalisation. Similarly, the Minister of Energy has promoted stability of gas supply, challenging the EU’s competition logics. Conflicts in the economic block of the government remain with the import substitution agenda, led by the Ministry of Industry and Trade and Ministry of Agriculture competing against MED. The Russian Permanent Mission to the EU coordinates relations with the EU. It is mostly staffed with MFA people but also comprises experts, seconded from various ministries. They furnish specialised knowledge to the Mission and ensure the coherence of cooperation through links with their former colleagues. Vladimir Chizhov has been in charge of the Mission since 2005. The personnel of the Mission has been significantly reduced since 2014 because of the suspension of work in sectoral groups. The PCA provided for a Joint Committee and subcommittees, involving EU and Russian middle-level officials, referred to in the literature as the transgovernmental level (Keohane and Nye 1974). Initially, most of them did not function properly due to insufficient delegation of responsibilities to lower levels in Russia (the only exception being the sub-committee on customs and cross-border cooperation). To remedy this, in 2000–2013, the EU and Russia launched over 20 dialogues to discuss various areas of cooperation. Most dialogues included meetings between a Russian minister and a relevant EU commissioner, regular consultations of middle-level officials in specialised working groups that could involve business representatives and experts. Although the level of delegation remained limited in Russia, these contacts bolstered EU-Russian transgovernmental and transnational interaction in some areas at least (energy being the best example). Sectoral dialogues have met since 2014 on an ad hoc basis only. Power ministries represent the most conservative line in the government and are wary of cooperation with the West (Skak 2016). Their positions strengthened during Putin’s presidencies (Baev 2004; Kryshtanovskaya and White 2003) and as a result of the present confrontation with the West. The security services (primarily FSS, FIS) constitute the core of the siloviki and are key instances of counter-intelligence and intelligence. At the same time, the cohesiveness of the intelligence community is disputed (Renz 2006; Rivera and Rivera 2018). The MD remains distinct. It went through painful reforms (including reduction of personnel, transition to a professional army and rearmament). It is much less of an actor in EU-Russian relations because the EU is not a military power and EU-Russian peace-keeping cooperation has been scarce. However, worsening EU-Russian relations led to Russian military drills near EU borders. The poisoning of double agent Skripal in England, attributed to the General Intelligence Department of the MD (GID), brought the latter (responsible normally for military intelligence) into 29

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the spotlight of EU-Russian relations. Diplomats, believed to be GID officers, were expelled from Russian diplomatic representations across the EU in reaction to this incident. The Russian legislative branch – the Federal Assembly – has been historically weak (Shiraev and Khudoley 2018). The Assembly performs all the usual duties of a legislative assembly: ratification, hearing of ambassadors, work with other parliaments, authorisation of the use of Russian troops abroad. But these functions are mostly ceremonial and except for a few years in the 1990s when foreign policy was a hostage of the conflict between the State Duma (lower chamber) and President Boris Yeltsin, MPs have rarely exerted any influence on foreign policy. The Assembly holds regular debates on foreign policy and more specialised hearings (for example, on human rights in the EU). Moreover, on various occasions, Russian MPs voice exploratory ideas about cooperation. The Duma is the partner of the European Parliament in the EU-Russian Committee of Parliamentary Cooperation, which under ‘normal’ circumstances discusses issues of common concern. Meetings of this Committee have also been suspended since 2014. The weight of the Russian judicial branch is limited. The Constitutional Court mostly supports and formalises presidential and governmental positions; in particular, it limited the supremacy of international law, which the 1993 Constitution established. That said, there is some sign that the Court might be turning to higher independence; in 2019, a constitutional judge published a special opinion defying restrictions on foreign ownership of the mass media (Znak 2019). Like the EU, Russia did not establish any special legal authority to observe the implementation of the PCA; regular courts perform this function and have, inter alia, guaranteed equal opportunities for EU citizens permanently residing in Russia. The role of Russian regions in external relations has evolved since the 1990s. Initially, they actively engaged in paradiplomacy. The North-Western regions of Russia were particularly active in cooperation with the EU, engaging in cross-border cooperation schemes and in the Northern Dimension (Lanko, Yarovoy, both in this volume). Kaliningrad represents a particular case of interregional cooperation ( Joenniemi this volume). In the 2000s, administrative, electoral and fiscal reforms drastically reduced the autonomy of the regions. North-Western regions nonetheless have maintained links with EU counterparts and made use of a rich spectrum of instruments (Sergunin 2016). Opinions on the present state of paradiplomacy in Russia differ. Some believe that we see more pragmatism, professionalism, ‘economization’ as well as ‘bolstering. . . [the] subjectivity’ of the regions ( Joenniemi and Sergunin 2016: 58–9). Others conclude that interregional cooperation in the 1990s was much more effective (Busygina 2007). Since 2014, cross-border relations and the Northern Dimension have remained as rare examples of EU-Russian cooperation. Eurasian integration contributed to the emergence of a supranational level on the Russian side (Kofner this volume). Moscow delegated to the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) competences over trade in goods. The EAEU therefore will become increasingly important when Russia and the EU start looking to overcome the present deadlock because any negotiations on a free trade area will have to involve the EAEU authorities (Likhachev 2016). In sum, Russian public actors have always challenged the efficiency of EU-Russian institutions due to the limited power of the government, legislative and judicial branches and insufficient delegation of responsibilities to bureaucracies. Yet contacts with the EU before 2014 contributed to the multiplication of Russian public actors involved in Russia’s EU policy. The 2014 crisis reversed this process; the economic block has lost much of its influence, while the siloviki have gained ground. Moreover, the lack of regular contacts contributes to a loss of capacity to interact at the transgovernmental level that was formed in previous years. However, Russian public actors still differ in their views on cooperation with the EU. 30

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Societal actors The multiplication of societal actors in international relations is a global trend. However, the spectrum of Russian societal actors – their presence and influence – reflects Russia’s specificity. The FPC confirms the cooperation of state institutions with political parties, NGOs and academia as well as business and mass media, which is meant ‘to achieve consensus on the country’s foreign policy’ (Russian Federation 2016). Across the world, political parties remain the key channel that links society with state institutions through elections. Over 60 political parties are registered in Russia, but only four are now represented in the Duma. United Russia, the party with the majority of seats (343 of 450) is led by Dmitry Medvedev and since 2003 has positioned itself as the party of Putin. The other three are the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, the Liberal Democratic Party of Russia and A Just Russia; they are referred to as the ‘systemic opposition’ because they are present in the State Duma. Yet they mostly support the Kremlin line in return for an official position in the Russian political system. The Duma operates on the basis of consensus on foreign policy, which gives a free hand to Putin. Since 2013, any dissenting view has been branded as ‘non-patriotic’ and dismissed. These parties, therefore, lack any actorness in EU-Russian relations. Three types of societal actors – business, NGOs and academia – are involved in transnational relations with the EU and hence command their own presence and influence on EU-Russian relations. The role of the business community in EU-Russian relations has evolved since the 1990s. Their presence is the result of EU-Russian economic links. Yet business priorities were gradually subordinated to state views. The state regained control over the exploitation of hydrocarbons, which limited the independence of the most influential business interests in EU-Russian relations. At the same time, Putin, top officials and new oligarchs forged an alliance, referred to as the Politburo 2.0 (Minchenko Consulting 2017) or Putin’s Court (Gaaze 2017). The 2008 crisis in international markets and the 2014 events further weakened Russian business and its ability to exert independent influence on relations with the EU. Some of the new oligarchs control the key business interest (trade in natural resources) in EU-Russian relations and have suffered from Western sanctions. Others have benefitted from Russia moving to import substitution and countersanctions. President Putin is the key mediator of their interests, including when it comes to the EU. Smaller companies dealing with trade in consumer goods and services remain insignificant. While Western sanctions targeted mostly state companies, private enterprises were also affected by financial restrictions and the depreciation of the rouble. Interest in state financial funds enhances business consolidation around the president’s foreign policy, while the reduction in economic links has negatively impacted their independent presence in EU-Russian relations. Russian business has established formalised policy dialogues with Russian public actors and EU peers. Both the Russian Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs and the Russian Chamber of Commerce (RCC) concluded agreements on mutual assistance with the MFA in 2003. The attempts of the Russian business community to influence RFP through this instrument are scarce and not documented (except for some official conferences and exhibitions). The RCC established relations with the Eurochamber in 1993. The EU-Russian Roundtable of Industrialists (RTI), consisting of CEOs from the EU and Russia, was set up in 1997. It has influenced the agenda of EU-Russian summits’ agenda and shaped some dialogues (on energy, for example). The frequency and level of its meetings have declined, however, since 2014. The significance of the Russian mass media as actors in EU-Russian relations has increased dramatically due to the state information policy. Key Russian public channels (1TV, Russia 31

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1, Russia 24, NTV) ensure consolidation of what society hears about foreign policy: foreign policy issues prevail in most news programmes, while the lack of language skills limits the reach of the Western media. RT (formerly Russia Today) and Sputnik, which broadcast globally (including in EU languages), outline Russia’s positions and draw attention to the EU’s internal cleavages. They ensure the reach of the official Russian discourse to EU citizens and are, therefore, instrumentalised by Russian public actors. The FPC also recognises the role of NGOs; their presence and influence result from their representation of societal interests. The MFA and NGOs have pledged to exchange information; NGOs are also viewed as actors that ensure contacts with compatriots abroad and with civil societies, promote Russian language and culture, and develop interregional cooperation (Lavrov 2005). In addition, the MFA established: the Alexander Gorchakov Public Diplomacy Fund (in 2010) to support ‘a favourable for Russia public, political and business climate’ (Gorchakov Foundation 2010), The Russkiy Mir Foundation (set up in 2007) to promote Russian language and culture and the Foundation for Supporting and Protecting the Rights of Compatriots Living Abroad (established in 2010). All three entities are government-organised NGOs (GONGOs), and the MFA instrumentalises these actors (a practice which is not unique to Russia). The most famous Russian NGO is the ROC (its status is fixed in Russian law). Cooperation between the state and the ROC is strong, with the latter being the bastion of conservative values and of such foreign policy fundamentals as sovereignty or cultural loyalty (Petro 2018). The ROC serves as an important cultural link between Russia and its compatriots abroad. The external relations of Russian NGOs that are not linked to the state were affected by a 2012 law that requires organisations receiving finance from abroad to register as foreign agents. A 2015 law also banned unwanted foreign NGOs from creating legal entities in Russia. The law mostly affected NGOs dealing with human rights (such as The Memorial Society [which won the 2009 European Parliament’s Sakharov prize], The Moscow Helsinki Group, Transparency International – Russia, or Soldiers’ Mothers). Their actorness stems from their very existence, the EU’s critique of Russian legislation in this field and their capacity to construct direct links with partners in the EU. Given the increased attention to pollution and rubbish processing in Russia, the capacity of environmental (but also human rights) NGOs to influence EU-Russian relations through forging links with EU peers will increase. Domestic ambiguities about NGOs’ status and sustainability undermine Russian participation in the EU-Russian Civil Society Dialogue, launched in 2011 (see Belokurova and Demidov this volume) and its actorness. Their work (and the EU’s determination to maintain relations with Russian civil society) preserved this forum as operational after 2014. Russian official representatives have ignored the Dialogue, perceiving it as a channel of unwelcome intervention into Russian internal affairs. In parallel to it, in 2008, Moscow initiated a dialogue between the Civic Chamber of Russia and the EU’s Economic and Social Committee in a bid to assert a tighter control over the civil society dialogue. The Russian Academy of Science (particularly its Institute of World Economy and International Relations [IMEMO] and Institute of Europe) has traditionally represented Russian academia in the development of foreign policy through channelling their suggestions to public actors. Academic actors diversified in the 1990s when universities acquired possibilities to develop external links and independent think-tanks were set up; they broadened the transnational epistemic dialogue on EU-Russian relations. EU funding contributed to this and to the popularity of Western ideas (including the need for political reforms in Russia and legal approximation). A change in the academic discourse took place in the 2000s and reflected Russia’s growing confidence in international relations. 32

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As of 2014, many think-tanks (Valdai Club, PIR Centre, The Russian Institute for Strategic Studies) have turned to justifying official foreign policy rather than critically analysing it. This input reinforces the official policy line of Moscow externally rather than targeting internal discussions on RFP. The Russian Council for International Affairs, set up in 2010 by the MFA to bring together experts on international issues, remains the biggest platform on international and foreign policy issues. It strives to preserve an objective view, despite its state finance, and remains the basis for cooperation with EU experts (see Fischer this volume). Whether EU and Russian scholars have managed to form a transnational epistemic community remains a point of contention (Romanova 2019), which in turn limits the independence of academia as an actor in EU-Russian relations. The role of public opinion in RFP has increased compared to Soviet times. That is a result of global developments with the increased flow of information and denser societal interaction. But it is also due to the specificity of the Russian situation where the choice of a more assertive foreign policy line is to compensate for insufficient domestic reforms. The ‘repatriation’ of the Crimea was an important factor for public consolidation in 2014. Sanctions further increased public interest in international relations and led to a rallying around the flag. Recent polls demonstrate that public opinion about the EU remains negative, although ratings have improved since 2014 (Levada 2018). There is, therefore, little reason to expect much public pressure to improve EU-Russian relations and hence much of an actorness at the grassroots level. Yet the foreign policy agenda seems to be losing its power to distract attention from economic problems at home. In sum, Russian societal actors are diverse, which reflects a global tendency towards a pluralisation of international contacts. Their capacity to act stems either from them influencing public actors or forging transnational links with their EU peers. Political parties in Russia are insignificant actors because of the dominance of United Russia and the opposition being either systemic (managed) or dispersed. Transnational links with the EU contributed to the diversification of Russian actors before 2014 and to them exerting influence on EU-Russian relations. Their density, however, decreased substantially after 2014 because of Western sanctions, the Russian crackdown on independent NGOs and the reluctance of the academic community to provide impartial analysis. Although all of them are present, the capacity of the business community to influence EU-Russian relations currently depends on their relations with the president, while that of GONGOs stems from the MFA. The actorness of independent NGOs is the most contentious, yet their presence and activism provide an alternative channel of communication with the EU. Finally, the grassroots seem unlikely to convert their presence into palpable influence on Russian EU policy in the short to medium term.

Conclusions This chapter illustrates that Russia is not a homogeneous actor; multiple public and societal actors are involved in shaping Russian foreign policy. Their pluralisation since the early 1990s reflects global tendencies but also relations with the EU, the necessity of cooperating within bilateral bodies and at transnational levels. The dialogues have contributed to some delegation of responsibilities by the government. Cleavages among ministries emerged. Business constructed their independent links. Dialogue among NGOs was established, although the state, as of mid2000, strengthened its presence in the tertiary sector. Contacts among academia diversified. The 2014 events in Ukraine, EU-Russian mutual alienation and sanctions weakened links and decreased the diversity and independence of many Russian actors. The relative weight of the president and the Security Council increased, whereas that of the government diminished. 33

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The EU’s sanctions led to the suspension of transgovernmental contacts and, hence, reinforced the Russian propensity to limit the delegation of responsibilities. Business was affected by sanctions, with its loyalty to the state enhanced. NGOs were limited by Russian legislation, while the weight of the GONGOs increased. Academia chose on many occasions to justify the RFP rather than to provide a critical analysis of it. The country, therefore, returns to the historical pattern in which RFP is left to the top official (the president) and other actors are marginalised. It also means an increasing mismatch between Russian actors and EU-Russian bilateral institutions. These negative trends will persist in the short to medium term. Bolstering of the liberal economic block and the reconstruction of transgovernmental and transnational relations are essential to rebuild trust in EU-Russian relations. They will, however, require fundamental changes in relations between Russia and the West and profound domestic transformations in Russia.

Note 1 This translation is currently used on the official website of the PEO (www.kremlin.ru).

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Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation. Approved by President of the Russian Federation V. Putin’, 30 November  30, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/guest/for eign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/content/id/2542248 (accessed 21 March 2019). Salmin, A.M. (2004) ‘Vneshnepoliticheskij mekhanizm v Rossii: nekotorye osobennosti funkcionirovaniya’, A.V. Torkunov and A.V. Malgin (eds.), Sovremennye mezhdunarodnye otnosheniya, Moscow: MGIMO, pp. 504–24. Sergunin, A. (2008) ‘Russian Foreign-Policy Decision Making on Europe’, in T. Hopf (ed.), Russia’s European Choice, Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 59–93. Sergunin, A. (2016) Explaining Russian Foreign Policy Behaviour. Theory and Practice, Stuttgart: ibidem-Verlag. Shevtsova, L. (2003) Putin’s Russia, Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment for International Peace. Shiraev, E. and Khudoley, K. (2018) Russian Foreign Policy, London: Macmillan International Higher Education, Red Globe Press. Skak, M. (2016) ‘Russian strategic culture: the role of today’s chekisty’, Contemporary Politics 22(3): 324–41. Stanovaya, T. (2016) ‘Kak Sovet Bezopasnosti zamenil v Rossii pravitel’stvo’, Carnegie Commentary, 9 February, available at https://carnegie.ru/commentary/2016/01/28/ru-62605/it9z (accessed 21 March 2019). Stanovaya, T. (2017) ‘Nesistemnaya ehlita i bezlichnoe gosudarstvo. Kak druz’ya Putina proigryvayut novoj byurokratii’, Carnegie Commentary, 24 September, available at https://carnegie.ru/commentary/ 73504 (accessed 21 March 2019). Thorun, C. (2009) Explaining Change in Russian Foreign Policy: The Role of Ideas in Post-Soviet Russia’s Conduct towards the West, Basingstoke, Hants: Palgrave. Treisman, D. (2018) ‘Introduction: Rethinking Putin’s Political Order’, in D. Treisman (ed.), Information, Politics, and Policy in Putin’s Russia. The New Autocracy, Washington: Brookings Institution Press, pp. 1–28. Trenin, D. and Lo, B. (2005) The Landscape of Russian Foreign Policy Decision-Making, Moscow: CMC. Tsygankov, A. (2018) Roudledge Handbook of Russian Foreign Policy, London, New York: Routledge. Vendil Pallin, C. (2007) ‘The Russian power ministries: tool and insurance of power’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies 20(1): 1–25. Webber, M. and Smith, M. (2014) Foreign Policy in a Transformed World, London: Routledge. Wenger, A. (2001) ‘Engaging Russia and its regions: challenges and opportunities for the West’, Working Paper No. 11, Zurich: Center for Security Studies and Conflict Research. Znak (2019) ‘Polozhitelnuu polzu za schet ogranicheniya prav poluchat nelzya’, Znak, 5 February, available at www.znak.com/2019-02-05/sudya_ks_rf_vyskazal_osoboe_mnenie_o_zaprete_inostrancam_ vladet_smi (accessed 9 July 2019).

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3 Intra-European Union dynamics The interplay of divergences and convergences Sandra Fernandes

Since 1997, the European Union (EU) has engaged in a special relationship with Russia. Their Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) provides for a complex institutionalisation. However, despite cooperative advancements like the Four Common Spaces or Partnership for Modernisation (David and Romanova 2016; Forsberg and Haukkala 2016), political and normative rapprochement has not emerged from institutionalised cooperation (see also DeBardeleben; Morozov this volume), which provoked disillusionment on the part of many EU actors.1 Given that it is mainly the EU institutions that shape the institutional model of EU-Russia cooperation, this chapter aims at identifying the dynamics of divergence and convergence among EU actors, ultimately leading to the major suspension of dialogue with Moscow after the 2014 events in Ukraine. Individuals, institutions or other entities with the power to shape or make decisions, take actions or delegate those powers to an agent are considered actors in this chapter (see also Romanova this volume). This analysis questions the robustness of the apparent common approach towards Russia as a method to govern relations with Moscow, as materialised in the ‘five guiding principles’2 and the renewal of sanctions against Russia (Council of the European Union 2016; European Commission 2018a). Some EU practitioners perceive that the post-Crimea consensus fails to embody a vision towards Russia, while others value this unique moment for the opportunity granted to formulate a new policy or even strategy.3 The analysis builds on the core tensions between national and supranational actors that frame EU governance (Boussaguet 2011; Jones et al. 2012; Nugent 2017). The literature on EU external action and EU-Russia relations has highlighted Russia as one of the most divisive issues for EU actors (Casier and DeBardeleben 2018; Fernandes 2013; Leonard and Popescu 2007; Sakwa 2017). Member states disagree on the means and goals for achieving a rapprochement with Russia. EU institutions differ in their views as well. The Council of the EU is the most obvious venue for member states to advance their preferences. The European Parliament in turn is a place to voice problems in relations with Russia, particularly to stress the growing value gap. The European Commission tends to play the role of honest broker among EU actors. The unprecedented EU common positioning on the five guiding principles and sanctions might demonstrate a major evolution in the interplay of different interests and preferences in the EU towards more convergence. To unpack these dynamics, this chapter identifies core EU actors and explores cases in key policy areas and in the context of various crises. This research is 37

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based on official EU documents, secondary literature and semi-structured interviews and comprises the period from 1997 onwards, with a greater focus on the post-2004 and 2014 dynamics brought by the integration of new member states into the EU and the Ukrainian crisis, respectively. First, the interplay of divergent goals and interests of the three legislative EU institutions is identified. Second, attempts to ensure greater convergence over time are explored; such convergence has facilitated the advancement of certain internal principles, such as solidarity and, more recently, resilience.

EU polity: core actors and diverging positions As framed by the EU itself, the EU’s broad priorities are set by the European Council, which brings together national and EU-level leaders; directly elected Members of the European Parliament (MEPs) represent European citizens . . . the interests of the EU as a whole are promoted by the European Commission . . . governments defend their . . . national interests in the Council of the European Union; the European Council sets the EU’s overall political direction – but has no powers to pass laws. (European Union 2018) The Council, the Commission and the Parliament are the main institutions for law-making. The Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union (European Union 2007) sets out three different types of EU competences (as opposed to national prerogative) as follows: exclusive (for instance, trade), shared (for instance, justice and home affairs) and supporting competences (articles 3, 4 and 6). In external policies such as the Common Trade Policy, the ordinary legislative procedure as a decision-making procedure gives a central role to the European Parliament and the Council of the EU. As a legislative initiator, the Commission’s role is pivotal, beyond its competence of negotiating with third parties on behalf of the EU. In the Common and Foreign Security Policy (CFSP), the Commission and the Parliament have a much more limited role as compared to the European Council and the Council of the EU. The EU is represented by the president of the European Council and the high representative (HR) of the Union for Foreign and Security Policy in the CFSP (Olsen 2021), while member states retain veto power. In this institutional context, the relations of the EU with third actors entail a multilevel governance that has evolved to give more power to the EU supranational level in comparison to the national level. However, both supranational actors and member states shape the policy depending on formal and informal power in relation to the policy concerned (Bach et al. 2014; Best 2016; Bouchard et al. 2014; Nugent 2017). A possible critique is that member states have prioritised bilateral relations with Russia in order to serve their national interests, to the detriment of a community approach (see SchmidtFelzmann this volume). Despite the creation of the European External Action Service (EEAS) and the HR under the Lisbon Treaty in 2009, the EU’s external action has been repeatedly criticised for a lack of coherence and unity. In addition to the functional dimension of EU decision-making, the literature has also pointed out that the interplay of values and strategic concerns/interests shapes the EU’s external action (Noutcheva et al. 2013), requiring the identification of the core EU actors and the kind of interests they advance. The PCA articulated strategic and normative intents. The economic dimension of the relationship was given greater attention, especially from 2003 onwards, under the Common 38

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Economic Space (European Commission 2005). One major explanation for this is that the EU is the largest trading partner and the biggest foreign direct investor in Russia, whereas Russia is the EU’s fourth largest partner, with a prevalence of energy exports (European Commission 2018b). In this area, the European Commission and the Council of the EU have been prominent in advancing cooperation, as opposed to the European Parliament that has been vocal in criticising Russian deviation from EU standards, including the need for reciprocity as a sound basis for cooperation. At the economic and trade level, reciprocity refers to Russian measures considered obstacles to trade and liberalisation and hence equal opportunities for EU companies in the Russian market. For instance, European airlines still have to pay for Siberian overflight, although an agreement to eliminate those payments was adopted in 2014. The Common Economic Space operates in a format of sectoral dialogues, which were suspended after the annexation of Crimea (see also Romanova this volume). The Commission’s Directorate-General (DG) for Trade is the institution where officials are most frustrated about the relationship with Russia:4 trade disputes within the WTO reinforce this perception (European Commission 2018b).5 The Council and the Commission compete over external policies despite the existing formal division of competences. The Commission is perceived in this competition as having strengthened its institutional status while negotiating in the format of the sectoral dialogues.6 Due to the division of competences, the Commission is also Russia’s primary interlocutor in the Common Space for Research, Education and Culture and partly in that for Freedom, Security and Justice. The Council takes the lead in the Common Space for External Security and partly in that for Freedom, Security and Justice. The Commission has Russian desks in several of its DGs. The former Unit 10 of the former DG for External Relations (DG RELEX) dealt specifically with Russia, although other DGs played and play a substantial role in the relationship depending on their domain (for example, energy or trade). Today, as we shall see in the following, the EEAS assumes a specific role. In the General Secretariat of the Council of the EU, the working party on Eastern Europe and Central Asia (COEST) has a significant role in creating EU consensus before decisions rise to the higher-level agenda. However, COEST has no decision-making power and receives instructions from the capitals.7 The sharing of leadership reflects the foundational tension between supranational and national prerogatives. Agenda-setting inside the Union is strongly shaped by the Commission as an executive body, a legislative initiator and a negotiator with third parties. As a consequence, among EU institutions, the European Commission has had the strongest position in Moscow through its Delegation, created in 1991 as the biggest EU delegation in the world (EU delegation under the EEAS umbrella since 2009). An official working at the Delegation from 2004 to 2007 suggested that the Commission was trying to find a specific role for itself because member states were suspicious of the Commission and endeavoured to keep a distance from it.8 A highranking official of the Delegation further acknowledged its pivotal role in informing Brussels and in ‘selling’ the Commission’s decision towards the member states through their various ambassadorial presences in Moscow.9 He emphasised that the Delegation suffers particularly in Moscow due to the EU’s weakness vis-à-vis individual member states’ positions. For instance, no debates about energy were conducted among ambassadors there because they feared to go beyond their own capital’s positions. The negotiations for a new basic agreement (NBA) to replace the PCA are also an indicator of the EU’s internal divergences on Russia. Despite the fact that the Commission is empowered by a mandate, it cannot negotiate without consulting the Council and obtaining a mandate from the member states. This is particularly difficult in the case of Russia, as illustrated by the 2007–2008 Polish and Lithuanian vetoes. Institutional officials recognise there is a continuous 39

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tension between the Council and the Commission and that the EEAS could have a role in reconciling that tension. In the aftermath of the Ukrainian crisis, the EEAS role on Russia is considered central, particularly in drafting the five guiding principles.10 In fact, as of the entry of the Lisbon Treaty into force, the newly created EEAS supports the work of the HR (who also serves as vicepresident of the European Commission). The EEAS aims at creating more coordination among the Council and the European Commission on external relations and improving cooperation among member states. The EEAS has indeed allowed for greater coherence, but coordination issues, cultural barriers and turf wars still persist (Koenig 2015). However, its dependence on the willingness of member states has also raised issues concerning the EEAS capacity for action. Before its inception, the Policy Planning and Early Warning Unit attached to the Secretary General performed that function. Created in 2002, that office worked closely with the staff of the Russian Mission to the EU. Each member state appointed a diplomat to liaise with the HR. The EEAS role is more of a guarantor that the EU message towards Russia is coherent. Since 2014, EU officials from different institutions have met in an ad hoc clearing house in Brussels every two weeks in order to discuss a coherent and common approach to be given to Russian requests that are addressed to them in their daily practice. This initiative is illustrative of the EU institutions’ willingness to coordinate better its responses to Russia.11 Overall, officials from the Commission and the Council perceive that Russia plays on its relations with member states to achieve its goals, as opposed to its relations with the Union.12 Nonetheless, this question needs to be evaluated on an individual issue basis; for instance, on visa facilitation, Russia prefers to engage with the EU as a whole. There is a tendency that the more proactive member states are towards Ukraine (its close association with the EU), the more reticent they are to advance cooperation with Russia.13 Nonetheless, bilateral relations are possible due to the limits of Community competences, as the NordStream gas pipeline illustrates (Langlet 2014). Both the Council Secretariat and the Commission have defended an approach that sees Russia as a strategic partner (European Council 1999; European Commission 2004).14 This view emphasised concrete results that have been achieved in trade, justice and home affairs, cooperation on Iran and so on. The Commission was aware that Russia was not willing to discuss its policies in the shared neighbourhood, and thus the institution defended a pragmatic approach that consisted of following guiding principles in the relationship and expecting to ‘influence Russia in the right direction’.15 Signals of the enduring pragmatic approach of the European Commission were given when, for instance, its DGs resumed trips to Moscow to discuss specific areas, such as standards for medicines in 2018. Without touching upon high politics issues, dialogue happens at the working level.16 In the context of sanctions, the continued search for a depoliticised dialogue on trade and investment issues has been perceived negatively by other EU actors. The EU business sector pushes the Commission to facilitate dialogue. The EU-Russia Industrialist Round Table (IRT), for instance, produces technical papers for the EU institutions (though it hardly meets since the post-2014 deterioration of relations). The IRT also created the EU-Russia Business Cooperation Council in 2005 to work as a key interface between EU and Russian institutions and key business sectors. More significantly, the European business sector is represented by the Association of European Businesses (AEB), founded in 1995. The Association regularly publishes a guide with investment and economic advice, and it collaborates closely with the European Commission. For instance, the AEB Legal Committee has played an influential role in following the Duma’s new protectionist measures. The AEB sees EU sanctions against Russia as counterproductive because they build a negative image of the West, which strengthens Putin’s regime.17 The position of the AEB is particularly vocal when 40

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the Association organises its annual visit to EU institutions in Brussels. These meetings have become particularly difficult to organise since the 2014 crisis, depending much on the nationality of the EU staff in question, who tend to be like minded with their member state’s attitude towards Russia. The role of the Head of the EU Delegation in Moscow is seen as pivotal for transmitting the views of businesses to Brussels.18 In contrast to the Commission and the Council, the European Parliament defends a valuesbased (as opposed to pragmatist) approach despite internal divergences among its members.19 The institution can be seen as a mirror of the internal divisions among member states towards Russia. In particular, the work of the Delegation to the EU-Russia Parliamentary Cooperation Committee or the drafting of reports on EU-Russia relations illustrate these divergences and the EP’s normative positioning. For instance, in 2000 and 2009, the EP repeated its critiques (European Parliament 2000, 2009). The role of one of the Polish members of the European Parliament, Onyszkiewicz, was influential in 2009,20 and his statement is illustrative of the Parliament’s position: [t]he European Parliament has backed pragmatic cooperation with Russia, but if we are serious we must also address difficult issues like human rights, energy and security. The Member States must now learn to speak with one voice. We must press for compliance with WTO rules and to the principles of the Energy Charter, as well as to improving access to air space and navigation routes. (Onyszkiewicz 2009) The 2009 Report summarises the institution’s position, stating that ‘extensive economic cooperation between Russia and the EU must be based on high standards of democracy and free market principles’ (European Parliament 2009). The European Parliament also indirectly expresses its unease concerning its institutional role in the EU. It reminds the Council and the Commission that a new EU-Russia agreement would require Parliament’s approval, thus reinforcing the idea that the institution is not merely a whistle-blower when it comes to EU-Russia relations. Thus, the institutions have differentiated roles stemming from EU functioning and the internal division of competences. There are also divergences in whether institutions give preference to a pragmatic/interest-based approach towards Russia or to a value-orientated approach. The next section unpacks how attempts to converge have operated in the post-2004 enlargement and post-Crimea contexts.

Attempts at convergence among EU actors The preference of the European Parliament for a norms-based relationship with Russia became more influential in the context of a bilateral trade dispute between Poland and Russia in 2006– 2008. The literature has identified clusters of states regarding their attitudes towards Russia, distinguishing friendly orientated, neutral and negative orientated (David et al. 2011; Leonard and Popescu 2007; Schmidt-Felzmann this volume). Depending on the category, one should expect the promotion of interest-orientated policies with less scrutiny on the issue of Russian political convergence, or, contrarily, one should observe an attempt to bind EU policies to Russian compliance with EU standards. The solidarity argument added a new rationale in the sense that any advancement of both dimensions should consider EU coherence as a whole besides the elevation of normative requirements. In 2006, member states were to give the European Commission a mandate to negotiate an NBA with Russia to substitute the PCA. The Commission received the mandate only in 41

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May 2008. This delay is related to the 2004 enlargement, with the more demanding attitudes towards Russia brought by those member states that previously belonged to the Soviet bloc. However, the real nature of the change became evident only when Poland, and later Lithuania, used their veto power in the Council of the EU to draw attention to their bilateral problems with Russia (Rettman 2007). For instance, Warsaw and Moscow were in dispute over agricultural imports that started in 2005 when Russian authorities banned the import of meat and vegetables from Poland. Such veterinary and phytosanitary issues are recurrent features of Russia’s bilateral relations with EU members because there is no EU-Russian agreement governing this field, despite a memorandum on harmonised certificates (EEAS 2009). To gain attention and build solidarity, Warsaw vetoed the mandate for the negotiations on the NBA. Warsaw’s claims looked legitimate because Tallinn and Vilnius also experienced a high level of tension with Moscow, which involved oil shortages, problems in cross-border traffic and alleged cyber-attacks following the removal of a Soviet monument by Estonian authorities (see also Chernenko this volume). As a result, the President of the European Commission endorsed the motto of ‘solidarity’ at the Samara summit in May 2007 to support these countries in their problems with Russia (Barroso 2007). The vetoes were lifted only in 2008 when the Commission finally received the mandate to negotiate an NBA. The European Parliament (2007) clarified the understanding of solidarity as a desirable practice of the EU to act ‘with one voice’ towards Russia. To overcome the EU failure to speak with one voice, the Parliament further recommended that a functioning mechanism should exist within the Council, under the responsibility of the High Representative, which would enable Member States to consult each other sufficiently in advance on every bilateral issue with Russia which could have repercussions on other Member States and the EU as a whole. (European Parliament 2009) Additionally, the Union was supposed to ‘develop informal guidelines as to how the principles of solidarity and mutual accountability could underpin EU-Russia relations, with the aim of developing a more united and consistent policy vis-à-vis Russia’ (ibid). Before endorsing the solidarity principle, the EU had rejected in a direct manner Russian worldviews that implied spheres of influence or the use of military force to achieve them (Barroso 2014; Mogherini 2018; see also Delcour this volume). Although the 2016 ‘five guiding principles’ further clarified Brussels’s common stance, they still fail to provide a common understanding as EU institutions and staff do not consider the principles useful in a consensual form. Some officials in the core EU institutions consider that they provide for a long-lasting common position, while others think that they are procedural rules that do not specify any vision towards Russia. Under the latter view, the member states’ varying perspectives make it very difficult to have an EU policy despite the agreement on the five principles. In particular, they do not aid in the specification of which Russian invitations for meetings to accept and what agenda to discuss.21 Nevertheless, despite diverging perceptions on the role of the guidelines, it is recognised that, for the first time since the end of the Cold War, EU member states have managed a united front towards Russia. This new state of play introduces a significant change regarding the recurrent criticism of how the EU has dealt with the Kremlin under the (economic) interests rationale. Contrary to the EU position after the Russian-Georgian war of August 2008, or during the Orange Revolution in 2004, EU institutions have straightforwardly endorsed a ‘no business as usual’ position that is expressed at the higher level by the unwillingness since January 2014 of the member states to gather at the biannual EU-Russia summits. 42

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The annexation of Crimea helped to reinforce the ‘no business as usual’ stance, as the approval and so far consistent renewal of sanctions (subject to a unanimity vote in the Council of the EU) demonstrate. Sanctions against Moscow (see also Timofeev this volume) are exceptional since they run counter to the national interests of the member states, in particular those most affected by the measures or the most indulgent with the Kremlin. EU solidarity is difficult to bring about in the field of external policy where there is little EU competence; yet sanctions can be seen as a vivid expression of convergence and solidarity. The European Union Court of Justice has supported this view in its judgments on sanctions (Kalininchenko 2017). In the face of Russian behaviour, particularly in Ukraine, EU actors’ positioning has converged around the building of resilience of both the EU and its neighbours. For the EU, resilience is defined as ‘a broad concept encompassing all individuals and the whole of society’, that features ‘democracy, trust in institutions and sustainable development, and the capacity to reform’ (European Council 2017). The concept has also been introduced as one of the five guiding principles of relations with Russia, as follows: ‘strengthen EU resilience (for example, energy security, hybrid threats or strategic communication)’ (Council of the European Union 2016).22 Resilience can be interpreted as an additional attempt at convergence in a context of crisis. In 2008, the Commission highlighted its pragmatic position by acknowledging ‘the complex web of overlapping and shared interests in the EU-Russia relationship’ and the need to ‘make a sober assessment of where the EU’s own interests now lie’ (European Commission 2008: 2) – principles defended only in rhetoric. The period for ‘no business as usual’ was short lived after the Georgian-Russian war because the momentum was with a continuous dialogue with Russia, despite the disapproval of Russian military involvement in Georgia (OomenRuijten 2008), nevertheless, it helps us to grasp the nature of the major rhetorical U-turn that brought the Commission and the Council closer to the position of the European Parliament. Despite the fact that resilience is formulated specifically in the third guiding principle, it appears to be transversal to the EU institutional dynamics towards Russia. An expressive example is the digital and cybernetic domain that the EU relates to hybrid threats and warfare. Fostering ‘digital’ and ‘cyber resilience’ refers to countering Russian propaganda and defending from attacks that are against EU economic interests and democratic values (European Commission 2017). In 2015, the EEAS, upon the instruction of the European Council, set up the East Stratcom Task Force to raise awareness about disinformation and to improve the Union’s own information performance in Eastern Europe (Portman 2017; David this volume). After cyber-attacks against the offices of the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons in The Hague, the Council has publicly come to attribute responsibility to the Russian military intelligence service (GRU) and insisted on the resilience of its own institutions and those of the member states (Council of the European Union 2018). With resilience as a new driver of the EU’s action, the 2001 declaration that common values and principles are essential for a ‘genuine EU-RU partnership’ (European Council 2001: 13) foretold one of the key issues in EU actors’ positioning towards Russia. The initial belief of the late 1990s that, in the long term, Russia’s normative transformation would result from its continued engagement with the EU is no longer relevant (see also DeBardeleben; Morozov; Pavlova this volume). The political and security dialogue with Russia is today restricted, economic relations are limited and the global relationship remains blocked.23 However, today’s recognition that a resumption of mutually beneficial relations is needed has emerged through the notion of selective engagement and thus created greater convergence among EU actors. Selective engagement refers to the willingness to move ahead of the suspension of dialogue, provided that the EU has its own interests in specific areas where it can reengage with Moscow without downplaying the five guiding principles. Some areas are more 43

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sensitive, but there is room for convergence depending on the interpretation of EU officials and on their national background. This view is confirmed by the European business sector that senses a change in the European Commission disengagement on economic relations with Moscow and some disposition to engage in discussions with the Eurasian Economic Union Commission (see Kofner and Erokhin this volume).24

Conclusion The analysis of EU actors validates the internal assessment that the Union is ‘not the kind of strong federation that Russia would like to deal with’ (Wiegand 2008). However, even if it takes more time to emerge, a decision is all the stronger because it reflects consensus (Ambassador of Slovenia to the European Union 2008). This chapter has highlighted core divergences and convergences among the EU institutions and how they have evolved. It underlined the influence of different institutional levels and how EU actors’ positioning had evolved even before the confirmation of that evolution that was brought by the suspension of dialogue, sanctions and the 2016 guiding principles for relations with Moscow. The advancement of strategic interests had been prioritised by the Council and the Commission until they were seriously questioned by the search for political consonance after the 2004 enlargement, under the promotion of internal solidarity. The position of the European Parliament has shown an enduring preference for intra-EU political convergence and normative reciprocity with Russia. Divergences among EU players’ priorities have ultimately exposed the lack of a system of EU governance whereby institutions (and member states) can produce a consistently coherent approach. Besides achieving more coherence, the EU institutions still have to find a common strategy towards Russia. The building of resilience and the search for selective engagement are not equivalent to long-term strategic convergence among EU actors but do allow them to portray a common position and find ‘islands of cooperation’,25 even while the resumption of full-scale dialogue under the framework of the ‘common spaces’ is not yet envisioned. Potential islands include, for instance, domains such as health and the environment. The new mandate of EU institutions for the period 2019–2024 faces the limitations of this state of play, and it is not foreseeable that the pragmatists will regain their dominance over the value-orientated actors. However, global pressure on the liberal order and competitive orders in the Eurasian space have potential to challenge further the EU’s coherence to its detriment, assuming that EU institutions do not bridge their internal gaps. From the Commission’s perspective, there is a belief that societal change in Russia would ultimately trigger approximation and, thus, its initiatives focus on people-to-people contacts. Although it is not foreseeable that Brussels will give Russia a visa-free regime on a unilateral basis, there is a shared understanding that this regime would represent a major tool to move ahead of the status quo and towards the further development of people-to-people dialogue.

Notes 1 Interviews conducted at the European Commission, European Parliament, External Action Service and with representatives of member states, in Brussels, in September 2012, November 2017 and in Moscow, May 2018. 2 The five principles include full implementation of the Minsk agreements, closer ties with Russia’s former Soviet neighbours, strengthening EU resilience to Russian threats, selective engagement with Russia on certain issues such as counter-terrorism and support for people-to-people contacts. 3 Interviews conducted at the EU External Action Service, November 2017, and in Moscow, May 2018. 44

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4 Interviews in Moscow with European representatives, May 2018. 5 The most controversial issues are tariffs, timber exports, double tariffs and taxes on rail and air transport. Sanitary and phytosanitary measures have also contributed to curbing European exports. Since 2007, progress reports have been published and are available on the website of the EU External Action Service. Information on the results of the cooperation is also provided in the summits’ press releases and on the official websites of the EU institutions. See also Connolly and Deak in this volume. 6 Interview conducted in Brussels, July 2007. 7 The Gymnich meetings are also relevant in defining EU internal positions. The Ministers of Foreign Affairs gather informally for two days once per semester in the country holding the EU Presidency. 8 Interview conducted in Moscow, September 2007. 9 Interview conducted in Moscow, October 2007. 10 Interviews conducted at the EEAS, March 2016 and November 2017. 11 Interview conducted at the EEAS, in Brussels, November 2017. 12 This information is retrieved from the author’s interviews with officials in Brussels, Moscow and member states’ embassies, from 2007 to 2019. 13 Interview at the Secretary General of the Council of the European Union, 29 June 2007. 14 Interview at the General Secretariat of the Council of the European Union, 29 June 2007. 15 Interview at the European Commission, 23 January 2007. 16 Interview conducted at the EEAS, in Brussels, in November 2017. 17 Interview conducted with a business consultant in Moscow, May 2018. 18 Interview with an anonymous source at the AEB in Moscow, May 2018. 19 Interviews conducted at the European Parliament and the EEAS, November 2017 and February 2019. 20 Interview at the Secretariat of the European Parliament, Brussels, September 2010. Although belonging to a political group influences attitudes towards Russia, national considerations are also channelled into the Parliament. Globally, government lines, constituencies, European inclinations and political groups are the elements that draw dividing lines among the members of the chamber (Fernandes 2013). 21 Interviews with EU officials in Brussels, November 2017, February 2018 and Moscow, May 2018. 22 The concept is also applied to the countries of the EaP ‘to ensure that both the Union and its neighbouring partner countries remain free to make their own political, diplomatic and economic choices, by reducing the scope for external leverage or coercion’ (Council of the European Union 2016). 23 Information gathered from interviews of the author with EU officials in Brussels and Moscow, November 2017 and May 2018 and from the former EU Ambassador to Russia in Riga, March 2018. 24 Interview conducted at the Association of European Businesses in Moscow, May 2018. 25 The expression is retrieved from the author’s interview with EU officials and representatives of member states, November 2017 in Brussels and May 2018 in Moscow. It is also articulated in an experts’ report (Fischer and Timofeev 2018).

References Ambassador of Slovenia to the European Union (2008) ‘Speech at the Tenth Meeting of the European Union–Russia Parliamentary Cooperation Committee June 24’, Brussels: European Parliament. Bach, I., Bulmer, S., George, S. and Parker, O. (2014) Politics in the European Union, 4th ed., Oxford: Oxford University Press. Barroso, J.M. (2007) ‘Press Statement and Answers to Questions during the Joint Press Conference with President of the European Commission Jose Manuel Barroso and German Chancellor Angela Merkel following the Russia-European Union Summit Meeting’, available at http://en.kremlin.ru/events/ president/transcripts/24264 (accessed 20 November 2019). Barroso, J.M. (2014) ‘Statement by President Barroso following the EU-Russia Summit’, Brussels, 28 January. Best, E. (2016) Understanding EU decision-making, Berlin: Springer International Publishing. Bouchard, C., Peterson, J. and Tocci, N. (2014) Multilateralism in the XXIst Century. Europe’s quest for effectiveness, London: Routledge. Boussaguet, L., Dehousse, R. and Jacquot, S. (2011) ‘The ‘Governance Turn’ Revisited’, in R. Dehousse (ed.), The ‘Community Method’, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 186–98. Casier, T. and DeBardeleben, J. (eds.) (2018) EU-Russia relations in crisis: understanding diverging perceptions, London: Routledge. 45

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Council of the European Union (2016) ‘Foreign Affairs Council. Main results’, available at www.con silium.europa.eu/en/meetings/fac/2016/03/14/ (accessed 19 April 2018). Council of the European Union (2018) ‘Joint statement by Presidents Tusk and Juncker and High Representative Mogherini on Russian cyber attacks’, Statements and Remarks 546(18), 4 October. David, M., Gower, J. and Haukkala, H. (2011) ‘Introduction: the European Union and Russia’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 19(2): 183–8. David, M. and Romanova, T. (eds.) (2016) Modernisation in EU-Russian Relations: Past, Present and Future, London: Routledge. EEAS (2009) ‘EU-Russia common spaces progress report 2008’, March  2019, available at www.eeas. europa.eu/archives/docs/russia/docs/commonspaces_prog_report_2008_en.pdf (accessed 20 November 2019). European Commission (2004) ‘Communication from the commission to the council and the European Parliament on relations with Russia’, COM(2004) 106 final Brussels, 10 February. European Commission (2005) ‘EU-Russia common spaces roadmaps’, available at https://ec.europa.eu/ research/iscp/pdf/policy/russia_eu_four_common_spaces-%20roadmap_en.pdf (accessed 17 October 2018). European Commission (2008) ‘Communication from the commission to the council: review of EU-Russia relations’, COM (2008) 740 final, Brussels, 5 November. European Commission (2017) ‘Joint communication to the European Parliament and the council: a strategic approach to resilience in the EU’s external action’, JOIN(2017) 21 final, Brussels, 7 June. European Commission (2018a) ‘Russia’, available at www.sanctionsmap.eu/ (accessed 25 April 2018). European Commission (2018b) ‘Russia’, available at http://ec.europa.eu/trade/policy/countries-andregions/countries/russia/ (accessed 10 October 2018). European Council (1999) ‘Common strategy of the European Union of 9 June 1999 on Russia (1999/414/ CFSP)’, available at https://op.europa.eu/en/publication-detail/-/publication/38943c06-7e5d-4ca3acc3-c5154bd9c04e (accessed 21 November 2019). European Council (2001) ‘Conclusions of the presidency: European Council of Göteborg’, 15–16 June. European Council (2017) ‘Joint communication to the European Parliament and the council: a strategic approach to resilience in the EU’s external action’, Brussels, 30 August. European Parliament (2000) ‘Report on the implementation of the common strategy of the European Union on Russia (A5-0363/2000), session document, final’, 29 November. European Parliament (2007) ‘EU-Russia Relations in Spotlight ahead of Summit’, available at www.euro parl.europa.eu/sides/getDoc.do?type=IM-PRESS&reference=20070514STO06590&language=EN (accessed 6 October 2018). European Parliament (2009) ‘Recommendation to the Council on the New EU-Russia Agreement. European Parliament Recommendation to the Council of 2 April 2009 on the New EU-Russia Agreement’, (2008/2104(INI)), Brussels: European Parliament. European Union (2007) ‘Consolidated version of the Treaty on European Union’, 13 December 2007, 2008/C 115/01, available at www.refworld.org/docid/4b179f222.html (accessed 7 February 2020). European Union (2018) ‘Institutions and bodies’, available at https://europa.eu/european-union/abouteu/institutions-bodies_en (accessed 16 March 2021). Fernandes, S. (2013) ‘The European Union Institutional Balance: Assessment of Its Impact on the Relationship with Russia’, in T. Cierco (ed.), The European Union Neighbourhood, Surrey and Burlington: Ashgate, pp. 143–71. Fischer, S. and Timofeev, I. (2018) ‘Selective engagement between the EU and Russia’, EUREN Interim Report, October. Forsberg, T. and Haukkala, H. (2016) The European Union and Russia, London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Jones, E., Menon, A. and Weatherill, S. (eds.) (2012) The Oxford Handbook of the European Union, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Kalinichenko, P. (2017) ‘Post-Crimean twister: Russia, the EU and the law of sanctions’, Russian Law Journal 5(3): 9–28. Koenig, N. (2015) ‘Resetting EU external action: potential and constraints’, Policy Paper 125, Berlin: Jacques Delors Institut, 3 February. Langlet, D. (2014) ‘Transboundary transit pipelines: reflections on the balancing of rights and interests in light of the Nord stream project’, International and Comparative Law Quarterly 63(4): 977–95.

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Leonard, M. and Popescu, N. (2007) ‘A power audit of EU-Russia relations’, ECFR Policy Paper, November. Mogherini, F. (2018) ‘Speech by High Representative/Vice-President Federica Mogherini at the European Parliament plenary session on the situation in the Sea of Azov’, Strasburg, 23 October. Noutcheva, G., Pomorska, K. and Bosse, G. (2013) ‘Values versus security? The choice for the EU and its neighbours’, in G. Noutcheva, K. Pomorska and G. Bosse (eds.), The EU and Its Neighbours. Values Versus Security in European Foreign Policy, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 1–22. Nugent, N. (2017) The government and politics of the European Union, 8th ed., London and New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Olsen, J. (2021) The European Union. Politics and Policies, 7th ed. New York and Oxon: Routledge. Onyszkiewicz, J. (2009) ‘Quoted by Parliament adopts key EU-Russia report’, Alde, 2 April. available at http://www.alde.eu/en/details/news/parliament-adopts-key-eu-russia-report-1/ (accessed 20 December 2020). Oomen-Ruijten, R. (2008) ‘Speech at the Meeting of the Delegation to the European Union-Russia Parliamentary Cooperation Committee’, Brussels: European Parliament, 16 October. Portman, G. (2017) ‘Speech of the Head of the East Stratcom Task Force at the European External Action Service’, Annual Policy Security Summit ‘Europe’s Tough Neighbourhood: Urgent Challenges in a Complex Environment’, Brussels, 28 November. Rettman, A. (2007) ‘Veto problem on EU-Russia treaty getting bigger’, EU Observer, 26 February. Sakwa, R. (2017) Russia against the rest: the post–Cold War crisis of world order, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Wiegand, G. (2008) ‘Speech at the Tenth Meeting of the European Union-Russia Parliamentary Cooperation Committee ( June 24)’, Brussels: European Parliament.

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4 The normative deadlock in EU-Russia relations Hegemony without influence Viacheslav Morozov

The study of ideational and normative aspects of European Union–Russia relations is dominated largely by the same set of issues that define the field as a whole. The main question that underlies the debates in the field is how to account for Russia’s difference from (and in) Europe and its practical political significance. If anything, addressing the normative competition between the two actors makes this question even more explicit. In this chapter, I  first outline the development of the academic debate, which in many respects followed the evolution of the EU’s take on itself as a normative power and of the way borders were drawn between the EU-Europe and Russia. I then focus specifically on analysis of the Russian position, highlighting the basic normative elements underpinning Russia’s policies and perpetuating its current standoff with the EU. As existing literature makes clear, Russia’s outlook remains Eurocentric even at a time when Moscow claims to promote ‘traditional’ values and insists on the country’s ‘civilisational uniqueness’. The third section reflects on the normative deadlock that the relationship entered in the post-Crimean period and highlights the obstacles on the way towards any future normalisation. The conclusion summarises the main points of the analysis and discusses prospects for the future.

Europeanisation, sovereignty and the dream of a wider Europe The starting point for the debate was the idea of ‘a wider Europe’, adopted almost by default after the Soviet collapse. It conceptualised Russia’s difference in temporal terms: it was a ‘normal country’ (see Shleifer and Treisman 2005) that just needed time to ‘catch up’ with the rest of Europe. In the meantime, Europeanness as such became increasingly associated with the EU, whose own self-definition was undergoing significant changes. As argued by Ole Wæver (1998), the European Community came into being as a unique political entity whose identity was based primarily on temporal rather than spatial othering. Unlike most nation-states, which define themselves by distancing from neighbours (or, sometimes, more distant rivals), the new European identity took as the point of departure Europe’s own past, plagued by wars and tarnished by the Holocaust. The end of the Cold War and the establishment of the EU opened this identity to a renegotiation. The formidable challenge of the Eastern Enlargement meant that the Union was to serve as the model for the aspiring new 48

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members, which was hard to square with its previous self-understanding of a precarious unity struggling to overcome its past. The adoption of the Copenhagen Criteria in 1993 meant that dealing with the Eastern Other was now the key dimension of the EU’s identity. This, in turn, implied a transition from temporal to spatial othering (Christiansen 2005; Diez 2004; Joenniemi 2007). This transformation had direct consequences for the relations with Russia, particularly for their normative dimension. For most countries in Central and Eastern Europe, joining the EU and NATO was not just a confirmation of their Europeanness but also an act of final liberation from Russia’s influence. As they were successfully moving towards membership, Russia was becoming the main, or even the only, embodiment of the Eastern Other for the rest of Europe (Morozov 2008). This resulted in what Sergei Prozorov (2009) calls Russia’s hierarchical inclusion in the European normative order. The centrepiece of this order was the conceptualisation of the EU as a ‘normative power’. This academic concept, proposed by Ian Manners (2002), captured the perceptions that had already been in circulation in the policy world at the turn of the century and consolidated in the subsequent decade. Indeed, as argued by Thomas Diez (2005; see also Manners and Diez 2007: 174, 183–6), normative power is best conceptualised not as a type of power but as an identity adopted by the EU in the post–Cold War world. It positioned the EU as a source of norms and as a model for its neighbours almost par excellence (for reassessments, see also Hyde-Price 2008; Zielonka 2008). The basic assumption behind Brussels’s Russia policy was that Russia would follow its CEE neighbours in transforming itself in line with the Copenhagen Criteria (DeBardeleben 2017). Moscow’s unwillingness to accept the EU’s conditionality was the main source of the disagreements, some of which became apparent already in the late 1990s. The key turning points here were NATO’s military operation against the Federal Republic of Yugoslavia in 1999 (with the EU later taking over as the main provider of external governance in Kosovo and elsewhere in the Western Balkans), the ‘colour revolutions’, and especially the 2004 orange revolution in Ukraine, as well as the institutionalisation of the European Neighbourhood Policy (after 2004) and the Eastern Partnership (launched in 2009). These were perceived by the Kremlin as not only an encroachment on its own sphere of influence (although Moscow consistently denies thinking in these terms) but also as ultimately directed towards a regime change in Russia itself. Russia’s interventions in Georgia since 2008 and in Ukraine since 2014, despite their vastly divergent dynamics, are in the end driven by these concerns (the history of normative disagreements is detailed in DeBardeleben’s and Deriglazova’s chapters in this volume). There are, however, diverging accounts as to why the hierarchical inclusion results in conflicts. Hiski Haukkala’s (2010) view is that the EU has adopted a post-sovereign approach, promoting its own values in the neighbourhood and hoping, initially at least, that Russia would also be willing to adopt those. Russia, however, clung to the traditional understanding of sovereignty, which explains its defensive posture (see also Medvedev 2008). Haukkala’s argument, with all its theoretical sophistication, still echoes the widespread view that Russia does not understand the EU’s post-sovereign logic and sees the world through a Hobbesian lens of traditional military and economic power (Lukyanov 2008; Mölder 2011). Some of Moscow’s critics, especially in the post-Crimean period, go as far as to assert that ‘Putin lives in a word without rules’ (Bershidsky 2018). Even if this were the case, however, this vision of a chaotic world derives from the conviction that it was the United States and its European allies who overlooked ‘a unique opportunity to establish relative order in world affairs’ due to their belief that, after the collapse of the Soviet system, ‘the winners set all the rules however they see fit’ (Barabanov et al. 2018: 5–6). In other words, it was the arbitrary action of the West 49

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that undermined the international order, while Moscow’s first preference would still be for a rule-based international system. There is certainly more to say beyond the ‘sovereignty–Europeanization binary’ (Hopf 2008: 5), which is questioned by some scholars (e.g. Kononenko 2008). As argued by Derek Averre (2009), among others, Moscow has a rather clearly defined normative agenda, while structural power in what used to be called the ‘shared neighbourhood’ is exercised not just by Russia but also by the EU (see also Burai 2016; Cadier 2015; Casier 2013 and this volume). Both actors share the overarching aim: ‘to shape [the] external environment by establishing stable and friendly states on [their] periphery as a prerequisite for security’. As made clear already by the Russian-Georgian war of 2008, however, the substantive conflict is still there: it is difficult to deny that ‘in normative terms [Russia] privileges sovereignty, regime stability and noninterference in the internal affairs of these states, together with the gradual evolution of local models of governance’ (Averre 2009: 1696). This runs counter to the emphasis Brussels puts on democratisation, the rule of law and, eventually, on the adoption of the EU’s legal norms and regulations in the neighbourhood, even in the absence of any realistic prospects of membership. The acknowledgement of the fact that a substantive normative disagreement is there opens up at least two ways of exploring the EU-Russia divergence in this sphere (see DeBardeleben this volume for a different perspective). Both take Moscow’s position as a starting point, since it is only by making sense of the Russian concerns and assessing their legitimacy that one could come up with any forward-looking strategy. The first set of questions, particularly relevant in the post-Crimean environment, is about the exact meaning of Russia’s promotion of sovereignty and non-interference as international norms. The second, however, shifts the focus away from the substance and towards the specific structures and mechanisms that determine the EU-Russia relationship and, in some respects at least, define the nature of Russia’s normative concerns.

Hegemonic Europe, Eurocentric Russia As pointed out by many of Moscow’s opponents, both in the policy world and in academia, there is an obvious contradiction in Russia’s defence of sovereignty and non-interference. Ever since the Soviet collapse, Russia supported the self-proclaimed states that broke away from Moldova (the Transnistrian Republic) and Georgia (Abkhazia and South Ossetia). Moreover, it sent troops into Georgia in 2008 and eventually recognised Abkhazian and South Ossetian independence, which would not be sustainable without Russian military and economic support. In 2014, it annexed Crimea and, judging by the available evidence, supported the separatist offensive in Eastern Ukraine. It also used ‘hybrid’ means, including cyber operations, to influence political developments in other countries in the EU, the neighbourhood and beyond.1 The easiest way of dealing with this apparent contradiction is to accuse Moscow of hypocrisy or outright lying and to dismiss its normative claims as propaganda. It is, of course, impossible to positively prove that geopolitical expansion is not the only goal pursued by the Kremlin and that deception is not its main strategy. What can be done, however, is to try more fully to reconstruct the Russian view of the present and future world order in the hope that it would provide at least as plausible an explanation of the facts as the ‘hypocrisy hypothesis’. Such an account must pay attention to the fact that, along with sovereignty, two other notions inform Moscow’s worldview: multipolarity and great power management. The doctrine of multipolarity has been a key factor driving Russian foreign policy at least since the time of Evgeny Primakov’s tenure as foreign and prime minister (1996–1999). As 50

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a number of studies make clear, multipolarity is a reactive doctrine that takes the US preeminence in global affairs as a challenge and increasingly as a threat (Ambrosio 2005; Makarychev and Morozov 2011). This attitude was most clearly expressed in Vladimir Putin’s Munich speech (Putin 2007), which, with hindsight, can be interpreted as a blueprint for Russia’s reaction to what it saw as a continued US geopolitical expansion in Russia’s own backyard, motivated by the desire to establish a unipolar world order. The meaning of multipolarity for Russia-EU relations is equally unambiguous: regardless of whether the Kremlin sees the EU as an independent pole of the international system or as junior partner of Washington, the vigorous Europeanisation policy in the ‘shared neighbourhood’ was to be interpreted as equally leading to unipolarity. No wonder it was seen as a challenge to Russia’s interests (Sergounin 2010) and re-invigorated the Kremlin’s efforts to develop the Eurasian integration project (Cadier 2014). Russian scholars sometimes explicitly blame the Eastern Partnership for ‘provoking’ the Ukraine crisis (e.g. Ponomareva and Rudov 2015). The concept of multipolarity is obviously related to the idea of balance of power, which, however, is not part of the official policy doctrine. Another related notion is great power management (GPM), which is also used by academics rather than practitioners, but which nevertheless is very helpful in making sense of Russia’s behaviour. It was introduced to international relations scholarship by Hedley Bull (1977: 205–6), one of the founding fathers of the English School. As demonstrated by Richard Little (2006), GPM is one of the institutions that help sustain a balance of power; it is therefore crucial to those theoretical approaches that foreground the concept of power as a key factor shaping international reality. For Russia, this is certainly the preferred model of the future international order: it imagines itself not just as one of the poles in the multipolar order but as one of the great powers whose role is to contribute to global stability (Astrov 2011; Makarychev and Morozov 2011). Adding multipolarity and GPM to the picture certainly helps in understanding the Russian perspective on its relationship with the EU. This perspective assumes that the principle of sovereignty and non-interference apply primarily to great powers, so the EU and Russia must not interfere in each other’s internal affairs. At the same time, the ‘shared neighbourhood’ must be governed by their mutual agreement. The sovereignty of the countries in between must be respected in the sense that great powers must refrain from promoting regime change, while ‘extra-regional actors’ (meaning the United States) should stay away from what is essentially an EU-Russia bilateral business. There are certainly many ways of challenging this thinking: as unrealistic, disrespectful of the sovereign rights of East European nations and so on. An even more important dimension of this problem is highlighted by Iver Neumann’s (2008) article, problematising Russia’s great power ambitions. Using a Foucauldian perspective, Neumann demonstrates that the European understanding of great powerness originates in a comprehensive idea of ‘police’ (in the original meaning of the word, related to Greek polis), which includes not just international order but also domestic governance. As the historical record shows, Russia has always been found by the (West) Europeans to be wanting on the latter: its domestic institutions have never fully corresponded to European standards (whatever those meant at any particular moment). Consequently, it was hardly ever fully accepted as a European great power. With the partial exceptions of the Vienna and Yalta periods, both the Russian empire and the USSR had trouble convincing their European partners that their status claims were fully legitimate, which often led to painful geopolitical defeats, such as the Crimean War or the Congress of Berlin in 1878. The exact nature of Russia’s difference can be disputed: it can be interpreted as really existing or as discursively constructed by the West Europeans themselves as part of their Orientalist outlook (see Wolf 1994; Neumann 1999). However, what is in any case beyond doubt is 51

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the unequal nature of the EU-Russia relationship. This concerns the entire structural setting, including trade and diplomacy (see Morozov 2018), but also the normative dimension. As pointed out previously, Russia’s emphasis on multipolarity is reactive and reflects a concern with the growing predominance of the West in world affairs (Tsygankov 2016). Some people would say this attitude is misguided for a country which has the rising China as a next-door neighbour, but this criticism misses the point. Russia’s uneasiness about Western interventionism, real or imagined, reflects the general Eurocentrism of the nation’s global outlook. Historically, Russian elites have always been looking at Europe for leadership – intellectual, normative and technological. This was mainly a consequence of the Europeanisation forced upon the elites in the early eighteenth century. As a result, the educated Russians saw their status and mission as defined by the contrast between European ‘civilisation’ and domestic ‘barbarity’. The Bolshevik revolution did not change much in this respect: the USSR still imported technologies from the West, while Soviet propaganda obsessively compared the achievements of socialism with the grim realities of capitalism. Craving for imported goods was one of the characteristic features of late socialism (Yurchak 2005). Joan De Bardeleben (this volume) describes the official Russian rhetoric since 2012, and especially after the annexation of Crimea, as promoting values that are substantively different from those embraced by Brussels. Upon a closer look, however, not just multipolarity but the entire normative agenda advanced by Moscow, internationally as well as domestically, is no more than an inversion of the EU’s promotion of liberal democracy in the neighbourhood and beyond. The ‘traditional values’ that the Russian state is trying to revitalise are defined mostly in negative terms. While they are seen as rooted in some illusory ‘genuine Russia’, their true source is the image of Europe as being in decay because of its embrace of secularism, gay marriage, immigration and other trends that, in view of Russian traditionalists, make it less European. As one recent example, the issue of migration almost totally dominates the discussion of contemporary European problems in the 2018 Valdai Club report (Barabanov et al. 2018: 8, 14–15), resulting in the conclusion that ‘[t]he influx of immigrants to the EU has undermined the idea of European solidarity’ (2018: 15). It is no coincidence that the policy proposals stemming from this version of traditionalism are almost exclusively oppressive: they are directed against queer people, the right to abortion, contemporary radical art and other ‘abuses’ of the freedom of expression but fail to establish a positive agenda. The only partial exception are the pro-natalist policies, but their success has been at best questionable (for a more detailed analysis, see Morozov 2015). In other words, in its normative rivalry with the EU, Russia occupies a subaltern position: its outlook is fundamentally Eurocentric, and the language of civilisational critique it uses against Europe still assumes the primacy of European heritage. Russia tries to position itself as a ‘true’ Europe vis-à-vis the decadent West (Neumann 1996, 2016), but it means that Europe remains indispensable for any definition of Russian self-identity. As Valentina Feklyunina concludes, Russia’s interpretations of its historically peripheral and undecided position in or vis-à-vis Europe on the one hand, and the recognition or non-recognition of Russia’s European identity by Europe and the West more broadly on the other, have been exceptionally important in shaping understandings not only of Russia’s international interests, but also of its domestic goals. (2018: 8; see also Tsygankov 2012) Subalternity is present here in the most fundamental sense: while Russia criticises EUropean hegemony, it still has to rely on the hegemonic language to voice its unhappiness (Morozov 2015). 52

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Europe in crisis At the same time, the EU’s hegemonic role in its relationship with Russia by no means implies unconditional dominance. Hegemony is better conceptualised as a structural condition that has a constraining effect on all actors, in the sense that even those who occupy a privileged position can make use of it only as long as their actions fall in line with the proclaimed values and norms. This means, inter alia, that the EU has to rely on local actors while promoting its values in the neighbouring states. In the case of Russia, almost all potential ‘Europeanisers’ are under severe pressure from the state, which limits the ways in which the EU can translate hegemony into influence, more pragmatically conceptualised. Another important consideration is that even though Russia is dependent on the EU in both normative and material sense, this dependence is not absolutely one sided (see Casier this volume). Many member states continue to rely on the imports of Russian gas and other raw materials; the Russian market is important for European companies, whose interests have been hurt by Moscow’s policies of import substitution and the restrictions on food imports and foreign investment. The Ukrainian case has highlighted the structural limits of the promotion of European norms, which is hampered by, first, the lack of financial resources required to support the reforms and, second, the often substandard institutional capabilities of the target states. Last but not least, Russia’s willingness to use military power puts severe restrictions on the EU’s freedom of action. In other words, normative competition, even if it takes place under conditions of inequality, is still affected by the structural power on both sides. Finally, and most importantly in the context of this chapter, the EU does go through an internal crisis. The Russian narrative of a Union in disarray is exaggerated but not completely unfounded. The refugee crisis and Brexit have indeed put European solidarity in question, while populist backlashes undermine the internal cohesion of European democracies. External challenges, and in particular the ongoing conflicts in Ukraine, Syria and Libya, have exacerbated existing insecurities: as Elisabeth Johansson-Nogués maintains: ‘The destabilisation of the eastern and southern neighbourhood has . . . upset the narrative of the European integration and arguably, on a deeper level, the EU’s ontological security’ (2018: 529). The EU has responded with a new security strategy, which declares the state of ‘existential crisis within and beyond the European Union’ (European Union 2016: 13). Along with the 2015 Review of the ENP (European Commission 2015), it sets stabilisation and resilience as key priorities both internally and with regard to the neighbourhood. This indicates that the Union is moving away from its previous self-identity as a normative power and towards a more traditional, pragmatic understanding of sovereignty and territorial borders as something that needs to be protected against external threats ( Juncos 2017; Pavlova and Romanova 2018; DeBardeleben this volume). As with any identity shift, the EU’s change of emphasis hardly amounts to a fundamental transformation of its ‘essence’. Rather, what we are observing is the normative power discourse receding to the background, while previously marginalised images of ‘fortress Europe’ are taking the dominant position in the discursive field.2 Paradoxically, this realignment means that the EU and Russia now stand closer to each other in the sense of being wary of the post-sovereign world, which, as it turns out, is full not just of opportunities but also of challenges and threats. However, at least for now, there is no indication that this conceptual similarity is likely to bring about an easing of the tensions and an end to the normative rivalry. On the contrary, the Global Strategy presents Russia as ‘a key strategic challenge’, maintaining that ‘Russia’s violation of international law and the destabilisation of Ukraine . . . have challenged the European security order at its core’ (European Union 2016: 33). Even though the Kremlin’s rhetoric continues to 53

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be directed mostly against the United States and NATO, it is clear that the EU’s normative activism is still perceived as a threat. Thus, even if the logic of bordering is now similar on both sides, it is also directed against each other, and therefore it would be hard to find a common language. It would seem that Russia might be ready to look for a reasonable compromise with the EU that would end the sanctions and bring back cooperation in the framework of the institutions created in the course of the first post–Cold War decades. At least, this appears to be the meaning of the repeated statements by the Russian leadership, including by Prime Minister Dmitry Medvedev on his visit to Brussels, that it was not Russia who initiated the ‘sanctions war’ and that lifting of the sanctions would be mutually beneficial (Pravitelstvo Rossii 2018). It is also well known that there are powerful forces within the EU, including some individual member states, who would be willing to support a normalisation. However, any attempts to move in this direction are currently blocked for a number of reasons, mostly of an ideational and normative nature. First of all, the current state of affairs relies on an uneasy compromise within the EU, a compromise dominated by those who believe that the previous NPE-orientated agenda was too idealistic and that bordering is actually good for the Union as a whole. The constant flow of revelations about Russia’s transgressions widens the appeal of this narrative. What this near-­ consensus exposes is a fundamental lack of trust in Russia’s leaders’ intentions and in their willingness to keep any promises that might be given as part of a hypothetical future compromise. This mistrust has always been widespread in Central and Eastern Europe, in particular in the Baltic States and Poland, but it seems that by now it has become a common-sense perception that lies in the background of the entire Russia-related discourse, including media reporting. Any new deal with Russia would have to be made in the shadow of such documents as the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, guaranteeing the territorial integrity of Ukraine, and the 1997 Friendship Treaty between the two countries, both of which were violated by the annexation of Crimea. Russia’s critics would argue that it had always stood outside of the European civilisation, and the only reason it used to demonstrate more cooperative behaviour was the weakness resulting from the Soviet collapse. Overcoming this mistrust would be a daunting task for any future Russian leader. Second, Russia’s role in Eastern Europe, and more specifically, its relations with Ukraine and the fate of Crimea, will remain on the agenda as a major obstacle to any future compromise. On the one hand, it would be next to impossible for the EU to accept Crimea as Russian and to give up on supporting Ukraine. The Russian leadership, on the other hand, continues to perceive a fully independent Ukraine as a potential security threat, as it is expected to join NATO at the first opportunity. Even if the conflict in the Donbas is somehow settled, this would not end mutual hostility between the two Slavic nations, while any scenario envisaging a return of Crimea for now looks completely utopian. Hence, the current state of the normative contestation between the EU and Russia is best described as a deadlock. Even though both sides converge in their assessment of the current international order as chaotic and abounding with challenges and threats, they continue to disagree on their visions for the future. The EU still imagines the ideal future as a liberal democratic world, while Russia remains concerned about the fundamental inequality built into the current system. The result is normative contestation and bordering that at times look bound to result in an open confrontation. The stakes involved in a potential normalisation are so high for both sides that one would be hard pressed to come up even with a moderately optimistic scenario.

Conclusion The EU-Russia relationship has been shaped to a significant degree by the diverging ideas about the meaning of Europe and by a broader normative contestation. Deep tensions, which 54

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persisted underneath the idealised image of the wider Europe ever since the end of the Cold War, slowly resurfaced over the first decade of the twenty-first century, eventually leading to an open confrontation. It needs to be stressed that these tensions are not of any essential, ‘civilisational’ nature: they do not result from such conservative myths as Russia’s uniqueness and its alleged Eurasian, traditionalist ‘core’. On the contrary, Russia’s identity is profoundly European, while the differences between the East and the West have more to do with their unequal standing in the global system of production and the resulting poor compatibility of institutional setups. The normative rivalry originated, at least in part, in the fact that in the first 15–20 years after the end of the Cold War, the EU seemed to embrace a post-sovereign outlook, associated with de-bordering, globalisation and the end-of-history utopia that saw no alternatives to liberal democracy. This led Brussels to exactly the type of normative activism that made Russia deeply uneasy about the EU’s intentions, given that neither the EU nor NATO were particularly keen on opening their doors to Russia. It is very unfortunate that to make sure its concerns were attended to, Moscow decided to leave the terrain of normative contestation and to use military force, with what looks for the time being as irreversible consequences. It is also ironic that Russia’s new assertiveness forced the EU to abandon its post-sovereign worldview – but even that could not have helped to overcome the confrontation. One could speculate that a return to a dialogue might be possible, but only on the condition that either the EU, or Russia, or both of them fundamentally change their current attitudes and, one might say, their very identity. In a certain sense it is easier to imagine such a change occurring in Russia: as long as its identity remains Eurocentric, a reversal of the current confrontation and yet another attempt at re-joining the European civilisation is not that difficult to imagine. The political forces that advocate such a choice might currently be marginalised but remain very vocal. One must not forget about the experience of the late 1980s, when the total loss of legitimacy by the Soviet system led to a quick consolidation of a westerniser hegemony. Conceiving an identity change in the EU requires more imagination, but can, in principle, be extrapolated from the current crisis of European democracy. The continued rise of the rightwing populists might result in the Hungarian scenario repeating itself in a number of other countries. The eventual crumbling of the liberal democratic consensus might lead to a majority of the current member states giving up on the core normative principles that define Europe up to this day. This, however, would very likely lead to a collapse of the entire European project, so it would be difficult to come up with an optimistic scenario using this as a starting point. It looks like all Europeans must brace themselves for an extended period of heightened tension across the continent and mobilise their good political sense in an effort to stave off at least the most disastrous outcomes.

Acknowledgements This work was supported by the Estonian Research Council grant PRG1052 and institutional research funding IUT20–39.

Notes 1 For studies explicating the logic of Russia’s action, see, for example, Allison (2013), Averre and Davies (2015). 2 The Global Strategy revealingly admits: ‘The Union cannot pull up a drawbridge to ward off external threats’ (European Union 2016: 8, 17). 55

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5 Ideas and normative competition in EU-Russian relations Joan DeBardeleben1

The European Union has, from the beginning of the relationship, considered shared values to provide the necessary foundation for a strong and constructive partnership with Russia. The basis of the EU’s value agenda with Russia is reflective of the Copenhagen Criteria, which were articulated in 1993 in order to provide a standard for countries acceding to the Union. Of particular relevance is the first ‘political’ criterion, which is specified as necessary for a country to start accession negotiations: ‘stability of institutions guaranteeing democracy, the rule of law, human rights and respect for and protection of minorities’ (European Council 1993). Even though Russian accession to the EU has never been considered a realistic possibility by either side, in developing its relations with the Russian Federation (RF) in the 1990s, the EU applied this standard (DeBardeleben 2017), as it did with other Eastern neighbours. This tendency was reinforced by the fact that EU leaders generally considered Russia a European country, thus a part of the European community of values and, from 1999 until the crisis over Ukraine in 2014, a strategic partner. EU efforts to pursue a ‘values’ agenda with Russia have, however, been fraught with difficulties, leading some to wonder whether these efforts should be abandoned in favour of a relationship more clearly focused on mutual interests. This chapter will explore ambiguities in the EU’s promotion of normative values with Russia and how these ambiguities have complicated the relationship, sometimes producing unintended consequences. The following sections will explore the importance of ideas and norms in shaping the relationship, a discussion of theories and debates in the field, areas of tension and how these have evolved over time and, finally, the interaction of ideas in the public sphere.

Ideas and the evolution of the EU-Russia relationship In the 1990s, the Russian leadership seemed largely receptive to founding its relations with the EU in shared liberal values. That commitment is expressed in joint documents, such as the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) between the EU and Russia, which went into effect in 1997 (EU and Russia 1997). Among the general principles defined there is ‘respect for democratic principles and human rights as defined in the Helsinki Final Act and the Charter of Paris for a new Europe’ (EU and Russia 1997: Article 2). Furthermore, the Agreement establishes as an objective ‘to support Russian efforts to consolidate its democracy . . . and to 58

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complete the transition into a market economy’. In the EU’s Common Strategy on Russia, the European Council affirmed a strategic goal to be ‘a stable, open and pluralistic democracy in Russia, governed by the rule of law and underpinning a prosperous market economy’ (European Council 1999: 1). These statements suggest EU support for a transformative agenda with Russia, based on the idea that integrating Russia into a common economic and normative space would promote regional stability, mirroring the legitimising concept of the European integration process itself. The EU’s approach to Russia also implied application of the principle of conditionality, that is, making benefits dependent on Russia fulfilling certain conditions established by the EU; over time, stated conditions extended beyond the range of political values to regulatory and economic norms (DeBardeleben 2015). The Russian leadership itself also proclaimed support for liberal political values in the 1990s under the leadership of President Boris Yeltsin. By acceding to the Council of Europe and the European Convention of Human Rights (ECHR) in May 1998, Russia affirmed its commitment to upholding principles such as freedom of expression, freedom of assembly and procedural justice (European Court of Human Rights 2013). However, by the end of the 1990s, Russia’s approach to relations with the EU began to reflect a different hierarchy of values. In the RF’s 1999 Strategy on Relations of the Russian Federation with the European Union, responding to the EU’s Common Strategy, the first goal of Russia’s policy is defined as ‘the securing of national interests and the increased role and authority of Russia in Europe and the world’ (Government of Russia 1999). ‘Construction of the democratic legal state’ is but one of the principles mentioned to help realise that goal, through creation of a ‘socially oriented market economy’, which could draw on EU experience. Surveys conducted in Russia in 2004 indicated that the Russian public was supportive of the leadership’s focus on national interest as a driver of Russia’s relations with the EU rather than seeing the partnership primarily as a union of values (DeBardeleben 2008). Particularly during Vladimir Putin’s presidencies, the premise that common values would provide a solid basis for the relationship began to crumble. In the 2000s, disagreements over the interpretation and realisation of basic political values became an irritant to both sides. The change in tenor was partially driven by Russia’s increasing confidence as a regional actor, following the end of the devastating transitional depression of the 1990s. Under Putin’s leadership, Russian policy exhibited less willingness to accept the dominance of EU-defined standards and a stronger insistence on defining the country’s own sovereign political path. Changes in Russian domestic politics after 2004 also fed scepticism in Europe about the direction of Russia’s political development. Increasing political centralisation, reported violations of human and legal rights, stronger media control, restrictions on civil society activities and questions about the fairness of Russian electoral processes seemed to suggest that Russia was, at best, a ‘managed democracy’ or, at worst, shifting toward authoritarian rule. The European Parliament repeatedly called attention to these developments (European Parliament 2013, 2015), as did some political figures and governments of EU member states (e.g., Deutscher Bundestag 2011, 2012). On the other side, Russian resistance to EU conditionality and to Western ‘democracy promotion’ policies became more evident (Ambrosio 2007; Saari 2009); such policies were viewed as efforts to interfere in the political affairs of neighbouring countries, such as Ukraine, thus undermining Russia’s legitimate influence or, potentially, the stability of the Russian political system itself. In response to Russian objections, over time, EU leaders began to mute overt political criticism of Russia and shift their focus to sectoral and technical cooperation. However, the EU’s transformative agenda in relation to other post-Soviet countries (i.e., Armenia, Azerbaijan, Belarus, Georgia, Moldova, Ukraine) was maintained with the launch of the Eastern Partnership in 2009. This created a persistent arena of tension between the EU and Russia. 59

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The EU’s weaker push on political norms with Russia did not end disagreement over normative issues, because EU conditionality affected not only political values but extended to regulatory and economic norms (DeBardeleben 2015), as discussed subsequently. As Gänzle (2008) has suggested, the EU’s policies toward Russia involved a broader effort to extend governance beyond its own borders, which included incentives for Russia to approximate EU regulatory standards in exchange for concrete benefits such as a visa-waiver policy or various economic and trade advantages. Thus, while explicit sparring over political developments in Russia declined after 2000, normative dissonance over regulatory and technical standards and policies remained. These disagreements contributed to diverging perceptions about how the relationship should develop (Casier and DeBardeleben 2018). With the eruption of the crisis over Crimea and Ukraine in 2014, these issues came to a head, as Russia responded by pushing an increasingly explicit normative agenda of its own, related to protection of the rights of Russian minorities, a championing of ‘traditional’ values and a particular notion of state sovereignty and self-determination.

Theories and debates about the role of ideas in the relationship The Western literature has devoted considerable attention to the EU’s value and normative agenda and Russia’s response to it. In particular, those scholars working out of a constructivist theoretical framework have emphasised the important role of ideas in shaping the relationship between the EU and Russia (DeBardeleben 2012; Kratochvíl this volume). In contrast to scholars working out of a neo-realist theoretical framework, who emphasise the primacy of material and geopolitical interests in driving policy, constructivists draw attention to the importance of subjective factors, which shape the ideational construction and interpretation of events and actions. The role of ideas in shaping relations with the ‘other’ can be particularly important when the interpretation of historical experience is contested. Therefore, the EU’s enlargement of 2004, which included eight post-communist countries of Central and Eastern Europe, augmented the importance of ideational issues in the relationship, as leaders and publics in several countries that joined the EU at that time, particularly the Baltic states (Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania) and Poland, were affected by historical experiences that induced suspicion of Russian motives. These concerns were thus injected into debates about the EU’s Russian policy (DeBardeleben 2009). Some scholars also apply theories of social psychology to explain the intensifying dynamics of misperception and distrust that developed in EU-Russia relations, particularly since 2012. Casier (2018) argues that ‘attributional bias’ has led each party to interpret actions of the ‘other’ by attributing motives that are based on preconceived notions. The nature of the EU and Russia as regional and global actors is also a subject of theoretical debate. One school of thought argues that the EU represents a new type of post-­modernist international actor, driven by a values-based agenda rather than by traditional geopolitical motives. In a seminal article written in 2002, Ian Manners emphasised the EU’s normative power, which has to do with the attractive force of ideas and the ‘ability to shape conceptions of “normal” ’ (Manners 2002: 240). The exercise of normative power can occur through various means that involve economic relations, cultural ties, communications or the power of example (ibid: 244–5). Russia, in contrast, is often depicted as an actor motivated by geopolitical and economic interests. This dichotomy, seeing the EU as a post-modern norm-driven actor in contrast to Russia’s ‘realist’ intentions, has been broadly criticised (Averre 2009; Klinke 2012). These critics argue that the EU is also motivated by its own economic and geopolitical interests but has developed a prevailing narrative that fails to acknowledge these factors, producing often unintended (and sometimes negative) consequences of its policies (Casier 2013). On the other 60

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hand, some analysts note that Russia also has its own normative agenda and that ideational factors, including a search for identity in the post-Soviet context, are important determinants of Russian policy (Tsygankov 2016a). Nonetheless, it is widely recognised by scholars studying EU-Russian relations that differing values and their interpretation have led to tension in the relationship. Makarychev states: ‘It is the normative gap that deeply divides the EU and Russia and complicates a dialogue between them’ (2014: 16), noting fundamental differences in interpreting key concepts that are considered highly important for one partner or the other. For example, ‘sovereignty’ is an important legitimising concept for Russia (Ziegler 2012), as is ‘human rights’ for the EU. One could add to the list of contested ideas notions such as ‘rule of law’, ‘democracy’ and ‘modernisation’ (Romanova and Pavlova 2014; Flenley 2015). Whether the values gap is primarily an elite affair or whether it reflects broader societal viewpoints is also a contentious issue. One difficulty in answering this question has to do with differing value configurations across the EU itself, where, in recent years, liberal values have come under attack by governments in Hungary and Poland (Rupnik 2016; Sedelmeier 2014) and are challenged by populist political movements in other EU countries. But even when comparing popular values in Russia with mainstream liberal notions propounded by EU leaders, scholars come to differing interpretations. White et al. (2005) argued that survey results reveal substantial differences in the way Russian respondents view central issues like tolerance of minorities, authoritarian options and market economics compared to predominant Western values. Makarychev (2014: 18) points out, however, that certain social groups in Russia – especially the young, the more educated and professional groups  – relate quite positively to European liberal norms. Another contentious point is whether Russian and European publics profess adherence to similar values but just interpret them differently. For example, Hale (2011) has argued that Russians do not reject democracy or support authoritarianism but rather incline to favour ‘delegative democracy’, which involves acceptance of strong central leaders, assuming they are periodically held to account. Similarly, the prevailing understanding of the concept of human rights differs in EU and Russian leadership circles, with group rights playing a more important role in the Russian conception (Fawn 2009; Romanova 2016). A  further aspect of the debate over norms and values relates to the close linkage between values and identity (Morozov this volume).

EU-Russia tensions over ideas and norms The substance of EU-Russian disagreement about norms and values has been wide ranging. In terms of political values, a focus of EU condemnation in the 1990s related to Russia’s alleged violations of human rights in the Chechnya conflict, objections which actually resulted in a delay of the EU’s ratification of the PCA. Other targets of criticism by EU officials or member states include unfair electoral practices, violations of judicial independence, suppression of civil society and limits on the media. These concerns have been reinforced by the large number of cases brought before the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) by Russian complainants. While Russia has generally complied with specific decisions, for example, by paying mandated financial compensation, fundamental changes to judicial practice have been resisted. In 2015, a Russian law was adopted authorising the Russian Constitutional Court to override decisions of the ECtHR on the basis of constitutional incompatibility, which elicited some calls in Europe for Russia’s ejection from the Council of Europe (e.g., Stewart 2016). Indeed, Russia’s voting rights in the Council of Europe’s Parliamentary Assembly were removed in 2014, albeit in connection with the conflict in Ukraine. They were restored in June 2019 in a controversial vote 61

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that split delegates from EU member states; thus, this decision may not mark the end of the discussion about Russia’s future in the Council of Europe. Disagreement over norms extends beyond differing views of basic political values. While values generally refer to fundamental evaluative standards such as democracy, civil liberties and minority rights (Haukkala 2010: 83), norms relate to standards that govern practices in particular spheres of life (DeBardeleben 2015). EU efforts to gain Russian adherence to regulatory norms alongside differing interpretations regarding implementation or Russian resistance to their adoption has generated conflict. For example, the European Commission has charged the state-controlled Russian gas company, Gazprom, with using unfair pricing and with ‘an abuse of its dominant market position in breach of EU antitrust rules’ (European Commission 2015; Reed and Schreuer 2018), while the Russian side has objected to the imposition on Gazprom of EU competition rules established in the EU’s third energy liberalisation package (Lavrov 2013). Likewise, some Russian analysts have interpreted delayed acceptance of a visa-waiver agreement, couched in technical objections, as being politically motivated, whereas the EU expressed concerns about Russia’s compliance with privacy and non-discrimination principles as a basis for blockage (Dekalchuk 2018). Russian officials have also frequently charged the EU with hypocrisy. For example, Foreign Minister Lavrov observed: ‘It is ironic that our western partners, who were so adamant about freedom of movement when negotiating the Helsinki Final Act, are now reluctant to create conditions for free human communication on the European continent’ (Lavrov 2013: 9). Russian charges of EU hypocrisy highlight the difficulty in interpreting motivations underlying the mobilisation of normative arguments. Do normative disagreements reflect genuinely diverging value commitments, or are they used instrumentally to justify positions driven primarily by material or geopolitical interests? For example, Russian officials claim that, in practice, the EU often does not meet its own value commitments, the most common objection being the alleged failure of the EU to call out violations of the human rights of the Russian-speaking minority populations in two EU member states bordering Russia, Estonia and Latvia (Fawn 2009), in relation to the citizenship policies of these countries.2 The Russian practice of countering EU concerns about human rights violations with charges of EU hypocrisy has reinforced a discursive gap by diverting attention from substantive issues and arguably feeding a spiral of mutual recriminations. The establishment of regular biannual human rights consultations between the EU and Russia represented an attempt to channel this divisive discourse into a more constructive form, but these discussions have left many issues unresolved (see, e.g.,  European Union 2013) and are generally considered to have produced limited results (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2012). The process was suspended with the beginning of the Ukraine crisis in 2014. Disagreements over the idea of national sovereignty are an important point of contention between the two parties. National sovereignty has been repeatedly articulated by Russian leaders as an important principle governing its relations with other countries (see also Morozov this volume). Underlying the point is an insistence on non-interference in Russian domestic affairs by foreign actors. Accordingly, the Russian government has adopted strict regulations in relation to receipt of foreign funding by Russian non-governmental organisations that engage in political advocacy (see also in this volume: Belokurova and Demidov; Romanova). More broadly, Russian leaders and spokespersons depict Western efforts to promote its values agenda as violating the national sovereignty of the countries involved. Western criticism of particular policies, such as Russian government actions in Chechnya in the 1990s or restrictions on the activities of the LGBT community in Russia, has also been rejected as an intrusion into domestic affairs. With the outbreak of the Ukraine crisis in 2014, an interesting inversion of value priorities pushed by the EU and Russia became evident (see Table 5.1). Prior to the crisis, EU leaders had 62

Ideas and normative competition Table 5.1 Values emphasised by the EU and Russia before and during the Ukraine Crisis of 2014 Actor

Previous to the Ukraine crisis

In relation to the Ukraine crisis

EU

Democracy Human rights International law State sovereignty Minority rights International law

Legitimacy National sovereignty International law Democracy Minority rights Legal legitimacy

Russia

emphasised values such as democratic governance, human rights and a rules-based international system. With Russia’s annexation of Ukraine, the EU moved to highlighting the importance of Ukrainian national sovereignty and territorial integrity, values previously championed by Russia in its efforts to fend off perceived Western interference in its own domestic affairs. The notion of international law was also mobilised in EU arguments, since the annexation was seen as a violation of principles of the United Nations Charter and of the 1994 Budapest Memorandum, which Russia, the United Kingdom and the United States signed to guarantee Ukraine’s territorial sovereignty in exchange for its giving up nuclear weapons. Discourse of EU member state leaders also appealed to the legitimacy of the Euromaidan movement and the illegitimacy of the Crimean independence referendum of March  2014, which was used to justify Russia’s annexation of the region. On the Russian side, the traditional argument about sovereignty was reinterpreted in terms of Russia’s historical claim on Crimea, but particular emphasis was placed on defence of the rights of Russian minorities in Ukraine, on the democratic legitimacy of the Crimean referendum and on Yanukovych’s (formerly the Ukrainian president) removal as a violation of the legal legitimacy of the elected president. This inversion of value emphasis illustrates the manner in which value-based arguments take on operational meaning in specific political contexts; rather than providing absolute guidance to political behaviour, they are subject to differential interpretation in particular circumstances.

Russia’s ideational offensive In the 1990s and early 2000s, the Russian state, in contrast to its Soviet predecessor, was generally understood to have placed minimal emphasis on developing a clear ideological position, either to legitimise domestic power structures or to project abroad. Furthermore, Russian reactions to the EU’s values agenda were largely reactive, also claiming EU breaches of its own value positions. In more recent years, however, Russian leaders have promoted a more proactive values agenda to counter EU normative claims. Fundamental principles include an emphasis on traditional values (Stepanova 2015; Wilkinson 2014), claims about Russia’s cultural distinctiveness (Tsygankov 2016b), a continuing and reinforced emphasis on national sovereignty and an assertion of Russia’s regional and global leadership status. Each of these ideas plays a legitimising role within the Russian political environment but also poses challenges for the EU-Russian relationship. This ‘values counter-offensive’ challenges the EU’s regional dominance as a normative power and situates Russia as an alternative carrier of European civilisational identity. Furthermore, the idea of Eurasianism, which has gained increased prominence in Russian discourse in the Putin era, places Russia at the critical juncture between Europe and Asia, thus according it a unique role in linking these two civilisational and geopolitical axes (Ziegler 2016; see Morozov this volume). The creation of the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU), as an alternative integration project to the EU, embodies Russia’s pivotal importance in its geopolitical space. 63

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Tied to Russia’s promotion of the EAEU is an important nuance in the understanding and uses of the concept of sovereignty. Rather than a vehicle to pool sovereignty (as in the EU), the EAEU promotes a variant of regional integration that does not significantly impinge on the sovereignty of its members (see Kofner this volume). More importantly, the EAEU does not represent a politically transformative agenda and thus does not pose a challenge to the authoritarian or semi-authoritarian political regimes that hold power in some of the EAEU member states (e.g., Belarus, Kazakhstan and Kyrgystan). Finally, under Putin’s leadership, Russia’s important regional and global role is strongly asserted. While this might appear to represent a geopolitical rather than an ideational turn, it is actually both. For the ‘idea’ of Russia is invoked as an important civilisational pole and as a key player in a multipolar world. While elements of this ‘ideational counter-offensive’ have been charted by Vladimir Putin from his early years in office, it has taken on a particularly clear form since the annexation of Crimea. As such, it also fulfils a critical domestic political function, especially important in the context of Western economic sanctions implemented in response to the Russian action. This suggests that the proactive nature of the Russian leadership’s articulation of an ideational alternative to the EU values agenda is in part ideological, that is, legitimising. Accordingly, the jury is still out regarding the durability of Russia’s normative agenda. Should conditions arise to normalise diplomatic relations between the EU and Russia, involving increased cooperation across a range of sectoral and global issues and eventually a lifting of economic sanctions, Russian leaders might be prepared to tame the normative offensive.

EU responses to Russia’s normative challenge Inside EU circles, disagreements have arisen over how the EU should respond to alleged Russian violations of human rights and of international law and to Russia’s increasingly assertive challenge to liberal values and to the liberal rules-based international order. One side argues for a stronger response to violations of basic values and norms, whereas another supports a more pragmatic approach to the relationship where such value-based conflicts would be minimised. Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, however, brought an unusual degree of EU member state unity in introducing sanctions on Russia; the sanctions have been repeatedly prolonged, despite indications of potential defections from the unanimous position. It seems likely that this unity was initially rooted in a prevailing value consensus within the EU on key notions regarding the interpretation of international law and territorial integrity. As noted in subsequent extensions, ‘the duration of the sanctions was linked to the complete implementation of the Minsk agreements by the European Council on 19 March  2015’ (European Council 2018). Thus, the value-based foundation for the consensus was operationalised in relation to Russia’s subsequent actions, providing a measurable standard of decision. The willingness of EU member states to accept this logic suggests that arguments based on European values still carry considerable weight in debates about the EU’s policy toward Russia (Sjursen and Rosén 2017). While at this writing it is unknown how long this consensus position will hold, it will certainly come under strain over time. For example, difficulties in realising a common value position with Russia may push the EU to view the relationship through a different lens, with a greater emphasis on concrete economic interests rather than a focus on ideas or values.

Ideas, ideology and misinformation Ideas not only can drive policy, but they can also serve as a tool to shape public perceptions and therefore have an impact on public debate and political support. With the rise of social media 64

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and challenges to the legitimacy of traditional media outlets, the vehicles for influencing public opinion through the projection of legitimising discourses have increased (David this volume). The accuracy of ‘facts’ to back up normative claims and arguments can be difficult for the public to assess, while the phenomenon of ‘echo chambers’ and use of algorithms in social media mean that audiences may, purposefully or unintentionally, gain exposure mainly to sources that reconfirm existing biases. In this environment, the ability to project ideas and to shape opinions, both of publics and of opinion leaders, takes on an increased importance in the current interaction between the EU and Russia. A more active Russian programme of public diplomacy has been developed for both Russia’s near abroad, but also directed at Western countries, using vehicles such as social media, internet news channels (e.g., RT.com) and new organisational forms to promote linkages with certain constituencies such as Russian compatriots or opinion-makers (Saari 2014; see also Romanova this volume). Because of the centralisation of state authority and greater state influence over the media in Russia as compared to the EU, it is relatively easy for Moscow to project a coherent and unified interpretation of events. For Russia, an important vehicle is the state-owned Sputnik and associated RIA Novosti media and news outlets, as well as the RT news and internet channel, which, besides the Russian version, is broadcast in English, French, German, Spanish and Arabic. In addition, in regions in EU member states with significant Russian-speaking populations, such as Latvia and Estonia, mainstream Russian media are accessible. These media outlets provide platforms for projecting a credible narrative regarding ongoing political issues, with a particular normative stance; this raises the question of whether a dynamic of ideological competition has also entered the EU-Russian relationship. Western governments have made numerous allegations about efforts of Russian actors, whether directly linked to the Kremlin or not, to influence election campaigns, to support right-wing populist parties or to foment division within Western societies. In response, the EU established the East Stratcom Task Force within the European External Action Service in 2015, with the mandate of countering Russian disinformation campaigns.3 In some cases, EU member state agencies have responded forcefully to perceived Russian media bias. Examples include Latvia’s occasional blocking of the Russian internet news channel Sputnik (Euractiv 2016) and the ruling by the United Kingdom’s communications regulatory agency, OfCom, that RT had violated media impartiality norms on at least seven occasions (Ofcom 2018). On the other side, the Russian state has adopted various measures to block ideas emanating from the EU and other Western countries. These include the foreign agents law, which stigmatises non-governmental organisations that receive foreign funding and engage in any kind of political activities; its remit was extended to encompass media outlets as well in 2017 (Reuters 2017). In addition, a 2015 law on undesirable foreign organisations permits the outlawing of their activities; it has since been used against the Open Society Institute (Soros Foundation), the Polish-based East European Democratic Centre and Education for Democracy Foundation and several US and Ukrainian organisations. Other measures include increasing efforts to restrict access to some internet content and registration requirements for prominent bloggers. All of these examples suggest that the battle of ideas has entered the public sphere through the actions of governments and in the media.

Conclusion With the eruption of the Ukraine crisis in 2014, relations between Russia and the EU have been widely interpreted in geopolitical terms as a conflict about influence in a region of economic and strategic importance to both parties. However, an underlying divergence between 65

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the norms and values of the two parties set the trajectory for the conflict much earlier. Over time, disagreement over the interpretation and application of both fundamental political values and sectoral technical norms has increased as the Russian government has become more assertive in articulating a distinctive ideological and normative position. Whether these ideational differences are instrumentally driven or reflective of underlying cognitive structures is sometimes difficult to discern. For the EU, the normative foundation of the European integration project itself argues for seeing efforts to export norms and values as fundamental to the Union’s nature; for Russia, which has articulated norms more strongly as conflict with the EU over geopolitical and economic interests has grown, a more instrumental interpretation may be persuasive. What does seem clear, however, is that the initial hope that an EU-Russian partnership could be firmly grounded in a set of shared economic and political values has been dashed and that future cooperation will likely have to rely on reaching a common understanding of shared interests.

Notes 1 This research was supported by the Social Sciences and Humanities Research Council of Canada (SSHRC). It is an associated activity of a Jean Monnet Chair co-funded by the Erasmus+ Programme of the European Union. SSHRC funding of the research and European Commission support for the Chair do not constitute an endorsement of the contents of this publication, which reflects the views only of the author; the European Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein. 2 Since Latvian and Estonia authorities interpreted the Soviet period as one of foreign occupation, residents who moved to the country in those years were only granted citizenship after 1991 if they could demonstrate competence in the national language of the country. 3 See the EU vs DISINFO website, https://euvsdisinfo.eu/about/

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Part 2

Theories, methods and learning

6 Realism and the study of EU-Russian relations Nicholas Ross Smith and Anastassiya Yuchshenko

Realism is often, wrongly, assumed to represent a fairly monolithic theory of international relations (IR) – indeed, IR theory is often taught at an undergraduate level as encompassing four main theories: realism, liberalism, Marxism, and constructivism. However, realism – much like the others – is best thought of as an umbrella term for a number of often quite different theories which are linked by a common basic understanding of IR as being an anarchic domain where states – acting in rational ways – are the principal actors. Further to this, realism aspires to understand the world ‘as it is, not as it ought to be’ (Carta 2017: 352). Many realists would point to Thucydides’s (1998) ‘History of the Peloponnesian War’ as something of a foundational document, but it is perhaps best situated as one of a number of historical works in the realist pantheon – such as key works by Machiavelli (2002), Hobbes (2017), and Rousseau (2002). More recent additions to this pantheon would also likely include Carr (1939), Morgenthau (1948), and Waltz (1979), to name but a few. When considering EU-Russian relations from a realist standpoint, it is important to recognise the EU as a proverbial ‘elephant in the room’. This is because the EU is clearly not a state – much debate exists as to what it actually is – and realism is a state-centric approach. This perhaps explains why realism has traditionally had little to say about the EU. Regarding the EU’s predecessor, the European Community, realists argued that this was a security community (supported by the United States) to balance the post-World War II threat of the Soviet Union to western Europe (Mearsheimer 1990). When the EU acquired more state-like attributes in the 1990s – starting with the Treaty of Maastricht, which conferred some foreign policy competencies on the Union – realists began to take the EU more seriously (Krotz and Maher 2011). Nevertheless, compared to liberalism, constructivism, and the uniquely EU-focused schools of thoughts, realism has been a relative latecomer to treating the EU as a legitimate international actor (Smith 2016a). The development of realism in the Russian context has also had a unique trajectory brought about by broader factors. The dissolution of the Soviet Union not only caused the development of Russian IR to follow a more practical, diplomatic path (Sergunin 2004), it also meant a significant shift within Russia’s academic circles, which had a big impact on the development of IR and, as a subset of that, realism. Since then, the realist debates within Russia are best thought of as a fusion of Western realist theories, Soviet tradition, and the never-ending search for 71

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Russia’s place in the world. The latter point is particularly key, as it has spawned two important competing visions of Russia’s role, both of which impact Russian conceptions of realism: Atlanticism versus Eurasianism. Atlanticists (sometimes called Westernisers) focus on Russia’s positive relationships with the West, or at least a possibility of positive relations, while Eurasianists base their argument on the idea that Russia’s political path is not only completely unique but also that it is superior to the Western one (Solovyev 2004). While realism has had less to say about EU-Russian relations than other approaches, it has made some important contributions to the study of EU-Russian relations in recent years. Broadly, there has been a clear resurgence of realism in IR over the last decade, after a notable loss of enthusiasm for the tradition in the wake of the unexpected collapse of the Soviet Union and the end of the Cold War (Kratochwil 1993; Legro and Moravcsik 1999). This resurgence is identifiable in both the Western and Russian realist debates but is also abetted by the growing power struggle (most notably the ongoing Ukraine crisis) at the heart of the EU-Russia relationship which, unsurprisingly given realism’s power focus, has led to a number of realist approaches making increasingly important arguments and insights (Götz 2015; Becker et  al. 2016; Diesen 2016; Smith 2016b; Wohlforth and Zubok 2017; Kleinschmidt 2018). And while realist approaches still remain somewhat sceptical of the EU as an international actor – and as to its long-term development in this area – there is at least an acceptance that the EU plays a role in international politics and that the EU-Russian relationship is of great consequence to European security. This chapter aims to deliver an overview of what the various contemporary strands of realism say about EU-Russian relations (past, present, and future). To achieve this, the chapter is broken into two main sections: one which looks at Western realist approaches and one which looks at Russian realist approaches. Although the Western body of realist scholarship dwarfs the Russian body, this chapter argues that it is important to consider both sides, particularly as the EU-Russian relationship has long suffered from a kind of confusion – that is, a significant misunderstanding of each other’s aims (Smith 2017a) – so perhaps forging some kind of bridge between the different types of realism could help to find a more common understanding of the nature of the EU-Russian relationship.

Western realist approaches This chapter identifies three main strands of realism from the Western tradition most relevant to the study of EU-Russian relations. First, structural realism – an approach which solely examines how external (structural) factors drive international political outcomes – is overviewed. Second, classical realism – an approach which is most concerned with the role of human nature on foreign policymaking – is outlined. Last, neoclassical realism – a newish approach which combines structural and classical realisms together – is examined.

Structural realism Structural realism incorporates a number of approaches – with two main strands: offensive and defensive – which all focus on how the anarchic international structure creates a competitive self-help system in which states seek to maximise their chances of survival. Offensive realists (Snyder 2002) say states do this by maximising power, while defensive realists (Taliaferro 2001) stress that states do this by maximising security. Importantly, for structural realism, the type of regime a state has or internal factors such as identity, culture, human nature, or leaders are of

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little importance because these theories are only concerned with examining the constraints imposed by structure (Waltz 1979). Consequently, gauging polarity – that is, the way the system is structured, whether it be unipolar (one power), bipolar (two powers), or multipolar (many powers) – and a given state’s position within this system is of great importance to structural realist explanations for international politics. Debates around which types of international systems are more stable have been occurring for many decades. While there is nothing like a consensus on this question, the balance of the structural realist literature is that unipolarity is the most stable and multipolarity the most unstable, with bipolarity somewhere in the middle. Instability can arise during systemic transition, and because the international system is always evolving, no one system can be said to be perpetually stable. Structural realism’s initial contribution to the study of EU-Russian relations was limited and, in many ways, caused some lasting embarrassment for the approach. Given the basic assumption that European integration was driven by the threat of the Soviet Union, a number of structural realists could not fathom how the EU could survive, let alone prosper in the post–Cold War setting. Mearsheimer (1990: 46–7) summarised this structural realist logic as to why the then European Community existed: ‘a powerful and potentially dangerous Soviet Union forced the Western democracies to band together to meet the common threat’. Thus, there was no real consideration from a structural realist position of the topic of EU-Russian relations in the initial post–Cold War context because it was believed the EU would soon cease to exist as an international actor in a unipolar world devoid of any threat from the Soviet Union. However, after the expected collapse of the EU did not occur in the 1990s – and in fact, the EU took steps to become more competent as an international actor – structural realists did make some efforts to explain the EU’s resilience ( Jones 2003; Collard-Wexler 2006; Hyde-Price 2008; Rosato 2011). Although remaining somewhat pessimistic, structural realists such as Jones (2003) argued that the continued presence of the EU was linked to the United States’ changing role (i.e. their continued power accumulation) post–Cold War which necessitated ongoing integration. On the other side of this chapter’s equation, there were many structural realist studies on how the changing distribution of power of the collapse of the Soviet Union affected Moscow’s foreign policy (Arbatov 1993; MacFarlane 1999; Lynch 2001). A general agreement was that Russia’s weakened state forced it into adopting pragmatic foreign policies towards the EU (and the United States) until it was able to undertake great power restoration in the mid-2000s. Thus, for structural realists, the Soviet collapse, coupled with deepening EU integration and expansion (along with NATO) worked, over time, to create a distribution of power that was detrimental to European security because, essentially, it created an unbalanced bipolar setting which was conducive to competition and confrontation (Smith 2017a). Such a view of the emerging competition in Eastern Europe between the EU and Russia was readily dismissed but, over time, gained some credibility when the Ukraine crisis erupted in late 2013. Indeed, the structural realist stance on the trajectory of EU-Russian relations is ostensibly that, until a balanced security architecture can be found, relations are doomed to remain challenging and conflictual.

Classical realism Classical realist studies tend to be preoccupied with how human nature affects individuals and groups in foreign policy decision-making. Importantly, in what is a common theme amongst realist approaches, classical realists have a pessimistic view of human nature. Morgenthau (1948:

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38–40), perhaps the most well-known classical realist, argued that human nature constituted the ‘elemental bio-psychological drives by which in turn a society is created. The drives to live, to propagate, and to dominate are common to all men’. Thus, classical realists tend to believe that people and states are naturally amoral and are often corrupted by power (the latter being something for which they endlessly strive). Like structural realism, classical realists believe that the international system is anarchic and that states are the principal units in this system. However, unlike structural realism, the international system – while important – is one of a number of factors which require examination when evaluating the foreign policy of a given state. Thus, classical realists tend to be more concerned with the first image (the individual) and second image (the state) evaluations than with the strict third image studies of structural realism. Classical realism arguably made even less of a contribution to studying EU-Russian relations in the early years than structural realism. Part of this was due to the dominance of structural realism within the broader tradition of realism but also because classical realism was even more state-centric than structural realism. Thus, rather than treat the EU as a legitimate international actor in its own right, classical realists were more interested in how the largest powers involved in the European integration project – all seen as self-interested individual actors – pushed their own agendas within these institutional frameworks (what Calleo [2004: 34] later called a hybrid confederacy). Thus, for classical realism, the study of EU-Russian relations was more the study of the bilateral relations between the largest powers of Europe and Russia. To this end, like structural realism, classical realism was similarly interested in how the collapse of the Soviet Union – that is, its power implications – affected the relations between European powers and Russia. However, much like structural realism, classical realists began to take the EU more seriously in the late 1990s and early 2000s. The most prominent of these was Rynning’s (2011: 545) argument that ‘given its past, Europe cannot be like a nation whereby a people creates its state, nor can it be like a state whereby a political elite creates the people’; it has to be something different, and that is where the EU comes in. As the EU’s growing foreign policy capabilities coincided with a resurgent Russia, both of which occurred at a time when power constellations have been difficult to assert, classical realists have focused on the interests at the heart of both the EU’s and Russia’s foreign policies. Thus, for classical realists, analysing EU-Russian relations starts with weighing the interests of the EU and Russia in Eastern Europe (given the EU’s eastwards enlargement and Russia’s response to that). For the EU, this has generally meant gauging the interests and actions (within the EU framework) of the largest powers, especially Germany, which has ‘stood’ up to Russia under Angela Merkel. For Russia, this has generally meant identifying its interest in shoring up its near abroad – the term used in Russia for the post-Soviet states with the exception of the Baltic countries (Makarychev 2018) – and reclaiming respect from Europe as a great power. Unsurprisingly, classical realists became increasingly concerned from the late 2000s about the diverging interests between Russia and the EU (driven by an internally  – to the EU  – hegemonic Germany), especially how they manifested in competing neighbourhood policies. For Rynning (2015), the failure to build a concert between the West (the EU and NATO) and Russia is due to conflicting interests: interests influenced by ideas (liberalism in the case of the EU) and history (the Soviet legacy in the case of Russia). Unlike the prescription from structural realism that finding a systemic balance is the key to solving lingering contention in the EU-Russia relationship, classical realists tend to believe that the relationship is doomed to remain conflictual until their conflicting interests ease.

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Neoclassical realism Neoclassical realism is a much more recent strand of realism that has, since it was first coined in 1998 by Rose (1998), arguably grown to represent the most dynamic strand of realism in the current time. In a nutshell, neoclassical realism is best thought of as a marriage of structural and classical realism, as it contends that while the structural distribution of power primarily drives state action, internal (state-level) factors – such as decision-makers’ perceptions, state-society relations, and strategic culture (the list goes on and on) – play a role in channelling and skewing the structural forces into policy outcomes (Smith 2018). Unlike structural realism and classical realism, neoclassical realism is probably better thought of as a toolkit that can be used to undertake foreign policy analysis rather than an IR theory. One of the issues of this is that neoclassical realist studies – due to differing intervening variables – can vary significantly in focus and scope, making it difficult to assert a single ‘neoclassical realist’ stance. Given its relative infancy, neoclassical realism did not emerge as an approach for examining EU-Russian relations until the 2010s (see Kropatcheva 2012; Romanova and Pavlova 2012; Smith 2014; Diesen 2016). Unsurprisingly, most of the early contributions of neoclassical realism centred on Russia’s foreign policy – again, questions around the EU’s international actorness meant it was often not taken seriously. Kropatcheva (2012: 31) argued Russia’s unpredictability in its relations with the West was not due to strictly structural factors or crude material incentives but was partly a product of conflicting domestic factors, such as the ‘provision of security and autonomy, maximization of material utilities, but also maximization of status/prestige’. Regarding the EU’s foreign policy, Selden (2010: 413) used neoclassical realism to argue that the EU’s foreign policy development occurred because of a ‘permissive international environment and internal developments that render it more capable of projecting power to gain greater influence over international events’. Neoclassical realists have consolidated the initial offerings on the foreign policies of both Russia and the EU to provide perhaps the most comprehensive ‘realist’ examinations of the EU-Russia relationship in recent years, particularly in the context of the Ukraine Crisis. Looking at the interaction of identity and perceptions and how it filters through the foreign policymaking process, Smith (2017b) argued that EU-Russian relations were heavily affected by the changing power structure in Eastern Europe and by the actor’s particular identityperception frameworks which precluded compromise and promoted contestation. Similarly, Diesen (2016) argued that the EU’s liberal democratic ideology (and the exclusive nature of its institutional makeup) blinded decision-makers to optimal foreign policies for the Eastern European structural setting and ultimately led to the creation of suboptimal (zero-sum) policies toward Russia. Therefore, because neoclassical realism is not a strict theory of international relations, the analyses offered by researchers using this approach has tended to be built on an agreement that calculating the structural setting and accounting for basic power incentives can only tell part of the story and that exploring more deeply the domestic settings of the EU and Russia is necessary to develop richer and more nuanced explanations for why the EU-Russian relationship has developed the way it has. However, given the propensity of neoclassical realists to choose different domestic factors to examine, no one clear argument has emerged. This may be ameliorated in the future if the work of Ripsman et al. (2016) – in which they offer a neoclassical realist theory of international politics which systematises the domestic setting, offering a concrete onesize fits all approach for neoclassical realists – takes hold in the literature and is further developed to fit the European context.

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Russian realist approaches This chapter identifies three main strands of realism from the Russian tradition most relevant to the study of EU-Russian relations. First, historical approaches, which use observations from history to drive their analyses, are overviewed. Second, structural approaches – approaches which build on the Western structural realist tradition – are outlined. Last, geopolitical approaches, which favour Russian particularism to universalism, are examined. However, as Bogaturov (2017) aptly mentions, Russia’s IR is unique – it is not divided into rigid schools of thought. Instead, it can be characterised by a number of approaches, which are multiple and diverse. These approaches often reflect the author’s personal political sympathies, preconceived notions, and an understanding of what Russia’s IR ought to be. Thus, this section’s division into historical, structural, and geopolitical approaches should not be seen as a way to facilitate the discussion of EU-Russian relations alone.

Historical approaches Historical realist approaches emerged in the Soviet Union of the 1970s with the creation of the ‘Soviet theory of international relations’ school by Inozemtsev and Gantman (Shakleyina and Bogaturov 2004). This school represented a key divergence from the dominance of MarxismLeninism in Soviet universities and academies; earning itself a reputation of being ‘revisionist’. This revisionism came in the form of the adoption of a ‘realist spirit’, drawing inspiration from the (classical) realist works of Morgenthau, Kaplan, and Aron. The basic assumption of historical realist approaches is that through understanding historical international relations issues empirically (not ideologically), one can best understand contemporary issues. The realist aspect of this school manifested itself in a focus on conflict and the balance of power. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the approach has still remained influential – arguably the most influential – and has evolved to reflect Russia’s new reality. In this sense, Russian historical realism has adopted something of a ‘new imperialist’ argument, a way to explain Russia’s attempts to reconcile the ambitions of power maximisation with a practical approach to foreign policy. Constant comparisons of Russia to the Soviet Union and the Russian Empire are common in the school, with an emphasis that Russia’s international political course should be aimed at the revival of Russia as a new empire – similar to the structural realist idea of power maximisation (Rumer 2007; McNabb 2016). Historical realists theorise that a political situation should be seen ‘as is’ and further analysis should involve looking at a historical ‘horizontal’ cut of the situation in order to draw conclusions about why events unravelled the way they did (Bogaturov 2017). Thus, Russian historical realists see worth in the use of history and empirical evidence to rebuild, potentially, Russia’s position in the world. McNabb (2016: 3) refers to contemporary Russia as ‘the rebirth of the Soviet Empire’, emphasising the continuity of imperial thinking throughout Russian politics and, in particular, foreign policy. This ‘new imperialism’ argument propagated by the historical approach in the context of European security and EU-Russian relations argues that Russia’s assumed desire to expand its territories, project power, and exercise authority over obedient countries under its protection is about correcting a historical wrong: the collapse of the Soviet Union. The intervention in Georgia in 2008 and more recently Russian action in Ukraine, including the annexation of Crimea and the alleged support of rebels in the Donbass region, can be seen as an example of Moscow re-asserting itself in its near abroad, laying claim to being the hegemon of its periphery (Smith 2017a). In the scope of Russia’s recent European interventions, Allison (2014) calls such foreign policymaking ‘neo-imperial’, emphasising the continuity of Russia’s imperial ambitions, as he 76

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argues that imperial ideas have continued to evolve in post-revolution Russia in order to answer the challenges Russia faces. To this end, the EU has emerged as something of a new enemy to Russia’s so-called imperial goals, part of a two-headed apparatus (which includes NATO) which asserts Western power in an attempt to deny Russia’s rightful place as an equal. Some authors, such as Cheshkov (1999), refuse the possibility of Russia being ousted from global politics, implying that Russia is irreversibly integrated into international affairs. Further, historical approaches tend to view Russia’s actions in Georgia and Ukraine as attempts at correcting historical injustices, an attempt at restoring Russia’s proper position in Europe.

Structuralist approaches Structuralist approaches in Russian realist studies unsurprisingly draw a lot of influence from the structural realist tradition in the West. However, this influence is very much foundational because, while structuralist approaches accept the notion that an international system exists and exerts tremendous influence on individual states, they aim at nuance by stipulating the importance of ‘mechanisms of interaction, including conflict, that are characteristic of typologically different world units’ (Shakleyina and Bogaturov 2004: 39). Consequently, the structuralist school takes the basic observations of structural realism but aims to expand the approach from its parsimonious roots. Structuralists, such as Khrustalev (1987) or Pozdnyakov (1976), much like historical realists, are primarily concerned with the question of how Russia fits in the global system and, thus, what foreign policies are the most optimal for Russia to pursue. This is another key differentiation from structural realism in the Western tradition because this approach does not explicitly aim to be universal in its understanding of IR but rather takes a somewhat Russian-centric approach. Russian structural realism is concerned with Russia’s place in the world with regard to the West to a greater extent than Western structural realism allows. Much of Russian structural realism thinking has been driven by Bogaturov. He argues that Russians – whether academics or foreign policymakers – should not fully reject or accept Western IR theories but rather should take these theories and adapt them to Russia’s conditions (Tsygankov and Tsygankov 2017). Bogaturov’s (1996) most important contribution to Russian realism so far has arguably been his characterisation of the post–Cold War international system as a ‘pluralistic unipolarity’. With this, Bogaturov argues that, rather than the United States being the unquestioned hegemon, as is the common popular argument amongst structural realists, it is simply the leader of a group of states (i.e. Western states) that work together to manage international politics. Although Russia was indeed, albeit tenuously, part of this centre in the early 1990s, it has since broken from this – although Bogaturov (2017) maintains that, given Russia’s relative power, it is in its interests to be part of this group. Thus, compared to the historical approach, the structuralist approach put forward by Bogaturov is more pragmatic, avoiding the belief that Russia has a historical right to be a great power and emphasising instead the empirical nature of Russia’s position in IR. In the context of EU-Russia relations, and especially the onset of the Ukraine crisis, the structuralist approach has argued that the world is now divided into three groups: a EuropeanAmerican coalition, a pro-China group, and a pro-Russia group of states. However, there is no common political agenda within the groups, as, for example, Belarus and Armenia voted against the UN General Assembly Resolution 68/262 on the territorial integrity of Ukraine, and Kazakhstan abstained (UN General Assembly 2014). The annexation of Crimea was the start of Russia’s quest to gain international recognition and to take the place in the world of international politics it believes it is entitled to (Bogaturov 2017). Consequently, after Crimea and due to the rise of China, international politics is now divided between these three competing 77

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groups of states, and thus, the EU-Russian relationship is doomed to be acrimonious until such divisions are mediated.

Geopolitical approaches Geopolitical approaches represent a strand of Russian realism that is more distinct than the historical and structuralist approaches. Although Russian geopolitical approaches are often associated with the work of Alexander Dugin’s geopolitically heavy Eurasianism approach, within academic circles, his scholarship holds little weight and is usually decried as an oversimplification of geopolitics (Solovyev 2004). Tsygangkov (2017) argues that intellectual Russian geopolitical theory is most inspired by the nineteenth-century Russian thinker Nikolai Danilevskii, who rejected universalism and promoted particularism – incidentally, this influence can be seen across the three realist approaches examined here. Russian geopolitical approaches have tended, therefore, to study ‘the country’s cultural and political borders and identity vis-à-vis the West and non-Western civilisations’ rather than attempt – like Western geopolitical approaches – to offer a universal theory of geopolitics (Tsygankov 2017: 575). The geopolitical approach, especially for those who lean more towards particularism than universalism, implies that Russia maintaining a regional ‘sphere of influence’ is vital for its survival. Indeed, much scholarship has argued that a core aspect of Russian foreign policy is the protection of its area of privileged interests, often alternatively called its near abroad, at all costs (Sergounin 2003; Trenin 2009; Svarin 2016). In addition to this, geopolitical approaches are also concerned with the effects of strategic and military alliances on Russia. Indeed, Russia’s desire to exercise power and control over the post-Soviet space in recent years, as well as its derision at the enlargement of NATO and the ‘encroachment’ attempts of Turkey and Pakistan in Russia’s backyard, demonstrates that a geopolitical logic is present in the Kremlin’s foreign policymaking (Astrov and Morozova 2012). In the context of EU-Russia relations, geopolitical approaches, first and foremost, argue that the changing geopolitical dynamics between the EU (and the broader West) and Russia are to blame for the Ukraine crisis and the subsequent breakdown in relations. The enlargement of NATO and the EU were obvious shocks when they occurred back in the early-to-mid 2000s, and the potential for further expansion eastwards – especially to Ukraine or Georgia – was seen as geopolitically unacceptable to the Kremlin. Thus, through the Russian geopolitical lens, the only optimal response Russia had was to re-assert itself in its near abroad. However, since the onset of the Ukraine crisis and the subsequent cooling of not only EU-Russia relations but more broadly West–Russia relations, the assertion that the Kremlin is pursuing a sound geopolitical strategy has come into question. Indeed, Vladimir Putin has often been seen as pragmatic and flexible, able to calculate geopolitical situations precisely and exploit the West’s naiveté. However, with the results from Russia’s Ukraine action becoming potentially detrimental to Russia’s long-term position, geopolitical theorists have started to question whether the Kremlin is actually adopting a sound strategy in its foreign policy. Nevertheless, as long as the EU and NATO remain on Russia’s periphery – without the explicit ruling out of further enlargements – EU-Russian relations, from the geopolitical perspective, will remain strained.

Conclusion Since EU-Russian relations have been plunged into uncertainty due to the ongoing Ukraine crisis – part of a longer trend of cooling in the relationship that started in the 2000s – realism, 78

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with its clear focus on power, has started to emerge as one of the most popular paradigms for examining EU-Russian relations. While realism, as illustrated in this chapter, is a ‘broad church’ encompassing many different approaches, the common theme emanating from recent (both Western and Russian) realist studies on the EU-Russia relationship is that, until a security architecture for Europe which pacifies the inherent power contestation is agreed, relations are doomed to remain frosty. Thus, despite having numerous potentially positive-sum areas in the EU-Russia relationship, such as trade and energy, the realist stance tends to be that the relationship will remain zero-sum for the foreseeable future. However, it is clear that realism still has plenty of room to grow. As it currently stands, the relationship between the realist tradition in the West and the realist tradition in Russia is best characterised as a one-way street. Russian realists draw heavily on the work of Western realists, but there does not appear to be much in the reverse direction. In the context of EU-Russian relations, this is, at the moment, a missed opportunity on the part of realists within the Western tradition. The advantage of reading Russian realist approaches is that they tend to be focused not on universalist aims of understanding IR but are far more contextual (particularist), especially regarding Russia’s place in the world. This offers an important reservoir of knowledge that Western realists could harness to better understand Russia’s actions in recent years. Furthermore, the various strands within Russian realism are more interconnected than the traditional structural-classical dichotomy in the West, although neoclassical realism has represented a more recent effort to bridge this divide. On the other hand, Russian realists could learn from the Western realist tradition by working to universalise their theories more – to take their unique insights from Russia’s predicament and try to broaden them. Ultimately, given the confusion at the heart of EU-Russian relations, promoting a two-way street between the Western and Russian strands of realism would be a useful way to add some clarity and understanding to the relationship moving forward.

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Smith, N.R. (2016a) ‘The EU under a realist scope: employing a neoclassical realist framework for the analysis of the EU’s deep and comprehensive free trade agreement offer to Ukraine’, International Relations 30(1): 29–48, doi:10.1177/0047117815588117 Smith, N.R. (2016b) EU-Russian Relations and the Ukraine Crisis, Cheltenham: Edward Elgar. Smith, N.R. (2017a) ‘Assessing the trajectory of West-Russia relations in Eastern Europe: gauging three potential scenarios’, Global Policy, available at www.globalpolicyjournal.com/articles/conflict-andsecurity/assessing-trajectory-west-russia-relations-eastern-europe-gauging-thr (accessed 8 September 2018). Smith, N.R. (2017b) ‘What the West can learn from rationalizing Russia’s action in Ukraine’, Orbis 61(3): 354–68, doi:10.1016/j.orbis.2017.04.001 Smith, N.R. (2018) ‘Can neoclassical realism become a genuine theory of international relations?’, Journal of Politics 80(2): 742–9, doi:10.1086/696882 Snyder, G.H. (2002) ‘Mearsheimer’s world – offensive realism and the struggle for security: a review essay’, International Security 27(1): 149–73. Solovyev, E.G. (2004) ‘Geopolitics in Russia – science or vocation?’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies 37(1): 85–96, doi:10.1016/j.postcomstud.2003.12.009 Svarin, D. (2016) ‘The construction of “geopolitical spaces” in Russian foreign policy discourse before and after the Ukraine crisis’, Journal of Eurasian Studies 7(2): 129–40, doi:10.1016/j.euras.2015.11.002. Taliaferro, J.W. (2001) ‘Security seeking under anarchy: defensive realism revisited’, International Security 25(3): 128–61, doi:10.1162/016228800560543 Thucydides (1998) The Peloponnesian War, Indianapolis: Doubleday. Trenin, D. (2009) ‘Russia’s spheres of interest, not influence’, The Washington Quarterly 32(4): 3–22. Tsygankov, A.P. (2017) ‘In the shadow of Nikolai Danilevskii: universalism, particularism, and Russian geopolitical theory’, Europe-Asia Studies 69(4): 571–93. Tsygankov, A.P. and Tsygankov, P.A. (2017) ‘Enlightened statism’, Polis. Politicheskie issledovanija 4: 175–85, doi:10.17976/jpps/2017.04.13 UN General Assembly (2014) General Assembly Adopts Resolution Calling upon States Not to Recognize Changes in Status of Crimea Region, available at www.un.org/press/en/2014/ga11493.doc.htm (accessed 21 August 2019). Waltz, K.N. (1979) Theory of International Politics, New York: Random House. Wohlforth, W.C. and Zubok, V.M. (2017) ‘An abiding antagonism: realism, idealism and the mirage of Western–Russian partnership after the cold war’, International Politics 54(4): 405–19, doi:10.1057/ s41311-017-0046-81-15

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7 Power in EU-Russia relations More than meets the eye Tom Casier

Few concepts get more attention in the study of EU-Russia relations than power. Yet power is a complex given. It is in constant flux, never static. Moreover, it operates along many different dimensions, on different fronts. A substantial part of the analysis of power is locked into a one-sided theoretical approach: power relations get analysed in terms of a single factor (energy, economics, military). Moreover, there is a tendency to attribute certain types of power to one actor: energy to Russia, trading power to the EU. The reality of power in EU-Russia relations is much more complex, and this chapter seeks to unravel its complexity. It does so by taking an integrative approach to power, exploring how power operates along different dimensions and considering changes over time. It also examines the subjective notion of power: the perception both of the counterpart’s power and their willingness to use it. An important part of the power struggle between Brussels and Moscow is fought on that subjective front. Understanding the complexity of power is essential to grasping the essence of EU-Russia relations. This chapter first explores how power features in literature on EU-Russia relations. Second, it presents a pluralist, integrative approach to power and assesses power relations along the different dimensions of this model. Third, the subjective dimension is introduced, looking at perceptions of power and status. The chapter closes with an analysis of strategic choices by both actors against the background of their power position.

Power in EU-Russia research There is a surprising discrepancy between the central role attributed to power and the limited systematic treatment it has received in research on the EU and Russia.1 The topic of power has mainly been studied in individual sectors, such as trade or energy (for example, Forsberg and Seppo 2009; Paillard 2010; Siddi 2018; Talseth 2017). In the case of energy, power has arguably become the main lens, leading to ‘the reduction of EU-Russian energy relations to the diktats of power politics’ ( Judge et al. 2016: 754). Furthermore, there are studies that provide a systematic analysis of Russia’s power in general, rather than in relation to the EU (Kuhrt and Feklyunina 2017; Monaghan 2017). Mutual power relations in EU-Russia relations have seldom been analysed in a systematic way. Some exceptions include Forsberg (2013) and Casier (2018). Also, Haukkala (2008, 2010) deals with power in interactions between Russia and the EU but mainly focuses on the concept of hegemony. 82

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Despite this lack of systematic study, power is often implicit in the theoretical assumptions of the author (for an overview, see Forsberg 2019). Arguably, structural realist approaches tend to dominate, giving a central place to interests and the maximisation of power through material capabilities (see Smith and Yuchshenko this volume). Liberalist studies focus on how asymmetrical interdependence creates control over outcomes (e.g. Proedrou 2007). In constructivist approaches, power resides in clashes over identities (e.g.  DeBardeleben 2012; Dias 2013; Kratochvil this volume; Sakwa 2012), while critical and post-structuralist approaches focus on power in othering and liminality (e.g. Klinke 2012; Morozov and Rumelili 2012; see also Pavlova this volume). A large part of the literature studies power in a one-directional way, focusing on the power of a single actor rather than on a relationship. Cross and Karolewski (2017), Forsberg (2013) and Forsberg and Seppo (2009) study the (limits of) power of the EU over Russia. Others study the power and strategies of Russia vis-à-vis the EU (for example, Wigell and Vihma 2016). Busygina (2017) associates two different concepts of power – the power of authority and the power of coercion  – with EU and Russian foreign policies, respectively, resonating with a widely distributed dichotomy in research. As with the attribution of coercive power to Russia and normative power to the EU, it should be noted that associating different types of power with individual actors also raises issues of theoretical consistency. An additional complication is that power can be studied on two levels: that of EU-Russia relations and that of the bilateral relations between individual member states and Russia. Leonard and Popescu (2007), for example, have engaged in a power audit of EU-Russia relations, dividing EU member states into five categories, according to their attitudes vis-à-vis Russia. Power also features implicitly in the different national perspectives of EU member states in David et al. (2013). To unravel the complexity of power, the next section dissects the different dimensions of power and assesses power relations between Brussels and Moscow along these lines.

Assessing power in EU-Russia relations in its various forms Power is a game played on different boards at the same time. To understand power both in its complexity and as the essence of EU-Russia relations, one needs to understand how power operates along many dimensions. Therefore, this chapter  introduces theoretical insights on power from International Relations, drawing on the taxonomy of power developed by Barnett and Duvall (2005). This is a matrix of four types of power, based on two dimensions: power as interaction versus power as social constitution and power as direct versus power as diffuse control (see Table 7.1). Power itself is defined as ‘the production in and through social relations, of effects that shape the capacities of actors to determine their circumstances and fate’ (Barnett and Duvall 2005: 42). Compulsory power refers to direct control over the actions and circumstances of another actor. Institutional power is indirect control over the conditions in which actors operate. Institutions and the rules they are composed of imply unevenly distributed rewards Table 7.1 The taxonomy of power Relational specificity

Power works through

Interactions of specific actors Social relations of constitution

Direct

Diffuse

Compulsory Structural

Institutional Productive

Source: Barnett and Duvall (2005: 48)

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and capacities but do not seek to control a specific actor directly. The two other types of power are forms of constitutive power and will be treated jointly in this chapter. Through structural power, actors produce identities and structures of subordination that determine their social capacities. Finally, productive power refers to how constantly changing and contingent social processes produce and shape meaning in subjective ways. To understand power in EU-Russia relations, we need to examine power along these different dimensions. The purpose of the chapter is not to apply the taxonomy of Barnett and Duvall in detail (for that, see Casier 2018). Rather, their model is used to look at the key dimensions of power in EU-Russia relations: in particular – economic and energy dependence, institutional arrangements in the neighbourhood and the capacity to determine identities. These aspects of power reflect different dimensions of the taxonomy of power and have been at the heart of the EU-Russia agenda, either at the top of the formal agenda (energy, economics, the common neighbourhood) or formed an implicit source of rivalry (in the case of identities).

Comparing and balancing capabilities Table 7.2 compares GDP in absolute figures for Russia and the EU, as well as Germany – the EU’s primary economy. In 2017, the EU’s economy was 10 times larger than the Russian economy, while in 1992, it was more than 90 times larger. Today, the German economy is more than twice the size of the Russian economy. The latter is roughly equal to that of the Benelux countries. When compared to 1992, however, the gap has grown smaller; the Russian economy then represented only a good 4 per cent of the German economy. But the power generated by economic capabilities cannot only be measured in terms of the overall size of the economy. The structure and nature of the economy also matter. Russia’s economy and trade largely depend on primary sources (Bradshaw and Connolly 2016). This makes the country vulnerable to fluctuating oil and gas prices. On top of this, Russia’s economy suffers from a weak investment climate and limited innovation capacity (World Bank 2018). Moreover, Western sanctions have contributed to the ‘creeping securitisation’ of the country’s economic policy (Connolly 2016: 750). The EU, for its part, recovered slowly from the 2008–2009 financial crisis, and there are continuing concerns about sovereign debt in some member states and the coordination of monetary policies within the Eurozone. Brexit is likely to have a substantial impact on the economic standing of the EU. What is a structural weakness for the Russian economy – its excessive dependence on primary production of oil and gas – is often regarded as a strength in Russia’s relations with the EU. The latter is predominantly an energy consumer. The asymmetrical interdependence in energy relations may create potential leverage for Russia. This is particularly the case for natural gas, which is mainly traded through pipelines and subject to long-term contracts, in contrast to oil traded on a global market. Energy trade has been largely unaffected by EU sanctions and Russia’s counter sanctions. The import of Russian natural gas into the EU reached a new peak Table 7.2 Gross domestic product, current prices (billions USD): EU-28, Germany and Russia

EU-28 Germany Russia Source: IMF 2018

84

1992

2017

8587 2128 92

17325 3701 1578

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in 2016, with 39.9 per cent of imported gas being of Russian origin (for crude oil, this was 31.6 per cent) (DG Energy 2018: 26). Yet this figure needs to be nuanced in two ways. First, the EU imports around 70 per cent of its natural gas, implying around 30 per cent is domestic production (DG Energy 2018: 22). Moreover, gas represents 23.4 per cent of the total consumption. This means that the actual share of Russian gas in total EU energy consumption is much lower: over time, it has been rather stable around 6.5 per cent (Casier 2011). It means that the real issue of dependence on Russian natural gas is that of individual member states more than the EU as a whole. Moreover, Russia is also dependent on demand for gas in Europe broadly: in 2017, 87.88 per cent of Russia’s natural gas exports by pipeline went to Europe (including Turkey) and 73.81 per cent to the EU-28 (BP 2018). Both the EU and Russia have invested in the diversification of their energy imports and exports to reduce their dependency. Comparing the military capabilities of Russia and the EU is less relevant. The latter has a weakly developed security and defence policy, and most of its members are part of NATO, the collective defence organisation that matters most when it comes to hard security issues. With Brexit, the EU lost one of its two nuclear powers: the United Kingdom has an estimated 215 nuclear weapons and France 300. Russia has around 7000, roughly on a par with the United States (Kile and Kristensen 2017). When it comes to military expenditure (data for 2017), Russia – representing 3.8 per cent of world military expenditure – is only slightly ahead of the EU’s biggest spender, France – with 3.3 per cent. The United Kingdom and Germany follow with 2.7 and 2.5 per cent, respectively (Tian et al. 2018: 2). Self-evidently, the more useful comparison is between NATO and Russia: the North Atlantic alliance represents 52 per cent of global military spending, almost 14 times more than Russia (ibid.). Capabilities are always context specific. As Keohane and Nye (1989) have pointed out, power relations differ from one sector to another: military, economic, energy and so on. Among these issues, there is no predetermined hierarchy: military rapports de force only become dominant in extreme, conflictual circumstances but may have little relevance in a cooperative setting. Moreover, as Baldwin (2016) has argued, to reach a specific objective, only specific capabilities fit for that target are of relevance rather than the aggregated capabilities. As a consequence, generalisations about power on the basis of capabilities alone have to be made carefully. Making smart use of selected capabilities potentially generates more power than the broad, indeterminate use of power means. This idea will be revisited in the last section of this chapter, where Russia’s action on a wide range of fronts is considered.

Institutional rivalry Institutional power, as defined by Barnett and Duvall, is about the indirect power that is generated through institutional arrangements and rules. Both change the conditions in which other actors operate: they may redistribute cost and benefits differently not just for those involved in these arrangements but also for those excluded from it. For example, a free trade treaty may create economic opportunities and benefits for the parties involved. But it equally affects third countries: if tariffs among their trade partners are abolished, the export and import flows of third countries are likely to be affected as well. For our case, this means that power relations between Russia and the EU are not simply conditioned by their direct relations but also determined by their capacity to set up and change institutional structures in their common neighbourhood. Issues of institutional power became particularly important after the launch of the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) in 2004 and Russia’s decision not to participate. They matter in two crucial ways. First, because of the EU’s policy towards its eastern neighbours, aimed at legal approximation and normative 85

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convergence – as well as Russia’s increasing contestation of this policy. Second, because of rival integration projects set up by Brussels and Moscow targeting the same countries in their common neighbourhood: the Eastern Partnership with its Association Agreements and the Eurasian Economic Union. The EU launched the Eastern Partnership (EaP) in 2009, as a dimension of its ENP. It sought to establish Association Agreements, which were concluded with three of the six EaP states in 2014: Georgia, Moldova and Ukraine. The main component of the Association Agreements is the creation of a deep and comprehensive free trade area (DCFTA), but they also provide for the alignment of the foreign policy of the countries concerned with that of the EU (see, for example, European Union 2014). The agreements build on a long tradition of normative convergence (accepting key norms concerning democracy, rule of law, free market) and legal approximation (adapting domestic legislation to fit with the EU’s legislation, in particular in areas relevant to the Single European Market). This policy had been applied for the enlargements of the EU and was repeated to some extent in the ENP/EaP but without offering partner states the prospect of membership. In doing so, the EU built on its undisputed position of ‘normative hegemony’ (Haukkala 2010), which made it appear as the natural norm setter. The Union used the instrument of conditionality in which the fulfilment of certain conditions (reforms reflecting EU norms and legislation) was rewarded with certain benefits (such as free trade or financial support). De facto this implied a form of partial integration, whereby the EU’s legal and economic sphere in certain areas extended beyond its eastern borders. It clashed with Russian integration initiatives, precisely because it implied a different distribution of costs and benefits – the essence of institutional power. Russia launched the Eurasian Customs Union in 2010, together with Belarus and Kazakhstan. It was reformed into the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) in 2015, when Armenia and Kyrgyzstan also joined the organisation. Membership implies the acceptance of common external tariffs in trade and envisages the harmonisation of legislation. So, while the EU and Russia did not per se aim to control each other directly through the EaP and EAEU, both initiatives clashed with each other, because of the indirect redistribution of costs and benefits they implied. The legal incompatibility of subscribing to the DCFTA and joining the EAEU (or its predecessors) implied that the countries of the common neighbourhood had to make a choice. They were tempted with different benefits by Moscow and Brussels but also threatened with sanctions or the loss of benefits. This institutional rivalry over the neighbourhood loomed for years and collided regularly (for example, over the approximation of Ukraine’s energy legislation to that of the EU) but eventually escalated over Ukraine when it was facing the choice in autumn 2013 between signing the Association Agreement with the EU or potentially joining the Eurasian integration initiative.

The power to determine identities and hierarchies When it comes to constitutive forms of power in EU-Russia relations, two issues stand out. One is the capacity to recognise a country’s identity as ‘European’. This power determines inclusion or exclusion of a European community of states. The second issue is the recognition of status. Both generate more or less stable hierarchies among states that ultimately determine their social capacities. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia aimed to reprofile itself as a post-communist, liberal-democratic country. It sought recognition of this new identity by Western states, which would allow it to be included in the international community. The EU, driven by the new,

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ambitious Maastricht Treaty and its attractiveness for its eastern neighbours, was in a unique position to grant the identity of Europeanness to post-communist countries. Moreover, it had powerful means at its disposal to reward behaviour compatible with self-defined Europeanness by confirming an actor’s European identity with membership or closer relations. The language used by the EU in the 1990s to qualify Russia’s identity was one of inclusiveness. Russia belonged to the European family, was part of European civilisation and shared core values. By the late 1990s, Moscow’s frustration grew over the feeling that – despite rhetoric – Russia was not truly recognised by the West as one of them. This feeling was boosted by the enlargement of NATO and the Kosovo intervention of 1999. As tensions grew, recognition of its Europeanness was increasingly withheld from Russia. Moreover, in terms of its domestic choices, Russia slowly drifted away from the European model. This became particularly clear in 2005, when the Kremlin launched the concept of ‘sovereign democracy’ (Okara 2007). Brussels increasingly coined relations with Moscow in pragmatic terms: the need for close relations was no longer justified on the basis of Russia’s identity as part of the ‘European family’ but because the size, proximity and economic role of Russia made a close partnership inevitable and of paramount importance. This contrasted sharply with the case of Ukraine, where the label of Europeanness got reinforced in the process of preparing the Association Agreement (see European Union 2009). As a result, a rivalry developed over the capacity to claim Europeanness. Moscow increasingly presented itself as the defender of ‘genuine’ European values and thus a ‘better’ member of the European family. As Morozov (2018; see also Morozov this volume) and others have pointed out, influential elites in Russia understood these European values in a most conservative way. Moreover, this process was characterised by a substantial degree of ambivalence, with Russia simultaneously seeking to redefine itself as a Eurasian power (Richardson 2015; Sakwa 2015) A similar story about (non-)recognition of identities can be told about status. Ever since the collapse of the Soviet Union, the Russian Federation has been a status seeker (Freire 2011), seeking recognition as a ‘normal great power’ (Kozyrev 1992: 10). Initially it tried to obtain this recognition through a strategy of ‘social mobility’ (Larson and Shevchenko 2014), climbing up the ladder of the (Western) community of states. Through its strategic partnership with the EU, it hoped to gain recognition as the equal of the Union. At a later stage, Putin (2011) promoted the idea of a Eurasian Union, albeit in an ambivalent way, in parallel with continued claims to genuine Europeanness. This shift could be explained as a reaction against Russia’s non-­recognition as a European power but also as an attempt to create a more symmetrical balance with the EU (DeBardeleben 2018). Frustrated over a lack of status recognition, Russia eventually changed its strategy to one of social creativity (trying to obtain status in distinctively different ways, other than by being a good pupil in the Western class) and social competition (challenging the West’s dominant position) (Larson and Shevchenko 2014). In sum, the power struggle over Europeanness and status was not a trivial one but sat at the very heart of EU-Russia relations. For a long time, it was an asymmetrical one, whereby the EU – in the aftermath of the implosion of communism – was in a unique position of uncontested leadership. This section demonstrated the complexity of power in EU-Russia relations by looking at key aspects of its compulsory, institutional and constitutive dimensions. In doing so, it added nuance to the dominant tendency in literature to reduce power relations to a single factor. For a profound understanding of power, one additional step is required and that is to look at the subjective dimension of power: how power is perceived and attributed by Brussels and Moscow. This element of subjectivity is present in the different dimensions of power in Barnett and Duvall’s taxonomy but deserves separate analytical treatment.

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Power, perception and status Delving into the performative function of power, Guzzini argued that attributing power to an issue implies justifications of action or inaction. In other words, attributing power has the effect of ‘politicising issues’: ‘attributions of power are themselves part of politics’ (Guzzini 2005: 509). The politicising effect of power attributions was clearly visible in the clash between the EU’s Eastern Partnership and Russia’s project of a Eurasian Customs Union (later EAEU). As described previously, both projects were targeting the same countries ‘in between’, albeit not necessarily with the intention to weaken their counterpart. Yet, in a context of increasing competition, the regional cooperation plans of Moscow and Brussels were mutually read as part of a bigger geopolitical plan and understood as a zero-sum power game. Because of the incompatibility of both initiatives, these became seen as rivals to each other and at the heart of the power game. As a result, Ukraine’s choice was perceived by Brussels and Moscow as tilting the rapports de force between them. Furthermore, the power ascribed to an actor is a function of perception ( Jervis 1976). Effective power cannot be measured purely by objective standards. As a result, the relation between the power a country has on paper (along any of the dimensions outlined in the previous section) and the power it is seen as having by others is not one on one. This also holds for material capabilities, which are always subjectively perceived to generate a degree of power in a certain context. The same holds for status. Russia has been actively seeking recognition as a great power, but whether it is granted that status ultimately depends on the subjective recognition of other significant players and thus on perception. Freire (2011) has argued that Russia has been an ‘overachiever’ when it comes to its status: it has enjoyed a higher status than objective power indicators would allow for. It will be argued in the next section that Russia deliberately follows an approach whereby it seeks to enhance the external perception of its power. If this perception is created successfully, this will also de facto enhance the country’s power. In other words, if most actors believe that Russia is a powerful player and act accordingly, this will make the country de facto more powerful. As for the EU, its normative leadership in the 1990s and beyond also has a strong subjective dimension. For many years after the collapse of communism, the EU’s norms were seen by many post-communist countries as the norms to follow. This perception gave them a semblance of universality. This power is largely attributed power but again a very real form of power, creating long-term competitive advantages and structural forms of influence. The EU actively tried to enhance this through policies of conditionality: countries that successfully reformed on the basis of the EU template were rewarded with membership in the case of accession or were promised privileged relations and market access in the case of the ENP.

Revised Russian and EU strategies after the Ukraine crisis The confrontation over Ukraine in 2014 signified both the culmination of tensions in the EU-Russia power struggle (Haukkala 2015) and a radical change in the nature of that struggle. As described previously, the most crucial power struggle until the Ukraine crisis was over institutional and structural forms of power: it was about rival institutional arrangements for the common neighbourhood and about the (non-)recognition of identities. With the Ukraine crisis and the change of regime in Kyiv in 2014, the emphasis of the power struggle clearly shifted towards issues of compulsory power. The latter was certainly not absent before the crisis (as could be seen from the gas spats in 2006 and 2009, for example), but they were less determining overall. The shift in emphasis to compulsory power could be understood as the result of Moscow’s reading that the Euromaidan protests and regime change in Ukraine 88

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implied a fundamental loss in the power struggle with the EU. As Youngs argues, the developments signified an ‘existential crisis’ for Russia (2017: 214). This pushed Moscow to a change in strategy in which compulsory elements of power moved to centre stage. In a surprise move, Russia annexed Crimea and played an important role in the war in Eastern Ukraine. As no annexation policy was pursued for the Donbas area, the latter was less an attempt at obtaining active direct control than aimed at preventing the West from obtaining ‘useful’ control over Ukraine. In other words, Moscow perceived the regime change in Kyiv as a geopolitical loss of key importance. In a zero-sum reading of the situation, it sought to limit the benefits that Ukraine would yield for the EU and the West by destabilising the country and obtaining a veto position on certain issues. This can be seen as a ‘negative’ form of compulsory power (in the sense of aimed at the prevention of effective control by the West), seeking to turn Ukraine into a liability for its partners by waging a war on its territory and by preventing Kyiv from having full control over its territory. The events of early 2014 set a logic into motion which substantially pushed compulsory power to the forefront. Rivalry over institutional and structural power did not disappear, but the new measures taken on both sides were aimed predominantly at direct control. They included (counter-)sanctions and military build-up. Strategies were moulded in the slipstream of this new logic. Russia opted for a ‘full spectrum approach’, that is, ‘drawing on all national means to achieve its ends’ (Monaghan 2017: 3). This refers to a wide array of measures, ranging from influencing social media (see David this volume), over election meddling and financing radical parties, attempts to diversify energy exports, to the showcasing of new nuclear weapons. These are often – erroneously – referred to as the Gerasimov doctrine or a new type of Russian invented hybrid warfare. Monaghan casts doubt on the coherence and strategic character of this approach; he speaks of ‘a misdiagnosis of a Russian “master plan” and the notion of “seamless coordination” of activities against the Euro-Atlantic community’ (Monaghan 2017: 5). Action on different and non-military fronts is certainly neither a new invention nor exclusive to Russia. It is important to remember that Gerasimov’s call for the use of diverse means – including non-military and asymmetrical means – was exactly a reply to what the General saw as a secretive, subtle and indirect American strategy to force regime change (Bartles 2016). Russia showcasing its power on different fronts is not per se a sign of a well-coordinated, effective strategy displaying Russia’s strength. More likely it is driven by the gap between Russia’s ambition to be recognised as a great power and its relatively weak capacity to achieve that position. This has pushed Russia towards a policy of actively challenging Western hegemony with relatively limited means, trying to punch above its weight. It is an attempt to increase the perception of its power by displaying it on many different fronts, an attempt to generate maximal effects with minimal means. In the EU’s case, too, we have seen adaptations of its policy as a result of the Ukraine crisis. The latter contributed to a reformulation of its strategy in terms of resilience. The EU Global Strategy reflects a stronger emphasis on ‘principled pragmatism’ ( Juncos 2017). In the context of increased contestation of the EU’s normative hegemony, the organisation does not discard its norms altogether but takes a more pragmatic, interest-based approach. Youngs (2017) also notes elements of continuity and change in the EU’s policy vis-à-vis its eastern neighbours. It reflects stronger geopolitical thinking; yet he argues that Brussels did not opt for either offensive or defensive geopolitics but evolved to asymmetrical ‘liberal-redux geopolitics’ (Youngs 2017: 30). It is a more selective and calibrated use of liberal-cooperative practices, combining defensive with assertive tactics, continued commitment to the EaP with a factoring in of Russian concerns, bounded containment of Russia with neutrality-light or continued reliance on democratic values used more instrumentally (Youngs 2017). 89

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The EU’s Guiding Principles for Relations with Russia equally reflect reinforced pragmatism while sticking to a principled position (Mogherini 2016). They put forward strengthening EU resilience and relations with Eastern partners, as well as selective engagement with Russia. The latter provided for a stretchable element in the EU’s policy towards Russia.

Conclusion To understand power relations between the EU and Russia, we need to explore the very different dimensions of power. A simple comparison of capabilities that create economic or energy dependence misses an essential part of the power story. It overlooks the competition between Russia and the EU over institutional arrangements in the neighbourhood and over the capacity to attribute identities of Europeanness and great powerness. Before the Ukraine crisis, this competition was much more central to EU-Russia power relations. With the Ukraine crisis, the emphasis shifted drastically to forms of compulsory power, aimed at both gaining and preventing control. Moscow’s reading of the crisis as a vital threat prompted it to a new approach, seeking to weaken Western effective control and to create a maximal perception of its power despite relatively limited means. Its actions on highly different fronts can be read as a deliberate attempt to punch above its weight. Additionally, the Euro-Atlantic community opted for a more compulsory approach. While hard security was left largely to NATO, the EU put itself in a more explicit geopolitical position but without abandoning its liberal normative policy altogether. Little indicates that the escalation in which EU-Russia relations have become entangled can be turned back any time soon. Understanding how power evolves along these different dimensions is essential for comprehending the foreign policy positions of both actors and ultimately also for reflecting on possible solutions. In research, there is a need to move beyond the study of power as material capabilities and to explore the wide variety of power practices in EU-Russia relations, as well as how they are perceived.

Note 1 This review does not include the broader literature on power in interactions between Russia and the West, such as structural realist accounts.

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Mogherini, F. (2016) ‘Remarks by High Representative/Vice-President Federica Mogherini at the press conference following the Foreign Affairs Council’, Brussels, 14 March 2016, available at https://eeas. europa.eu/headquarters/headquarters-homepage/5490/remarks-by-high-representativevice-presi dent-federica-mogherini-at-the-press-conference-following-the-foreign-affairs-council_en (accessed January 2019). Monaghan, A. (2017) Power in Modern Russia. Strategy and Mobilisation, Manchester: Manchester University Press. Morozov, V. (2018) ‘Identity and Hegemony in EU-Russia Relations: Making Sense of the Asymmetrical Entanglement’, in T. Casier and J. DeBardeleben (eds.), EU-Russia Relations in Crisis. Understanding Diverging Perceptions, London: Routledge, pp. 30–49. Morozov, V. and Rumelili, B. (2012) ‘The external constitution of European identity: Russia and Turkey as Europe-makers’, Cooperation and Conflict 47(1): 28–48. Okara, A. (2007) ‘Sovereign Democracy: A New Russian Idea or a PR Project?’ Russia in Global Affairs (3), available at http://eng.globalaffairs.ru/number/n_9123 (accessed October 2019). Paillard, C.A. (2010) ‘Russia and Europe’s mutual energy dependence’, Journal of International Affairs 63(2): 65–84. Proedrou, F. (2007) ‘The EU-Russia Energy Approach under the Prism of Interdependence’, European Security 16(3–4): 329–55. Putin, V. (2011) ‘Novyi integratsionnyi proekt dlya Evrazii – budushchee, kotoroe rozhdaetcya’, Izvestiya, 3 October, available at www.izvestia.ru/news/502761 (accessed January 2019). Richardson, P.B. (2015) ‘Putin’s Eurasian Dialectic’, in: D. Lane and V. Samokhvalov (eds.), The Eurasian project and Europe: Regional discontinuities and geopolitics, London: Palgrave, pp. 89–101. Sakwa, R. (2012) ‘The problem of “the international” in Russian identity formation’, International Politics 49(4): 449–65. Sakwa, R. (2015) ‘Eurasian Integration: A Project for the 21st Century?’, in D. Lane and V. Samokhvalov (eds.), The Eurasian project and Europe: Regional discontinuities and geopolitics, London: Palgrave, pp. 53–71. Siddi, M. (2018) ‘The role of power in EU-Russia energy relations: the interplay between markets and geopolitics’, Europe-Asia Studies 70(10): 1552–71. Talseth, L.U. (2017) The politics of power: EU-Russia energy relations in the 21st century, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Tian, N., Fleurant, A., Kuimova, A., Wezeman, P.D. and Wezeman, T.S. (2018) ‘Trends in World Military Expenditure, 2017’, SIPRI Fact Sheet, (May), available at www.sipri.org/sites/default/files/2018-05/ sipri_fs_1805_milex_2017.pdf (accessed December 2018). Wigell, M. and Vihma, A. (2016) ‘Geopolitics versus geoeconomics: the case of Russia’s geostrategy and its effects on the EU’, International Affairs 92(3): 605–27. World Bank (2018) The World Bank in the Russian Federation. Country Snapshot, (October), available at http://pubdocs.worldbank.org/en/551171539297475325/Russia-Snapshots-Fall-2018-Eng.pdf (accessed December 2018). Youngs, R. (2017) Europe’s Eastern Crisis. The Geopolitics of Asymmetry, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

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8 (Neo-)Institutionalism Natalia Zaslavskaya

Traditionally, institutional approaches were associated with neoliberalism, understandably given it provides a well-established theoretical framework to explain international cooperation, including that between the EU and Russia. In fact, however, elements of institutional analysis might also be combined with other approaches. Constructivists have shown how their theoretical assumptions can be used to interpret the decision-making of international institutions and their influence on international relations (Schmidt 2008). The multiple advantages of institutional approaches and this very possibility of combining their elements with various theoretical assumptions and agendas have resulted in a wide application of institutionalism, including by experts in EU-Russia relations. This chapter is devoted to institutionalist (including legal) approaches and their application in the study of EU-Russian relations. It begins with an overview of these theoretical approaches and their assumptions; it then turns to the cases of their application to the study of EU-Russian relations. The chapter also indicates those factors (research agenda and political context) that influence the choice of a particular theoretical framework. Finally, it identifies the theoretical challenges that institutionalist approaches face as a result of the present political crisis between the EU and Russia.

Theoretical framework: definitions and approaches Definitions International institutions became an important topic of world politics after the end of World War II when researchers started to react to the growing number of international organisations (Rothwell 1949). They tried to determine ‘how well these newly established institutions met the problems that they were designed to solve’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 730). The first attempts at institutional analysis targeted specific international organisations (Gorter 1954; Lintott 1949). Sociologists, in the meantime, emphasised a wide range of interpretations of institutions, including not only specific organisations but also their practices. It could be argued that both international organisations and international institutions implied a construction of certain rules, which then constrained the behaviour of the actors involved. 93

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Keohane determined the major criteria for institutions: they had to ‘involve persistent and connected sets of rules (formal or informal) that prescribe behavioral roles, constrain activity, and shape expectations’ (1988: 383). He also made a distinction between ‘general patterns of behavior’ (‘practices’) and institutions that fix certain arrangements usually based on interstate agreement (‘specific institutions’). Researchers focused on rules, their formation, interpretation and influence. Bull argued that institutions ensure the efficiency of rules (2002: 72). Rules can arise from customs and practices or they might be created by international actors. Institutional analysis has two strands: classical institutionalism and new institutionalism. Both agree that ‘institutions matter’, but they interpret differently the role of institutions, the mutual influence of agents and structure and the importance of the international environment. New institutionalism moved beyond the classical institutionalist focus on international institutions as international actors, concentrating instead on the relations between structure and agency. It perceives institutions not only as a result of states’ bargaining but also as a framework for further inter-state interactions. March and Olsen indicated that ‘the new institutionalism insisted on a more autonomous role for political institutions’ (1984: 738), though new institutionalists are divided in terms of their interpretation of the relationship between structure and actors.

Classical institutionalism Classical institutionalism emerged after the end of the World War II. It adopted a narrow perspective on institutions, focusing only on organisations, being described as a ‘highly practical organisational analysis’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 730). Studies lacked theoretical generalisations; instead, empirical assessments dominated. Researchers examined ‘how well these newly established institutions met the problems that they were designed to solve’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 730). They concentrated on the functional role of institutions and legal norms that underpinned their activities. Many scholars shared optimism about international cooperation and expected institutions to facilitate interstate cooperation, reflecting the theoretical assumption that international organisations were created to solve certain problems, even if they were then constrained by member states and international structures. The legal background of some classical institutionalists meant research methods were borrowed from law (see, for example, Clark and Sohn 1966). Though this institutionalism was usually criticised as ‘naïve and legalistic’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 732), some of its representatives successfully demonstrated the influence of international organisations on international affairs and member states’ behaviour. They examined the resources these organisations use to influence their member states, including ‘transparency, reputation, and legitimacy as well as domestic political pressures’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 732). However, classical institutionalists failed to provide an ‘elaborate theoretical apparatus of current research’ (Martin and Simmons 1998: 731).

Rational choice institutionalism Neoliberals introduced a more profound theoretical explanation of international institutions. They used assumptions of rationality and conceptualised international institutions as problemsolving mechanisms. Institutions gave a forum for states to explain their policies to other states and to work to prevent misunderstanding and uncertainty among them. They stimulated international cooperation and helped to establish common ground and avoid potential problems (Nye 1974). Expectations of potential benefits as a result of cooperation made it easier, neoliberals argued, for states to agree to common institutions and accept their (potential) influence. This 94

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focus on actors as rational and cooperation as consistent with their national interests became the theoretical ground for what came to be known as rational choice institutionalism. Hall and Taylor indicated that neoliberals such as Keohane and Martin ‘have used the concepts of rational choice institutionalism to explain the rise or fall of international regimes, the kind of responsibilities that states delegate to international organizations, and the shape of such organizations’ (1996: 944). In this vision, states had a clear understanding of their interests and preferences, which were determined outside of institutions. They created international institutions to maximise their interests, to solve common problems together or to combine resources. The influence of institutions on states was quite straightforward: acting within institutions, states followed decision-making procedures, learned about the interests of other states and formed coalitions to benefit from the common decisions. Rational choice institutionalists paid special attention to decision-making procedures and the voting behaviour of member states. Insights that emerged from this included the idea that ‘institutions define (or at least constrain) the strategies that political actors adopt in the pursuit of their interests’ (Thelen and Steinmo 1992: 7).

Historical institutionalism Historical institutionalists agreed with such assumptions of rational choice institutionalists as the rationality of actors and the importance of states’ decisions. However, they described institutional influence in subtly different ways. They indicated that institutions defined or constrained ‘not just actors’ strategies . . . but their goals as well’ (Thelen and Steinmo 1992: 9). Institutions regulated inter-state interactions and could ‘structure political situations and leave their own imprints on political outcomes’ (Thelen and Steinmo 1992: 9). Historical institutionalists also suggested a different interpretation of rationality, indicating that actors’ rational behaviour could be influenced by institutions: actors ‘follow societally defined rules, even when so doing may not be directly in our self-interests’ (Thelen and Steinmo 1992: 8). In this vision, states make their choices on the basis of rules approved by the institutionalist society, their interests and preferences influenced by social expectations. Historical institutionalists argued that by participating in international institutions states faced ‘path dependence’ and the ‘unintended consequences’ of their decisions (Hall and Taylor 1996: 938). This approach made it particularly important to understand ‘how institutions produce such paths’ and ‘how they structure a nation’s response to new challenges’ (1996: 941). The notion of path dependency was revealing in its suggestion that member states choose paths that limit their future choices. It emphasised temporal differences whereby states took into account short-term effects while ignoring the long-term consequences. This logic of unintended consequences implied that rational actors supported decisions that in the long run could undermine their interests. The long-term effect, it was argued, could eventually lead to institutions increasingly imposing constraints that served to limit the power of national authorities. Thus, rational choice institutionalism and historical institutionalism are differentiated by reason of their explanations of international institutions, as well as by their interpretation of rationality.

Sociological institutionalism Two more neo-institutionalist concepts, sociological and discursive, were inspired by constructivism, which provided new ideas for institutional studies. While rationalists were preoccupied with actors’ behaviour, constructivists focused on the intersubjective knowledge formed as a result of social interaction. They argued that ‘understanding how people think about 95

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institutional norms and rules, and the discourse they engage in, is as important in evaluating the significance of these norms as measuring the behavior’ (Keohane 1988: 381). The formation of international rules and norms and states’ identities and interests was their major concern. They examined the role of international institutions in the ‘framing of rules and norms’ as well as their capacities to ‘alter the identities and interests of states’ (Martin and Simmons 2013: 334). Sociological institutionalism focused on how institutions influenced states and their identities and interests. It examined the impact of the cultural and organisational aspects of international institutions on the interacting states and concentrated on the institutional impact on the formation of identities and interests. While rationalists argued that interests and preferences were formed outside of international institutions, constructivists thought that identities and interests were formed as a result of interaction within an institutional framework in which actors learn about themselves and others. In this vision, international institutions therefore provide states with a framework for socialisation and determine their behavioural models. A major concern of this approach was how to evaluate the institutional influence on states, but it also enabled the examination of the influence of states on the institutions and their development.

Discursive institutionalism The last new institutionalist approach to date is discursive. Based on the assumption that ‘ideas and discourse matter’ (Schmidt 2008: 305), it was particularly influenced by critical constructivism, which advocated we ‘embrace postmodernist pragmatism and study how the world is “talked into existence” by means of signs, discourse, and narratives’ (Adler 2013: 122). Discursive institutionalism claimed that it could provide a better ‘understanding of political action’ (Schmidt 2008: 305). It rejected the traditional preoccupation of other types of new institutionalism with interests and norms and their influence on decisions and actions, arguing instead that ‘policies and forms of behavior are enabled and constrained via their constitution in discourse’ (Rosamond 2014: 211). Discursive institutionalism indicated the importance of studying ideas and discourse within their institutional context in order to evaluate institutions’ ideational basis and the communicative discourse used to justify their activities. It argued that ideas helped actors ‘to justify policies and programmes by speaking to their interest-based logic and necessity’ and ‘to legitimise the policies in a program through reference to their appropriateness’ (Schmidt 2008: 306–7). Institutions influenced the discourse, providing a framework for it, but they also depended on it, as they could be maintained or transformed as a result of the discourse and the exchange of ideas between the actors. Discursive institutionalists also claimed the examination of discourse uncovers and explains the development of institutions, providing a dynamic vision of them (Schmidt 2008). In sum, both classical and new institutionalism suggested a wide range of instruments, but how were they used to examine relations between the EU and Russia?

The application of (neo-)institutionalism to studies of EU-Russia relations Classical institutionalism and legal analysis In the 1990s, the strengthening of EU-Russian cooperation led to the creation of common institutions which facilitated regular contacts between EU and Russian representatives. The growing

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complexity of these contacts and the establishment of a multilevel dialogue required thorough academic examination. Classical institutionalism, with its concerns about the functional capabilities of institutions, provided an analytical framework for empirical assessment of the EU-Russia institutional structure and was therefore widely used. Despite being thin on theory, until 2014, it corresponded exactly to the research agenda of EU-Russia studies and to concerns about common institutions. The political conflict between the EU and Russia over Ukraine, however, led to the suspension of the common institutions and so shifted the research agenda of classical institutionalists. Until 2014, researchers focused mainly on formal institutional structures; they evaluated the importance of common institutions and their particular influence on cooperation. After 2014, attention turned to examining the crisis’s effect on the common institutions, including in existential terms. This approach, particularly popular among Russian scholars, implied a crucial role for institutions in the development of relations between the EU and Russia and indeed had facilitated cooperation and provided opportunities for consultations and the coordination of activities. Applying classical institutionalist thought, scholars had responded to the development of institutional structures, arguing, inter alia, that the established institutional system determined both the opportunities for and limits to further relations. Through this lens, they had attempted to determine the influence of each actor and to identify the concerns expressed by them about common institutions. Looking at Russia, researchers indicated ‘Russia’s obsession with form over function’ (Romanova 2019: 140), whereas the EU was characterised by its attempt to use the common institutions to put pressure on Russia and to shape its political and economic policies (Bordachev 2007: 59). Academics like Arbatova (2000) and Borko (2001) widely used classical institutionalism in order to explain those institutions that provided the framework for general EU-Russia cooperation and the specific institutions in place for sectoral cooperation. Legal analysis provided additional opportunities for empirical assessment of institutions and their competences through classical institutionalist lenses as well as of EU-Russian legal acts and principles (Entin and Entina 2016; Kalinichenko 2009). Scholars described the evolution of the institutional framework and political consequences of international agreements (Kalinichenko 2009, 2014) and studied the capabilities  – and limitations  – of institutions. Some researchers examined the efficiency of institutions, focusing on the various organisational problems that prevented the EU-Russian institutional framework from working properly. Institutional problems as a result of the 2014 crisis further stimulated academic discussion about measures to ensure the efficiency of institutions (Entin and Entina 2016: 8–9). Legal analysis also allowed for an examination of the influence of other international institutions and regimes on EU-Russian relations. Kalinichenko (2014), in particular, described the legal consequences of Russia’s membership in the WTO, including new procedures for trade disputes and reconsideration of the EU-Russia sectoral agreements. Application of classical institutionalism was clearly dependent on the political context. The deterioration of EU-Russian relations had caused a marginalisation of classical institutionalism and required reconsideration of its research agenda. With the 2014 suspension of the regular work of EU-Russian institutions, issues that had traditionally been studied within the framework of classical institutionalism were no longer relevant. The attention of classical institutionalists therefore turned to the potential development and potentially increased efficacy of the EU-Russian institutions and to EU-Russian interactions in other institutional frameworks like the WTO (Kalinichenko 2014). Thus, though originally meant to examine cooperative relations, this approach demonstrably helped explain more conflictual relations between the EU and Russia.

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Rational choice institutionalism The early active development of EU-Russian cooperation provided opportunities for rational choice institutionalists. Their research agenda widened to include the motivation of actors behind EU-Russian cooperation. Neoliberalism suggested a solid theoretical ground to examine general EU-Russian relations and sectoral cooperation on the basis of an assumption of rationality. The neoliberalist vision of institutions as problem-solving mechanisms enabled researchers to study those factors that drove the EU and Russia to cooperate, to examine the interests enjoining cooperation and the contradictions that prevented it. A rational interpretation of actors’ behaviour facilitated explanations of the relative successes in sectoral cooperation in specific areas. This approach implied the EU and Russia had a clear understanding of their interests and preferences: ‘the common interests were indeed the locomotive that drove them together’ (Zaslavskaya 2011: 280). The EU and Russia proceeded with cooperative projects in those areas where they expected to benefit, to minimise transaction costs, combine resources and confront common problems (Danilov 2005; Lynch 2005; Zaslavskaya 2011). The EU and Russia calculated both the potential benefits and possible risks. For example, in 2002, after the EU started to develop its military capabilities, Russian authorities proposed a strengthening of security cooperation, with Russia helping the EU with logistics and other resources. For its part, the EU rejected the proposals due to security concerns and a lack of trust, but common institutions at least allowed the EU and Russia to arrange political consultations and share concerns about nuclear proliferation, political instability in the Middle East and Afghanistan and international terrorism (Danilov 2005; Lynch 2005). Rational choice institutionalism was also used to explain successful cooperation in specific areas like energy and cross-border relations, reinforcing the idea of cooperation as dependent on recognition of potential benefits. Energy cooperation demonstrated how the actors managed to overcome differences in regulation because of the clear interdependence and move to legal convergence. They decided to create the Energy Dialogue and provided a special institutional framework enabling officials, stakeholders and experts to come together. Energy cooperation also provided empirical data for scholars to examine how sectoral cooperation caused innovative, institutional arrangements, like intense transnational and transgovernmental relations in the Energy Dialogue (Romanova 2013). Researchers examined systemic factors influencing energy cooperation like the European legal context and the importance of the Energy Charter (Konoplyanik 2009; Romanova 2013). Another successful area of EU-Russian relations was cross-border cooperation (CBC) (see Yarovoy this volume). The rationality assumption implied that mutual concerns about the shared border steered the neighbours towards coordinated decision-making and joint activities. The EU and Russia share a long border and, as rational actors, were interested in coordinating their activities, whether in relation to border management, transport coordination, migration, environmental challenges or organised crime. Their common interests determined institutional and legal arrangements for CBC. Rational choice institutionalism enabled explanation of how border concerns encouraged the establishment of institutions and their evolution. This approach was used by Kosov and Vovenda to examine the role of the common border for the further development of institutional arrangements and policy practices (2012). Kondratieva applied rational choice institutionalism to evaluate the functional role of the institutional context for CBC and the implementation of specific instruments (2014). Another important aspect recognised was regional interdependence and its contribution to the strengthening of regional cooperation along the border, resulting in comparative studies of institutionalised 98

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cooperation in different regions, determining the conditions influencing their application (Tassinari 2005). Rational choice institutionalism had little explanatory power where seemingly irrational contradictions prevailed. It failed to explain challenges to cooperation caused by political contradictions, which had themselves been caused by the Ukrainian crisis. From 2014, EU-Russia cooperation survived events in only a few sectors, like cross-border and space cooperation. Even there, additional challenges emerged, such as longer timescales to implement programmes (e.g.  for CBC programmes). Energy relations demonstrated that where official institutional frameworks failed to solve current problems, special arrangements to conduct crisis-­management consultations (for example, trilateral energy negotiations between the EU, Russia and Ukraine) were needed. Therefore, while actors’ behaviour supported the assumptions of rational institutionalism, their high risk perception prevented them from deepening their dialogue or addressing long-term issues. After the Ukrainian crisis led to deteriorated relations and shrinking cooperation, the rational choice institutionalists failed to face a changed context and elaborate comprehensive analysis of challenges to mutually beneficial sectoral cooperation. For rational choice institutionalists, therefore, the political context required a shift in their research agenda. Instead of their traditional focus on rational interpretations of EU-Russian cooperation, they had to examine the factors preventing cooperation in some sectors and ensuring the survival of cooperation in others.

Historical institutionalism Historical institutionalism has rarely been used by researchers to explain the logic of EU-Russia institutional developments. Its research agenda in this context was rather fragmented and usually reflected the particular views of the scholars involved (e.g., Bordachev and Kozakova 2017). It was apparently difficult to find evidence that the EU and Russia suffered the unintended consequences and influence of those institutional structures that ground the relationship and which are anticipated by historical institutionalists. Rather, it was the case that the unintended consequences were not identified in earlier work, becoming evident only after sufficient passage of time. The evidence was that both sets of actors tried to assert control over the institutional framework, considered the path dependency effects of institutions and tried to prevent their decisions having unintended consequences. For example, in 2002, the EU rejected Russia’s proposals of military cooperation in consideration of their long-term effect on European security. Certain aspects of EU-Russian relations, however, were explained on the basis of historical institutionalism. Researchers saw the EU’s institutional constraints (decision-making procedures and systemic transformations such as enlargement, including that of NATO) as inhibiting cooperation. This was evident when scholars described the influence of EU institutions on member states’ policies towards Russia. The manner of the CFSP’s development limited its choice of possible instruments, meaning for certain challenges, the EU had to rely on political instruments created in and for a different political context. This meant ‘the European Union turned into a very difficult partner’ (Bordachev and Kazakova 2017: 26) lacking substantial political capabilities and operating with ‘old-fashioned instruments’ (ibid.: 23) which made it difficult to respond efficiently to new challenges, including problematic relations with Russia. Elements of historical institutionalism can also be found in analysis of the current crisis between the EU and Russia. The territorial expansion of NATO and the EU and the special relationships forged between the EU and post-Soviet states were regarded as attempts to discriminate against Russia. Romanova argued that Russian authorities consider the ‘Ukrainian crisis . . . a consequence of systemic problems’ (2016: 4). It could be claimed that the strengthening of 99

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Western institutions created patterns that eventually led to unintended consequences, including growing security concerns for Russia, heightened sensitivities regarding the EU and NATO and misunderstandings between the EU and Russia. In summary, institutional developments created a certain political context, which affected actors’ interactions and eventually contributed to a deterioration of their relations. The theoretical assumptions of historical institutionalism therefore did not necessarily correspond to the research agenda of EU-Russia studies. Historical institutionalism explains some specific issues in the relationship but so far fails to provide an analytical framework to examine the general logic of their relations. While actors demonstrated a lack of trust and preferred to avoid decisions with long-term effects, common institutions were not powerful enough to ensure their strong influence on the actors and their paths. However, a longer research period might provide more evidence for historical institutionalists and their interpretation of EU-Russian relations.

Sociological institutionalism Not all researchers embraced the rationality assumption in EU-Russian relations; some argued for a limited explanatory capacity of rationalism, that particular issues required a constructivist approach. Sociological institutionalism demonstrated its ability to indicate the importance of ideas and worldviews on international institutionalisation; role distribution – and actors’ reactions to the suggested roles within the institutional framework and social learning within common institutions. Sociological institutionalism was mainly used by Western academics, but some Russian scholars combined elements of this approach with rational explanations of institutions, for example, when indicating the importance of the socialisation of EU and Russian representatives with each other within common institutions. Constructivism provided researchers with tools to study and understand identities and the influence of perceptions on decisions. DeBardeleben (2012) outlined the advantages of constructivist thought for explaining EU-Russian relations, reconsidering institutional practices and strengthening mutual understanding. Common institutional structures, such as EU-Russian summits, could be viewed as an arena for social interaction and learning about each other (Entin and Entina 2016: 8–9). Haukkala (2010) demonstrated the capacity of sociological institutionalism to explain difficulties between the EU and Russia. He emphasised the necessity of studying the role of ideas, including worldviews, beliefs and principles, which determined the rationality of both the EU and Russian leaders. He compared the worldviews of Russian and European decision-makers, referring to negotiations of the PCA and the Chechen wars. He argued that both the EU and Russia were influenced by distinctive cultural layers, which were difficult to change even through a process of socialisation. Worldviews framed actors’ expectations, their perceptions of others and their intentions and their decision-making, and, eventually, the differences caused difficulties for interactions within and outside of common institutions. Sociological institutionalists demonstrated the role of institutions in actors’ learning and determination of their roles. EU-Russian relations were also described here through the dynamics of actors’ perceptions and distribution of certain roles. Casier argued that the gradual deterioration of EU-Russia relations was determined by ‘the interaction between the perceptions the EU and Russia held of each other and of the situation they found themselves in’ (2018a: 13). He referred to the growing concerns of both actors about unfriendly behaviour and deteriorated images of the other. In the 1990s, Russia demonstrated a desire to follow EU recommendations; then competition with the EU turned it into a difficult partner. Finally, the

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EU and Russia perceived each other through the lens of rivalry, indicating the confrontational nature of their relations (Casier 2018a). EU-Russian institutions provided a framework for actors’ interaction and mutual influence with both the EU and Russia trying to change the behaviour of the other. Haukkala described the post-sovereign nature of the EU-Russia institutional framework and PCA. He considered it the result of the EU’s attempt to challenge Russia’s sovereignty and ensure a post-sovereign agenda for their relations. But Russia confronted the EU with a counter-strategy to protect its sovereignty. In contrast to the EU, which supported existing international institutions, Russia, together with emerging states, tried to promote the creation of new institutions. Insights followed into the two actors’ different visions of multilateralism: the EU argued in favour of ‘effective multilateralism’, and Russia emphasised the importance of ‘equal multilateralism’ (Casier 2018b). In contrast to rational approaches, sociological institutionalism demonstrated the capacity to provide theoretical explanations for both EU-Russian cooperation and political conflict. Scholars here brought to light what rationalists had neglected, underlining serious ideational differences between the EU and Russia, which hindered socialisation and led to a transformation of perceptions and roles for the EU and Russia. The application of sociological institutionalism grew as scholars realised the importance of ideas and discourse. However, Russian-language publications applying sociological institutionalism remained scarce: the theoretical assumptions of constructivism still play only a marginal role in Russian academia. Taking into account sociological institutionalism’s ability to explain the contradictions and divergences between Russia and the EU suggests we can expect to see continued growth in the application of this approach.

Discursive institutionalism Discursive institutionalism provided a route to show ‘the interactive processes of discourse in institutional context’ (Schmidt 2014: 246) and examine the way the EU and Russia used institutions to justify and legitimise their decisions and activities, reflecting an important turn in actors’ behaviour in the contemporary international system. Discursive institutionalism could be used both as the main theoretical framework and as a methodological supplement to all other new institutionalisms. However, scholars have rarely used discursive institutionalism; usually they apply elements of it and mainly focus on discourse about institutions, resulting in a supplementary role for discursive institutionalism in their analytical framework. One illustration is Prozorov’s analysis of EU-Russian relations in the 1990s and early 2000s within the context of the EU-Russian institutions. He focused on conflict discourses and indicated a ‘growing incompatibility of the EU and Russian positions’ (2006: 9), making it more difficult for them to work within common institutions. Even while officials considered new forms of cooperation, the EU-Russia discourse was dominated by the problem of Russia’s exclusion from the European space leading to limited cooperation and creating barriers to common projects, for example, to CBC (2006: 29–30). Prozorov demonstrated that identity differences between the EU and Russia would undermine further cooperation, a view that would take substantial form a few years later when EU-Russian cooperation was undermined for a few months as a result of the war in Georgia in 2008 and then suspended as a result of the crisis in Ukraine in 2014. Other scholars included elements of discursive institutionalism in their research. For example, Casier referred to discourse in order to demonstrate how the narratives of Russian politicians were used to justify and legitimise Russia’s policy towards the EU and international institutions (Casier 2018a).

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Discursive institutionalism therefore demonstrated its analytical advantages, as it enabled researchers to examine processes of communication, to determine how institutions influence the discourse and to identify challenges to cooperation shown throughout the discourse. However, the potential for discourse to transform institutions has largely not figured in the work of EU-Russia.

Conclusions This chapter provided an overview of (neo-)institutionalist approaches and their application in studies of EU-Russian relations. The highly institutionalised nature of EU-Russian relations predetermined an active use of various institutional approaches. Both classical and new institutionalisms had been viewed as effective ways to understand EU-Russian relations. However, they differed considerably in terms of their explanatory power, research agenda, applicability in different political contexts and popularity among academicians. Originally, classical and rational choice institutionalism dominated academic discourse due to their capacity to explain EU-Russian cooperation, particularly among Russian researchers with a legal background. Rational choice institutionalism with its focus on pragmatic behaviour facilitated description of both the general logic of EU-Russian cooperation and sectoral cooperation and enjoyed wide popularity among scholars of EU-Russian relations. However, both classical and rational choice institutionalism failed to explain contradictions between the EU and Russia and their deteriorated relations after the Ukrainian crisis. Historical institutionalism indicated the importance of unintended consequences and the necessity of analysing institutional constraints to understand developments in EU-Russian relations, but this approach played a marginal role in the examination of EU-Russia institutions. Constructivism made a major contribution to the analysis of EU-Russian relations through its influence on two further institutionalisms. Sociological institutionalists’ focus on ideas and perceptions allowed them to study ideational divergences between the EU and Russia, which created difficulties for cooperation. Sociological institutionalism gained multiple supporters among EU-Russia experts in the West but remained marginal in Russia. Discursive institutionalism, with its emphasis on discourses within the EU-Russia common institutions, had the advantage of providing an institutionalist space in which to assess the serious differences between the EU and Russia but remained underestimated by academics who were more concerned about actors’ behaviour within institutions than about their conceptualisation of institutions and the role of that conceptualisation in bringing about institutional change. The current crisis in EU-Russian relations has presented a major challenge to institutionalism. The limited scope of EU-Russian cooperation after 2014 and the suspension of common institutions in the face of that crisis raised questions about the theoretical assumptions of institutionalist approaches and their research agenda, exposing their explanatory limitations. Beyond simply not rising to the challenges of explaining the crisis, many of the institutionalist approaches have so far failed to transform their research agendas. This immediately suggests that future application of these approaches largely depends on the political context and the further development (improvement) of EU-Russian relations. However, such judgments can be tempered: sociological institutionalists have demonstrated the capacity of their approach to face the challenges brought by the deteriorating context; classical institutionalists have turned to efficiency problems in EU-Russian institutions and measures to improve them; rational choice institutionalists have focused on challenges to EU-Russia cooperation. While the EU and Russia find it difficult to face each other, (neo-)institutionalists draw attention to the EU and Russia’s common interests and ideas, the necessity to cooperate and the importance of 102

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common institutions, indicating that they could overcome their contradictions and return to sectoral cooperation.

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Martin, L.L. and Simmons, B.A. (2013) ‘International Organizations and Institutions’, in W. Carlsnaes, T. Risse and B.A. Simmons (eds.), Handbook of International Relations, Los Angeles: Sage, pp. 326–51. Nye, J.S. (1974) ‘Collective economic security’, International Affairs 50(4): 584–98. Prozorov, S. (2006) Understanding Conflict between Russia and the EU: The Limits of Integration, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Romanova, T. (2013) ‘EU-Russia energy cooperation: major development trends and the present state’, Baltic Region 3: 4–13. Romanova, T. (2016) ‘Russia and Europe: somewhat different, somewhat the same?’, Russian International Affairs Council Policy Brief No. 5, July. Romanova, T. (2019) ‘Studying EU-Russian relations: an overview in search for an epistemic community’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 135–46. Rosamond, B. (2014) ‘The EU’s Normative Power and Three Modes of Liberal Communicative Discourse’, in C. Carta and K.-F. Morin (eds.), EU Foreign Policy through the Lens of Discourse Analysis: Making Sense of Diversity, Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, pp. 211–26. Rothwell, C.E. (1949) ‘International organization and world politics’, International Organization 3(4): 605–69. Schmidt, V.A. (2008) ‘Discursive institutionalism: the explanatory power of ideas and discourse’, The Annual Review of Political Science 11: 303–26. Schmidt, V.A. (2014) ‘EU Leaders’ Ideas and Discourse in the Eurozone Crisis: A Discursive Institutionalist Analysis’, in C. Carta and K.-F. Morin (eds.), EU Foreign Policy through the Lens of Discourse Analysis: Making Sense of Diversity, Farnham, Surrey: Ashgate, pp. 245–63. Tassinari, F. (2005) ‘The European sea: lessons from the Baltic Sea region for security and cooperation in the European neighborhood’, Journal of Baltic Studies 36(4): 387–407. Thelen, K. and Steinmo, S. (1992) ‘Historical institutionalism in comparative politics’, in S. Steinmo, K. Thelen, Fr. Longstreth (eds.), Structuring Politics: Historical Institutionalism in Comparative Analysis, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, pp. 1–32. Zaslavskaya, N. (2011) ‘The European Union and Russia’ in J.-U. Wunderlich and D. Bailey (eds.), The European Union and global governance: A handbook, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 274–84.

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9 Europeanisation Paul Flenley

For contemporary political scientists, the concept of ‘Europeanisation’ is largely associated with the process of the integration of member states into the European Union (EU) and the external projection of the EU’s rules and norms. However, the term has long been used by historians in a much broader sense referring to the nature of change in Russia and the relationship between Russia and Europe. Since the collapse of the Soviet Union and the enlargement of the EU eastwards, the term has been used to assess the extent of reform in the states of the former Soviet Union and soviet bloc, with the implicit hope, at least until recently, that these states would become more integrated with the rest of Europe. This chapter will explore the uses of the term ‘Europeanisation’ as applied to this external projection of a combination of European rules and regulations, values, civilisation, culture and political and economic systems. A key problem is that the understanding of what is actually being projected as ‘European’ has varied over time and place and is still highly contested. How do we define ‘Europe’? In the context of this Handbook, does Europe include Russia, or is Russia Europe’s defining ‘other’ (Neumann 2016)? What are the values which are to be projected as ‘European’? Are they defined and measured by the EU; are they values shared by a wider Europe, including Russia; or do they differ in content and emphasis depending on the national context? Finally, is Europeanisation a unilinear process driven by the EU, or is national sovereignty such that states are entitled to promote their own concept of European? Disputes and misunderstandings over these questions lie at the heart of the tensions between the EU and Russia. This chapter will first look at the broader historical uses of the term ‘Europeanisation’. It will then examine how it has become associated with the projection of EU rules and norms. Next, the chapter considers the varying degrees of success of Europeanisation and accounts for the limitations of the approaches used by the EU. Finally, the chapter will examine Russia’s response to the assertion of the EU as the centre of Europeanisation, and the development of an alternative Russian approach.

The development of Europeanisation The idea of a common European civilisation and values has a long tradition – even if in practice it is constituted more as a modern retrospective myth. The origins are seen as stemming 105

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from a combination of Greco-Roman culture, the Renaissance, Christianity after the fall of Constantinople and the Enlightenment. The political concepts of nation, citizenship, rights, popular sovereignty/democracy and secularism emerging out of the French Revolution are identified as European, and the spread of these ideas across Europe and elsewhere is associated with modern Europeanisation. In the twentieth century, radically different versions of Europeanisation developed – socialism/communism; nationalism; fascism; and, in the post-Second World War, the ‘European social model’ (Davies 1997: 37–9; Flockhart 2010; Mannin 2018). The current interpretation promoted by the EU, emphasising the spread of ‘liberal’ democracy, free-market capitalism and post-modern ideas of transnationalism has therefore not always been the dominant view, and for many in Russia, and even within the EU member states, it remains subject to challenge.

Europeanisation as modernisation and Westernisation Historically, Europeanisation has often been linked to the concept of Westernisation. In the case of Russia, this goes back to the eighteenth century or even earlier. Historians have talked of Peter the Great and the ‘Westernisation’ of Russia, which was further promoted by the cultivation of Western culture and philosophy by Tsarinas Elizabeth and Catherine the Great (Dmytryshyn 1974: 1). In the nineteenth century, a great intellectual debate was opened up by the so-called ‘Westerniser’ Peter Chaadaev, who felt that Russia had become isolated from Europe, with major consequences for its development (Walicki 1980: 86–7). In the early 1990s, after the collapse of the USSR, Russia also went through a phase of so-called ‘Westernisation’. However, like the Slavophiles in the nineteenth century, many in Russia by the mid-1990s came to see this ‘Westernisation’ as an alien phenomenon. Russia in the eighteenth century and in the early 1990s seemed to be colonised by an alien Westernised elite. Westernisation was seen not only to involve the ‘export’ of European culture and ideas but also the external promotion of the interests of European states. In this, it became associated with imperialism and colonialism. This association still lingers today in some perceptions of the EU’s real priorities by many of those external to the EU (Zielonka 2006; see also Pavlova this volume). This means ‘Europeanisation’ is seen as a cover for the EU’s pursuit of its economic and strategic interests. For Russia, especially since the early 2000s, there has been increased scepticism of the EU’s normative goals and a merging of the interpretation of EU enlargement with that of NATO expansion, that is, that they serve the economic and strategic interests of the West and the desire to contain Russia (Sakwa 2015: 48–9). From the nineteenth century onwards, Europeanisation also came to be identified with the concept of modernisation (Davies 1997: 763–82). In its current form, this modernisation tends to mean liberal democracy and the free-market economy. For the post–Cold War soviet bloc states, the EU was seen as a conduit to their modernisation or integration into the global economy. The EU had the necessary experience in how to transform economies and legal systems. In the case of Russia, such ideas as engaging with the EU for the purposes of modernisation were apparent in the Partnership for Modernisation in 2010 (David and Romanova 2016). When then-President Medvedev addressed Russia’s problems of economic backwardness, corruption and paternalism in his ‘Go Russia!’ article in 2009, he was not looking to import a foreign model but seeking technology and investment from elsewhere including Europe. He sought partners in modernisation (Medvedev 2009). In the case of both the modernisation and/or Westernisation of Russia, there is a debate among historians about the extent and intent of such processes and the relations between them (Dixon 1999: 1–26; Dmytryshyn 1974; Hughes 1998: 462–70; Rogger 1985: 1–13). It is 106

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argued that tsars such as Peter the Great were merely interested in using and learning from the West for the purposes of modernising Russia in the sense of making its military and governance more effective. There was no interest in a more thoroughgoing Westernisation. Serfdom was maintained and actually strengthened in the eighteenth century. The ideas of the European Enlightenment were only selectively listened to. In spite of Catherine the Great’s correspondence with Voltaire, it was the ideas of the ‘German’ (Prussian) enlightenment, with its emphasis on the state, which were more convenient and influenced education and politics (Dmytryshyn 1974: 87–157; Walicki 1980). This dual and instrumental approach to the ‘West’ can be seen as a recurring feature of Russia’s approach to Europeanisation up to today – ‘breathing the best air from the West’ while ‘drinking the best milk of our own mother Russia’ (Menshikov in Billington 2004: 65).

Europeanisation and the EU With the end of the Cold War and the ‘triumphalism’ in the West of liberal democracy and the free market, a dominant view of Europeanisation emerged. ‘European’ values involved a shift away from the earlier ideas of a European social model to the more liberal free market (Sedelmeier and Wallace 1996). Europeanisation also became identified with the EU, and the process became EU-centric, with the EU seen as the arbiter as to the nature and success of Europeanisation (Borzel 2002). The EU also established criteria by which the degree of Europeanisation could be measured. These were enshrined by the EU in the Copenhagen Criteria in 1993. An inherent part of the way in which the EU relates to its neighbours and others is through the application of these measuring criteria – the application of ‘conditionality’. The degree to which the EU deepens engagement with a neighbour is conditioned by measuring the extent of reform (Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2004). As we shall see, it is specifically this approach which is at the core of the problems of the EU-Russia relationship. As a consequence of these developments, the overwhelming bulk of the literature on Europeanisation is essentially a study of the EU, its policies and processes and the ways it projects its rules and norms both internally to member states and externally to neighbours such as Russia (Radaelli 2003). Studies have concentrated on themes such as the deepening of EU integration since the 1990s, the enlargement process, the wider projection of European (EU) norms and values and the processes and instruments used for Europeanisation itself.

Degrees of Europeanisation Much of the academic scholarship on Europeanisation has involved examining the degree of success that the EU has had in exporting its regulations and values. Scholars draw a distinction between ‘thin’ and ‘thick’ Europeanisation (Schimmelfennig 2001). In the former, the relevant state adopts the rules and regulations of the EU for pragmatic purposes, such as for pursuing trade or to receive funding, but there is no intention to undertake deeper socialisation or reform. Other scholars have referred to this as an instrumental approach to Europeanisation, especially in the case of Russia (Romanova 2018) or a type of ‘europragmatism’ (Stegnyi 2011). In the case of ‘thick’ Europeanisation, there is a more profound inculcation of norms and values. For some observers, there is no problem with the more instrumental approach, as ultimately even the process of ‘going through the motions’ will have a socialising effect and produce normative change (Finnemore and Sikkink 1998). A frequent observation of the limits of Europeanisation is that the only effective way of securing change is by offering a state the prospect of EU membership. However, Europeanisation 107

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can be observed in states which have no likelihood of EU membership, including Russia. This is because Europeanisation can have useful domestic purposes: reforms can serve the interests of domestic elites in their political battles (Vachudova 2005). This is particularly the case with anti-corruption campaigns. Europeanisation can also be a useful conduit to integration with the global economy, since adopting EU regulations can facilitate broader international investment and trade. In the move from state ownership and planning to a market economy in the case of the post-Soviet bloc states, the EU, with its rules and regulations, provided a ready-made set of institutional solutions which could be emulated (Borzel and Risse 2012). Different sectors have for instrumental reasons found it useful to align with European law (Romanova 2018). While Russia may now in general baulk at the EU-centric approach to Europeanisation, this was an early approach to the relationship with the EU in the 1990s. It has become evident that one cannot generalise about the degree and success of Europeanisation within a state. Different sectors of an economy may be more ‘europeanised’ than others. Some sectors may be ‘output compliant’, that is, characterised by a formal adoption of EU rules to satisfy EU requirements, while others may be ‘outcome compliant’ and exhibit real behavioural changes (Ademmer and Borzel 2013). Given the size of Russia, it is not surprising also to see regional differences in the degree of Europeanisation. In seeking to engage more systematically with the northwestern regions of Russia through its Northern Dimension, the EU has explicitly recognised this (see Lanko this volume). However, relative proximity to the EU is not in itself a precondition for successful Europeanisation. Some of the greatest change has occurred in regions which are not actually nearest the EU border (Obydenkova 2006).

The instruments of Europeanisation and their limitations Recent analysis has concentrated on critiques of the effectiveness of the instruments used by the EU in promoting Europeanisation. This concern has been heightened by the perceived failures of EU Europeanisation policies in the eastern neighbourhood – the Ukraine crisis and the perception of ‘losing’ Russia. The EU currently relies on a range of instruments – action plans, ‘partnerships’, association agreements and deep and free trade areas – to integrate others with the EU to a greater or lesser extent. These generally involve some form of conditionality whereby the degree of cooperation and integration depends on the EU’s assessment of the extent of domestic reform. In the case of Russia, the main mechanisms have been the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement signed in 1994 but not brought into effect until 1997 and Roadmaps for Four Common Spaces, adopted in 2005. The language of all these is about partnerships and integration – ‘to provide an appropriate framework for the gradual integration between Russia and a wider area of cooperation in Europe’ (EU and Russia 1997: Article 1). However, as we shall see later, Putin has perceived the EU as wishing to promote its normative agenda, especially at the time of Russia’s weakness in the 1990s, with Russia as a passive subject of conditionality (Haukkala 2015). The success or not of the EU’s attempts to promote Europeanisation depends ultimately on how far the necessary changes resonate with the domestic elites’ perception of their interests. The process of reform has to become part of the domestic narrative, that is, identified with popular and elite conceptions of the future of a country. In the case of some countries, especially Russia, Turkey, many in Serbia and even a former EU member state the United Kingdom, there can be another more dominant narrative: it may be a European one but not identified with the EU. In the case of Russia, the degree of Europeanisation and the associated closeness of EU-Russia relations has coincided with changes in the priorities of the elites. In the 1990s, their interests tended to coincide with the idea of closer cooperation and a strategic partnership with the EU. For some analysts, in the 2000s, the decline of the liberal elite and rise of the siloviki 108

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(people associated with a security power background; see also Romanova this volume) partially explain the shift away from engagement with the EU (Kryshtanovskaya 2008). Their rise is seen as coinciding with a shift among officials in Russia to greater emphasis on state power, sovereign democracy and a turn away from liberal values.

The institutional channels of Europeanisation Engagement between the EU and Russia occurs across a range of levels. At one level are the intergovernmental EU institutions. At another are the institutions of the member states. Because of the complexities of EU decision-making and on foreign and security policy the desire of member states to protect their own national interests, it is sometimes difficult for third countries to discern what EU foreign policy priorities are. Europeanisation may involve the projection of values and norms, but what this means in terms of priorities and emphasis can be very confusing. It can depend on the relevant EU institution (Parliament, Commission, EEAS) or member state. Much of the Russia-EU relationship is actually conducted on a bilateral basis, often through personal relations between leaders. There has been a wide diversity of approaches to Russia between EU member states (Schmidt-Felzmann 2008: 182, also this volume). However, there is more consensus than is often assumed (David et al. 2013). In the case of the successful integration of the Central and East European states into the EU, the involvement of a whole range of sub-state transnational networks was crucial  – political parties, civil society organisations, twinning arrangements, academic exchange programmes (Risse-Kappan 1996: 57–8). In the case of Russia, the opportunities for such channels have been more limited. However, despite the 2014 crisis, research and academic cooperation in general have continued. This is seen by the EU as an avenue for Europeanisation (see also Makinen and Deriglazova this volume). Cultural diplomacy is seen by the EU as perhaps the major way of exerting influence in Russia in the current climate (see Fadeeva this volume). Support for cultural initiatives such as film festivals has continued. Some observers have noted that when ‘state authorities are recognised as full stakeholders in EU cultural events (and by EU institutions as such) cooperation can bear positive results’; the potential is believed to be particularly high at the local level (Valenza and Bossuyt 2019: 8). People-to-people contact is not helped by the lack of visa-free travel (Dekalchuk this volume). A resumption of the suspended visa dialogue and the encouragement of more people-to-people communication (and hence Europeanisation through socialisation) may be a way forward for EU-Russia relations (Utkin 2019). In terms of more civil society contact, since the 2004 Orange Revolution in Ukraine, the Russian government has been more wary of the influence of foreign NGOs. In 2012, NGOs receiving foreign funding and engaging in political activity had to register as ‘a foreign agent’ (Russian Federation 2012). Nevertheless, in spite of the suspicions surrounding NGOs and the problems, there has been substantial ‘social learning’ between Russian civil society and civil society groups within the EU. This has involved help in the professionalisation of civil society organisations and promoting the self-identity and confidence of civil society organisations. Social agendas in a range of areas – health, gender equality, youth unemployment – have been influenced by EU programmes. ‘CSO cooperation has been successful in addressing social problems and the development of more progressive social agendas in Russia based on EU practices’ (Belokurova 2010: 470; see also Demidov and Belokurova this volume). Admittedly, these are more pronounced in certain regions, for example, the North-West, where there are greater cross-border networks (see Lanko; Yarovoy this volume). Europeanisation through civil society has not occurred in the sense of trying to encourage a Western liberal interpretation of civil society organisation as being separate from public 109

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organisations. The influence comes where the focus is on cooperation in pragmatic problem solving with existing local actors, both public and civil. Often the concentration on high-level political tensions and the problems confronted by more ‘political’ NGOs can obscure the impact in less ‘politically sensitive’ and more ‘pragmatic’ forms and areas of cooperation. Similar trends manifest themselves in cross-border cooperation and the Northern Dimension (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016: 214). Approaches where Russia is engaged as a ‘subject’, a co-policymaker, and is not treated as an ‘object’ – the target of attempts at norm transfer – would suggest a positive basis for future relations and perhaps more successful Europeanisation.

The problem of an EU-centred Europeanisation Not surprisingly, the EU’s approach to Europeanisation outlined earlier is not shared by Russia. First, Russia assumed that the end of the Cold War was a shared project between East and West. The construction of the ‘common European home’ was to be a mutual venture. Now Russia is seen as the recipient of values and rules which are exported by the EU. The extent of Russia’s ‘Europeanisation’ is to be judged by the EU. However, Russia has long asserted itself as a European power, defined by history, culture and civilisation, independent of any judgment by others, including the EU. In addition, Russia rejects the EU’s approach of conditionality in relations. Linking relations to change in domestic politics is seen as an invasion of sovereignty. More recently, the Russian response to such Europeanisation has been more than just irritation at the EU’s approach. In response to the Orange Revolution and the Ukraine crisis, the development of the EU’s Eastern Partnership and NATO enlargement, Russia has come to suspect that EU-style Europeanisation has been a project to exclude Russia from an EU-defined Europe rather than an attempt to change Russia itself (Sakwa 2017: 253). From Russia’s point of view, a key cause of the Ukrainian crisis was the exclusion of Russia from the EU-Ukraine consultations over the Association Agreement, even though Russia’s interests were also at stake (Lavrov 2014). Such thinking long ties in with perceptions of such nineteenth-century philosophers as Danilevsky that the goal of the West is to confine Russia’s influence to Asia (Walicki 1980: 291). In the study of the current rise of populism, the need to assert the identity and dignity of groups which have been ignored by elites has been highlighted as a key contributing factor. Extending this to Russia-EU relations, one can see the operation of similar forces. Russia’s greater assertiveness in foreign policy in the 2000s was partly driven by the sense of anger at the way the West took advantage of Russia’s weakness in the 1990s (Fukyama 2018: 7). Russia perceived itself as a ‘great power’ but was not treated as such. For Tsygankov, the concept of ‘honour’ and the denial of it by the West can account for much of the current tension (Tsygankov 2014). As we have seen, in the 1990s, the assertion of the EU as the arbiter of European values and norms meant that the relationship with Russia was one of the moral superiority of the EU, not equality (Prozorov 2016). It meant essentially a denial by Western elites of Russia’s dignity as an equal, sovereign European power. This desire for equality in relationships with the EU dominates the official discourse (Sakwa 2017: 258). Rather than turning its back on Europe, the narrative is one of Russia being an equal (not backward) and sovereign part of a wider Europe (White and Felkyunina 2014: 107).

A Russian Europeanisation In EU-Russia relations since the 1990s, there has been regular reference to shared (European) values. However, differences emerged as to what those mean in practice. In part, such 110

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differences are reflective of long-term, historical differences in political philosophy. For Russia, the role of the state has always been more positive than in the Western liberal view: there is no contradiction between the power of the state and the freedom of the individual. As the Russian philosopher Karamzin noted in the nineteenth century, the state was essential to the survival of Russia (Leatherbarrow and Offord 1987: 32–41). In addition, Russian Slavophiles championed Russia’s emphasis on the community as opposed to the decadent individualism of the West. Such themes are reflected in much of contemporary Russian nationalist thinking and the ideas of sections of the political elite, such as Surkov on ‘sovereign democracy’ (Makinen 2011: 143–65). In many ways, these differences mean that Russia and the EU talk past each other. Russia is essentially a more traditional ‘modern’ state with an emphasis on asserting state sovereignty and promoting its national interests. In contrast, the EU is ‘post-modern’ in its attempt to transcend the state and promote transnationalism, inter-governmentalism and project values (Klinke 2012; Kratochvíl 2008). Differences are also reflective of the experiences of large parts of the population. Views in Russia in the 2000s were very much shaped by the experiences of the apparent import of Western democracy in the 1990s that ended in chaos (Bogutcaia et al. 2006: 130). Putin has therefore rejected the idea of there being one model of democracy. Russia had to find its own path to build a democracy, shaped to conditions in Russia (Bogutcaia et al. 2006: 128). In doing this, Russia, in the relative newness of its transition, has different priorities to those of the EU. The key priorities have been the restoration of political and economic stability as well as security rather than opening markets and multi-party democracy. Such asymmetry between the interests of the EU and its neighbours is also a key part of the problem of the EU’s Europeanisation project elsewhere (Flenley 2018). Since 2012, a more conservative approach to values appears to have become dominant in Russia, explicitly rejecting the liberal assumptions of the EU (Haukkala 2015). Putin indicated as much in a speech to the Valdai Club in 2013 – We can see how many of the Euro-Atlantic countries are actually rejecting their roots, including the Christian values that constitute the basis of Western civilisation. They are denying moral principles and all traditional identities: national, cultural, religious and even sexual. (Putin 2013) Some have seen this trend as a sign of Russia’s rejection of the West and the coming to the fore of one of the long-term themes in Russia’s identity – that Russia is fundamentally different from Europe, has its own separate civilisation, the pursuit of the ‘Russian Idea’ (White and Feklyunina 2014: Chapter 4). However, while such ideas may be articulated by the Eurasianist ‘philosopher’ Dugin (Knott 2018: 6; Plokhy 2018: 336), they are not necessarily reflective of mainstream elite thinking. The Western narrative that such views are dominant in Russian thinking goes back to the nineteenth century (Billington 2004: 67–94), but continuing to assume this is the case means unnecessarily deepening the current crisis. Rather than seeing Russia as turning away from Europe, the current discourse is more an assertion of the view that Russia is European but with a more ‘traditional’ sense of European values, which have been ‘lost’ by much of the rest of Europe (White and Feklyunina 2014: 103). The theme that Russia is somehow the defender of ‘Christian’ Europe and its values – Moscow as the ‘Third Rome’ – has long been a theme in Russian nationalism. In this scenario, Russia is far from being ‘outside’ Europe. It has periodically served the messianic role of the saviour of Europe, whether against Napoleon, Hitler, radical Islam or ‘decadent liberalism’ (Plokhy 2018: 35, 336). There are echoes of this approach historically also 111

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in the perception of Russia’s role in Asia as an agent of civilisation, Europeanisation. As Dostoevsky wrote, ‘[i]n Europe we were Tatars but in Asia we too are Europeans’ (Kaczmarska 2016). This challenge to the current liberal interpretation of European values is part of a much broader movement within the EU itself. Governments and political parties in Hungary, Austria, Italy and Poland have challenged the liberal agenda, asserted a ‘Christian’ definition of Europe and criticised immigration. Victor Orban’s concept of ‘illiberal democracy’ purports to present a new vision of ‘Europeanisation’, reflecting what is seen as the revolt of ‘patriotic and national elites’ against the transnational, global elite (Fukuyama 2018: 9). In connection with this trend, some political observers have talked not only of Putin providing a political model but also of seeing the hand of the Kremlin in a range of populist political movements in Europe and the United States (Barber et al. 2019) – a possible reverse form of ‘Russian’ Europeanisation.

Russia in a wider Europe Signs of Russia’s continuing commitment to a wider Europe are to be found in Russia’s continuing engagement with ‘European’ organisations other than the EU. As has been argued, the project of Europeanisation has largely been associated with the EU. However, the Council of Europe with the linked European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) and the Organisation for Cooperation and Security in Europe (OSCE), in which Russia remains a long-term participant, can also be seen as agencies of Europeanisation, in that their members sign up to a common set of values and norms. As a result of membership of the Council of Europe, Russia has had to commit to harmonise laws with Council of Europe standards ( Jordan 2003). Alongside Turkey, Russia has been subject to the highest number of critical judgments by the ECtHR, most notably over Chechnya. In addition, Russia was temporarily suspended until June 2019 from participation in the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe over the annexation of Crimea (Utkin this volume). In spite of the difficulties, human rights activists have seen Russia’s continued participation as vitally important for the whole system of law enforcement. At a societal level, Russian membership has enabled individual Russians and especially human right activists to challenge violations by Russian officials (Roth 2019). For some experts, the ECtHR has operated almost as a ‘Supreme Court of Russia’ (Ledeneva 2013: 251). The explicit commitment to upholding certain rights has a restraining influence on official behaviour. Participation is also significant in officially legitimising Russia’s status as part of greater Europe (see also Pavlova this volume). Critical judgments by the CoE have been challenged as being ‘selective’ and showing ‘double standards’ by Russia (Lavrov 2016) but not rejected in their basic authority. For the government, the question is not whether Russia should subscribe to common European values but whether those are being interpreted ‘impartially’. There have been some attempts to limit this. Nevertheless, Russia remains committed to membership. In 2016, Lavrov celebrated 20 years of Russia’s membership of the Council of Europe and commented that its activities are needed, ‘in preserving the identity of European civilisation’ (Lavrov 2016). The commitment to a broader vision of Europe also lay behind Putin’s original perception of the Eurasian Economic Union – ‘Eurasian Union will be built on universal integrationist principles as an inalienable part of greater Europe, united by common values of freedom, democracy and the law of the market’ (Putin 2011). Even in spite of the Ukraine crisis, Putin still sees ‘great prospects in the harmonisation of the integration processes of the Eurasian Economic Union and the European Union’ (Putin 2015).

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Conclusion Over time, the term ‘Europeanisation’ has seen different interpretations. In the post–Cold War period, it came predominantly to be associated with the projection of the policies and norms of the European Union. Such an interpretation has formed a key part of the current tensions in EU-Russia relations. In the immediate post–Cold War period, there was an assumption in Russia that the building of a common European home would be a joint venture. However, the early ‘partnership’ between the EU and Russia came to be seen as a cover for a unilinear process from West to East. In the late 2000s and especially after the Ukraine crisis, it seemed to some that Russia had now turned its back on Europe and was now pursuing its own great power agenda. However, as this chapter has suggested, this is not the case. There are still positives which can be building blocks for a future EU-Russia relationship. Russia generally still self-identifies as part of European civilisation. It also accepts the concept of explicitly subscribing to the idea of European values. The debate is about what the emphasis in those values should be – liberalism or conservatism – and whether there should be one arbiter of those values. The desire for equality in relations rather than subservience seems to be a recurring theme. Where Russia is engaged on an equal basis in non-political areas, cooperation seems to continue to be fruitful. An ‘equal but different within a wider Europe’ approach may be the basis for future relations. To facilitate this, there may need to be a move away from the interpretation of Europeanisation as purely Brussels led and at least in the discourse an acknowledgment that it is a common aspirational venture based on different national priorities and identities. This may help place EU-Russia relations on a more stable basis and facilitate greater integration through more practical instrumental cooperation. However, it may be the case in the future that the strengthening of national populism in Europe, Brexit and the continued assertiveness of the conservative challenge to liberal democracy will mean that Europeanisation ceases to be useful as a shared term for analysing the relations between the EU and Russia or even between states in the EU.

References Ademmer, E. and Borzel, T. (2013) ‘Migration, energy and good governance in the EU’s Eastern neighbourhood’, Europe-Asia Studies 65(40): 581–608. Barber, L., Foy, H. and Barber, A. (2019) ‘Vladimir Putin says liberalism has become obsolete’ – FT interview with Vladimir Putin before the G20 summit in Osaka’, Financial Times, 27 June. Belokurova, E. (2010) ‘Civil society discourses in Russia: the influence of the European Union and the role of EU-Russia cooperation’, Journal of European Integration 32(5): 457–74. Billington, J.H. (2004) Russia in Search of Itself, Baltimore and London: John Hopkins University Press. Bogutcaia, G., Bosse, G. and Schmidt-Felzmann, A. (2006) ‘Lost in translation? Political elites and the interpretative values gap in the EU’s neighbourhood policies’, Contemporary Politics 12(2): 117–37, doi:10.1080/13569770600752905 Borzel, T. (2002) ‘Member state responses to Europeanisation’, Journal of Common Market Studies 40(2): 193–214. Borzel, T. and Risse, T. (2012) ‘From Europeanization to diffusion: introduction’, West European Politics 35(1): 1–19, doi:10.1080/01402382.2012.631310 David, M., Gower, J. and Haukkala, H. (eds.) (2013) National Perspectives on Russia: European Foreign Policy in the Making, London: Routledge. David, M. and Romanova, T. (eds.) (2016) Modernisation in EU-Russia Relations: Past, Present and Future, London: Routledge. Davies, N. (1997) Europe, London: Pimlico. Dixon, S. (1999) The Modernisation of Russia 1676–1825, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Dmytryshyn, B. (1974) Modernization of Russia under Peter I and Catherine II, London: Wiley and Sons.

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EU and Russia (1997) ‘Agreement on partnership and cooperation establishing a partnership between the European Communities and their Member States, of one part, and the Russian Federation, of the other part’, available at https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=celex:21997A1128(01) (accessed 22 October 2018). Finnemore, M. and Sikkink, K. (1998) ‘International norm dynamics and political change’, International Organization 52(4): 887–917. Flenley, P. (2018) ‘The limitations of the EU’s strategies for Europeanisation of the neighbours’, in P. Flenley and M. Mannin (eds.), The European Union and its eastern neighbourhood: Europeanisation and its twenty-first-century contradictions, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 38–53. Flockhart, T. (2010) ‘Europeanisation or EU-ization? The transfer of European norms across time and space’, JCMS: Journal of Common Market Studies 48(4): 785–810. Forsberg, T. and Haukkala, H. (2016) The European Union and Russia, London: Palgrave. Fukuyama, F. (2018) Identity: The Demand for Dignity and the Politics of Resentment, London: Profile Books. Haukkala, H. (2015) ‘From cooperative to contested Europe? The conflict in Ukraine as a culmination of a long-term crisis in EU-Russia relations’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 23(1): 1–16, doi: 10.1080/14782804.2014.1001822 Hughes, L. (1998) Russia in the Age of Peter the Great, New Haven, CT and London: Yale University Press Jordan, P. (2003) ‘Russia’s accession to the Council of Europe and compliance with European human rights norms’, Demokratizatsiya 11(2): 281–96. Kaczmarska, K. (2016) ‘But in Asia we too are Europeans’: Russia’s multifaceted engagement with the standard of civilisation’, International Relations 30(4): 432–55. Klinke, I. (2012) ‘Postmodern geopolitics? The European Union eyes Russia’, Europe-Asia Studies 64(5): 929–47, doi:10.1080/09668136.2012676237 Knott, P. (2018) ‘Putin’s fascist philosopher: the most dangerous man in the world’, The New European 112: 6. Kratochvíl, P. (2008) ‘The discursive resistance to EU-enticement: the Russian elite and (the lack of) Europeanisation’, Europe-Asia Studies 60(3): 397–422. Kryshtanovskaya, O. (2008) ‘The Russian elite in transition’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 24(4): 585–603. Lavrov, S.V. (2014) ‘Sergey Lavrov: Throwing Russia off Balance Is Ultimate Aim. Interview’, TASS. Russian News Agency, 11 September. Lavrov, S.V. (2016) ‘Letter to Thorbjorn Jaglond, secretary general of the Council of Europe’, February, available at https://rm.coe.int/16805a2a6c (accessed 28 October 2018). Leatherbarrow, W. and Offord, D. (1987) A Documentary History of Russian Thought, Ann Arbor: Ardis. Ledeneva, A.V. (2013) Can Russia Modernise? Sistema, Power Networks and Informal Governance, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Makinen, S. (2011) ‘Surkovian narrative on the future of Russia: making Russia a world leader’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 27(2): 143–65. Mannin, M. (2018) ‘Europeanisation as a past and present narrative’ in P. Flenley and M. Mannin (eds.), The European Union and Its Eastern Neighbourhood: Europeanisation and Its Twenty-First Century Contradictions, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 9–24. Medvedev, D. (2009) ‘Go Russia!’, Kremlin, September 10, available at http://en.kremlin.ru/events/presi dent/news/5413 (accessed 4 September 2019). Neumann, I.B. (2016) Russia and the Idea of Europe: A Study in International Relations, London and New York: Routledge. Obydenkova, A. (2006) ‘Democratization, Europeanization and regionalization beyond the European Union: search for empirical evidence’, European Integration Online Papers 10(1). Plokhy, S. (2018) Lost Kingdom. A History of Russian Nationalism from Ivan the Great to Vladimir Putin, London: Penguin Books. Prozorov, S. (2016) Understanding Conflict between Russia and the EU: the Limits of Integration, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Putin, V. (2011) ‘Novyi integratsionnyi proekt dlya Evrasii-budushchee, kotoroe rozhdaetsya segodnya Interview’, Izvestia, 3 October, available at http://izvesitia.ru/news/502761 (accessed 4 September 2019). Putin, V. (2013) ‘Meeting of the Valdai international discussion club’, 19 September, available at http:// en.kremlin.ru/event/president/news/19243 (accessed 20 October 2018). Putin, V. (2015) ‘Speech to the 70th session of the General Assembly of the UN’, 28 September, available at http://kremlin.ru/events/president/news/50385 (accessed 28 October 2018). 114

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Radaelli, C. (2003) The Europeanisation of Public Policy, in K. Featherstone and C. Radaelli (eds.), The Politics of Europeanisation. Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 3–26. Risse-Kappen, T. (1996) ‘Exploring the nature of the beast: international relations theory and comparative policy analysis meets the European Union’, JCMS: Journal of Common Market Studies 34(1): 53–80. Rogger, H. (1985) Russia in the Age of Modernisation and Revolution, Harlow, Essex: Longman. Romanova, T. (2018) ‘Europeanisation and Russia’, in P. Flenley and M. Mannin (eds.), The European Union and Its Eastern Neighbourhood: Europeanisation and Its Twenty-First Century Contradictions, Manchester: Manchester University Press, pp. 57–70. Roth, A. (2019) ‘Ukraine fury over Council of Europe’s vote to allow Russia back’, The Guardian, 26 June, p. 25. Russian Federation (2012) ‘O vnesenii ismenenii v otdel’nye zakonadatel’nye akty Rossiisskoi federatsii v chasti regulirovaniya deyatel’nosti nekommercheskikh organizatsii vypolnyayushchikh funktsii inostrannogo agenta’, Federal Law No. 121-FZ, available at ntc.duma.gov.ru/duma_na/asozd/asozd_ text.php?nm=121-%D4%C7&dt=2012 (accessed 9 December 2013). Sakwa, R. (2015) Frontline Ukraine, London: I.B. Tauris. Sakwa, R. (2017) Russia against the Rest: the Post-Cold War Crisis of World Order, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Schimmelfennig, F. (2001) ‘The community trap: liberal norms, rhetorical action and the Eastern enlargement of the European Union’, International Organisation 55(1): 47–80. Schimmelfennig, F. and Sedelmeier, U. (2004) ‘Governance by conditionality: EU rule transfer to the candidate countries of Central and Eastern Europe’, Journal of European Public Policy, 11(4): 669–87. Schmidt-Felzmann, A. (2008) ‘All for one? EU member states and the union’s common policy towards the Russian federation’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 16(2): 169–87. Sedelmeier, W. and Wallace, H. (1996) Policies towards Central and Eastern Europe, in H. Wallace and W. Wallace (eds.), Policymaking in the European Union, Oxford: Oxford University Press, pp. 353–88. Stegnyi, O. (2011) ‘Ukraine and the eastern partnership: lost in translation?’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 28(1): 43–57. Tsygankov, A. (2014) Russia and the West from Alexander to Putin, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Utkin, S. (2019) ‘Overcoming the Stalemate in EU-Russia Relations: Start with the Visa Dialogue’, European Leadership Foundation, 11 January, available at www.europeanleadershipnetwork.org/commentary/ overcoming-the-stalemate-in-eu-russia-relations-start-with-thevisa-dialogue (accessed 4 September 2019). Vachudova, M.A. (2005) Europe Undivided: Democracy, Leverage and Integration after Communism, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Valenza, D. and Bossuyt, F. (2019) ‘A two-way challenge: enhancing EU cultural cooperation with Russia’, Policy Brief 2019/02, 11 June. Brussels: Centre for European Policy Studies. Walicki (1980) A History of Russian Thought from the Enlightenment to Marxism, Oxford: Clarendon Press. White, S. and Feklyunina, V. (2014) Identities and Foreign Policies in Russia, Ukraine and Belarus. The Other Europes, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Zielonka, J. (2006) Europe as Empire: The Nature of an Enlarged European Union, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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10 Methods of economic analysis Vasily Astrov

This chapter analyses various aspects of Russia-EU economic relations, with an emphasis on economic theories and methods. Economics is a field of social science where both theory and methods are broadly shared by Russian and European scholars alike. They have become essentially uniform ever since Russia converted to a market economy and Western economic concepts entered the Russian academic mainstream in the early 1990s. To be sure, there are deep ideological divisions within this scientific field, above all between the liberal and the post-Keynesian wing, which arrive at different policy conclusions, particularly when discussing the role of the state in an economy. Their assessments of the effects of economic integration differ as well. However, these divisions exist, at least to some degree, within both Russia and the EU (or other world regions, for that matter) and should not be interpreted as divisions between them. In that sense, economics contrasts with some other social sciences where even the theories and perspectives used by Russian and European scholars may differ (see other chapters in this part of this volume). At the same time, Deak and Kuznetsov (2019) demonstrate that academic dialogue between EU and Russian researchers on matters of economic cooperation has been hampered to some extent by factors such as the constraints of mutual internalisation, language determination and different research agendas. The present chapter  focuses on the two aspects of economic relations between Russia and the EU, trade and capital flows, using theoretical concepts and empirical studies to analyse the nature of their relationship and the potential benefits of mutual integration. In a nutshell, it argues that, when it comes to matters of economic integration with each other, the positions of neither Russia nor the EU have been entirely rational from an economic point of view.

EU-Russia trade relations Various proposals for greater trade integration between Russia and the EU have been put forward since the break-up of the Soviet Union. For instance, the Russia-EU Partnership and Cooperation Agreement signed in 1994 envisaged mutual free trade regime in the long run,

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after Russia had joined the World Trade Organisation (WTO) (EU and Russia 1997). Free trade was also supposed to become a key element of the Russia-EU Four Common Spaces, proposed in the early 2000s (EU and Russia 2005). In subsequent years, Russia on several occasions initiated various forms of economic integration with the EU, including a ‘Common Economic Space from Lisbon to Vladivostok’, a ‘Strategic Partnership’ and a mutual visa-free regime (Putin 2010). A Russia-EU Partnership for Modernisation was signed in 2010 (EU and Russia 2010). However, despite all these efforts and Russia’s eventual accession to the WTO in 2012, trade integration between Russia and the EU has hardly advanced in practical terms. With the outbreak of the Ukraine crisis in 2014 and the subsequent imposition of mutual economic sanctions, integration efforts between Russia and the EU have stalled altogether. As of now, bilateral trade relations are essentially regulated by WTO norms envisaging the application of ‘mostfavoured-nation’ (MFN) tariffs, which are generally rather high, especially on the Russian side. Thus, Russia (along with Belarus) is the only country on the European continent which does not have a free trade agreement with the EU in one way or another (see also Connolly and Deak in this volume). Instead, Russia has launched its own integration project: the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU), which formally came into existence in 2015 and also includes Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Kyrgyzstan. This means that any future integration efforts between Russia and the EU would necessarily require negotiations with the EAEU as a whole (see in this volume Kofner and Erokhin; Romanova), which may further complicate matters (if only because Belarus is not a WTO member yet and is thus, technically speaking, not eligible for a free trade arrangement with the EU). This section now analyses Russia-EU trade relations from a theoretical point of view. In particular, it addresses the issue of what the potential benefits of trade integration could be, assuming the political differences are ever resolved.

Russia-EU trade relations and the theory of comparative advantages Probably the most influential textbook argument in favour of international trade has been that of ‘comparative advantages’ and dates back to Ricardo (1821). According to this, trade integration allows for the increased specialisation of participating countries on the production of those goods where they have a comparative advantage, that is, can produce relatively more efficiently (for instance, in terms of invested labour input or resources) compared to other goods. In the famous Ricardo example, trade between England and Portugal sees them specialise in producing goods where they have comparative advantages: textiles in the case of England and wine in the case of Portugal, which can then be traded. Such specialisation brings efficiency gains, and thus higher welfare, to both partners. Another, and related, theory underlying the welfare-enhancing effects of international trade was proposed by Heckscher and Ohlin (Ohlin 1933). According to Heckscher-Ohlin theory, it is the relative endowment with production factors which is relevant for specialisation patterns. For instance, it makes sense for a country with a relatively abundant labour force to produce and export labour-intensive goods (such as textiles) and import capital-intensive goods (such as machinery) from a country which is relatively abundant in capital.1 Also in this case, increased specialisation and trade yield higher joint output and welfare. What would be the implication of these theories for Russia-EU trade relations? One practical way of measuring comparative advantages, which is based on Ricardo’s theory, is the so-called

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‘index of revealed comparative advantage’ (RCA) originally suggested by Balassa (1963). For our purposes, the RCA index for a particular product i can be calculated as follows:

RCAi =

Xi − M i , Xi + M i

where Xi is Russia’s exports of product i to the EU and Mi Russia’s imports of product i from the EU. A positive and high value of the RCA index would indicate a comparative advantage in the production and exports of product i. As can be seen from Figure 10.1, which presents RCA indices in Russia-EU trade by broad commodity groups, Russia has a clear comparative advantage in energy and crude materials and comparative disadvantages in almost everything else, even including food – despite the Russian embargo on the bulk of food imports from the EU. These patterns reflect above all the fact that Russia is extremely rich in energy resources: it possesses 20 per cent of global proven gas reserves and 6 per cent of oil reserves, compared to less than 1 per cent in the EU (British Petroleum 2019). However, they are also an indication of the relative scarcity of capital in Russia (including know-how), which is needed to produce more sophisticated goods. In Heckscher-Ohlin terminology, Russia is relatively rich in production factor natural resources and relatively poor in production factor capital; in the case of the EU, it is the other way around (see Figure 10.1). What would be the effects of increased trade integration between Russia and the EU (for instance, achieved via reduction of tariff and non-tariff trade barriers) in these circumstances? The theories of Ricardo and Heckscher-Ohlin imply that Russia would produce and export to the EU even more energy products than is the case now and import more sophisticated items from the EU in return. In this way, the existing specialisation patterns of both Russia and the EU would only be reinforced as a result of trade integration. Although this would bring certain efficiency and production gains to both sides, the latter would be short lived (or ‘static’, to use 1.5 1.0 0.5 0.0

Figure 10.1 Revealed comparative advantages in Russia’s trade with the EU, 2016. Source: Own calculations based on Eurostat data. Note: According to SITC (Standard International Trade Classification) at one-digit level.

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Miscellaneous manufactures

Machinery and equipment

Manufactured goods classified by material

Chemicals

Oils, fats and waxes

Petroleum and petroleum products

Crude materials

Beverages and tobacco

-1.0

Food and live animals

-0.5

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economists’ jargon). Once trade barriers are removed and integration is complete, the scope for efficiency and production gains will be exhausted. Hence, these two particular sets of theorising provide only limited theoretical justification for deeper Russia-EU trade integration.

Russia’s trade surplus and the role of protectionism The theories of Ricardo and Heckscher-Ohlin hinge on a crucial assumption of balanced trade: exports always equal imports, such that no country has a trade surplus or deficit versus its trading partner, which is of course not what we observe in reality. Abandoning this highly unrealistic assumption may lead to very different conclusions. In theoretical terms, a country may run a trade surplus when it has not only comparative but absolute advantages in the production of several goods or services, that is, is more competitive than its trading partner. This may be, for instance, due to lower costs, higher quality, a low currency exchange rate, suppressed domestic demand (for instance, due to high income inequality) or protectionist measures, such as subsidies or import duties. Such a country will record a trade surplus: it tends to export more than it imports, thus accumulating financial claims against its trading partner. What would be the implications of this for analysis of Russia-EU trade relations? Since 1999, Russia has been recording a persistent surplus in trade with the EU. The reasons for this are multiple. Three deserve a special mention. First, the structure of Russian exports heavily relies on energy (it is easy to be ‘competitive’ in energy products if you have a huge amount of them in the ground). Second, restrictive macroeconomic policy in Russia over the past two decades has curbed Russian demand for imports. Fiscal policy in particular has generally been very restrictive: the general government budget recorded surpluses most of the time (except during the crisis years), which enabled a reduction of the public debt to GDP ratio to the current very low level of 12 per cent of GDP. Third, the relatively high level of import tariffs in Russia, which are much higher than in the EU (except for agricultural products – see Figure 10.2), has contributed to the situation. It is to be expected that their abolition should markedly boost EU Russia

EU

12

10 8 6

4 2 0

Total

Agricultural

Non-agricultural

Simple average (2017)

Total

Agricultural

Non-agricultural

Trade-weighted average (2016)

Figure 10.2 Levels of import tariff protection in Russia and the EU, in %. Source: WTO. Note: Actually applied tariffs on the ‘most-favoured-nation’ basis.

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exports to Russia by making European goods more competitive in the Russian market.2 On the other hand, the increase in Russian exports to the EU once duties are abolished on the EU’s side should be more modest – not only because the EU’s import tariffs are generally lower but also because the bulk of Russian exports to the EU (oil and gas) are already facing no import tariffs at all. This suggests that the effects of the mutual abolition of tariffs between Russia and the EU would likely be asymmetric. The gains for Russian exporters will be smaller than for EU exporters, resulting in a reduction  – or possibly even reversal  – of Russia’s surplus in trade with the EU. At the same time, Russian producers orientated towards the domestic market would have a hard time competing with European products, leading to negative income effects in Russia. Indeed, Francois and Manchin (2009) have found that Russian real incomes could decline by over 1 per cent as a result. Thus, the effects of trade liberalisation would be even less favourable for Russia than the theories of comparative advantages and relative factor endowments discussed in the previous section would suggest. For the EU, the effect would be positive, though moderate (+0.2 per cent) because of the large size of the EU economy and the fact that Russia is not a very important trading partner for the EU. These findings are broadly in line with earlier studies (Kaitila 2007; Sulamaa and Widgrén 2005; Tochitskaya and de Souza 2008). All of them came to the conclusion that the benefits to Russia from a mere abolition of tariff barriers in trade with the EU would be limited at best. The only channel through which Russia could potentially benefit under this scenario would be thanks to favourable supply-side effects, if the higher imports of equipment and intermediate goods from the EU contributed to economic restructuring and modernisation in Russia (Coe and Helpman 1995). Potentially more promising for Russia could be a harmonisation of non-tariff barriers, which include measures like technical standards, sanitary and phytosanitary standards (for agricultural products), customs procedures, competition policies, regulations on public procurement and intellectual property rights and so on. On the one hand, the potential scope for such harmonisation is constrained by the fact that a large part of EU norms and standards have already unilaterally been taken over by the EAEU for internal purposes. These include around 30 sector-specific framework regulations based on EU directives, which are backed up by some 5,830 product-specific standards identical to those of the EU (Emerson and Kofner 2018). On the other hand, however, the large number of WTO trade disputes between Russia and the EU pertaining to non-tariff barriers suggests that they still remain an important obstacle to bilateral trade (Felbermayr et al. 2016). Empirical studies suggest that the effects of a ‘deep’ free trade area between Russia and the EU, which would include harmonisation of non-tariff barriers, would be more symmetrical and thus relatively more favourable to Russia. For instance, Felbermayr et al. (2016) have estimated that although EU exports to Russia would still rise more than Russian exports to the EU, the effect on the trade balance would be largely neutral and Russia’s real incomes would even go up by around 3 per cent. Similarly, Jarocinska et al. (2010) have found that a ‘deep’ free trade area between Russia and the EU could significantly boost Russia’s welfare over a 10–15 year horizon. Such effects could be further magnified in the case of parallel investment integration with the EU, which is discussed in the next section.

Capital flows and investment penetration For long-term economic prospects, it is investments (or ‘dynamic’ effects) which matter most. Therefore, this section deals with the investment relations between Russia and the EU, covering 120

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in particular two sets of issues: i) why capital is flowing from Russia to the EU and not the other way around and ii) the reasons for the mutually low levels of investment penetration and the potential benefits of increased investment integration between Russia and the EU.

Russia-EU capital flows in light of the ‘Lucas paradox’ Neoclassical economic theory predicts that capital should flow from rich countries, where it is abundant and the return on investment is low, to poor countries, where it is scarce and the return on investment is high. If investment in the poor country is constrained by the low saving ratio from low incomes, foreign capital may finance such investments without sacrificing domestic consumption. In these circumstances, liberalisation of capital flows provides economic benefits for both sides: capital inflows allow the poor country to grow faster and foreign investors to have higher profits (Henry 2006). Another argument in favour of capital inflows is provided by the so-called ‘corollary’ school: even if foreign capital is not needed to boost capital formation per se, it may bring benefits in the form of technological and organisational knowhow. This is especially true in the case of equity and foreign direct investment (FDI) (Prasad et al. 2006). However, contrary to this theory, in practice, often the opposite is observed: capital tends to flow not from rich to poor countries but the other way around – the phenomenon which became known as the ‘Lucas paradox’ (Lucas 1990). The two cases in point are China, which is relatively poor but is a net exporter of capital, and the United States, which is rich but is a net importer of capital, but the pattern holds for many other countries as well.3 The widely accepted explanation for this is the weakness of the financial systems and especially of institutions in poor countries. As long as the rule of law is weak and the investment environment is unfriendly, foreign investors may be deterred by fears of expropriation and domestic investors alike may prefer to take money out of the country, even when the potential rate of return ‘at home’ is higher. Indeed, it has been shown that, after controlling for the quality of institutions in the sending and receiving countries, the Lucas paradox ceases to be a puzzle (Alfaro et al. 2005). The pattern of Russia-EU capital flows offers a good illustration of the Lucas paradox and the reasons behind it. Not only is Russia a relatively poor country, at least compared to the EU (with 18,800 EUR at purchasing power parity, its per capita GDP stood in 2017 at 63 per cent of the EU level), it is also relatively scarce in capital (in the broad sense of the word). The backwardness in technological and organisational know-how, which arguably prevents the badly needed economic modernisation and diversification away from excessive reliance on the energy sector, has become almost proverbial. Indeed, out of the four infamous ‘Is’ (institutions, investments, infrastructure and innovations) which have been officially identified as crucial bottlenecks for Russia’s long-term growth prospects, at least two – investments and innovations – could be addressed by attracting more foreign capital, especially from advanced EU countries. And yet it is Russia which is exporting capital to the EU and not the other way around. This is exemplified by Russia’s persistent current account surplus with the EU (Figure 10.3). Although having declined recently, it still reached 18.1 billion EUR in 2017, accounting for more than half of the overall current account surplus and corresponding to 1.3  per cent of Russian GDP. Historically, capital outflows from Russia to the EU have mostly taken the form of private capital landing ‘off-shore’ and the accumulation of foreign exchange reserves by the Russian Central Bank, partly held in two sovereign wealth funds. (Over the past few years, however, one of the two sovereign funds was depleted and capital outflows increasingly took the form of foreign debt repayment by the Russian private sector as Western sanctions made new borrowing more difficult.) 121

Vasily Astrov Current account

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Figure 10.4 Selected indicators of institutional quality, 2017. Source: World Bank’s WGI database; World Bank’s Ease of Doing Business indicators. Notes: Percentile rank among all countries: ranges from 0 (lowest) to 100 (highest), except for the Ease of Doing Business, which captures the gap from the best regulatory performance observed across all economies since 2005 (100 corresponds to no gap).

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Figure 10.4 suggests that the gap in the quality of institutions may also be the explanatory factor when it comes to Russia-EU capital flows. Russia lags behind advanced EU countries in practically all indicators of governance which are relevant for investors: political stability and absence of violence, government effectiveness, regulatory quality, rule of law and control of corruption (with respect to the latter, the gap is particularly large). The only exception is the Ease of Doing Business, where Russia has caught up with the advanced EU economies. Finally, Figure 10.3 demonstrates that, despite being a net exporter of capital to the EU, Russia records a negative balance of investment income with the EU. This implies that the profitability of Russian investments in the EU is on average lower than that of EU investments in Russia – well in line with the previously discussed neoclassical theory of capital flows. Thus, EU countries essentially serve as a ‘safe haven’ for Russian capital rather than as a source of revenue.

Is there an economic rationale behind the mutually low investment penetration? Another feature of Russia-EU investment relations is the low level of mutual penetration by FDI – as argued previously, the most ‘productive’ form of capital integration (in terms of the associated transfer of technologies, know-how, etc.). The stock of Russian FDI in the EU stood in 2016 at 221 billion USD, accounting for 2.9 per cent of the EU’s total inward FDI stock (Liuhto 2018). Not very surprisingly, the stock of European FDI in Russia is much larger, especially in relative terms. In 2016, the stock of FDI from EU28 in Russia stood at 359 billion EUR, accounting for 67.9 per cent of Russian total inward FDI stock (WIIW 2018). However, it has to be borne in mind that more than half of that (35.9 per cent of overall FDI stock) is accounted for by Cyprus; the latter serves as an ‘off-shore’ destination for Russian capital, which is partly re-invested in Russia. Taking this into account, it can be reasonably safely concluded that Russia and the EU are even less important for each other as sources of FDI than in the case of export dependency. Thus, the level of investment integration between Russia and the EU is even lower than that of trade integration. Arguably, an important reason for the mutually low levels of investment penetration is the fundamental lack of trust between the political elites of Russia and the EU, which has its origins in the Cold War but has been aggravated since 2014 by the geopolitical conflict around Ukraine. In these circumstances, both sides have tried to prevent the ceding of control over large parts of their economies to each other. On the Russian side, this found its manifestation in the adoption of the strategic sectors law (Russian Federation 2008). This identified 42 types of activities of ‘strategic importance to national defence and state security’ with limits on foreign ownership and has since undergone only minor revisions. The list included a number of ‘key industries’ such as aviation, mining, encryption, nuclear development, space, arms production, telecommunications, fishing, certain types of publishing activities and television and radio broadcast media. On the EU side, concerns over investments by Russian (especially state-owned) companies have recently been on the rise as well – as well as by sovereign foreign investors (sovereign wealth funds and state-owned companies) more generally (see e.g. Gallo 2016). This applies to the energy sector particularly. For instance, the EU’s third liberalisation package can be seen as aimed, at least in part, at Russia’s Gazprom’s takeovers of European gas transmission and distribution networks (see also Kustova this volume). But can the mutually low level of investment penetration between Russia and the EU also be justified on economic grounds? It is, for instance, conceivable that if Russia had agreed to the EU’s proposals of deep – and above all asymmetric – integration, involving the adoption by

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Russia of a large part of EU regulatory norms, this could have potentially attracted large inflows of FDI into Russia. Indeed, empirical studies suggest that regional trade arrangements are generally much more attractive for foreign investors if they include legal and regulatory provisions pertaining to investments (Velde and Bezemer 2006). In this respect, it may be instructive to look at the experience of the Central European EU member states (EU-CEE). Unlike Russia, they entered into ‘deep’ and ‘asymmetric’ trade arrangements with the EU (which involved unilateral adoption of EU regulatory norms – the so-called acquis communautaire) and placed attracting FDI high on their policy agenda as early as the 1990s. As demonstrated in Figure 10.5, in the meantime, they have accumulated substantial inward FDI stocks. There is a general consensus (see e.g. Grinberg et al. 2008; Havlik et al. 2018) that by and large, massive inflows of FDI from Western Europe, first of all Germany, have brought numerous benefits to the recipient EU-CEE economies by making them more efficient and competitive. Apart from new capital, these FDI brought new technologies and know-how and, via including the recipient economies into global value chains, opened up new markets for their products. They have also been helpful in reducing the energy intensity of the host economies (to levels comparable to those in Western Europe) and making them less vulnerable to the volatility of global oil prices. Three important caveats are, however, due at this point. First, these strongly positive effects were largely confined to export-orientated FDI into manufacturing. FDI into the services sector and orientated towards the domestic markets of host economies (the so-called ‘marketseeking’ FDI) has generally been less of a success. In that sense, the experience of the EU-CEEs, most of which are small open economies and where export-orientated FDI have played a very important role, may only be of limited use for Russia, where FDI is likely to be primarily ‘market-seeking’ due to the sheer size of the Russian market. Second, even export-orientated FDI is not without a downside: by ‘locking’ the host economy into a particular activity as part of

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Figure 10.5 Inward FDI stock and FDI-related income, 2016. Source: wiiw FDI Database, own calculations.

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a global value chain which generates only limited added value, it may prevent transition towards higher income levels associated with more sophisticated activities, such as headquarter services, marketing and research and development (most of which continue to take place in Germany and other West European countries) (Stöllinger 2018). Finally, and probably most importantly, the price a recipient country has to pay for the advantages of FDI inflows is that a part of its productive capacities ends up being foreign owned, and a non-negligible share of its GDP leaves in the form of foreign investors’ profits (even if some of it is re-invested in the host economy). As demonstrated by Figure 10.5, in many EUCEE countries, this share is relatively high, reaching up to 6–7 per cent of GDP in the Czech Republic and Hungary. This pattern may persist for a very long time, as demonstrated by the experience of countries such as Ireland: around 10 per cent of its GDP is flowing out in the form of foreign investors’ profits, mostly to the United States. If the experience of EU-CEE countries is any guide, it would suggest that in the long run, the Russian economy could benefit from ‘asymmetric’ integration with the EU and the FDI inflows which would probably come with it.4 These FDI could contribute towards modernising the Russian economy and improve its growth prospects, particularly in the long run. This squares well with the findings of, for instance, Sulamaa and Widgrén (2005) and Kaitila (2007) that Russia’s benefits from integrating with the EU only become apparent when accompanied by a substantial productivity growth in Russia, which can be reached, for instance, through attracting more FDI. At the same time, the experience of EU-CEE countries also suggests that increased inflows of FDI into Russia could result in Russia ceding control over large parts of its economy to Europeans. Not only would this run against the very idea of ‘equal partnership’ promoted by the Russian political elite, but  – as demonstrated previously  – may also have non-negligible economic costs in the form of foreign investors’ profits, which may help explain why Russia has been reluctant to go this way. A piece of evidence for this may be the fact that Russia has persistently been rejecting the concept of a ‘level-playing field’ for investment advocated by the EU (i.e. a unified set of rules and regulations based on EU blueprints) and has instead insisted on concrete reciprocal deals, such as swaps of assets of roughly equal value – particularly in the energy sector, where the positions of Russian businesses are understandably strong (Romanova 2010).

Conclusions The picture of Russia-EU economic relations is rather complex and, in many ways, paradoxical. They are characterised by a vast asymmetry in the trade structure, a persistent trade surplus on the Russian side, persistent net capital outflows from Russia to the EU (despite Russia being a much poorer country) and a low level of mutual investment penetration. In trade with the EU, Russia enjoys a comparative advantage essentially only in energy products and a comparative disadvantage in nearly everything else – despite the relatively high level of import tariffs. Russia-EU economic relations have also been characterised by the ultimate failure of integration attempts, primarily for political reasons, and despite the numerous proposals put forward in this vein, especially during the 2000s. As a result, economic relations between the two sides are now reduced to a bare minimum and essentially regulated by WTO norms. At the same time, the analysis here demonstrates that the positions of neither Russia nor the EU when it comes to matters of bilateral integration have been entirely rational from an economic point of view. Russia has constantly advocated a free trade area with the EU, although the immediate gains for Russia in this case would be, at best, modest. Its trade surplus with the EU would almost certainly shrink, and its current specialisation in energy – which is hardly conducive towards 125

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the country’s long-term development prospects – could even be reinforced. Potentially more promising for Russia would be opening up to investment from the EU under an ‘asymmetric’ integration scenario involving adopting large parts of EU norms into domestic law – something Russia has been reluctant to accept. This could potentially reverse the current pattern of capital flowing from Russia to the EU and facilitate the badly needed diversification and modernisation of the Russian economy via increased inflows of FDI. For the EU, in turn, integration would be beneficial even on Russian terms, although Russian advances in this respect have not been reciprocated by the EU. All in all, from a purely economic point of view, a ‘deep’ and ‘comprehensive’ integration between Russia and the EU, going beyond a mere trade liberalisation and including policy harmonisation in a number of areas, appears to be the preferred integration scenario. However, it is difficult to see how such a scenario – or even the minimum steps towards increased cooperation, starting with an abolition of mutual economic sanctions, for that matter – could conceivably be implemented in the current geopolitical climate. The latter would require, above all, a restoration of badly needed mutual trust, which only seems likely in the case of a thorough overhaul of the current political elites on either one or the other side (or both). In this respect, the post–World War II experience of France and Germany, whose political elites found a way to overcome the legacy of past hostilities and initiated an ultimately successful European integration project, could serve as a relevant example for future Russia-EU economic relations.

Notes 1 It has been observed, however, that this pattern does not always hold, for instance, Leontief (1953) found that the United States had been exporting labour-intensive products despite its economy being highly capital intensive – a phenomenon which is now referred to as the ‘Leontief paradox’. 2 Needless to say, the lifting of the EU sanctions and Russian counter-sanctions (food embargo) would benefit EU exporters as well. (See also Connolly and Deak in this volume.) 3 Whether a country is a net exporter or importer of capital can be unambiguously derived from its current account position: a country which records a current account surplus is spending on imports less than it earns on exports and is thus exporting capital on a net basis (and vice versa). Thereby, capital flows can take various forms, including FDI, portfolio investment, loans or accumulation of foreign exchange reserves. 4 Of course, it is still an open question whether such an integration arrangement would have brought the desired benefits in the absence of EU accession prospects, which have never been a realistic option for Russia. In that sense, the EU ‘Eastern Partnership’ countries, Georgia, Moldova and Ukraine, currently offer an interesting experiment: by having entered deep and comprehensive free trade agreements (DCFTAs) with the EU, which require these countries to adopt the bulk of the EU acquis without promising future EU membership, they are pursuing precisely the path of asymmetric integration with the EU which Russia refused to embark on.

References Alfaro, L., Kalemli-Ozcan, S. and Volosovych, V. (2005) ‘Why doesn’t capital flow from rich to poor economies? An empirical investigation’, NBER Working Paper No. 11901, December, Cambridge: National Bureau of Economic Research. Balassa, B. (1963) ‘An empirical demonstration of classical comparative cost theory’, The Review of Economics and Statistics 45(3): 231–8. British Petroleum (2019) ‘Statistical review of world energy’, 68th ed., available at www.bp.com/en/global/ corporate/energy-economics/statistical-review-of-world-energy.html (accessed 24 October 2019). Coe, D. and Helpman, E. (1995) ‘International R&D spillovers’, European Economic Review 39(5): 859–87. Deak, A. and Kuznetsov, A. (2019) ‘Relational locomotive or apple of discord? – Bilateral perceptions of the economic cooperation’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 159–70. 126

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Emerson, M. and Kofner, J. (2018) ‘Technical product standards and regulations in the EU and EAEU – comparisons and scope for convergence’, IIASA Report, International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis, Laxenburg, Austria. EU and Russia (1997) ‘Agreement on partnership and cooperation establishing a partnership between the European Communities and their Member States, of one part, and the Russian Federation, of the other part’, available at https://eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=celex:21997A1128(01) (accessed 24 October 2019). EU and Russia (2005) ‘EU-Russia: road map for the common spaces’, available at https://library.euneigh bours.eu/content/eu-russia-road-map-common-spaces (accessed 10 February 2020). EU and Russia (2010) ‘Joint Statement on the Partnership for Modernisation’, 01.06.2010, available at http://europa.eu/rapid/press-release_PRES-10-154_en.pdf. (accessed 30 May 2019). Felbermayr, G., Aichele, R. and Gröschl, J. (2016) ‘Freihandel von Lissabon bis Wladiwostok: Wem nutzt, wem schadet ein eurasisches Handelsabkommen?’, Bertelsmann Stiftung, available at www.berte lsmann-stiftung.de/de/publikationen/publikation/did/freihandel-von-lissabon-bis-wladiwostok/ (accessed 24 October 2019). Francois, J. and Manchin, M. (2009) ‘Economic impact of a potential free trade agreement between the European Union and the commonwealth of independent states’, IIDE Discussion Paper 200908-05, Institute for International and Development Economics, August. Gallo, D. (2016) ‘The rise of sovereign wealth funds (SWFs) and the protection of public interest(s): the need for a greater external and internal action of the European Union’, European Business Law Review 27(4): 459–85. Grinberg, R., Havlik, P. and Havrylyshyn, O. (eds.) (2008) Economic Restructuring and Integration in Eastern Europe: Experiences and Policy Implications, Baden-Baden: Nomos. Havlik, P., Hunya, G. and Zaytsev, Y. (2018) ‘Foreign direct investments: a comparison of EAEU, DCFTA and selected EU-CEE countries’, Research Report No. 428, Vienna: The Vienna Institute for International Economic Studies, June. Henry, P. (2006) ‘Capital account liberalisation: theory, evidence, and speculation’, NBER Working Paper No. 12698, November, Cambridge: National Bureau of Economic Research. Jarocinska, E., Maliszewska, M. and Scasný, M. (2010) ‘Modelling economic, social and environmental implications of a free trade agreement between the European Union and the Russian Federation’, CASE Network Report No. 93. Kaitila, V. (2007) ‘Free trade between the EU and Russia: sectoral effects and impact on Northwest Russia’, ETLA Discussion Paper No. 1087, Helsinki: The Research Institute of the Finnish Economy. Leontief, W. (1953) ‘Domestic production and foreign trade: the American capital position re-examined’, Proceedings of the American Philosophical Society 97(4): 332–49. Liuhto, K. (2018) ‘The development of EU-Russia economic relations’, Presentation in Brussels, 12 April. Available at www.researchgate.net/publication/324329089 (accessed 11 February 2020). Lucas, R. (1990) ‘Why doesn’t capital flow from rich to poor countries?’, American Economic Review 80(2): 92–6. Ohlin, B. (1933) Interregional and International Trade, Cambridge, Mass: Harvard University Press. Prasad, E., Rajan, R. and Subrimanian, A. (2006) ‘Foreign capital, financial development, and economic growth’, unpublished manuscript, International Monetary Fund, Washington DC. Putin, V. (2010) ‘Von Lissabon bis Wladiwostok’, Süddeutsche Zeitung, 25 November, available at www. sueddeutsche.de/wirtschaft/putin-plaedoyer-fuer-wirtschaftsgemeinschaft-von-lissabon-bis-wladiwos tok-1.1027908 (accessed 24 October 2019). Ricardo, D. (1821) On the Principles of Political Economy and Taxation, 3rd ed., London: John Murray. Romanova, T. (2010) ‘The theory and practice of reciprocity in EU-Russia relations’, in K. Engelbrekt and B. Nygren (eds.), Russia and Europe: Building Bridges, Digging Trenches, London: Routledge, pp. 60–80. Russian Federation (2008) ‘О порядке осуществления иностранных инвестиций в хозяйственные общества, имеющие стратегическое значение для обеспечения обороны страны и безопасности государства’, available at http://pravo.gov.ru/proxy/ips/?docbody=&nd=102121606&intelsearch= 57-%F4%E7 (accessed 24 October 2019). Stöllinger, R. (2018) ‘Functional specialisation in CESEE: key to escaping the semi-periphery trap?’, in wiiw, Riding the Global Growth Wave: Economic Analysis and Outlook for Central, East and Southeast Europe, Forecast Report, Spring 2018, The Vienna Institute for International Economic Studies, pp. 54–66. Sulamaa, P. and Widgrén, M. (2005) ‘Economic effects of free trade between the EU and Russia’, ENEPRI Working Paper, No. 36, May. 127

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Tochitskaya, I. and de Souza, L.V. (2008) ‘Trade relations between an enlarged EU and the Russian Federation and its effects on Belarus’, Economic Changes and Restructuring 42(1–2): 1–24. Velde, D.W. and Bezemer, D. (2006) ‘Regional integration and foreign direct investment in developing countries’, Transnational Corporations 15(2): 42–70. WIIW (2018) ‘FDI in Central, East and Southeast Europe: declines due to disinvestment’, FDI Report, Vienna: The Vienna Institute for International Economic Studies.

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11 Constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations Petr Kratochvíl

Over the last three decades, constructivism has achieved the position of one of the most influential theories in the field of international relations (IR). Although its arrival in the study of European integration was somewhat delayed, today, various constructivist theories, if taken together, enjoy the status of a widely accepted approach. Indeed, while the distinction between realism as the classical theory and constructivism as the new approach is still ever present, it can be easily argued that constructivism has in fact replaced realism as the key theory of reference. The argument is even more pertinent in EU studies, since realism has never been capable of offering a convincing theoretical explanation of the integration process in Europe. However, integration theory was originally conceived as a tool for explaining the internal dynamics of the process of regional integration (federalism, functionalism and neo-­functionalism), sometimes also focusing on the ways through which citizens of various member states increasingly communicate across borders (see Deutsch 1996) or even shift their loyalties towards the new integration centre (Haas 1959). Even today, integration theories (including constructivism) are primarily interested in understanding the internal decision-making process and internal institutional change/adaptation. The turn towards the external environment and the external activities of the European Union came only in the 1990s, in particular with the adoption of the Maastricht Treaty (Treaty on the European Union). While the previous study of the external relations of the European Communities (EC) was mainly limited to the relations of EC member states with their former colonies (particularly in the case of France and the United Kingdom), the nascent European Union brought a new impetus for the study of the ties with the ring of countries in its immediate neighbourhood. This turn had both a damage-limiting and influence-expanding dimension: the damage limitation aimed at increasing the EU’s weight in the conflicts in the neighbourhood such as the wars in (the former) Yugoslavia; the influence expansion was focused on the enlargement process towards the post-communist part of Europe. But real, intense constructivist discussion about the European Union’s role in the external environment started even later, in particular in connection with the new understanding of the EU not only as a polity under construction but also as a nascent global political actor (Bretherton and Vogler 1999).

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Hence, when speaking about constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations, we have to bear in mind this double delay – the late arrival of constructivism to EU studies as well as the even more recent theoretical turn towards the EU’s external roles and activities. This chapter  analyses the role of constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations. It puts forward four arguments. It starts with the caveat that constructivism in the subfield is built around a series of binaries (Western/European vs Russia, postmodern vs modern, theoretical vs a-theoretical, etc.) that have led to a number of dangerous fallacies. Second, while analysing the gradual rise of constructivism in EU-Russian studies, it shows that while constructivism as a grand theory is still not fully accepted, its theoretical notions as well as apparatus are widely used. The chapter will, third, argue that constructivism has recently been moving away from the Giddensian constructionist position towards a greater stress on agency. As a result, norms and cultures continue to be relevant, but they are mainly understood as agential properties (‘Russian culture’, ‘EU norms’) rather than as an overarching environment which would limit and/or bind the agents in a shared structural context. Constructivism thus gradually ceases to be a tool which explains the similarities between the actors, their cooperation and their increasing trust and instead turns into the lens through which the discord and growing tensions between Russia and the EU are explained. Fourth, building on recent research on the sociology of knowledge, the chapter also shows how the new, more critically orientated constructivists differ from previous constructivist research, which largely ended up in the role of a Horkheimian traditional theory. The text concludes by summarising the recent evolution of constructivism in the study of EU-Russian relations from a marginal theory to a scholarly mainstream theory and then to a marriage with critical approaches, such as critical geopolitics or postcolonialism. Here, the chapter also points to the newest challenges to constructivism, which are linked to the emergence of a plethora of post-constructivist approaches.

Binaries in constructivist study of the EU and Russia The study of EU-Russian relations is built around a series of binaries which consequently define both the day-to-day EU-Russian political interactions and the academic reflection thereof. These binaries naturally produce a starkly dichotomous picture of the relationship, setting the European Union and Russia against each other as incompatible or, indeed, opposite actors with mutually exclusive interests, identities, worldviews, values, political cultures and so on. To give the example of the most fundamental academic binary, it is, unfortunately, rather common that Russian authors are set en bloc against ‘EU scholars’, as if the latter category even made sense, to say nothing of the diversity among Russian scholarship as well. As a consequence, another binary emerges, that of the theoretical (i.e. Western) vs a-theoretical (i.e. Russian) analysis, implying the backwardness and underdevelopment of the Russian side and academic excellence on the part of the scholarship in the EU. Of a similar nature is also the (implicitly constructivist) discussion about the postmodern European Union vs modern Russia and the ensuing cognitive dissonance in their relationship (based on an analogy with the ‘Europeans from Venus’ and the ‘Americans from Mars’ [Kagan 2003]) (see also Klinke 2012; Joenniemi 2000 this volume). Interestingly, these constructed, but intensely reproduced, binaries are, to a large extent, a mirror image of the binaries which define the political interactions between the two entities. The political struggle over Westernisation vs Eurasianism makes sense precisely only when the two alternatives are seen as irreconcilable. Similarly, the politics of sovereignty (which is now typical both in the current discourse of the Kremlin and the Eurosceptic movements within the European Union) posits sovereignty as incompatible with the alleged infringement of central EU institutions in the domestic affairs of the particular state. 130

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Arguably, these binaries are, in a certain sense, unavoidable if constructivists want to speak about the structure of the academic field in the field’s own language. Clearly, constructivism is a Western theory, with roots in (Western) social theory (Berger and Luckmann 1966; Giddens 1986). In this sense, any metatheoretical analysis of constructivism necessarily suffers from a West-centric bias. Yet we should still be aware of the artificiality of these binaries, even while we draw attention to their unintended effects and the power asymmetries to which they give rise. For this reason, this chapter aims at challenging the binary of Western vs Russian scholarship on the topic of EU-Russian relations and at showing how constructivism can contribute to a more complex and more nuanced understanding of the relationship (see also Romanova 2019). For instance, some constructivist scholars show how the binaries themselves are often false, as the EU, in spite of its lofty rhetoric, is not the first truly postmodern entity (as Ruggie 1993 once famously claimed) but rather a hybrid actor whose narratives and political temporalities are firmly embedded in modern thinking (Klinke 2012). Although Russian academia generally treats EU-Russian relations somewhat differently than most scholars from the EU, even this binary is not clear cut. Most importantly, a number of prominent scholars who have substantially influenced EU debate on the topic come from Russia or from other countries in the region. Scholars like Nikolai Gnatyuk, Vadim Kononenko, Sergei Medvedev, Viatscheslav Morozov and Sergei Prozorov all belong to those who cross at will the supposedly fixed boundaries between the two academic worlds. All of these authors can speak the language of Western academia while mediating and critically evaluating the dominant Russian discourse on the topic. It is no accident that many of them are based at various research centres in close proximity to Russia (in countries such as Estonia and Finland). The second critique of the strict academic line between Western constructivism and Russian, supposedly a-theoretical, research is related to the understanding of what constitutes a constructivist approach. It is certainly true that many Russian academic journals still publish articles which are closer to the venerable but largely discredited tradition of historical positivism (supposedly describing historical events as ‘they really were’). Also, the number of references to either leading Western constructivists of today such as Martha Finnemore or to the ‘holy trinity’ of the founding fathers of constructivism in IR (Nick Onuf–Friedrich Kratochwil–Alexander Wendt) is meagre in Russian journals. However, if, instead of theoretical labels and the key theoreticians, we focus on the concepts on which they rely, the resulting picture is substantially different. It is true that the Russian study of IR is well known for its penchant for the traditional approaches of classical geopolitics or realism in its original, realpolitik variant (see also Smith and Yuchshenko this volume). However, the number of concepts which can be understood as constructivist has been steadily growing and, today, they range from identity in the neverending Russian debate via the current contested nature of international norms to the notion of Europeanisation (see also Flenley this volume). Even the very popular analysis of the international order has gained distinctly constructivist undertones, as what piques academic interest in Russia is not primarily the stability of the international order but its malleability. Finally, the increasing stress on cultural factors also makes constructivism (alas, again only implicitly) more attractive. The global contestation among great powers including Russia is thus often not understood as a simple balance of power in the international anarchical structure, as Waltzian realists would have it, but (also) as a normative struggle about the dominant international norms and the role of Russia as a norm-taker, a norm-rejecter or a norm-giver (Haukkala 2008). A final caveat pertains to the gender imbalance among the constructivist scholars who deal with EU-Russian relations. Sadly, the vast majority of scholars in the field are male academics, with only a few exceptions, who are, however, highly notable. Excellent female constructivists 131

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are present both in Russian academia (such as Tatiana Romanova) and at universities and research centres in the EU (for instance, Piret Ehin or Elena Korosteleva).

Phase I: Constructivism as the explanatory theory of the EU’s hegemony vis-à-vis Russia The two scholars who have most significantly contributed to the current status of constructivism in the study of the EU-Russian relations are Jeffrey Checkel and Ted Hopf. Paradoxically, neither of the two originally explored EU-Russian relations. Checkel’s seminal works (such as Checkel 1997a) tremendously popularised constructivism in the study of the EU by offering a ‘via media’ account of constructivism: Checkel’s version of constructivism is a largely positivistic, ‘testable’ theory, which is capable of a dialogue with rationalists (such as Andrew Moravcsik), thus occupying the quasi-mythical middle ground of the academic debate about constructivism and rationalism. Although Checkel’s version of constructivism has been challenged ever since in EU studies (see Smith 1999), in particular in the last few years, it still remains the dominant way of theorising European integration from a constructivist point of view. Hopf, on the other hand, has not been much active in the study of the EU, but he has continuously written both on constructivism as a general approach (Hopf 1998) but also – and this is of fundamental importance for this chapter – about constructivism as a theoretical tool for understanding Russian politics and foreign policy (see, for instance, Hopf 2008). Checkel also wrote an influential constructivist text on the Soviet Union and on the way in which ideas could change not only internal Soviet policymaking but also the very foundations of the global Cold War order (Checkel 1997b). While Checkel and Hopf have been instrumental in making constructivism a suitable theory in the study of the EU and of Soviet/post-Soviet Russia, neither of them was originally interested in the EU-Russian relationship and its specific nature. It was Ian Manners who made the greatest step to theoretically bridge the two objects of study but who also generally helped to finalise the shift in the study of EU external relations in a constructivist direction (in which it had been already heading for some time anyway). Manners (2002, 2010) dedicated his scholarly attention to the influence of the European Union abroad and, in particular, to the EU’s role in its closest vicinity. Building upon the previous concepts of the EC as a civilian power (Duchêne 1972), his main contribution to the constructivist study of EU external relations was the notion of ‘normative power Europe’. Importantly, the notion of normative power Europe was originally conceived as a concept that explained the influence of the EU beyond its borders, which Manners (2002) documented in the way the European Union transformed international perception of the death penalty. Manners’s notion is decidedly constructivist, as it, unlike the civilian power concept, primarily focuses on norms: the EU’s norms entrepreneurship and its global authority that stems not from its military power but from the way by which it peacefully spreads these norms in its neighbourhood and beyond. Needless to say, its normative power is based on the unique identity which the EU/EC has been busily constructing throughout its existence. To be fair, Manners’s normative power is an academic term that also owes its existence to the liberal discussion about the importance of ideas in world politics (Goldstein and Keohane 1993). But it is even more indebted to the influence of the constructivist stress on the constitutive role of norms and their connection to the identity of each political actor. The popularity of the notion of ‘normative power Europe’ not only shows how strong constructivism had become very quickly after the end of the Cold War. Unfortunately, it also shows how some branches of (mainly positivist) constructivism have become intertwined with strongly normative political considerations. Let us put aside for the moment the conflation 132

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between the European Union and ‘Europe’ which has been sadly rather frequent in the study of the EU with its underlying hegemonic aspiration to be ‘Europe’ or to speak for it and thus is not an idiosyncratic feature of constructivist studies. But the very idea that the European Union is almost necessarily a force for good, which is implied in Manners’s notion, was certainly something EU policymakers simply had to embrace. It is not surprising that the term has been one of the few academic notions which quickly spread in the political discourse of the European Union as well (see Sjursen 2006). Even more importantly from the point of view of our present topic, notions like normative power gave early constructivist study of EU-Russian relations a peculiar twist even before the analysis started. The EU gains an automatic position of a hub to which the regions and countries in its neighbourhood are attached as spokes. It is the other actors, Russia included, who have to start a process of ‘approximation’ while the EU, which is centrally located, does not ‘move’ at all in this academic-political narrative. However, the narrative of the EU as a hegemonic centre was also translated into the constructivist focus on dialogue, cooperation and ultimately unity. Many studies of this phase (i.e. roughly the period from 1992 to 2008) cast the EU as a kind of benign empire or a normative great power which defines the norms to be adopted by Russia and which issues regulations and rules to implement and follow. As a result, constructivist studies of the time mainly explored the (real or potential) shifts in the Russian identity, its dialogue and integration into Western structures and in general the inclusion of the ‘new’ Russia in the global capitalist/liberal order. Russia was seen as undergoing a complex process of identity transformation and vying for recognition by the West/EU. It was only a handful of constructivist studies of the EU-Russian relationship from the time that already warned of the dangers, which were related to the possible future dissatisfaction of Russia with its newly assigned role (Splidsboel-Hansen 2002). Another offshoot of constructivism which became popular in the study of the EU-Russian relationship at the time was role theory. The origins of role theory are not explicitly tied to constructivism, as the role(s) an actor fulfils in the international arena can also be understood as a result of strategic calculations. But today, the concept of the role is often primarily tied to the actor’s identity and not to utility maximisation, as rationalists would have it. Hence, all the most recent incarnations of role theory clearly fall under the broad category of constructivist approaches (Breuning 2011; also other contributions in Harnisch et al. 2011). While in the subfield of foreign policy analysis (and to some extent also in the study of the EU’s external relations), role theory is a relatively independent approach (Bengtsson and Elgström 2012; see Maltby 2013), in the constructivist analysis of EU-Russian relations, role theory often becomes indistinguishable from the studies of the previously mentioned role of Russia as a norm-taker in EU-centric European politics. Constructivists are thus interested in the ways Russia is ‘assigned’ its role by the West (or more narrowly by the EU), the extent to which Russia is willing to fulfil this role and, later, the Russian resistance to the role of being a part of the European Union’s Eastern neighbourhood (see also Pavlova in this volume).1 To sum up, the first wave of constructivist studies of EU-Russian relations, which lasted until around 2008, brought much-needed innovation as it focused on the possibility of change both in terms of institutional adaptation and the broader political culture and transnationally transmitted norms. The type of constructivism that became dominant in the subfield originated in the study of IR but arrived via European integration. As a result, constructivist analysis of the relationship was specifically orientated towards understanding the EU in the first place, with Russia as a secondary object of interest. Similarly, the focus on identity change was peculiarly asymmetrical in this kind of constructivism. The identity of the European Union was seen as remarkably stable; if its evolution was 133

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explored, it was mainly seen as an internally driven process, which was based on the interactions between central EU institutions and its member states. The Russian (foreign policy) identity, on the other hand, was seen as highly unstable, and its changes were mainly analysed in connection with the country’s adaptation to the EU. Hence, until 2008, Russia was often seen as one of the countries in the EU’s neighbourhood, which, like all the others, would be drawn into the EU’s orbit. As Boedeltje and van Houtum (2011) argue, when ‘Brussels is speaking’, the countries in the neighbourhood should comply. In this sense, the constructivist focus on change also meant a focus on the unifying strength of the normative order of the European Union. While constructivism substantially increased our understanding of the relationship and contributed to a more nuanced analysis of the interactions of the two entities, many constructivist (but by no means all) studies of the time unwittingly reproduced the quasi–neo-colonial pattern of EU policy towards its neighbourhood. In a sense, constructivism served not only as a theoretical reflection of the evolution of the relationship, but also as a discourse of reification of the centrality of the European Union on the continent.

Phase II: Constructivism as a critical reassessment of rising EU-Russia tensions The turning point in the development of constructivism as one of the main tools for the analysis of the subfield arrived around 2008–2010. It is no accident that the constructivist narrative about the EU’s hegemonic status in the neighbourhood started to be challenged both academically and in the practice of EU-Russian political relations. The most important signifier of the coming change, on a rhetorical level, was President Putin’s Munich Speech (Putin 2007). The Russian-Georgian War of 2008 was the first strong indication that the growing hostility was not limited to a more aggressive rhetoric, and the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the subsequent war in the Donbass served as final confirmations of the trend. It is therefore not surprising that constructivist scholars turned their attention to the study of normative conflict and cultural clashes between actors with incompatible collective identities. All these changes also brought a critical re-assessment of both players – with a critical distancing from the EU’s grand political visions but also with a more critical attitude towards the manipulation of cultural norms as well as the Russian leadership’s intense othering of the West. All these developments also meant that agency was rediscovered (e.g. the excellent study by Joan DeBardeleben [2012]) and the previous constructivist assumption about the EU’s structural dominance challenged. Under the new conditions, both the EU and Russia (and other actors, such as Turkey) are seen as interacting in an environment where a unified European normative order becomes utopia. Paradoxically, the old idea of normative power Europe was not forgotten. To the contrary, it was still very much present not only in academia but also in the political discourses of both sides. However, its interpretation changed in a fundamental manner. For EU policymakers, the EU’s normative power was still key but its ability to democratise countries in the neighbourhood and transform them by sheer normative attraction was severely damaged (see European Union 2016). The normative power of the EU started to be intensely discussed in Russia as well, albeit in a different manner: fears of the import of ‘decadent’ Western values which were supposedly incompatible with traditional Russian values became a frequent topic for the state media as well as the speeches of the President (McFaul and Stoner 2015). Hence, ironically, simultaneously with the acceptance of the EU’s (and the West’s, more broadly) immense normative power in Russia, it was rejected as imperialistic and foreign to the country (Fischer 2012). In this sense,

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the new phase of constructivism ushered in a period of a more symmetrical analysis, perhaps not in the sense of equality in terms of normative or economic power between the EU and Russia but in terms of analysing two independent agents whose normative orders can overlap but often do not (Schimmelfennig 2001). Many of these constructivist shifts were already clearly anticipated around 2008, too. A volume on the constructivist understanding(s) of EU-Russian relations was published in this year (Hopf 2008). Several chapters made use of the recent developments in the sociology of knowledge to extensively re-evaluate the older concepts related to the idea of the EU as a benevolent, postmodern empire, and several also critically appraised the evolution of Russia’s identity.2 Other studies focused on the resistance strategies chosen by Russian policymakers to limit Europeanisation/Westernisation. Ziegler (2012), for instance, explores the concept of sovereign democracy (which serves exactly the purpose of promoting resistance to the EU in Russia’s policy). Pavlova and Romanova (2017) shed new light on the concept of normative power and how it can shift from being a unifying element to becoming a point of contention between the EU and Russia. Others started to reassert the argument that the Russian identity is heavily dependent on domestic considerations and not only on Russia’s interactions with ‘Europe’. Tsygankov (2014) offers an excellent theoretical analysis of identity construction and applies it to Russian identity formation under President Medvedev. Importantly, Tsygankov argues that only one of the three dimensions of identity construction is international; the other two are ‘state-based’ and ‘society-based’ (2014: 32). Overall, Russian constructivism shifted towards the old question of the uniqueness of the Russian ‘civilisational identity’ (see Alibegilov 2016). Another feature which is typical for the second phase of constructivist study of EU-Russian relations is a theoretical cross-pollination with a number of other theories, in particular those with a critical intention. As a result, constructivism, as applied in the field, has also shifted from the positivist constructivism of Checkel to a more critical version, focusing on language, discursive practices and insights from the sociology of knowledge about the interconnections between theory, ideology, language and power. The consequence of this development is that in the last ten years, constructivism has often turned into a generalised assumption about the social construction of discourses, norms, identities and, indeed, politics. But on the level of mid-range theory, it is often combined with other approaches. For instance, Morozov and Rumelili (2012) share constructivist views, but they explore EU-Russian (and EU-Turkish) relations with the help of postcolonialism. They argue that Russia (and Turkey) are not only the EU’s (or Europe’s) imagined other but that these others possess agency, actively shaping the Western discourse while simultaneously being shaped by it, too: ‘Russia’s uncompromising stance tends to consolidate the EU-centred image of Europe as a political community based on liberal democratic values’ (Morozov and Rumelili 2012: 28). Often, constructivism is combined with critical geopolitics. Klinke’s (2012) approach is a case in point, and so is Browning’s (2003). Recent scholarship is thus trying to solve the following conundrum: while using (the originally Western) theoretical language, constructivists are trying to theorise the idiosyncratic situation in which Russia finds itself vis-à-vis the European Union. Russia, as a hybrid actor, or as a subaltern empire (Morozov 2015), is an important political actor which, nevertheless, finds itself in a position of comprehensive one-sided dependency in the economic and technological as well as cultural dimensions. However, the re-launched campaign of a (state-led) resistance led to a political backlash, challenging this dependency on a number of levels, including the level of identity and culture. The recent wave of constructivist scholarship, infused with critical

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approaches, thus tries to distance itself from the fallacy of reproducing political discourses in the academic sphere while also trying to articulate this specific semi-autonomous position of Russia in its relations with the West in general and the EU in particular.

Conclusion In the course of the last 30 years, constructivism has evolved from a marginal theory to one of the most important approaches in the study of EU-Russian relations. This evolution was, however, not linear. Due to the migration of constructivism from IR via European integration theory to the study of the EU-Russian relationship, the first wave of constructivist studies was strongly EU-centric. The key constructivist concepts, which gained prominence at the time, such as normative power Europe and Europeanisation, draw their strength from the assumption that the European Union is not only the most important actor on the continent but also from a related belief that all other actors will inevitably be drawn into the EU’s orbit. The study of Eastern Europe, including Russia, focused on change – the transition, transformation and socialisation into Western structures. Although the EU evolved quite dramatically in that same period, the Union and its policies, institutions, legal regulations and other norms were typically seen as templates which other countries have to emulate and adapt to. Unfortunately, constructivism at the time to some extent fell into the trap of uncritically reproducing the political discourse on the EU as an unequivocally benign empire. The second wave of constructivism arrived when this simple picture was proven wrong as Russia chose to resist the process of Europeanisation, even making the rejection of Westernisation one of its main ideological tenets. From 2008 onwards, constructivists started to re-assess critically both the EU-Russian relationship and the assumptions of the constructivist first wave. The new topics which constructivists started to explore were, for instance, the limits of Europeanisation and the ideological dimension of normative power Europe. But they also re-evaluated Russian policy, in particular the ways in which political leaders can manipulate political discourses to create an image of the hostile Other whose values are entirely opposed to Russia’s ‘traditional’ values. Constructivism also gradually became more diverse, with many studies combining constructivist theories with other critical approaches, such as critical geopolitics or postcolonialism. Constructivists also embraced the insights of the sociology of knowledge and became more sensitive to the theory-ideology nexus. In a sense, the success of constructivism heralds its decline. The most fundamental constructivist principles have become so widely accepted that to claim that identities change or that language matters in politics verges on stating the obvious. But constructivism faces novel challenges, too. In IR theory, constructivism has recently come under a fierce attack from a plethora of post-constructivist approaches. Some of those are directly opposed to the belief that ideas matter more than the material factors; others even reject the very ideas vs matter distinction as unhelpful. Various types of new materialism, government of things or actor-network theory thus challenge the very starting point of constructivist theorising, also being highly critical of the constructivist understanding of agency/actorness. Similarly, the recent affective turn in IR implicitly accuses not only the ‘old materialists’ such as classical realists but also constructivists of neglecting the affective dimension of identity building and of the politics of memory. Even though these theoretical approaches have not been in much use in the study of EU-Russian relations, they carry with themselves the potential of overcoming the three essential challenges every constructivist has to face today – how to incorporate affect in constructivist research, how to overcome the overly rigid body-mind dichotomy and how to reformulate the exceedingly anthropocentric axioms of the theory. 136

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Notes 1 ‘Europeanisation’ is another term of utmost importance for constructivists. See Flenley this volume. 2 Interestingly, the contributions by authors with a Russian background belong to the most innovative in that entire volume (see particularly Kononenko 2008; Medvedev 2008; Sergunin 2008).

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Maltby, T. (2013) ‘European Union energy policy integration: a case of European Commission policy entrepreneurship and increasing supranationalism’, Energy Policy 55(100): 435–44. Manners, I. (2002) ‘Normative power Europe: a contradiction in terms?’, JCMS: Journal of Common Market Studies 40(2): 235–58. Manners, I. (2010) ‘As You Like It: European Union Normative Power in the European Neighbourhood Policy’, in R.G. Whitman and S. Wolff (eds.), The European Neighbourhood Policy in Perspective, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 29–50. McFaul, M. and Stoner, K. (2015) ‘Who lost Russia (this time): Vladimir Putin’, The Washington Quarterly 38(2): 167–87. Medvedev, S. (2008) ‘The Stalemate in EU-Russia Relations: Between “Sovereignty” and “Europeanization” ’, in T. Hopf (ed.), Russia’s European Choice, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 215–32. Morozov, V. (2015) Russia’s Postcolonial Identity; A Subaltern Empire in a Eurocentric World, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Morozov, V. and Rumelili, B. (2012) ‘The external constitution of European identity: Russia and Turkey as Europe-makers’, Cooperation and Conflict 47(1): 28–48. Pavlova, E.B. and Romanova, T.A. (2017) ‘Normativnaya sila: teoriya i sovremennaya praktika Rossii i ES’, Polis (Politcheskie Issledovaniya), 162–76. Putin, V. (2007) ‘Speech and the Following Discussion at the Munich Conference on Security Policy’, 10 February, available at http://en.kremlin.ru/events/president/transcripts/24034 (accessed 15 June 2019). Romanova, T. (2019) ‘Studying EU-Russian relations: an overview in search for an epistemic community’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 135–46. Ruggie, J.G. (1993) ‘Territoriality and beyond: problematizing modernity in international relations’, The MIT Press 47(1): 139–74. Schimmelfennig, F. (2001) ‘The community trap: liberal norms, rhetorical action, and the Eastern enlargement of the European Union’, International Organization 55(1): 47–80. Sergunin, A. (2008) ‘Russia and Europe; Making Policy’, in T. Hopf (ed.), Russia’s European Choice, New York: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 59–96. Sjursen, H. (2006) ‘The EU as a “normative” power: how can this be?’, Journal of European Public Policy 13: 235–51. Smith, S. (1999) ‘Social constructivisms and European studies: a reflectivist critique’, Journal of European Public Policy 6(4): 682–91. Splidsboel-Hansen, F. (2002) ‘Russia’s relations with the European Union: a constructivist cut’, International Politics 39(4): 399–421. Tsygankov, A.P. (2014) ‘Contested identity and foreign policy: interpreting Russia’s international choices’, International Studies Perspectives 15(1): 19–35. Ziegler, C.E. (2012) ‘Conceptualizing sovereignty in Russian foreign policy: realist and constructivist perspectives’, International Politics 49(4): 400–17.

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12 The EU-Russia relationship through the lens of postcolonial theory Elena Pavlova

A postcolonial theory approach can hardly be presented as a new page in the discussion on international relations (IR), but it is only sporadically applied to EU-Russian relations (e.g. Kuus 2004; Morozov 2015; Pavlova and Romanova 2018). However, as demonstrated later, an increasing interest in this approach for the analysis of both the European Union’s policy and the Russian agenda provides a logic for summarising the necessary prerequisites for its application to the EU-Russia relationship. It is not so easy for European scholars to speak about the European Union as an entity which practises an imperial mode of action (Keuleers et al. 2016); it is equally difficult for academics in Russia to acknowledge Russia’s subaltern position in relation to Europe. Meanwhile, the obvious lack of mutual understanding makes it imperative to return to the structural foundations of the relationship, which can usefully be described as postcolonial. The problem lies not only in conflicting perceptions but in different positions in the hierarchies of world politics, which endows the interaction between the EU and Russia with a set of particular characteristics. The first part, building on the main currents in postcolonial theory, outlines its methodology and key concepts. The second part focuses on the problem of Eurocentrism and the historical legacy of Europe’s colonial past, as it is critically re-evaluated by both Western and non-Western scholars. Analysis of the debate on Russian domestic politics and the external agenda is presented in the third part, which pays special attention to Russia’s role in the post-Soviet space. The final section summarises the main points of the discussion about the structure of EU-Russia relations as a postcolonial phenomenon.

Postcolonial thinking Formally speaking, the colonial period is over. However, it is hardly possible to say that the logic of colonial domination has been left behind. As Go notes, ‘the vestiges of colonial empire remain. Its legacies are all around us’ (2016: 185). There are several ways to make sense of its contemporary state. The most popular dates back to the pioneering book of Said, Orientalism (1995), which proposed a new perspective on identity as a part of colonial interaction. In his book, Said converted the concept of ‘the Orient’ from a geographical notion into an operational category to examine the construction of ‘the Other’ as inferior in the identity discourse of European societies. Said emphasised an important point: it is not only that the identity of 139

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a colony is shaped by the influence of the metropolis, the identity of the metropolis, in turn, depends on this relationship. It is no longer one-way control: the postcolonial approach shifts the focus and attempts to rethink this relationship through the lens of mutual influence. The specificity of the postcolonial approach consists in the substantial enrichment of the anticolonial logic, in emphasising that the agenda of the ‘colonised’ also seriously affects the behaviour of the ‘coloniser’. A  postcolonial approach adopts a new interpretation of space, where geographical vision is combined with the study of normative discourse, as borders depend on various mechanisms of normative interactions between the coloniser and the colonised (Sidaway 2000). A rethinking of the historical legacy, with the focus on the hierarchy between the hegemon and the subaltern and its reflection in contemporary international relations, leads to new interpretations of the past and, as a result, to more serious attention given to both the structural elements rooted in Eurocentrism in world politics and to the Eurocentrism of IR as a scholarly discipline (Hobson 2012). The analysis focuses on the legacy of European empires, which remains a core element of the current international system. There are appeals to be aware of the tendency to see European history as world history, which leads to a Eurocentric view of global processes. Academic discussion about international norms now includes a critical re-assessment of the European heritage in the articulation of international community norms. Without denying the importance of European thought and the Enlightenment for the history of humanity, scholars began to talk about possible interpretations of this heritage that would allow for less dogmatic and universalistic interpretations. For example, Chakrabarty (2000) indicated that when considering any European idea claiming to be universal, we cannot ignore the period in which it emerged and the historical and intellectual traditions of its origin. There is thus a need to rethink the allegedly universal norms (Anghie 2006). Another important dimension of postcolonial theorising concerns the question of the subject. While such critiques of neo-colonialism as dependency theory focus on economic one-way domination, postcolonial theorising replaces it with the idea of post-dependency, which emphasises that ‘dependency is a project of subjection’ and that this is not ‘a passive process’ ( James 1997: 217). Besides the dichotomy ‘the colonised vs. the coloniser’, postcolonial studies introduce one more element into the interpretation of the structure of domination – the subaltern. Unlike the colonised, who can recognise their inferior position and struggle against it, the subaltern does not possess political subjectivity and cannot oppose the hegemon. The subaltern ‘cannot speak’, as they do not have their own language and can claim their rights only through criticism of the metropolis, by reproducing the language of the coloniser (Spivak 1994). Hence, the paradigm of contemporary international relations consists in the interaction between the subaltern and the hegemon rather than between the colonised and the coloniser. Meanwhile, ‘postcolonial agency is not only constituted by the international and its normative construction, but is also constituting, having the capacity to variously subvert and transform, but within limits’ ( Jabri 2014: 372). As an important consequence, the postcolonial perspective does not exclude the possibility of a challenge to the system from the side of the subaltern. Moreover, this is a permanent process, which, at the same time, contributes to the renovation and conservation of the structure of domination, as the subaltern does not have a language of their own, while their agency is limited by the tools offered by the metropolis. Thus, the main focus of postcolonial theory is the study of various schemes of domination. The postcolonial interpretation of world politics is based on a particular methodology in the analysis of the relationship between the colonisers and the colonised. Such an approach allows 140

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us to understand not only the structure of contemporary IR under the Western hegemony but also the logic of its articulation.

The European Union and eurocentrism The other dimension of this debate centres on the connection between European colonialism and European integration. There are three perspectives on the issue. First of all, there is a question of colonial legacy, which applies directly only to the former colonial empires. Turning to the past, Hansen and Jonson (2017) present European integration as a project in which liberal ideas co-existed with the colonial structure of the member states. Further to this, Ammaturo has also related the current refugee crisis and Brexit to the EU’s ‘incapacity to acknowledge, and critically engage with, its fundamental neo-colonial and neo-liberal matrix’ (2018: 1). Speaking about the future of the European Union, Bhambra (2016) proposed rethinking the contemporary crises in the framework of Europe’s colonial history and its multicultural present, which could lead to a truly cosmopolitan Europe. The second perspective focuses on the situation within contemporary Europe. As Hall (1992) demonstrated, the articulation of Western European identity, which laid the foundation of European integration, includes only Western Europe and disregards the Eastern part. The concept of nesting orientalism, which exposes the discursive positioning of Eastern Europe as ‘backward’, continues this tradition of critical reflection on intra-European hierarchies (BakicHayden 1995). As a result, the postcolonial perspective on the EU’s foreign policy is already an established part of the debate, especially in the analysis of enlargement and the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP). Among the themes that are discussed, a prominent one is the idea of the inferiority of Eastern applicants, established by EU documents (Böröcz and Kovács 2001). The authors suggest the use of the concept of Eastern Europe by EU officials and scholars alike amounts to stigmatisation, which divides Europe into the civilised and still uncivilised. The domination underlying the structure of the ENP is also believed to be hidden behind the cooperative and egalitarian language used by the EU (Horký-Hlucháň and Kratochvíl 2014). As Behr demonstrates, the process of the Eastern enlargement of the EU could be compared ‘with 19th century “standards of civilization” developed by European states concluding treaties with non-European nations’ (2007: 239). The debates about the imperial component in EU foreign policy have gradually gained visibility (Keuleers et al. 2016). However, the critical rethinking of Western hegemony both in the international system and in IR as a discipline is undermined by the fact that the EU remains the point of reference for the assessment of all normative politics across the world (Nicolaïdis 2015). The status of the normative leader, determining what qualifies as a ‘normal’, ‘civilised’ society, helps European elites formulate normative categories that allow the EU to continue enjoying very high authority in the system of international rule-making even today. From a theoretical viewpoint, this debate focuses on European normative leadership, sometimes designated as normative power Europe (Manners 2002), which is analysed as the capability of the EU not only to promote the well-being of non-European societies but also to ‘create patterns of arbitrary domination between internationals and locals’ (Merlingen 2007: 449). Today, this policy of the EU has become a target of internal criticism. Thus, Fisher Onar and Nikolaidis (2013), using Chakrabarty’s approach, call upon scholars to apply the decentring agenda to ‘reconstitute European agency in a non-western world’ and, as a potential result, ‘reinvent its normative power’. The logic of decentring, prevalent in the postcolonial literature emanating from the global south and arguing in favour of an outside-in analysis, has also been proposed as a lens for interpreting EU foreign policy. Keukeleire and Lecocq suggest 141

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‘six decentering categories  – spatial, temporal, normative, polity, linguistic, and disciplinary’ and two analytical dimensions, ‘ “provincialising” (questioning Eurocentric perspectives) and “engagement” (learning from other perspectives)’ (2018: 277). In their view, this allows for a decolonisation of some of the ideas and concepts promoted by the EU, that is, a rethinking of their content and use from a new perspective.

Russia: ‘Orientalised’ and ‘Orientaliser’ Describing the Russian internal and external agenda through the lens of the imperial narrative, Oskanian defined its politics as hybrid exceptionalism, conditioned by its ‘long-term position of in between “East” and “West”, as an empire that, in contrast to its Western counterparts, was both “Orientalizer” and “Orientalized” ’ (Oskanian 2018: 430). This view is shared by many other studies rethinking Russia’s imperial past. Russian history is written today not only from the point of view of the metropolis but also from the position of the periphery (Etkind 2011). The Russian space and centre-periphery relationships have become an important part of scholarly debates. The question is not only about the Russian empire before the October Revolution but about the Soviet Union as a colonial space and the Russian Federation as a postcolonial entity. Moore (2001) was one of the first scholars to raise this point. Kuzio noted that ‘Ukraine’s new myths and legends portray it as a “European” country, peaceful, a victim of past foreign incursions, different in political culture to Russia, with a tradition of democratic institutions, and a long history that legitimizes its independent statehood’ (2002: 250). Contrariwise, Russia always sees Ukraine as an Insider Other, which is closer to Russian identity but inferior in every respect (Tolz 2011). The discussion on the links between Russia and the ex-Soviet states received a new impulse when Ukraine’s Europeanness became one of the important arguments in its conflict with Russia. The scope of the postcolonial perspective is certainly not limited to Ukraine. There is a general recognition that common social practices continue to affect both relations with Russia and the wider domestic and foreign policy agendas of post-Soviet states. Thus, in one recent study of Russian policy in Central Asia, the authors emphasise that Central Asia rejects ‘both of the Russian/Soviet past and the Western-sponsored “transition” process of the 1990s. . . [which] reflect[s], on the one hand, disillusionment with Russia and, on the other, dependence on it, echoing the postcolonial experience more broadly’ (Owen et  al. 2018: 299). Meanwhile, Belarusian scholars have introduced a new concept to describe their country’s position between Russia and Europe – borderline (pogranichie). It denotes a Belarusian identity as a transcultural space, in which different cultures overlap and oppose each other. Ukraine and Moldova, according to these studies, can also be described in these terms (Filatov 2008). Europe as a reference point for development is not a new topic in Russian historiography: it was already reflected in the discussions between the Westernisers and the Slavophiles in the nineteenth century. Soviet intellectuals were not strangers to the topic, either, while the concept of Eurasianism has enjoyed great attention among post-Soviet political elites and scholars. Interestingly, in Western academic discussion, the neo-Eurasianist turn was interpreted as building on the postcolonial approach. Moreover, Eurasia was presented as an anti-paradigm that, after the collapse of the USSR, allows us to speak about a new space that is no longer limited by the two previous paradigms: the orientalisation of Russia and Soviet modernisation (Von Hagen 2004). However, when it comes to defining the specificity of Eurasia as a region, both academic and political actors inevitably make references to Europe. For example, outlining the future principles of Eurasian integration, Vladimir Putin declared in 2011 that ‘the Eurasian Union will be based on the universal principles of integration as an essential part of the Greater 142

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Europe, united by the shared values of freedom, democracy, and the laws of the market’ (Putin 2011). It is Europe that is the essential Other for both the Eurasianists and neo-Eurasianists in their promotion of the uniqueness of the region. This demonstrates that they also speak from the position of subaltern, whose discourse is limited to the opposition to the metropolis (Lukin 2014) and to the language that it provides. As a result, Eurasianism is seen by most Russian scholars as a marginal position (Inozemtsev 2014). Meanwhile today, in an open conflict with the West, scholars writing about the Russian challenge use the concept of Eurasia as a convenient point of departure, exaggerating the significance of this ideology for the Russian discursive field (Cooley 2019).

The EU-Russia relationship The future of EU-Russia relations, as Haukkala and Popescu point out, ‘will be defined by a number of factors: from continued (and often uneasy) interdependence, to how the EU and Russia perceive themselves and each other’ (Haukkala and Popescu 2016: 69). This is why the importance of theoretical perspectives, which open new possibilities for the understanding not just of each actor’s strategies but also of their interdependence in identity discourse articulation, is increasing. After the publication of Wolff’s (1994) book, which shows how the construction of ‘Eastern Europe’ reinforced Western Europe’s self-confidence as the centre of civilisation, research on the patterns of mutual othering in Europe has to a large extent centred on Russia (Neumann 2017). This approach is also used by scholars studying the structure of relations between the European Union and Russia, as well as the countries of Central Europe and the post-Soviet space. Thus, one of the arguments for the EU and NATO enlargements to Central and Eastern Europe is believed to be the perception of these countries as potentially European, while Russia was conceived as an ‘inescapable outsider’ (Kuus 2004: 478). Researchers note that for the European Union, Russia is more an object of civilising efforts than a potential agent of rule-making and an equal partner (Potiomkina and Kaveshnikov 2007; Sakwa 2011). However, to say that this means that the EU’s policy is driven by imperial ambitions is a simplification. The mutual perception of, and, as a consequence, the problems that Russia faces while trying to achieve the status of an equal partner, were already being discussed in the early 2000s, when the mainstream assessment of the EU-Russia relationship was much more hopeful. Considering the attempts of the EU and Russia to establish cooperation in the Baltic Sea region, Browning noted that ‘Russia, in fact, often continues to occupy negative positions in the underlying discourses of region-building projects that serve to re-inscribe Russia’s difference from the “West” European “us” in negative terms’. Thus, both sides failed in their effort to establish an equal partnership, and ‘in this discourse Russia remains construed as the object to be acted upon, the diseased that needs to be cured’ (Browning 2003: 48). Russian discourse oscillates between the idea of Europeanness and the need to construct an equal partnership with the Europe, which presumes a degree of separation. The problem, however, is that the EU interprets this inconsistency as undermining potential equality, which legitimises for Russia its ‘self-exclusion’ from the European political and regulatory field, which produces the image of a ‘European country outside Europe’ (Prozorov 2009: 148). Norm-making is still in the hands of European political elites, and Russia, generally, has to accept this. However, as Morozov and Rumelili (2012) demonstrated by using the postcolonial approach, every interaction between subjects of IR, even as their positions can be defined as metropolitan and subaltern, is characterised by mutual influence. As the authors emphasise, the Russian and Turkish perceptions of European identity significantly affect the articulation of the latter. 143

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The postcolonial perspective elaborates the structural and post-structural paradigms with special attention to the non-linear relationship between elements of structure which function in the framework of subordination. The focus on the mutual influence between the coloniser and the colonised could elucidate some of the paradoxes of the EU-Russia structure, where the notion of ‘Europeanness’ has become a criterion for the ‘normal’ shared not only by Europe but also by Russia. Even explicitly rejecting the normative leadership of Brussels, Moscow articulates its own discourse in a field whose basic parameters are controlled by the West. The postcolonial approach can help to discern the origins of contemporary problems not only in the concrete actions of Moscow and Brussels but in the overall structure of their relationship, which was inaugurated in the 1990s. The collapse of the communist ideology made Russia’s intellectual elites rethink the country’s historical experience, creating a new development strategy for the new state. At the same time, they felt the need to emphasise that the defeat in the Cold War was a question of the failure of ideology and not of the country as a whole. Consequently, for those wishing to promote the neoliberal development doctrine, the main Cold War rival, the United States, was not a suitable partner. Europe (including the European Union) became the point of reference for the new country. The structure of the relationship in which Brussels became the protagonist also stems from the different position of the potential partners. While Russian foreign policy priorities were still uncertain, the international authority of the European Union was on the rise and reached its apogee at the beginning of the 2000s, as reflected both in official documents (European Council 2003) of the EU and in the scholarly discussion (exemplified in particular by Manners’s notion of normative power Europe). As Morozov (2017) points out, the EU’s hegemonic position in relation to Russia helps Brussels to achieve pragmatic ends using the language of values. This hegemonic position puts Russia in a predominantly subordinate modality, where it does not get the chance to come up with normative initiatives. Russia is included in the normative space of the EU only as a norm-taker but not as a subject, even a potential one. Nevertheless, Russia was and is ready to follow this pattern. Of course, it is not a question of Russia neglecting its own interests but rather of Moscow leaving the initiative to the EU, while its own position is always formulated in a reactive way. This happened during the negotiations on the Partnership Cooperation and Agreement (PCA) and on the Four Common Spaces (Massari 2007; Lazareva 2014), and this tendency has not changed since then. Thus, for example, the PCA opens by postulating common values (democracy, human rights, the rule of law) in a language that clearly demonstrates that the European Union has already achieved the necessary level of respect for these values, while Russia still has a long way to go. It is Moscow that will have to catch up with the European Union, whose role is limited to providing support to Russia’s efforts. Article 55 of the PCA clearly prescribes that ‘Russia shall endeavour to ensure that its legislation will be gradually made compatible with that of the Community’ (EU and Russia 1997). The Partnership for Modernisation programme can serve as another example here. Proposed by Germany in 2008, it set the tone for the relations between Russia, the EU and its member states for several years. What is important is not the programme as such but the logic of signing relevant declarations with individual EU countries that were the norm-setters, with Russia as a recipient. Even though some EU member states’ proposals were politically difficult for the Kremlin, all texts were signed. General EU support for the modernisation programme put forward by Dmitry Medvedev seemed more valuable to the Kremlin than individual items in these agreements, some of which originated in the deep political mistrust of EU countries towards Russia (Romanova and Pavlova 2014). 144

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It is hardly surprising that the official discourse has never acknowledged this dependency. Already by the end of Putin’s second term, Russia began to perceive itself as an independent pole of power, at least as a potential one, and this trend radically intensified in the period prior to and after the annexation of Crimea. Neumann notes that today the idea of a ‘common path’ with Europe has transformed into the idea of ‘parallel paths’ (2017: 140–83). However, what do these ‘parallel paths’ mean? Matveeva (2018) correctly points out that Russia’s policy was not and is not directed against the West, nor is it aimed at affirming its subjectivity in the relations with the European Union. Rather, the aim is to change Russia’s position in the world hierarchy as a whole. As Zarakol maintains, ‘all that Russia is doing is to take [the] normative criteria of the West and reinterpret them for Eastern consumption’ (2010: 239). Applying Jabri’s reasoning to the Ukraine crisis, one could conclude that Russia’s policy is a challenge to world politics. However, it takes place inside the system of Western hegemony, where the EU plays a major role alongside the United States. Meanwhile, this new assertiveness provoked serious changes in the EU’s thinking about Russia, which was reflected first and foremost in the EU’s Global Strategy (EUGS) (EU 2016). Describing Russia’s behaviour as a challenge to the democratic world, embodied in the European Union, Brussels decided to resort to its proven remedy – the formulation of a new norm that will reassert the established structure of EU-Russian relations. Hence, the Global Strategy introduced the concept of resilience. This term is not new for academic discourse; that said, it is a very ambiguous one. ‘Resilience can, then, be seen as an attempt by the centres of power to incorporate subalternity into the contemporary neoliberal political economy’ (Bracke 2016: 853). The authors of the Global Strategy, however, mostly ignored the academic debate on resilience and offered their own interpretation of the concept of resilience, linking it to the normative core that has been promoted by the European Union for the last 30 years. This, once again, is an instance of the universalisation of Western norms, as has been described in the postcolonial literature. However, while earlier, the West formulated its own normative trends as universal, the current situation is more interesting. The EU borrows an already existing academic category and gives it a normative meaning (Pavlova and Romanova 2018). Natalie Tocci, one of the authors of the EUGS, speaking about the relationship between member-states and Russia and the unity of the EU, testifies: ‘we all knew and understood where each player stood, what the real red lines are’ (2016: 468). Thus, the EU sticks to its position of the normative hegemon, which knew what was acceptable in IR before and knows what the red lines are now. The new artificial norm, created by the Eurocrats, became a tool of EU foreign policy. European foreign policy continues to be conceived as civilised nations helping the uncivilised, and this image, critically outlined in the framework of postcolonial theory, has become even clearer with the EUGS. Neither the political crisis in EU-Russia relations nor the changes in the official political position of Russian elites has undermined the standing of Europe as the normative hegemon. In Russia, its potential ‘Europeanness’ is still in demand (Morozov this volume; DeBardeleben this volume), as the analysis of the debate in the Russian mass media and academic circles clearly demonstrates (Petrov 2013; Kortunov 2018). For Russia, as well as for other post-Soviet countries, the European Union remains the ‘ideal self ’ (Nitoiu 2018), which is followed in the hope of communion. Even now, despite the information war, for Russia, the approval of its actions by Europeans remains important. It is no coincidence that Russian media actively promote information about visits of European politicians to Crimea and Russia proper. In fact, most of these figures are rather marginal, and they hardly have any serious influence on the relations between Russia and the EU. Yet their visits and speeches are highlighted as symbolic, allowing the Kremlin to hope for a future thaw. Thus, Russia’s perception of Europe as a moral authority 145

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and the leader in their relationships remains. The debate about Russia as a European country includes the desire at the same time to become a subject of rule-making and to confirm its ‘Europeanness’, that is, to gain recognition from Europe itself. The conflict between Russia and Ukraine presented new challenges for postcolonial authors trying to make sense of the developments in the post-Soviet space. Meanwhile, Ukraine’s potential Europeanness has acquired a new dimension in the context of the rivalry between the EU and Russia in the post-Soviet space. The subjectivity of Ukraine in this triangle has become a subject of scholarly discussion (Gerasimov and Mogilner 2015; Sakwa 2015). As a result, the application of a postcolonial approach to the analysis of the conflict between Russia and Ukraine is becoming ever more popular. Thus, in his analysis of Ukraine’s identity and contemporary politics, Sakwa (2015) proposes postcolonial rationality as a new way to ‘recognize multiple identities within and between countries’. This perspective permits a rethinking of the relationship in the triangle between Russia, Ukraine and Europe and to understand both the problems of the ‘Europeanisation’ of Ukraine and the crisis in EU-Russia relations (Sakwa 2015).

Conclusion The postcolonial approach has just arrived in the field of EU-Russia studies, although in IR theory, it is a recognised paradigm. Its active use in the study of both Russian foreign policy and its relations with the European Union demonstrates serious potential. The need to complement EU foreign policy analysis with an outside-in perspective in order to breathe new life into this topic and incorporate non-Western approaches has been raised by European scholars. In the framework of postcolonial theory, one can study not just mutual perceptions but the structure of the relationship. The concept of Europeanness remains here as a key measure of normative leadership for Russia. This structure presupposes the preponderance of the European Union as a normative hegemon, which has a right to articulate the agenda of the relationship and to recognise the normative subjectivity of other actors. The postcolonial approach is also useful in explaining Russian ambitions in the post-Soviet space. The classification of Russian policies as neo-colonialist and neo-imperial is not enough. This is a situation of normative competition with the EU, which is articulated by the Kremlin, but within the broader field determined by the European Union. Russia makes an effort to be recognised as a power by other powers, including the EU, and, at the same time, to be recognised as Europe. This paradox is reflected in Russia’s strategy, where, on the one hand, Russia presents itself as a rival of the EU in the post-Soviet space, but, on the other, the structure of the relationship between the two has not changed and the EU remains the leader. The postcolonial approach allows us to clarify and explain the hybridity of Russia’s position, between its aspiration to hegemony in the post-Soviet space and its historical subalternity in relation to Europe.

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Part 3

Political and security relations

13 The political and security relationship Dmitry Danilov

The end of the Cold War radically changed the paradigm of European development from confrontation to cooperation towards an indivisible European security space from Vancouver to Vladivostok. Russia as a successor of the Soviet Union sought both to strengthen its position within the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) and to establish new relations with Western Europe, which itself was in transformation. Within the EU’s ‘second pillar’ framework, the Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), the EU did not develop clear guidelines on Russia, which, in turn, was more concerned by relations with the United States and NATO. The 1994 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) Title II, structuring political dialogue through regular summits, Cooperation Council meetings and other related mechanisms, entered into force in late 1997 (EU and Russia 1994). EU-Russia relations were then brought in line with the EU’s Amsterdam Treaty reform and Russia’s focus on multipolarity in accordance with the ‘Primakov doctrine’ (Cohen 1997). For a highly securitised Russian foreign policy, the EU’s emergence as a security actor was a reason to strengthen mutual relations. Given that the Amsterdam Treaty considers the Western European Union (WEU) an integral part of the EU’s development, Russia saw the EU as a promising institutional partner. The EU, for its part, was interested in a favourable environment for CFSP from the United States/NATO but also Russia. That further propelled EU-Russia foreign and security policy cooperation. In this context, the goal of this chapter is to examine whether actual cooperation has developed towards the declared strategic partnership, what constrained this ambition, why the strategic partnership did not live up to the parties’ expectations and why EU-Russia relations moved into deep crisis. Thus, EU-Russia foreign and security relations are presented in a historicalproblematic perspective, from their formal establishment to their present state, challenges and prospects.

Between liberalism and realism Debates on EU-Russia political relations emerged as part of post-bipolar discussions on a new European security order and architecture and the rethinking of West-East relations, influenced by the deepening of European integration. EU-Russia studies ‘follow[ed] a diverse and booming practice’ in the study of European integration (Shemiatenkov 2003: 350). Academic 151

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literature has usually been pragmatically focused on state- or EU-level discourses (Zaslavskaya and Averre 2019). The turbulent transformational dynamics in the 1990s strengthened the demand for applied expertise, and the publications of political practitioners (Braithwaite 1999; Eekelen 1998; Gowan 2001; Emerson 2001, 2005; Shemiatenkov 2003), as well as of the EU’s Institute for Security Studies (ISS), were of high relevance (in particular, Danilov and De Spiegeleire 1998). The United States’ emergence as the only global hegemonic power centred liberal multilateralism as an approach to study EU-Russia relations where the EU and Russia could maintain different yet cooperative positions (Gowan 2001). Scholars explored both the prospects of including Russia in the European democratic space and of a realistic and even geopolitical paradigm of cooperation between two Europes, as represented by the EU and Russia (Danilov 2012; Wagnsson 2001). Liberals emphasised Russia’s cultural and historical affinity to the EU and its member states, although Russian uniqueness was also underlined (Braithwaite 1999; Emerson 2001; Gerrits 2008; Shemiatenkov 2003). Yet the traditional deterrence–cooperation dichotomy persisted, and warnings of a danger of moving towards a new European bipolarity were delivered as long ago as the turn of the century (Danilov 2000a). The 2000 ascendance of Vladimir Putin to the presidency strengthened the narrative on the primacy of Europe for Russia, which combined arguments of democratic reforms with Russia’s emphasis on multipolarity to challenge US hegemony (Danilov 2000b). European multilateralism often relied on pragmatic goals to ensure Russian support for the European security and defence policy (ESDP) on the eve of the eastern enlargement. The EU-Russia strategic dilemma constituted a choice between a liberal inclusion of Russia into the expanding EU’s integration space and a realistic paradigm of partnership on the basis of equality. Scholars also looked for a balance between the EU’s expansion to the ‘common neighbourhood’ and Russia’s special interests in the ‘near abroad’. Emerson indicated that either ‘Russia accepts to play . . . by common rules in the near abroad’ or Russian ‘old-fashioned’ geopolitics make a strategic partnership concept declarative or even frozen (2001: 23). The idea to propose to Russia ‘a meaningful stake in the European security system through some sort of associate link with the ESDP’ was discussed (Grant 2002: 91). The liberal EU concept of Russia’s integration into Greater Europe thus collided with the Russian realist approach of cooperation with the EU. EU experts recognised that EU enlargement increases ‘the danger of a Russia isolated from a Europe more and more defined by the EU’ (Lynch 2004: 106). The 2005 Roadmaps for Four Common Spaces were seen as a palliative response to the latent crisis, but they did not answer the ‘strategic dilemma’ (Averre 2005; Danilov 2007; Emerson 2005). This became even more acute given the PCA was coming to an end in 2007. EU experts continued to offer Russia the opportunity to join EU policy initiatives (Gomart 2006), whereas Russians looked for bilateral convergence, focusing on major EU-Russian differences. Russia’s specificity was increasingly viewed as a function of fundamental differences in norms and values (Haukkala 2005; see Morozov this volume; DeBardeleben this volume). Emphasis on the ‘normative gap’ (Casier 2013) showed that a liberal model of rapprochement based on common values did not cater for new realities. The discussion on a ‘genuine strategic partnership’ became more pragmatic (Sergunin 2010). A new EU-Russia window of opportunities in the wake of President Obama’s reset with Russia increased interest in the forming of a functional partnership and its codification in a new basic agreement (NBA). Revived liberal ideas of common Europe were articulated in a more pragmatic way (Baranovsky and Utkin 2012). Political realism became the centre of gravity, advancing the notions of aggravated integration and security dilemmas when the expanding Euro-Atlantic space neither includes Russia nor has a strategic partnership with it (Cadier 2014; Charap and 152

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Troitsky 2013–2014; Duke and Gebhard 2017). The existential European security crisis caused by 2013–2014 events in Ukraine was ‘a culmination of a long-term crisis in EU-Russia relations’ (Haukkala 2016), although conflicting assessments of its nature (Averre 2016; Haukkala 2015) make it difficult to model the relationship strategically at present (Borko 2015; Sakwa 2015). A ‘new normality’ narrative describes the present geopolitical reality of mutual deterrence. Yet experts also call for a gradual EU-Russia normalisation based on principled pragmatism, a ‘common Europe’ philosophy (Potemkina 2018) and multilateralism (David 2019).

The initial stage In the early 1990s, institutional uncertainties following the dismantling of the bipolar system and the United States’ emergence as the only superpower challenged the security situation in Europe. While the EU struggled to make its voice heard in European security, the United States and NATO remained the main addressees of Russian security policy. Following the Maastricht Treaty, a provision on political dialogue was included in the PCA. The ‘Primakov doctrine’ of multipolarity and struggling US global domination increased Russia’s interest in the EU, while its Amsterdam Treaty reform saw the EU urged to revise its Russia policy. In 1999, Russia became the first addressee of a new ‘Amsterdam’ instrument  – the EU Common Strategy (EU 1999). The reciprocated ‘Russian Medium-Term Strategy’ envisaged a strengthened Russia-EU partnership to build a Europe without dividing lines (Russia 1999). Both documents focused on new opportunities in the context of ESDP developments. The EU wanted to encourage Russia’s ‘European choice’ proclaimed by President Putin in 2000 to gain support for the ESDP (Gnesotto 2004), whereas Moscow strove to prevent the European ‘natoisation’. Both sides sought to compensate for the European security dialogue shortcomings since NATO-Russia relations were frozen following the 1999 NATO military operation against Yugoslavia (Danilov 2007). Despite the EU’s criticism of Russia, especially on Chechnya, the October 2000 summit approved the special Joint Statement ‘to institute specific consultations on security and defence matters’ and to promote cooperation in operational crisis management (EU and Russia 2000). Putin’s ‘new rapprochement’ with the United States after the 9/11 terrorist attacks created momentum for EU-Russia cooperation (Trenin 2001). The October 2001 summit included the fight against international terrorism in a common agenda, and Russia became the only EU partner to receive a mechanism of regular consultations with the EU Political and Security Committee. The aim to strengthen political cooperation through a legal and institutional framework was constrained by the partners’ conflicting objectives, however. The EU, seeking to enhance its ‘soft power’ influence by limited crisis management instruments resisted Moscow’s overly high geopolitical expectations (Gowan 2001; Lynch 2004). Experts stressed the need to focus on more pragmatic objectives (Timmins 2002). Yet pragmatic interests were also hard to reconcile. Russia insisted on equality, in particular on joint crisis management modalities, and could not agree on being treated as a ‘junior partner’ in EU-led operations (De Haas 2008: 31). In 2002, the EU stopped considering using Russian long-range air-lifting assets in ESDP operations; also, Russia’s symbolic participation in the first ESDP mission in Bosnia and Herzegovina was not continued (Lynch 2005). The EU, as a normative power, and Russia increasingly looked like different kinds of actors (Gerrits 2008) whose strategic settings were irreconcilable. Mutual irritation grew as the EU viewed relations with Russia through the prism of its own eastwards expansion, and Russia was troubled by the twin NATO-EU enlargements (Lynch 2004). The EU-Russia dialogue was 153

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aggravated by the apparent anti-Russian attitude of some of the new and candidate states, as well as their security aspirations towards the US/NATO. The American ‘Old and New Europe’ concept discredited the ESDP, while Russia faced a fundamental challenge of a lowest ‘young Europeans’ denominator. The Russian appeal to Germany and France for a ‘non-bloc’ alignment to prevent the US intervention in Iraq (March 2003) weighed down EU-Russian political prospects. The ‘big bang’ enlargement, however, had the potential benefit of seeing the EU-Russia relationship turn to the ‘Common Spaces’ concept agreed in May 2003. The 2003 European Security Strategy intended to ‘continue to work for closer relations with Russia, a major factor in our security and prosperity’ (EU 2003). The EU recognised the objective of overcoming a declarative relationship to make it more results orientated (EU 2004). The Roadmaps for the Common Spaces, including the one on external security, were adopted in 2005 (EU and Russia 2005). These achievements were, however, received critically within academia as lacking any EU-Russian strategic vision (Averre 2005; Danilov 2005b; Emerson 2005). EU experts believed that ‘enlargement has strengthened CFSP’, while Moscow was concerned by its eastward projection (Lynch 2005: 131–3). The EU-Russia differences on Transnistria, Belarus, the 2003–2004 colour revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine and in Kyrgyzstan in 2005 confirmed that the ‘deterrence-cooperation’ dichotomy was the determinant of the relationship and that a zero-sum game in the post-Soviet space persisted (Gomart 2005). It was predicted that under the new banner of ‘strategic partnership’, the parties would seek a selective and pragmatic mutual engagement (Danilov 2005a).

Revising partnership At a 2005 high-level conference in Moscow, some prominent Russian experts still insisted that ‘gradual integration’ should be ‘Russia’s strategic goal with regard to the EU’ (Russia in Global Affairs 2005). However, neither side was ready for it: the partners could not agree on a model for the harmonisation of the Common Spaces; NBA negotiations were blocked by Poland due to bilateral disputes; the CSFP’s lowest-common-denominator format became particularly visible as new EU members sought to distance themselves from Moscow rather than to contribute to a Greater Europe. Putin’s 2007 Munich speech elaborated on Russia’s redlines, particularly on NATO’s ‘open doors’ towards Ukraine and Georgia (Putin 2007). Considering the EU’s claims to play an active role in the settlement of frozen conflicts in the CIS, the Russian Ministry for Foreign Affairs sharply criticised the EULEX deployment in Kosovo as destabilising and encouraging separatism (RIA Novosti 2008). The 2008 change of the ‘tough Putin’ for the liberal Dmitry Medvedev as Russian president was seen as a new opportunity to tackle EU-Russia foreign and security relations (Gomart 2008). Medvedev invited partners to a positive dialogue when proposing an idea for a European Security Treaty (EST). The new opportunities between the EU and Russia were recognised by EU top officials at the June  2008 Summit, and negotiations on the NBA were launched in July 2008. The August 2008 war in Georgia constituted a new breaking point in European security arrangements: NATO-Russia relations were frozen again and the United States imposed sanctions against Russia. However, the French EU Presidency, together with the Dutch Chairmanship in the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE), were instrumental in quickly de-escalating the conflict under the Sarkozy-Medvedev peace plan. Even after Russia’s recognition of Abkhazia’s and South Ossetia’s independence, ‘strongly condemned’ by the EU (Council of the EU 2008), compromise modalities over the ESDP mission in Georgia were agreed. Moscow did not dramatise the European Council’s extraordinary 154

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1 September 2008 provision that ‘[w]ith the crisis in Georgia, relations between the EU and Russia have reached a crossroads’ and the Council’s decision to ‘postpone’ NBA negotiations. Indeed, on the same day, President Medvedev signed a decree to send a helicopter unit to support an ESDP operation in Chad/CAR, which was the first significant engagement for EU-Russian military crisis management. As had been the case after the Kosovo crisis of 1998–9, the EU-Russia political and security dialogue proved useful in preventing more confrontational developments in Europe. The NBA negotiations recommenced in December 2008. However, the Georgian war caused irritations and old fears of Russian ‘invasionism’ and became a ‘crystallizing point’ (Wittkowsky 2010: 11) for the EU’s Eastern Partnership (EaP) in response ‘to the need for a clearer signal of EU commitment’ (Commission 2008: 2) to the EaP states, while Moscow suspected the EaP could ‘turn into a partnership against Russia’ (EU and Russia 2009) and its so-called privileged interest. In Russia, negative EaP assessments dominated, predicting it would have destabilising effects on regional security due to deepening East–West dividing lines (Eberhardt 2010; Sergunin 2010). The prevailing geopolitical calculations of Moscow as a resurgent world power left no room for liberal approaches to the ‘Europeanisation’ of Russia akin to the expansion of the EU’s norms and rules. The 2008 financial crisis forced global actors to find some common ground despite increased disagreements within the US-EU-Russia configuration (Danilov 2010). The March 2009 US– Russian ‘reset’ brought ‘new breath’ into the NATO-Russia Council, while the 2009 Lisbon reform of the EU led to a restructuring of its political dialogue with Russia. As both partners were motivated by an aspiration for the ‘modernisation of Russian democracy and establishment of a new economy’ (Medvedev 2009), their political cooperation focused on the items they converged on (non-proliferation, Iranian nuclear dossier, Middle East, Afghanistan, North Korea, etc.). The EU confirmed it was ready to discuss Medvedev’s EST, which created a cooperative environment. At the June 2010 EU-Russia summit, in a new format under the EU Lisbon Treaty, van Rompuy, the then-president of the European Council, stressed: ‘With Russia we do not need a “reset”. We want a “fast forward” ’ (van Rompuy 2010). Moscow once again outlined its two aspirations: to elaborate joint crisis management modalities and mechanisms for foreign and security cooperation. The EU’s silent restraint towards the first issue was accompanied by more openness towards institutionalising the dialogue. In June 2010, President Medvedev and Chancellor Merkel issued the Meseberg Memorandum, which suggested a standing ministerial committee on foreign and security policy, with a settlement in Transnistria as a pilot project (Merkel and Medvedev 2010). But the parties understood the initiative differently: the EU’s starting point was Transnistria’s settlement paralleled with Russian troops withdrawing from Moldova; Russia’s priority was the EU’s consent to create a new committee (Sokor 2010). So, Meseberg did not yield the intended results and, by contrast, provoked mutual dissatisfaction; Moscow’s proposal to interpret ‘Meseberg’ broadly, as an opportunity for joint decisions in ‘different crisis situations’, drove the partners further apart (Lavrov 2011). The 2011 Arab Spring and especially the Libyan crisis troubled the relationship further. Moscow did not veto the UN Security Council resolution on Libya but was annoyed by its interventionist Franco-British interpretation, which entailed a NATO military action. Differences between the member states and therefore an inner CFSP inconsistency undermined Russia’s interest in it. The parties reproached each other for losing the ‘Meseberg’ momentum. Putin’s 2012 declaration of Eurasian integration as a strategic priority for his third term was interpreted by the EU as a challenge to its EaP, not as a Common Spaces harmonisation opportunity. The parties tried to mitigate their clash in their increasingly contested neighbourhood. 155

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Political dialogue became a routine, and the parties stressed their commonality on Iran, the Middle East and even Syria, with van Rompuy insisting that EU-Russia relations were experiencing the best dynamics in many years (2012) and Putin emphasising a good basis for the deepening of mutually beneficial relations (Putin 2013). Russia’s 2013 Foreign Policy Concept (Russian Federation 2013) insisted on political dialogue and joint mechanisms with the EU, while Ukraine was highlighted as a Russian priority in the CIS. In response, the European Parliament (2013) pointed to ‘Russia’s intention to continue to consider the EaP region as its sphere of exclusive influence’ by also repeatedly using frozen conflicts to undermine the EaP countries’ sovereignty. The continued declarations by the parties of their strategic partnership became a diplomatic cover at odds with reality, in which the EU and Russia could not agree on a common relationship strategy, notably to harmonise their diverging integration policies, while the NBA negotiations reached an impasse.

Deadlocked crisis: the end of partnership The then-Ukrainian President Yanukovich’s refusal to sign an association agreement with the EU in November 2013 provoked mass protests, leading to a change in state power in February 2014. The EU interpreted this as a ‘Euromaidan Revolution of Dignity’ (Delegation of the EU to Ukraine 2016) and Russia as illegitimate, unconstitutional events (Federation Council 2014). This rivalry invoked a fundamental crisis when the EU accused Russia of the annexation of the Crimea in March 2014 in violation of international law. This Ukrainian crisis evidenced that attempts to overcome fundamental differences through pragmatic interest-based relations had failed (Averre 2016; Borko 2015; Haukkala 2016). The EU-Russia systematic dialogue under the PCA was stopped, and the EU imposed sanctions against Russia in March 2014 due to the ‘annexation of Crimea’ and destabilisation of Eastern Ukraine. The EU member states ceased participating in mutual intergovernmental fora with Russia as well. Such formats as the ‘five plus two’ on Transnistria, the OSCE Minsk group on Nagorno-Karabakh, the Geneva talks on Georgia, the Normandy Four on Ukraine and cooperation on terrorism also became complicated. The Syrian crisis brought new strains into the relationship, as the EU negatively perceived Russia’s military intervention in Syria in 2015. This EU ‘lowest-common-denominator approach’ was consolidated in the EU’s five guiding principles towards Russia (EU 2016a) and then in the 2016 Global Strategy (EU 2016b). The EU recognised Russia as a strategic challenge and decided to move to selective engagement with it on the basis of ‘principled pragmatism’. However, unlike the fast de-escalation in Georgia in 2008, the Donbas conflict turned into a protracted one. The Minsk Agreements designed to bring an end to the conflict raised a still unresolved question regarding the long-term prospects for EU-Russia relations if the Minsk process stagnated and highlighted the dilemma of strategic choice. Presently, EU-Russia relations are largely described by the ‘friend or foe’ alternative, read differently in European capitals (Shagina 2017). Prominent experts’ assessments of whether the EU has a Russian policy include a full spectrum of opinions: from ‘yes, undoubtedly’ to ‘no, it’s not possible’. ‘Yes’ supporters appeal to the consolidated Euro-Atlantic response to Russian interventionism in Ukraine. Others point to the deficits of European unity (Dempsey 2018). Russia continues to view the EU as an ‘important partner in international and European politics’ (Russian Federation 2016) but considers the EU’s proposed ‘selective’ cooperation through the prism of a deepening geopolitical split. Moscow emphasises that the political balance is highly dependent on ‘a small but extremely aggressive Russophobe group within the 156

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EU’, guided by Washington, and waits for an ‘accumulation of critical mass’ in support of political normalisation (Chizhov 2016). ‘What Russia would want, would be the EU to be less tied to the US and more capable of taking pragmatic decisions’ (Utkin 2019), although for some, the EU ‘does not appear as a major actor in this vision’ (Rácz and Raik 2018: 14). Seen from Brussels’s perspective, ‘Russia is also waging an aggressive and increasingly effective information war against the EU’ (European Parliament 2016), aimed to ‘weaken the EU’ (Tusk 2016). The Salisbury case or the Kerch incident further nourish the EU’s mistrust and contribute to the deterioration of political relations. The crisis of trust significantly changes the EU’s and Russia’s mutual perceptions. The EU’s deterrence of Russia, based on American guarantees and NATO, diminishes EU-Russia political engagement. However, the European defence project as a key EU endeavour to gain a global role should be considered strategically by both sides. It was within this context that the 2017 European Council activated permanent structured cooperation (PESCO) with a view to building an EU defence union. Moscow, rather sceptical of an autonomous European defence, currently adheres to a ‘wait-and-see’ attitude, regarding any possibility of a European army today as a myth (Chizhov 2019). As Vimont, a former highprofile EAAS official, explains, ‘in truth, Moscow does not consider the EU as a serious partner for any substantial geopolitical bargaining’ (see Dempsey 2018). Experts agree that ‘[o]n security issues, Russia seems to be much more important for the EU than vice versa’ (Rácz and Raik 2018: IV). Nevertheless, Putin classified it as ‘a positive process in terms of strengthening the world’s multipolarity’ (Kommersant 2018). Moscow’s ambivalence suits the EU, as it prevents PESCO being complicated with disagreements on Russia and with it. Nor does Moscow wish to aggravate political relations further. However, the substance of the EU’s defence and strategic autonomy has now changed for Russia. It is no longer seen as a win–win paradigm of mutual strengthening but rather as geopolitical confrontation and mutual deterrence (Danilov 2018).

Seeking a new EU-Russia alignment The substantive European security crisis therefore gives no opportunities for a rapid ‘reset’-type normalisation, especially considering the impediments to a settlement in Ukraine. ‘Switching effectively between . . . confrontation and cooperation . . . is highly unlikely’ (Romanova 2017). The EU believes it has constrained Russia’s assertive and uncooperative behaviour whilst cooperating with Russia on a wide range of foreign policy matters (EEAS 2019). Moscow, for its part, persists in defending its principled positions, demonstrating a pivot to Eurasia and mobilising its ‘Fortress Russia’ power. Nevertheless, the current ‘alienation’ (Trenin 2018) does not have to determine the relationship’s future direction. At some level, the EU and Russia understand that alienation weakens their positions vis-à-vis global and trans-regional players, like China, the United States, and others in the Middle East and Central Asia (Potemkina 2018). As the challenges associated with strategic uncertainties have increased, ‘[p]olicy-makers need to also be aware of the significant opportunity costs associated with the current tensions’ (Kulesa et al. 2017). Without an effective strategy on Russia, the EU’s strategic autonomy cannot be realised, just as Russia’s Eurasian policy cannot serve as an alternative to Europe. A  return to Common Europe philosophy, however irrelevant these ideas might seem in the current situation, forms a positive alternative for both parties. Russia considers a common European space its ‘strategic objective in relations with the EU’ (Russian Federation 2016). When visiting Moscow in April 2017, Mogherini stressed that the EU and Russia worked ‘on the prospective strategic partnership’ and also signalled the EU’s 157

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readiness to cooperate pragmatically ‘on all possible fields’ where ‘respective interests coincide’ (TASS 2017). Marcus Ederer, EU Ambassador to Russia, argues that the EU and Russia, as the largest neighbours in Europe, will have to return to a rational relationship based on common interests (Ederer 2019). The ‘business as usual is impossible’ formula could be turned into exploring what kind of ‘business not as usual’ the parties can have (Liik 2019). Despite the seeming breakthrough in Mogherini’s Moscow 2017 visit, the stagnation in political dialogue has not been overcome, and the relationship is still mainly constituted of irregular contacts among political directors and experts. But a common agenda (combating terrorism, non-proliferation, illegal migration, crisis management) motivates the parties to resume their regular political dialogue. ‘Selective engagement’ is hardly possible without a systemic EU-Russia dialogue as well as strategic communications being prioritised. A return to EU-Russia structured political cooperation should also be seen in the Euro-Atlantic context, with a view to reviving the NATO-Russian Council, even if initially aimed at risk reduction. This two-track institutional approach would remove what may be regarded as asymmetry, when the EU ceased PCA-based political communication with Russia while calling for pragmatic engagement and NATO froze practical cooperation with Russia but called for dialogue.

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Romanova, T. (2017) ‘Resilience instead of a hybrid motor’, 31 October, available at https://russiancoun cil.ru/en/analytics-and-comments/analytics/stress-resistance-instead-of-a-hybrid-motor/ (accessed 20 March 2019). Russia (1999) ‘Strategiya razvitiya otnoshenij Rossijskoj Federacii s Evropejskim Soyuzom na srednesrochnuyu perspektivu (2000–2010 gg.)’, available at http://docs.cntd.ru/document/901773061 (accessed 1 October 2019). Russia in Global Affairs (2005) ‘Russia’s European strategy: a new start’, Russia in Global Affairs 3, available at https://eng.globalaffairs.ru/number/n_5344 (accessed 5 June 2019). Russian Federation (2013) ‘Foreign policy concept of the Russian federation (approved by president of the Russian federation V. Putin on 12 February 2013)’, available at www.mid.ru/en/search?p_p_id=3&p_p_ lifecycle=0&p_p_state=maximized&p_p_mode=view&_3_struts_action=%2Fsearch%2Fsearch# (accessed 1 October 2019). Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation (approved by President of the Russian Federation Vladimir Putin on November 30, 2016), available at www.mid.ru/en/web/ guest/foreign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/content/id/2542248 (accessed 1 October 2019). Sakwa, R. (2015) ‘The death of Europe? Continental fates after Ukraine’, International Affairs 91(3): 553–79. Sergunin, A. (2010) ‘Vostochnoe partnerstvo’ v kontekste rossijsko-evropejskih otnoshenij’, Sbornik dokladov mezhdunarodnoj konferencii, SPb: Izdatel’stvo Levsha, pp. 22–47. Shagina, M. (2017) ‘Friend or foe? Mapping the positions of EU member states on Russia sanctions’, European Leadership Network, 28 June, available at www.europeanleadershipnetwork.org/commentary/ friend-or-foe-mapping-the-positions-of-eu-member-states-on-russia-sanctions/ (accessed 1 October 2019). Shemiatenkov, V. (2003) Evropejskaya integraciya. Uchebnoe posobie. M.: Mezhdunar. otnosheniya. Sokor, V. (2010) Meseberg Process: Germany Testing EU-Russia Security Cooperation Potential//Eurasia Daily Monitor Volume: 7 Issue: 191, October 22, available at https://jamestown.org/program/mesebergprocess-germany-testing-eu-russia-security-cooperation-potential/ (accessed 5 June 2019). TASS (2017) ‘Foreign policy chief says EU ready to return to strategic partnership with Russia’, 24 April, available at https://tass.com/world/942933 (accessed 1 October 2019). Timmins, G. (2002) ‘Strategic or pragmatic partnership? The European Union’s policy towards Russia since the end of the cold war’, European Security 11(4): 78–95, Winter. Trenin, D. (2001) ‘A Russia-within-Europe: working towards a new security arrangement’, Readings in European Security, vol. I. Working Papers of the CEPS-IISS European Security Forum No. 1–9, 140–5. Trenin, D. (2018) ‘Highs and Lows: Russia’s Foreign Policy at the Start of 2018’, Russia in Global Affairs, 5 February, available at https://eng.globalaffairs.ru/book/Highs-and-Lows-Russias-Foreign-Policy-atthe-start-of-2018-19335 (accessed 20 September 2019). Tusk, D. (2016) ‘Russia’s strategy is to weaken the EU’, available at watch?v=PDothYLHctQ (accessed 1 October 2019). Utkin, S. (2019) ‘Together and apart: Russian debate on Europe’, Euro-Atlantic Security Policy Brief, June, available at www.europeanleadershipnetwork.org/wp-content/uploads/2019/06/05062019Together-and-apart-Russian-debate-on-Europe-Sergey-Utkin.pdf (accessed 20 September 2019). Van Rompuy, H. (2010) ‘Remarks by Herman, president of the European Council, at the EU-Russia summit, Rostov-on Don’, 1 June, available at www.consilium.europa.eu/media/27756/114736.pdf (accessed 5 June 2019). Van Rompuy, H. (2012) ‘Sovmestnaya press-konferenciya s Predsedatelem Evropejskoj komissii ZHoze Manuelom Barrozu i Predsedatelem Evropejskogo soveta Hermanom Van Rompyoem’, 4 March, available at www.kremlin.ru/events/president/transcripts/15541 (accessed 5 June 2019). Wagnsson, Ch. (2001) ‘Developing the “moral” arguments: Russian rhetorical strategies on security postKosovo?’, ISS, Occasional Paper no. 28, 1 July. Wittkowsky, A. (2010) ‘Rossiya i Vostochnoe partnerstvo ES: vyzov ili novaya platforma dlya sotrudnichestva?’, in Rossiya i Vostochnoe partnerstvo ES: vyzov ili novaya platforma dlya sotrudnichestva? Sbornik dokladov mezhdunarodnoj konferencii, SPb: Izdatel’stvo Levsha. 124 s., pp. 8–21. Zaslavskaya, N. and Averre, D. (2019) ‘EU-Russia political and security cooperation: major research trends’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 147–58.

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14 The EU and the Russian Federation and human rights Similar vocabularies, opposing grammars Rick Fawn

The European Union and the Russian Federation are both human rights supporters. They engage each other with the same vocabulary, but what those words mean and the ways in which they are assembled grammatically are markedly different. These divergent grammars are symptomatic of intensifying differences between the EU and Russia. That then impacts substantive matters in practice. This chapter argues that these semantic and fundamental differences have helped to sow deep frustration and distrust, even to the point of open conflict between Brussels and Moscow. The importance of coming to grips with the causes – and the consequences – of this linguistic divergence cannot be understated. This chapter identifies the place of human rights in EU-Russian relations. It establishes that part of the divisiveness over human rights between the two actors is that they are seen within wider institutional relations – this is both a challenge and an opportunity. The chapter cannot be over-optimistic about future possibilities, but the conclusion nevertheless suggests some ways for future relations concerning human rights.

Locating human rights in EU-Russian relations Human rights feature prominently in EU-Russian relations – but now counter-productively. That is sadly in deep contradistinction to how the European Community (EC) and the newly independent Russian Federation understood each other and interacted in the 1990s.

The early beginnings Relations began positively, ripe with declarations of mutual understanding and even of the convergence of political values. Mutual expressions of constructive relations after the Cold War built on the Helsinki Final Act of 1975, which the Soviet Union and all European Economic Community (EEC) governments signed. They accepted the importance and legitimacy of human rights. Even before the end of the Soviet Union, in 1990, Mikhail Gorbachev embraced what could be called an EU-supported conception of democracy, and in 1991, the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) Human Dimension meeting in Moscow affirmed that all signatories pursued full respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms (Gorbachev 162

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1990; CSCE 1991). The EC/EU, for its part, defined itself in terms of not only the upholding of human rights (and related values) as part of its constituent self but also as a world model in the cultivation domestically and the export of those values. As the EC/EU grew confidently as a foreign affairs actor, human rights became ever more part of its self-presentation. During those years, Russia’s leadership likewise reconceptualised Russian needs and values. By 1994, a sharp sense of disappointment, even of betrayal by the West, emerged in Russian foreign policy thinking. Moscow’s understanding of its behaviour in the post–Cold War period was of acquiescence, domestically, to Western practices and even ideology. In terms of foreign policy, Moscow saw itself as not only tolerating but seeking membership of Western-led structures, while having lost the Warsaw Treaty Organisation and the Council for Mutual Economic Assistance. The Russia of Boris Yeltsin viewed itself as having contributed to the end of the Cold War and expected reciprocity, including the disbandment of NATO. Instead, by 1994, Moscow knew NATO expansion would occur, while Russian hopes for the CSCE, the only pan-European organisation in which Russia had, effectively, a veto, to become the pre-eminent security organisation dispersed. Two Russian analysts stated: ‘The period of “bashful silence” related to [expressing] these rightful interests and Russia’s reactions to the West has been dragged out’ (Kortunov and Kortunov 1994: 262). The European Union maintains that it is founded on a collective determination of its members to promote peace and stability. It professes to seek to build a world founded on respect for human rights, democracy and the rule of law, an oft-repeated statement being, ‘principles underpin all aspects of the internal and external policies of the European Union’ (for example, Council of the European Union 2012). The European Parliament similarly states of the EU that it ‘places individual and human dignity at the heart of its activities’ (2013). The EU sees human rights as part of a larger set of values and processes that guarantee a profoundly positive, domestic polity and, through those, a wide pacific union. Whatever the scope for challenging that, this chapter accepts the EU’s self-view as promoters of these values in order to explore their place in EU-Russian relations.

The intertwining of human rights with other values For analytical purposes, human rights can be isolated from other political phenomena and values. In practice, also, some institutions, including the EU itself, will have specific office holders mandated to advance human rights. Of the EU eight Special Representatives, six are charged with geographic areas, a seventh with the Middle East Peace Process and the eighth with Human Rights. Nevertheless, separating human rights from other mutually supporting political values is challenging and may even be unhelpful. This is particularly true of the EU and of the international organisations through which it has also tried to influence Russia, such as the Council of Europe and the OSCE. The EU expressly ties human rights and democracy together (Council of the European Union 2012). While the EU has adopted statements and strategies on human rights generally and towards Russia specifically, along with most other analysts and activists, it also sees human rights as requiring complementary democratisation, the wider protection of rights, including those of minorities, broadly defined, and the rule of law. Furthermore, the ethos of the EU’s democracy and human rights promotion is such that it openly supports both domestic and international activism. Understanding human rights in EU-Russian relations, therefore, is to understand at least part of the wider tensions in Western–Russian relations. That said, the EU is not necessarily seen as a coherent actor. At many times, individual member state interests towards Russia emerge that contradict and even undermine any EU stance on human rights (see Schmidt-Felzmann this volume). More generally, Western states are even 163

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accused of ‘appeasement’ (see Kasparov 2015; @Kasparov63). Member state dependence on Russian energy led some to contend that it ‘helped the EU to give up on its former insistence on its relations with Russia being based on notions like democracy and human rights’ (Aalto 2008: 41). Nevertheless, the EU also can and does operate coherently on human rights towards Russia. The Strategic Framework on Human Rights and Democracy is a leading example of collective agreement and action. More than that, the EU has implemented collective measures in protest against human rights violations, such as after the nerve-agent poisoning in the United Kingdom in 2108, which then–Prime Minister Theresa May spoke of as a ‘violation of human rights’ (May 2018; also see diplomat comments cited in Emmott 2018; David 2018). Economic sanctions may have the result of narrowing EU-Russian relations, especially down to bilateral ones between Moscow and individual member-states (Romanova 2016), but EU sanctions remain in place. Generally, the EU position on external relations is that human rights matter and, with respect to Russia specifically, they are pursued in ‘a sustained and constructive manner’ (EEAS 2019). EU institutions have repeatedly exposed human rights abuses, often by or against particular individuals, thereby exposing and giving a human face to the abuses and the general curtailment of fundamental freedoms in Russia. Perhaps the key phenomenon, however, is that the Russian regime, when not using the language of security, has sought to justify its actions through political language that the EU recognises. The Russian government invests heavily in identifying and disseminating, domestically and internationally, what it considers human rights violations and political hypocrisy by the EU. This situation was absent when Russian–EC relations began. Even before the Cold War’s end and early in the post–Cold War era, the then-EC and the Russian Federation enjoyed intelligibility on human rights. The USSR was rewarded with observer status in the Council of Europe, and Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev used that forum on 6 July 1989 to state that Soviet domestic law now conformed to international and European agreements on human rights (Gorbachev 1989). Thus, in the 1990s, the ‘Russian leadership seemed largely receptive to founding its relations with the EU in shared liberal values’ (DeBardeleben this volume). Similarly, Deriglazova (this volume) recounts how the EU initially was a model for human rights and how Russia accepted advice and support. The defence of human rights has since been in all major documents that regulate EU-Russian relations, although it is the case that when the EC announced the Copenhagen Criteria in 1993 that established terms for possible accession, the concluding section on Russia pledged general support for domestic reforms, omitting mention specifically of human rights (European Council 1993). Even when human rights have been defended, questions have been asked about the strength of that defence. The main document between Brussels and Moscow, the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA), was signed by the two parties in 1994, but it only came into effect in 1997. Although the delay of the PCA was a protest against Moscow’s large-scale application of violence during the first Chechen war of 1994–96, arguably the EU’s stance on this array of wholesale human rights abuses was remarkably mute, partly out of deference to Russian interests and partly from a lack of Western sympathy for the Chechen cause (see Gilligan 2013; Forsberg and Herd 2005; Fawn 2002, 2013). For its part, the Kremlin had little issue with the EU’s self-designation as a human rights promoter. Nor did it object to the accession processes of 2004–07, which brought ten postcommunist countries (and Cyprus and Malta) into the Union: what was at that time important, and remains so, was Moscow’s perception of an emerging double standard regarding individual rights and collective rights – especially as regarded the treatment of Russian-speakers in Estonia and Latvia. Russia’s position regarding EU enlargement contrasted sharply with its position regarding NATO enlargement and NATO’s 1999 bombing campaign of Serbia. Part of 164

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Moscow’s fear and disdain was NATO’s justification in terms of ‘human rights’, even while working with the Kosovo Liberation Army, which had twice been included in the US State Department’s list of terrorist organisations. By contrast, the EU did not merit a mention, positively or negatively, in Russia’s National Security Concept. Rather, as one analyst summarised: the Russian political elite perceived the EU as a passive and benign actor. Russian policymakers declared that its relations with NATO were suspended but relations with the EU should be enhanced. As a consequence, these policymakers began to regard the EU as the ‘acceptable face of the West’. (Maass 2017: 19) The prospect of cooperation between the Russian Federation and the EU after Kosovo remained positive, but events soon after would act as hindrances. To be sure, suggestions existed that EU-Russian relations were already deteriorating in the late 1990s and later in Putin’s presidency (see, for example, Prozorov 2005, esp. 4–5). However, the terror attacks of 9/11/2001 allowed Putin, amid the second Chechen war and its systematic violation of human rights, to align Russia deftly with what became the Global War on Terror and the prioritisation of ‘security’ over human rights. Even before 9/11, the Russian National Security Concept pronounced: ‘Terrorism represents a serious threat to Russian national security’ (MFA 2000). Additionally, the Concept claimed that (unnamed) entities were making ‘territorial claims against Russia’, a reference to the secessionist conflict in Chechnya between 1994 and 1996, which included attacks on Russian targets outside the republic. 9/11 therefore provided fertile ground to enhance EU/Western cooperation and for security concerns to downgrade human rights. The Chechen attacks thereafter, conducted both outside Chechnya and against quintessentially innocent and mass targets, such as Moscow’s Dubrovka Theatre in October 2002 and a school in Beslan in September 2004, underlined that Moscow’s responses were extreme and indifferent to human life but also indicated the threats that Russia faced.

The Eastern Partnership as a turning point The disintegration in EU relations generally and on human rights specifically with Russia came with Brussels’s promulgation of the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) in 2004, and a little later, in 2009, with the Eastern Partnership (EaP) especially (see Delcour this volume for a detailed account of relations in the Neighbourhood). Already, Moscow expressed serious reservations about the EU’s general outreach through the ENP. As a contemporary analyst observed, ‘Russia’s flat rejection’ of the ENP was of ‘great significance’ and signalled that it wanted to exclude itself from that process (Haukkala 2008: 41). The EaP sought to retool the domestic polities of six post-Soviet states, akin to what was done in Central and South Eastern Europe and the Baltics in the EU accession process. The EaP marked a turning point for Russian readings of EU language and actions. An arguable increase in EU attention to Russian deficiencies in human rights came from ‘new’ EU member states who acceded in 2004 and 2007 and who found a niche in the Union by using their own escape from (as they put it) totalitarianism, expressing a moral-historical duty to expose such practices in post-Soviet states, including Russia (Fawn 2009). Some of those states, as in the Baltics, were the very ones that Moscow saw as having abrogated human rights, while the EU remained indifferent. Moscow has invested heavily to demonstrate Western failures and the hypocrisy of the EU regarding human rights. Doing so for Moscow is not simply rhetorical posturing but constitutes part of its larger foreign policy ambitions to assert alternative 165

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understandings of international values and thereby to make the international system more pluralistic, even, in its eyes, more fair. Moscow’s own normative assertions regarding ‘human rights’ allow it to demonstrate international inequalities, and it considers the EU to have unilaterally anointed itself the judge of others regarding, as Romanova has argued, ‘what is right or wrong’ (2018: 372). Russian official anger at the EU (and the West more broadly) became ever more noticeable for defining and then seemingly monopolising the language of human rights. A repeated phrase emanating from Russian officials was that of ‘double standards’ – ignoring that regard for human rights is itself an aim of Russian foreign policy (President of the Russian Federation 2013a). Additional foreign policy aims have become the promotion not of a universal form of human rights (regardless of whether there is such a thing) but of ‘Russia’s approach to human rights issues’ in international structures (President of the Russian Federation 2016). In international fora in which Moscow could project itself to Western countries, such as the Council of Europe, the OSCE and the UN and through EU channels, the EU is castigated by Russian representatives for duplicity regarding human rights. The hypocrisy of the West over the inconsistent regard for its political values became part of a wider campaign towards Western publics. So important for Moscow was the dissemination of its own news accounts that by 2011, the Kremlin had spent 1.4 billion USD on international media, exceeding state payments to Russia’s unemployed (Harding 2011: 115). While the EaP is about much more than human rights, the promotion of certain political values, including human rights, formed part of a larger conspiratorial view adopted by the Kremlin: those countries’ conversion into EU-like states. From the outset, Russian leaders exclaimed the unacceptability of the EaP’s terms. The EU could have better explained to Moscow the meaning and intentions of the EaP. Even pro-Ukrainian/Western analyses noted EU failings in respecting official Russian concerns (Wilson 2014). Leading Russian officials repeatedly spoke of how the EaP forced these six former Soviet republics to choose between Moscow and Brussels, calling the EaP a zero-sum game (dangerous geopolitical language once absent in EU-Russian relations) between Brussels and Moscow. By 2018, that language remained but was qualified as the ‘game was initiated not with a zero sum but with a “negative sum” through attempts to throw post-Soviet states into a false choice of “you’re either with us, or against us” ’ (MFA 2018a). But that is both a product and a further representation of how the EU and Russia have developed fundamentally contrasting languages of human rights. The Russian government continues to blame the EU for the Ukraine crisis: ‘We should learn from self-evident mistakes made during the implementation by the EU of its Eastern Partnership initiative’. Moscow continues to ask for ‘due consideration of the interests of all parties concerned’ as the EU attempts to proceed with its EaP (Permanent Mission of the Russian Federation to the EU 2019). The next section identifies this confrontation’s place in EU-Russian relations.

Russia’s reinterpretation of human rights and how the EU became an (human rights) aggressor From Russia’s perspective, the EU openly supported the veneration of historical fascism (as in the acceptance of Baltic commemorations of wartime alliances against the Soviet Union) and its contemporary reincarnation. Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov explained The neo-Nazis rearing heads in civilised European countries is an established fact. We are constantly discussing this with our European partners, pointing to what is happening in

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Latvia and Estonia, which annually hold marches of Waffen-SS veterans, sometimes with the participation of members of the government and the parliament. The EU does not find this comforting. . . [but tries] to rationalise this by quoting their past. (MFA 2016) The Russian government raised these issues in international fora such as the UN, explaining that: ‘Unfortunately, the entire European Union abstains unanimously seeing this as a threat to the freedom of speech’ (MFA 2018b, emphasis added). Elaboration of apparent EU misunderstandings of both history and human rights extends to comments such as: ‘If the EU considers fulfilling the Nuremberg Tribunal verdict as an infringement on the freedom of speech, well, then EU lawyers have to rethink what they are required to do’ (ibid.). From such accusations grow larger Russian ones that claim that the EU (and the United States) not only ignore human rights abuses in their ranks but also support ‘fascism’ and ‘Nazism’ more widely than in the Baltic states, a useful foil with which to attack the post-Maidan government in Ukraine (which did, briefly, allow a tiny number of the far-right into a temporary coalition government). Thus, the Russian Foreign Ministry demanded to know: ‘Where is the reaction of the European Union, international and human rights organisations that condemn any manifestation of Nazism? There is none’ (MFA 2019). The official Russian view of the EU misappropriating ‘human rights’ has been extended to other areas of social and political life, becoming a means for further repression inside Russia. EU support for LGBT rights has been cast by the Kremlin as the antithesis of human rights, separating, for example, children from their families (as indicators, see quotations from gay activists cited in Rettman 2015). EU support for the equality of sexual orientations sees homosexuality, with official Kremlin blessing, misinterpreted in Russian media. Such support by the EU is regarded as helping to instigate vice, including among, as Putin claimed, Western political parties, ‘whose goal is legalising the propaganda of paedophilia’ (President of the Russian Federation 2013b; and more generally, Persson 2015). Putin supports the values of the Russian Orthodox Church and finds common ground in EU states, particularly those now seen as challenging the EU, such as Hungary and Poland. Indeed, when the Russian MFA began collating what it called human rights abuses in the EU in 2011, among them was ‘aggressive promotion of the sexual minorities’ rights’ (MFA 2013: 8–9). These accusations broaden to intensify another alternative ‘human rights’ issue, namely the Kremlin’s vilification of foreign human rights promotion. Human Rights Watch wrote: the Kremlin has sought to stigmatize criticism or alternative views of government policy as disloyal, foreign-sponsored, or even traitorous. It is part of a sweeping crackdown to silence critical voices that has included new legal restrictions on the internet, on freedom of expression, on the rights of . . . LGBT people, and on other fundamental freedoms. (2018) These inverted representations of human rights allow the Russian government and its substantial domestic and foreign media to portray the EU to be decaying because of its failure to embrace ‘the Christian values that constitute the basis of Western civilisation . . . denying moral principles and all traditional identities: national, cultural, religious and even sexual’ (President of the Russian Federation 2013b). ‘They are implementing policies that equate large families with same-sex partnerships, belief in God with the belief in Satan’ (ibid.). Those (mis)representations in turn make the EU appear less ‘European’ to the traditionalist Russian mindset (Morozov this volume).

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The official Russian reinterpretation of human rights extended also to presenting NGOs as a source of societal threat, particularly those receiving foreign funding. The EU sees NGOs as fundamental to civil society and to the protection of human rights, in contrast to the Kremlin, as exemplified by the Russian ‘Foreign Agents’ Law of 2012 which, in the eyes of some external actors at least, sought to criminalise the very actors most supported in that project by the EU (see Human Right Watch 2018). The Kremlin would no doubt argue that this was an attempt to protect state sovereignty by limiting the level of foreign financing rather than constituting an attack on NGOs. In short, the ‘dominant Russian discourse insists the western democracy promotion is utterly insincere: the real goal . . . is simply to keep Russia down and dependent on western actors’ (Saari 2011: 2). This perspective was fed by the ‘colour revolutions’ of 2003–05, which Russia saw the West as having supported, at its expense. Russia and other post-Soviet regimes began building regional practices to exclude pernicious Western influences and to disseminate better among their governments practical strategies for the re-interpretation of democracy and human rights. Much like an illness, these processes were described as ‘catching the Shanghai spirit’ of crackdown and of developing a League of Authoritarian Gentlemen (for example, respectively, Ambrosia 2008; Cooley 2013). Most concerning is Moscow’s perception of the EU having evolved to present security threats on a par with NATO (see previous discussion). In contradistinction to the National Security Concept of 2000, Russia’s Foreign Policy Concept of 2016 defines both NATO and the EU as threats to it, conducting ‘geopolitical expansion’, and blames each, rather than NATO alone, for a ‘serious crisis in the relations between Russia and the Western States’ (President of the Russian Federation 2016: paragraph 61). Having built a repertoire of cases of EU hypocrisy before Ukraine refused to sign an Association Agreement at the Vilnius EU-EaP Summit in November 2013, Russian media took the vocabulary to new heights. The Western-backed ‘coup’ seized power from the (correctly stated) democratically elected Yanukovych and included extreme right figures, and the coup and subsequent regime perpetrated abuses that remain unaccounted for (Permanent Mission 2017). Not only did those violations apparently help to legitimate the Russian annexation of Crimea but also (after plausible deniability wore too thin) supported the claims of Russian speakers in eastern Ukraine. But this was an alternative language already developed from the 2008 Russian intervention in Georgia, which after various efforts at justification, included saving the Ossetians from ‘genocide’ (see Allison 2013, esp. 156). Human rights language had been extended from that of Responsibility to Protect, the post-Bosnia and Kosovo doctrine legitimating invention when governments abrogate responsibility for safeguarding their own citizens. That in turn arguably provides further, seemingly legitimate, language with which to demonstrate EU duplicity in promoting human rights (on legality, see Allison 2013; on some linguistic justifications, see Fawn and Nalbandov 2012). The EU becomes not only hypocritically mute about abuses in its ranks but is also deemed ‘a leader in terms of the seriousness and scale of human rights violations in recent years’. Moscow then positions itself not only as a moralist power safeguarding those rights but as a conscious, reliable partner of other (unnamed) activists: ‘Russia and the international human rights community have tried to attract public attention to these instances [of EU human rights abuses] almost daily’ (MFA 2018c). Also significant is the absence of human rights from Russian official discourse on EU-Russian relations, for example, that of the Permanent Mission of the Russian Federation to the EU (2019). The EU and Russia have intensified mutual criticisms regarding human rights abuses; that has also deepened differences regarding Ukraine. Noting such unprecedented conditions, the final section turns to prospects for human rights promotion. 168

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Forward thinking? Territorial seizure and violent conflict in Ukraine notwithstanding, human rights are probably the most fraught dimension in EU-Russian relations, having become an ideological battleground in itself, one that even contributes to a security dilemma between Moscow and Brussels over their relations with third countries. The relationship also rests on domestic developments. Where the EU believes that it promotes healthy political pluralism, both internally and externally, Russian society by contrast is seen as atomised, and much of it also complacent or indifferent. The post-1991 Russian governments astutely allow exit, in two important regards. Major dissenters can leave, and out of fear, many have (and that has not prevented deaths abroad, as well as inside [see Knight 2017]). The other is, of course, allowing what the USSR never did – travel abroad, enjoyed by the new, reasonably affluent middle classes that may otherwise currently have few political desires beyond consumption. But sparks can occur of their own accord, and the regime can and does miscalculate. This is not to suggest wanton mayhem – not at all. To do so may play to the Russian government’s existing predilection to see conspiratorial behaviour against it. However, activism is an essential part of an accountable and responsible polity. Successful governments need not fear their publics. A notable example were the protests after the 2011 legislative elections. Russian official repression intensified after that, including with mass arrests in May 2012 on the eve of Putin’s return inauguration as president, which then led to the Bolotnaya trials in 2013, widely considered ‘show trials’ in the West (e.g. The Economist 2013). Remedies in the form of sources of quick support for the government have been short lived, such as from the nationalist satisfaction following the annexation of Crimea and Sebastopol, as the regime miscalculated. Changes in government pension payments in 2018 triggered public outrage. Putin’s popularity fell from 80 per cent (generally seen as the minimum acceptable) to a maximum high of 64 per cent and even below 50 per cent (Levada polls cited in Moscow Times 2018). Putin then appeared on television and atypically announced changes to the policy that relaxed the implications of the original one. Although the EU deems its human rights values timeless and universal, their appeal can matter more when the current Russian political project falters. The strength of independent Russian civil society can be debated, but remains ‘an important concept’ for the EU and Russia (see Belokurova and Demidov this volume). The EU continues to support political activism in Russia, despite severe restrictions. Moscow contends that the EU ignores human rights violations, even though the EU still maintains that it ‘is committed to promoting human rights and the rule of law in Russia in a sustained and constructive manner’ (EEAS 2019, emphasis added). Russian observers contend that ‘almost all potential “Europeanisers” ’ face severe state pressure (Morozov this volume). Nevertheless, some NGOs have adapted with revised organisational structures and legal statuses, including for-profit status that permits foreign grants (Brechenmacher 2017). Despite the domestic difficulties Russian NGOs now face and strains in EU-Russian relations, the EU has continued to support activists (see Deriglazova this volume). With the Global War on Terror’s political permissiveness reduced, Brussels’s advocacy over human rights abuses relating to Chechnya has increased. The EU, for example, raised international queries regarding the fate of Oyub Titiev, Director of the Memorial Human Rights Centre in Chechnya, imprisoned following what are widely believed to be false charges. The EU also took his detention as another opportunity to voice concerns over ‘a worrying trend of arrests, attacks, intimidations and discrediting of independent journalists and human rights defenders working in Chechnya’ (EEAS 2018). Nor should we presume that the EU’s messages 169

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and the alternative values that they represent are lost to Russians. While ‘stability’ remains popular among Russians, and that is often a code word for the subordination of political rights to the status quo, many public opinion polls indicate that ‘support for civil liberties has increased most among less-educated and younger Russians who do not reside in Moscow and St. Petersburg’, that is, among those least expected to support an EU conception of rights (see the abstract of Gerber 2017). In summary, the EU and Russia share common vocabulary regarding human rights, but meanings are divergent. That linguistic clash is not mere semantics but represents and contributes to the crises between the EU and Russia, foremost in Ukraine. The uses and misuses of ‘human rights’ will continue.

References Aalto, P. (2008) ‘The EU-Russia Energy Dialogue and the Future of European Integration: From Economic to Politico-Normative Narratives,’ in P. Aalto (ed.), The EU-Russian Energy Dialogue: Europe’s Future Energy Security, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 23–42. Allison, R. (2013) Russia, the West and Military Intervention, Oxford: Oxford University Press. Ambrosia, T. (2008) ‘Catching the “Shanghai spirit”: how the Shanghai cooperation organization promotes authoritarian norms in Central Asia,’ Europe-Asia Studies 60(8): 1321–44. Brechenmacher, S. (2017) Civil Society under Assault: Repression and Responses in Russia, Egypt, and Ethiopia Carnegie Endowment, available at https://carnegieendowment.org/2017/05/18/civil-society-underassault-repression-and-responses-in-russia-egypt-and-ethiopia-pub-69953 (accessed 20 February 2019). Cooley, A. (2013) ‘The League of Authoritarian Gentlemen’, Foreign Policy (30 January), available at https://foreignpolicy.com/2013/01/30/the-league-of-authoritarian-gentlemen/. Council of the European Union (2012) ‘Framework on human rights and democracy’, 25 June, available at http://data.consilium.europa.eu/doc/document/ST-11855-2012-INIT/en/pdf (accessed 20 February 2019). CSCE (1991) ‘Document of the Moscow meeting of the conference on the human dimension of the CSCE’, 3 October, available at www.osce.org/odihr/elections/14310?download=true (accessed 20 February 2019). David, M. (2018) ‘UK–Russia relations: poisoned chalice or silver linings?’, Palgrave Communications 4(113), 11 September, available at www.nature.com/articles/s41599-018-0168-7/email/correspond ent/c1/ (accessed 10 October 2019). The Economist (2013) ‘New show trials: the Kremlin is trying to frighten dissenters from taking to the streets again’, 6 July, available at www.economist.com/europe/2013/07/06/new-show-trials (accessed 10 October 2019). EEAS (2018) ‘EU statement on human rights violations concerning the memorial human rights centre in Russia’, 19 January, available at https://eeas.europa.eu/headquarters/headquarters-homepage/38499/ eu-statement-human-rights-violations-concerning-memorial-human-rights-centre-russia_en (accessed 20 February 2019). EEAS (2019) ‘The European Union and the Russian federation’, 30 May, available at https://eeas.europa.eu/ headquarters/headquarters-homepage/35939/european-union-and-russian-federation_en (accessed 10 October 2019). Emmott, R. (2018) ‘Exclusive – EU to agree new sanctions regime for chemical attacks,’ available at https:// uk.reuters.com/article/uk-chemicalweapons-eu-exclusive/exclusive-eu-to-agree-new-sanctionsregime-for-chemical-attacks-idUKKCN1M416O (accessed 20 February 2019). European Council (1993) ‘European Council in Copenhagen’, 21–22 June, available at www.consilium. europa.eu/media/21225/72921.pdf (accessed 20 February 2019). European Parliament (2013) ‘Annual report on human rights and democracy in the world’, available at www.europarl.europa.eu/EPRS/EPRS-AaG-551314-Annual-report-Human-Rights-Democracy2013-FINAL.pdf (accessed 20 February 2019). Fawn, R. (2002) ‘Correcting the incorrigible?: Russia’s relations with the West over Chechnya’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics 18(1): 1–19. Fawn, R. (2009) ‘ “Bashing about rights”: Russia and the “new” EU states on human rights and democracy promotion’, Europe-Asia Studies 61(10): 1777–803. 170

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Fawn, R. (2013) International Organizations and Internal Conditionality: Making Norms Matter, Basingstoke, Hants: Palgrave Macmillan. Fawn, R. and Nalbandov, R. (2012) ‘The Difficulties of Knowing the Start of War in the Information Age: Russia, Georgia and the War over South Ossetia, August 2008’, European Security 21(1 (March)): 57–91. Forsberg, T. and Herd, G.P. (2005) ‘The EU, human rights, and the Russo–Chechen conflict’, Political Science Quarterly 120: 455–78. Gerber, T.P. (2017) ‘Public opinion on human rights in Putin-era Russia: continuities, changes, and sources of variation’, Journal of Human Rights 16(3): 314–31. Gilligan, E. (2013) Terror in Chechnya: Russia and the Tragedy of Civilians in War, Princeton: Princeton University Press. Gorbachev, M. (1989) Address given by Mikhail Gorbachev to the Council of Europe (Strasbourg, 6 July 1989), available at www.cvce.eu/content/publication/2002/9/20/4c021687-98f9-4727-9e8b-836e0bc1f6fb/ publishable_en.pdf (accessed 20 February 2019). Gorbachev, M. (1990) Speech by Soviet President Mikhail Gorbachev to the Second Summit of CSCE Heads of State or Government Paris, 19–21 November 1990, available at www.osce.org/mc/16155?download=true (accessed 20 February 2019). Harding, L. (2011) Mafia State, London: Guardian Books. Haukkala, H. (2008) ‘Russian reactions to the European neighbourhood policy’, Problems of Post-­ Communism 55(5): 40–8, September–October, doi:10.2753/PPC1075-8216550504 Human Rights Watch (2018) ‘Russia: government vs. rights groups’, 18 June, available at www.hrw.org/ russia-government-against-rights-groups-battle-chronicle (accessed 20 February 2019). Kasparov, G. (2015) ‘The killing of my friend Boris Nemtsov must signal the death of appeasement’, The Guardian (online), 6 March, available at www.theguardian.com/commentisfree/2015/mar/06/borisnemtsov-appeasement-ukraine-putin (accessed 20 February 2019). Knight, A. (2017) Orders to Kill: The Putin Regime and Political Murder, New York: St. Martin’s Press. Kortunov, S. and Kortunov, A. (1994) ‘From “moralism” to “pragmatics”: new dimensions in Russian foreign policy’, Comparative Strategy 13(3): 261–76. Maass, A.-S. (2017) EU-Russia Relations, 1999–2015: From Courtship to Confrontation, Abingdon: Routledge. May, Theresa Rt. Hon. (2018) PM statement on the Salisbury investigation: 5 September  2018, Gov. UK, available at www.gov.uk/government/speeches/pm-statement-on-the-salisbury-investigation5-september-2018 (accessed 10 January 2020). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2000) National Security Concept of the Russian Federation: Approved by Presidential Decree No. 24 of 10 January, available at www.mid.ru/en/ foreign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/content/id/589768 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2013) Report on the Human Rights Situation in the European Union (unofficial translation), Moscow, available at www.mid.ru/en/diverse/-/ asset_publisher/8bWtTfQKqtaS/content/id/713035 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s remarks and answers to questions at the Terra Scientia Youth Educational Forum on Klyazma River, Vladimir Region, July 22, 2016’, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/guest/meropriyatiya_s_uchastiem_ ministra/-/asset_publisher/xK1BhB2bUjd3/content/id/2366754 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2018a) ‘Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s remarks and responses to questions at the Germany-Russia Forum, Berlin, September 14, 2018’, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/guest/meropriyatiya_s_uchastiem_ministra/-/asset_publisher/xK1BhB 2bUjd3/content/id/3344050 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2018b) ‘Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov’s answers to media questions on the sidelines of the 73rd Session of the UN General Assembly, New York, September  28, 2018’, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/guest/general_assembly/-/asset_pub lisher/lrzZMhfoyRUj/content/id/3362656 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2018c) ‘Briefing by Foreign Ministry Spokesperson Maria Zakharova, Moscow, July  5, 2018’, available at www.mid.ru/en/press_service/ video/-/asset_publisher/i6t41cq3VWP6/content/id/3290159 (accessed 20 February 2019). Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) of the Russian Federation (2019) ‘Remarks by Russia’s Permanent Representative to the OSCE Alexander Lukashevich at a meeting of the OSCE Permanent Council on the violation of linguistic rights in Ukraine’, Vienna, January 24, 2019’, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/ guest/maps/ua/-/asset_publisher/ktn0ZLTvbbS3/content/id/3482951 (accessed 20 February 2019). 171

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15 The human rights agenda in EU-Russia relations From a political to politicised dialogue Larisa Deriglazova

Human rights (HuR) have been a contentious issue in EU-Russia relations since the early 1990s. Andrey Kortunov has called human rights one of ‘the most difficult and unpleasant issues’ in EU-Russia relations over the last 25 years (2018). After Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March  2014, the EU imposed sanctions on Russia and has, at the time of writing, extended them every six months since. The EU halted biannual meetings on the EU-Russia Human Rights Dialogue at the official level but continues to support Russian human rights and civil society projects. In April 2014, the Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe (PACE) suspended the Russian delegation from voting. The unsuccessful attempt by the Russian delegation to return to PACE in 2016 resulted in Russia’s partial refusal to pay its share of the Council of Europe (CoE) budget in 2017. This led to an official warning that Russia’s non-payment could cause the country’s departure from the CoE. In January 2019, the Russian State Duma did not submit credentials for the 2019 session of PACE and in its official statement stressed that the decision was made ‘in the interests of the citizens of the Russian Federation and the Russian state’ (Russian Federation 2019). In summer 2019, Russia returned to PACE after heated discussions at the Assembly (Council of Europe 2019). Analysis of the HuR agenda in EU-Russia relations enables a comparison of approaches not only to manifested and shared values but eventually common legal norms in the area of human rights. Russia and all the EU countries are members of the Council of Europe – a European organisation that primarily concerns human rights protection and political cooperation to achieve that goal. Russia has ratified core conventions on human rights, and its norms and practices on human rights should be similar to other European countries. The European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) provides a control and law enforcement mechanism that aims to improve national legislation and juridical practices on human rights. In addressing the HuR agenda in EU-Russia relations, we seek to understand why political cooperation in this area has caused constant discord. The HuR agenda requires studying two levels of EU-Russia interaction – institutional and societal. The actors at each level have divergent priorities regarding collective versus individual rights and in their understanding of national versus international obligations in ensuring human rights protection.

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Academic perspectives Most literature is not specifically focused on the EU-Russia HuR agenda but analyses Russia’s democratic transition and the EU’s impact on Russia. Scholars discuss the correspondence of the reformed institutions, legal norms and practices in Russia to European standards. Research on Russian democracy increases annually, which reflects a common dissatisfaction with Russia’s political development in this millennium. Putin’s years of leadership are associated with strengthened state control, curtailed political freedoms and challenges to Western democracies. ‘Putin’s Russia’ is now synonymous with an antidemocratic regime and people mired in authoritarianism. Scholars often debate whether Russia is a special case or simply undergoing challenges commonly associated with democratic transition (Linz and Stepan 1996; Sakwa 2011; Tsygankov 2014; Morozov 2015; Kolstø and Blakkisrud 2016). Recently, scholars have raised concerns about Russia’s potential influence on other countries as a norm-maker, not merely a norm-taker (Haukkala 2008; Headley 2015; Laruelle 2016; Snyder 2018). Publications which focus on EU and Russian cooperation in the area of human rights evaluate the EU’s influence on Russia’s democratic development through technical aid, special programmes and advising. These publications critically assess the EU’s ability to project its normative power into Russia and make it fulfil its HuR obligations in accordance with international agreements ( Jordan 2003; Francis 2008; Björkdahl et  al. 2015). Scholarship focuses on the direct influence of European law on Russian legislation and juridical practices on HuR (Trochev 2008; Gilligan 2010). Some studies acknowledge that reforms resulted in a deep social and economic crisis that led to the de facto breakdown of the rights of Russian citizens (Weiler 2004), with a subsequent dissolution of liberal ideas and trust in Western countries among many Russians (Zigon 2010; Dutkiewicz et al. 2016). A significant body of literature addresses the role of the HuR agenda in the foreign policy of the EU (Neuman 2019) and the principle of conditionality and those incentives and sanctions that the EU employs towards various countries (Björkdahl et al. 2015). A rather voluminous amount of research, albeit mostly in the Russian language, concerns the concept of HuR in modern Russia. It discusses the novelty of the very concept of HuR for the legal system of Russia in general, examining the consequent changes in Russia’s juridical, power and penal institutions; professional training of lawyers; and the work of new HuR institutions such as the Ombudsman and Constitutional Court. Similarly, the concept of civil society as being independent from state power is actively discussed in Russian language literature. Importantly, legal professionals and representatives of civil society expressed their interests in the further integration of Russia into the legal practice of European institutions (Finkel 2012; Levina 2013; Bogdanova 2018). Some publications tackle the history of the HuR movement in the USSR and modern Russia and state and civil society relations at large, including the role of international support for HuR activities and activists (Henderson 2003; Gilligan 2004, 2010; Roth 2010). Here we can distinguish works by Russian activists who have reflected on the imperfect shape of state–civil society relations in Russia throughout the entire period of transition (see e.g.  Dzhibladze and Ermishin 2002). Thus, academic literature provides theoretical framework and case studies for better understanding of the regularities and particularities in EU-Russia relations on HuR, although authors disagree on whether cooperation is beneficial for both sides or whether, rather, Russia threatens European HuR institutions and practices while not improving its own (see Kahn 2019). 174

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EU-Russia dialogue on human rights The website of the Delegation of the EU to Russia states that the political framework with Russia rests on their membership in the United Nations, the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and the Council of Europe and their commitment to ‘upholding and respecting the fundamental values and principles of democracy, human rights, the rule of law and the market economy’ (EEAS 2019). The human rights issue has been integrated into all major documents that regulate the EU-Russia relationship and interwoven into political aspects of their relations since the early 1990s. Russia adopted most HuR norms and reformed its public institutions accordingly in the 1990s. The 1993 Constitution of the Russian Federation contains a dedicated title on human rights; it also established the office of Ombudsman (first appointed in 1994). The Presidential Commission on Human Rights was established in Russia in 1993, and it now acts as the Presidential Council for the Development of Civil Society and Human Rights. In 1996, Russia joined the Council of Europe and in 1998, ratified the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) and accepted the jurisdiction of the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR). The CoE constantly ‘measures’ Russia’s progress on HuR norms and practice, and Russia is among the countries with the highest number of applications and judgments in the history of the ECtHR (since 1959). The Venice Commission of the CoE has issued dozens of opinions on Russia with regard to the country’s legislation and its compliance with HuR norms and practices. The EU has provided substantial financial support for the reform of Russian public institutions and civil society projects. From 1991–2001, the EU directed 280  million EUR for ‘support for institutional, legal and administrative reforms’ in Russia as part of the TACIS programme. The projects were implemented at all levels of government, aimed at improving their efficiency, although the EU recognised a limited impact for the training provided for officials due to a lack of overall strategy for administrative reform, although it estimated that ‘thousands of students and officials’ were exposed to EU best practices (EU External Action 2001). From 1997, Russia was included in the special programme European Initiative for Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR) and, by 2018, over 390 projects were supported. In 2003, the EIDHR initiated a tripartite programme between the CoE, the EU and the Russian government to assist Russian state institutions in complying with CoE membership obligations. The EU and CoE co-financed projects to promote HuR and democracy education among young Russian politicians. From 2004–2011, the EU assisted Russia in introducing an ‘electronic government’ aimed at modernising governance and bringing transparency and accountability to state institutions. Relevant projects involved about 25,000 civil servants (EEAS 2011). Information systems accessible via the internet were introduced in all judicial bodies, including the Constitutional Court. In the 1990s and 2000s, the EU and CoE helped to shape major reforms in Russia’s judicial system through consultations, personnel training, ongoing evaluation of new laws, legislation and practice (see Muižnieks 2013). The EU has therefore heavily promoted the HuR agenda, and Russia’s progress on HuR, democracy and rule of law was a condition for deepening their relationship. The delay in ratifying the EU-Russian Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA), signed in 1994, until 1997 due to the military conflict in Chechnya and HuR abuses reported there serves as an illustration of this. For many years, the HuR situation in this region remained at the centre of EU concerns. In 1999, the EU’s Common Strategy on Russia prioritised ‘consolidation of democracy, the rule of law and public institutions in Russia’ along with ‘strengthening civic society’ in the framework of the political dialogue and detailed actions to be adopted by Russia to progress 175

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in this field (EU 1999). According to this, the EU’s political dialogue with Russia must start with HuR and democracy issues and the active involvement of civic society. In a similar document adopted by Russia towards the EU, human rights were not mentioned at all (Russian Federation 1999). These documents reflected the clear asymmetry in the importance that the EU and Russia allocated to HuR and demonstrated different visions of political dialogue. In November 2004, the EU and Russia agreed to hold consultations on HuR on a regular, biannual basis considering their importance for ‘overall EU-Russia relations’ (EU External Action 2001: 5). These consultations took place until November 2013. Russia’s official position was mostly presented through the Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA). Simultaneously, cooperation included expert meetings and parliamentary level, legal cooperation and advising, as well as active contacts between EU agencies and Russian and international NGOs working on human rights outside of official HuR consultations. During the last HuR consultations in November  2013, the EU repeated its concerns. It cited the deteriorating conditions in which non-governmental organisations (NGOs) operate in Russia and the prospect of new laws affecting the LGBT community, as well as the harassment and persecution of HuR defenders and opposition leaders. The EU deplored the lack of investigation into several criminal cases connected to HuR (the Magnitsky, Estemirova, Politkovskaya cases) (EEAS 2013). Russia in return raised its concerns with the rise of racism and xenophobia in the EU, the lack of an EU investigation into the US secret detention facilities and of ‘mass non-citizenship’ in the EU, referring to Russian-speaking minorities in Estonia and Latvia (Russian Federation 2013). Here, the differences between the actors were made clear. The format of the EU-Russia HuR dialogue has been criticised as ineffective. The International Federation for Human Rights (FIDH) suggested upgrading or suspending the HuR consultations because they have been ‘instrumentalised’ and become a ‘process rather than a means to achieve measurable and tangible results’ (2010: 2). A study prepared at the request of the European Parliament in 2011 repeated similar concerns and specified the need to include officials from the Ministry of the Interior and the Prosecutor’s Office in the dialogue to develop explicit benchmarks to assess progress in the consultations and that ‘issues raised must be discussed at the highest level of EU-Russia dialogue’ (Young and Shapovalova 2011: 4, 27). To overcome insufficient representation from the Russian side, the EU intensified its outreach to non-state actors and launched the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum in May 2011. Inevitably, however, the EU suspension of high-level summits and many other fora with Russia in 2014 affected the HuR consultations. The EU continues to react to Russia’s HuR violations through its diplomatic channels and annual reports on HuR in the world (Council of the European Union 2018) while also continuing to support the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum (see also Belokurova and Demidov this volume). Since 2011, Russian parliamentarians and officials have taken a proactive stance in the critical assessment of the HuR situation in the EU outside of the HuR consultations. The State Duma held hearings, and the MFA published reports on HuR violations in EU countries (Romanova 2016). At the same time, HuR defenders in Russia faced growing pressure and stigmatisation for receiving international funding under the so-called foreign agents law (Amnesty International 2019: 57–72). The Ukrainian crisis catalysed these trends. HuR rhetoric have been actively used in public debates in Russia with a particular official discourse promoted through state-controlled media: on the violation of human rights in Ukraine and the EU countries; on the migration crisis and the rise of right-wing movements in the EU countries (see the talkshow, Politika 2013–2016). The 2016 Russian Foreign Policy Concept has a special paragraph on ‘international humanitarian cooperation and human rights’ that reflects the official position. It contains three major 176

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foci that have previously been expressed by Russian officials during HuR dialogue with the EU: i) sovereignty of Russia, demanding ‘respect [for] the particularity of each state’s national context’ of HuR, ii) the right of Russia to protect the rights of compatriots living abroad, iii) accusations against Western countries of ‘extremism, neo-Nazism, racial discrimination, aggressive nationalism, anti-Semitism and xenophobia’, and ‘attempts to rewrite history in connection to WWII’ (Russian Federation 2016). Thus, the Concept confirms two important dimensions of Russia’s official position in regard to HuR: i) rejection of the universal character of HuR and international monitoring of the HuR situation in Russia, and ii) use of the HuR agenda as a battleground in relations with the West. Thus, the content and context of EU-Russia cooperation on HuR has dramatically changed on Russia’s part. In the 1990s, Russia accepted European norms and practices and, in accordance with them, cooperated with the EU and CoE on reforms of public institutions and practices. In this millennium, Russia has reclaimed its right to be sovereign (vis-á-vis EU pressure) and started to accuse EU countries of being non-democratic and violators of HuR. The HuR agenda at the senior officials’ EU-Russia HuR Consultation showed little advancement in Russia’s official position towards cooperation and became a battleground of ideas and for the active application of HuR rhetoric.

The human rights agenda and dilemmas of democratic transition in Russia Persistent problems in EU-Russia communication on HuR reflect the dilemmas of an incomplete Russian democratic transition with its central problem of statism or a strong state. The EU faces the problem of Russia’s statism with regard to the latter’s particular understanding of politics as a process and what constitute legitimate actors and international versus national policies. These dilemmas of state versus non-state, collective versus individual and national versus international are interconnected and, with regard to EU-Russia HuR cooperation, are only separable for analytical purposes. Taken as a whole, they concern the proper functioning of the reformed public institutions and consistent application of accepted legal norms, in accordance with a democratic spirit internally and externally.

Politics as a process and its legitimate actors The core disagreement between the EU and Russia on HuR dialogue is determined by a different understanding of what politics is and who the legitimate actors are with regard to the HuR agenda. For the EU, non-state actors, individuals and opposition forces, along with officials, are legitimate actors in international politics and political dialogue; for Russian political elites, only state representatives can participate in international dialogue. For the EU, the HuR agenda is a matter of international concern and discussion; for Russian political elites, as soon as HuR norms are adopted and public institutions reformed, their functioning constitutes the internal policy of Russia and no international evaluation of the HuR situation in Russia is welcome, necessary or even possible. The Russian political class interprets the financial and political support that the EU agencies provide to HuR advocates in Russia as interference in domestic political life with the ultimate goal of fostering a political change. When they rely on international political and financial support, Russian HuR advocates are accused of antiRussian and anti-state activities (Amnesty International 2019). Thus, the rhetoric whereby the Russian state is a source of security and welfare for Russian citizens and therefore must be protected from outside interference has been a constant throughout Putin’s leadership. 177

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Any  attempt to overcome the monopoly of state interests in Russia is interpreted as antiRussian and subversive. In pointing to the regime’s major contradiction between democracy and statism, Leahy argued that the Russian political elite simultaneously committed itself to the pursuit of democratic development and to restoring the power of the state, while ‘these two major concepts, democracy and “statism”, are compatible only in a system of governance in which checks on power are in place and balance is assured by an absolute respect for the rule of law’ (2000: 633). Leahy named this an ‘era of restoration’ aimed at restoring the power of the state to counter the negative consequences of the liberal period of reforms. Similarly, Linz and Stepan (1996) argued that Russia underwent liberalisation, but not democratisation. They stressed that for ‘completed democratic transitions’, five interacting arenas are to become consolidated: ‘a lively civil society, a relatively autonomous political society, a rule of law, a usable state, and economic society (not just a capitalist market)’ (ibid.: xiv). None of these five interacting areas are independent of the state in Russia. These arguments are consistent with the dominant scholarly arguments explaining the incomplete democratisation in Russia that are implicitly manifest in the HuR agenda – internally and externally. Relations between the state and individual constitute the heart of the HuR concept itself and represent a long-term dilemma for Russia. Sakwa noted that ‘one of the great conundrums of our time is why it has been so hard to establish the rudiments of a working democratic system in Russia’ (2014: 61) and argued that ‘the system in formal institutional terms was undoubtedly a liberal democracy, but practice fell short of declared principles’ (2011: 1). Sakwa reasoned that the strong state logic met internal and external security challenges and referred to the ‘democracy paradox’ in Russia – when given the vote, people chose a non-democratic option (2011: 75). Efforts to restore a strong state could be seen during Yeltsin’s presidency in his fight with the State Duma in 1993, communication with the new rich and the first Chechen campaign. Linz and Stepan reasoned that through the reforms, collective rights prevailed over individual rights, and the tradition continued of extraordinary power being given to the ‘legislature and chairman’, which is ‘incompatible with a model of division of powers’ (1996: 366 ff.). In 1999, Putin started the ‘pacification’ of Chechnya and continued with efforts to regain control over the economy (anti-oligarchy), regions and media. Russian oligarchs such as Berezovskii, Khodorkovskii and Gussinskii, who were politically active, lost their business and were forced out of Russia in the early 2000s, which illustrates the logic of a state power restoration. It is worthy of note that the Khodorkovskii and Gussinskii cases were adjudicated in the ECtHR. Moreover, the ECtHR judgement on the Yukos (Khodorkovskii’s company) case (ECtHR 2019: 12–13) caused Russia’s Constitutional Court to argue that the ECtHR ruling violated the Russian constitution (BBC 2017). Many reasons for the incomplete democratisation of Russia originate from the Soviet past, the lack of democratic experience and the need to establish an effective system of checks and balances to limit state power and guarantee the independence of the courts and a strong civil society. Soviet dissident and the first ombudsman, Sergei Kovalyov, referred to the lack of legal consciousness of Russian citizens (see Gilligan 2004: 55) and the need to change relations between the state and HuR advocates. HuR rhetoric divided the activist and the state during Soviet times; activists were treated as anti-system actors and therefore vulnerable to prosecution. Kovalyov identified the need to overcome a historic reluctance to compromise (ibid.), confessing that ‘human rights are political’, meaning they require participation in politics, working with the system and through institutions for change (ibid.: 223). In the post-Soviet political realm, both sides – state agencies and HuR advocates – would have to learn how to cooperate and compromise and how to bridge the gap between government and civil society (ibid.: 224–5). 178

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Prominent Russian HuR figures such as Vladimir Lukin, ombudsman, 2003–2013, and Mikhail Fedotov, the head of the Presidential Commission on HR, 2010–2019, described current-day Russia as a ‘quite imperfect, but still open society’ (Lukin 2014: 167–8; Fedotov 2018). In an obituary for Lyudmila Alekseeva, a lifelong HuR advocate and head of the International Helsinki group, a Euronews journalist recalled two of her sayings illustrating the difficult and long process of democratisation in Russia: that ‘two non-spanked generations in Russia are needed to ensure democracy’ and that ‘it makes sense to scoop the sea with a spoon’ (Euronews 2018), stressing the need for sustained efforts for HuR protection, even if seemingly little was achieved.

Human rights policy as international versus national Analysing the EU’s role in ‘importing norms’, one could answer questions about ‘when EU norms were imported and whether they were adopted, adapted, resisted or rejected’ (Björkdahl et al. 2015: 1–2) with a specific focus on Russia and HuR. Although Headley (2015) argues that Russia resisted and rejected EU norms in general, this chapter asks whether and which human rights were specified. In the early 1990s, HuR norms were adopted through new legislation and the establishment of new institutions. The 1990s and early 2000s were a time of adjustment (adaptation) of norms and practices with close cooperation on the part of the EU and CoE. Since 2005, Russia has demonstrated its resistance to the continued practice of public evaluation of its progress, rejecting international political pressure. Morozov analysed the dual use of the HuR agenda by the Russian political class throughout the 2000s. He noted ‘romantic realism’ in Russian political discourse as ‘a methodological position claiming to reveal the “real” motives for political action’ and at the same time the perspective on ‘human rights as an instrument used by the West to hinder the internal consolidation of other societies and to promote Westernisation’ (2002: 409). In the 2000s, Westernisation was considered a threat to national identity, a way to assimilate the diversity of other cultures. Laruelle has therefore suggested that Russian state ideology moved from an acceptance of European values and norms in the early 1990s, to the building of a national ideology in Yeltsin’s second term, to the current ‘anti-Western European civilisation’ narrative (2016: 293). Her arguments are based on the hypothesis of Russia moving from acceptance to a complete rejection of European norms. Headley supports the idea that Russia currently rejects the role of norm-taker in regard to human rights and insists on being a norm-maker (2015: 211–29). Similarly, Laruelle (2016) and Snyder (2018) argue Russia is moving from being a norm-breaker as an anti-democratic country towards the role of a norm-maker through its efforts to influence other countries, including Europe and the United States. Morozov argues that, ‘Russia does not possess any type of consciousness other than Eurocentrism’ and that Russia’s ‘difference from the rest of Europe is determined by the fact of its being a peripheral country’ (2015: 205). Yet he supports the arguments that HuR discourse is used to project ‘soft power’ in claiming a ‘true’ Europe centred on Russia (2015: 127; see also Fawn this volume). In addition to Russia’s current challenge to the universalism of HuR, international support for HuR groups is another contentious issue. On the one hand, it has created the problem of a democratisation ‘industry’ and some pathological developments within the NGO community by tying it more to external donors rather than serving the domestic needs of society (see Henderson 2003; Sakwa 2011). For others, this follows the long-established practice of Western countries using the HuR agenda in their politics with the USSR and Russia (Lukyanov 2015; Pozner 2018). Certainly, the EU’s support – financial and political – to opposition forces in the CIS in the early 2000s led the Russian political elite to be suspicious of EU interference in 179

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the country’s politics. Russia’s position on HuR cooperation with the EU noticeably changed in the 2000s in the context of the so-called colour revolutions in Georgia, Ukraine and Kyrgyzstan. These concerns led to the emergence of the sovereign democracy concept in Russia and to the demand for equal partnership between Russia and the EU. Bordachev’s arguments are indicative of the shift Russia made from accepting European norms towards rejecting any notion of being accountable to the EU. He elaborated that a strategic alliance between the EU and Russia should be based on equality and rejection of Russia’s previously voluntarily admitted status of a ‘junior partner’, who is ‘an object for inspection and instruction’. Bordachev proposed three principles for the future model of Russia-EU relations: i) it ‘must reflect Russia’s special role in Europe and the world’, ii) ‘there should be no “instructions” for drawing Russia closer to . . . regulatory policies concerning political and economic life in the EU’, iii) ‘the parties must avoid evaluative judgments about the state of the Russian economy and its society as a whole’ (2006: 115–17). This position of Russia being special echoes official narratives, for example, on the website of the official representative of Russia in the CoE that demands a special status based on Russia’s large membership payment. When assessing the relative positions of the EU and Russia, it should be remembered that the very idea of international cooperation on HuR originated from the understanding that the major HuR abusers are often states. The international HuR regime was created after the Second World War within the framework of the United Nations and was based on the political cooperation of states as the effective mechanism for securing the protection of the individual. Thus, the dilemma of the state’s interests and powers vs individual human rights sits at the heart of the HuR concept. This dilemma is exacerbated by the unresolved state–individual dilemma within Russia’s incomplete democratic transition.

Conclusions: from political to ever-politicised dialogue Cooperation between the EU and Russia resulted in changes in the Russian institutional, normative and civic spheres. New institutional and legal arrangements were a direct result of Russia’s voluntary cooperation with the EU and CoE in the 1990s. Leahy stresses that sometimes the West has tended to overlook ‘one of the greatest achievements’ (2000: 634) – a growing acceptance of democratic principles by Russia. Now, however, the main concern is whether Russia has moved from transitional democracy towards performing democracy and if this process is irreversible. As the HuR agenda was included in formal EU-Russia cooperation and had fixed norms, Russia’s progress in HuR has been checked and measured. National and international NGOs serve as watchdogs for HuR violations. The EU and CoE often act as verifiers of Russia’s fulfilment of its obligations within international agreements on HR. European critics of the HuR situation in Russia have irritated Russian political elites, who felt restrained by external pressure. Further, the logic of a strong state in Russia created frictions with regard to HuR cooperation with the EU because of EU criticism of the Russian state and its performance and EU support for Russian non-state actors criticising the Russian political system. A key point to emphasise is that when the EU supports HuR advocates and civil society in Russia, it is often also funding the opponents and critics of Russian official institutions, which inevitably causes tension in the EU-Russia relationship at the official level. The concept of sovereign democracy signified Russia’s effort to be independent from external influence, to reject external control and public evaluation of Russia’s compliance with HuR norms. EU support for Russian NGOs revitalises the conflict inherited from the Soviet past between executive bodies and HuR advocates. 180

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When the EU refers to civil society and individuals, it addresses the problems of Russia’s noncompliance in the context of European norms and practices and expects official Russia to be more responsive. In such situations, the Russian official side is always blamed for abuses and violations of human rights. The current status of the EU-Russia HuR dialogue presents a dilemma of how to preserve the HuR agenda for cooperation, not as a battleground. Another consideration is that the many dilemmas of democratic transition that Russia faces at the institutional and societal level have no easy answers or fast and external solutions. They are dilemmas to be solved by the Russian society and polity itself, preferably in a peaceful environment; otherwise, the logic of hostile surroundings will continue to feed that of a repressive state.

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16 Cyber security in EU-Russia relations Elena Chernenko

Cyber security has become one of the most heated issues debated globally. Yet, at present, it is addressed either at the level of Moscow and EU member states or in those multilateral organisations which include both Russia and EU member states, such as the Council of Europe (CoE), the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and the United Nations (UN). This has not always been so. The 2005 EU-Russian Road Map for the Common Space on Freedom, Security and Justice created the basis for cooperation in several cyber-related spheres (countering terrorism, the fight against transnational organised crime). The EU and Russia planned to expand this collaboration in the agreement that was supposed to replace the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013). The parties also agreed to study possibilities for information exchange on harmful virus programmes used by cyber criminals. Cooperation on cyberrelated issues such as the development of a digital economy was discussed as a potential area of cooperation under the 2010 Partnership for Modernisation. However, the EU put these and similar plans on hold following the 2014 events in Ukraine (see also Khudoley and Ras this volume). Russia turned from a valuable partner to a perceived security threat, particularly acute for some EU member states. Estonia, Germany, the Netherlands and Spain, among others, have accused the Russian government or actors associated with it, of interfering in their domestic affairs and espionage (see, for example, Brattberg and Maurer 2018). The Russian government has denied any cyber attacks against EU countries and rejected all accusations as antiRussian propaganda. The perceived Russian threat was one of the main arguments for the EU’s 2017 cyber security reform. As a result, member states strengthened the permanent Computer Emergency Response Team (CERT-EU) protecting all the EU’s institutions, bodies and agencies and adopted stricter certification rules. They also developed a ‘cyber diplomacy toolbox’ – a framework for a joint EU diplomatic response (including sanctions) to malicious cyber activities. This mistrust and lack of communication between the EU and Russia, which results from many institutional contacts being suspended, hinders any cooperation in cyber space despite the fact that Moscow and Brussels have multiple common threats and could more effectively

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address them together. Counter-terrorism and the fight against cyber crime remain two obvious areas of mutually beneficial cooperation. Hence, the puzzle is what can be done to rebuild and enhance EU-Russian cooperation on cyber issues so that the digital space can become an area of cooperation for the EU and Russia rather than another sphere of conflict.

Competing perspectives on cooperation There is quite a lot of literature on different aspects of cyber security, but very few publications are devoted to EU-Russia relations in this area. Those who choose to focus on this relationship note Russia’s superiority over the EU cyber capabilities and their role in Russia’s hybrid operations against the West, including the EU (Limnell 2018). The application of existing international law to cyber space is another research focus; the lack of clarity and the unwillingness of some countries to move forward with the application of international law results in a situation whereby ‘little green bytes’ can move freely across borders, causing damage equivalent to that wrought by conventional weapons and conflicts (Limnell 2018). The involvement of non-state actors, which conceals government sanctioning of an unlawful act, is yet another area which attracts attention (Soldatov and Borogan 2018). Those steps that the EU can take in this context to increase its resilience and deter threats have been identified (Pawlak 2018). The EU’s very consolidation in the cyber field is frequently addressed as a response to Russia’s activities in cyber space, but the policy design is complicated by the EU’s reactive approach and member states being divided on how to engage with Moscow (Barrinha 2018; Carrapico and Barrinha 2017). Internationally, the EU initially treated cyber issues in a purely technical way; scholars illustrate how this domain gradually gained in salience as an external aspect of domestic policies before being recognised as a major foreign policy topic (Barrinha and Renard 2017; see also Rehrl 2018). As a result, the EU bolstered its legislation in the field and concluded a series of different agreements with third countries, with the United States having the oldest and most elaborate partnership and Russia absent from the map of allies (see also Renard 2018). Barrinha and Renard (2017) also explore the concept of cyber diplomacy as an emerging international practice that is attempting to construct a cyber international society, bridging the national interests of states with world society dynamics. They explain that diplomats entered the game because cyber issues became more politicised. The EU emphasises the importance of international cooperation in cyber space to address both civilian and military security challenges. Moreover, the EU appreciates the vulnerability of the internet, the interdependence between networks, information systems and individuals and the impossibility of any single actor assessing and responding to cyber threats and risks. As a result, it has been active across several fora, platforms and bilateral relationships, including the UN Governmental Group of Experts and the OSCE (Christou 2016). Theoretically, these organisations can also be arenas for EU-Russian cooperation. Overall, however, the EU’s cyber security is just an emerging research and policy field, and scholars have yet to embrace it as a subject of research (Carrapico and Barrinha 2018). In the Russian language, there is quite a lot of literature on how the Russian government accesses cyber security or, perhaps more accurately, ‘international information security’  – a term most often used by Russian officials that includes not only technical aspects of processes in cyber space but also the content part. No noteworthy pieces are devoted to EU-Russia relations in this area, but there are good overviews of Moscow’s general position on international cyber policy (see, for example, Krutskhih 2019).

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Cyber terrorism Counter-terrorism cooperation has been a traditional, but also not easy, part of Russia’s bilateral relations with the EU member states. There is significant potential for EU-Russia counterterrorism cooperation (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013). During the last EU-Russia summit that took place on 28 January 2014 in Brussels, the parties adopted a joint statement on combatting terrorism (Council of the European Union 2014), which expressed concern about the increasing threat of internet misuse to spread terrorist ideology among and recruit new members of terrorist organisations from both EU and Russian citizens. The document welcomed cooperation to counter these threats, including the possibility of including Russia in Europol’s ‘check the web’ initiative, which monitors terrorist websites. Despite the 2014 freeze of various institutional contacts, regular EU-Russia consultations on counter-terrorism and efforts to prevent radicalisation and violent extremism were preserved between the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs (MFA) and the European External Action Service (EEAS), although they are kept informal. From the scarce announcements of these meetings, one can guess that cyber issues are on the agenda, but neither Moscow nor Brussels provide any further details (EEAS 2018; MFA 2018c).

Cyber crime – a trans-border dispute Cooperation in fighting cyber crime has also suffered. Before 2014, the EU and Russia had ambitious plans to expand relations in this field. Europol and the Russian Ministry for Internal Affairs were preparing an Operational Agreement and were considering exchanging information on harmful viruses used by cyber criminals, facilitating requests on trans-border crimes and stopping the distribution of video materials containing scenes of violence towards children (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013). However, the new agreement has not been signed, and the ambitious cooperation agenda was not implemented. Another factor that hinders cooperation in the field of cyber crime prevention between the EU and Russia is a perception conflict that dates back to 2001 when members of the Council of Europe and several other states signed the Budapest Convention on Cybercrime (at present the only binding international instrument on this issue). The Russian Federation abstained. The main bone of contention was the Convention’s Article 32b, which gives foreign law enforcement officials trans-border access to stored computer data without any request for mutual assistance. Russian authorities saw in that a possibility to interfere in Russia’s internal affairs and thus a threat to its sovereignty and security. In a 2014 Guidance Note, the Cybercrime Convention Committee of the Budapest Convention confirmed the limited scope of Article 32b (Council of Europe 2014), but that did not ease Moscow’s concerns. In 2017, Russia presented an alternative to the Budapest Convention. The so-called convention ‘On Cooperation in Countering Informational Crime’ differs from the existing arrangements in two things. It does not provide for trans-border operations without the consent of the state on whose territory or in whose jurisdiction the stored data is located. Moreover, it includes several new computer offences and developments, which became widespread after 2001 (botnets, spam, etc.) (Chernenko 2017). Russia hoped to gain international support for this document, stressing that it was acceptable for both Western and non-Western states and therefore would be more effective in combatting cyber crime. A small first victory in this field took place on 17 December  2018, when a UN General Assembly resolution requested the Secretary-General seek states’ views on the challenges of countering the use of information and communications technologies (ICTs) for criminal purposes and to present a report in 2019 186

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(UN General Assembly 2018c). Moscow hoped that numerous complaints would ensure the Budapest Convention is seen as insufficiently universal and the need for a new document to be developed recognised (MFA 2018b). EU member states voted against this resolution. Nevertheless, several EU member states contributed to the report to the Secretary General. Their main message was: the Budapest Convention is an effective mechanism that needs to be supported and expanded, not replaced. Germany, for example, noted that the Council of Europe Convention on Cybercrime is well suited to address existing challenges in the fight against cyber crime effectively. ‘In this connection, the Convention has proved to be an appropriate tool to combat cybercrime, which is also open to third countries’, said its contribution (UN General Assembly 2019). Western states have always opposed any new convention to replace the Budapest Convention, preferring to expand its membership and reinforce the existing mechanisms (Hakmeh 2018). In terms of new threats, the Cybercrime Convention Committee keeps the treaty up to date by issuing guidance notes (they cover botnets, spam and other offences). In June 2017, the parties to the Budapest Convention also started preparing an additional protocol on enhanced international cooperation and access to evidence in the cloud (Seger 2018). But so far, it does not look like this measure has changed the position of Russia on the Budapest Convention. Russia’s non-signing of the Budapest Convention, the absence of an operational agreement between Russian authorities and Europol and Eurojust (an agency of the EU dealing with judicial cooperation in criminal matters) and the lack of interest on the part of the EU towards developing an alternative international document means that the legal basis for the EU and Russia to counter cyber crime jointly is insufficient.

Operations and accusations The issue of cyber-enabled operations of interference into a country’s internal affairs has become the most contentious of issues between the EU and Russia. Several EU member states have claimed to be victims of attacks originating from Russia or even organised by the Russian government. When considering this, one has to be aware of the fact that any credible attribution in the case of cyber attacks is challenging. Currently, Western politicians, mass media and IT security companies attribute every other operation to Russia (Herpig and Reinhold 2018). Numerous accusations against Russia can be grouped into three categories, based on their goals.

Interference and destabilisation of others, influence on public opinion, revenge for anti-Russian policies The first and most well-known case in this category is the ‘Bronze Soldier crisis’ that took place in Estonia in April–May 2007. The Tallinn City Council decided to move a Soviet World War  II monument, the ‘Bronze Soldier’, out of the city centre to a military cemetery. The decision was met negatively by the Russian-speaking population; protesters took to the streets, one person died and over 150 were injured. Additionally, all of a sudden, the websites of many governmental institutions, political parties, media and banks stopped working. Initially, the cyber attacks were rather primitive and unsophisticated, mainly consisting of denial of service (DoS) and distributed denial of service (DDoS) attacks, website defacements, email spamming and posting of automated comments. However, in a later phase, coordinated and sophisticated cyber attacks targeted Estonian critical information infrastructure such as domain name servers (DNS), international routers and the network nodes of telecommunications companies (Pernik 2018). The damage was mostly psychological (Estonians felt uncomfortable not being able to 187

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access the attacked websites and nervous, fearing more sophisticated attacks to come). The Estonian government pointed the finger at the Kremlin: Foreign Minister Urmas Paet accused the Russian authorities of having orchestrated cyber attacks, calling them an operation ‘against the whole European Union’ (BBC News 2007). As a result, cyber security was for the first time included in the list of global challenges and key threats of the Report on the Implementation of the European Security Strategy in 2008 (Council of the European Union 2008; Barrinha 2018). The Kremlin denied any wrongdoing. In September 2007, Jaak Aaviksoo, the Estonian Defence Minister, admitted that there was ‘not sufficient evidence’ of a Russian governmental role (Blomfield 2007). Later, most experts agreed the attack was organised by the pro-Kremlin youth movement ‘Nashi’, and one of its activists, Konstantin Goloskokov, even confirmed these findings to the Western media (Lowe 2009). Another case that fits into this category is the alleged Russian interference in Spain. In November  2017, the spokesperson of the Spanish government, Íñigo Méndez de Vigo, and Defence Minister María Dolores de Cospedal claimed that Russian hackers interfered in the crisis in Catalonia. Spanish officials have been cautious about blaming the Russian government directly and talked about attacks and fake news campaigns ‘from Russian territory’. Western presses have pointed more directly towards the Saint Petersburg ‘troll factory’, known as the Internet Research Agency. At the same time, Spanish Foreign Minister Alfonso Dastis stated that there are ‘fairly well corroborated reports’ that attest to the fact that a group of Russian hackers is working to ‘destabilise’ the European Union. The minister added that Russia had this interest ‘for some time’, given that the country does not feel ‘comfortable’ with the ‘unity’ of the European project (Diez 2017). Russian Minister of Foreign Affairs Sergey Lavrov denied any Russian interference and classified these accusations as an example of the ‘rampant antiRussian hysteria in the West’, as well as the inability of the countries in question to deal with their own internal problems (Ara.cat 2017)

Interference in elections Many French experts believe Russian authorities were behind a campaign to influence the presidential elections in France in 2017. The incident became known as the ‘Macron leaks’. Tens of thousands of internal emails and other documents of the campaign team of the then-candidate Emmanuel Macron were hacked with the help of a phishing technique and then released shortly before voting in the second round. The goal of the attackers was allegedly to discredit the former investment banker and finance minister, whom Western media called ‘easily the most antiRussian, pro-NATO and pro-European Union candidate in the presidential race’ (Nossiter and Sanger 2017). According to French experts, prior to the leaks, an orchestrated disinformation campaign against the presidential candidate had taken place; it included the dissemination of rumours, fake news and forged documents (Vilmer 2018). No clear evidence that hackers who stole the emails worked for the Russian government was made public, however, and the Russian authorities categorically denied any connection. The Kremlin spokesman, Dmitry Peskov, was quoted as saying that the notion that Russian hackers were targeting the French election was ‘completely incorrect’ (Deutsche Welle 2017).

Goal: cyber espionage According to German officials, governmental entities (especially the foreign and defence ministries), political parties, media and business companies have been the targets of several sophisticated attacks since 2015. The hackers accessed sensitive information. Hans-Georg Maassen, 188

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President of the Bundesamt fuer Verfassungsschutz (Federal Office for the Protection of the Constitution), pointed directly to Russia, which according to him was bolstering cyber attacks, propaganda and other efforts to destabilise German society. Moscow denied it was in any way involved in these cyber attacks (Shalal 2017). Peskov said that Russia was blamed for any such attack in the world without tangible proof (Nikolskaya 2018). In 2018, the Netherlands accused four Russians of trying to hack the headquarters of the world’s chemical weapons watchdog, the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons (OPCW), based in The Hague. The Dutch authorities believed the four men who had diplomatic passports in reality worked for Russian military intelligence (GRU). They allegedly unsuccessfully tried to hack the OPCW servers remotely, and when that attack failed, they came to The Hague to organise a close or ‘drive-by’ attack on Wi-Fi networks. According to Dutch officials, the goal of the operation was to compromise and disrupt OPCW computers (and by consequence the investigation of the Skripal poisoning), but the plan was thwarted with the help of officials from the United Kingdom (BBC News 2018; Crerar, Henley and Wintour 2018). The four men were expelled. Top EU officials issued statements condemning Russia’s activities as working to ‘undermine international law and international institutions’ (European Commission 2018a). Russia’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs dismissed the allegations as an ‘antiRussian spy mania campaign’ and ‘staged propaganda’, stressing in particular that reports about the expulsion that had been delayed by six months were meant to influence an OPCW meeting on the funding of the Attribution Mechanism in the OPCW Technical Secretariat. Russia considered that initiative ‘illegal’ (MFA 2018a). The issue of (alleged) Russian cyber attacks and fake news campaigns against EU member states remains highly problematic. To ‘challenge Russia’s ongoing disinformation campaigns’, the European Council decided in 2015 to set up the Strategic Communication (StratCom) Task Force within the EEAS. In November 2016, the European Parliament adopted a resolution which accused Moscow of trying ‘to challenge democratic values, divide Europe and gather domestic support (for the Russian authorities) and create the perception of failed states in the EU’s eastern neighbourhood’ and ‘weaken EU cooperation and the sovereignty, political independence and territorial integrity of the Union and its Member States’ (European Parliament 2016). Also in 2016, the Joint Framework on countering hybrid threats was adopted by the European Commission, followed by the Joint Communication on increasing resilience and bolstering capabilities to address hybrid threats in June 2018 (European Commission 2018b). In October 2018, EU leaders decided to boost their cyber defence to prepare for possible interference in the 2019 elections as well as in national and local elections in 2020. In December 2018, they presented an Action Plan on Disinformation, which focuses on four areas: i) improved detection, ii) coordinated response, iii) online platforms and industry and iv) raising awareness and empowering citizens (European Commission 2018b, 2018c). There have been no widespread claims of cyber attacks at the 2019 elections, but is difficult to assess whether this was the result of those efforts and how effective they will be in the future, since they have been adopted only recently. It is noteworthy that some of the EU member states have also started to engage with Russia on cyber issues on bilateral tracks. Such discussions have taken place between French, German or Spanish officials, on the one hand, and Russians, on the other. The French are particularly active. During two meetings (in Saint Petersburg in 2018 and in Breganson in 2019), Presidents Emmanuel Macron and Vladimir Putin decided to establish regular dialogue between the two governments on cyber issues. As a result, several high-level inter-agency meetings have taken place. As the French Digital Ambassador Henri Verdier explained, the aim of this dialogue is to ‘better understand each other, create communication channels and incident reaction mechanisms’. 189

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Norms of behaviour and confidence-building measures Interestingly, the conflict around Ukraine and accusations of cyber attacks did not prevent EU member states from cooperating with Russia on cyber issues in regional and global multilateral organisations. One of them is the OSCE, where participants develop confidence-building measures (CBMs) to reduce the risks of conflict stemming from the use of information and communication technologies. The first set of transparency measures was adopted in 2013. The 57 participating states established official contact points and communication lines to prevent possible tensions resulting from cyber activities and promoted the exchange of information on their cyber policies and programmes. In 2016, the OSCE expanded its CBM list. Participants agreed to deepen and broaden the exchange of information at the official and expert levels to reduce the risks of misperception, escalation and conflict. They expressed their readiness to exchange best practices of responses to common security threats stemming from the use of ICTs and encouraged responsible reporting of vulnerabilities affecting their security in connection with the ICT (OSCE 2016). The OSCE has not yet assessed the effectiveness of these arrangements. In the meantime, the UN remains the main forum for developing both CBMs and norms of responsible behaviour in cyber space. Several EU member states (Estonia, France, Germany, Spain and the United Kingdom) participate in the Group of Governmental Experts on the security of information and communication technologies (UN GGE) created in 2004 on the initiative of Russia. In 2013, the UN GGE drafted a consensus report with the aim of ‘promoting a peaceful, secure, open and cooperative ICT environment’ and stated that ‘cooperative measures that could enhance stability and security include norms, rules and principles of responsible behaviour by states, voluntary measures to increase transparency, confidence and trust among states and capacity-building measures’. The report for the first time underlined that ‘international law, and in particular the Charter of the United Nations, is applicable’ in cyber space and at the same time stated that ‘state sovereignty and international norms and principles that flow from sovereignty apply to state conduct of ICT-related activities, and to their jurisdiction over ICT infrastructure within their territory’. Finally, the document provided a set of recommendations on voluntary CBMs (UN General Assembly 2013). In 2015, the UN GGE produced another consensus report, which provided the foundation for an internationally recognised governmental cyber code of conduct. The document included 11 basic depoliticised norms, including a determination that states should not knowingly allow their territory to be used for internationally wrongful cyber acts, should not conduct or knowingly support ICT activities that intentionally damage critical infrastructure and should seek to prevent the proliferation of malicious technologies and the use of harmful hidden functions (UN General Assembly 2015). But when the members of the GGE met again in 2017, they failed to build on the progress made; the 25 UN GGE representatives were not on the same page with regard to the applicability of international humanitarian law to cyber operations, in particular countermeasures and the right to self-defence (Väljataga 2017). Western countries argued that the right to self-defence as included in the UN Charter should be applied to cyber space, while Russia and some other states were hesitant to put this down on paper. For almost one and a half years, it seemed like the UN GGE would not recover from the failure. But, in December 2018, at the UN General Assembly, the United States proposed a resolution which called for a new session of the Group. The United States wanted the GGE to continue to study, with a view to promoting common understandings and effective implementation, possible cooperative measures to address existing and potential threats in 190

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the sphere of information security, including norms, rules and principles of responsible behaviour of states, confidence-building measures and capacity-building, as well as how international law applies to the use of information and communications technologies by states. (UN General Assembly 2018a) The document was co-sponsored by most EU member states and passed with a majority of votes. Russia voted against it because it tabled its own proposal that the United States and its allies voted against. Russia proposed a similar resolution calling for the establishment of an open-ended working group (OEWG) that would further develop rules, norms and principles for responsible behaviour by states. The resolution also decided that the working group would, among other things, study existing and potential threats and possible measures to address them (UN General Assembly 2018b). This document was co-sponsored by countries from the BRICS, the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) and the Collective Security Treaty Organisation (CSTO). The resolution was also adopted by the UN General assembly by a majority of votes, this time with EU states voting against it. The adoption of two similar resolutions meant that now there would be two UN mechanisms for the development of CBMs and norms of responsible behaviour of states in cyber space. It is yet unclear if or how those two bodies will interact with each other. It seems that, initially, confrontation and competition between the two blocks was the dominant motive behind their policy and that is why they voted against the resolution of the other side, though neither of the texts contained any visible irritants. But when the two mechanisms started functioning – the GGE and the OEWG – a positive trend emerged. Russia continues to take part in the work of the GGE, and at the same time, many EU member states participate in the OEWG meetings. It is unlikely that the work of either of the groups will lead to the adoption of any universal legally binding documents in the digital field, but at least countries with diverging or confrontational views are not occupying entrenched positions. They make use of the available platforms and are not boycotting the ones created (or recreated) by the other side. That could create some positive momentum for interaction between EU member states and Russia, but much will depend on the relations between the United States and Russia on the one hand and the relations between the United States and the EU on the other.

Conclusion Many other chapters in this volume have pinpointed the Ukrainian conflict as a turning point in EU-Russia relations. It is important to note here also, therefore, that cooperation between the EU and Russia on cyber issues started to develop before the conflict around Ukraine and has, inevitably, been damaged badly by the consequences of that conflict. But geopolitical frictions are not the only factor hindering collaboration in cyber space. Differences of approaches towards sovereignty limit the possibilities for operational interaction. In the current state of EU-Russian relations, little can be done to overcome these difficulties; (at least partial) resolution of the dispute over Ukraine remains crucial for any further progress. Re-engaging on cyber concerns would also require Russia to address the concerns of EU member states on its (alleged) interference in their inner affairs. On the bilateral level, this seems already to have taken place with some EU member countries, although dialogue between Russia and the EU as a whole is reduced to a minimum. It is the case, however, that the growing threats and risks in cyber space may force the sides to intensify cooperation – even with other conflicts unresolved. 191

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European Commission (2018b) ‘Press release: A Europe that Protects: The EU steps up action against disinformation’, 5 December 2018, available at http://europa.eu/rapid/press-release_IP-18-6647_en.htm (accessed 25 December 2019). European Commission (2018c) ‘Action plan on disinformation: commission contribution to the European Council’, 5 December, available at https://ec.europa.eu/commission/publications/action-plandisinformation-commission-contribution-european-council-13-14-december-2018_en (accessed 27 December 2019). European Parliament (2016) ‘Resolution on EU strategic communication to counteract propaganda against it by third parties’, 23 November, available at www.europarl.europa.eu/sides/getDoc.do?pubRef=-// EP//TEXT+TA+P8-TA-2016-0441 + 0+DOC+XML+V0//EN (accessed 25 December 2019). Hakmeh, J. (2018) ‘Cyberattack revelations appear to undercut Russia’s UN efforts’, Chatham House, 10 October, available at www.chathamhouse.org/expert/comment/cyberattack-revelations-appearundercut-russia-un (accessed 25 December 2019). Hernández i Sagrera, R. and Potemkina, O. (2013) ‘Russia and the common space on freedom, security and justice’, CEPS Paper in Liberty and Security in Europe 54, February, available at https://ssrn.com/ abstract=2277506 (accessed 25 December 2019). Herpig, S. and Reinhold, T. (2018) ‘Spotting the bear: credible attribution and Russian operations in cyberspace’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October 2018): 33–43, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISSFiles/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019). Krutskhih, A. (2019) ‘International information security: theory and practice’, Moscow: Aspekt Press. Limnell, J. (2018) ‘Russian cyber activities in the EU’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October  2018): 65–75, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISS Files/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019). Lowe, C. (2009) ‘Kremlin loyalist says launched Estonia cyber-attack’, Reuters, 13 March, available at www.reuters.com/article/us-russia-estonia-cyberspace/kremlin-loyalist-says-launched-estonia-cyberattack-idUSTRE52B4D820090313 (accessed 25 December 2019). MFA (2018a) ‘Comment by the Information and Press Department on the accusations against Russia by the Dutch defence ministry’, 4 October  2018, available at www.mid.ru/en/web/guest/foreign_policy/news/-/ asset_publisher/cKNonkJE02Bw/content/id/3367418 (accessed 25 December 2019). MFA (2018b) ‘Press release on the UN General Assembly adoption of a Russian-proposed resolution on combating cyber crime’, 18 December  2018, available at www.mid.ru/en/diverse/-/asset_pub lisher/zwI2FuDbhJx9/content/o-prinatii-genassambleej-oon-rossijskoj-rezolucii-po-protivodejstviuinformacionnoj-prestupnosti?_101_INSTANCE_zwI2FuDbhJx9_redirect=http%3A%2F%2Fwww. m i d . r u % 2 Fe n % 2 F d ive r s e % 3 F p _ p _ i d % 3 D 1 0 1 _ I N S TA N C E _ z w I 2 F u D bh J x 9 % 2 6 p _ p _ lifecycle%3D0%26p_p_state%3Dnormal%26p_p_mode%3Dview%26p_p_col_id%3Dcolumn1%26p_p_col_pos%3D2%26p_p_col_count%3D6 (accessed 25 December 2019). MFA (2018c) ‘Press release on Deputy Foreign Minister Oleg Syromolotov’s meeting with EU Ambassador to Russia Markus Ederer’, 1 February 2018, available at www.mid.ru/web/guest/evropejskij-souz-es/-/ asset_publisher/6OiYovt2s4Yc/content/id/3051634?p_p_id=101_INSTANCE_6OiYovt2s4Yc&_ 101_INSTANCE_6OiYovt2s4Yc_languageId=en_GB (accessed 27 December 2019). Nikolskaya, P. (2018) ‘Kremlin dismisses allegation Russia behind German cyber attack’, Reuters, 2 March, available at www.reuters.com/article/us-germany-cyber-russia-kremlin/kremlin-dismisses-allegationrussia-behind-german-cyber-attack-idUSKCN1GE1CI (accessed 25 December 2019). Nossiter, A. and Sanger, D. (2017) ‘Hackers Came, but the French Were Prepared’, The New York Times, 9 May 2017, available at www.nytimes.com/2017/05/09/world/europe/hackers-came-but-thefrench-were-prepared.html (accessed 25 December 2019). Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (2016) ‘Decision No.  1202. OSCE confidencebuilding measures to reduce the risks of conflict stemming from the use of information and communication technologies’, 10 March, available at www.osce.org/pc/227281?download=true (accessed 25 December 2019). Pawlak, P. (2018) ‘Protecting and defending Europe’s cyberspace’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October 2018): 103–15, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/ files/EUISSFiles/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019). Pernik, P. (2018) ‘The early days of cyberattacks: the cases of Estonia, Georgia and Ukraine’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October 2018): 53–65, available at www. iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISSFiles/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019).

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Rehrl, J. (2018) ‘Handbook on Cybersecurity. The Common Security and Defence Policy of the European Union’, Luxembourg: Luxembourg Publications Office of the European Union, available at https://publica tions.europa.eu/en/publication-detail/-/publication/63138617-f133-11e8-9982-01aa75ed71a1/lan guage-en/format-PDF/source-80572134?fbclid=IwAR2AS5dw8pbwu1OStIg-tMk2immKL-R_0e_ LddMU3ejewHLhCuCV6cAYSSw (accessed 25 December 2019). Renard, T. (2018) ‘EU cyber partnerships: assessing the EU strategic partnerships with third countries in the cyber domain’, European Politics and Society 19(3): 321–37, available at www.tandfonline.com/doi/ full/10.1080/23745118.2018.1430720 (accessed 25 December 2019). Seger, A. (2018) ‘Enhanced cooperation on cybercrime: a case for a protocol to the Budapest Convention’, ISPI, 16 July  2018, available at www.ispionline.it/en/pubblicazione/enhanced-cooperationcybercrime-case-protocol-budapest-convention-20964 (accessed 25 December 2019). Shalal, A. (2017) ‘Germany challenges Russia over alleged cyberattacks’, Barrinha, 4 May, available at www.reuters.com/article/us-germany-security-cyber-russia/germany-challenges-russia-over-allegedcyberattacks-idUSKBN1801CA (accessed 25 December 2019). Soldatov, A. and Borogan, I. (2018) ‘Russia’s approach to cyber: the best defence is a good offence’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October 2018): 15–25, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISSFiles/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2013) ‘Resolution A/68/98: report of the group of governmental experts on developments in the field of information and telecommunications in the context of international security’, 24 June, available at www.un.org/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A/68/98 (accessed 25 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2015) ‘Resolution A/70/174: report of the group of governmental experts on developments in the field of information and telecommunications in the context of international security’, 22 July, available at www.un.org/ga/search/view_doc.asp?symbol=A/70/174 (accessed 25 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2018a) ‘Resolution A/C.1/73/L.37: advancing responsible state behaviour in cyberspace in the context of international security’, 18 October, available at https://undocs.org/A/ C.1/73/L.37 (accessed 25 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2018b) ‘Resolution A/RES/73/27: developments in the field of information and telecommunications in the context of international security’, 11 December, available at https://undocs. org/A/RES/73/27 (accessed 25 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2018c) ‘Resolution A/RES/73/187: countering the use of information and communications technologies for criminal purposes’, 17 December, available at https://undocs.org/en/A/ RES/73/187 (accessed 27 December 2019). UN General Assembly (2019) ‘Countering the use of information and communications technologies for criminal purposes: report of the secretary-general’, 30 July, available at https://undocs.org/en/A/74/130 (accessed 27 December 2019). Väljataga, A. (2017) ‘Back to square one? The fifth UN GGE fails to submit a conclusive report at the UN general assembly’, CCDCOE, available at https://ccdcoe.org/back-square-one-fifth-un-gge-failssubmit-conclusive-report-un-general-assembly.html (accessed 25 December 2019). Vilmer, J.-B. (2018) ‘Lessons from the Macron Leaks’, Hacks, leaks and disruptions Russian cyber strategies. ISS Chaillot Paper 148 (October  2018): 75–85, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/default/files/EUISS Files/CP_148.pdf (accessed 25 December 2019).

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17 EU-Russia relations in Justice and Home Affairs A mismatch between form and content? Anna A. Dekalchuk

In 1997, ‘resolved to facilitate the free movement of persons’, the member states of the European Union (EU) decided to turn the Union into an area of freedom, security and justice (AFSJ), where ‘the free movement of persons [would be] assured in conjunction with appropriate measures with respect to external border controls, asylum, immigration and the prevention and combating of crime’ (European Union 1997: 150, 152). In 2003, the Kremlin and Brussels agreed upon establishing the Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice (CSFSJ). The Road Map for this Space (along with the road maps for the three other common spaces) was eventually adopted in 2005 (EU and Russia 2005). The European negotiators’ aim was to extend the internal AFSJ beyond the EU’s territory, and they succeeded in structuring this Common Space largely according to the EU’s own liking, effectively externalising its governance beyond the Union’s borders (Lavenex 2005; Lavenex and Schimmelfennig 2010). Although the four road maps were not explicit on who had to adjust to whose norms and policies (Haukkala 2010: 137–41), it became immediately obvious that Brussels still viewed the road to the CSFSJ as a one-way street: it was Russia which had to meet the EU’s requirements such as strengthening borders or signing a readmission agreement with the Union (Emerson 2005: 2; Haukkala 2010: 140–1). Thus, the hierarchical nature of the relations, typical of the interactions between Brussels and Moscow in the 1990s (Prozorov 2006; Haukkala 2010; Morozov 2018), was once again re-established. Ironically, the format of the strategic partnership as framed by the common spaces was requested by Russia in 2003 with the reverse goal of challenging the EU’s mentoring approach and eliminating the political conditionality abundant in the EU-Russia Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (see e.g. Averre 2005; Haukkala 2008b; Van Elsuwege 2008). Why then did Russia end up agreeing to this reintroduction of hierarchy in EU-Russia Justice and Home Affairs ( JHA) relations? The main reason must have been the very substance of the CSFSJ – in particular, the inclusion of the visa waiver prospects. The EU often resorts to such methods to incentivise foreign counterparts to follow its lead. Visa waiver is often considered the most desirable ‘carrot’ Brussels has to offer to the countries whose membership prospects are obscure or off the table altogether (Kruse and Trauner 2008; Trauner 2009) – but this reward always comes with strings attached. Russia had striven for visa-free travel to the Schengen area for its citizens since the early 2000s (Dekalchuk 2018) and thus had effectively 195

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turned into a demandeur under the EU-Russia CSFSJ (Emerson 2005: 2; Haukkala 2010: 141) and been treated accordingly by Brussels on numerous occasions. As a result, over time, a clear mismatch arose between the vision the Russian political elite had of the equitable relations built around the common spaces, on the one hand, and the substance of the CSFSJ that allowed the EU to apply conditionality effectively to Russia in this policy area, on the other hand; in other words, a mismatch arose between the form of the relations and their content (see also Dekalchuk and Khokhlova 2019). This chapter argues that the presence of the hierarchal logic in EU-Russia relations in JHA at the stage when Russia insisted on equality became not only the structuring context for all further collaborative initiatives between Moscow and Brussels in this area but also a major bone of contention and, simultaneously, a major driving force in the relationship. As such, the mismatch between the form and the content accounts for most of the twists and turns in EU-Russia cooperation in JHA before the freezing of relations in spring 2014. The remainder of the chapter explores these twists and turns in more detail.

The EU-Russia Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice: equality proclaimed, conditionality implied The text of the four road maps adopted in 2005 in Moscow seemed to be a major victory for Russia. Whereas the 1994 PCA stated that it was Russia’s responsibility to ‘ensure that its legislation . . . be gradually made compatible with that of the Community’ (EU and Russia 1997: article 55), the road maps were much more ambiguous and, in contrast to the PCA, openly talked about equality as the cornerstone of the strategic partnership between the EU and Russia (Emerson 2005; Van Elsuwege 2008: 341–6; Haukkala 2010: 137–41). The Road Map for the CSPFSJ made an explicit reference to that effect. This new rhetoric reflected the changes which had taken place in Russia’s foreign policy thinking after 1995, as well as the broader political developments in Russia at the turn of the century (see Kassianova 2001; Haukkala 2010: 92–110). With then–Foreign Minister Evgeniy Primakov pursuing the policy of great power balancing in the late 1990s and President Putin’s pragmatic cooperation with the West, it became clear in the early 2000s that Russia was no longer willing to put up with a subordinate position in its relations with the West, in general, and the European Union, in particular (Tsygankov 2016). As an aspiring power, Russia sought a more equitable relationship with Brussels. In 2003, it pointedly rejected the invitation to join the European Neighbourhood Policy along with other states bordering the EU in the South and in the East. Overtly unhappy with the status of ‘one among others’, Moscow insisted on a specific format for its relations with the Union which would emphasise their unique, strategic and equitable nature. In Russia’s vision, the common spaces should have become such a format (Averre 2005, 2007; Haukkala 2008b, 2008a; Van Elsuwege 2008: 354–5). Seemingly successful in rhetorically reframing EU-Russia partnership in terms of equality, the content of the common spaces proved disappointingly unequal for the Russian authorities. Two out of the four road maps were either implicit (Common Economic Space) or explicit (Common Space of Research and Education) about the need for a normative convergence of Russian legislation towards that of the European Union (Haukkala 2010: 137–41; Van Elsuwege 2008: 356). Haukkala (2010: 140) finds indications of ‘a more traditional logic of cooperation’ in the two other road maps (thus implying a less hierarchical nature of EU-Russia relations in JHA and External Security), but this chapter argues that the very content of the Road Map for the Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice provided for a strong asymmetry in the relations. 196

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Curiously, these far-reaching implications had much less to do with the Road Map’s valueloaded preamble referring to human rights, the rule of law and democracy (Haukkala 2010: 140–1) – all points that the EU could leverage in its future negotiations with Russia – but rather sprang from a relatively technical provision covering visa arrangements. From August 2002, the introduction of the visa-free regime with the Schengen member states became one of the most important goals for the Russian authorities in their relations with Brussels. This idea, initially articulated as a creative solution to the Kaliningradskaya region transit problem on the eve of the Eastern enlargement (Potemkina 2003; Holtom 2005), soon became an end in itself. The EU’s cool reaction only fuelled Russia’s desire, and a reference to the long-term goal of the visa waiver reappeared in many bilateral documents and official statements in the first half of the 2000s at Russia’s insistence (Dekalchuk 2018). Correspondingly, the CSFSJ Road Map mentions establishing ‘a mutual visa-free travel regime as a long-term perspective’ (EU and Russia 2005: 23). Russian diplomats welcomed this as an achievement (see e.g. Chizhov 2004), but it is following this achievement that all further interactions between the EU and Russia (at least, under the ‘Freedom’ section of the Road Map) became subordinated to the hierarchical and asymmetric logic (see also Voinikov and Korneev 2013). The reason for that is simple: a visafree regime represents one of the most powerful instruments of policy conditionality in the EU’s external governance toolkit, and those requesting it, such as Russia, assume the position of a supplicant. In theoretical terms, it is puzzling how, despite being able to avoid political conditionality, Russia ended up in a conditionalised relationship with Brussels – a situation whereby, in a process dubbed external governance (Lavenex 2011: 373), the EU manipulates the utility calculations of the target countries ‘through creating positive and negative incentives’ (Börzel and Risse 2012: 6) in order to externalise its norms and rules beyond its territorial borders. As a tool in the EU external governance arsenal, conditionality is typically applied to accession countries (Schimmelfennig and Sedelmeier 2004; Kelley 2006). Yet applying accession conditionality to ‘de-democratising Russia’ (Emerson 2005: 2), not interested in joining the EU at all and insistent on equality in its relations with the EU, would have been an impossible mission for Brussels (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013: 6). The theoretical solution to this puzzle lies in extending the scope of the external governance concept to include two additional mechanisms which the EU usually applies to those countries whose accession to the Union is not on the cards. The first is policy conditionality – an instrument based on gamification techniques where a target actor is kept on track through intermediary rewards, such as a visa-facilitation agreement (Kruse and Trauner 2008; Trauner 2009) or a freetrade area. The second is network governance, whereby the EU’s norms and rules are exported through a process-orientated mode of policymaking characterised by ‘horizontal, voluntaristic and inclusionary attributes’ (Lavenex 2008: 941–2). Network governance allows third countries ‘to participate in the determination of the relevant acquis’ (Lavenex 2011: 373) by stimulating their participation in different EU-led policy networks, whether institutionalised (for instance, EU agencies such as Europol or Eurojust) or not (Lavenex 2008: 943). The effects of socialisation and co-ownership (Lavenex and Schimmelfennig 2009: 797–9; Börzel and Risse 2012: 7–8) make it easier for a target country to swallow the normative convergence of its legislation towards that of the Union. This, in turn, leads to a subtler and less hierarchical mode of externalisation of EU’s rules and norms. Despite its explicit rejection of all forms of classical political conditionality, Russia willingly agreed to the inclusion in the Road Map of both a strictly hierarchical policy conditionality (as implied in a reference to the prospective visa-free travel) and a subtler instrument of network governance in the form of engaging Russian officials with the EU agencies (see also Korneev 2012: 612–13) – with 197

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the text itself almost completely void of classical conditionality rhetoric. A note has to be made that some authors take the inclusion into the Road Map’s preamble of a list of common values (such as democracy or human rights) to imply classical conditionality (Potemkina 2010: 551–2). Yet it rather seems a matter of a ‘token inclusion’ (Emerson 2005: 2), especially as Russia managed ‘to qualify the Union’s emphasis on values by having the notion of “equality between partners and mutual respect of interests” as the first principle in the list, followed by the “common values” advocated by the Union’ (Haukkala 2010: 141; emphasis added). As the next two sections show, the practical effects of policy conditionality and network governance mechanisms were different. Whereas cooperation with the European agencies was never perceived by Russia as a form of EU domination or an instrument of the Union’s external governance, the hierarchical logic of the CSFSJ provisions pertaining to visa arrangements could not be disguised and generated a constant tension. This tension had a lasting impact on all further attempts to cooperate in JHA, and since 2005, Russia has bitterly contested its unequal standing in this area without giving much thought to the fact that this hierarchical logic had been built into the content of this Road Map from the very outset. Paradoxically, this injected policy conditionality has also been responsible for most of the achievements in JHA, whereas the network governance mode of cooperation has generated little progress.

Freedom The policy areas which fall under the scope of the ‘Freedom’ section of the CSFSJ Road Map are admittedly both the most contested and most developed (Voynikov 2015: 61–2). Indeed, despite being torn by contradictions and mutual rebukes, before the freeze in 2014, cooperation under this section saw Brussels and Russia sign the Visa Facilitation1 (Russia and EU 2006b) and Readmission agreements (Russia and EU 2006a), launch the EU-Russia Visa Dialogue in 2007 and agree upon the Common Steps towards visa-free travel (EU and Russia 2011). The partners additionally started the Migration Dialogue in 2011, introduced the exceptionally flexible local border traffic arrangements between the Kaliningradskaya region and Poland in 2012 (Voinikov 2011: 109–11; Domaniewski and Studzińska 2016) and demarcated borders between Russia and Latvia and Lithuania. Absent any legally binding cooperation agreement, since 2006, the Russian Border Guard Service of the Federal Security Service and Frontex (the EU’s Border and Coast Guard Agency) have managed to develop operational contacts under the Terms of Reference on the establishment of operational cooperation. Few of these initiatives have developed according to the network governance logic. This way, the Migration Dialogue can be viewed as an instrument which does not move beyond providing a forum for discussing problems and exchanging best practice (see Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013; Bisson 2014). As a part of this Dialogue, cooperation between the Russian Border Guard Service and Frontex is exceptional in this respect, as it illustrates the possibility of resorting to network governance mode not only for information exchanges but also for the running of joint operations (one prominent case of such direct interaction between the agencies is the Mercury Operation). Interestingly, it has received nothing but welcoming reactions from Russian officials (in Hernández i Sagrera 2014: 176) and Russian scholars alike (Potemkina 2010: 555–6), while being perceived and theorised about in the West as a way for the EU to export its internal Integrated Border Management programme ‘beyond EU borders’ – even if falling short of being an instrument of a strictly hierarchical policy conditionality (Hernández i Sagrera 2010: 577, 2014). Yet, from the very beginning, most of the cooperation under the ‘Freedom’ section was driven by policy conditionality. Thus, even starting to talk about visa-free travel as a long-term 198

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perspective was conditioned by the EU upon introducing a readmission agreement between the EU and Russia. This condition was accompanied by an intermediary reward – a visa facilitation agreement which would alleviate the visa issuance procedures for certain groups of applicants (Hernández i Sagrera 2010; Korneev 2012: 613). As the two agreements were signed in 2006, the Russian authorities were both rewarded for agreeing to readmit not only their nationals but also transit irregular migrants and stateless persons and assured that the Union was taking visafree travel prospects seriously.2 This conditionality was initially perceived as legitimate by Russia: after the 2005 Moscow summit, President Putin admitted that it was ‘fair’ of the EU ‘to frame this issue in this particular way’ (meaning, the simultaneous signing of readmission and visa facilitation agreements) since ‘Russia [had] to solve a number of issues before we finally move on to, say, a visa-free exchange’ (Putin 2005). The launch of the official Visa Dialogue (immediately rebranded into the VisaFree Dialogue in Russia) in mid-2007, right after the entry into force of both agreements, seemed like another sign that these agreements were, indeed, ‘the first step towards introducing a compete visa-free regime’ (Putin 2006) and, thus, once again implicitly justified Russia’s unilateral convergence towards the EU’s readmission requests. Over time, however, the European Union started stealthily to load the relations in the CSFSJ, in general, and the Visa Dialogue, in particular, with a value-driven agenda using the Road Map’s preamble as a springboard. First, the European Commission grouped ‘Human Rights’ into a separate fourth section of its 2007 CSFSJ Progress Report (even though human rights were not given a separate section in the Road Map itself and are only mentioned once in the preamble) and expressed its ‘increasing concerns over the deteriorating human rights situation in Russia’ (European Commission 2008: 32). The 2008–2012 progress reports retained this section, and in all of them the EU continued to express those concerns. This rhetoric was also reflected in the resolutions issued by the European Parliament with regard to the human rights situation in Russia, as well as in the outcomes of the biannual human rights consultations held between the EU and Russia after 2005 (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013: 17–21). Unhappy with this development, the Kremlin kept warning Brussels of the unacceptability of such moves, insisted on equality and the need for a more technical approach to the Visa Dialogue and blamed the EU for politicising the talks and for ‘artificially binding’ them with human rights (see e.g., Azimov 2012). The dialogue, however, persisted, even as the relationship became overtly conditionalised in 2013, as is obvious from the Commission’s First Progress Report on the implementation by Russia of the Common Steps towards visa free short-term travel (European Commission 2013). The Common Steps were yet another document adopted in December 2011 to frame the negotiations and direct them towards the goal of establishing a visa-free regime (EU and Russia 2011). As the EU and Russia were taking these common steps, they had to evaluate each other’s readiness to start negotiating the actual visa-free agreement – another pronounced attempt by Moscow to infuse the idea of equitable relations into the interactions with Brussels when the evaluations are made by both partners and not only by the EU. The Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ report, released in late 2013, a couple of weeks earlier than the Commission’s, found that the EU was ready to start negotiations. The Commission’s report, for its part, concluded with a discomforting phrase that ‘further work [was] necessary to consider that all elements contained in the Common Steps [had] been fully implemented [by Russia]’ (European Commission 2013: 52), and, inter alia, pointed out the following shortcoming: The lack of legal framework on protection from discrimination on grounds of sexual orientation as well as the legislation prohibiting the propaganda of non-traditional sexual 199

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relations may generate certain barriers to freedom of movement of LGBT individuals or persons defending their rights travelling within and to Russia. (2013: 51) The Commission thus discursively linked the free movement of persons to the issue of LGBT rights and also to the problem of Russia’s inhospitability towards NGOs (including those working with asylum-seekers and migrants) – the two prominent human rights issues at the time (European Commission 2013: 51). Although binding together such distant issues may seem like a distension (and was perceived as such by Russia), the EU’s previous record on resorting to policy conditionality inbuilt in the ‘Freedom’ section of the Road Map proved successful, as the list of achievements opening this section of the chapter shows. Of course, as the Visa Dialogue was frozen in 2014, one can never know if this overtly stated and value-loaded conditionality would have yielded similar results. Compared to this area of cooperation, the policy areas covered by the sections ‘Security’ and ‘Justice’ have always been perceived as much less contentious. Paradoxically, this has never led to the intensification of EU-Russia cooperation in these areas.

Security and Justice The ‘Security’ section, despite being the longest in the CSFSJ Road Map, has also generated the least cooperation between Brussels and Moscow. This is genuinely puzzling, since the provisions of the ‘Security’ section build upon the ‘ideas laid down in previous [EU-Russia] documents’ (Van Elsuwege 2008: 342), such as the EU-Russia Action Plan on combatting organised crime of 2000 (European Union 2000), the Joint Statement on the fight against terrorism of 2002 (EU and Russia 2002) and the Cooperation Agreement between Russia and Europol of 2003 (Europol and Russia 2003), and thus are well rooted and sufficiently institutionalised. Moreover, some authors note that there has always been ‘an obvious need to develop cooperation in this sphere’ (Voynikov 2015: 61), and ‘no serious contradictions in the cooperation against internal security threats which would make interaction impossible in one or another direction’ (Potemkina 2010: 564). Why, then, has so little been achieved, especially compared to the situation with regard to visa arrangements? The rare tangible instances of cooperation in this policy area include only four items: the non-legally binding Memorandum of Understanding between the Federal Drug Control Service of the Russian Federation3 and the European Monitoring Centre for Drugs and Drug Addiction signed in 2007 (Russia and EMCDDA 2007), the 2013 EU-Russia Agreement on drug precursors (EU and Russia 2014a), the 2010 Agreement on the protection of classified information (Russia and EU 2010) and the Joint Statement on combating terrorism (EU and Russia 2014b). Neither a new upgraded agreement between Europol and Russia nor an agreement between Eurojust and Russia, presupposed under the ‘Justice’ section of the Road Map, has been signed, thus preventing the Russian law enforcement agencies from participating in joint operational actions or exchanging relevant personal data with the European partners. Today, such exchanges only occur through Interpol channels and bilaterally between Russia and the EU member states (Nikitina and Sechkin 2015: 120), which makes the interactions between Russia and the EU in their attempts to fight internal security threats piecemeal. The principal impediment to concluding these agreements is ‘Russia’s administrative incompatibility with the Council of Europe’s standards regarding control over the protection of personal information’ (Potemkina 2010: 561). Indeed, the CSFSJ Road Map lists adherence to the Convention of the Council of Europe as a precondition for signing the operational agreement 200

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between Europol and Russia. Although Russia has gradually been implementing this Convention, the way the supervision of personal data protection is institutionally organised is simply incompatible with the Convention, to the extent that its complete implementation would ‘require internal institutional restructuring which is practically impossible and can negatively affect Russia’s domestic situation’ (Potemkina 2010: 561); neither would it produce much policy reward in terms of operational agreements with Europol and Eurojust (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013: 15). To make conclusion of the operational agreements with Europol and Eurojust more ‘attractive’ for Russia, the EU listed it as one of the common steps towards visa abolition in December 2011. This was rather surprising given that cooperation with Europol and Eurojust belongs to the ‘Security’ and ‘Justice’ sections of the CSFSJ Road Map, although it is in full accordance with the logic of using the visa waiver regime as a policy reward (Trauner 2009: 778) and, indeed, resulted in Russia once again accepting this policy conditionality. Available sources confirm that the draft agreement between Europol and Russia was fully agreed upon by the respective agencies on both the EU’s and Russian sides in 2013 (Nikitina and Sechkin 2015: 120), and the draft agreement between Eurojust and Russia had already been extensively negotiated in 2010 (Potemkina 2010: 563). The suspension of the Visa Dialogue in 2014 and introduction of personal sanctions against the head of the Russian Federal Security Service and other toplevel officials do not allow one to learn whether resorting to policy conditionality in the policy areas which had been previously unfolding primarily within the EU’s network governance approach would have made Russia converge unilaterally to the EU’s requests, but this seems highly plausible. EU-Russia cooperation in the fight against terrorism has shown a different dynamic. Similarly to the situation around Russia’s cooperation with Europol and Eurojust, normative divergence has prevented Brussels and the Kremlin from joining their forces in dealing with a number of terrorism-related issues (Potemkina 2010: 561–3; Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013: 14). Yet, in contrast to explicitly demanding in the Common Steps that the operational agreements be concluded, nothing was said about the necessity for normative convergence with regard to defining terrorism. As a result, the 2014 Joint Statement on combatting terrorism (EU and Russia 2014b) found common ground in the UN Convention of 1999 rather than the 2002 EU Framework Decision on combatting terrorism. In other words, with no lever in its hands, Brussels was not able to make Moscow unilaterally subscribe to the EU’s normative basis but had to stick with international norms to which Russia had already been a signatory. In summary, without policy conditionality, the EU and Russia either only manage to converge on the broader multilateral standards (see Hernández i Sagrera 2010: 576) or (mostly) fail to converge at all (as with the much-needed agreement on mutual legal assistance in civil and criminal matters, which is far from completion). Relying on the equality of the parties and avoiding conditionality therefore do not seem to have borne fruit.

Conclusion The mismatch between the form and the content of the CSFSJ Road Map has served as the structuring context of EU-Russia cooperation in Justice and Home Affairs since 2005, the major issue of contention for the partners and, simultaneously, the major driver behind collaborative attempts in this area. Indeed, Russia’s agreement to the provision on the visa waiver regime as a long-term goal provided the EU with the lever of policy conditionality – a strictly hierarchical tool formally incompatible with Moscow’s simultaneous insistence on equality in the relations and the very format of the common spaces. Using this leverage, Brussels, first, 201

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subordinated all areas directly related to visa arrangements to a strictly hierarchical mode of interaction and, second, extended this mode beyond the ‘Freedom’ section of the Road Map to cover the issues of security and justice partially as well, while also steadily loading the CSFSJ with the value component inspired by a reference to democracy, the rule of law and respect of human rights in the preamble. The year 2013 saw the climax of this process when, in its Common Steps progress report, the Commission finally coupled the implied policy conditionality and the value-driven rhetoric, thus exposing the hierarchical order of the relations. Russia’s reaction to these processes also passed through different stages, starting with dismay through indignation to complete rejection of the EU’s creeping approach in the early 2010s. Curiously, until late 2013, the Kremlin had still been accepting this incremental injection of the hierarchical logic through conditionality, though sometimes losing patience when Brussels would come up with yet another condition. This readiness to accept the EU’s requests has, however, led to several breakthroughs in EU-Russia relations in JHA. Meanwhile, the more equitable instruments of network governance (as practised under the ‘Security’ and ‘Justice’ sections of the Road Map) have not borne fruit. When the EU’s normative hegemony is absent, some form of implicit policy conditionality can therefore still have a positive effect on cooperation. As EU-Russia relations in JHA show, the resulting mismatch between (a more equitable) form and (more hierarchical) content seems to be bearable in the eyes of the partner country as long as the cooperation brings intermediary rewards and conditionality remains hidden. With the current crisis in EU-Russia relations, it is hard to judge what happens to collaborative attempts once conditionality spills over into the more value-loaded rhetoric of classical political conditionality, as it did in the CSFSJ in late 2013, but most probably, the use of policy conditionality to achieve normative convergence would become counterproductive.

Acknowledgements The research leading to these results has received funding from the Basic Research Program at the National Research University Higher School of Economics (HSE University).

Notes 1 The negotiations over the amendments to the Agreement were launched in 2011 but had never been finalised due to the lack of consensus between the EU and Russia regarding service passports’ holders and, of course, the freezing of the Visa Dialogue in early 2014 (Hernández i Sagrera and Potemkina 2013: 6–7; see also Van Elsuwege 2013). 2 Interestingly, by signing the Readmission Agreement with Russia, the Union also externalised its norms beyond the Russian territory by spilling them over to the Central Asian states which signed similar readmission agreements with Moscow after mid-2007 (Korneev 2012; Korneev and Leonov 2016). 3 Replaced by the General Directorate for Drug Control at the Russian Ministry of Interior in 2016.

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18 The member states in EU-Russia relations Drivers of cooperation and sources of conflict Anke Schmidt-Felzmann

This chapter studies the challenges and changes in relations with Russia that result from the EU being a composite actor. The chapter provides the tools for a critical scrutiny of how, why and to what extent individual member states have influenced the EU’s policies towards Russia, how Russia’s bilateral relations with EU countries have influenced the EU and whether its members have, over time, achieved greater convergence in their policies towards Russia. The Treaty of Maastricht created opportunities for each state to use the EU as a vehicle for its national foreign policy interests. The empowerment of the EU as an international actor imposed at the same time constraints on their individual dealings with Russia. The Lisbon Treaty underlined ‘solidarity’ on security among the member states as a guiding principle, notably on energy supply (Roth 2011; Schmidt-Felzmann 2011), but also on security threats more broadly speaking. The chapter provides an overview of historical developments, starting from the early 1990s until mid-2019, and sketches out key issues for future research. It starts with a discussion of the Europeanisation of EU states’ relations with Russia and their effect on EU unity. The second part reviews different factors influencing national preferences regarding Russia and the insights that rationalist and constructivist perspectives have generated on the roles of power and historical memory. The third part explores how the original 12 EU members and the accession of the 16 newest members have affected the EU-Russian agenda over time. The fourth part reviews the extent to which national economic and energy supply interests have shaped the EU-Russian relationship. The fifth and final part examines the evolution of conflicts and disputes and their effect on EU states’ unity towards Russia prior to and following the annexation of Crimea. It ends by sketching out future avenues for research emerging from the altered security environment and intensification of EU states’ security and military cooperation which aims to deter Russia.

Converging or diverging national agendas regarding Russia The EU’s policies on Russia have been criticised as ‘incomplete’, since the member states maintain their ‘own’ bilateral relations with Russia (Orenstein and Kelemen 2017). It is 206

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unreasonable to expect states to give up their powers on foreign policy and to assume that the EU’s decision-­making system could replace the role of national governments in foreign policy. The ­co-existence of national and EU policies towards Russia is a fact; the question is how they interact in different arenas and sectors. Can the EU ‘speak with one voice’ and engage with, and even ‘confront’ Russia as a Union, and to what extent is Russia able to ‘divide and rule’ (Schmidt-Felzmann 2008, 2014)? National policies and positions on Russia sometimes contradict, other times reinforce the ‘common’ policies. The EU Delegation in Moscow operates side by side with the embassies of the EU’s member states. The member states also represent the EU in international organisations vis-à-vis Russia, many of which have become important arenas of confrontation with Russia since 2014 (Kropatcheva this volume; Utkin this volume). Even in the United Nations (UN), and especially the UN Security Council (UNSC), the permanent (France, United Kingdom – the latter until its exit from the EU in 2020) and rotating members from the EU represent the Union’s interests vis-à-vis Russia. With the expanding membership, the question of whether divergent interests of national capitals – and how Russia (re)acts towards them – make EU unity and the pursuit of joint policies impossible became more salient. The duality of how national interests shape the EU’s Russia policy and how the EU framework influences each state’s bilateral policies towards Russia has occupied much of the literature. Many studies have approached this question from the perspective of the Europeanisation of national foreign policies (Flenley this volume). This popular cluster of perspectives has focused on both the vertical process of the ‘uploading’ of national interests to the EU; the vertical process of ‘downloading’ EU policies, in which national policies are adjusted; and the horizontal process of ‘cross-loading’, whereby EU states influence one another in the policies they pursue. None of these processes exists in isolation, and analysts have struggled to establish clear causality. EU member states can succeed in shaping a common policy towards Russia by introducing and obtaining acceptance for their own perspectives, interests and approaches (uploading). Over time, adjustments and national adaptation (downloading, cross-loading) should lead to a convergence of national positions in the EU and a more unified perspective on Russia. EU policies consequently act as a frame within which the EU’s members develop their own national policies towards Russia (Fix 2018; Maltby 2015; Raik 2015). The formal division of competences between the member states and EU institutions is delineated in the Treaties (Fernandes this volume). With the rotating presidency, all EU countries are granted an enhanced opportunity to take initiatives on policy towards Russia and to promote national interests. This role was, however, reduced with the installation of the permanent President of the European Council, the increase in powers of the EU’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy and the creation of the European External Action Service following the entry into force of the Lisbon Treaty (Delreux and Keukeleire 2016; Raik 2015). The rotating presidency retains, however, agenda-shaping powers in the Council, and it is still possible to trace key EU policy initiatives back to member states with strong interests in a particular field. EU states’ engagements with Russia can also reflect an informal division of labour among EU member states and institutions (Delreux and Keukeleire 2016). France, the United Kingdom and Germany have often been engaged (at least in part) ‘on behalf ’ of the EU in consultations with Russia on international security issues, including Syria and Iran, from which they have reported back to other EU states and the EU institutions. Since 2014, Germany has also, with the support of France, to some extent supplanted the role of the EU’s High Representative in negotiations with Russia in the ‘Normandy format’ on issues concerning Ukraine’s territorial integrity (Cadier 2018; Fix 2018; Forsberg 2016; Orenstein and Kelemen 2017). The division of competences and formal and informal possibilities for the member states to exert influence 207

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on EU policy have shaped Russia’s own approach to the EU. Russian negotiators have used their relations with certain EU states to counter EU policies that do not cater to Russian interests, encouraging different states to block or change such policies in the EU’s internal negotiations (Schmidt-Felzmann 2014). They have also encouraged different EU states to pursue policies favourable to Russia, such as on visa liberalisation ( Mäkinen et al. 2016) or regarding the status of Russian speakers in Estonia and Latvia (Fawn 2009).

National characteristics as drivers of policies towards Russia There are many factors that play into EU states’ policy choices vis-à-vis Russia, notably whether and how to pursue their interests in the EU framework but also their policy priorities. The main drivers identified in the literature are the size of states and their geographic location as well as the interests derived from them, significant historical developments, broader domestic and foreign policy trends and important economic and security interests attached to Russia. The EU’s member states have been placed into different categories according to different distinguishing characteristics. These can be used to generalise about how different motivating factors of certain states exerted an influence over the EU’s policy towards Russia across time and issue areas. Shared borders create a practical necessity for states to engage with Russia. Besides the direct neighbours that share land borders with Russia (Etzold and Haukkala 2011; Galbreath and Lašas 2011; Roth 2011), a number of other geographic clusters have served as organising tools for researchers to examine why and how EU states have pursued their interests towards Russia in the EU. Detailed comparative reviews have, however, consistently revealed that states within such geographic clusters pursue divergent priorities and interests. The main studies of ‘natural’ groups of EU states have examined the Benelux countries (Casier 2011), the Visegrad (V4) countries (Dangerfield 2012), the Mediterranean countries Portugal and Spain (Simão 2011), Cyprus and Greece (Christou 2011), Italy (Collina 2008; Carbone 2008; Siddi 2019), the Baltic states (Galbreath and Lašas 2011; Lamoreaux 2014) and the Nordic EU states (Etzold and Haukkala 2011). EU states ‘from the Baltic to the Black Sea’ that joined the Union in 2004 and 2007 have been bundled together as ‘critics of Russia’ in the EU (Orenstein and Kelemen 2017). Analyses of these clusters have nevertheless unearthed a greater complexity of relations as they reveal differences both between and among these geographic groups of states that had historically been divided between ‘East’ and ‘West’, underlining the presence of additional factors as drivers of their perceptions and policies towards Russia in the EU (Carta and Braghiroli 2011; Schmidt-Felzmann 2014). Power relations between the EU and Russia and geopolitical drivers (Casier this volume; Smith and Yuchshenko this volume) have been identified as important factors in the EU-Russian relationship. Power asymmetries help explain how larger and smaller states behave and how Russia approaches the EU (Fix 2018; Lamoreaux 2014; Raik 2016). The EU’s largest states have decisively shaped the EU’s approach towards Russia. Germany, France and Italy have been described as drivers of closer cooperation, as bridge-builders and mediators (Cadier 2018; David 2011; Fix 2018; Siddi 2016, 2018, 2019; Timmins 2011). At the same time, their ‘special relations’ with Russia are frequently criticised for ‘undermining the EU’s common policy’, and they are accused of acting as ‘conveyor belts’ and ‘trojan horses’ of Russia interests (Carbone 2008; Orenstein and Kelemen 2017). These states have, however, also been credited with having given a positive impetus with new cooperation initiatives (Cadier 2018; Collina 2008; David 2011; Siddi 2019). ‘Good relations’ with Russia do not, in and of themselves, result in support for Russian perspectives on any given issue, and a convergence of interests on certain issues does not mean that a state defends ‘Russian’ positions in the EU (Christou 2011). 208

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The relatively greater influence of the largest states on the EU’s Russia policy is tied to their resource advantages, international ambitions (Germany, France, United Kingdom) and pronounced economic (France, Germany, Italy, United Kingdom) or national security interests (France, Poland, United Kingdom). The EU’s smaller states have, however, also shaped the EU-Russian agenda on issues related to their geography, overriding national interests, historical experiences and special expertise. For smaller states, the combined weight of the EU provides greater leverage in negotiations with Russia. The importance of the country for Russia also plays a role. States with limited leverage may try to involve the EU in problems with Russia, but this can delay or prevent agreements that might be reached bilaterally. As a rule, EU states engage in bilateral deals with Russia when they are able to do so and seek the support of the other member states and EU institutions when problems with Russia arise that are difficult for them to resolve on their own. This reinforces Russia’s own preference to prioritise bilateral relations with member states rather than to engage with the EU (see Schmidt-Felzmann 2014). The legacy of occupations, mass murders and deportations under Nazi Germany and Stalin’s rule and the Russian speaking population that stayed after these states regained their independence have shaped national interests and Russia’s approach to different EU member states (Fawn 2009; Galbreath and Lašas 2011; Raik 2015). From a constructivist perspective, history, memory, identity and belonging play an important role in national policies towards Russia (Carta and Braghiroli 2011; Mälksoo 2009; Pop 2016). This is not limited to the Nordic and Central European states; Germany’s past division and reunification is equally highlighted as a factor in the country’s policies towards Russia (Fix 2018; Forsberg 2016; Siddi 2018). In the examination of national policy choices regarding perceived security threats from Russia, the Copenhagen School’s securitisation theory in particular has served as a prominent analytical tool (Maltby 2015; Schmidt-Felzmann and Engelbrekt 2018).

The EU’s growth and the evolution of the policy agenda with Russia The accession of new states introduced new national interests onto the agenda (Schmidt-Felzmann 2008). In the 1990s, the United Kingdom, together with Germany and France, forged the EU-12’s nascent Russia policy that resulted in the comprehensive Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) of the EU and Russia (Forsberg 2016; Siddi 2018; Timmermann 1996). Greece held the EU presidency when the PCA was adopted, and, together with Italy, it has been, at key points in the development of the EU-Russia policy framework, a strong supporter of the largest states’ approach of fostering cooperation through close engagement (Carbone 2008; Christou 2011; Collina 2008). The first significant shift in the EU-Russian relationship took place with the accession of Finland, Sweden and Austria in 1995. It shifted the focus of EU-Russian cooperation northwards while also strengthening the EU’s presence in the different regional organisations where Russia is represented (Sergunin this volume; Schmidt-Felzmann and Engelbrekt 2018). Finland’s long land border with Russia also brought a range of practical, cross-border issues onto the agenda (Haglund-Morissey 2008; Yarovoy this volume). The Northern Dimension policy was launched during the Finnish EU Presidency (1999) and further promoted by Sweden (2001) and Denmark (2002). It focuses on soft security concerns in the environmental, social, educational and health areas and addressed the pressing issue of nuclear waste on the Kola peninsula (Haukkala 2010; Lanko this volume). Two decades later, the legacy of Austria’s gas supply relations with the Soviet Union (Butler 2011), together with the energy interests of Germany, 209

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Italy and France in Russia, hindered the forging of a common policy to decrease EU states’ dependence on Russian fossil fuel supplies (Schmidt-Felzmann 2011). The accession of ten new states to the EU in 2004 and a further two in 2007 contributed to a significant change in its dealings with Russia. The new members brought issues to do with their history, trade and energy interdependencies and borders with Russia, conflicts which Moscow tried to leverage to extract concessions from the EU (Schmidt-Felzmann 2008, 2014). With the accession of Lithuania and Poland to the EU, cross-border issues regarding Kaliningrad needed to be settled ( Joenniemi this volume; Schmidt-Felzmann 2018). At the same time, Denmark found itself in conflict with Russia over persistent and fundamental disagreements on the Russian government’s crackdown in Chechnya. Russian protests against the Danish handling of exiled Chechens and of NGOs engaged in supporting Chechnya (Maass 2017) resulted in an unprecedented change of venue of the planned EU-Russia Summit from Copenhagen to Brussels. New impetus was given to the ‘cooperative approach’ towards Russia with the launch of the ‘Four Common Spaces’ initiative for a stronger EU-Russia relationship (Christou 2011; Haukkala 2010). The extension of the shared borders, together with the EU’s Schengen border control arrangements, created strong incentives for Russia to obtain concessions from EU member states on visa facilitation (Mäkinen et al. 2016). The status of Russian speakers in the Baltic states, a legacy from the Soviet occupation, was used to influence the ‘old, Western’ EU members to side with Russia (Fawn 2009). With its increasing geographic scope, hard security and strategic geopolitical considerations increasingly entered the EU’s agenda. In part, this also had to do with the national priorities of the new(er) Eastern members that became heavily engaged in policies towards the ‘new neighbours’, Ukraine, Belarus and Moldova and also Georgia (Maass 2017). The Russian-Georgian war of August 2008 had a significant impact on the state of the then EU-27 relations with Russia. The practical steps taken to advance the implementation of the EU’s Eastern Partnership policy triggered an escalation of tensions, resulting in a major confrontation with Russia. The 2014 Russian violations of Ukraine’s territorial integrity fostered a consensus among the EU’s members that a continuation of ‘business as usual’ was no longer possible (Schmidt-Felzmann 2014). Germany, with the support of France, brokered an EU agreement on sanctions against Russia (Cadier 2018; Fix 2018; Forsberg 2016; Siddi 2018). The Black Sea region turned into an area of high salience as attention shifted towards the persistent Russian infringements of Ukraine’s sovereign rights in Crimea and the Sea of Azov (Pop 2016; Proedrou 2018). The Baltic Sea remained an arena of low salience for the EU, although its importance as a theatre of operations for NATO increased post-2014 (SchmidtFelzmann and Engelbrekt 2018). Croatia’s EU accession in 2013 and the progress towards EU candidate status and NATO membership of its Balkan neighbours (Kovačević 2019) brought the Western Balkan region back onto the EU-Russian agenda where the controversies surrounding Kosovo (1999) had simmered under the surface for almost two decades (Maass 2017). As EU negotiations (and those of NATO) with North Macedonia, Serbia, Albania, Bosnia and Herzegovina continue, the ‘push and pull’ between the EU and NATO, on the one hand, and Russia, on the other hand, is increasing the importance of the Western Balkans’ integration into the EU as another conflict arena on the EU-Russian agenda (Ejdus 2018; Kovačević 2019). The accusations against Russia regarding ‘influence campaigns’ turned concerns about ‘Russian meddling’ (Karlsen 2019) into an increasingly important issue of national security in several EU member states. The Baltic states and Poland, together with Denmark and the United Kingdom, pushed in this context for the creation of an EU Task Force to deal with ‘influence campaigns’, and specifically Russian ‘disinformation’ that targeted the EU’s engagement in the shared neighbourhood (Hellman and Wagnsson 2017; European External Action Service 2018). 210

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National economic and energy interests in Russia Member states’ bilateral economic ties, together with the EU’s support programmes in the 1990s, have formed the backbone of the EU-Russian relationship. The salience of economic interests has been highlighted in particular regarding Germany, France, the United Kingdom, Italy and the Netherlands (Carbone 2008; Casier 2011; Collina 2008; David 2011; Dyson 2016; Forsberg 2016; Siddi 2019), but trade with Russia is also of considerable importance to the Baltic states, Finland and the Visegrad countries (Schmidt-Felzmann 2019b). In the wake of the 2008 financial crisis, Germany ‘uploaded’ its Partnership for Modernisation with Russia to the EU level, and altogether, 24 EU states developed bilateral modernisation partnerships with Russia (Romanova and Pavlova 2014; Siddi 2018). Trade alone does not explain national choices regarding Russia, but its role for national businesses provides indications of how important the bilateral relationship is (Eurostat 2019) and the economic benefits at stake for each state when political controversies arise (Forsberg and Seppo 2009). The agenda of ‘shared values’ – the rule of law, human rights, democratic development in Russia – has equally played a prominent role (Deriglazova this volume; Fawn this volume). These normative ambitions are balanced against national economic and energy supply interests (Schmidt-Felzmann 2013, 2014). The EU-Russian confrontation since 2014 suggests that the German approach towards Russia of Wandel durch Handel (change through trade) failed, resulting rather in Handel ohne Wandel – trade without any change (Forsberg 2016). EU-Russian trade developed significantly over time (Connolly and Deak this volume), but disputes with different EU states have been a mainstay (Forsberg and Seppo 2009). Salient controversies include Russian timber export tariffs and the Siberian overflight charges affecting a small number of states, but also Russian embargoes targeting products from certain EU states, several of which resulted in WTO dispute settlement claims by the EU (Schmidt-Felzmann 2019b). From 2014, the EU’s sanctions and Russian food import embargo exacerbated tensions. Hedberg (2018) has dissected how Russia’s embargo targets different EU states disproportionally. Systematic studies into the ways in which EU states’ preferences have shaped sanctions on Russia would complement these insights and provide fresh evidence on how differences between member states’ bilateral relations with Russia affect the EU’s common position in this crucial area. EU member states’ bilateral energy relations with Russia have attracted significant attention following the January 2009 gas supply disruptions from Russia via Ukraine to the EU (Maltby 2015; Schmidt-Felzmann 2011). Strong traditional ties between a number of European energy companies with the major Russian gas and oil giants, strongly supported by their national governments, notably Germany, France and Austria, fuelled conflicts with those states, notably Poland (Roth 2011), pushing for a sharp reduction of the EU’s dependence on Russia energy (Schmidt-Felzmann 2019a). The struggle among the member states in the Council, for and against the European Commission’s proposals for both a negotiating directive for an EU-Russia agreement and amendments to the EU’s third gas market directive caused further frictions with Russia and within the EU. Since 2015, in the context of the EU’s sanctions on Russia, the Nord Stream 2 gas pipeline infrastructure project from Russia to Germany across the Baltic Sea has become a source of conflict among the member states (Siddi 2018). Germany (and Austria) defended the gas pipeline project, together with Gazprom and the Russian state, claiming that it was of ‘European (Union) interest’, while Poland, Denmark, Sweden and the Baltic states objected, arguing that it would harm Ukraine and European (energy) security. A compromise, eventually brokered between France and Germany and the Nord Stream 2 opponents, facilitated the entry into force of the new gas directive in mid-2019, ahead of the completion of 211

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the new pipelines (Schmidt-Felzmann 2019b, 2020). The German-Russian confrontation with Poland and the Nordic and Baltic member states within the EU was further exacerbated with the United States’ extra-territorial sanctions targeting Gazprom and aiming to deter European companies from participating in the completion of the Nord Stream 2 pipelines (see SchmidtFelzmann 2020; Freire this volume). While Russian gas transit via Ukraine and through the Baltic Sea to EU states caught the spotlight, scant attention has been paid to the electricity sector and Russia’s role in power generation in EU member states, including the nuclear power sector (Aalto et al. 2017). Consequently, we only have a partial picture of how EU states’ energy relations with Russia, including European companies’ access to the Russian energy sector, affect the EU. Turkey and the Balkan region have become an EU-Russian battlefront on energy, where EU members and candidate states have pulled and pushed in different directions. Together with the increasing involvement of the United States in these arenas, bilateral disputes and national energy preferences impact both the EU’s internal cohesion and the future of EU-Russian energy relations. The Three Seas infrastructure plans launched in 2015 by Poland and Croatia, supported by the United States as a means of reducing Russia’s influence in the Western Balkans, Adriatic and Black Sea region (Pop 2016; Proedrou 2018), have gathered support from over a third of the EU’s members. Meanwhile, the evolving Cyprus–Turkey dispute over fossil fuel exploration rights in the Mediterranean, together with Turkey’s role as a transit country, and as an EU accession candidate (since 2005), wedged between the EU and major Middle Eastern energy producers, creates challenges, as Turkey is both a consumer and a conveyor belt for Russian energy, not least with the controversial South Stream project (Demiryol 2013; Schmidt-Felzmann 2011). Russia’s entry into the Turkish power sector with the construction of the Mersin-Akkuyu nuclear power plant (Selim Özertem 2017), together with Rosatom’s efforts to expand its operations in the EU (Aalto et al. 2017), indicate that a range of new conflict lines with Russia on energy have emerged. Besides the EU’s dependence on Russian fossil fuel, Russia’s access to the national electricity sector is gaining in importance as the EU’s members with their divergent positions on Russia struggle to reach agreement on a common external energy policy (Schmidt-Felzmann 2019b).

Security incidents with Russia – a catalyst for EU unity? Incidents and bilateral disputes with Russia since the mid-2000s, not just in the trade and energy sector, fostered in a number of EU states the perception of Russia as a source of problems and ultimately as a security threat. The 2006 extraterritorial killing of Aleksandr Litvinenko with Polonium-210, a radioactive poison, administered by Russian nationals on British soil, and the lack of Russian cooperation with the British investigation which an inquiry documented (UK House of Commons 2016a) fuelled concerns that were reinforced by subsequent lethal and national security incidents in different EU states (UK House of Commons 2016b, 2017). In 2007, riots in the capital of Estonia and a major cyber attack on Estonian banks and state institutions were traced back to Russia in what appeared to be a retaliation against the decision to relocate a Soviet monument (the Bronze Soldier) in Tallinn (Mälksoo 2009). In 2008, EU states were divided on whether Russia or Georgia was to blame for the escalation, but, from 2014, a consensus emerged among EU states that Russian military and paramilitary actions posed a security threat (Karlsen 2019; Schmidt-Felzmann and Engelbrekt 2018). Germany and France, with their traditionally close relations with Russia, acknowledged that Russian political and military manoeuvres violated international legal principles and threatened the established order in international institutions (Cadier 2018; Dyson 2016). The gap in national perceptions that 212

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earlier made the forging of a common EU policy difficult began to narrow (Schmidt-Felzmann 2014), although the movement towards greater unity remains reversible and is continuously challenged by the larger states’ cooperation initiatives and smaller states’ concessions towards Russia in response to new, enticing proposals. The downing of the Malaysian Airline flight MH17 by a Russian BUK missile in Ukraine, killing Dutch citizens, and the Russian state’s rejection of any responsibility and the illegal Russian abduction at gunpoint of Eston Kohver in September 2014 and his subsequent trial in Russia were collectively condemned. The attempted murder in 2018 of Sergey Skripal and his daughter with a lethal Novichok nerve agent of Russian origin (see Council of the EU 2018) resulted in an unprecedented coordinated expulsion by EU members (and even associated states) of Russian officials in solidarity with the United Kingdom (David 2018). The identification and arrest of Russian nationals in the Netherlands for illicit hacking attempts in The Hague against the Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons, which had been engaged in the investigation of the Novichok agent (Government of the Netherlands 2018), further strengthened EU states’ resolve. It also underlined the growing confrontation with Russia in cyber space (Chernenko this volume) and the greater coordination of national efforts within the EU and between the EU and United States to combat Russian intrusions into protected networks and information spaces.

Looking ahead EU states’ evolving relations with Russia and their effects on the EU’s ability to forge an effective Russia policy require more systematic studies to shed light on the impact of the considerable shifts and changes in their bilateral relations with Russia post-2014. Among these, the consequences of deepening security and military cooperation with non-EU members of NATO to deter Russia, and EU states’ engagement in the adjacent neighbourhood will need to be more thoroughly investigated. The geographic arenas of primary importance are the Western Balkans, the Mediterranean, Black Sea, Baltic Sea and Arctic, where different EU states are engaged with Russia – alongside the United States and China. Turkey’s increasing alienation from the EU, its enhanced military cooperation with Russia and its serious political disputes with Germany and the Netherlands, coupled with the NATO bases it hosts, but also European NATO members’ presence on Cyprus, highlight the conflict potential and multiple frictions between Turkey and EU states in which Russia plays a role and that has implications for the EU-Russian relationship. Even the United Kingdom’s exit from the EU raises many questions. Its intrinsic importance for the EU’s policy on Russia is evident: the United Kingdom has traditionally held a critical posture towards Russia, balancing the positions of France and Germany and its elevated status as a financial and trading power, an energy producer, a nuclear power and a permanent member of the UN Security Council has granted it in the past considerable influence on EU policy towards Russia. The United Kingdom’s exit will have broader ramifications for the EU-Russian relationship that deserve attention in future research.

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19 Legal approximation The Russian perspective Mark Entin and Paul Kalinichenko

The situation with legal approximation between Russia and the European Union is extremely controversial. First, Russia has done much to bring its domestic law closer to the EU’s law; indeed, Russia has actively used the experience of institutional and legal construction gained by the EU. Not only particular provisions but entire blocks of the acquis communautaire have been incorporated into Russian law. In many ways, the system of Russian law and that of EU member states differ little from each other, as manifested in institutional construction, legal regulation and enforcement. All but one of the 27 EU member states (Ireland being the exception) belong to a single family of Roman-German law, although the public in the EU, expert and business communities seem hardly aware of this. Second, in the years since the transformation of the EU from a community into a union and the emergence of the Russian Federation as an independent state, both the EU and Russia have changed dramatically. Member states have transferred new, far-reaching powers to the supranational level. The EU now has competence over a range of policy areas touching on almost all aspects of the daily life of modern state and society. Russia has undergone an even deeper transformation. From being the half-ruined ‘biggest piece of the Soviet Empire’ with a weak economy undergoing transition, it has become a leading world energy trading power with a growing market economy. The EU and Russia not only share a common history and culture but also common trade interests, which were reinvigorated after the 2012 accession of Russia to the World Trade Organisation (WTO). The desire to achieve sustainable interaction between economic and business actors in the EU and Russia has encouraged the gradual approximation of the Russian legal system with the EU acquis. Third, since the dissolution of the Soviet Union, Russia has been pursuing its own strategy of legislative approximation with EU laws. That process has, however, been affected by the gradual transition from a ‘partnership’ agenda to the ‘selective engagement’ treatment. On the one hand, EU-Russia relations have deteriorated since 2014. The ‘war of sanctions’, the freezing of political contacts and the EU’s refusal to return to ‘business as usual’ have become parts of the new reality. On the other hand, the deep economic interdependence between the EU and Russia still requires a high degree of legal convergence. Moreover, the ambitious objectives of the 2016 Russian Foreign Policy Concept, such as creating a single ‘economic and humanitarian space from the Atlantic to the Pacific’ (Russian Federation 2016), will 217

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require further legislative approximation and regulatory convergence within the EU-Russia relationship. During the period of the EU-Russia strategic partnership (1999–2014), a number of different studies were conducted in the field of EU-Russia legal approximation. In Western literature, this topic is treated as one of the aspects of EU-Russia relations (Hillion 2000; Kellermann 2005; Matta 2012) or as a specific part of the legal approximation process within the European Neighbourhood Policy (Petrov 2011; Blockmans 2008). In Russian literature, the few academic articles that exist are devoted either to the general aspects of EU-Russia legal approximation (Entin 2007; Kalinichenko 2012: 164–84) or to legal approximation in specific branches of law (Borzunova 2010; Yegorushkin et al. 2010; Naku 2005). Few academic articles on the topic have been published since 2014 (see Entin et al. 2019 for a rare exception). The aim of this chapter is to evaluate the legal approximation process in EU-Russia relations through the prism of its historical background and practical implementation. The chapter first addresses the theoretical and practical background for legal approximation in Russia and then moves to the practice of legal approximation and its instruments and experience. Finally, it examines the specifics of the approximation of Russian law with EU rules and standards and provides some recommendations for future development of this area.

From the policy of foreign legal rule reception to national legal system approximation In the early 1990s, the new political elite of Russia decisively tore up Marxist ideology, the one-party political system, the state monopoly on property and economic activity and the planned economy of Soviet times. However, no one had any experience of transitioning from totalitarianism to a pluralistic democracy, establishing democratic institutions or forming a market economy. Moreover, the requisite experience of creating legal norms that effectively ensure the functioning of a capitalist society and a market economy was not in place; for more than 70 years of the domination of the socialist order, even the memory of what and how to do these things was not preserved. Therefore, the new political elite and the associated expert community unanimously favoured a mass reception of the most advanced and developed foreign legislation: western European countries provided the best examples at that time. The Russian consensus was that there were no other options for action. In the sphere of state and legal construction, this was reflected in three ways. First, Russia has recreated on its own territory a system of state institutions on the basis of Western constitutional traditions. These include a multiparty system; a semi-presidential form of government; the regularly renewed representation of the population at the local, regional and federal level; and equality of all basic forms of ownership. The rule of law and human rights and the foundations of a pluralistic democracy were enshrined not only in the 1993 Constitution but also in a protected part of it, which can only be revised in a particularly complicated way. Russia also launched the process of bringing national material, procedural and sectoral law into accordance with Western standards. Second, Moscow, in contrast to the Soviet era, established the character of an open law system on the emerging body of law and on law enforcement, also impacting perceptions of justice. Art. 15 of the 1993 Constitution included a provision on the primacy of the principles of international law and the treaties to which Russia is a signatory over national legislation. This provision of the Constitution was perceived by an increasingly independent and sovereign judicial system and all other state bodies as a guide to action and direct application (Kalinichenko 2018). 218

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Third, Russia entered multilateral treaties and concluded bilateral international treaties, through which it explicitly committed itself to continue bringing national legislation and law enforcement in line with European standards. In 1994, Moscow signed the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (EU and Russia 1997) with the EU and its member states. Art. 55 establishes the ‘approximation clause’ that serves as the basis for harmonisation of Russian legislation with EU law. In addition, the PCA extended the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT)/WTO standards to the entire set of EU-Russian relations. In 1996, Russia gained membership of the Council of Europe, with all its intergovernmental cooperation mechanisms focused on protecting and promoting the ideals of pluralistic democracy, the rule of law and the protection of individual rights in all areas of human activity. A little later, Moscow ratified the European Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms (ECHR) and most of its protocols, thereby subordinating its law making and law enforcement to the case law formed by the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR). At the doctrinal level, the Russian legal community actively supported all these steps. It welcomed these developments and justified their importance and correctness. The pro-Western course of the country became part of legal awareness. Across the country, centres for the study and promotion of EU rules and standards, including the acquis communautaire, were established. The domestic European law doctrine was formed and earned high recognition. Courses in EU Law were introduced into university study programmes in law. Fundamental works in Russian on EU law/European law appeared on the shelves of bookstores (Kashkin and Yadrikhinskaya 2009: 302). Russian lawyers have prepared draft government programmes to bring national legislation in line with EU acquis, that is, EU regulations and directives (Tumanov and Entin 2002). This work is taken into account by the State Duma, the legal units of which, together with the Ministry of Justice, ensure that draft laws are prepared in a manner initially consistent with the country’s international obligations. The highest legal instances (the Constitutional Court, the Supreme Court, the Commissioner for Human Rights at the ECHR) also joined this work. In the initial ten years of this millennium, Russian legislation underwent serious harmonisation with EU norms and rules. As a result of all this, Russian law today is largely europeanised (Kalinichenko 2012: 166–7; see also Flenley this volume). At the same time, there was no unanimity in the legal community. Some academics strongly opposed the indiscriminate borrowing of ‘alien’ legal institutions and legal decisions (Doynikov 2009: 26). In particular, they insistently defended the thesis of the supremacy of the Constitution of Russia over the norms of international law, especially over legal positions of international judicial bodies. As a rule, such critical opinions concerned the reception of legal norms from foreign countries’ legal orders which was implemented in the 1990s. However, as relations between Russia and the EU began to stagnate and then rapidly deteriorate, such opinions received a more widespread, receptive response.

Approximation in the light of new political realities The realisation that in some part the EU acquis is not optimally suitable for the Russian Federation came to the authorities and the expert community late, Moscow having realised the need to solve the tasks of re-industrialisation and social cohesion that the EU countries had solved a generation ago. The reception of EU law and international development assistance (including EU technical assistance) turned out to have little or no result and were too costly. Most of the funds allocated by Brussels did not even reach Russia, and the return on its receipt was extremely low (Court of Auditors 2006: par. 55). The assumption that the EU’s technical 219

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assistance provided in the 1990s and to a lesser extent in the 2000s would be of great help in shaping the latest Russian legislation proved unrealistic. The lion’s share went to pay EU companies that coordinated technical assistance and experts from EU countries, which frequently were not aware of Russian realities. Little thought was given to the feasibility of translating their proposals into the Russian landscape. Moreover, there were no mechanisms to implement these proposals in Russian legislative practice. At the same time, the official Russian course of legal harmonisation has always been inert and sporadic. Russia preferred to use the so-called ‘pragmatic approach’, whereby its domestic legislation takes only rules and standards from the EU acquis that are relevant to Russian interests (Kalinichenko 2014: 260). The perception that Art. 55 PCA does not imply complete legal approximation led to attempts to adapt the harmonisation process to the scope of mutual interests. In their mutual soft law acts, the Parties tried to rectify this situation and re-establish equality. They introduced some specific legal approximation forms such as ‘legal convergence’ (EU and Russia 2005) or ‘small deeds practice’ (EU and Russia 2010). However, the 2014 crisis in EU-Russia relations shut the door on the new basic agreement negotiations as well as on the mutual and interoperable correcting of the approximation clause. Russia is also routinely engaged in the modernisation of its legislation and is guided in this regard by the best world examples. Accordingly, to the extent that EU law generates the best legal practices, it is taken into account when preparing and adopting the latest Russian legislation and by-laws. As before, the Russian system of courts of general jurisdiction led by the Supreme Court is focused on strict adherence to European standards of law enforcement while resolving numerous cases, including the unconditional application of ECtHR judgments. In addition, Russia has set new priorities for its economic and legal integration. It became a WTO member and continues economic integration in the post-Soviet area based on the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU). The EAEU in turn develops according to the canons of the classical integration community. Russia, Belarus and Kazakhstan, joined by Armenia and Kyrgyzstan, grant the EAEU substantial supranational powers. The EAEU aspires to be similar to the EU as a type of integration community. With a favourable development of events, the EAEU and the EU could become the two carriers of the construction of a common economic and legal space from the Atlantic to the Pacific (Vinokurov et al. 2007). Therefore, Russia is committed to ensuring that the evolution of EAEU law does not contradict the evolution of regulation in the EU. The EAEU follows the same course; its rulings clearly show correlation with the practice of the EU Court of Justice (Dyachenko and Entin 2018; Ispolinov 2018). Although in recent years, the Constitutional Court of Russia has defined a precise concept of the influence of decisions of international bodies on the Russian legal order, the movement started by Russia from a very open legal system to a more balanced one, taking into account the requirements of legal security and its sovereignty, does not mean that legal approximation has lost its urgency and importance. Russian authorities do not plan to abandon Art. 55 of the PCA and do not question its legal validity. But they proceed from the fact that it speaks of the mutual rapprochement of Russian legislation and EU law rather than Russia’s mere reception of the acquis communautaire.

Legal base of approximation The entering into force of the EU-Russian PCA in 1997 was a milestone in the process of the Europeanisation of Russia’s legal system and, in particular, of the Russian judiciary. The Agreement remains the main legal basis for the approximation of Russian legislation in line with EU law. Art. 55 of the PCA still serves as the legal basis for legal approximation. The ‘approximation 220

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clause’ (Art. 55 of the PCA) and other provisions of the EU-Russia PCA identify 18 priority areas of legislative approximation of Russian legislation with EU law. In addition, the PCA contains provisions relating to the mechanisms and institutional support for the work on the concretisation and development of the foundations of legal regulation laid down by it. Besides, in the course of the efforts undertaken to implement the roadmaps, great experience was gained in conducting consultations on legal approximation topics. However, the differences between Moscow and Brussels in the understanding and application of legal approximation are of a conceptual nature. The EU has always conceived it as a ‘one-way street’. EU legal achievements are considered the unrivalled ‘model for regulation’, which a third country should implement in its domestic legal order. In the first decade of its independent statehood, the interpretation of Art. 55 for the Russian Federation did not matter much – it needed to create separate branches of domestic law from practically nothing. By the mid-2000s, this problem was completely solved. Legislation serving market relations was promulgated. Codification of the law was carried out. All this was done to one degree or another through the borrowing, copying or reception of Western institutional and legal decisions. As such, a development model that is focused on borrowing has been exhausted. Only a few times has Moscow managed to convince Brussels to make a choice in favour of a genuine convergence. For example, the parties agreed to adopt a set of common standards for the automotive industry. However, this remained an exception to the general rule whereby EU norms were promoted unilaterally and in a one-way fashion. Perhaps this is why the impact of EU-Russian roadmaps for the Common Spaces and numerous dialogues has remained so insignificant. Moreover, legislative approximation in Russia embraces rules and standards developed by various international organisations. These include the approximation of Russian legislation with WTO and Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development (OECD) rules, as well as the traditional influence of various UN organisations on the domestic legal system (in the field of maritime traffic, civil aviation, labour etc.). Most of this legislation is consistent with the EU’s acquis. Furthermore, Russia is increasingly influenced by the so-called ‘back door’ legislative approximation with the EU acquis originating from the Eurasian integration project and its model (Karliuk 2014: 245). Russia approximates its legal order in accordance with new EAEU rules and standards, particularly in the fields of customs, trade and technical regulation. In turn, the Eurasian integration structures have already internalised a considerable part of the EU sectoral acquis. For example, the provisions of the EAEU Customs Code and technical regulations of the Eurasian Economic Commission are very similar to certain EU acquis. Although the EAEU bodies do not pursue a formal legislative approximation with the EU acquis, the process of informal legislative approximation with EU law may gradually lead to regulatory convergence of the ‘Eurasian integration’ acquis with relevant EU acquis (Petrov and Kalinichenko 2016: 306).

Legal approximation – practical instruments The process of legislative approximation of Russian law with EU law went beyond the scope of the approximation clause in the PCA. This process was exercised in line with the priority areas of legal reform in Russia and thereby reflected the pragmatic approach of the Russian government towards the modernisation of the Russian legal system. Two approaches of the legislative approximation of Russian legislation to EU law can be highlighted. The first one is the adoption of legal provisions originating from the EU member states. As a consequence, Russian company law, competition law and law in financial services, as well as legislation on safety at work, have been gradually aligned with EU standards and rules. 221

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The second approach is the adoption of the EU acquis in line with the priority areas of the PCA approximation clause. Following the entry of the PCA into force, the Russian government developed a long-term plan to implement it, which contained a description of measures to implement, the responsible government agencies and the duration of implementation. Most activities were to be implemented by the beginning of the twenty-first century, including the adoption of measures to ‘gradually ensure the compatibility of domestic legislation with EU legislation’ (EU and Russia 1997: Article 55). The bodies which are responsible for implementation are the Ministry of Justice with the participation of relevant ministries and agencies, as well as the Federal Statistic Agency (Goskomstat). These structures were to ensure the development of a special programme of approximation (Government of the Russian Federation 1998). Despite the fact that such a programme was not adopted, Russia’s borrowing of the EU acquis proceeded through official EU-Russian channels of cooperation, including cooperation on regulatory issues. The following basic forms of Russia’s reception of the acquis communautaire, up to very recent times, can be distinguished. First, in a number of areas of national legislation, primarily those listed in PCA Art. 55, Moscow fully took the appropriate EU regulations and included them in domestic law. In particular, when creating national legislation on fair competition, the Federal Antimonopoly Service (FAS) of Russia literally transferred to the Russian domain most of Council Regulation (EC) No 1/2003 of 16 December 2002 on the implementation of the rules on competition laid down in Articles 81 and 82 of the Treaty. At first, the largest Russian monopolies managed to prevent the criminalisation of responsibility for violating the rules of competition. However, in a few years, the FAS gained the support of the State Duma and succeeded in imposing criminalisation. The FAS received about the same amount of authority as the European Commission in the field of protection and enforcement of antitrust legislation (Dianov et al. 2012; Yegorushkin et al. 2010). Second, the standard law-making procedure in Russia necessarily includes taking into account the best practices of EU institutional and legal construction. The preparation of any draft law begins with a study of international treaty and customary law on the subject of a future regulatory act, the law of regional integration communities, legislation and law enforcement of those countries that have the most developed and efficient legislation in the relevant field. A generalised review of world experience of legal regulation is transferred to the members of the working group (committees of the State Duma and the Council of the Federation, the ministries and departments concerned or inter-institutional bodies) entrusted with the preparation of the draft law. A preliminary analysis shows which legislation could serve as a model. If the EU acquis is the most relevant, best meets the tasks to be solved by the draft law and correlates well with the conditions prevailing in Russia (and now in the EAEU), the Russian legislator tries to bring the future regulatory act as close as possible to EU rules and standards. Third, Russian governmental and/or political structures involved in the preparation of legislative acts invite teams of foreign experts, usually from EU countries (France, Germany, the Netherlands etc.) to give advice and assist. Foreign experts may be directly involved in working groups. Another option is to create mixed expert groups to help the core working group. Yet another way is the transfer of the initial versions of the bill for external examination. All these forms were actively used in the work on the fundamental law – the new Civil Code of Russia at all stages of its design and renovation. An important contribution to its writing was made by Dutch and German lawyers (Bergman and Sukhanov 1996: 5). In many parts, it is a collective work. Therefore, Russian lawyers are proud to say that the Russian Civil Code is among the most modern in Europe. Nevertheless, it would be premature to state that Russian courts consistently and systematically apply the EU’s acquis in their judgments. The EU’s acquis have been cited by Russian courts 222

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only sporadically, even if severally. In some cases, these references were based on Article 55 of the EU-Russia PCA, which contains the soft obligation for Russia to approximate its legislation in specific fields to that of the EU. This happened only where Russian federal laws give preference to Russia’s international obligations over its national legislation. In other cases, references to EU secondary legislation were justified by mutual commitments to ensure equal treatment of Russian and EU nationals provided in the EU-Russia PCA. Furthermore, on rare occasions, Russian courts have referred case law to the ECJ. Russian courts have applied the PCA and other EU-Russia bilateral agreements since 1997. There are over 20 decisions with direct references to the PCA and about 100 cases with references to the EU acquis. Even though the Russian government ensures that it always takes into account national interests and priorities, and despite the sometimes strained EU-Russia relations, legislative approximation and the application of EU law has an important impact on the domestic Russian legal system (Kalinichenko 2014: 258).

Conclusions The process of legislative approximation in Russia is distinct from similar processes in other countries. For example, the state of EU-Russia relations directly influences the depth and pace of the legislative approximation. The 2014 deterioration of EU-Russia relations has led to a unique model of approximation of Russian national law with EU rules and standards. Additionally, pragmatism with regard to legislative approximation means that the Russian government considers the process of legislative approximation a mere tool to integrate the Russian economy into the world market. Therefore, legislative approximation takes place primarily in fields which may contribute to this objective (civil law, financial services and others). The pressure that the EU normally exercises on its candidates and – to a lesser extent on its neighbours – is virtually missing. While still preferring the Western model of legal regulation, the Russian government refrains from additional legislative approximation commitments and keeps as much flexibility as possible in choosing among various regulatory models. Nevertheless, the legislative approximation process in Russia is EU driven and based on bilateral documents such as the PCA or the 2005 roadmaps for the Common Spaces. To implement the measures envisaged by the four roadmaps, Russia and the EU created a powerful, extensive system of dialogues. However, Russia and the EU did not succeed in producing any harmonised legal regulation that would form the legal basis of the Common Spaces. It is of vital importance for the EU and Russia to answer why that was the outcome. If in the future Moscow and Brussels resume regulatory dialogues and begin to construct a common space from the Atlantic to the Pacific Ocean, they will definitely need to take into account the accumulated and abundant negative experience. We therefore regard the following recommendations as worth considering in order to move relations in this area forward. First, the parties need to formulate legal approximation tasks as mandatory, that is, as hard law. In the past, all roadmaps were acts of soft law. In Russia, the attitude towards soft law is rather dismissive: since it is not mandatory, and its violation does not lead to anyone being held responsible, no one will seriously deal with it. Such is the legal and behavioural tradition. In Ukraine, for example, regulatory change programmes have been made mandatory, and the parties might learn from this experience. Second, the parties are advised to give regulatory dialogues sufficient powers and to articulate their mandate clearly. In the roadmaps, what to do and how to do it were spelled out, but the powers to solve the tasks were formulated vaguely and indefinitely. As a result, all the dialogues were restricted to mere communication, contacts, exchange of opinions and familiarisation with each other’s positions. Third, the parties should include the activities of regulatory dialogues in their legislative 223

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processes. In the past, the dialogues worked, to some extent, in a fashion ‘perpendicular’ to the internal legislative process, which did not produce any results. Fourth, the parties must create an effective mechanism of state and supranational control over progress towards the convergence of Russian legislation and EU law. In the past, parties considered regular progress reports enough. Judged solely by them, much has been done; collaboration has always been seen as very successful. In fact, as further developments showed, any successes were negligible. Finally, interparliamentary cooperation has enormous, to date unrealised, potential. Unfortunately, it is now suspended. When it is restarted, there will be a need to move away from the previous practice when the parties mainly discussed foreign policy issues that did not bring any tangible results. A fundamentally different situation will arise if parliamentarians focus on legal approximation and on strengthening regulation in overlapping fields of interests. Such a mandate of interparliamentary cooperation bodies would give the work in this area the necessary coherence and effectiveness (Entin 2006).

References Bergman, W. and Sukhanov, E. (1996) Vvedeniye, Germanskoye provo. V dvukh chastyax. Chast pervaya: Grazhdanskoye ulozheniye, Moscow: Mezhdunarodny center finansovo-economicheskogo razvitiya, pp. 1–30. Blockmans, S. (2008) ‘EU-Russia Relations Through the Prism of the European Neighborhood and Partnership Instrument’, European Foreign Affairs Review 13: 167–87. Borzunova, O. (2010) Nalogovyy kodeks Rossiyskoy Federatsii: genezis, istoriya prinyatiya i tendentsii sovershenstvovaniya, Moscow: Justicinform. Court of Auditors (2006) ‘Special report no. 2/2006 concerning the performance of projects financed under TACIS in the Russian Federation together with the Commission’s replies’, OJ C 119, 1–16, 19 May. Dianov, V., Yegorushkin, A. and Khokhlov, E. (2012) Kommentariy k “tret’yemu antimonopol’nomu paketu”, Moscow: Statut. Doynikov, I. (2009) ‘Sovremennyy etap kodifikatsii grazhdanskogo i predprinimatel’skogo zakonodatel’stva’, Rossiyskiy sud’ya 5: 21–8. Dyachenko, E. and Entin, K. (2018) ‘Svoystva prava Yevraziyskogo ekonomicheskogo soyuza skvoz’ prizmu praktiki Suda EAES’, Zhurnal rossiyskogo prava 10: 123–33. Entin, M. (2006) ‘Rossiya i ES dolzhny vmeste stroit’ Bol’shuyu Evropu’, All Europe 3, available at http:// alleuropa.ru/?p=1495 (accessed 23 November 2019). Entin, M. (2007) ‘Problemy garmonizatsii rossiyskogo zakonodatel’stva’, Rossiyskiy yezhegodnik mezhdunarodnogo prava, Sankt-Petersburg: Rossiya-Neva, pp. 291–313. Entin, M., Entina, E. and Torkunova, E. (2019) ‘Sovremennyye trebovaniya k natsional’noy pravovoy sisteme’, Zhurnal zarubezhnogo zakonodatel’stva i sravnitel’nogo pravovedeniya 2: 11–23. EU and Russia (1997) ‘Agreement on partnership and cooperation establishing a partnership between the European Communities and their member states, of one part, and the Russian Federation, of the other part 1994’, OJ L 327, 3–69, 28 November. EU and Russia (2005) ‘Road map on common economic space’, Moscow, 10 May, available at http:// en.kremlin.ru/supplement/3587/print (accessed 23 November 2019). EU and Russia (2010) ‘Work plan for activities within the EU-Russian partnership for modernisation’, Working Document (Brussels, Moscow), 7 December, available at www.hse.ru/data/2011/09/ 06/1267164445/work_plan_en.doc (accessed 23 November 2019). Government of the Russian Federation (1998) ‘Ordinance of the Russian Federation government on 21 July 1998 No 809’, Sobraniye Zakonodatelstva Rossiiskoi Federatsii 33, 4043, 17 August. Hillion, C. (2000) ‘Institutional Aspects of the Partnership between the European Union and the Newly Independent States of the Former Soviet Union: Case Studies of Russia and Ukraine’, Common Market Law Review 37: 1211–35. Ispolinov, A. (2018) Sudy regional’nykh integratsionnykh ob”yedineniy v sisteme mezhdunarodnogo pravosudiya (na primere Suda ES i Suda EAES), Moscow: Yustitsinform. Kalinichenko, P. (2012) Evropeyskii Sopyuz: pravo i otnosheniya s Rossiyey. Moscow: NORMA.

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Kalinichenko, P. (2014) ‘Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in Russia’, in P. Van Elsuwege and R. Petrov (eds.), Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in the Eastern Neighbourhood of the European Union: Towards a Common Regulatory Space?, London: Routlege, pp. 246–60. Kalinichenko, P. (2018) ‘The Constitutional Order of the Russian Federation and its adaptability to European and Eurasian integration projects’ in R. Petrov and P. Van Elsuwege (eds.), Post-Soviet Constitutions and Challenges of Regional Integration: Adapting to European and Eurasian integration projects, London/NY: Routledge, pp. 168–82. Karliuk, M. (2014) ‘Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in Belarus’, in P. Van Elsuwege and R. Petrov (eds.), Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in the Eastern Neighbourhood of the European Union: Towards a Common Regulatory Space?, London: Routledge, pp. 228–45. Kashkin, S. and Yadrikhinskaya, O. (2009) ‘Istoriya stanovleniya i razvitiya nauki yevropeyskogo prava v Rossii’, in Istoriya yuridicheskikh nauk v Rossii, Moscow: Prospect, pp. 286–328. Kellermann, A. (2005) ‘The Impact of EU Enlargement on the Russian Federation’, Azerbaijani-Russian Journal of International and Comparative Law 2(1): 157–204. Matta, A. (2012) ‘Understanding and Assessing the EU-Russia Approximation Process: The Case Study of Competition Law’, PhD thesis, European University Institute. Naku, A. (2005) ‘Garmonizatsiya prava Rossii i Yevropeyskogo Soyuza v sfere tamozhennogo regulirovaniya’, Moscow: Russian-European Center for Economic Policy (RECEP). Petrov, R. (2011) Exporting the Acquis Communautaire through European Union External Agreements, BadenBaden: Nomos. Petrov, R. and Kalinichenko, P. (2016) ‘On Similarities and Differences of the European Union and Eurasian Economic Union Legal Orders: Is There the ‘Eurasian Economic Union Acquis’?’, Legal Issues of Economic Integration 43(3): 295–307. Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, Moscow, 30 November, available at www.mid.ru/en/foreign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/ content/id/2542248 (accessed 23 November 2019). Tumanov, V. and Entin, L. (2002) Commentary on the Convention for the Protection of Human Rights and Fundamental Freedoms and the practice of its application, Moscow: Norma/INFRA-M. Vinokurov, E., Korshunov, D., Pereboyev, V. and Tsukarev, T. (2017) Yevraziyskiy ekonomicheskiy soyuz, Moscow: Tsentr integratsionnykh issledovaniy Yevropeyskogo banka razvitiya. Yegorushkin, A., Polyakova, E. and Khokhlov, E. (2010) Antimonopol’noye zakonodatel’stvo: ocherednoy etap reform, Moscow: Wolters Kluwer Russia.

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Economic relations

20 Russia-EU economic relations From moderate pull to normative push? Richard Connolly and András Deák

Economic relations constitute the most important channel of the EU’s attraction in its neighbourhood. The prospect of catching up with EU levels of income and improving their welfare has enjoyed wide-ranging support in the societies of the partner countries. The economic benefits of integration have been seen as the basis of the enlargement process since the establishment of the European Economic Community. The EU’s economic power would work even if the cultural, normative and political pull were weaker and offers reasonable leverage for the EU member state capitals in their respective foreign relations. Nevertheless, Russia challenges the EU in several regards. It ignores the EU’s relational initiatives and has established its own alternative economic integration process in the post-Soviet space. Consequently, EU-Russian economic relations have remained at a relatively low level. The 2014 introduction of sanctions represented a major setback even from the previous moderate degree of cooperation. Why did economic relations between the EU and Russia fail to deepen? Was this failure a consequence of the Russian aggression against Ukraine? What were the structural trends within the economic relations that could permit such a major deterioration in political relations? And are economic relations a hostage to broader political developments, or have they contributed to the deterioration in relations? In 2004, Barysch (2004) summarised the Russia-EU economic relationship in two words: asymmetry and energy. By this, she meant Russia was, compared to the EU, a relatively minor economic power, with a small and declining share of the world population, a tiny share of global investment flows and a per capita income well below the EU average. The EU was Russia’s most important trade partner and the largest source of foreign investment; on the other hand, Russia accounted for a much smaller proportion of EU trade and was an insignificant source of, and destination for, foreign investment flows. This asymmetry was further reflected in the composition of trade and investment flows between the two blocs. Energy products dominated Russian exports, with few products in higher valued-added areas competitive in the EU’s market, reflecting a wider tendency in Russia’s industrial structure towards the export of raw materials and semi-processed goods (Connolly 2008). Russia’s imports from the EU consisted of higher value-added manufactured goods in precisely those areas in which Russia was uncompetitive. In simple terms, Russian energy was exchanged for manufactured goods.

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In many ways, this asymmetry in economic power helps explain the rather one-sided nature of EU-Russia economic relations that began in the 1990s and endured well into the next millennium. The EU – a large, wealthy and institutionally well-developed economic bloc – felt itself to be in a strong bargaining position. Its officials, and many politicians from member states, stressed the need for Russia to converge to its standards. The EU, it was believed, represented the standard that Russia should aspire to. As a result, the substance of much economic interaction, at least at the official level, boiled down to the EU seeking to set the rules for engagement between the two. For example, in the 1990s, the two sides negotiated the Energy Charter Treaty (ECT). It was hoped this would help govern energy relations and, for the EU countries in particular, provide extra guarantees to investors in Russia’s energy industry.1 While Russia was mired in a long and tortuous depression in the 1990s, the sense that the EU set the agenda for economic relations for the two remained. However, as the Russian economy grew from 1999 onwards, the asymmetry began to diminish, at least as perceived in Russia.

Russia and the EU’s economic magnet – does it work? While statements regarding the asymmetry and the one-sided division of labour in EU-Russian relations were undoubtedly true in the 2000s, these features offered few hints for policymaking. Both trade asymmetry and undiversified exports are normal phenomena in EU relations (Dabrowski 2008). They are fully present in relations with the Middle East and North African (MENA) countries, too, while bilateral asymmetry was efficiently used by the EU during the eastward enlargement process. Nonetheless, the ‘European magnet’ (the EU’s market power of attraction) did not work in the case of Russia (Haukkala 2009). Asymmetry notwithstanding, the EU failed to develop a feasible, stable and long-lasting policy framework for economic and political relations with Russia (Arbatova et al. 2006; Emerson et al. 2009). In fact, it would be difficult to identify how EU-Russian relations substantially changed the Russian economic development model. The situation is all the more contradictory because economic aspects were seen by most authors as the most organised part of the relationship. There are few economic components in the current, post-Crimea confrontation (Kazantsev and Sakwa 2012). Russia was on the path of gradual trade liberalisation (Tarr 2007), joined the WTO in 2012, even if with limited potential benefits (Connolly and Hanson 2012). At the same time, the EU was unable to support Russian modernisation convincingly (Popescu 2014). Russia was also seen as an example of the impotence of the EU’s economic and market power (Forsberg and Seppo 2009; Haukkala 2009). Explanations for the perceived failure vary widely. First, economic integration was not the top priority for either party. The EU’s Common Strategy on Russia in 1999 formulated only a single economic goal from its four principal objectives (European Council 1999), while the 2016 EEAS Global Strategy did not even mention the economy in relation to Russia (EU 2016). Normative and strategic considerations always prevailed in the EU’s Russia policy (Deak and Kuznetsov 2019); Moscow pursued a more pragmatic, business-orientated approach (Arbatova 2007), striving for economic benefits in the bilateral ties. At the same time, Moscow remained highly reticent regarding EU integration proposals. The EU tried to position Russia within its complex institutional setting of external relations and to initiate approximation strategies (Arbatova et al. 2006). Although these attempts brought some successes at the technical level, Russia has never accepted the EU’s integration agenda and never harboured desires for membership, not even quasi-associated status ambitions. It refused the eurocentrist or post-colonialist approach of the EU and thus positioned itself outside the EU’s system of external relations (Pavlova this volume; Pavlova and Romanova 2018).2 What is more, it always preferred bilateral 230

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arrangements with major member states. In this regard, the EU was indeed not a reform anchor but instead a modernisation resource for Russia (Barysch 2005). Russia wanted to cooperate with the EU for its own (economic) benefit without establishing any long-lasting institutional commitment on EU terms that might constrain its sovereignty otherwise. The EU’s high share in Russia’s foreign economic relations has been only casually reflected in its foreign policy agenda. In the early 2000s, according to the Russian Foreign Policy Concept, relations with the EU were of ‘key importance’, and the Union constituted one of its ‘main political and economic partners’ (Russian Federation 2000). By 2016, this ‘importance’ was interpreted as a wish ‘to establish a common economic and humanitarian space from the Atlantic to the Pacific’, even if these objectives were to be reached ‘by harmonizing and aligning interests of European and Eurasian integration processes . . . on the principles of equality and respect for each other’s interests’ (Russian Federation 2016). The post-Soviet space has permanently been Russia’s foreign policy priority, even while it conducted only 11.8 per cent of its foreign trade with Commonwealth of Independent States countries in 2018 (Russian Customs Office 2019). By the early 2010s, the rivalry between Russia’s Eurasian initiatives and the EU’s integration projects in the post-Soviet space became unmanageable. Another set of explanations for the relational dead end can be found in the designs of the respective EU policies. Asymmetry and the EU’s ‘hard-nosed’ conduct in the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) were a permanent point of experts’ criticism (Dabrowski 2008; Bordachev and Moshes 2004). These arguments became even stronger by 2007, due to the failure to renegotiate the PCA. Gower (2008) argues that the original designs of the PCA and ECT did not reflect the later shifts in the power balance. In the energy sector, the EU pushed for its liberal agenda coupled with its emerging liberal mercantilist attitudes, not taking account of global realities and Russian trends (Haselip and Hilson 2005). An asymmetric market opening for the benefit of the Eastern partners would have cost the EU little, while it may have triggered a more effective rapprochement and modernisation in the target countries (Messerlin et al. 2011). The EU’s attempts to use economic asymmetry for conditionality, in order to achieve noneconomic benefits, also have a contradictory record (Haukkala 2009). The EU has tried to influence Moscow’s behaviour since the mid-1990s. It suspended the PCA ratification to put pressure on Moscow to normalise the situation in Chechnya in the mid-1990s, constrained relations in response to various human rights abuses and introduced a wide-range of sanctions after the annexation of Crimea and the conflict in Eastern Ukraine in 2014. Forsberg and Seppo (2009) argue that, beside the lack of unity and bad strategy, the EU has failed to find the relevant method to facilitate its power-through-trade capabilities. Paradoxically, the large share of energy in the bilateral trading relationship reduces the impact of sanctions on Russia and limits the EU’s efforts to influence through asymmetry (Deak 2019). The dominance of extractive industries, their oligopolistic nature, the lack of openness, institutional problems and the contradictory role of state involvement all make interaction between the actors difficult. The ‘short-decade’ between the mid-2000s and 2014 can be seen as the zenith of EU-Russian economic cooperation. In this period, Russia was credibly seen as an emerging economy with middle-income problems (Shleifer and Treisman 2005) similar to those observed in the central and eastern European (CEE) economies (Deuber and Romanova 2015). In this respect, the 2014 Crimea and Eastern Ukraine crises and their continuation despite the obvious damage to Russian finances were strong messages, demonstrating the Putin government’s disinclination to legitimise its power by relying primarily on welfare and readiness to risk economic progress in order to maintain other policies. This was a major overspill of politics into business, creating a new landscape for corporate decision-making. 231

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Besides the historical and Soviet legacy, the lack of Russian economic vision was an obvious barrier to economic cooperation (Yasin 2013). From the beginning, Russia, like many other post-Soviet countries, had been unsure which should be the dominant form of ownership in the national economy, to what extent fast liberalisation and integration would be beneficial, how to manage Soviet economic ‘mis-development’ and whether sovereignty could be compromised for the sake of economic modernisation and integration. These fundamental visions have been dwindling in Russian economic policies, hindering the elaboration of a meaningful integration agenda with the EU and upsetting regulatory stability. In contrast, in the EU, the transition for new member countries started as early as 1989, with elites consenting to the adoption of Western European democratic market models as reform targets. Consequently, the level of inward foreign direct investment (FDI) remained less than half of those for CEE economies (UNCTAD). Instead of efficiency seeking, multinationals came to Russia with market- and resource-seeking motivations. FDI was practically absent at the level of small and medium sized enterprises (SMEs) (Kuznetsov 2013). On the OECD FDI Restrictiveness Index, in 2018, Russia was the fourth most restrictive economy (from a sample of 69 countries). Official Russian modernisation and diversification plans were almost exclusively based on the performance of state-owned companies (Medvedev 2009). Major symptoms of protectionism emerged well before the 2014 turn in economic policy. Given these barriers, it is also reasonable to look at the bilateral relations through the prism of continuity. The overrepresentation of energy and primary products in Russian exports provides fertile soil for economic diversification discourses in Russia (Dobrynskaya and Turkisch 2010). The growing share of hydrocarbons in exports, income and growth has been seen as an unfavourable and unsustainable form of development. At the same time, this trend started in the Soviet period: in 1960, 7.1 per cent, in 1985, 14.7 per cent, while in 2010, 47.1 per cent of total energy Soviet/Russian production went for exports (own calculations based on IEA 2019; Gustafson 1989). Large-scale additions in the 1990s resulted from the collapse of domestic consumption and the redirection of oil, gas and coal to European markets. This ‘system-building coalition’ (Högselius 2013) was established in Soviet times and remained a mega-trend of economic opening, overarching the collapse of the Soviet Union and transition. While Ricardian theories of comparative advantage might justify this imbalance in export structures (see also Astrov this volume), other research suggests the absence of structural transformation in Russia was a source of weakness, thus supporting the view of Russia as a backward raw materials appendage to the developed world. At the same time, the post-Soviet space does not offer alternatives to resource-based development models. Although the current Russian development model might prove to be at a dead end, it is still energy that provides the robust business foundations for EU-Russian relations.

The erosion of asymmetry Independently from the asymmetry and the trenchant division of labour, the mid-2000s represented the golden age of EU-Russian economic relations. Russia was rapidly recovering from its decade-long transition period, showing relative openness towards foreign investments and cooperation. European companies discovered Russia, as a market with one of the largest aggregate demand growth potentials, a member of the (then) BRIC (Brazil, Russia, India and China). In 2008, Russia’s share in EU foreign trade approached 10  per cent (9.75  per cent according to Eurostat), up from 3.7 per cent in 1999 and down to 5.5 per cent in 2016 (Eurostat 2019). Political relations were also favourable. Despite Moscow’s wish to be treated as part of a special relationship, separate from the EU’s Wider Europe (and then European Neighbourhood 232

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Policy) initiative elaborated for the Eastern European countries, the way to economic rapprochement remained open. Russia negotiated its WTO accession (concluded in 2012), and Moscow and Brussels elaborated roadmaps for Four Common Spaces to enhance their relations. Both bilateral trade and FDI fell by more than 40 per cent after 2014, with few indications of full recovery. Instead of the former moderate liberalisation agenda, it is economic statecraft and mutual sanctions that have become the order of the day in Russia and the EU alike. Unlike 15 years ago, when both market prospects and the political environment seemed to be fairly favourable, the current situation offers little hope for improvement in either of these two respects. While the conflict with Ukraine in 2014 looks like a natural cleavage in EU-Russian ties, it is important to highlight a number of structural economic trends that make these new trends potentially long-lasting and economically underpinned. The EU and Russia represent two subjects with gross domestic product (GDP) growth rates significantly below the global average: between 1993 and 2016, the global economy became 2.5 times bigger, the European Union and Russia could grow by only 59 and 48 per cent, respectively (IMF 2019b). Thus, the fundamental expectation was that bilateral ties, trade and investment shares would decrease for the respective economies by the time they turned to other partners, due to natural inertia and to the fact that other countries’ relative share has grown faster than the EU’s or Russian economic power. Nonetheless, two major drivers counterbalanced this trend until at least 2014. First, Russia gradually liberalised its economy and boosted its exports. Russian foreign trade increased eightfold between 1999 and 2013 from 106.9 bn to 863.1 bn USD, FDI multiplied by 21 times from 3.3 bn to 69.2 bn USD (Russian Central Bank 2019). Second, the EU’s enlargement from 15 to 28 members increased its size by roughly 10 per cent in terms of GDP, mostly with countries with an active Russia nexus. Both of these counterbalancing trends are weakening. Russia’s turn toward import substitution and protectionism offers little hope for continuing its export offensive, while the EU enlargement process decelerated sharply after 2004. Consequently, the partners’ turn away from each other has become more visible recently. The EU’s share in Russian foreign trade peaked in 2006 at 52.7 per cent (in 2018, it reached 42.8 per cent [Russian Customs Office 2019]). At the same time, the Asia Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) countries’ share had been rising from 17.1 per cent to 31 per cent in the same period (Russian Customs Office 2019). Like so many other countries of the world, the imprint of Asian economies has grown considerably over the past three decades. China is now Russia’s single largest partner, accounting for nearly 15 per cent of Russian trade. As shown in Figure 20.1, developing Asia more widely – including China and the likes of India and Vietnam – together account for over 20 per cent of Russia’s trade in goods. Outside Asia, rapidly growing economic powers like Turkey are growing in importance too. In 2018, Turkey was the destination for 5 per cent of Russian exports. On this basis, Russia does not seem to be a huge European satellite in terms of the economy any more, questioning conventional arguments for a special relationship with the EU (Arbatova 2007; Lukyanov 2016; Makarov 2016). These trends look set to continue. Europe enjoyed the benefits of Russia’s infrastructure lock-in, the fact that energy exports could be facilitated only westwards in the 2000s. It is very telling that, regarding Russian imports, by 2016, APEC had already overtaken the EU (40.7 per cent vs 37.4 per cent). At the same time, a redirection of oil and gas exports requires a decade-long construction of new pipelines and the development of new fields in Eastern Siberia. Moscow’s rapprochement with Beijing since the 2000s resulted in the Eastern Siberia Pacific Ocean (ESPO) oil pipeline, the enormous Power of Siberia (Sila Sibiri) gas pipeline, onstream from 2019, along with the construction of liquefied natural gas (LNG) terminals in 233

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the Arctic and the development of the Northern Sea Route (see also Sergunin this volume). It is almost certain that exports to China and Asia more widely will rise significantly over the coming years. This is not purely due to diversification of Russian energy exports. Both market and policy drivers weaken current and future European demand, resulting in lower import prices than in Asia (see also Kustova this volume). Total EU energy demand fell by 8.8 per cent since its 2006 peak, mostly in the coal and oil sectors. European gas was roughly 25 per cent cheaper than Japanese imports in 2018 (BP 2019). The European climate and environmental policies further render the prospects bleak. Emission controls in the car industry, carbon pricing through the Emission Trading System (ETS), administrative measures and their permanent tightening, coupled with the development of renewables, should almost certainly result in a decline in imports from Russia around 2050. This is a very strong unilateral message for Moscow, potentially more important than the European liberal mercantilist attitude to energy security. The depletion of European oil and gas fields and Russia’s scepticism over European climate policies may offer only medium-term relief – and mainly in the gas sector. Independently from the existing inertia due to infrastructure, Far Eastern exports offer better prospects for Russia than the Europeans. If Asian economies have grown in importance to Russia, the same is true for the EU. As illustrated in Figure 20.2, while Russia has been a significant trade partner, its share in total EU trade fluctuates, largely driven by oil prices. Developing Asia, on the other hand, has seen its share in EU trade rise sharply over the past two decades, albeit from a very low baseline. EU-Russian asymmetry has been shifting not only due to the changing environment but also due to their respective leverages and how the partners perceive them. Perhaps the simplest and most important measure of how the imbalance between the EU and Russia has changed is GDP. At market exchange rates, at 1.6 trillion USD, the Russian economy was the 11th largest

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in the world in dollar terms in 2018, accounting for just 1.8  per cent of global GDP (IMF 2019). Russia’s per capita income was around 11,000 USD, amounting to just over 30 per cent of the EU average, and is lower than Poland’s. It is little wonder that many, especially outside Russia, still consider this an asymmetrical relationship. However, the picture changes somewhat if GDP is measured at purchasing power parity (PPP), that is, adjusted for differences in the cost of living. This is a more appropriate measure for comparing the sizes of different economies. According to this, GDP in 2018 was over 4 trillion USD, accounting for around 3.5 per cent of global GDP. This made Russia the sixth largest economy in the world and the second largest in Europe, only slightly behind Germany. Measured at PPP, per capita income was nearly 28,000 USD, nearly three quarters of the EU average. While Russia is not an economic giant like the United States or China, it does belong in the second tier of regional heavyweights like Japan, India, Brazil and Germany. This also helps explain why Russian officials often see Russia’s role in the global economy as more significant than some of their EU interlocutors might otherwise suggest. What is also striking is how the relative size of GDP and per capita incomes have changed over time. As illustrated in Figure 20.3, the Russian economy was significantly smaller than the EU’s collective economy in the 1990s. The nadir for Russia came in the aftermath of the 1998 financial crisis when even GDP at PPP fell to just 12.7 per cent of EU GDP. However, as the gap narrowed after 1999, Russia’s assertiveness in relations with the outside world grew with it. A similar trend is evident when looking at per capita income. When PPP-adjusted per capita income was just 40 per cent of the EU figure in 1998, it is understandable why the EU was viewed as the more successful party. As incomes converged, however, it became less obvious to many Russian policymakers why the EU should be emulated.

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The rise of Asia described previously, and in particular that of China, also contributed to diminishing the importance of the EU to Russian officials. It is perhaps in the structure of economic relations between the two blocs that Russian sensitivities towards backwardness are most obviously justifiable. Russian industrial exports to the EU continue to be dominated by primary and semi-processed goods, especially energy products. Over the past 30 years, the proportion of primary and resource-based products in Russia’s exports to the EU has remained at a stable level of approximately 90 per cent. Russia’s imports from the EU also reflect Russia’s lack of competitiveness in medium- and high-technology goods, with the share of both accounting for 60 per cent of Russia’s imports from the EU in 2018, an increase from 1997. This makes the EU the single largest source of products with higher levels of embodied technology. Because Russia exports such a large volume of energy products to the EU, it has enjoyed a persistent trade surplus. All this points to the fact that gravity has been missing from EU-Russian relations for a while. The current inertia has a wide-ranging economic fundament. Each turns to other partners, decreasing the respective shares in each other’s trade. The asymmetry in terms of GDP PPP per capita has narrowed substantially due to Russia’s catching up between 2000 and 2008. In key sectoral fields, like energy, the EU has become more unilateral and develops its agenda without taking into account partners’ sensitivities. In Russia, import-substitution and protectionism were long-standing challengers of moderate trade liberalisation long before 2014. Thus, it is reasonable to say that the current crisis of relations cannot be fully interpreted as politically driven but instead had major underpinnings in the economic sphere.

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EU-Russian relations: prospects without strong economic foundations The need to redesign EU-Russian relations fundamentally was a commonly accepted theme in the policy literature as recently as 2012. In those years, bilateral relations were characterised by ‘stagnation’ (Popescu 2014), a situation of ‘mutual non-understanding’ (Valdai Club 2016), a ‘crisis of mutual trust’ (Van Elsuwege 2012), ‘Russia-fatigue’ on the European side, and ‘EUfatigue’ on the Russian side (Meister 2013). The disengagement was widely seen as the end of the Europeanisation of Russia (Trenin 2013; Flenley this volume), and there was a general consensus that future relations would have to be built on a less transformative and more transactional basis (Lukyanov 2016; Trenin 2013). The EU and Russia would not represent priority partners for each other, and the settlement of contested neighbourhood issues constituted a vital step in any reconciliation efforts (Zagorskiy 2016). What part would the economy play in this redesign? There is little indication of any turn away from the decline in the relations. Russia recently started its experiment with outright protectionism, import substitution and the securitisation of various elements of economic policy. Furthermore, its ‘pivot to the East’ (povorot na Vostok) became a semi-official policy. Nonetheless, the Russian case is a bit more than a simple local occurrence of global trends (Makarov 2016). Protectionism and Asia-Pacific business standards, often allowing interdependencies with politics characterised by huge and complex megadeals between state-owned national champions and lacking any transformative-integrational aspirations, fit into the current Russian economic mindset. Looking at this issue from a business culture aspect, the EU, with its complex decisionmaking and level of responsibility, normative agenda and external ambitions, has become ‘alien’ for Russia in many regards. The economic features of Ostpolitik from the 1970–90s are more similar to Moscow’s current Eastern relations than existing EU-Russian realities. Despite the hollowing out of Moscow’s modernisation agenda and the rapidly growing economic asymmetry between China, the Asia-Pacific and Russia, Moscow’s new policy vectors seem to be stable and long lasting. The Energy Dialogue does not offer too much potential, either (see Kustova this volume). EU climate action imposes considerable limits here. Coal imports may fully cease by the late 2020s due to increasing policy and public pressure. The 2030 EU targets may put additional downward pressure on oil demand. Oil imports may decline by 7 per cent from their 2010 level until 2030, while gas imports might grow by 5 per cent (EC COM 2014). Gas imports from Russia may grow in volume, but US LNG threatens to impose a permanent price ceiling on Gazprom marketing strategies. All these factors imply not only a decline in trade but a further hollowing of the bilateral energy agenda. The underlying issue of the Energy Dialogue has been shifting from giving mutual assurances to securing a ‘civilised divorce’ between the sides. It may prove difficult to reverse the EU’s loss of interest and even reluctance to discuss energy-related matters with Russia. Taken together, these trends suggest that the cycle of East–West economic rapprochement and Soviet/Russian opening that started in the late 1960s may well be over. Looking from the vantage point of the early 1970s, the achievements since then remain admirable. At the same time, it is difficult to deny that political trust and progress in increasing the perception of security did not rise in line with the growth in trade and business that was evident by the early 2010s. This distancing should not be taken as a threat per se. After all, many of the current processes are normal in the light of global trends. As a result, EU-Russian relations are likely to focus increasingly on security and foreign policy issues instead of economic matters. For as long

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as economic opening is perceived as a threat by Russian leaders, and for as long as dependence on Russian energy is a source of uncertainty in many European countries, business rapprochement faces limits.

Notes 1 The ECT was signed by the Russian president but not ratified by the State Duma. In 2009, Russia revoked its signature. 2 On the EU’s side, these differences were respected only at the very beginning of the 1990s. As the 1994 semi-official paper Reflections on European Policy highlighted, the EU had to develop a policy which would ‘give Russia the certainty that, alongside the EU, it is acknowledged as the other centre of the political order in Europe’ (Timmins 2011: 191–2).

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Forsberg, T. and Seppo, A. (2009) ‘Power without Influence? The EU and Trade Disputes with Russia’, Europe-Asia Studies 61(10): 1805–23. Gower, J. (2008) ‘European Union–Russia Relations at the end of the Putin Presidency’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 16(2): 161–7. Gustafson, T. (1989) Crisis Amid Plenty – The Politics of Soviet Energy Under Brezhnev and Gorbachev, Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press. Haselip, J.A. and Hilson, G. (2005) ‘Winners and losers from industry reforms in the developing world: experiences from the electricity and mining sectors’, Resources Policy 30(2): 87–100. Haukkala, H. (2009) ‘Lost in Translation? Why the EU has Failed to Influence Russia’s Development’, Europe-Asia Studies 61(10): 1757–75. Högselius, P. (2013) Red Gas – Russia and the Origins of European Energy Dependence, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. IEA (2019) ‘Data and statistics’, available at www.iea.org/data-and-statistics/data-tables (accessed 28 August 2019). IMF (2019a) Direction of Trade Statistics, Washington, DC: IMF, available at https://data.imf.org/?sk=9D60 28D4-F14A-464C-A2F2-59B2CD424B85 (accessed 28 August 2019). IMF (2019b) World Economic Outlook Database, Washington, D.C: IMF, available at www.imf.org/external/ pubs/ft/weo/2019/01/weodata/index.aspx (accessed 28 August 2019). Kazantsev, A. and Sakwa, R. (2012) ‘New ‘dividing lines’ in Europe: A crisis of trust in European – Russian relations’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies 45(3–4): 289–93. Kuznetsov, A. (2013)’Investitsionniye svyazi Rossii i ES: dva intensivnih, no slabo peresekayuschihsya vstrecnih potoka’, Vestnik Rossiyskogo Gumanitarnogo Nauchnogo Fonda, 3(72): 65–74. Lukyanov, F. (2016) ‘Russia and the EU: A New Future Requested’ in C. Nitoiu (ed.), Avoiding a New’Cold War’: The Future of EU-Russia Relations in the Context of the Ukraine Crisis, LSE Ideas, Dahrendorf Report, pp.  15–20, available at www.lse.ac.uk/IDEAS/publications/reports/pdf/LSE-IDEAS-Avoid ing-a-New-Cold-War.pdf (accessed 28 August 2019). Makarov, I. (2016) ‘Transformation of Social and Economic Model in Asia-Pacific Region and its Implications for Russia’s Turn to the East’, Journal of Siberian Federal University 11(9): 2552–64, available at http://elib.sfu-kras.ru/bitstream/handle/2311/29957/02_Makarov.pdf;jsessionid=A180F5FAE6C31B 30D7E3A945FFCE1E56?sequence=1 (accessed 28 August 2019). Medvedev, D. (2009) ‘Go Russia!’, available at http://en.kremlin.ru/events/president/news/5413 (accessed 28 August 2019). Meister, S. (2013) EU-Russia Relations and the Common Neighborhood: The Ball is on the EU’s Side, DGAP Analyse No. 7, available at https://dgap.org/en/article/getFullPDF/24250 (accessed 28 August 2019). Messerlin, P. et al. (2011) An Appraisal of the EU’s Trade Policy towards its Eastern Neighbours: The Case of Georgia, Brussels: Sciences Po, CEPS. Pavlova, E. and Romanova, T. (2018) ‘ “Postkolonialniy podhod” vo vneshney politike Evropeyskogo Soyuza (na primere othnosheniy s Rossiyskoy Federatsiey)’, Sovremennaya Evropa 18(6): 82–92. Popescu, N. (2014) EU-Russia: overcoming stagnation, Paris: ISS, available at www.iss.europa.eu/sites/ default/files/EUISSFiles/Brief_3_EU-Russia.pdf (accessed 23 August 2019). Russian Central Bank (2019) ‘Vhneshnaya torgovlja Rossiyskoy Federatsii tovarami’, available at www.cbr. ru/statistics/macro_itm/svs/ (accessed 28 August 2019). Russian Customs Office (2019) ‘Tamozhennaya statistika vhneshney torgovli’, available at http://stat.cus toms.ru/apex/f?p=201:7:2696997152861366::NO (accessed 28 August 2019). Russian Federation (2000) ‘Foreign policy concept of the Russian Federation’, available at https://fas.org/ nuke/guide/russia/doctrine/econcept.htm (accessed 30 June 2019). Russian Federation (2016) ‘Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, available at www.mid. ru/en/foreign_policy/official_documents/-/asset_publisher/CptICkB6BZ29/content/id/2542248 (accessed 28 August 2019). Shleifer, A. and Treisman, D. (2005) ‘A normal country: Russia after communism’, Journal of Economic Perspectives 19(1): 151–74. Tarr, D. (2007) ‘Russian Accession to the WTO: An Assessment’, Eurasian Geography and Economics 48(3): 306–19. Timmins, G. (2011) ‘German–Russian Bilateral Relations and EU Policy on Russia: Between Normalisation and the “Multilateral Reflex” ’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 19(2): 189–99. Trenin, D. (ed.) (2013) The end of an era in EU-Russia relations, Moscow: Carnegie Moscow Center, available at http://carnegieendowment.org/files/new_era_russia_eu.pdf (accessed 28 August 2019). 239

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Valdai Club (2016) ‘Rossiya i Evropeyskiy Soyuz: Tri voprosa o novyh principah otnoseniy’, available at http://ru.valdaiclub.com/files/12218/ (accessed 28 August 2019). Van Elsuwege, P. (2012) Towards a Modernisation of EU-Russia Legal Relations? CEURUS EU-Russia Papers, No. 5, Tartu: University of Tartu, available at http://ceurus.ut.ee/wp-content/uploads/2011/06/EURussia-Paper-51.pdf (accessed 28 August 2019). Yasin, E.G., Akinginova, N.V., Jakobson, L.I. and Jakovlev, A.A. (2013) ‘Sostoitsya li novaya model ekonomicheskovo rosta v Rossii?’, K XIV Aprelskoy mezhdunarodnoy konferentsii po problemam razvitiya ekonomiki i obshestva, available at www.hse.ru/data/2013/04/02/1293957000/yasin-ru.pdf (accessed 16 June 2018). Zagorskiy, A. (2016) ‘Modernizatsiya mehanizmov sotrudnichestva Rossii i ES’, RSZMD doklad 27, available at http://russiancouncil.ru/common/upload/RIAC-DGAP-Report27-ru.pdf (accessed 28 August 2019).

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21 EU-Russia energy relations Irina Kustova

Since the 2000s, energy has moved from a peripheral topic to the core of academic debates about EU relations with Russia and has become central for understanding the interdependence between the EU and Russia. Indeed, developments of these relations have raised the question of why the EU and Russia, despite a high level of interdependence, have opted for a reciprocal self-exclusion from multilateral energy initiatives and have failed to agree upon a bilateral framework for energy cooperation. Yet, the topic has also paid its price for this increasing popularity – the complexity of the issue area has often been compromised in order to make some mainstream generalisations. Scholars have tended to juxtapose political and economic logics, mostly focused on empirical analysis, particularly on gas pipeline politics, and demonstrated rather limited awareness of the energy sector fundamentals. This has inevitably created distortions in theoretical assessments and policy advice, both in the EU and Russia, regarding such crucial areas of interaction as resource trade, transportation and investment protection. This chapter overviews both the scholarship and the actual state of EU-Russia energy relations to expose the most impactful developments in these relations and to identify the major conceptual and theoretical contributions to the research agenda. First, the chapter provides a historical overview of how scholarship has developed over time and assesses the main conceptual tools used to explain patterns in EU-Russia energy relations. Second, a more detailed account of the literature in the EU and Russia shows the specificities of the research. Third, a conceptual framework is offered to analyse comprehensively this complex and ever-changing subject. The chapter concludes with a discussion of possible developments of the research agenda and provides a tentative roadmap for advancing conceptual debates.

The evolution of scholarship on EU-Russia energy relations Since the 2000s, scholarship has increasingly paid attention to EU-Russia energy relations, particularly to gas issues. This explosion of interest has reflected both global changing patterns in energy markets and domestic developments in the EU’s and Russia’s energy sectors. Whilst a need to assess these changes has recently paved the road to further interdisciplinarity in research, which brings elements of energy economics, energy law and regulatory studies to European studies (Aalto and Talus 2014), the prevailing research trend has remained a shift from 241

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an analysis of the parties’ interactions in energy markets to an analysis of the parties’ actorness. To a large extent, this has echoed the trend in European studies throughout the 2000s to focus on the sui generis nature of the EU. This way, an underlying explanation of conflictual patterns in ­EU-Russia energy relations has gradually been narrowed down to the allegedly inherently different ‘natures’ of these actors. During the Cold War, scholars were rather uninterested in examining why energy cooperation could be possible even in the light of extensive ideological disagreements. Arguably, they had more pressing needs trying to understand the consequences of the oil crisis for the energy security of Western countries and focused on calls for EC energy policy to resist perturbations in the oil market (Ahrens 1974; De Carmoy 1977) and member states to pursue common interests (El-Agraa and Yao-su 1984; Schumacher 1964). Moreover, Soviet supplies became a timely alternative for Middle East oil and, since resource exchange took place at the borders between Western Europe and the then-Soviet bloc, only a few works addressed the issues of interdependence (for a detailed historical overview, see Högselius 2013). With the belief in the ‘end of history’, the early 1990s brought a new impetus for European integration and greater pan-European cooperation. There was also a more practical need to ensure the stability of energy supplies to Europe through newly independent countries (Konoplyanik 2009). This way, the initiative of the Energy Charter came to the table in the 1990s and provided a basis for negotiating a legally binding agreement, the Energy Charter Treaty (ECT) (Doré 1996). The Treaty was expected to become a global framework and create a common level playing field in all issue-areas of energy. However, the ECT and subsequent negotiations of an additional Transit Protocol to the ECT hardly attracted any broader political attention, not least because the original negotiations were discussed within a tight circle of technicians: Energy Charter developments were mostly discussed by those legal practitioners who were actively involved in its elaboration (Bamberger et al. 2000). Instead, scholarship showed more interest in investigating the opportunities to bring resources from the Caspian region to Europe (Adams 1998; Jaffe and Manning 2001). This strand of literature launched a series of so-called ‘pipeline politics’ publications, which became a conceptual benchmark in debates about EU-Russia energy relations in the mid-2000s (Locatelli 2010). The 1990s were also a period when there was a search for ideas about how the liberal economic toolbox could be transposed into the transitioning, post-Soviet economies (Von Hirschhausen and Waelde 2001). The issues of energy safety, particularly in nuclear energy, and technology transfer were also topics addressed within the EU-Russia Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (Fischer 1994). Arguably, energy really started to come into the focus of European studies scholars in the early 2000s, when the EU and Russia launched a series of political initiatives. A new EU-Russia Energy Dialogue invoked numerous discussions about opportunities for regulatory convergence and approximation between the EU and Russia – and the choice of a legal and political basis for such cooperation (Aalto 2008; Hadfield 2008; Romanova 2008). Furthermore, the legal debates in the early 2000s on EU-Russia disagreements on the draft Transit Protocol to the ECT (Liesen 1999; Waern 2002) gradually expanded to the political sphere and captured the attention of political scientists. However, the practical legal and technical peculiarities of divergences (Coop 2009; Konoplyanik 2009; Shtilkind 2005) were largely neglected; instead, political scientists mostly focused on general political disagreements between the EU and Russia. The EU enlargement of 2004 also fostered interest in energy: it made the historical legacies of the Central and Eastern European energy markets part of the EU political and regulatory landscape and, as a result, an issue for inevitable deliberations with Russia (Belyi 2003). Scholars now compared the energy policies of old and new EU member states towards Russia and 242

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assessed the prospects for an EU common approach to energy policy (Casier 2011; Neuman 2010; Schmidt-Felzman 2008). The 2006 and 2009 gas crises revealed the fragility of energy governance in Europe and opened the window for political deliberations within the EU about Russia’s reliability as a supplier and its assertiveness in using resources for political reasons – which were reflected in a wide range of publications on Russia’s ‘energy weapon’ (Smith Stegen 2011) and EU energy security, especially in line with the securitisation approach (Herranz-Surrallés and Natorski 2008). The far-reaching gas and electricity market reforms within the EU were also inevitably echoed in EU-Russia relations: the adoption of the Third Energy Package in the EU in 2009 considerably rearranged previous market organisation and inevitably affected Russia as a major supplier (Boussena and Locatelli 2013; Melnikova 2012), leading to a large-scale antitrust investigation launched by the European Commission against Gazprom (Stern and Yafimava 2017). Among other issues, which have received less attention from scholars, were aspects of EU-Russia relations regarding energy efficiency cooperation (Boute 2013), renewable energy development (IFC 2011) and climate change (Sharples 2013). The end of the 2000s manifested an intensified dissolution of the existing cooperative frameworks of the Energy Dialogue and the Energy Charter Process. By 2009, it was apparent that disagreements about the draft Transit Protocol had not been resolved; Russia announced its departure from the Process after its proposal of the Draft Convention on energy security was not supported (Belyi et al. 2011). At the time of writing, it is apparent that the attempts of the Process to revive regional cooperation and bring Russia back have still been unsuccessful. Further impediments have come in the form of the deterioration of the bilateral Energy Dialogue due to the apparent impossibility of agreeing upon a legal framework in energy, as well as the 2014 Ukrainian crisis. Arguably, the only contact point between the EU and Russia remains the Gas Advisory Council, a consultative body which was created in 2011 to become a discussion platform about changes in the EU gas market (Romanova 2016). The 2014 Ukrainian crisis has significantly altered the research agenda. Where energy relations are concerned, the wider optimistic considerations about opportunities for advancing cooperation have been replaced by analysis of conflict mitigation and effects from the sanctions (Romanova 2016; van de Graaf and Colgan 2017; Stulber 2017). A large-scale political debate about the NordStream2 project has attracted a lot of attention from different subfields of European studies and demonstrated the overall rift and move towards polarisation of the scholarly debate regarding the pros and cons of the controversial pipeline (Riley 2016; Talus 2018).

Understanding EU-Russia energy relations In addressing EU-Russia energy relations, a large part of the research, both academic and policy-orientated, has attempted to answer the following three questions: i) how interdependent are the EU and Russia in energy and what are the consequences of their interdependence? ii) what factors affect EU-Russia energy relations? iii) what are the prospects for these relations and/or their ideal type? Regarding the first question, there has been agreement that the EU and Russia are interdependent in energy: the EU (particularly some member states) depends on Russia’s (gas) supplies, and Russia receives significant budget revenues from energy exports to Europe (Harsem and Claes 2013; Proedrou 2007). However, the debate remains about whether such interdependence is mutually beneficial or represents a security threat to Europe (Krickovic 2015). In the latter case, scholarship focused on whether and how these dependencies could be ameliorated – diversification of routes and/or supplies was considered the most feasible option. Recent 243

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technological developments in liquefied natural gas and the US shale gas revolution since the 2010s have facilitated new discussions about whether these changes are affecting the existing interdependence between the EU and Russia (Kim and Blank 2015). Another question refers to whether physical interdependence requires an institutionalised form of cooperation, such as a common regulatory framework or a legal agreement. From one point of view, it has become common to refer to cooperation during the Cold War when supply coexisted with political rivalry, proving that an institutionalised form is not necessary for fruitful cooperation. From the other, predictability of rules and the need for a common level playing field, as well as a common vision and shared norms, are referenced as prerequisites for dealing successfully with interdependence (Romanova 2012). Regarding the second question of what factors affect EU-Russia relations, scholarship has largely balanced between analysing the parties’ interactions about resource exchange and the parties’ actorness. The central argument often juxtaposes the divergent interests of energy producers and consumers – the former need higher prices for resources, whilst the latter need cheaper resources. These different interests may become a matter of politics and concern for energy importers because of the vitality of resources for societies (Bahgat 2002). It would not be an exaggeration to say that literature on the topic in Russia has been geopolitics-realist centred with a paradoxical dichotomy in the argumentation. On the one hand, energy resources are viewed as strategic assets; on the other hand, gas trade with Europe has consistently been claimed to be a purely commercial activity (Barsukov 2017; Topalov 2015). By the same logic, the EU market reforms aimed at the rearrangements of the gas and electricity sectors have been labelled as politically driven, which intentionally lower energy security in Europe (Melnikova 2012). The producers vs consumers argument has been further developed in EU-Russia studies in a variety of concepts, largely expressed in the so-called ‘markets vs. geopolitics doctrine’ (Correlje and Linde 2006). This ‘doctrine’ has attributed ‘geopolitical actorness’ to producers, implying coercive strategies which contrast with the liberal policies of consumers. This differentiation of actorness relied mostly on the debates about EU actorness during the 2000s, when it was claimed that the EU is a sui generis project that is guided by norms instead of interests (Manners 2002). It has been argued that Russia and the EU have different interests not so much because of economic matters but mostly because of the differences in their political systems, polities and visions (for example, contrasting them as realist vs normative or strategic vs liberal actors). This way, their problematic relations result from Russia’s deviation from the liberal model of energy markets towards progressive resource nationalism (Goldthau and Sitter 2015), which derives from the legacies of domestic policies in Russia (Feklyunina 2012) and non-transparent relations between the Russian government and the energy industry (Heinrich 2008; Charokopos and Dagoumas 2018). Without doubt, this interpretation was largely triggered by the gas crises of 2006 and 2009, when addressing energy security through the lens of securitisation theory went viral in the analysis of EU-Russia relations (Kirchner and Berk 2010) and EU energy policies (Natorski and Herranz Surralés 2008). These studies examined how energy issues are framed as a threat and a matter of security in EU-Russia relations, yet many studies have tended to focus only on the securitisation process instead of addressing the question of the extent to which securitised policy issues represent a threat. Also, since the gas crises of 2006 and 2009, there has been a tradition of using ideational factors as explanatory variables for differences between the EU and Russia. A  lack of trust between the EU and Russia (Ziegler 2013), their different visions of energy cooperation (Casier 2011), ideas about the organisation of energy markets (Kuzemko 2014) and energy discourses 244

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(Kratochvíl and Tichy 2013) have been argued as explaining the deterioration of EU-Russia relations. Recently, some studies have started to challenge this overfocus on the normative gap between the EU and Russia (Casier 2013; Judge et al. 2016; Pavlova and Romanova 2014). They pointed to the geopolitical reductionism and the ‘diktats of power politics’, which presents the EU and Russia as completely incompatible power actors ( Judge et al. 2016: 754; Siddi 2018). Pavlova and Romanova (2014), in turn, pointed to methodological inconsistencies in analysis, where Russia is analysed through the lens of realism – and the EU from normative positions. This way, some effort to overcome the simplifications of ‘pipeline politics’ studies and to show the complexity of the energy sectors has been attempted by scholars working in the realm of various institutional approaches and International Political Economy (Belyi 2015; Kuzemko et al. 2012; Van der Meulen 2009). Scholars have sought to overcome the trap of applying a binary opposition, that is, either taking a normative position and assuming a benign nature for the EU ‘market’ model or adopting a realist approach and attributing the limited institutionalisation of EU-Russia relations to the structural divergences that lie between the interests of energy producers and consumers. Regarding the third question about prospects for the relationship, there has been an implicit tendency to assume that comprehensive energy relations inevitably mean a move towards formal institutionalisation (for example, legal approximation). EU integration has often been viewed as a progressive path towards increasingly deep forms of cooperation, normative and economic convergence with neighbouring countries on the grounds of the EU acquis. Whilst several studies have recently raised questions about a narrow interpretation of EU-Russia relations (see, for example, Judge et al. 2016), the field is still dominated by work on the EU’s relations with other countries as a gradual move towards more advanced forms of cooperation, including regarding the Energy Community (Prange-Gstöhl 2009). Significant shortcomings have also been observed regarding the methods of addressing energy relations. Some studies have remained overly descriptive and tended to simplify complex political controversies. This attention to empirical analysis has often coincided with a lack of understanding of the sector’s technological dynamics and in-depth legal controversies. Among others, one may notice some misunderstandings introduced in research; for example, confusions of spot and hub trade and limited knowledge about project financing of infrastructure projects. One of the most apparent misconceptions introduced by political scientists refers to the ECT. It was widely argued that the ECT required Russia to allow third-party access to its infrastructure and/or unbundle its energy industry and that these requirements became a matter of concern for Russia. Such misconceptions in academic and policy work lead to misleading interpretations of the events and state of energy relations. To some extent, this lack of knowledge can be explained by the limited interdisciplinary dialogue which characterises work here.

The overview of EU-Russia energy relations: from cooperation to institutional conflict In order to understand better a complex web of issues in EU-Russia energy relations, this chapter suggests arranging various issue areas of EU-Russia energy relations into three main conceptual categories, namely ‘cooperation’, ‘institutionalised conflict’ and ‘institutional conflict’. The issue areas cover multilateral and bilateral frameworks, dispute resolution mechanisms, gas trade and infrastructure issues and the climate change agenda. This taxonomy permits not only a systematisation of the current state of various issues but also provides an overview of their evolution. Cooperation is understood as the creation of a new, or enhancement of an 245

Climate change

Gas trade and infrastructure

Supplies–revenues interdependence between the EU (its member states) and Russia: longterm contracts. EU-Russia informal discussions about changes in the EU gas market within the GAC. Russia’s ratification of the Paris Agreement and initial proposals for decarbonising gas supplies.

The Energy Dialogue in 2000; a legally binding chapter on energy in a new PCA under discussion (early 2000s). The Gas Advisor y Council (GAC, since 2011) to address EU gas market reforms. Energy efficiency cooperation projects and technological transfer cooperation. The EU-Russia Early Warning Mechanism (EWM) to prevent and react promptly to emergencies to mitigate disruptions of supplies.

Bilateral frameworks

Disagreements within the negotiations on the Paris Agreement and the postponement of its ratification by Russia

International arbitration on long-term gas contracts between Gazprom and European companies. The EU’s mediation in Russia-Ukraine gas transit conflicts and the subsequent trilateral talks. The negotiations between the European Commission and Gazprom on the antitrust investigation. The EU-Russian dispute in the W TO about the applicability of the Third Energy Package. Trade disputes with Ukraine and EU companies

The Energy Char ter Process in the early 2000s: the Transit Protocol negotiations and an emerging difference in defining access to capacities, capacity allocation and tariffs. The EU’s proposal of the Regional Economic Integration Organisation clause to exclude transit within EU territor y. Russia’s request to clarify Ar ts. 7.3 and 7.7 of the ECT as a condition for the ECT’s ratification. Disagreements about the legal basis for the PCA (the 2000s).

The initial stage of the Energy Char ter Process (the 1990s).

Multilateral frameworks

Dispute resolution frameworks

Institutionalised conflict

Cooperation

Table 21.1 Summary of EU-Russia energy relations

The amendment of the EU Gas Directive allegedly to prevent the construction and/or operation of the NordStream2 pipeline and to make this pipeline subject to regulation under EU law. Opposing views about the urgency of climate change actions – Russia considers its emissions reductions significant enough not to accept more ambitious commitments.

Russia questions the investment dispute resolution framework under the ECT (late 2010s); the EU calls for reforming the ECT investment dispute resolution.

The failure of the PCA and the Energy Dialogue in the late 2000s; EU sanctions since 2014.

Russia’s termination of the provisional application of the ECT in 2009. The EU Energy Community Treaty aimed at expanding the EU acquis to neighbouring countries in 2005.

Institutional conflict

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existing, international (formal and/or informal, bilateral and/or multilateral) institution which is designed to mitigate differences, adjust norms and rules and facilitate a common approach to energy issues. Institutionalised conflict is understood as disagreements regarding the institutional settings of interactions, which are addressed within the procedures of existing bilateral and/or international institutions. Institutional conflict is understood as an expansion of disagreements regarding institutional settings beyond existing institutions, which are no longer accepted by the parties as a means of conflict resolution. The conflict is transferred into the political space and may lead to a weakening and even disappearance of existing international institutions (de-institutionalisation). A summary of EU-Russia energy relations through the lens of this conceptual approach is presented in Table 21.1. It allows for a focus on specific agendas of EU-Russia energy relations and tracing the evolution of specific issues. For example, areas covered by cooperation include the initial stage of the Energy Charter Process and the launch of the Energy Dialogue in 2000, as well as supplies – revenues interdependence between the EU and Russia. Institutionalised conflicts cover topics of international arbitration on long-term gas contracts between Gazprom and European companies, the EU’s mediation in Russia-Ukraine gas transit conflicts and subsequent trilateral talks, and the negotiations between the European Commission and Gazprom on antitrust monitoring. Finally, institutional conflicts focus on the failing international governance, when the parties no longer accept institutions as a venue for addressing issues. Examples include the recent state of the Energy Charter and the controversies over the NordStream2 pipeline. As Table 21.1 shows, with the penetration of political conflict into the energy sector and ambiguous domestic developments in the EU and Russia, prospects for institutionalisation have become ever elusive. At the same time, it is clear that reciprocal adjustments and adaptations at the practical level remain essential. Adaptations to the decarbonisation strategy, potential cooperation in climate change actions and energy efficiency are likely to be arranged through informal (expert) consultations, which may lead to the gradual de facto adjustments. For example, one of the possible developments may be a gradual adaptation of Russia’s gas sector and carbonintensive industries to market and climate change transformations and gradual and partial norm convergence without its formalisation. Whether the relations proceed along this path will also depend on the overall political situation on the sanctions.

The EU Green Deal and the decarbonisation agenda: a source for conflict or cooperation with Russia? A new European Commission, which took office in December 2019, has announced its priorities to deliver a climate neutral continent as part of the European Green Deal (Von der Leyen 2019). The presented plan (European Commission 2019) is extremely ambitious and will require a profound rearrangement of the entire economy of the EU beyond the energy sector. It will affect, among others, energy intensive industries (such as cement and steel), transport and agriculture and will require member states to rearrange their energy mixes. The EU Long-Term Strategy presented by the European Commission at the end of 2018 foresees in all scenarios a substantial phase out of fossil fuels by 2050 (European Commission 2018). These policies have great potential for both restoring cooperation and deepening institutional conflict between the EU and Russia. Cooperation is essential because, while the EU makes significant efforts in decreasing its share of global greenhouse gas emissions, it will be challenging to achieve the Paris Agreement targets without bringing on board other top emitters. Addressing Russia’s growing emissions would be crucial for reaching climate neutrality in the continent and can become a window of opportunities for the EU to reconsider cooperation. 247

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Conflict is possible because EU decarbonisation commitments will affect Russia’s hydrocarbon export to Europe and, consequently, Russia’s carbon-intensive economy. For example, EU planned measures to prevent carbon leakage by introducing inter alia a carbon border adjustment mechanism would seriously affect Russia’s export of hydrocarbons and carbon-intensive products. Moreover, it might well be expected that decarbonisation efforts in the EU would significantly reduce a demand for fossils fuel imports and consequently affect Russia’s budget revenues. Therefore, it might be essential for scholars to weigh all political, security and even environmental risks stemming from a potential weakening of Russian economy in the context of the EU’s decarbonisation policy. While the scale of EU decarbonisation is yet unclear, there will undoubtedly be more far-reaching institutional changes than those invoked by the Third Energy Package. The changes will affect all spheres of the economy and may signify another wave of institutional reconfigurations in EU-Russia relations.

Conclusion: looking for new roadmaps The current decarbonisation strategy of the EU entails a significant transformation of EU relations with carbon-intensive economies having merged climate and energy issues. It might well be expected that the carbon footprint of any industry will become a new benchmark in world transactions – a trend that has been recently supported by the European Investment Bank (EIB), which has refused to finance fossil fuel projects. Would the sectoral level of potential cooperation on climate change help mitigate the current political turbulence between the EU and Russia? Or, contrarily, will it result in another break-up of the existing modes of EU-Russia interactions? Decarbonisation in the EU will inevitably raise the potential for a new wave of institutionalised conflict, for example, regarding the introduction of a carbon border adjustment mechanism and its compatibility with the WTO rules. This will become a research agenda for upcoming years. In this regard, addressing the decarbonisation agenda in EU-Russia relations, it is essential to reconsider carefully several assumptions discussed in this chapter. First, implicitly benchmarking the state of the EU-Russia relationship against formal institutionalisation adds little to a better understanding of future developments. Extensive resource trade and infrastructure projects during the Cold War made fruitful cooperation possible without a comprehensive sectoral institutional framework and ideational similarities. A normative interpretation of the relationship as a gradual path towards formal institutionalisation – especially with convergence on a particular energy market model perceived as being the only right one – also neglects a variety of market organisation models, which can be influenced by domestic institutional choices, market developments and other factors. Second, the decarbonisation agenda might revive overinflated arguments, such as the dichotomy of the EU’s and Russia’s actorness. Initial steps of critical reassessment have already been taken in this direction to reassess conventional integration theories and the normativity of the EU project (Manners and Whitman 2016). Scholars have started to address the EU’s liberal model critically and to engage more with interdisciplinary research, delivering deeper analysis of the energy sector’s specificities and needs. Some questions to address might include the following. Does market liberalisation decrease politicisation of energy issues? Would politicisation of EU-Russia energy relations decrease in the event of market reforms of the Russian energy sector? It might be useful also to work on clearer interactions between such concepts as ‘politicisation’, ‘liberalisation’ and ‘securitisation’. In light of large-scale debates about the implications of NordStream2 for EU security, it might also be useful to address critically the issue of ‘threat’ and to examine when securitisation is a policy instrument and when it is an objective condition. 248

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Upcoming years will also bring debates about the conceptual understanding of decarbonisation and possible roadmap to reach it. Some discussions will be inevitable to ensure that both parties have a clear understanding of the meaning of ‘carbon neutrality’, ‘climate neutrality’ and ‘decarbonisation’ – and a clear strategy to deliver them. Many new dimensions of EU-Russia relations are still to emerge. What is important for scholarship is to be able to understand the trends of developments beyond empirical descriptions of the events. In this regard, the taxonomy offered in this chapter is a useful tool to map numerous events to get a clearer understanding of current developments. At the time of writing, the EU and Russia seem to be balancing between institutionalised and institutional conflicts with some cautious attempts to launch a new dialogue. At the same time, the analysis shows that room remains for cooperation and decisions within the existing institutions and the parties are reluctant to break apart completely.

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Pavlova, E. and Romanova, T. (2014) ‘Ideinoe sopernichestvo ili “trjesh-diskurs”?’, Russia in Global Affairs 12(3): 50–9. Prange-Gstöhl, H. (2009) ‘Enlarging the EU’s internal energy market: Why would third countries accept EU rule export?’, Energy Policy 37(12): 5296–303. Proedrou, F. (2007) ‘The EU-Russia energy approach under the prism of interdependence’, European Security 16(3–4): 329–55. Riley, A. (2016) ‘Nord Stream 2: A Legal and Policy Analysis’, CEPS Special Report, No. 151. Romanova, T. (2008) ‘The Russian perspective on the energy dialogue’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 16(2): 219–30. Romanova, T. (2012) ‘Legal Approximation in Energy: A New Approach for the European Union and Russia’, in C. Kuzemko, A. Belyi, A. Goldthau and M. Keating (eds.), Dynamics of Energy Governance in Europe and Russia, London: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 23–44. Romanova, T. (2016) ‘Sanctions and the Future of EU-Russian Economic Relations’, Europe-Asia Studies 68(4): 774–96. Schmidt-Felzmann, A. (2008) ‘All for One? EU Member States and the Union’s Common Policy Towards the Russian Federation’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 16(2): 169–87. Schumacher, E.F. (1964) ‘The struggle for a European energy policy’, Journal of Common Market Studies 2(3): 199–211. Sharples, J. (2013) ‘Russian approaches to energy security and climate change: Russian gas exports to the EU’, Environmental Politics 22(4): 683–700. Shtilkind, T. (2005) ‘Energy Charter Treaty: A critical Russian perspective’, Transnational Dispute Management 3, available at www.transnational-dispute-management.com/article.asp?key=475 Siddi, M. (2018) ‘The role of power in EU-Russia energy relations: the interplay between markets and geopolitics’, Europe-Asia Studies 70(10): 1552–71. Smith Stegen, K. (2011) ‘Deconstructing the ‘energy weapon’: Russia’s threat to Europe as case study’, Energy Policy 39(10): 6505–13. Stern, J. and Yafimava, K. (2017) ‘The EU Competition investigation of Gazprom’s sales in central and eastern Europe: a detailed analysis of the commitments and the way forward’ Oxford Institute for Energy Studies, OIES PAPER: NG, 121, available at www.oxfordenergy.org/wpcms/wp-content/ uploads/2017/07/The-EU-Competition-investigation-of-Gazproms-sales-in-central-and-easternEurope-a-detailed-analysis-of-the-commitments-and-the-way-forward-NG-121.pdf Stulber, A. (2017) ‘Natural gas and the Russia-Ukraine crisis: Strategic restraint and the emerging Europe– Eurasia gas network’, Energy Research & Social Science 24: 71–85. Talus, K. (2018) ‘Nord Stream 2 Pipeline and the Application of EU Energy Law’, Oil, Gas & Energy Law 1, available at www.ogel.org/article.asp?key=3742 (accessed 26 November 2019). Topalov, A. (2015) ‘Evropa podkinula problem’, Russia in Global Affairs, available at https://globalaffairs. ru/global-processes/Evropa-podkinula-problem-17335 (accessed 26 November 2019). Van de Graaf, T. and Colgan, J.D. (2017) ‘Russian gas games or well-oiled conflict? Energy security and the 2014’, Energy Research & Social Science 24: 59–64. Van der Meulen, E.F. (2009) ‘Gas Supply and EU-Russia Relations’, Europe-Asia Studies 61(5): 833–56. Von der Leyen, U. (2019) A Union that strives for more. My agenda for Europe. Political guidelines for the Next European Commission 2019–2024, available at https://ec.europa.eu/commission/sites/betapolitical/files/political-guidelines-next-commission_en.pdf (accessed 26 November 2019). Von Hirschhausen, C. and Waelde, T.W. (2001) ‘The end of transition: an institutional interpretation of energy sector reform in Eastern Europe and the CIS’, MOST: Economic Policy in Transitional Economies 11(1): 93–110. Waern, K.P. (2002) ‘Transit Provisions of the Energy Charter Treaty and the Energy Charter Protocol on Transit’, Journal of Energy & Natural Resources Law 20(2): 172–91. Ziegler, C. (2013) ‘Energy pipeline networks and trust: the European Union and Russia in comparative perspective’, International Relations 27(3): 3–29.

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Since 2014, the European Union, together with the United States and a number of other countries (41 states, including all the EU member states), have been imposing economic sanctions against Russia. These measures are defined primarily as a response to Russia’s policy vis-à-vis Ukraine and later the Skripal case, alleged cyber attacks and other issues. For its part, Russia has introduced economic countermeasures. Sanctions have damaged Russia-West economic ties and the Russian economy but have failed to change the political course of either side. The current situation raises a number of research questions. Why have sanctions against Russia turned out to be ineffective? What is the specific role of the EU in sanctions pressure on Russia? Is EU policy of particular note, or does the EU just follow the United States? How much damage have the sanctions brought to the Russian and EU economies? And finally, what are the scenarios for the further development of sanctions pressure on Russia? Hufbauer et  al. (2009) define sanctions as a tool to achieve political goals through economic restrictions. Unlike trade wars, sanctions are about coercion and political domination, not economic competition (Pape 1997). Restrictive measures include trade and financial bans, reduction of investments, limitation of technical and financial assistance, freezing of assets and so on. Giumelli (2016) identifies three major goals of sanctions: signalling or sending a political message, constraining or limiting the specific capabilities of a target state and coercion – making a target state change its behaviour. The UN Security Council (UNSC) is often considered the only legitimate source of restrictive measures ( Jazairi 2015). However, both the United States and the EU increasingly use sanctions unilaterally, in some cases trying to legitimise unilateral measures at the UN (see e.g. Brzoska 2015). The United States is the most active initiator of unilateral sanctions (Hufbauer et al. 2009: 2 ff.). However, sanctions often fail to change the behaviour of the target state. Only a third of cases are successful (Hufbauer et al. 1990), and subsequent analysis reveals that real success is even smaller (e.g. Pape 1997). Drezner (1999) proposed the idea of a ‘sanctions paradox’; according to this, minimum pressure on an ally gives far bigger political results compared to extensive pressure on a foe. Bapat et al. (2013) identified the two statistically most significant factors for sanctions to succeed. The first is the economic cost of sanctions for the target states and the second the involvement of international institutions like the UN. Bapat

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et al. (2013) also highlight the importance of the signalling effects; minimal use of sanctions may bring results if they signal an intention or demonstrate determination. The trend of the last two decades is the rise of targeted or smart sanctions (Drezner 2015; Tourinho 2015). A great deal has been done on reforming sanction policies by the UN (Dorfler 2019) and by key sanctions initiators such as the United States (Zarate 2013). However, Jazairi (2018) notes that targeted sanctions may still have a severe impact on populations and cause violations of human rights. Studies such as that by Neuenkirch and Neumeier (2015) highlight the impact of sanctions on the economy of a target state, while others have challenged basing an approach to analysing sanctions’ effectiveness on economic impact. Jaeger (2018) argues efficiency can have different meanings if defined by sociological factors and perception models. Earlier, Kaempfer and Lowenberg (2007: 888) used the game-theoretic model proposition that ‘the success of sanctions depends on conflict expectations and level of commitments’. Kim (2013) attempted to prove that asymmetric structural-network power between senders and targets determines the failure of sanctions. Whang (2011) has analysed the use of sanctions in the internal affairs of a sender state. Other authors have focused on sanctions’ efficiency in terms of their impact on the targets’ regimes (Grauvogel and Soest 2014). A  range of case studies reveals considerable specific details related to national context, political cultures and regimes and dynamics of rivalry. Among the controversial cases are those of Iran (e.g. Graaf 2013; Maloney 2015; Nephew 2018), North Korea (e.g. Kim 2014; Haggard and Noland 2017) and Cuba (Spadoni 2010). However, the utility of these studies to understanding the Russian case is limited due to its specific nature (size, importance in world politics, UNSC permanent membership etc.). A number of authors have provided thorough analyses of the foundations, key mechanisms and cases of the EU sanctions (Portela 2010; Giumelli 2013). Recent works address the effects of EU sanctions on Russia, Russia’s adaptation measures and Russian ­counter-sanctions on the EU (Connolly 2015, 2018; Kholodilin and Netsunaev 2017, 2016; Fritsz et al. 2017; Crozet and Hinz 2016). This chapter  approaches the effectiveness of sanctions in terms of their failure to change Russian foreign policy. Two explanations are suggested. First, the United States and the EU differ in the intensity of sanctions: the United States escalates them, while the EU remains mostly within the ‘Ukrainian package’, with other sanctions symbolic and performing a signalling function. This discrepancy reduces the cumulative effect of restrictive measures. The integrity of the EU-US coalition is of special importance, given that UN sanctions cannot be implemented against Russia. Second, sanctions cause limited damage to the Russian economy. It does bear losses but has adapted to sanctions. Further adaptation may decrease initiators’ chances of affecting Russian politics. On this basis, alternative scenarios for further developments in the sanctions against Russia are outlined.

EU and US sanctions against Russia: diverging trajectories? The architecture of EU sanctions against Russia emerged in 2014. The European Council’s Decision 2014/145 severely condemned Russia’s actions in Ukraine and was to freeze cooperation between Russia and the EU. ‘Decision 145’ imposed personal sanctions against 21 citizens of Russia and Ukraine, including new authorities in Crimea and Russian members of parliament who actively promoted the idea of reunification with Crimea, as well as some Russian military officials. By 21 March  2014, 12 more names of key Russian political and military figures were added to the list with subsequent visa and financial restrictions against them; they were prohibited from entering the EU (including for transit), and their assets in the EU were

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frozen. This list was later expanded. As of April 2019, it includes 175 persons and 47 entities (Council of the EU 2014a). Sanctions within ‘Decision 145’ were of a targeted individual character. At that time, they were more likely to send a signal to the Russian leadership. ‘Decision 145’ was also coordinated with US sanctions adopted at the same time. In March 2014, the US president signed a series of Executive Orders (EO) (13660, 13661 and 13662) that imposed personal financial sanctions against a number of Russians (US President 2014a, 2014b, 2014c). On 23 June 2014, the European Council adopted Decision 2014/386, introducing import restrictions on goods originating in Crimea and Sevastopol (Council of the EU 2014b). Later, this document was considerably expanded. Decision 2014/933 as of 18 December 2014 prohibited EU persons from buying real estate in Crimea and Sevastopol; financing projects; investing in Crimea; providing tourist services there; or buying or selling goods and technologies in transport, telecommunications or energy (Council of the EU 2014c). In December 2014, the Americans established similar rules by EO 13685 (US President 2014d). The range of sanctions significantly increased in July 2014 amid the worsening situation in the east of Ukraine. The trigger was the MH17 catastrophe, although preparations had begun long before. On 31 July 2014, the European Council introduced Decision 2014/512, which implied sectoral sanctions against Russia (Council of the EU 2014d). The decision imposed sanctions against the defence, banking and energy sectors. In the defence industry, restrictions were imposed on the supply of arms and dual-use goods to Russia (exceptions were made for peaceful outer space). In the banking sector, sanctions prohibited direct or indirect purchase and sale, as well as provision of brokerage services for securities with a maturity of more than 90 days (the ban covered the five largest Russian banks). In the energy sector, restrictions blocked the supply of technology and goods related to the exploration and production of shale oil, deep-sea drilling and extraction in the Arctic. Over 2014, this set of sanctions was upgraded. Council Decision 2014/659 further restricted the purchase of securities (up to 30 days of redemption instead of 90) and banned loans with a maturity of more than 30 days. The limitations on the five Russian banks were extended to three oil producers and several defence companies (Council of the EU 2014e). In December 2014, Decision 2014/872 clarified the provisions for the energy and financial sectors (Council of the EU 2014f). On 19 March  2015, the European Council linked sectoral sanctions to the implementation of the Minsk 2 agreements and since then has regularly extended them (for instance, Council of the EU 2015). Washington introduced similar sectoral sanctions with EO 13662. Until the end of 2016, US and EU sanctions were mostly similar, with at least three features that united them. First, they did not go beyond the Ukrainian issue. Second, sectoral and personal sanctions were well coordinated and largely overlapped. Third, in both cases, there was still the possibility of lifting sanctions promptly in the event of a political settlement of the Ukrainian crisis. However, since the end of 2016, there have been growing differences. The United States accused Russia of cyber attacks and imposed targeted sanctions with EO 13757 (US President 2016). It was little more than a signal and inflicted little, if any, economic damage on Russia. The United States introduced personal sanctions, confiscated part of Russia’s diplomatic property in the United States and expelled 35 Russian diplomats. However, this cyber incident would later turn into a much larger accusation of Russia’s interference in the US elections and a reason for greater restrictions. On 2 August 2017, the US Congress and president adopted Public Law 115–44 ‘Countering American Adversaries through Sanctions Act’ – CAATSA (US Congress 2017). By comparison with presidential executive orders, public laws are much harder to change. The transformation of sanctions against Russia into a public law in the United States significantly complicated even 254

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theoretical chances to lift sanctions. It added new measures in addition to the already known sets of sanctions on Ukraine and cyber incidents. The law targeted Russian relations with the Syrian government of Bashar al-Assad, accusing Russia of the violation of the non-proliferation regime, possible financial crimes, corruption and human rights violations. In other words, the list of reasons for imposing new sanctions significantly expanded. The set of sanctions has also enlarged. The law upgraded sectoral restrictions covering state companies in mining, metallurgy and railroads. New sanctions were introduced against the Russian defence sector. The pipeline projects (primarily NordStream2) were mentioned too. The risk of US sanctions against the projects are still high despite the position of Germany and of the EU in favour of NordStream2. Additionally, the law restricted investment in Russia (including participation in privatisation). CAATSA also obliged the Administration to present the so-called ‘Kremlin List’ of persons close to the Russian leadership, against whom sanctions could be imposed in the future. Public Law 115–44 defined Russia as a key adversary against which it was necessary to conduct an ideological struggle, as well as to interact actively with the EU and other states. On the whole, the EU supported the US line of countering Russian activities in cyberspace and blamed Moscow for actions in Syria and human rights violations. However, Brussels avoided significant restrictions. The EU and US sanctions against Russia moved at different speeds, and this gap has the potential to widen further, which is illustrated by at least three developments on the US side. The first is further implementation of the CAATSA and existing executive orders. The imposition of restrictions on the Russian company RUSAL and a number of other corporations and persons on 6 April 2018 (US Treasury 2018) showed that the United States can move suddenly and with no reference to the specific events of the here and now (for example, the worsening of the situation in Ukraine). Sanctions are possible at any time without any specific trigger. Though RUSAL has managed to restructure its property and meet the demands of the US Treasury (US Treasury 2019a), the very fact of the sudden use of sanctions against a significant Russian company was an alarming sign to Russian business as well as to its partners abroad. The second development is the emergence of new sanction bills against Russia. One of the most comprehensive is ‘Defending American Security from Kremlin Aggression’ – DASKAA (US Congress 2019a). The draft law also defines a number of new sanctions against Russia, which are mainly linked to energy and the financial and ship-building industries. Another bill is the so-called DETER – ‘Defending Elections from Threats by Establishing Redlines Act of 2019’ (US Congress 2019b). It implies new sanctions in case of reports on electoral interference from the Russian side. Similar measures have recently been introduced in Congress as an amendment to the National Defence Act (US Congress 2019c). The Administration has implemented some of these ideas without waiting for their transformation into public law. On 20 September 2018, Trump signed EO 13849 to implement further CAATSA (US President 2018a). Another EO 13848 of 12 September (US President 2018b) threatened sanctions against Russia for electoral meddling. On 15 March 2019, the US Treasury designated eight Russian shipbuilding companies as a reaction to the Kerch Strait incident (US Treasury 2019b). A number of ships and companies were designated in September 2019 as a reaction to the supply of fuel to Syria (US Treasury 2019c). The third development is the use of already existing legislation on non-proliferation issues, including The Chemical and Biological Weapons Control Act of 1991 (US Congress 1991). In August 2019, it was used to sanction Russian bonds, nominated in dollars, to limit some exports and imports operations and to use the US vote in international institutions to oppose loans to Russia (US President 2019). Though the impact of these measures on the Russian economy is still weak, it sent a message that consequent measures may be more painful (for instance, sanctions against bonds, nominated in rubles). 255

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On a number of issues, the EU has followed the US example. In 2018, European Council Decision No 2018/1544 provided a legal framework to sanction countries and persons responsible for the proliferation of chemical weapons (Council of the EU 2018). The subsequent Decision No 2019/86 in 2019 imposed personal sanctions against four individuals allegedly involved in the Skripals’ poisoning (Council of the EU 2019a). The EU has also joined the United States in sanctioning Russian individuals following the Kerch Strait incident in December 2018 (Council of the EU 2019b). At the same time, the EU measures were not as strong as those of the United States: Washington has sanctioned a much wider list of companies and persons. Since 2017, the United States has tended to be assertive and proactive, the EU more pragmatic and careful. The United States combines sanctions with a strong ideological posture, while the EU is more technocratic (at least in terms of documents related to sanctions). The United States may use sanctions out of the blue, while the EU strictly links it to specific trigger events like the Skripal case or Kerch Strait incident. There is a bipartisan consensus and strong coordination between Congress and the Administration on sanctions in the United States, while a similar compromise is harder to achieve in the EU due to the divergence among member states. The EU sanctions may be lifted relatively quickly in technical terms in the event of Minsk II implementation, while the US sanctions may be slower to change, being fixed in a public law. While different speeds of escalation of the sanctions vis-à-vis Russia would not undermine US–EU coordination and unity, they allow Moscow to avoid cumulative pressure and decrease the potential damage to the national economy. Russia has itself imposed a series of retaliatory measures. On 6 August 2014, the Russian president approved a ban on the import of agricultural products from countries that sanctioned Russia (Russian President 2014; Russian Government 2014). On 4 June 2018, the president signed a Law on Measures (Countermeasures) against Unfriendly Actions of the United States of America and other Foreign Countries (Russian Council of Federation 2018). The Russian Parliament gave broad powers to the president to use countermeasures, including termination of international cooperation programmes, restriction of exports and imports, the prohibition of participation in privatisation and so on. As a result of domestic pressures, the new legislation emerged as lenient compared to previous bills (Russian State Duma 2018a) that had specified the goods subject to prohibition. In particular, possible restrictions on the import of medications from the United States caused a wide public response. Similarly, the proposal to ban the export of titanium to the United States raised objections from Russia’s industry. As a result, the Parliament shifted all responsibility to the president in taking such measures. The president, in turn, has not yet expanded the list of restrictions, generally leaving them within the food embargo. The State Duma was also considering criminal legislation vis-à-vis Russian persons in case of their compliance with Western sanctions (Russian State Duma 2018b). However, the bill was never adopted. It also sparked a broad public debate, putting business between the rock of foreign sanctions and the hard place of the Russian Criminal Code. Obviously, this would inflict a serious blow to the business climate in the country, both for Russian citizens and for foreigners. The Russian approach to countersanctions has two distinguishing features. First, it is practically devoid of ideological content, unlike American laws, which are based on a solid doctrinal basis. Second, Russia does not really impose financial sanctions, whereas for the EU, and in particular for the United States, this is one of the key lines of attack. In the long term, Russia will most likely stick to the strategy of increasing its autonomy from USD settlements in order to reduce risks for its companies. US sanctions against RUSAL, whose export operations are mainly carried out in US dollars, have become a serious incentive for developing such a strategy. 256

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The damage of sanctions to the Russian and EU economies The cost of sanctions is among the most important parameters for assessing their effectiveness. At the time of writing, there are three important trends. First, the damage from sanctions is unlikely to be fatal for the Russian economy, but it does inhibit growth, exacerbating the risks of dependence on commodity markets. Second, among the initiators, it was the EU that bore the biggest losses from sanctions and counter-sanctions. Given the EU’s economy is larger and more diversified than the Russian one, the impact of sanctions on its stability may be significantly less than that for Russia, even if the losses in absolute terms are comparable. Third, a number of other factors, such as the conjuncture of commodity and energy markets and oil price dynamics, complicate assessment of the effect of the sanctions. Existing research illustrates these points. Gurvich and Prilepsky (2016) calculated direct losses from the sanctions to Russia as 170 billion USD over 2014–2016. Add to this the loss of 400 billion USD of revenues from the export of energy resources due to the negative market dynamics. They also point out the loss of gross capital inflow to Russia, a further 280 billion over the first two years of the sanctions. This figure is related to both sanctions and the weakening of the economic environment. Though Gurvich and Prilepsky noted the adaptation of the Russian economy to foreign restrictions, the worsening of the financial environment in commodity markets deepened the impact of sanctions. Mitrova et al. (2018) state that Russian oil companies were able to adapt to sanctions: the US and EU restrictions did not slow down the rate of oil production, and Russia has shown record production results. Nevertheless, after 2020, restrictions on the supply of technologies will lead to a gradual slowdown in production rates. And by 2030, the technological blockade will become an even greater problem. Any strengthening of sanctions could accelerate this process. Connolly (2015, 2018) assessed the impact of sanctions as rather limited. In energy sector assessments, his conclusions generally coincided with later estimates by Mitrova et al. (2018). In the financial sector, sanctions led to losses in investments capital, but the Russian authorities managed to maintain financial stability. In the defence sector, the impact of sanctions was negligible. In agriculture, Russian manufacturers strengthened their positions, although Russian consumers faced a price increase. Fritsz et al. (2017) conclude that sanctions have caused damage both to Russia and the EU. Russian losses are comparable with those of the EU in absolute numbers, but they are much bigger in terms of share of GDP. Kholodilin and Netsunaev (2016, 2017) revealed that Russia’s GDP was affected by sanctions more than the GDP of the Eurozone countries. Crozet and Hinz (2016) estimated the damage from sanctions for initiator states of 60.2 billion USD over the period from 2014 to mid-2015, with EU countries bearing 76.5 per cent of the damage; 83.1 per cent of losses were related to those goods not affected by trade embargoes – that is, indirect damage from sanctions turned out to be high. This effect is connected with sectoral sanctions against the financial sector, which also affected trade. The replacement of the Russian market by movement in other directions is of low efficiency. Hinz (2017) further points out that in the case of cancellation or easing of sanctions, economic ties are restored very slowly and develop through ties with those who did not join the sanction regimes. The US economic losses from sanctions against Russia are much smaller than those of the EU (Moret et al. 2017; Nelson 2017). In addition, there are a number of effects that are difficult to calculate. For example, it is unclear when and to what extent sanctions will hit social stability in Russia and how sudden such an effect will be. Image and reputation costs are also important. The aggravation of 257

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sanctions raises uncertainty among contractors of the country under sanctions and increases the cost of risk for them even in areas not formally affected by sanctions. The reports mentioned previously generally state that Russia has managed to adapt to sanctions in the short term. Restrictions hamper economic growth, but so far they are not a critical factor for macroeconomic stability. In the long term, the two important tasks for Russia will be to establish alternative international financial mechanisms and to diversify its trade partners. The first task is key to shield Russia from financial sanctions: the United States can cause serious damage to Russia using the dominance of the dollar in the world economy. Russia alone can hardly offer a viable global alternative to the dollar, but the potential future risk that actors like China and the EU might find themselves under threat of extraterritorial sanctions from the US intensifies debates about an alternative to the US currency. Until then, there is nothing which can threaten the leading position of the dollar. As such, a diversification of world finance would be in Russia’s interests and, perhaps, would allow Russia to mitigate financial sanctions. However, this would seem to be unrealistic in the short- and midterm perspectives. The second task is necessary to replace those goods, services or investments that may be banned. The most promising partner for Russia is China. Beijing is critical of imposing sanctions against Russia, is building up its technological leadership and is also seeking to develop trade relations with Moscow.

Scenarios for the future The future of sanctions policy in EU-Russia relations is multivariate and subject to the influence of many factors. Nevertheless, it is possible to designate a set of possible scenarios in the short run (up to 5 years) on the basis of the previously mentioned conditions: a coalition of the initiator states and the damage from sanctions. Naturally, another important condition is the state of dialogue between Russia and the West on the issues that originally led to the imposition of sanctions.

Scenario 1. consolidated escalation of EU and US sanctions In this scenario, the United States increases the pressure of sanctions against Russia, using various reasons. Sanctions against the financial and energy sectors are especially intensified. American diplomats manage to convince the EU to join the US sanction regime (including through the threat of extraterritorial use of sanctions against EU companies). As a result, the damage to the Russian economy significantly increases: Russia loses its European energy market and is in a state of technological blockade. Such policies push Moscow into a corner. There is an intensive rapprochement between Russia and China. The conflict in the Donbass becomes more acute (Moscow has nothing to lose). The Russian political system is rigidly consolidated. The arms control regimes fall apart. Political relations between Russia and the EU significantly deteriorate, adjusting to the Russian–American denominator.

Scenario 2. unilateral escalation of US sanctions In this scenario, the EU does not join the US efforts to escalate sanctions, remaining mostly within the ‘Ukrainian package’. The EU is affected by US extraterritorial sanctions, especially in the energy sector, but Brussels makes efforts to protect EU companies. Trade and economic ties with Russia are preserved, although stagnant. Moscow gradually strengthens its partnership with China. However, the qualitative growth of partnership is limited to existing constraints 258

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(market capacity, infrastructure condition, etc.): the EU remains Russia’s key trading partner. The Minsk process is deadlocked. There is no aggravation in Donbass, but the conflict is not resolved. EU sanctions over the Ukrainian issue remain.

Scenario 3. de-escalation of EU sanctions In this scenario, the EU refuses to aggravate sanctions in line with the US measures and plays a more active role in resolving the Ukrainian crisis. Brussels offers a nuanced approach: the lifting of sanctions proportional to the implementation of the Minsk agreements. This approach gives diplomats more flexibility. At the same time, the EU influences the Ukrainian government, whose decisions and actions largely affect the implementation of Minsk 2. The parties manage to achieve a ceasefire, resulting in the cancellation of some sanctions. This lays the foundation for further progress in implementing the agreements and creates an element of trust between Brussels and Moscow. The situation remains unstable and vulnerable to provocations. However, ‘selective engagement’, continuing economic and humanitarian ties and the establishment of EU-Eurasian Economic Union relations contribute to the gradual resolution. Russia would hardly reconsider reunification with Crimea, but the conflict in Donbass may diminish significantly.

Scenario 4. black swan Unpredictable and catastrophic changes violate the established logic of cause-and-effect relations in the sanctions policy. Possible changes include sudden political cataclysms and a crisis in Russia, the collapse of Ukrainian statehood, a crisis in the American political system, polarisation and loss of control within the EU, armed conflict in Europe, whether intended or not and so on. All these factors alone or taken together can fundamentally worsen the situation. Scenario 1 or 2 is most likely, although the consequences of the first would be significantly more severe. Scenario 3 looks less likely; nevertheless, it can serve as a desirable course. The stabilisation of the situation remains in the interests of both Brussels and Moscow. The costs of Scenario 1 and Scenario 4 would be high for both sides. In any case, there is not yet a scenario in sight where Russia could resolve its contradictions with both the EU and the United States, avoiding a severe political defeat and maintaining its position. This stimulates Moscow to promote its foreign policy agenda regardless of sanctions. Simultaneous lifting of sanctions by the EU and the United States in this perspective is almost impossible.

References Bapat, N.A., Heinrich, T., Kobayashi, Y. and Morgan, C. (2013) ‘Determinants of Sanctions Effectiveness: Sensitivity Analysis Using New Data’, International Interactions 39: 79–98. Brzoska, M. (2015) ‘International Sanctions Before and Beyond UN Sanctions’, International Affairs 91(6): 1339–49. Connolly, R. (2015) ‘The Impact of EU Economic Sanctions on Russia’, in I. Dreyer and J. LuengoCabrera (eds.), On target? EU sanctions as security policy tools, Paris: Institute for Security Studies Report No 25: 29–38. Connolly, R. (2018) Russia’s Response to Sanctions: How Western Economic Statecraft is Reshaping Political Economy in Russia, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press. Council of the EU (2014a) ‘Council decision 2014/145/CFSP of 17 March 2014’, available at https://eurlex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?qid=1554311045060&uri=CELEX:02014D0145-20190123 (accessed 11 November 2019). Council of the EU (2014b) ‘Council decision 2014/386/CFSP of 23 June  2014’, available at https:// eur-lex.europa.eu/legal-content/EN/TXT/?uri=celex:32014D0386 (accessed 11 November 2019). 259

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Kaempfer, W. and Lowenberg, A.D. (2007) ‘The Political Economy of Economic Sanctions’ in T. Sandler and K. Hartley (eds.), Handbook of Defense Economics, Vol. 2, Amsterdam: Elsevier, pp. 868–905. Kholodilin, K. and Netsunaev, A. (2016) ‘Crimea and Punishment: The Impact of Sanctions on Russian and European Economies’, Berlin: German Institute of Economic Research, April 11. Kholodilin, K. and Netsunaev, A. (2017) ‘Crimea and punishment: The impact of sanctions on Russian and European economies’, Eesti Pank Working Papers, No 5. Kim, H.M. (2013) ‘Determining the Success of Economic Sanctions’, Australian Journal of Political Science 48(1): 85–100. Kim, H.M. (2014) ‘Stifled Growth and Added Suffering. Tensions Inherent in Sanctions Policies against North Korea’, Critical Asian Studies 46(1): 91–112. Maloney, S. (2015) ‘Sanctions and the Iranian Nuclear Deal: Silver Bullet or Blunt Object?’, Social Research 82(4): 887–911. Mitrova, T., Grushevenko, E. and Malov, A. (2018) Prospects for Russian Oil Production: Life under Sanctions, Moscow: Moscow School of Management, Skolkovo. Moret, E., Giumelli, F. and Bastiat-Jarosz, D. (2017) ‘Sanctions on Russia: impacts and economic costs on the US’, Geneva International Sanctions Network, March. Nelson, R. (2017) ‘US Sanctions and Russia’s Economy’, Congressional Research Service, February 17. Nephew, R. (2018) The Art of Sanctions. A View from the Field, New York: Columbia University Press. Neuenkirch, M. and Neumeier, F. (2015) ‘The Impact of UN and US Economic Sanctions on GDP Growth’, European Journal of Political Economy 40: 110–25. Pape, R.A. (1997) ‘Why Economic Sanctions Do Not Work’, International Security 22(2): 90–136. Portela, C. (2010) European Union Sanctions and Foreign Policy, London: Routledge. Russian Council of Federation (2018) ‘Law on Measures (Countermeasures) against Unfriendly Actions of the United States of America and other Foreign Countries as of June 4, 2018’, available at http://pub lication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001201806040032?index=0&rangeSize=1 (accessed 12 November 2019). Russian Government (2014) ‘Decision on the implementation measures of the executive order of the president of Russian Federation as of August 6, 2014 № 650 on extending certain special economic measures to ensure the Russian Federation’s security’, available at http://static.government.ru/media/ files/41d4f8cdfeeb731522d2.pdf (accessed 12 November 2019). Russian President (2014) ‘Presidential order on extending certain special economic measures to ensure the Russian Federation’s security as of August 6, 2014’, available at http://kremlin.ru/events/president/ news/46404 (accessed 12 November 2019). Russian State Duma (2018a) ‘Bill on amending the criminal code of the Russian Federation’, available at http://sozd.parliament.gov.ru/bill/464757-7 (accessed 12 November 2019). Russian State Duma (2018b) ‘Bill on measures (countermeasures) against unfriendly actions of the United States of America and other foreign countries as 2018’, available at https://sozd.duma.gov.ru/ bill/441399-7 (accessed 12 November 2019). Spadoni, P. (2010) Failed Sanctions: Why the U.S. Embargo against Cuba Could Never Work, Gainesville: University Press of Florida. Tourinho, M. (2015) ‘Towards a World Police? The Implications of Individual Targeted Sanctions’, International Affairs 91(6): 1399–412. US Congress (1991) ‘Public law 102–182 of December 4, 1991’, available at http://uscode.house.gov/ statutes/pl/102/182.pdf (accessed 12 November 2019). US Congress (2017) ‘Public law 115–44 of August  17, 2017’, available at www.treasury.gov/resourcecenter/sanctions/Programs/Documents/hr3364_pl115-44.pdf (accessed 12 November 2019). US Congress (2019a) ‘Defending American security from Kremlin aggression act. S 482. Introduced February  13, 2019’, available at www.congress.gov/bill/116th-congress/senate-bill/482 (accessed 12 November 2019). US Congress (2019b) ‘Defending elections from threats by establishing readlines act of 2019. S. 1060’, available at www.congress.gov/bill/116th-congress/senate-bill/1060/text?q=%7B%22search%22%3A %5B%22Defending+elections%22%5D%7D&r=1&s=2 (accessed 12 November 2019). US Congress (2019c) Sherman Amendment to Punish Russia for Election Interference Passes House, available at https://sherman.house.gov/media-center/press-releases/sherman-amendment-to-punishrussia-for-election-interference-passes (accessed 12 November 2019). US President (2014a) ‘Executive order 13660 of March 6, 2014’, available at www.treasury.gov/resourcecenter/sanctions/Programs/pages/ukraine.aspx (accessed 12 November 2019). 261

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23 EU-EAEU common economic space Yuri Kofner and Dmitry Erokhin

This chapter focuses on the idea of a potential common economic space from ‘Lisbon to Vladivostok’, that is between the European Union and the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU). The chapter begins with a brief overview of the longer history of the integration concept and the various ideas previously posited regarding how to establish a common space. The next section delivers an outline of the creation of the EU before examining the nature and membership of the EAEU, identifying cooperation perspectives and mutual interests, as well as those dynamics hindering a deepening of relations among the EAEU states. The potential options for a deepening of trade and economic cooperation across the region, as well as the EU, are then focused on. Analysis here considers the implications arising from the creation of the EAEU, including the likely obstacles to dialogue. The chapter concludes with a discussion of the short- and mediumterm steps that will need to be taken in order to enhance cooperation.

The past in the present: conceptions of a common space Today, the concept of a ‘common space from Lisbon to Vladivostok’ is generally understood as a potential agreement(s) on deeper interregional trade and economic cooperation between the European Union (EU) and the Eurasian Economic Union. The general idea for such a space, however, has existed for more than a century. A founding father of European integration, Count Richard von Coudenhove-Kalergi (1923), was one of the first to propose the idea of a wider European space (‘Pan-Europa’), including Russia. His reasoning echoes many present concerns. Coudenhove-Kalergi advocated the creation of a trade and economic alliance between a unified Europe and a post-Communist Eurasian Russia, from which each would gain. European capital and technology could help Russia modernise, while the European economy could compete globally with the aid of Eurasian resources. Economic interdependence would provide the conditions for mutual disarmament and continuing peace between Europe and Russia. A second proponent of a common space was the controversial geopolitical researcher Karl Haushofer (1941), who saw a German-dominated Europe, Russian-led USSR and an East Asian region under Japanese hegemony as counters to the might of the United Kingdom and the United States. Charles De Gaulle’s post-WWII call for a united ‘Europe from the Atlantic to the Urals’ (Weisenfeld 1991) envisaged a détente with the USSR, a common space between 263

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a ‘Europe of Nations’ and ‘eternal, i.e, non-communist Russia’, albeit one that excluded the non-Slavic Soviet republics. His call was shared by Willy Brandt’s ‘Ostpolitik’, and during Perestroika, the German Chancellor Helmut Kohl, along with Mikhail Gorbachev, raised De Gaulle’s rhetoric of a ‘common European home’ (Rey 2004). As other chapters in this volume reveal (Khudoley and Ras; Connolly and Deak; Timofeev), the early hopes of the post–Cold War period that Russia could be incorporated into the established Euro-Atlantic architecture were not met. Nevertheless, the idea of a wider Europe was far from dead, as seen in the EU’s ‘Eastern Neighbourhood Policy’, which Russia refused to participate in, and in the EU-Russia creation of ‘four common spaces’, including a common economic space. Despite the strains put in place by Russia’s 2008 war with Georgia, the EU and Russia initiated a ‘Partnership for Modernisation’ in 2010, to speed up the implementation of the common economic space. Vladimir Putin, then prime minister, further elaborated this idea in his ‘Plea for an Economic Community from Lisbon to Vladivostok’ (Putin 2010). At the same time, a deepening of reintegration processes in the post-Soviet space occurred: in 2010, Belarus, Kazakhstan and Russia created a customs union. Two crucial events caused a further major shift in EU-Russian relations. First, the Ukrainian crisis led to a turning point and a severe rift in relations between the EU and Russia that continues today. Moscow’s annexation of Crimea and support for the Donbas insurgency (Robinson 2016) were seen by the West as a major violation of the post-WWII international order. Many Western countries imposed sanctions on Russia, while Brussels suspended most cooperation with Moscow (see Timofeev this volume). However, perceptions of EU support of the Euromaidan protests led to a major drop in Russian public support for cooperation with the EU (Lipman 2016). Disillusionment with the West also manifested itself among a large part of Russia’s political and intellectual elite. In response, Moscow made a turn (Fortescue 2016) or pivot (Dave 2016) to the East. Thus, the idea of a common economic space was shelved by both the EU and Russia. The second major occurrence also came in 2014 with the inception of the EAEU. Today, it is the second most integrated trade bloc in the world and means that any revival of the ‘Lisbon to Vladivostok’ idea will have to be based on multilateral cooperation. Key actors in any future negotiations will include not just the European Commission and the Kremlin but also the Eurasian Economic Commission (EAEC), which has competence to conduct negotiations with third parties on matters of trade, tariffs, product conformity regulations and related areas.

The EAEU The EAEU is a trade and economic bloc that aims to create a common internal market based on the free movement of goods and services, labour, capital and enterprise. Founded on 1 January 2015, it comprises five former Soviet states: Armenia, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Russia. In 2018, its GDP by purchasing power parity was 4.7 trillion USD with a population of 182 million (EEC Statistics Department). The EAEU is both supranational and intergovernmental in nature. Intergovernmentalism means that countries make decisions together but remain sovereign themselves. It provides only for interstate cooperation between governments, without deepening and institutionalising it in terms of content and space. Supranationality means a shift of legal responsibilities from the nation-state to a higher level. Such a supranational organisation can make binding decisions even if not all members agree. The EAEU has eight key bodies. The first of these, the Supreme Eurasian Economic Council, is peopled by the heads of state and is the strategic decision-making body. Next is the Eurasian Intergovernmental Council, in which the heads of government have responsibility for the coordination of 264

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national policies. Further bodies include the EAEC (located in Moscow), the Council of the Commission, in which the deputy heads of government assist in decision-making and deliver oversight. The main executive body, the Board of the Commission (consisting of ten ministers operating on a supranational basis), takes care of day-to-day implementation. Finally in the EAEU structure are the Court of the EAEU (located in Minsk), responsible for arbitration and interpretation of EAEU legislation; the Eurasian Development Bank and Eurasian Fund for Stabilisation and Development (located in Almaty), concerned with investments in infrastructure and integration projects and support of macroeconomic stability, and the financial regulator of the EAEU (to be created by 2025 in Astana), which should receive control of the common financial market. Decisions on EAEU policy are made by consensus or by a qualified majority. Each member state has an equal voice, regardless of its GDP or population size. The EAEU has declared a purely economic agenda. Nevertheless, in December 2018, the Supreme Eurasian Economic Council adopted the ‘Declaration on the further Development of the EAEU’, which proposes an extension of integration between member states to cooperation in scientific research, education, tourism and sports. Between 2015 and 2018, internal goods trading in the EAEU increased by more than 30 per cent (EEC 2019c). Additionally, the Union instituted a modern customs code in 2018, introducing a number of innovations. These relative successes are diminished, however, by continued exemptions from customs duties and trade disputes between member states, as well as by Russia’s unilateral import bans. An important technical basis for a potential future common internal market with the EU is in place; more than four fifths of goods traded on the Union’s domestic market are subject to common product conformity requirements, which in large part also comply with European standards. There has also been good progress in creating common pharmaceutical, alcohol and tobacco markets. The necessary framework conditions for common electricity, oil, gas and capital markets are to be created by 2025. Although there has been good progress towards macroeconomic convergence among member countries, there are no plans to introduce a single currency, a direct lesson from the euro crisis. Advances in the EAEC’s cross-border competition policy, as well as enabling the free movement of services, which is currently only one fifth established, is impaired by limited competency and Moscow’s political interference. The EAEU has been most successful in creating a common labour market in which member state citizens enjoy the same rights in terms of employment, freedom of movement and social security. Individual EAEU countries already have relations with the EU. Armenia and Belarus are Eastern Partnership members (both 2009). Armenia and Kazakhstan have a Comprehensive and Enhanced Partnership Agreement with the EU (2017 and 2015, respectively). Armenia and Kyrgyzstan have Generalised Scheme of Preference Plus status. Kyrgyzstan and Russia have a Partnership and Cooperation Agreement with the EU (signed in 1995 and 1994, respectively; the agreement with Kazakhstan was upgraded in 2015). The EAEC has repeatedly stressed its interest in deeper cooperation with its partner to the west. For instance, in September 2015, the head, Victor Khristenko, sent to Jean-Claude Juncker, then-President of the European Commission, proposals on potential cooperation between the EAEU and the EU. In November 2015, Juncker responded with a letter, tellingly not to the EAEC, but to Russian President Putin, in which he pointed out that interaction between the EU and the EAEU would only be possible after the implementation of the Minsk agreements and with the consent of all EU member states (Sytas 2015). The Commission has therefore not yet engaged in official talks and has not publicly recognised the EAEU. Nevertheless, there have been meetings on a technical level between representatives of both commissions, as well as informal dialogue on the side-lines of scientific events (e.g. EEC 2019b; IIASA 2017). 265

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As part of Russia’s ‘pivot to the East’, in 2015, Moscow and Beijing signed a Memorandum of Understanding on the ‘Conjunction of the EAEU and the Silk Road Economic Belt’. As a follow-up, in 2018, the EAEU signed a ‘non-preferential’ Agreement on Trade and Economic Cooperation with China. In 2016, the then-president of Kazakhstan, Nursultan Nazarbayev, and Putin articulated the concept of a ‘Greater Eurasian Partnership’, a rather vague nexus of preferential trade agreements and infrastructure connectivity projects linking the major actors of the wider Eurasian landmass, primarily: the EAEU, China, India, Iran, Pakistan, Turkey and others. Again, all of this might be considered a reaction to the cool-down in EU-Russia relations. At the same time Nazarbayev and Putin stressed that this partnership would be open to participation by the EU. In this sense, the EAEU could become a connecting point between the East, as represented by China, and West, as represented by the EU.

Research on the common economic space Over the past few years, multiple studies and research papers on how to build an EU-EAEU common economic space have emerged. Emerson (2018) suggests that a ‘Wider European Economic Area’ initiative should be launched by a ‘green paper’ from the EU institutions and supported by soft institutionalisation with a policy forum analysing, among other things, the possibility of cooperation with the EAEU. Kabat et al. (2016) and Vinokurov (2016c) summarise the results of discussions focused on potential areas of EU-EAEU cooperation and some preliminary proposals formulated in the framework of six high-level roundtables (workshops), which brought together representatives of the European Commission, EAEC and government bodies, as well as leading experts from EU-EAEU member states. They argue that, given the necessary conditions, an agreement on deeper economic cooperation-cum-integration between the EU and the EAEU could become a reality within the next decade. However, this would require the resolution of current political disputes and economic/trade problems between the EU and Russia. Various EU business associations and lobbies have focused on the issue, for instance, the Association of European Chambers of Commerce and Industry spoke out in support of lifting Western sanctions against Russia and of initiating official EU-EAEU cooperation (ORF 2019; RIA Novosti 2018). No official research on this topic has been conducted yet by either the European Commission or the EAEC. So far, research has concentrated on the preconditions, potential format(s) for various sectoral aspects of EU-EAEU cooperation in the fields of trade, non-tariff barriers to trade, transport, energy and migration and the challenges and opportunities of creating a common economic space between the EU and the EAEU, as well as on the mutual or divergent interests of both unions and their respective member states in such a project. For this purpose, the obvious political obstacles related to the Ukrainian crisis and critical EU-Russia relations have usually been disregarded to prepare ‘today’ an adequate understanding of the economic and technical details that will be necessary ‘tomorrow’ for policymakers to make decisions on the content of a potential EU-EAEU agreement(s) (Kabat et al. 2016). In late 2017, the International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) completed three in-depth fast-track studies on distinct aspects of the EU-EAEU common economic space, including on trans-Eurasian land transport corridors (Beifert et al. 2018), EU and EAEU technical product standards and regulations (Emerson and Kofner 2018) and foreign direct investment (FDI) between the EU and the EAEU (Balas et  al. 2018). The second of these also introduced some key thoughts on the potential formats of the EU-EAEU common economic space. Others have considered the main preconditions for creating that space, arguing for the 266

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need to move from ‘competition of integration projects’ in the shared neighbourhood countries, especially along the Eastern Partnership ‘fault line’, towards ‘cooperation of integration projects’, as well as for resolving the political Ukrainian question (see Charap et al. 2018: 73). Interestingly, there is just one computer trade simulation on the potential ‘losers’ and ‘winners’ from an EU-EAEU/CIS free trade area (Felbermayr et al. 2017). At the same time, there are several calculations for the EU-Russia Free Trade Agreement (Erokhin 2019), which may again indicate a general non-recognition of the EAEU as a subject of international law. Further papers include Dragneva and Wolczuk (2012), who consider the Eurasian Customs Union ‘a forward-looking, advanced form of economic integration and as such an alternative to EU-centered initiatives in the post-Soviet space’; De Micco (2015), who considers that ‘from a purely trade perspective’, the EU, the EAEU and the Eastern Partners would gain from a ‘new and more constructive approach’ instead of separation; Van der Togt et al. (2015), who distinguished three possible scenarios for cooperation between the EU and the EAEU: full engagement, tentative compatibility and competing unions; and Dragneva et al. (2017), who analyse the ‘compatibility space’ for post-Soviet countries between their membership in the EAEU and cooperation with the EU. Nevertheless, research on the area remains scarce.

Reasons for and interests in cooperation There are several reasons for the EU and EAEU to engage in deeper trade and economic cooperation, some of those reasons shared by both, others less so. The EAEU is the EU’s third largest trading partner after the United States and China. In 2018, it made up 9.8 per cent of total EU imports from third parties and 5.0 per cent of total EU exports outside of the EU (European Commission 2019). The EU remains the EAEU’s most important trade and investment partner. In 2018, 50.5 per cent of its foreign exports went to the EU, whereas 39.7 per cent of its external imports came from the EU (EEC 2019d). Additionally, there is strategic compatibility between the EAEU and the EU, which is a ­beneficial precondition for economic integration. The EAEU’s export structure matches the EU’s import structure by 40.3 per cent, while the EU’s export structure matches the EAEU’s import structure by almost 90 per cent. The EAEU provides the EU industry with a relatively cheap and stable supply of energy carriers and raw materials. In 2016, 36.9 per cent of crude oil and 40.2 per cent of natural gas imports to the EU came from Kazakhstan and Russia. Concurrently, the EAEU economies represent a market of 184 million people for numerous EU valueadded goods. In 2017, 74 per cent of the EAEU’s exports to the EU were mineral fuels, while another 16 per cent were metals, stone, glass, ceramics and chemicals. EU exports to the EAEU mainly consisted of machinery (31 per cent), transport equipment (15 per cent) and chemical products (21 per cent) (Intesa Sanpaolo 2018). For EU businesses, the major goal of a common economic space is to sell more of their products in the EAEU. This could be achieved in three ways: i) lowering EAEU import duties on EU products. In 2018, the trade-weighted average tariff of the EAEU was twice as high as that of the EU: 6.7 per cent and 3.2 per cent, respectively (WTO 2018: 236), ii) easing customs procedures, and iii) equal treatment of EU companies in comparison to EAEU ones, that is providing them with a ‘national regime’. Although in 2019, the EAEU was six places ahead of the EU in the ease of doing business index (World Bank 2019: 84; EEC 2019a: 129), EU companies face numerous barriers, among other things, high administrative and bureaucratic barriers, complexity and constant changes in Russian legislation regarding the organisation of production and redundancy of some economic regulation (AEB 2018). The development of common 267

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standards and approaches to overcoming these barriers seems to be more economically efficient in the framework of the cooperation of integration unions than at the inter-country level. Nevertheless, Russia and Kazakhstan would be interested in stable demand for their oil and gas deliveries, while the EU would also be interested in a stable supply of relatively cheap oil and natural gas. Russia is well placed to remain the primary source of gas into Europe and is projected to account for around one third of the EU’s supply requirements through to 2040 (Zeniewski 2019; see also Kustova this volume). The EAEU accounts for about one fifth of world reserves and natural gas production, nearly a quarter of its exports; 7  per cent of the world’s oil reserves, 14 per cent of its production and 16 per cent of exports, as well as 5 per cent of global electricity production (EEC 2015: 5). By 2025, the share of gas and oil in the EU’s energy consumption is likely to decline from 24 per cent to 22 per cent and from 39 per cent to 35 per cent, respectively (Capros et al. 2016: 220). However, due to its own production declining at a faster rate; in 2025 the EU will still need an additional supply of 162 bcm, one third of its future demand on natural gas. Predictions for energy consumption, production and trade are very dependent on potential scenarios, for example, on the continuation of gas transit via Ukraine (Vinokurov et al. 2016a: 20), as well as energy transition in the EU (see also Kustova this volume). Moreover, within the EU, there is an ongoing political discussion about an excessive dependence on energy imports from Russia and the need for stronger diversification of supply. At the same time, Russian pipeline gas is likely to remain price competitive in comparison to liquefied natural gas from the United States (Steuer 2019: 44). Another reason for cooperation stems from the fact that the EAEU’s main interest in deeper economic cooperation with the EU would be aimed at promoting FDI and technology transfer from the EU. In 2017, the EU accounted for 29.2 per cent of global FDI outflows (UNCTAD 2018: 45), and half the top 30 countries of the ICT Development Index were EU member states (ITU 2018: 31). From 2010 to 2017, most investments in Russia, which accounts for 87 per cent of GDP in the EAEU, originated from EU countries. Other reasons revolve around practicalities such as skills, geography and the need to remain competitive for both the EU and the EAEU. Some experts estimate the EU may face shortages of high-skilled workers by 2025, which can be fulfilled by a labour force from the EAEU, which, in comparison to other regions with transitioning and/or emerging economies, is well educated and professional. For example, tertiary education rates are higher in the post-Soviet region than in the EU (31 per cent vs 28 per cent) (Vinokurov et al. 2016b: 25). A common EAEU labour market will present a larger pool of workers with mutually recognised standards and qualifications as opposed to individual states like Russia and Kazakhstan. Another favourable factor is geographic proximity. The creation of a single transport space in the EAEU, with common rules and reduced bureaucracy, could facilitate trade and logistics between Europe and the growing Asian markets. Another imperative derives from the fact that from 2018 to 2030, the EU’s share in global GDP is expected to shrink from 22 per cent to 16 per cent (ESPAS 2015: 82). The EAEU’s share in global GDP is estimated to decrease from 2.2 per cent in 2018 ( IMF DataMapper 2018) to 2.0 per cent in 2030 (Henry and Pomeroy 2018: 46). Together, these arguments indicate that deeper economic cooperation between the parties could provide an important additional factor in keeping EU industry competitive in the global markets and help the EAEU’s economy to modernise and better adapt to the challenges of the twenty-first century. The Eurasian integration project is openly inspired by and eager to learn more from the EU experience. The EAEU has already been autonomously implementing many EU approaches, practices and standards, most notably union-wide technical regulations and industrial product

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standards, which are for the most part identical to EU and international EU-like directives and standards (from 60–95 per cent depending on sector). Thus, this forms a mutually compatible technical framework, vitally important for free trade from Lisbon to Vladivostok (Emerson and Kofner 2018). Based on the EU experience and World Trade Organisation (WTO) rules, the EAEU is aimed at creating greater legality and a more rigorous institutionalised setting. This ought to be a reason for the EU to support cooperation with the EAEU, consequently promoting rules-based cooperation in the wider European space. Finally, the EU and the EAEU share a common cultural heritage, conducive to building people-to-people relations and a familiar business environment. Russia is still by far the first country in terms of short-term student exchanges with the EU (see Deriglazova and Makinen in this volume). In summary, for the EU, interests include facilitation of their goods and services exports to the EAEU market, provision of equal treatment of EU companies operating in the EAEU and a stable supply of energy and resources from them. For the EAEU, the main interests are assistance in modernising their economies by attracting more FDI from the EU, promoting technological transfer from the EU and industrial cooperation as well as stable demand for EAEU energy and raw materials.

Potential format(s) Any potential agreement(s) between the two actors would have to reflect and effectively address the diverging and converging interests in a mutually beneficial way. On the one hand, the EU would most likely be interested in a deep and comprehensive free trade agreement with the EAEU, similar to the one it has had with Ukraine since 2015. Its main goals would be the free access and circulation of EU products on the EAEU market, as well as capacity building within it, aimed at ensuring equal competition, a fair subsidy policy and an independent court system. Another model would be a comprehensive economic and trade agreement akin to the one reached between the EU and Canada in 2017. The EAEU, on the other hand, would most likely prefer a less ambitious ‘non-preferential’ trade and economic cooperation agreement with the EU, similar to the one it signed with China in 2018, which stipulates coordination, cooperation and harmonisation in a broad spectrum of non-tariff areas, such as sanitary and phytosanitary measures, customs cooperation, intellectual property, e-commerce, industrial and investment cooperation. This would arguably work towards the EAEU’s goal of modernisation by promoting technological transfer and capital investment from the EU. At the same time, such an agreement would not entail a reduction in tariff barriers. This echoes the viewpoint that most sectors of the EAEU would not yet be ready to open their domestic market to stronger EU competition within a potential free trade area. However, such a format would not suit the interests of EU producers aimed at exporting more goods to the EAEU’s domestic market. It would also impair the scope for a reduction and harmonisation of technical barriers to trade. Counter-arguments would hold that in a potential free trade area, one could expect that reduced Eurasian imports would increase the EAEU’s dependence on imports from the EU of machinery equipment, transport vehicles, chemical products and other goods with a higher added value while at the same time exporting more energy carriers and raw materials to Europe. This would arguably solidify the EAEU’s status as a resource-based economy. On the other hand, the relatively cheaper workforce, as well as lower electricity and raw material costs in the EAEU, could encourage European companies operating in the framework of such a potential free trade area to move part of their production capacities to the EAEU and then to re-export

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their output back to Europe or to other regions of the world. Past experience from the EU’s enlargement in Eastern Europe is an example that this is possible (Krzywdzinski 2014). In any case, a comprehensive and mutually beneficial compromise would be required. In such a ‘mega deal’ (Vinokurov 2014), concessions in some areas would have to be offset by gains in other areas. Roughly speaking, a preferential status for EU exports in goods and services to the EAEU market could be compensated by reciprocal chapters on energy, labour migration, industrial cooperation, that is, investments and technological transfer, which would suit the interests of the EAEU economies. A  compromise solution could be a time-asymmetric free trade agreement in the sense that the EU would curb import tariffs on EAEU goods ‘from day one’, whereas the EAEU would be entitled to transition periods from 3 to 15 years for less competitive industries, lowering customs duties gradually, depending on the sensitivity of each sector. Since such an agreement would still be on trade liberalisation, it could include chapters on the approximation of technical product standards, for example, on the mutual recognition of conformity assessment. Due to the limited powers of the EAEC, any inter-bloc agreement would be rather horizontal in nature, that is, stipulating cooperation only in areas such as tariffs (if included), trade remedies, product conformity and sanitary and phytosanitary measures, as well as transborder competition, and setting out general guidelines in all other sectors. Such a horizontal ­EU-EAEU agreement would have to be supplemented by deeper agreements between the EU and individual EAEU member states, which would specify in more detail cooperation in areas that remain under national authority, such as intellectual property rights, institutional reforms, academic partnerships, environmental protection and so on. This could also take the form of a renewal and alignment of the existing national partnerships with the EU where they are in place. In this way, the development of an optimal and effective format of cooperation between the EU and the EAEU is one of the priority topics for further research and discussion.

Trade and economic effects According to a 2016 study (Felbermayr et al. 2017), both EU and EAEU member states would incur considerable welfare gains from the creation of a free trade area, with especially significant returns for Belarus and the Eastern European countries of the EU. For instance, Belarus could expect growth of 5 per cent, Russia 3 per cent and the remaining EAEU states 2 per cent, resulting in an estimated 3 per cent growth in GDP for the EAEU states overall. The Baltic states would experience the bigger gains in the EU, Latvia and Lithuania 2 per cent growth in GDP, Estonia 1 per cent and the EU overall 0.2 per cent growth (see Felbermayr et al. 2017 for full details). However, the study also evidences the perception that a plain tariff liberalisation would solidify the existing trade structure between the parties, with the EAEU as a net supplier of energy carriers and basic resources and the EU as a net supplier of more complex services and processed industrial goods. In particular, the creation of an EU-EAEU FTA would open new markets for public administration services from Europe but also impose stronger competition for the Eurasian agro-food sector. Countries of the ‘shared neighbourhood’, such as Azerbaijan, Moldova and Ukraine, would win significantly from an EU-EAEU FTA, but only if they became member states of either the EU or the EAEU. Otherwise trade diversion effects would adversely affect their economies. This is therefore a politically sensitive consideration around which the EU and EAEU will have to tread very carefully and may constitute a near-impenetrable barrier to development towards an FTA. 270

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Impediments to cooperation Due to its complexity, both politically and economically, the ‘Lisbon to Vladivostok’ common economic space has always been considered from a long-term perspective. In a context of political will, consultations between the European Commission and the EAEC could begin in the 2020s, with negotiations being finalised sometime in the 2030s. However, before that can happen, several significant obstacles to deeper interaction between the EU and the EAEU would need to be overcome. First, given its view that the EAEU reflects Russian regional hegemony, the EU would only agree to any substantial and official cooperation with the EAEU if and when political relations between the EU and Russia, as well as between Russia and Ukraine, are settled, entailing a gradual mutual lifting of sanctions. Second, the European Commission is still not convinced that the EAEU really is a supranational organisation or that its decisions are binding for its member states, especially, again, for Russia. Adherents to this view refer to the many existing barriers holding back the EAEU’s internal market and the Eurasian Economic Commission’s lack of competence in many economic spheres. At the same time, the EU is planning to sign an association agreement with MERCOSUR, whereas the EAEU can boast of achieving comparatively deeper integration; the EAEU is the second most integrated trade bloc in the world, as already discussed. While internal trade in both organisations is relatively low (about 13–15 per cent of total trade), the EAEU has achieved deeper integration with fewer national tariff exemptions. Third, the EU also has an extensive list of complaints over Russia’s compliance with WTO rules, which is related to the wider issue of Russia’s highly protectionist industrial policies. In lieu of Western sanctions, the Russian government instituted its ‘import substitution’ policy in 2014 (later renamed the ‘localisation’ policy), which theoretically is in contradiction to the whole idea of free trade with the EU. Here the question arises whether Moscow would reconsider and regard an FTA with the EU to be in its interests or not. A fourth potential obstacle comes in that a formal pre-condition for an EU-EAEU FTA would be the accession of Belarus to the WTO. This might, however, be achieved by 2021. Finally, any deepening of trade and economic relations between the EU and the EAEU would need to be part of, and not in competition with, increasing connectivity and integration processes in the wider Eurasian space. The continuing gravity shift of the global economy towards Asia, in particular due to China’s economic upsurge and its strategic trans-Eurasian ‘Belt and Road Initiative’, is less a challenge than a new promising environment, but it needs to be taken into account.

Short- and medium-term steps In the immediate future, despite, or especially because of, these obstacles, both sides could initiate step-by-step trust (re-)building in a bottom-up approach involving expert, business and policy communities, starting from the least politicised matters. As a first step, dialogue could be enhanced across business and expert communities. Second, the dialogue at the technical level between the EC and the EAEC, which began in 2017, could be continued. Informal but systematic meetings could cover four practical issues: i) alignment of technical regulations and standards, ii) mutual facilitation of customs procedures and creation of ‘green transit corridors’ between the EU and China through countries of the EAEU, iii) coordination of digital agendas and iv) a coordinated stance toward China’s Belt and Road Initiative. If successful, this would lay the foundation for shifting the dialogue from the technical to a higher political level. 271

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European Strategy and Policy Analysis System (ESPAS) (2015) ‘Global trends to 2030: can the EU meet the challenges ahead?’, available at https://ec.europa.eu/epsc/sites/epsc/files/espas-report-2015.pdf (accessed 1 January 2020). Felbermayr, G., Aichele, R. and Gröschl, J. (2017) ‘Freihandel von Lissabon nach Wladiwostok: wem nutzt, wem schadet ein eurasisches Freihandelsabkommen?’, ifo Forschungsberichte, 79, München: ifo Institut. Fortescue, S. (2016) ‘Russia’s “turn to the east”: a study in policy making’, Post-Soviet Affairs 32(5): 423–54. Haushofer, K. (1941) Der Kontinentalblock: Mitteleuropa-Eurasien-Japan, München: Zentralverlag der NSDAP. Henry, J. and Pomeroy, J. (2018) ‘The World in 2030: Our Long-Term Projections for 75 Countries’, The Dialogue, available at http://globaltrends.thedialogue.org/publication/the-world-in-2030-our-longterm-projections-for-75-countries/ (accessed 19 December 2019). International Institute for Applied Systems Analysis (IIASA) (2017) ‘IIASA high-level session at OSCE ministerial council: connectivity, trade, and economic cooperation within a wider European and Eurasian space’, 8 December, available at www.iiasa.ac.at/web/home/research/researchPrograms/ AdvancedSystemsAnalysis/171113-osce.html (accessed 10 January 2020). International Monetary Fund (IMF) DataMapper (2018) ‘GDP, current prices’, available at www.imf. org/external/datamapper/NGDPD@WEO/OEMDC/ADVEC/WEOWORLD (accessed 1 January 2020). International Telecommunication Union (ITU) (2018) ‘Measuring the information society report 2018’, available at www.itu.int/en/ITU-D/Statistics/Pages/publications/misr2018.aspx (accessed 19 December 2019). Intesa Sanpaolo (2018) ‘EAEU’s trade and geopolitics in a global scenario in transition’, available at http:// forumverona.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/11/Report-EAEU-ENG.pdf (accessed 11 January 2020). Kabat, P. et al (2016) ‘European Union and Eurasian Economic Union: Long-Term Dialogue and Perspectives of Agreement’, Report, 38, Eurasian Development Bank. Krzywdzinski, M. (2014) ‘How the EU’s Eastern Enlargement Changed the German Productive Model. The Case of the Automotive Industry’, Revue de la régulation, 15, doi:10.4000/regulation.10663 Lipman, M. (2016) ‘What Russia Thinks of Europe’, European Council on Foreign Relations, 2, available at www.ecfr.eu/article/commentary_what_russia_thinks_of_europe5084 (accessed 19 December 2019). ORF (2019) Eurochambres for Abolition of Russia Sanctions, German: Eurochambres für Abschaffung der Russland-Sanktionen, 9 December, available at https://orf.at/stories/3146918/ (accessed 10 January 2020). Putin, V. (2010) ‘Von Lissabon bis Wladiwostok ’, Süddeutsche Zeitung 25. Rey, M.P. (2004) ‘Europe is our Common Home’: A study of Gorbachev’s diplomatic concept’, Cold War History 4(2): 33–65. RIA Novosti (2018) ‘The President of Eurochambers advocated for free trade with Russia [Russian: Prezident palaty ekonomiki ES vystupil za svobodnuyu torgovlyu s Rossiej]’, 30 October, available at https://ria.ru/20181030/1531768330.html (accessed 17 December 2019). Robinson, P. (2016) ‘Russia’s role in the war in Donbass, and the threat to European security’, European Politics and Society 17(4): 506–21. Steuer, C. (2019) ‘Outlook for Competitive LNG Supply’, OIES Paper NG 142, Oxford Institute for Energy studies, available at www.oxfordenergy.org/publications/outlook-competitive-lng-supply/?v=79cba 1185463 (accessed 17 December 2019). Sytas, A. (2015) ‘EU’s Juncker dangles trade ties with Russia-led bloc to Putin’, Reuters, 19 November, available at www.reuters.com/article/us-eu-juncker-russia-idUSKCN0T821T20151119 (accessed 1 January 2020). United Nations Conference on Trade and Development (UNCTAD) (2018) ‘World investment report 2018 – investment and new industrial policies’, available at https://unctad.org/en/pages/Publication Webflyer.aspx?publicationid=2130 (accessed 17 December 2019). Van der Togt, T., Montesano, F.S. and Kozak, I. (2015) ‘From Competition to Compatibility: Striking a Eurasian balance in EU-Russia relations’, Clingendael Report. Clingendael Report. Vinokurov, E. (2014) ‘Mega Deal between the European Union and the Eurasian Economic Union’, Russia in Global Affairs, No. 4, available at https://ssrn.com/abstract=2741021 (accessed 17 December 2019). Vinokurov, E. et al. (2016a) ‘Futures of energy in Eurasia in a global context: 4th workshop Report’, Challenges and Opportunities of Economic Integration within a Wider European and Eurasian Space, 12–13 May, IIASA, Laxenburg, available at http://pure.iiasa.ac.at/id/eprint/13966/ (accessed 17 December 2019).

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Vinokurov, E. et  al. (2016b) ‘Labor market and migration across the Eurasian continent, 6th workshop report’, Challenges and Opportunities of Economic Integration within a Wider European and Eurasian Space, 13–14 April, IIASA, Laxenburg, available at http://pure.iiasa.ac.at/id/eprint/13964/ (accessed 17 December 2019). Vinokurov, E. et al (2016c) ‘EU-EAEU in Greater Eurasia: Long-Term Agenda for Economic CooperationWorkshop Report.7th Workshop Report’, in: Challenges and Opportunities of Economic Integration within a Wider European and Eurasian Space, 22–23 November, IIASA, Laxenburg, available at http://pure.iiasa. ac.at/id/eprint/14331/ (accessed 17 December 2019). Weisenfeld, E. (1991) ‘Europa vom Atlantik zum Ural’, in W. Loth and R. Picht (eds.), De Gaulle, Deutschland und Europa, VS Verlag für Sozialwissenschaften, pp. 71–9, doi:10.1007/978-3-322-92635-7_5 World Bank (2019) ‘Doing business 2019’, Regional Profile of European Union (EU), available at https:// portugues.doingbusiness.org/content/dam/doingBusiness/media/Profiles/Regional/DB2019/ EU.pdf (accessed 1 January 2020). World Trade Organisation (WTO) (2018) ‘World tariff profiles 2018’, available at www.wto.org/english/ res_e/publications_e/world_tariff_profiles18_e.htm (accessed 17 December 2019). Zeniewski, P. (2019) ‘A Long-Term View of Natural Gas Security in the European Union’, IEA, available at www.iea.org/commentaries/a-long-term-view-of-natural-gas-security-in-the-european-union (accessed 17 December 2019).

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24 EU-Russia relations in the science and technology field The persistence of the legal framework in the context of selective engagement Paul Kalinichenko

Despite the increasing frostiness in the relations between Russia and the West, EU-Russian collaboration in the science and technology (S&T) field has continued, the existing scheme of these relations helping to depoliticise practical interaction. This cooperation therefore emerges as a field with high potential for cooperation even in the context of sanctions and ‘selective engagement’ in EU-Russia relations. Nonetheless, it is not always an easy area to navigate, for the EU’s position is ambiguous. On the one hand, the EU bases its actions with Russia on its five guiding principles (Council of the European Union 2016, 2018).1 On the other hand, EU external actions in S&T are adopted on the grounds of the EU’s international cooperation strategy for research and innovation (European Commission 2012) where Russia is still described as a ‘strategic partner’. Although this document is politically outdated, cooperation in this area continues, simply because both parties are interested in it. The EU-Russia Joint S&T Committee is one of the ‘living’ EU-Russia bilateral structures and still assembles on a regular basis, while the European Commission developed a Road Map for EU-Russia S&T cooperation in October 2018 (European Commission 2018). According to the European Commission Explanatory Memorandum (European Commission 2019a), Russia remains the most important S&T actor in the neighbourhood of the EU that is not actually associated with the EU framework science, technology and innovation programmes. The EU and Russia have successfully cooperated with respect to research infrastructure as well as the transport and environment fields. Among all the non-associated countries, Russian maintains sixth place when it comes to participation in joint projects of the current EU Framework Programme for Research – Horizon 2020 (EU 2013). Researchers have paid little attention to the specificities of EU-Russia relations in S&T. In Western literature, this topic is treated as one of the components of the EU’s relations with Russia, evolving in accordance with the general logics of EU-Russian relations (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016: 177–91) or following the overall pattern of the EU’s international research cooperation, similarly to the Eastern European countries (Schuch et al. 2012). In the Russian literature, the few academic articles that exist are devoted either to the implementation of specific projects (Zviagina 2015; Gutnikova et al. 2014; Luksha et al. 2013) or to S&T relations

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between Russia and EU member states (Anufrieva 2018; Sokolova 2018). Some studies also address the legal aspects of EU-Russia relations in this field (Kalinichenko 2012: 100–4). This chapter evaluates the legal basis for EU-Russia relations in S&T against the backdrop of the current ‘selective engagement’ between Russia and the EU and aims to demonstrate how legally binding provisions withstand the pressure of other political imperatives, effectively preserving the area of cooperation because both sides are interested in doing so. The chapter first addresses the historical background of the EU-Russian S&T cooperation. It then examines the provisions of the EU-Russian Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) in S&T; the EU-Russia bilateral agreements in S&T; and the legal aspects of EU-Russia relations in the wider context of S&T cooperation, including civil nuclear and space research. The conclusion makes some forecasts on the future legal framework for EU-Russian relations in this field, bearing in mind the mutual interests of the EU and Russia in this area.

EU-Russian science and technology cooperation: past and present Even though the USSR concluded bilateral agreements with some member states (Belgium, Luxembourg and the Netherlands) in the 1960s–1970s, it was not until 1989–90 that the legal foundations of relations between the USSR and the Communities in the field of science and technology were enshrined (in Art. 20 of the USSR-EEC/Euratom TCECA 1989 [USSR and EEC/Euratom 1990]). In order to encourage scientific and technological progress, the parties agreed to cooperate in those areas where mutual interest exists, including nuclear research. A further impetus for cooperation came with the 1994 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (EU and Russia 1997), as well as with a special 2000 S&T agreement (European Community and Russia 2000). Thus, in the 1990s, the legal basis for modern EU-Russia cooperation in the field of S&T was established. Since then, this area has emerged as a separate and independent area of the partnership. In 2005, during the EU-Russia summit, the parties approved the EU-Russia Roadmap on Common Space in Research and Education, including Cultural Matters, the so-called Fourth EU-Russian Common Space (EU and Russia 2005) that outlined a programme of joint measures to strengthen cooperation in S&T. In 2003, the parties established a ‘bilateral dialogue’ between Russia and the EU in the S&T field. The 2010 Partnership for Modernisation (EU and Russia 2010) and the 2011–2013 EU-Russia S&T Cooperation Roadmap (EU and Russia 2011) were designed to strengthen the fourth EU-Russia roadmap. The 2011–2013 EU-Russia S&T Cooperation Roadmap included information on the achievements of cooperation between the parties and provided potential new collaborations for cooperation and for building the EU-Russia strategic partnership in research and innovation. Finally, the parties adopted two new roadmaps for EU-Russia S&T cooperation (EU and Russia 2017, 2018), which describe priorities for the near future of S&T cooperation.

The legal basis of the EU-Russia ‘selective engagement’ relationship The years of the EU-Russia strategic partnership achieved positive results, especially in creating a comprehensive legal basis between the parties. The current EU-Russia relationship is essentially based on three legal layers. The first is the EU-Russia PCA (EU and Russia 1997) and other EU-Russia bilateral agreements. The second layer consists of different memoranda of understanding and other arrangements, which are considered soft law instruments. The third layer incorporates Russian legislation and the EU acquis within EU-Russia sectoral cooperation 276

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(Kalinichenko 2014: 247). Unfortunately, the EU-Russia legal background is significantly depleted. Russia’s WTO accession in 2012 implies that many PCA provisions are outdated (Van Elsuwege 2012). In order to accommodate themselves to this new legal context, the EU and Russia concluded a number of sectoral agreements (EEAS 2011), but their effective implementation may face difficulties due to the absence of a new, post-PCA EU-Russia agreement.2 Moreover, EU-Russia relations have deteriorated in the period since the 2014 Ukrainian crisis. The European Parliament has stressed in its resolutions since 2015 that the EU cannot envisage a return to ‘business as usual’ and cannot help but conduct a critical re-assessment of its relations with Russia. It highlighted that Russia can no longer be considered a ‘strategic partner’ (European Parliament 2015: 2) because of the events in Ukraine. A period of ‘frozen’ partnership with reciprocal sanctions, only minimal contacts and selective engagement has emerged. The current EU restrictive measures against Russia create serious barriers for S&T cooperation in the field of the dual-use industry and energy sector (see Timofeev this volume). At the same time, the parties have each refrained from challenging the legal basis of the relationship, in particular the PCA and its S&T provisions. It is this legal basis that forms the background for continued activities beyond sanctions, in particular to expand people-to-people contacts (see also Belokurova and Demidov this volume).

EU-Russia S&T cooperation under the PCA The EU-Russia PCA constitutes the core of EU-Russia relations. To date, it has formed a firm foundation for EU-Russia political dialogue as well as for their economic, social and cultural cooperation, including legal approximation. The PCA (EU and Russia 1997) is primarily dedicated to economic and trade matters and aimed to establish a market economy in Russia in preparation for its accession to the WTO. The final goal was Russia’s integration into the world economy and, in the longer term, the creation of a free trade area between Russia and the EU. Nevertheless, isolated provisions on S&T can be found in its text. First, they appear in the Preamble (‘development of trade and investment, which are essential to . . . technological modernisation’). Second, these provisions can be identified among the areas of economic cooperation in Art. 56(3) (‘encouragement of technological and scientific progress’). Third, Art. 62 is fully dedicated to cooperation in S&T, meaning the PCA clearly addresses these matters. According to Art. 62(1) of the PCA, the parties promote their cooperation in civil scientific research and technological development on the grounds of principles of mutual benefit, availability of resources, adequate access to their respective programmes and effective protection of intellectual property rights (IPR). Cooperation in S&T under this article consists of an exchange of relevant information; joint research and technological development activities; training activities; and mobility programmes for scientists, researchers and technicians. Moreover, Art. 62 contains reference rules to the PCA provisions on education and training, the elimination of weapons of mass destruction and IPR protection, which means actors are required to take into account the practical effects of implementation of cooperation in this field. Such implementation measures are the subject of ‘specific arrangements’ between the parties in accordance with Art. 62(3). Finally, provisions on S&T cooperation are incorporated in PCA articles concerning the nuclear sector, space, environment, transport, communication, informatics and information infrastructure. Art. 66, for example, lays down framework provisions for a future EuratomRussia agreement on cooperation in nuclear fusion and nuclear safety. Provisions on cooperation in space presuppose long-term cooperation in civil space research (Art. 67). In accordance with Art. 69(2), environmental cooperation covers joint S&T activities. S&T cooperation in 277

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transport should be based on specific programmes (Art. 70). The parties should also explore the possibilities for joint projects on S&T in the information and communication technologies according to Art. 77(2) of the PCA. The PCA definitely requires changes if it is to reflect developments since 1994: in particular, Russia’s WTO accession in 2012 rendered many provisions redundant. In fact, in 2006, Russia initiated negotiations concerning a new basic agreement between Russia and the EU to replace the PCA (see Fernandes in this volume). The EU supported this initiative and negotiations started in 2008. From 2008–2011, the parties negotiated several key points of the future agreement such as general provisions, provisions on the new institutional structure, provisions in the area of freedom, security and justice, and general rules in the S&T development field. However, in December  2011, they decided to postpone negotiations because of conceptual disagreement on how to proceed. The Ukrainian crisis further served to put these negotiations on hold (Kembayev 2016).

The EU-Russia S&T bilateral agreement and its implementation Based on the EU-Russia PCA provisions, the Agreement on Cooperation in Science and Technology was concluded in Brussels and entered into force on 10 May 2001 (European Community and Russia 2000). It was initially concluded for the period to 31 December 2002, with the possibility of subsequent prolongation for a further five year period. It has been extended four times, the last time in 2019, and so remains fully operational. The parties can decide to withdraw from this Agreement at any time (Art. 12[c]) provided they notify the other party in writing six months before. However, the implementation practice demonstrates that even serious changes in the political relationship following the Ukrainian crisis did not lead to a withdrawal of either of them from the Agreement or to its suspension; on the contrary, they extended it further. During the meeting of the EU-Russia Joint S&T Committee in 2018, the parties agreed to renew the Agreement for the next five-year period.3 S&T cooperation therefore creates a real practical priority for EU-Russia relations. This area is an example of true mutually beneficial interaction, which the parties continue, even in the face of serious political differences. Application of the Agreement created during the time of the strategic partnership and its accompanying legal basis allows them to preserve ‘islands of cooperation’ within the framework of selective engagement.

Purpose, principles and areas of cooperation The purpose of the Agreement is to encourage, develop and facilitate cooperative activities in fields of common interest where they target S&T activities (Art. 1). Such activities should be based on the principles mentioned in Art. 3, in particular, mutual benefit, timely exchange of appropriate information and balanced economic and social benefits. Art. 4 lists the following areas of cooperation: climate research, biomedical and health research, industrial technologies, information society technologies and social science research and others, including any additional areas agreed upon. Thus, the areas of cooperation correlate with the provisions of the EU Framework Programmes, in particular Horizon 2020, as well as with the Russian State Programme ‘Scientific and Technological Development of the Russian Federation’ (Government of the Russian Federation 2019). Unfortunately, the EU’s restrictive measures have reduced the potential for the participation of Russian organisations in collaborative projects, because a limited number of areas such as technological cooperation in the field of energy, military and dual-use production are blocked 278

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for cooperation. At the same time, in autumn 2018, the Joint S&T Committee identified new priority areas for S&T interaction, in particular ‘flagship initiatives’ and joint priority projects in the fields of research infrastructure, health and aeronautics (EU and Russia 2018: 3). This is a good illustration of institutions and legal provisions resisting the negative climate of EU-Russian relations. The joint priorities aim at enlarging the Horizon 2020 opportunities to the (Russian-origin) ‘Mega Science’ initiatives4 (Chetverikov 2019) and their European counterparts on the basis of experience and the results of the Horizon 2020 ‘CREMLIN’ project. Such initiatives are large, expensive, international scientific and research projects that presume installation and/ or use of unique scientific facilities. ‘Mega Science’ projects are implemented on the basis of scientific programmes that allow those working on them to go beyond the modern knowledge framework in the field of fundamental sciences and open up new opportunities in technological development. In the field of health, the parties give preference to the area of infectious diseases, in particular HIV, tuberculosis and hepatitis C. According to World Health Organisation (WHO) data, these three serious diseases are widespread in Europe (WHO 2019) and often accompany each other. Joint EU-Russia projects aim to develop the infrastructure for the prevention, diagnostics and treatment of these diseases (European Commission 2018). However, these projects are medical and scientific by nature; they do not concern the social side of these diseases (Sander and Lines 2016: 172), which, inter alia, led to the spread of them in Russia (ECtHR Gladkiy v. Russia case 2010), suggesting S&T cooperation sometimes lacks the necessary holistic approach. Cooperation in aeronautics covers Russia’s participation in Horizon 2020 ‘flagship initiatives’ in different innovations in the field of aviation safety and aircraft improvements such as certification of icing conditions, hybrid/electric aircraft or a high-speed global air transportation demonstration. In addition, on the basis of the Russian ‘mega-grants’ initiative and the Horizon 2020 and other EU instruments, the parties are ready to intensify their cooperation in other thematic areas. It is worth noting finally here that the priorities of EU-Russia S&T cooperation did not change in the context of sanctions. To the contrary, they were prolonged and expanded because they are of mutual interest and reflect the compatibility of the parties in S&T.

Forms of cooperation In accordance with Art. 5 of the Agreement, the main form of S&T cooperation is the participation of Russian entities in EU projects in the joint activities areas and, accordingly, EU entities’ participation in Russian projects. Russian participation is limited to the EU’s multiannual framework programmes in the field of research and technological development (adopted on the basis of Art. 182 Treaty on the Functioning of the EU). However, because Russia does not contribute to the EU’s Framework Programme budget and the Agreement does not associate Russia with EU framework programmes, the EU ends up setting the rules for Russian researchers’ participation in EU projects. Moreover, the duration of the Agreement does not match that of the EU’s framework programmes, which causes technical difficulties in planning the participation of Russian organisations in collaborative projects. Common research projects under this Agreement are implemented only after the approval of a joint technology management plan by project participants in accordance with Annex 1 to the Agreement. Despite the difficulties, Russia is an active participant of the EU’s framework programmes. Under the terms of the current Horizon 2020 programme, Russian entities have collaborated more than 100 times on 76 different projects since 2014. This illustrates that, although these 279

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collaborations coincided with geopolitical tensions and EU sanctions on Russia, relevant projects continued to make headway, with both parties eager to see them through. Moreover, over the next five years, the EU is planning to make more than 35 million EUR available for the implementation of such activities (EEAS 2018). Besides the entitlement to participate in joint projects, such collaborations involve all other forms of EU-Russian S&T cooperation, in particular free access to and shared use of research facilities; visits of and exchanges among scientists, engineers or other appropriate personnel; exchange of information on practices, laws, regulations and programmes relevant to cooperation; and other activities determined by the parties. The interests of the two sides involved is seemingly what is keeping this cooperation afloat, while legal provisions on S&T cooperation provide legal certainty and clear ways to manage this cooperation.

Guarantees Despite the successes, unresolved issues elsewhere in the relationship, particularly with regard to the visa regime, create problems for S&T cooperation. As a result, agreements have to provide frameworks for movement – and guarantees they will be adhered to. As such, there are three groups of special guarantees of research activity under the EU-Russia S&T Agreement 2000. The first group concerns IPR guarantees, set out in Art. 9 and Annex 2 of the Agreement. The second group covers movement of personnel and equipment. Art. 8 establishes that each party undertake all possible steps and make maximum efforts to facilitate entry to, stay in and exit from its territory of persons, material, data and equipment involved in or used in cooperative activities within the framework of the Agreement. This is designed to facilitate freedom of movement for the personnel of joint projects, who are still subject to visa regimes on both sides, and circulation of advanced equipment and materials, which might otherwise be limited in Russia and/or the EU and its member states (e.g. drug precursors, nuclear materials etc.). The third group is financial guarantees. They are covered by Art. 7 of the Agreement, which indicates that each party shall bear the costs of fulfilling its obligations in accordance with their respective internal legislation. Furthermore, Art. 7(b) states that cross-border research grants adhere to the tax regime of the receiving party or their nationals. This provision of the Agreement was reflected in Russian judicial practice (Kompaniya ‘Prikladnye technologii’ case [Moscow City Commercial Court 2005]). This case concerned the claims of the Moscow Tax Office towards a Russian company that had carried out research on the basis of a grant agreement with the European Commission, provided in accordance with the EU-Russia S&T cooperation agreement. Although the grant agreement was transmitted via Belgian law, the Court ruled that all taxes in the context of grant agreement performance had to be paid according to Russian tax law, and all taxation preferences, granted under Art. 7b of the EU-Russia S&T cooperation agreement, could only be provided by Russian legislation. Russian courts rarely apply EU-Russia agreements except for the PCA. This case demonstrates the importance of the EU-Russia S&T Agreement at both the conceptual level and at the level of the implementation of specific joint projects.

The Joint S&T Committee Institutional arrangements were also put in place. The Agreement established a special Joint EU-Russia Committee for cooperation in the field of S&T (the Committee); it is responsible for coordinating and facilitating cooperative scientific and technical activities (Art. 6). More

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specifically, it oversees and promotes activities envisaged under the Agreement and makes recommendations to enlarge the areas of cooperation. It convenes once a year, alternating between Russia and the EU; extraordinary meetings may be held by mutual arrangement. It should include an equal number of official representatives from each party, and the Committee adopts its own rules of procedure, which are to be approved by the parties. Decisions of the Committee are adopted by consensus, whereas protocols containing decisions on the main issues discussed are approved by the co-chairs nominated by the parties. The Committee also prepares annual reports on implementation of the Agreement. In practice, the Committee comes together regularly; it is one of the ‘living’ EU-Russia fora. It has gathered six times since 2014. The Committee’s activity is supported by Task Force online monthly sessions and by 13 thematic working groups.5 During the 2018 meeting, the Committee decided to continue the joint research project activity according to EU S&T priorities for the next five years, on the basis of the current EU-Russia S&T Cooperation Agreement. It also agreed to prolong this Agreement (EEAS 2018). At its 2019 meeting, the Committee took stock of recent developments in EU-Russia S&T cooperation initiatives in the area of research and innovation, such as the flagship initiatives on research infrastructures, aeronautics and health, and on future opportunities for cooperation (European Commission 2019b). Thus, despite the fact that the legal framework of EU-Russia S&T cooperation remains unchanged, it fits perfectly into the modern realities of the ‘selective engagement’ treatment.

Other agreements In addition to the EU-Russia S&T Agreement, the parties actively cooperate on the basis of other instruments. Russia and the EU are involved in the most serious way in the international sharing of responsibility in the field of science and technology. This applies not only to bilateral projects and to programmes. Many important international projects depend on cooperation between the parties, particularly in the field of nuclear energy and space. The parties are trying in every possible way to divert their arrangements in these areas from the sanctions regime, keeping the positive elements of their interaction untouched. Examples are: Euratom-Russia agreements, the EU and Russia’s closer interaction in space exploration, Russia’s bilateral S&T agreements with the EU member states (Sokolova 2018: 50–1) and EU-Russian cooperation within the framework of different multilateral international programmes and projects in the S&T field (Anufrieva 2018: 180).6 For example, based on Art. 66 PCA, Euratom and Russia concluded two bilateral agreements for cooperation in the fields of nuclear safety (2001b) and controlled nuclear fusion (2001a). Both contain provisions on S&T cooperation in nuclear research. Although these agreements are still not in force, the parties can apply them on a provisional, and therefore soft law, basis (European Commission 2013). EU-Russian relations in the field of space exploration have developed in the framework of cooperation between the European Space Agency (ESA) and the Russian Federation since the first Agreement between the USSR and the ESA 1990 (ESA and USSR 1993). Although only officially established in 2006, there has been active ongoing dialogue in the field of outer space since 1997 (Kalinichenko and Mitrokhina 2018: 177). The modern model of interaction between Russia and the ESA is based on the 2005 Agreement between the Government of the Russian Federation and the European Space Agency on cooperation and partnership in the exploration and use of outer space for peaceful purposes (ESA and Russia 2005). Although the ESA is not part of the EU formally, the S&T issues in this area are covered by the European Commission. The EU and Russia are represented by state authorities and space agencies,

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research institutes and representatives of the space sector and industry. European space policy participants have sought to cooperate with Russia to ensure a more rapid and highly qualified development of their activities. While Russia has undeniable strength in regard to space launches, the ESA aggregates an excellent ground-based space infrastructure network. This is therefore a positive story about the successful collaboration of two peers.

Conclusions Research into the foundations of EU-Russia selective engagement in the S&T field has shown that EU-Russian cooperation here is embedded into the common structure of their interaction. This is an area of sustainable, mutual interest for both parties. Although negative political events work to slow down the development and expansion of EU-Russia relations in S&T, the current mutual sanctions have not cast too large a shadow on relations in this area. As outlined, most projects were preserved, existing funding sustained cooperation and legal provisions provided a powerful safety net during a time when the EU and Russia hardly talk to each other. Further on the plus side, in this field, the parties were able to preserve the legal basis of relations created earlier, in a time of strategic partnership. The EU-Russia bilateral S&T Agreement was successfully prolonged. The two actors apply different legal instruments, projects and structures to enlarge their cooperation in the S&T field. On the negative side, the parties stick to a general restrictive treatment, which creates difficulties for the intensification of S&T cooperation. As has been shown, some areas of cooperation (technological cooperation in the field of energy, military and dual-use production) have been blocked. Moreover, the parties are effectively mired in a legal framework that will become outdated sooner or later. The situation will not change in the nearest future. The parties will continue to extend their 2000 Agreement. It is in the interests of Russia to update the legal basis for S&T cooperation with EU member states (Sokolova 2018: 49). In the long term, further strengthening of the legal framework for the EU-Russia S&T relationship is also inevitable, as is Russia’s full accession to the EU’s framework programmes on research and development.

Notes 1 The five principles guiding the EU’s policy towards Russia: i) implementation of the Minsk agreements as the key condition for any substantial change in the EU’s stance towards Russia, ii) strengthened relations with the EU’s Eastern Partners and other neighbours, in particular in Central Asia, iii) strengthening the resilience of the EU (for example, in energy security, hybrid threats or strategic communication), iv) the need for selective engagement with Russia on issues of interest to the EU, and v) the need to engage in people-to-people contacts and support Russian civil society. 2 Such agreements are not provided within the scope of the PCA. However, the 2011 EU-Russia agreement on trade in services, for example, refers to the PCA provisions on trade in services that were agreed earlier than the GATS. See EU and Russia (2012). 3 According to the previous exchange of notes between the EU and Russia, the EU-Russia S&T Agreement expired on 20 January 2019. Based on this arrangement, the European Commission proposed a Draft of the Council Decision (European Commission 2019). The European Parliament approved the Commission initiative by its legislative resolution on 17 April 2019 (2019). The EU prolongs the Agreement with the unilateral note verbale regarding the invariability of its territorial application, insofar as the EU does not recognise Crimea as part of Russia. Russia, from its side, addressed the note to the EU to prolong the Agreement in accordance with the Government Order on 15 May 2019 N 943-p (2019). However, the EU Council is still considering the EU note for the final adoption. 4 In particular, these projects cover International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor (ITER), European X-Ray Free-Electron Laser Facility (European XFEL), Large Hadron Collider (LHC), European Synchrotron Radiation Facility (ESRF), Facility for Antiproton and Ion Research (FAIR) and others. 282

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5 There are thematic working groups on aeronautics, energy, environment and climate change, food, agriculture, biotechnology, health, ICT research, e-infrastructures, nanotechnology/materials, space, mobility and research infrastructures. 6 For example, ITER, Large Hadron Collider, European X-Ray Free Electron Laser facility, European Facility for Antiproton and Ion Research and others.

References Anufrieva, L.P. (2018) ‘Printsipy i pravovyye formy sotrudnichestva v oblasti nauki, tekhniki i innovatsiy mezhdu Rossiyey i stranami ES’, Aktual’nyye problemy rossiyskogo prava 12: 175–86. Chetverikov, A.O. (2019) ‘Bol’shoy adronnyy kollayder kak yuridicheskiy fenomen’ [Large Hadron Collider as a Legal Phenomenon], Lex Russica 4: 151–69. Council of the European Union (2016) ‘Outcome of the Council Meeting, 3457th Council meeting, Foreign Affairs’, No.7042/16, Brussels: Council of the European Union, 14 March. Council of the European Union (2018) ‘Outcome of the Council Meeting, 3613rd Council meeting, Foreign Affairs’, No.7997/18, Luxembourg: Council of the European Union, 16 April. ECtHR (2010) Gladkiy v. Russia, Judgment of 21 December 2010, application no. 3242/03 (First Section), ECHR 2011/8. EEAS (2011) ‘EU and Russia sign bilateral agreements ahead of Russia’s WTO accession ceremony’, EU Permanent Mission at the WTO Press corner, 16 December, available at http://eeas.europa.eu/delega tions/wto/press_corner/all_news/news/2011/20111216_kdg_rf_signature.htm (accessed 1 December 2019). EEAS (2018) ‘EU-Russia Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee meets in Moscow’, EEAS Press Release, 1 October, available at http://eueuropaeeas.fpfis.slb.ec.europa.eu:8084/delega tions/russia/51378/eu-russia-joint-science-andtechnology-cooperation-committee-meets-moscow_ en (accessed 1 December 2019). ESA and Russia (2005) ‘Agreement between the Government of the Russian Federation and the European Space Agency on cooperation and partnership in the exploration and use of outer space for peaceful purposes’, Sobraniye Zakonodatelstva Rossiiskoi Federatsii 9, 674, 28 February. ESA and USSR (1993) ‘Agreement between the government of the USSR and the European space agency on cooperation in the field of the peaceful exploration and use of outer space’, Sbornik mezhdunarodnykh dogovorov SSSR XL(VI): 304–7. EU (2013) ‘Regulation (EU) No 1291/2013 of the European Parliament and of the Council of 11 December 2013 establishing horizon 2020 – the framework programme for research and innovation (2014– 2020) and repealing decision no 1982/2006/EC’, OJ L 347, 104–73, 20 December. EU and Russia (1997) ‘Agreement on partnership and cooperation establishing a partnership between the European Communities and their member states, of one part, and the Russian Federation, of the other part 1994’, OJ L 327, 3–69, 28 November. EU and Russia (2005) ‘Road map on common space in research and education, including cultural matters’, Moscow, 10 May, available at http://en.kremlin.ru/supplement/3587/print (accessed 23 December 2019). EU and Russia (2010) ‘Joint Statement on the Partnership for Modernisation’, June 1, Rostov-on-Don: EU-Russia Summit, available at https://ec.europa.eu/commission/presscorner/detail/en/PRES_10_ 154 (accessed 1 December 2019). EU and Russia (2011) ‘Cooperation in Science, Technology and Innovation: a Roadmap for action 2011– 2013’, Brussels: the European Commission, available at http://bio-economy.ru/ramochnaya_pro gramma_es/poleznye_ssylki/russia_road_map_2011-2013.pdf (accessed 1 December 2019). EU and Russia (2012) ‘Agreement in the form of an exchange of letters between the European Union and the Government of the Russian Federation relating to the preservation of commitments on trade in services contained in the current EU-Russia partnership and cooperation agreement 2011’, OJ L 57, 44–51, 29 February. EU and Russia (2017) ‘Road Map for EU-Russia S&T cooperation, Research and Innovation’, October  31, Brussels: the European Commission, available at https://ec.europa.eu/research/iscp/pdf/pol icy/ru_roadmap_2017.pdf (accessed 1 December 2019). EU and Russia (2018) ‘Road Map for EU-Russia S&T cooperation, Research and Innovation’, October  31, Brussels: the European Commission, available at https://ec.europa.eu/research/iscp/pdf/pol icy/ru_roadmap_2018.pdf#view=fit&pagemode=none (accessed 1 December 2019). 283

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Euratom and Russia (2001a) ‘Agreement for cooperation between the European atomic energy community and the government of the Russian Federation in the field of controlled nuclear fusion’, OJ L 287, 30–5, 31 October. Euratom and Russia (2001b) ‘Agreement for cooperation between the European atomic energy community and the government of the Russian Federation in the field of nuclear safety’, OJ L, No 287, 24–9, 31 October. European Commission (2012) ‘Enhancing and focusing EU international cooperation in research and innovation: a strategic approach’, COM(2012) 497 final, 14 September, Brussels: the European Commission. European Commission (2013) ‘Review of the S&T Cooperation Agreement between the European Union and Russia, European Commission’, Ref. Ares (2013)2859814, 9 August, Brussels: the European Commission. European Commission (2018) ‘Research on HIV, tuberculosis (TB) and/or hepatitis C (HCV) in patients with mono-, co-infections and/or comorbidities in the context of fostering collaboration with the Russian Federation’, SC1-BHC-21-2018, 31 October, Brussels: the European Commission, available at https://cordis.europa.eu/programme/rcn/703106/en (accessed 1 December 2019). European Commission (2019a) ‘Explanatory Memorandum to the Proposal for a Council Decision on the Renewal of the Agreement on cooperation in science and technology between the European Community and the Government of the Russian Federation’, COM (2019) 7 final, 18 January. Brussels: the European Commission. European Commission (2019b) ‘EU-RUSSIA Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee Meeting’, News/Events, 25 June, Brussels: the European Commission, available at https://ec.europa. eu/research/iscp/index.cfm?pg=russia (accessed 1 December 2019). European Community and Russia (2000) ‘Agreement on cooperation in science and technology between the European Community and the Government of the Russian Federation 2000’, OJ L 299, 15–21, 28 November. European Parliament (2015) Resolution on the state of EU-Russia relations, No. 2015/2001/INI, 10 June, Strasbourg: European Parliament. European Parliament (2019) Legislative resolution on the draft Council decision on the renewal of the Agreement on cooperation in science and technology between the European Community and the Government of the Russian Federation, No. 07683/2019 – C8–0153/2019-2019/0005(NLE), 17 April, Strasbourg: European Parliament. Forsberg, T. and Haukkala, H. (2016) The European Union and Russia, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Government of the Russian Federation (2019) ‘Ordinance of the Russian Federation government on 29 March 2019 No. 377’, Sobraniye Zakonodatelstva Rossiiskoi Federatsii 15 (part III), 1750, 15 April. Gutnikova, A., Nasybulina, E. and Pikalova, A. (2014) ‘Instrumenty nauchno-tekhnicheskogo sotrudnichestva Rossii i ES’, Vestnik mezhdunarodnykh organizatsiy 1(9): 107–23. Kalinichenko, P.A. (2012) Evropeyskii Sopyuz: pravo i otnosheniya s Rossiyey, Moscow: NORMA. Kalinichenko, P.A. (2014) ‘Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in Russia’, in P. Van Elsuwege and R. Petrov (eds.), Legislative Approximation and Application of EU Law in the Eastern Neighbourhood of the European Union: Towards a Common Regulatory Space?, London: Routlege, pp. 246–60. Kalinichenko, P.A. and Mitrokhina, A.K. (2018) ‘Pravovyye osnovy vzaimootnosheniy mezhdu Rossiyey i Evropeyskim Soyuzom v sfere osvoyeniya kosmosa’, Aktual’nyye problemy rossiyskogo prava 5: 176–84. Kembayev, Z. (2016) ‘Partnership between the European Union and the Republic of Kazakhstan: Problems and Perspectives’, European Foreign Affairs Review 2(21): 185–204. Luksha, O.P., Pilnov, G.B. and Yanovsky, A.E. (2013) ‘Infrastruktura podderzhki proyektov mezhdunarodnogo nauchno-tekhnicheskogo sotrudnichestva Rossii i ES: sostoyaniye i perspektivy’, Innovatsii 4(174): 79–86. Moscow City Commercial Court (2005) Judgment in the case no A40-33242/05-114-247, 2 September, not published officially. Sander, G. and Lines, R. (2016) ‘HIV, Hepatitis C, TB, Harm Reduction, and Persons Deprived of Liberty: What Standards Does International Human Rights Law Establish?’, Health and Human Rights Journal 2(12): 171–9. Schuch, K., Bonas, G. and Sonnenburg, J. (2012) ‘Enhancing science and technology cooperation between the EU and Eastern Europe as well as Central Asia: a critical reflection on the White Paper from a S&T policy perspective’, Journal of Innovation and Entrepreneurship 1: 3. Sokolova, N.A. (2018) ‘Mezhdunarodnoye sotrudnichestvo v sfere nauki, innovatsiy i obrazovaniya Rossiyskoy Federatsii so stranami Evropeyskogo Soyuza’, Lex Russica 12: 48–56. 284

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USSR and EEC/Euratom (1990) ‘Agreement between the European economic community and the European atomic energy community and the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics on trade and commercial and economic cooperation 1989’, OJ L 68, 3–17, 15 March. Van Elsuwege, P. (2012) ‘Towards a Modernisation of EU-Russia Legal Relations?’, CEURUS EU-Russia Papers 2(5). WHO (2019) ‘Communicable diseases’, The World Health Organisation: Regional Office for Europe, available at www.euro.who.int/en/health-topics/communicable-diseases (accessed 1 December 2019). Zviagina, D.A. (2015) ‘Nauchno-tekhnologicheskoye sotrudnichestvo Rossii i ES: problemy i vozmozhnosti’, Aktual’nyye problemy sovremennosti nauka i obshchestvo 3: 3–6.

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Part 5

Social relations

25 Civil society in EU-Russia relations Elena Belokurova and Andrey Demidov

Civil society is an important concept for both the European Union (EU) and Russia. In the EU, civil society features in the debates about its role in democracy, legitimacy and the efficiency of European governance and more recently about EU actorness as a democracy promoter (Greenwood 2007; Kohler-Koch 2009; Wetzel and Orbie 2011). In Russia, civil society has also been central to domestic politics and remains closely associated with democratisation and the evolution of the political regime and order in Russia (Uhlin 2006). However, despite this rich and interesting history of a civil society presence in EU-Russia relations, mainstream scholarship on the relationship marginalises civil society actors and mostly focuses on the relational dynamics between state actors. This becomes especially puzzling given that, in contrast to official EU-Russian relations, cooperation between civil society actors has never ceased and recently expanded and acquired new formats. Neither the EU nor Russia has attempted to discontinue this civil society dialogue. The EU reformulated and reshaped its support programmes for Russian civil society actors. The Russian government, though constraining the access of Russian civil society actors to foreign funding, has not overly impeded their cooperation with the EU partners. Therefore, the present chapter focuses on how and why civil society features in EU-Russia relations. It first traces the role of civil society in the history of the relationship, then takes stock of the current state of EU-Russian societal relations before delivering hypotheses about future scenarios for its development. By considering the past, present and future, we reveal how civil society and its role in EU-Russia relations figure in the official discourses and policies of the EU, Russia and civil society actors themselves.

EU support of Russian civil society to promote democracy (1990–2012) Civil society was a crucial concept during the establishment of EU-Russia relations in the 1990s. In defining civil society, both parties understood it as a realm of independent citizens’ non-governmental organisations (NGOs) that were equated with the drivers and indicators of democratisation (Fagan 2005). Thus, at the beginning of the 1990s, a lot of environmental, social, ethnic, cultural and human rights organisations emerged and actively developed 289

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(Sungurov 1997; Zdravomyslova 1998). The shared recognition of them as a civil society basis for democratisation was in line with a bigger consensus that Russia, as an integral part of a ‘wider Europe’, was on its way to democracy and a market economy and thus was gradually becoming a ‘normal’ European country. Therefore, support for Russian civil society was a part of the EU’s self-embraced role as a promoter of democracy and reforms. As a result, the EU, along with Western foundations and NGOs, became an important source of funding for newly established NGOs. American and European foundations launched their programmes in Russia and provided not only funding but also training, capacity-building and networking opportunities. The EU’s Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS) programme was the main instrument through which the EU channelled its support for Russian NGOs. Among the post-Soviet states, Russia was the biggest beneficiary of EU financial aid, receiving about half of all funding. From 1991 to 2006, the EU granted 2.7 billion EUR to Russia to support the development of human resources, institutional reforms, privatisation and combatting soft security problems (Court of Auditors 2006). Although most of the funding went to state institutions, some funding was received by NGOs and for cooperation between EU and Russian civil society organisations. Only in 2007 was the special ‘Non-State Actors’ Programme introduced for Russia ‘to enhance the capacity of civil society organisations, which contribute to the building of a more equitable, open and democratic society. In Russia, in 2007–2016 the programme co-funded 16 projects for €4 million in total’ (EU Delegation to the Russian Federation 2016: 4). The EU’s democracy promotion in Russia had its specifics. Whereas American foundations promoted independent NGOs and private funding and, consequently, supported new Russian NGOs, the EU’s understanding was rooted in the idea that state authorities are the main engines of reform, a vision that scholars later labelled a ‘leverage’ model (Freyburg 2015). Therefore, the EU programmes strengthened the partnership between the state and NGOs and cooperation between the Russian and European partner organisations. The EU and American strategies also differed in terms of regional focus. While US aid concentrated on the regions with relatively high levels of democratisation such as Novgorod, Nizhny Novgorod and Ekaterinburg oblasts (McMann 2004), the EU programmes were mostly implemented in regions bordering the EU and some territories with a high level of urbanisation and social capital (Lankina 2010). Some border regions such as the Republic of Karelia, Kaliningrad, Murmansk and Leningrad oblasts enjoyed privileged access to EU financial support (Yargomskaya et al. 2004; Yarovoy and Belokurova 2012). Although support for cross-border cooperation was an important element of the EU’s democracy promotion, civil society support has never been its explicit objective. It was hidden in the programmes tackling cross-border problems such as those concerning the environment, biodiversity, social exclusion, poverty, gender equality and so on or promoting shared norms and values. Several in-depth studies of the practices of cross-border EU-Russia civil society cooperation and their effects conclude that this cooperation has been pragmatic and de-politicised (Belokurova 2010; Sagan 2010). The EU grand discourses and normative agendas of de-bordering through the creation of spaces of shared values get lost in the realm of the highly contextual, informal and local practices of civil society organisations’ (CSOs) crossborder cooperation (Scott 2011; Scott and Liikanen 2010). Even participating NGOs find these EU aspirations irrelevant and barely meaningful for their day-to-day activities, although certain larger agendas (gender equality, social welfare, minority rights etc.) penetrate practices of cooperation and undergo contextual adaptation and translation (Laine and Demidov 2012).

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To strengthen its democracy promotion, in 1997, the EU also introduced in Russia the European Initiative in Democracy and Human Rights, which was in 2006 re-named the European Instrument in Democracy and Human Rights (EIDHR). Since its launch in Russia in 1997, the EIDHR has supported over 390 projects selected on an open comparative basis, each of them between 100,000 and 1 million EUR, with a duration of between 12 and 36 months (EU Delegation to the Russian Federation n/d). During the years 2007–2018, for the Instrument 27, 336,115 EUR was spent in Russia (European Commission 2019a). It granted financial support directly to Russian civil society actors working in the fields of human rights protection and monitoring, civic education, electoral observation, prevention of torture, anti-discrimination and so on. The EIDHR therefore represented an attempt by the EU to move to a more locally sensitive democratisation approach (Kurki 2011). The scheme represents a slight deviation from the EU’s vision of civil society support, known for its de-politicised instrumental orientation towards effective social problem-solving rather than involving civil society to enhance the rule of law, political accountability, transparency or representation (Isleyen 2015; Kutay 2014). EU programmes were frequently criticised for their insufficient effectiveness and the hegemony of EU experts over the specific recipients’ needs (Mikhaleva 2005). However, they were important tools for the development of Russian NGOs as well as for their dialogue with their EU peers. At the same time, as the literature on the role of external actors in civil society development confirms, Western assistance did little to strengthen civil societies in recipient countries and had visible side effects, like the emergence of weak, unsustainable and even artificial NGOs, dependent on foreign funding (Henderson 2002), or a growth of ‘the business of aid’ (Fagan 2005). Unlike in Central and Eastern European countries where the side effects were mitigated by EU accession prospects (Borzel and Buzogany 2010; Kutter and Trappmann 2010), in Russia, certain effects of external civil society support – project orientation, disconnection from local communities, the emergence of an ‘NGO elite’, weak organisational structures of NGOs and so on – reached a higher expression (McIntosh Sundstrom 2005). Scholars also link these effects to the peculiarity of EU democracy promotion as such, namely the lack of any coherence of this agenda. One argument is that while declaring its democracy promotion intentions, the EU opted for various political and economic considerations which, in the end, allowed Russia to come up with a counter-strategy that primarily aimed at curbing civil society initiatives (Saari 2009). The strengthening and empowerment of Russian civil society has never become an organising principle within EU policy towards Russia, on its own as, for instance, in the case of accession countries, nor as a part of some larger discourse such as the one on human rights (Borzel 2010; Forsberg 2013). Assessing the effects of the EU’s human rights policy in Russia, including support of human rights groups and NGOs, scholars conclude that the main determinant of its failure has been the EU’s constant juggling of the normative and pragmatic components of its approach (Daskalova 2013; see also Deriglazova this volume). Despite a declarative commitment to support Russian human rights groups and CSOs, the EU made little effort to consolidate a number of different policy instruments – funding, exchange programmes and so on – to build the capacities of Russian civil society actors as was done in accession countries. Instead, Russian CSOs remained the objects of ad hoc project funding, the EU sustained dividing lines between more and less professionalised actors, prevented smaller local actors from accessing its funds and never collected any feedback from the Russian actors (Klitsounova 2008). As a result, the EU’s democracy promotion, with its specifics of pragmatic orientation towards cooperation with the state and social and soft security problem-solving, supported EU-Russia civil society cooperation only to a very limited extent. From the perspective of

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financial assistance, support of civil society cooperation was not an explicit EU policy objective. The EU saw it rather as a means for broader problem-solving.

Civil society in EU-Russia relations post-2012 Since 2004, this shared consensus on the role of civil society in EU-Russia relations, especially regarding the EU’s support of Russian civil society, has been questioned in Russia. By 2012, internal changes in both Russia and the EU and their effects on mutual relations (see DeBardeleben, Khudoley and Raś, Morozov, this volume) brought about a completely new reality for civil society actors and redefined their role in the EU-Russia relationship.

Russian policy towards civil society: effects for EU-Russia civil society cooperation Largely unaffected by any conflicts between the EU and Russia in the 1990s, since 2004, civil society actors in Russia have faced the implications of gradually deteriorating EU-Russia relations. The EU has increasingly expressed its criticism of Russia’s human rights violations and other political developments (abolition of gubernatorial elections, legislative restrictions etc.). In turn, Russia has displayed open irritation with this external critique and engaged in open contestation of those EU policy initiatives which had implications for civil society actors. In 2004, Russia refused to participate in the EU’s European Neighbourhood Policy because of its normative agenda and patronising treatment (Haukkala 2009). EU financial support was reshaped; allocations to Russia reduced and many programmes were subjected to Russian cofinancing. These changes helped avoid politically sensitive topics and focused EU technical assistance programmes in border regions and on socio-economic problems such as those related to the environment, transport, infrastructure, poverty and so on. Along with this, since 2004, Russia has followed a more restrictive policy line on NGOs (Belokurova 2010), which has been of crucial importance. The ‘colour revolutions’ in Ukraine, Kyrgyzstan and Georgia triggered a strong reaction among Russia’s authorities, who started to demonise NGOs receiving Western funding as potential organisers of ‘revolutions’. Before the parliamentary and presidential elections in 2007–2008, the law on NGOs was amended to strengthen government control over their financial reporting (Human Rights Watch 2009). The modernisation associated with the presidency of Dmitry Medvedev (2008–2012), under which the legal and financial conditions of NGOs improved, was short lived. After the 2012 presidential elections and the mass protests centred on the citizens’ movement ‘For Fair Elections’, the restrictive policy towards critical NGOs supported by foreign foundations was strengthened. In 2012, the law on NGOs was amended again, introducing the ‘foreign agent’ clause: NGOs receiving foreign funding and involved in so-called ‘political activity’, defined excessively broadly, would now have to register as ‘foreign agents’ and conduct stricter reporting. A consequence is that they are stigmatised in the eyes of state officials and the wider public. From 2012–2019, about 200 NGOs were listed as ‘foreign agents’.1 In May 2015, the legislation on ‘undesirable organisations’ enlarged the scope of restrictive measures; since then, more than 20 foreign NGOs have been placed on this list and forbidden from operating in Russia (Ministry of Justice of the Russian Federation 2021). In sum, NGOs became the target of government-led legal persecution and faced closures, bans and the discursive delegitimisation of their existence and activities (Moser and Skripchenko 2018; Skokova et al. 2018; Tarasenko 2018). In parallel with the suppression of some civil society organisations, the Kremlin started supporting, financially and organisationally, socially orientated Russian NGOs, in contrast to those dealing with human rights (Tarasenko 2018). 292

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As a result, within the space of relatively few years, Russian civil society actors faced a wave of repressive domestic policies that had three major effects. First, these policies provoked a more intense criticism on the part of the Western partners, including the EU. The EU expressed concerns about the persecution of human rights NGOs and activists in Russia numerous times and later, facing the refusal of the Russian government to invite human rights NGOs to its EU-Russia Human Rights Dialogue, opted for separate meetings with Russian human rights organisations and the systematic exchange of data on human rights violations. Second, some civil society actors themselves proactively responded to the expanding anti-Western discourse that the authorities actively translated through the controlled mass media, especially in the wake of the Ukraine crisis, and started to withdraw from cooperation with their Western partners. Third, many Western partners withdrew their assistance programmes for the same reasons and in order not to become an ‘undesirable organisation’. In the sphere of EU-Russia cooperation, these tendencies resulted in cancelled projects, the cutting of ties between Russian and European partners and experts and cancelled public events on EU-related topics, which occurred not only at the official level but also at the level of NGOs and regular citizens. At the same time, the Russian government resorted to the rhetoric of civil society in its foreign policy. In approximately the same time frame, there has been a rise and proliferation of a new category of civil society actors – actors referred to as GONGOs (government-organised non-governmental organisations) or NGOs established, sponsored and controlled by government – involved in the implementation of Russia’s official foreign policy. They took the form of state-sponsored foundations to provide Russia’s development assistance, think tanks and discussion clubs involved in the production and dissemination of so-called alternative visions of world politics, state-sponsored human rights NGOs, youth and religious associations (Demidov and Belokurova 2017).

The EU policy framework and changing priorities of Russia’s civil society support In parallel, the EU’s position on the role of civil society in its external relations has undergone visible changes as the result of both internal (Lisbon Treaty reform) and external (Arab Spring; 2014 developments in Ukraine etc.) events. Russia itself became an external challenge, and the EU had to decide what to do with the ‘old’ policy instruments and programmes introduced in the era of democracy promotion in Russia: to cancel, to keep and/or to reform them. The overall deterioration of EU-Russia relations did not result in the EU’s abolition of all the old instruments of civil society support. Two of them – EIDHR and cross-border cooperation programmes within the European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument (ENPI) – have been preserved. Russian NGOs still enjoy access to financial support for their cross-border cooperation projects, while Russian legislation on cross-border cooperation shields them against being labelled ‘foreign agents’. The EU cooperation programmes do not interfere in any politically sensitive topics such as the rule of law, democracy or human rights and are not explicitly aimed at civil society support. Yet they contribute to people-to-people cooperation and in this way to EU-Russian civil society cooperation. The EIDHR, for its part, was also adapted to the changed political conditions. It regularly publishes calls for projects, accepting a large number of applications from NGOs. The latest calls prioritise media and the work of independent public spaces and support non-formalised civic initiatives in the Russian regions, because now many NGOs and civil society groups work as unregistered initiatives to avoid the repressive ‘foreign agents’ and ‘undesirable organisations’ legislation. In addition to the EIDHR, two calls for the programme ‘Civil Society 293

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Organisations as Actors of Governance and Development’ (as a continuation of the ‘Non-State Actors’ Programme) were launched in 2015 and 2019 to support Russian NGOs working in the social sphere. In 2019, the call was aimed at promoting the rights of ‘disadvantaged groups’ and of women as well as the ‘social economy and economic inclusiveness’ (European Commission 2019b). In such a way, it also reflects changes in oppressed and discriminated groups and the significance of social entrepreneurship in Russia. For the Russian NGOs and civic initiatives, this EU support became even more important than earlier because many other previously available EU and US programmes were now closed to Russia. Along with preserving some instruments of civil society support, the EU, in the context of the rapidly declining official dialogue, channelled support to civil society through alternative instruments. The Partnership Instrument (PI), the new EU initiative in external relations, was designed as a ‘new and complementary instrument providing direct support for the Union’s external policies, expanding cooperation partnerships and policy dialogues to areas and subjects beyond development cooperation’ (European Parliament and Council of the EU 2014). In spite of references to politically sensitive topics, like ‘the principles of democracy, equality, respect for human rights and fundamental freedoms and the rule of law’ in ‘dialogue and cooperation with third countries’ (ibid.), these goals were eclipsed by such economic-centric missions as the ‘restoration of economic growth’, promoting resource efficiency, employment and social policy and tackling climate change (ibid.). Moreover, the PI was to provide the international dimension of the Europe 2020 Strategy, including improved access for EU companies to global and national markets, and enhanced the EU’s visibility worldwide. In the context of rapidly deteriorating relations, the PI did not work properly and could not prevent the erosion of EU-Russia relations. However, it turned out to be a useful mechanism for civil society support and thus for the EU, for keeping EU relations with Russia afloat, at least at the transnational level (see also Romanova this volume). The PI also fit perfectly into the five principles guiding EU relations with Russia (European External Action Service 2016). The fifth principle consists of support of Russian civil society and engagement in people-to-people contacts. In fact, the PI referred to ‘engaging in peopleto-people contacts’ long before this wording found its way into the guiding principles. Furthermore, such a reorientation in EU support for civil society in Russia is hardly a response to the specifics of EU-Russia relations but a larger trend in the EU’s engagement with civil society actors in its foreign policy. The essence of this approach is summarised in the Commission’s 2012 Communication regarding external relations and civil society (European Commission 2012) and marks a shift in the EU’s understanding of its engagement with civil society actors abroad, breaking, though not totally, with the governance approach of investing in networks between state actors and organised civil society and moving to supporting grass-roots initiatives, ‘watchdogs’ and loosely organised movements. ‘Engagement in people-to-people contacts’, as set out in the Communication, was the response to what became the diagnosis for many countries, including Russia, namely the ‘shrinking space for civil society’. The fifth principle of EU-Russia relations (Council of the European Union 2016) highlights that people-to-people contacts between the EU and Russia should be endorsed by means of student exchanges, civil society cooperation and business contacts and underlines that EU funding is crucial for achievement of these goals. In practical terms, the PI guidelines refer to these actions as ‘public diplomacy’. The famous 2015 EU study ‘Analysis of the perception of the EU and EU policies abroad’ recognises public diplomacy as an important tool of EU diplomacy and underlines the necessity to involve local expert networks, local civil society and youth, local media and the local context in order to ‘make the EU more relevant at the local level’ (Barcevicius et al. 2015). Public diplomacy 294

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includes the support of various communication initiatives, as well as dissemination of information about the EU via training, internships, study trips, media work and other means. These bring public diplomacy and civil society support together, because civil society actors are among the main implementers and target groups of the activities within public diplomacy. However, public diplomacy measures expand the circle of beneficiaries and target groups to business communities, experts, researchers and policymakers. This approach is not new, nor is it an innovation in the context of EU-Russian relations. Similar activities were practised in Russia in the 1990s, though without any explicit references to public diplomacy. For instance, Russian experts, officials, policymakers and entrepreneurs were closely involved in various exchanges in the frameworks of the EU Twinning Programme, ERASMUS+ and so on. Universities and research centres spread information about the EU via summer schools, EU Study Weeks, Europe Days, EU Information Centres and so on, many of which were directly organised by the EU Delegation in Russia. However, the new Public Diplomacy Programme opened in 2016 by the EU Delegation reshapes the EU’s public diplomacy with a more explicit emphasis on the communicative, institutional and funding levels. Although civil society actors do not seem to be actively involved in its implementation, people-to-people cooperation is achieved through the organisation of mutual EU-Russia visits, study trips and experts’ meetings. To sum up, the EU’s approach to EU-Russia civil society cooperation has not radically changed as a result of the 2014 crisis in the official relations: the existing instruments of democracy promotion were kept and adapted, and some new instruments were introduced. These instruments did not signify the arrival of a new EU approach to the support of EU-Russia civil society cooperation or Russian civil society in general. Rather, they reflected changes in the EU’s overall approach to civil society support in external relations: from supporting statecivil society cooperation to supporting new and largely informal facets of civil society and direct ‘people-to-people’ cooperation. In the context wherein EU-Russia relations deteriorated with hardly any discussion at the political level, the EU extended the application of this new approach onto Russia, thus filling the emerging vacuum.

EU and Russian civil society organisations: the case of the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum Before the crisis of 2014, EU-Russia civil society cooperation was quite well developed. Russian and EU CSOs hoped for better conditions for their cooperation with the launch of the Partnership for Modernisation in 2010. As a response to this initiative, EU and Russian civil society actors proposed to complement inter-governmental dialogue with a civil society dialogue. Although transnational networks between European and Russian NGOs were not a novelty, as many Russian NGOs had already been members of some European or cross-border networks, no institutionalised platform that would bring together actors willing to exert certain influence on intergovernmental relations existed. So, representatives of about 40 diverse NGOs from the EU and Russia initiated the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum in 2010 as a platform for cooperation. Importantly, the idea of the EU-Russia Forum came from NGOs themselves; they established the Forum with a self-governing structure. Its General Assembly, an annual gathering of all members, became the main decision-making body. It elects a Board of ten members, five from the EU and five from Russia. The permanent Secretariat is responsible for the implementation of the Forum’s decisions and for the management of everyday activities. In the beginning, discussions held within the Forum on its objectives and activities revolved around its potential influence on EU-Russia relations and official negotiations. The Forum 295

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could therefore be developed as a civil society accompaniment to intergovernmental negotiations. But political developments, and especially the strengthening of authoritarian tendencies in Russia, as well as the current political conflict between the EU and Russia, led to a change in the work. Thus, by 2012–2013 the Forum started to issue statements protesting against Russian restrictive measures like the adoption of the 2012 legislation on ‘foreign agents’ and inclusion of some of the Forum members into the list of ‘foreign agents’. Over time, many Forum members were pressured or repressed. Therefore, working for solidarity and the protection of its members and the Russian civil society sector in general became another important task of the Forum. Moreover, the Forum prioritised cooperation among NGOs within the Forum to influence the EU-Russia intergovernmental dialogue. The 2014 events strengthened the solidarity and internal cooperation of the Forum members. The Forum also maintains its working and expert groups on the issues of human rights, the environment, social problems, civic education, democratic institutions, historical memory and so on. It also supports projects and study trips initiated by its members. The internet has also served as an essential medium for cooperating in this precarious context. The history of the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum shows that EU-Russia civil society cooperation continues both at the level of individual cooperation and at the institutionalised level. Moreover, it demonstrates that the CSOs, both in the EU and Russia, became able to develop their own dialogue, although they are very often not taken into consideration. Some Russian CSOs cancelled their participation in EU-Russia programmes in order to avoid being labelled ‘foreign agents’. Yet many known organisations continued to participate in the dialogue, either through the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum or separately. EU CSOs involved in EU-Russia relations continued to work with Russian partners using EU funding as well as their national governmental and non-governmental programmes. At the same time, only a few new EU CSOs became interested in cooperating with Russian partners, as a result of insufficient funding and numerous political and administrative difficulties.

Conclusions Analysis of the history and the current state of EU-Russia civil society cooperation demonstrates that there are different perspectives on and realities of such cooperation. The Russian government does not see this cooperation as very desirable but does not forbid it and, at the same time, promotes its own alternative fora for dialogue. The EU preserves its democracy promotion and some other cooperation programmes; moreover, the new PI emphasises the importance of ‘public diplomacy’ and ‘people-to-people contacts’, which is in tune with the EU’s guiding principles on Russia. The novelty in the EU’s approach is not so clear and self evident: many similar activities existed and worked even before. Perhaps the biggest difference is that nowadays they are better justified through the notion of ‘public diplomacy’ rather than through references to the ‘strengthening of civil society’ or ‘civil society support’. This can be partially explained by the relative neutrality of the mutually accepted ‘public diplomacy’ concept. After all, Russian authorities themselves endorse this formula. It can also be explained by the simultaneous influence and convergence of different EU policy developments: the change of EU policy towards civil society with a new accent on engaging with ordinary citizens rather than organised civil society in Russia and worldwide. At the same time, the new policy instruments never fully replaced the old ones, thus adding new layers of practices of civil society support to the already existing ones. Both ‘old’ and ‘new’ instruments evolved in accordance with their own unique logics, and the elements of those logics are still present. As a result, looking at the current map 296

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of the practices of EU civil society support, one can find a multi-dimensional, multi-faceted and, perhaps, contradictory picture. The history of civil society cooperation in the context of EU-Russia relations reflects the overall trajectory of EU-Russia relations, both its bumpy and smooth periods. But EU-Russia civil society cooperation also exhibits a great deal of resilience to the political climate and is a story of continuous and expanding cooperation. In the future, EU-Russia civil society cooperation can develop in three possible scenarios. A  neutral scenario will mean that different EU-Russia civil society dialogues will develop in parallel: the EU-Russia Civil Society Forum, on the one hand, and fora driven by official Russia, on the other hand. A positive scenario presupposes the support of both the EU and Russia for the development of an independent EU-Russia civil society dialogue that will make CSOs active participants and agenda shapers in EU-Russian relations. Finally, a negative scenario will see political repressions in Russia on those CSOs participating in the EU-Russia dialogue and therefore the dialogue’s decline: that will negatively affect the entire EU-Russia dialogue. At the moment, under present-day conditions, the neutral scenario is most probable, but neither the positive nor negative scenario can be excluded.

Note 1 The Ministry of Justice of the Russian Federation (2021) keeps an official registry that is updated weekly and is essentially a list of ‘foreign agents’. Throughout the period from 2012 to 2019, the Registry included (and, importantly, later excluded) around 200 organisations. This means that some organisations were removed from the Registry and were un-labelled as ‘foreign agents’.

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26 Building trust through academic cooperation? Larisa Deriglazova and Sirke Mäkinen

The literature on EU-Russia relations mainly focuses on trade, energy and security issues, underestimating the significance of people-to-people relations. However, these relations may enhance opportunities for cooperation in other areas. Recently, EU-Russia relations have been framed by sanction regimes and contacts have been halted in many spheres. Nonetheless, academic cooperation has continued.1 This cooperation is valued by both partners at the highest political and societal levels: the EU has allocated additional resources within the Erasmus+ Programme for Russian participants as a result of some other programmes being frozen under sanctions; the Russian government continues to support the internationalisation of Russian higher education (HE) through grants for national universities and by initiating programmes for educational export. All these activities, direct contacts and specific forms of cooperation contrast sharply with other areas of EU-Russia relations since 2014 (see Maass 2017; SchmidtFelzmann 2016). International academic cooperation may be approached through the frameworks of international relations (IR) and the internationalisation of HE. Within the IR framework, academic cooperation is studied as part of soft power and public diplomacy. A special issue of the European Journal of Higher Education (2019), which analyses the Bologna Process from the perspectives of EU global strategy, motivation and external responses, serves as a good illustration. For example, Moscovitz and Zahavi (2019) analysed the Bologna Process as foreign policy, including its rationale and results. As for the internationalisation of the HE framework, the motivations of the actors involved have been divided into political, economic, cultural, social and academic rationales that vary between different temporal and geographical contexts (de Wit 2002; Knight 1997, 2004). We apply these rationales when analysing EU-Russia academic cooperation and searching for an understanding of the partners’ motivations and objectives at the supranational, national, institutional and individual levels. The last level includes teachers, researchers, administrators and students, that is, the participants in day-to-day academic cooperation. Following de Wit (2002: 89–91), the political rationale means that both the EU (the supranational level) and Russia (the national level) have motivations linked to foreign policy, national security and development policy. The cultural rationale aimed at promoting national culture and values is also present on both sides. The economic rationale connects international academic cooperation to the boosting of technological development that is followed by economic 300

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growth and strengthened international competitiveness (ibid: 89–91). The economic rationale is evident in the EU and Russia, at the institutional level of each of them. The social rationale concerns the individual level (personal development) and is certainly important for academic cooperation. The academic rationale includes motivations regarding different dimensions of the internationalisation of teaching and research, institution building, international recognition, reputation and contributing to overall quality enhancement (ibid: 95–7); in our case, it is embraced by actors at the individual, institutional, national and supranational (the EU’s) levels. Currently, political and cultural rationales for international academic cooperation prevail over social and academic rationales in the EU and Russia, as both sides regard them as public diplomacy tools and as sources of soft power. The main research question addressed here is whether institutional-level and individual-level actors from the EU and Russia share this political rationale, present at the (supra-)national levels and, in particular whether actors at different levels in Russia and the EU share the objectives of and interests in cooperation, that is, whether their economic and academic rationales are compatible. Elsewhere, it has been argued that the EU and Russia have completely different interests, approaches and ambitions in their relationship (Averre 2009; Nitoiu 2016; Schmidt-Felzmann 2016). However, it is reasonable to assume these may be more easily accommodated in academic cooperation despite certain asymmetries in cooperation. Based on a review of previous studies, this chapter follows the logic that (supra-)national motivations are only partly shared by institutional and individual level actors and that non-state actors involved in cooperation are mainly moved by academic, economic and social rationales. Although (supra-)national actors (Russia and the EU) and non-state actors (academia and the public at large) have partially different rationales for continuing academic cooperation, they both contribute to creating an EU-Russian area of trust in times of political crisis and mutual mistrust. Academic cooperation, sometimes conceptualised as a part of ‘low politics’, is therefore important for long-term EU-Russian relations and could contribute to finding common ground in ‘high politics’ (the political and security relationship) in the future.

Academic cooperation: the past and the present We mainly examine institutionalised academic cooperation between the EU and Russia, even though we acknowledge that funding instruments and cooperation frameworks include individual EU member states and higher educational institutions (HEIs). Academic cooperation (mobility, joint programmes and scientific projects) has continued from the 1990s to today, notwithstanding the political crisis since 2014 (see Tomsk State University 2019). During the almost 30 years of cooperation, the roles of the partners have become more symmetrical, for example, regarding the co-funding of cooperation or coordinating joint projects. While the EU and Russia do not have any formal agreements on cooperation on youth issues and there is no framework for this particular cooperation, EU and Russian youth play an important role in academic cooperation. EU-Russia programmes that target youth are mostly connected to the academic mobility of students and young scientists. The EU and Russia have cooperated in HE since 1991. Cooperation in HE has been incorporated in the major documents that have framed EU-Russia relations (the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement 1994, effective from 1997 [EUR-Lex 1994]; the Roadmaps for the four EU-Russia Common Spaces 2005 [see e.g.  European Commision 2005]; the Partnership for Modernisation 2010 [European Commission 2010]). There have also been EC/EUfunded programmes aimed at cooperation in HE, such as Tempus and the current Erasmus+ programme. In 2003, Russia joined the Bologna Process, and academic cooperation between 301

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Russian and EU universities was coordinated by the process aimed at creating a European Higher Education Area (EHEA). The EU actively supports the Bologna Process through EUfunded programmes, including cooperation with Russia (Gänzle et  al. 2009: 536). To conform to the Bologna criteria, Russia restructured its HE and introduced a two-tier system of bachelor’s and master’s degrees, although critics have argued that Russia’s reforms represent a rather formal fulfilment of the EHEA, especially given that the quality assurance system remains mostly state controlled (Nikolaev and Suslova 2010; EHEA 2015). At the time of writing, EU-Russia academic cooperation has four main funding instruments within the Erasmus+ programme for HE: international credit mobility, joint master’s degrees, capacity building projects and Jean Monnet activities. In 2014, the Erasmus+ programme temporarily enlarged financial possibilities for Russian students and teachers to participate in academic mobility. This led to a significant increase in the number of Jean Monnet ( JM) projects supported in Russia. Throughout the entire period, the EU was the major sponsor of this cooperation, although recently the roles of the actors have changed. In the 1990s and early 2000s, the EU defined policy towards Russia as development aid and supported the transition of Russia towards democracy, the rule of law and a market economy (Grigoriadis 2015; Vodichev 2014). In the 1990s, Russia concentrated on modernising its HE, the Russian state could not provide much financial support to HE and gave universities freedom to attract additional funds beyond state financing (Larionova 2007; Pashkovskaya 2006; Vodichev et al. 2013). This policy made Russian HEIs learn by experience how to cooperate with international partners, including the EU (Marquand 2009, 2018). After the EU recognised Russia as a country with a market economy, academic cooperation moved to co-financing and more active participation by the Russian side in coordinating and designing joint projects (Pashkovskaya 2007: 51). Since 2003, Russian HEIs can play the role of coordinators in EU-funded projects, and, since 2006, they can receive EU funds to university accounts; this came along with the duty to provide co-financing to implement EU-funded projects. This change marked a phase of more equal cooperation between the EU and Russia. Since 2014, Russian HEIs have received EU grants in their accounts only within the JM Programme. For all other projects, financial resources are to be allocated to European partners. It has been argued that the Erasmus+ programme has a common rationale for the EU and Russia, aiming to educate a new generation of young Europeans with a supranational European identity and loyalty to the European integration process using international academic mobility schemes within the EU and outside of it ( James 2019). Since 2006, the Russian state has become actively involved in defining the content of the international academic cooperation of national HEIs in accordance with a ‘global approach’ and a policy to internationalise national HE (Vodichev et al. 2013: 385–7). The international cooperation of Russia’s HEIs has become an important indicator of their success in the global education market, including global university rankings, and a reason for substantial additional funding within the state programme of ‘National Research Universities’, started in 2006. The programmes aimed to include HEIs in research to overcome the Soviet tradition when HEIs only concentrated on education (Dezhina and Kiseleeva 2008: 102). A  new programme of ‘5–100’2 and two large state projects for the export of education, international cooperation and academic mobility were launched in 2013 and 2018, respectively (Ministry of Science 2019). As for cooperation in science, in 2000, the EU and Russia signed the first agreement (European Commission 2017b); the latest five-year agreement was extended in 2019. The EU-Russia Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee coordinates cooperation with thematic working groups on defined priority areas such as energy, the environment, food, agriculture and biotechnologies, health, nanotechnologies and new materials (ibid.). Cooperation takes place 302

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when Russian scientists participate in the EU Framework Programmes for Research and Technological Development (FP) or in EU researchers’ mobility programmes, such as Marie Curie and Erasmus Mundus (ibid.). Russia has participated in the EU FPs since 1994 and was evaluated as ‘the most active and successful third country participant’ both in terms of the number of participants and the amount of EU funds received (European Commission 2013). Cooperation in research has also become more equal since 2007, when a joint funding mechanism – coordinated calls – was introduced. Research is co-funded by the FP7 and Russian Federal Targeted Programme for Research and Development in Priority Fields of Russian S&T Sector (see Belova 2012: 104; see also European Commission 2018). EU citizens can participate in Russian Federal Targeted Programmes. In addition, there are bilateral agreements between Russia and EU countries that allow researchers to receive funds in their respective countries while conducting transnational EU-Russian projects (Belova 2012: 106). Research cooperation also takes place in international institutions and facilities, such as the European Organisation for Nuclear Research (CERN), the International Space Station and the International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor (ITER) (Belova 2012: 106; European Commission 2013). Since 2014, within the FP8 (2014–2020), Russian researchers can participate only as part of a consortium of European universities (European Commission 2018). Although cooperation has been affected by the political crisis, it has not been terminated (Viakhireva 2017; see also Kalinichenko this volume). The European Commission (2017a) argues that supporting these [scientific] relations remains a priority, which is especially relevant under the current political situation. Political sanctions on Russia do not target S&T collaboration, except for certain technological fields related to off-shore oil and gas exploration and military applications. It follows that the EU seems determined to continue research cooperation with Russia.

Key academic debates Studies on the internationalisation of HE, including international academic cooperation, have had two main foci: institutional and personal. Bedenlier et al. (2018: 127) define the first as ‘managing and steering internationalisation at the institutional level’ and the second as ‘the perspectives and experiences of the actors involved, their social and educational needs, support structures, and negotiating identity within the global and international sphere of higher education’. Studies on EU-Russia academic cooperation touch upon both of these foci, although we should add the (supra-)national level with the respective political dimension of cooperation. The key debates on the rationales and results of the EU-Russia academic cooperation partly overlap: these are Europeanisation as the democratisation of Russia or approximation and reforms of Russian HE within the Bologna Process. Much of the literature, in particular that in Russian, discusses the practical experiences of cooperation and contributes to an understanding of the societal impact with regard to the challenges, opportunities and the status of partners (asymmetry/equality).

Europeanisation as democratisation versus Europeanisation as approximation When scholars discuss the Europeanisation and democratisation of Russia as a result of cooperation with the EU, they differentiate between the EU promoting democratisation in terms 303

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of norms and practices and the EU being more concerned with regulative patterns that could facilitate practical cooperation with Russia. Thus, the discussions examine the content versus the context of the cooperation (a democratic versus technocratic/formal approach). It follows that we may find different understandings of Europeanisation  – either as democratisation or as approximation to the EU regulations (see also Flenley this volume). In particular, the Bologna Process has been evaluated differently by its participants. Russian HEIs’ representatives have stressed its formal demands. Although the Bologna Process criteria include the development of a quality assurance and accreditation system independent from the state, Russia has failed to fulfil those principles (Nikolaev and Suslova 2010). The Bologna Process has often been perceived in Russia as a top-down process with state agencies dominating, which has created resistance among Russian academics (Ehzroh 2016; Nikolaev and Suslova 2010; Shirin 2012). In addition, the implementation of the Bologna Process in Russia is controversial in terms of Europeanisation as democratisation. Gänzle et al. (2009) have argued that the goal of the EU has been Europeanisation, the Tempus programme and the Bologna Process the tools employed. Gorbunova (2011) has reinforced this, studying education as a mechanism to promote democratic values since this has been the EU’s declared goal of cooperation. According to her, the two main tools for this democracy promotion have been academic exchanges and the promotion of EU studies in Russia (Gorbunova 2011: 241). Gorbunova has argued, however, that the peak of education and research cooperation was reached in 2008 (2012: 345), explaining the decreased funding volume and thereby cooperation since then by way of the EU’s disappointment with the results of cooperation achieved until then. Such an evaluation has merit considering the critical evaluation of the Tempus/Tacis programme conducted in 2007; a new phase of Tempus was introduced later with more clearly defined objectives and forms of cooperation. However, an alternative explanation can be found in the 2008–2011 financial crisis and its influence on the EU’s ability to fund ambitious educational programmes. Marquand, notable for her experience of practical cooperation in this area, has also confirmed the overall objective of EU assistance to Russia in the 1990s and early 2000s as promoting democracy through academic cooperation. She has rather critically discussed how the EU as a sponsor defined its goals and has argued that ‘successes were often not what the donors explicitly intended’ and that the projects ‘lay outside of the mainstream of their donors’ concerns’ (2009: 227). Democratisation emerged during implementation of projects because the projects were designed from below, and the participants of the projects ‘focused on learning to behave democratically, with respect for others’ opinions, not because this is what the donors required, but because it was what they permitted within their regulations’ (ibid.). A qualitative study of the opinions of young participants in academic mobility between EU and Russian universities in 2014–2018 has confirmed that they note the existence of different academic cultures in terms of relations between students and staff. European students were critical of the Russian experience in this regard, while all Russian students highly evaluated the respectful, democratic, egalitarian and open-minded atmospheres of European universities and would like Russian academia to change (Deriglazova 2019). This is consistent with Marquand (2009), who stressed that the Tempus programme was valuable because inter-university programmes created ‘cultural change’, especially important in cooperation with Russia. Quoting Shevtsova, she underlined particularly that cooperation afforded the chance to retreat from the ‘specific personality syndrome of “homo sovieticus” ’, meaning such personal characteristics as ‘passivity, avoidance of responsibility, conformism. . . [and] primitive egalitarianism’ (Shevtsova in Marquand 2009: 239).

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Modernisation of HE in Russia within the Bologna Process There have been numerous studies on how Russia and Russian HEIs have implemented the Bologna criteria and have resisted the Bologna system (Gänzle et  al. 2009; Pursiainen and Medvedev 2005; Telegina and Schwengel 2012), although not all EU countries were ‘Bolognaphiles’ either (Scott 2018). Haukkala argued that the Bologna Process was not seen as a challenge to Russia’s sovereignty (2010: 177), but it was not necessarily welcomed or understood at the institutional and individual levels either (Silichev 2009; Telegina and Schwengel 2012; Tretyak 2016). However, some Russian scholars strongly supported the implementation of the Bologna Process in Russia because it would unite the EU countries and Russia (Shirin 2012: 308–9), help reform national HEIs and integrate them into advanced academic communities (Ehzroh 2016; Nikolaev and Suslova 2010). It has been mainly Russian authors debating the reform of Russian HE and the positive role played by EU-Russia cooperation (Ehzroh 2016; Shirin 2012), identifying cooperation as enabling, for example, the development of curricula and joint programmes with EU HEIs and the overall internationalisation of HE and science (Vodichev et al. 2013; Yakovlev 2005). Marquand (2018) placed the Bologna Process in the broader perspective of the overall rationale for it as a European project aimed at the reform and modernisation of European universities. The four founding countries of the Bologna Declaration – Germany, France, Italy and the United Kingdom – were driven by the desire to reform their HE systems to become competitive in a global market and to facilitate the inter-country integration of the HE system, which was too lengthy (Germany), or fragmented (France and United Kingdom). For Eastern European countries, the Bologna Process has become a vehicle for reintegrating into Europe after decades of isolation and for modernising their HE.

The nature of cooperation In addition to recognising some practical problems in cooperation, for example, those that have to do with language skills, different academic cultures and legislative frameworks, scholars have referred to the asymmetrical nature of cooperation and hope for more equal partnerships (Eimermacher 2003; Mercer and Zhegin 2011). Asymmetries were based on differences in funding but also directions of mobility flows (mainly from Russia to the EU) and the responsibilities and duties of partners (what kinds of roles the partners may take in different funding schemes). Girenko and Moskovki argued that in research cooperation funded by the EU, the EU ‘says what should be done and wishes to buy the best solutions’. They identified ‘barriers for the Russian researchers [sic] participation in FP7’, such as ‘fundamental structural problems of the [sic] Russian science, lack of knowledge on FP7 and skills of writing project proposals and searching for partners’ (2008: 71). They summarised the benefits of participating in FP7 projects as ‘mutual learning and qualifications improvement, enhancement of the research and technological potential of your department and organization as a whole, acquiring new knowledge and contacts’ (ibid). Regarding asymmetries, there has also been a discussion about the brain drain from Russia; however, that has mainly concerned scholars in the natural sciences. Otherwise, there was ‘no evidence of either large-scale international cooperation or a special brain drain from Russia’ (Korobkov and Zaionchkovskaia 2012: 336). More recently, scholars have discussed the impact of the political crisis on EU-Russia academic cooperation. Dezhina (2017) specifically considered sanctions and their impact on

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Russian economics as an external factor that worsened the situation in Russian academia. She referred to the Russian law on undesirable foreign organisations (2015), which in combination with the law on foreign agents (2012) ‘triggered the destruction of the system of nongovernmental support of science through not-for-profit foundations and contributed to overall changes in the academic atmosphere in Russia’ (2017: 19). These legislative developments led to tighter state control over foreign contacts and funding coming from abroad, including European funds, to Russian HE institutions, as most of them are state-budgeted entities.

Analysis of key debates To return to the rationales for academic cooperation, the political rationale is clearly visible on the EU’s side when the Europeanisation or democratisation of Russia has been pronounced the objective of the EU actions. This rationale has been acknowledged by some Russian partners at the institutional or individual levels (Gorbunova 2011; Marquand 2009; see Deriglazova and Mäkinen 2019). This rationale is connected to a broader trend of seeing international academic cooperation as a tool for public diplomacy and thus for strengthening soft power. According to Nye (1990), soft power refers to intangible sources of power, such as education, culture or political values, when they are seen as an attractive model to follow by the partnering sides and are voluntarily accepted along with the model requirements and duties. Despite generally severe criticism of this concept, soft power is widely used in the official discourse of various actors in the EU, Russia and China, including state authorities. When academic cooperation first began, however, in the 1990s, the economic rationale was the key motivation for Russia because its HEIs hoped to reform the system and curricula with the help of EU (and other Western) partners and to increase their funding at a time when the Russian state could provide only scarce resources (Larionova 2007; see Deriglazova and Mäkinen 2019). As for the internationalisation of research, the rationale of productivity prevails at the (supra-) national, institutional and individual levels. It can be linked to the broader academic and economic rationales and partly to the political rationale at the (supra-)national level. It has been argued that international collaboration has had ‘a positive effect on the productivity of researchers’ and on the ‘impact of research’ and ‘its quality’ (Woldegiyorgis et al. 2018: 163–5). This mix of rationales is also visible in EU-Russia cooperation in the field of research. However, the political and economic rationales, and the objective of reforming Russian HE according to a European (or Western) model, were not appreciated by all in Russian academia, as evident, for example, in resistance to the Bologna Process. As outlined already, the harmonisation of Russian HE with the EHEA was perceived as a top-down process and was opposed by a large part of Russian academia. The decision was made by the political elite (Tomusk 2007, in Telegina and Schwengel 2012: 44), a technocratic project based on the assumption that Russia should catch up with others in the competition for soft power and strengthen its human potential, and one that, despite being linked to the overall modernisation objectives directed at Russian society (Telegina and Schwengel 2012: 44), did not seek to involve societal representatives. The academic rationale prevails when we examine academic cooperation from the point of view of those directly involved at the institutional or individual level. The objectives of curriculum development, modernisation or internationalisation of Russian HE and science (Ehzroh 2016; Marquand 2009; Mercer and Zhegin 2011; Shirin 2012; Vodichev et al. 2013; Yakovlev 2005) belong to the academic rationale. Moreover, the circular link between research and education becomes evident: cooperation in research has led to cooperation in education, and those involved in the latter might hope for cooperation in the former with their partners. In some cases, government-level funding for such cooperation or the demand from the labour 306

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market for Russian graduates have functioned as an impetus for education cooperation. One of the main motivations for education cooperation has been student recruitment, for example, in the joint programmes between Russian and EU member state universities (e.g. Shenderova 2018). However, often this has been one way (from Russia to the EU), which again emphasises the asymmetrical nature of the relationship. The key discussions of EU-Russia academic cooperation may be grouped into two: the first is about the ‘European’ or ‘Western’ model of HE vs the Russian/Soviet model of HE, and the second is about equality of cooperation. The first is often discussed as a part of the identity construction of Russia and the traditional division between those who regard Russia as a European country and those who emphasise the ‘Slavic’ or ‘Eurasian’ characteristics of Russia. Some Russian scholars therefore argue that the European or Western model of HE is not suitable for Russia. The second discussion is about (a)symmetrical or (un)equal cooperation and the role of partners. Asymmetry has appeared in patterns of giving and receiving – funding, mobility, infrastructure and skills. Scholars often discuss the influence of cooperation on Russian HE, research, teachers, researchers and students, while the impact of Russia’s influence on European HE is hardly ever noted. This is part of the larger picture of the asymmetrical relationship between the EU and Russia in general, including a discussion on the ‘normative convergence’ expected from Russia (Haukkala 2010: 2). Some scholars have argued that the EU-Russian relationship has been influenced by several structural asymmetries from the very beginning (Schmidt-Felzmann 2016). We argue, based on developments in Russian domestic and foreign policy, that the EU has only partially succeeded in its goals of Europeanisation, democratisation and modernisation. Russia has implemented reforms in its HE system, formally following the Bologna criteria. Along with the reforms, a new hierarchy of HEIs has been created, with different funding opportunities coming from the state and thus varying opportunities to participate in international cooperation. At the individual and institutional levels, participants in EU-Russia academic cooperation have usually been satisfied with their experience and have emphasised the principle of ‘mutual learning’. However, institutional-level goals have not always been reached and been satisfying for the parties involved (see Deriglazova and Mäkinen 2019). If the goal of academic cooperation has been to transform Russian politics and society more broadly, then, in the short term, there is no evidence of a profound change in the direction of these declared goals and thus of success in making use of academic cooperation as a tool of soft power and public diplomacy. Nevertheless, the structural transformation of Russian academia has created new opportunities for Russian scholars and students that should not be underestimated and that should be viewed from a long-term perspective. This long-term thinking is present in the political rationale of the EU, which continues to contribute to EU-Russia academic cooperation with a strong focus on youth mobility (Delegation of the EU to Russia 2016).

Conclusions: prospects for cooperation According to some studies (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016; Gorbunova 2011), the peak of EU-Russia academic cooperation was reached by the end of the 2000s. We would argue that it was rather that the nature of the cooperation changed at that time. Many new joint programmes started in 2008–2011 with national and institutional level funding in EU member states. Moreover, in the 2000s and 2010s, new funding instruments for Russian universities appeared, including Russian state funding. Russian HEIs compensated for fewer direct EU sources of funding by obtaining support from Russian state funds. Academic cooperation has continued between the EU and Russia and individual EU countries since 2014, although sanctions (Timofeev this volume) 307

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have affected major funding instruments for academic cooperation. The political crisis has also influenced the economic situation and the image of the EU and Russia; therefore, it has also had an impact on academic cooperation. However, despite numerous asymmetries, the EU and Russia share objectives and interests in the academic sphere. This does not mean that both actors ignore each other’s political rationale in academic cooperation. Nevertheless, divergent political rationales have not been seen as a serious factor that would halt cooperation. Continued academic cooperation has to do with the rationale of the participants actually involved in academic cooperation. Although there have been and continue to be different views on whether Russia should follow the ‘European’ model within the Bologna Process or whether Russia needs something different, Russian students and academics retain a high interest in studying in the EU, and they find the experience valuable from a professional and personal point of view. Interestingly, this personal experience in reality helps to ‘bring more Europe’ to Russia and to enforce a positive image of the EU and wider European education and culture while providing a critical assessment of the imperfections of Russia and a desire to implement positive knowledge and skills to change things for the better. We still lack information on the relationship between grassroots-level cooperation and higher levels of cooperation, as well as on the relationship between academic cooperation and other spheres of EU-Russia cooperation. Yet evidence shows that cooperation in education and research help the parties to get to know each other better at the individual level, hence creating trust, which is in high deficit in EU-Russian relations at present. We advocate these issues be addressed in future research.

Notes 1 Some sections of this chapter are based on Deriglazova and Mäkinen (2019). 2 The Russian state-run project ‘5–100’ included 21 Russian HEIs with the ultimate goal to promote 5 Russian universities into the top 100 world universities.

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27 EU-Russia cultural relations and identity politics Liubov Fadeeva

Politicians like to declare the significance of culture and cultural cooperation for better understanding among peoples and for closer relations between countries, but cultural policy remains one of the most complicated spheres both for practice and for analysis. This chapter is devoted to the interrelations between the EU and Russia in the sphere of culture and is closely connected with the process of identity construction. It first examines the academic discourse on cultural cooperation, then the practice of EU-Russia cultural cooperation in the 1990s–2000s and the attempts to institutionalise it at the beginning of 2000s before moving on to discuss the problems in cultural dialogue existing not only because of political reasons after the 2014 events in Ukraine but also by reason of the different identity construction models of the EU and Russia.

Cultural policy and cultural dialogue/diplomacy Analysis of communication in the sphere of culture is always complicated by both the definition of culture itself and the interpretations of culture and cultural policy (Stoicheva 2016; Vlaemink 2017). Defining the terms ‘culture’, ‘cultural policy’, ‘cultural dialogue’ and ‘cultural diplomacy’ is a challenging endeavour for researchers and in the context of sometimes diverging, sometimes overlapping understandings, it is most helpful to see how the actors being analysed talk about them. Additionally, the comparative cultural policy research area still requires development (Webb 2009; Wiesand 2002). In terms of the political process, cultural policy does not enjoy any priority in the EU or Russia, although there have been a few initiatives. The term ‘cultural policy’ was established in the 1990s and policymaking methods included soft measures such as cooperation and coordination (Wallace 2005). Researchers note, however, a shortage of references to the intercultural dialogue even inside the European Union entity (Stoicheva 2016), notwithstanding the European Agenda for culture, proposed by the European Commission and adopted in Lisbon in 2007. (Council of the EU 2007)

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The cultural policy of the EU is connected with identity policy because one of the main purposes of cultural policy is defined as the construction of a European cultural identity. The 1973 Document on European Identity declares: The diversity of cultures within the framework of a common European civilization, the attachment to common values and principles, the increasing convergence of attitudes to life, the awareness of having specific interests in common and the determination to take part in the construction of a United Europe, all give the European Identity its originality and its own dynamism. (CVCE 2013) According to Jacques Delors (President of the European Commission 1985–1995), ‘raise the question of Europe’s cultural dimension and you also have to raise that of European identity or identities’ (1999). The cultural identity of EU citizens can also be characterised as a project: ‘the unity of European culture is not so much seen in the past, rather it is projected into the future as the result of Europe acting as a singular entity’ (Stoicheva 2016, 2017). Analysts (Stoicheva 2017; Vlaemink 2017) consider that the turn in favour of a cultural policy was made only after the Maastricht Treaty, where cultural policy was included for the ‘improvement of the knowledge and dissemination of the culture and history of the European people; conservation and safeguarding of cultural heritage of European significance; non-­commercial cultural exchanges, artistic and literary creation’ (European Union 1992: 48–9). Most experts connect cultural policy with a new EU identity policy (Bennett 2001; Cerutti 2001; Checkel and Katzenstein 2009; Lucarelli et  al. 2011; Stoicheva 2017). The targeted identity policy, including common European citizenship and a set of EU programmes, was considered by the European public and both intellectual and civic activists to be an elite project, although the focus on the cultural manifestations of European identity was helpful for promoting EU identity politics to the wider European public (Cotta 2017). The EU makes a lot of effort to establish a common European narrative based on a supposed common heritage and values for the building of a European identity. The term ‘identity politics’ has strong historical connotations with the fight of minority groups for their identities, so some EU experts search for a new term (Yuval-Davis 2006). Regarding the heritage discourse, they characterise ‘the initiatives that seek to identify and eventually find this kind of European shared past function as powerful tools in the EU’s identity politics’, or its ‘politics of belonging’ (Lähdesmäki 2019: 31). They understand this ‘politics of belonging’ as ‘an attempt to create discursive, performative, and emotional attachments to Europe and fellow people in Europe’ (Lähdesmäki 2019: 27). In Russia, the goals, principles and tasks of implementing state cultural policy are presented in ‘The Fundamentals of State Cultural Policy’ approved in 2014 (Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation 2015), while ‘The Strategy of State Cultural Policy of the Russian Federation for the Period up to 2030’ dates back to 2016 (Government of the Russian Federation 2016). The common point with the EU’s approach to culture is the significance of identity. The preamble to the Ministry of Culture’s report on the ‘Culture of Russia in 2012–2017’ quotes President Putin: ‘To preserve our identity is extremely important in the turbulent age of technological changes, it is impossible to overestimate the role of culture, which is our national civilizational code that unleashes human creative potential’ (see Efremova et al. 2018: 434). ‘Cultural diplomacy’ and ‘cultural dialogue’ are the terms used to describe how the EU and Russia interact in this area. Scholarly work here consists of comparative analysis (Bound et al. 2007)

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focused on the diplomacy of the EU and Russia (Klueva and Tsetura 2015) and the coordination of values and norms between them (Headley 2012). At the same time, researchers argue cultural diplomacy can be wielded as a kind of soft power, given that culture is not neutral in form or understandings of it and is wider than any ideology (Klueva and Tsetura 2015; Vlaemink 2017; Zonova 2013).

Historical background and forms of cultural cooperation Historically, EU-Russian cultural relations are based on long-term interactions and the mutual influence of the European and Russian cultures. Russia and EU-rope have unique historical ties, characterised in many historical and literary sources. Although in Russia an ongoing discussion exists on whether the country belongs to the Asian East or the European West, Europe and not Asia was, and still is, a mirror for the Russian intelligentsia/intellectuals with different ideological views (Fadeeva 2012). At the same time, the cultural symbols of Russia are still interesting, even exciting, for (other) European people. Belyaeva (2012) proposes analysing the practical cooperation between Russia and EU countries at two levels, the classic and the modern. The first level traditionally considers cultural those symbols of Russia which are clearly recognisable and which have enjoyed constant interest. The second level of cooperation can be attributed to the cultural symbols of Russia as a modern country (Belyaeva 2012). Cultural cooperation is examined in numerous publications devoted to the bilateral relations of Russia with European countries or are connected with that subject (Belyaeva 2012; David et al. 2013), reflecting the long history of relations between Russia and many of the EU member states. Most basic agreements between the Russian Federation and countries of the EU were signed before the implementation of the Russia-EU Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) in 1997 (exceptions being agreements with Romania [1999] and with Slovenia [2000]). Bilateral agreements included the possibility of cultural initiatives. They created the legal basis for the cooperation of museums and galleries, theatres, cultural centres, the organisation of joint exhibitions, festivals of Russian culture in Europe and vice versa. Such arrangements made way, naturally, for the emergence of new actors, too (Zamorano 2016). One of the most important public spaces for civic discussion, including cultural cooperation, was established by the Petersburg Dialogue, launched in 2001 on the joint initiative of the Russian President and Chancellor of Germany. Twelve centres of the Alliance Française were opened in various cities of Russia in 2000–2012. In 2006, the Russian cluster of the EUNIC (European Union National Institute for Culture) began its operations in Moscow; members are represented by the Austrian Cultural Forum, British Council, German Cultural Centre of Goethe, the Embassy of Sweden and French Institute in Russia. Classical forms of cooperation in culture are therefore now combined with interactions in the field of modern art, which is accompanied by the creation of a new generation of actors in cultural policy, effectively what can be called ‘cultural curators’.

The institutional framework of cultural dialogue While bilateral cooperation preceded EU-Russian relations in the sphere of culture, efforts were made early on by both Moscow and Brussels to institutionalise and systematise cultural relations. Article 85 of the Russia-EU PCA of 1994 is devoted to cultural cooperation, which is described as the ‘exchange of information and experience in the field of conservation and protection of monuments and sites (architectural heritage), to cultural exchanges between institutions, artists and other persons working in the area of culture, translation of literary works’ (EU and 314

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Russia 1994). Cooperation in this area would receive various institutional boosts in future years, although whether to any effect is highly arguable. At the beginning of the 2000s, cultural dialogue between Russia and the EU was planned as a systematic interaction and several events supported in the hope of establishing a real dialogue. At the St. Petersburg Summit of May 2003, cultural aspects were included in one of the four common spaces of cooperation between the EU and Russia. The 2005 Roadmap for the Common Space on Research, Education and Culture identified ways to implement cooperation in the field of culture and set the following objectives: To promote a structured approach to cultural cooperation between the enlarged EU and Russia, to foster the creativity and mobility of artists, public access to culture, the dissemination of art and culture, intercultural dialogue and knowledge of the history and cultural heritage of the people of Europe. (EU and Russia 2005) The link between cultural dialogue and identity construction was emphasised. The authors of the Roadmap clarified their understanding of European identity as a phenomenon based on common values combined with the promotion of cultural and linguistic diversity. The document considers the necessity ‘to develop cooperation between the cultural industries of the EU and Russia in order to increase both their cultural and economic impact’ (EU and Russia 2005). The European Agenda for Culture was adopted as a Commission Communication in May 2007 and endorsed by the Ministers of Culture in November 2007 (Council of the EU 2007) and by the European Council in December  2007 (European Council 2007). On 25 October  2007, the first Permanent Partnership Council (PPC) adopted a joint statement between the EU and Russia, which called for ‘the organisation of a high-level conference to promote contacts between EU and the Russian Federation cultural operators’ (EU and Russia 2007). The EU-Russia Joint Working Group during the 3rd Meeting supported the proposal. The European Council and Russia agreed to organise a joint high-level conference in autumn 2009 involving cultural agencies and cultural operators from the EU and Russia. Experts considered the best result the organisation of the so-called ‘cross-cultural years’ and international seminars as ‘Russia-EU signs on a road map of cultural cooperation’ (Russia-EU 2009). It was a time of hope for closer cooperation between the EU and Russia, and intensive discussions at the seminar were devoted to the role of culture both for the countries involved and for international cooperation. Daniil Dondurey, editor-in-chief of the journal Art of Cinema and a respected Russian film critic, declared: ‘I feel as if we are entering a fundamentally new area – the creation of a common cultural space with Europe’. He believed that the most important issue would be common understanding, and only then could discussions on management and cultural programmes begin (Dondurey 2009). Kirill Razlogov, Director of the Russian Institute of Art History, confirmed that effects had been felt in the form of changes in the public perception of culture’s role in society in recent years: culture could be a welcome addition to attempts to create a good neighbourhood or to preserve and enhance cooperation. He warned, however, that a conflict-free future based on cultural exchange alone is impossible and that culture could itself be a source of conflict. Culture in Europe (and everywhere else) is the main factor not just of mutual understanding, but of discord as well. . . . Conflict between civilizations burst onto the scene at the turn of the century as well. Culture replaced prevailing perceptions of universal peace with politics and ideology in becoming a source of conflict. (Razlogov 2009) 315

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Razlogov’s forecast was prescient, although arguably the insufficiency of the accompanying structural change played its part. Even in a positive era of relations between the EU and Russia, the cultural dialogue was not institutionalised; declarations were formulated in very general terms; special institutions were not established; the EU-Russia Joint Working Group could not prepare a plan for cultural cooperation. The rise of international tension and the worsening of the relations between Russia and EU after 2014 served to influence all aspects of cooperation between the two actors even more negatively.

Identity politics impact on cultural dialogue between EU and Russia Both in EU and RF documents/statements and in academic literature, there is a strong link between cultural policy and identity construction. The main point of the discussions on European identity is the idea that a political community needs a common set of values and references to ensure its coherence, to guide its actions and to endow them with legitimacy and meaning. The critical point of view on European identity construction has been ably explained, acknowledging the fact that it is an elite (political rather than cultural) project. Monnet’s apocryphal sentence – that he should really have started with culture – is ritually invoked by those who see the Union’s prime deficit as a lack of meaning and an ability to inspire loyalty, or even just ‘enthusiasm’. Intellectuals, so the argument goes, should catch up with a project that was implemented without them – but which now desperately needs them to articulate reasons for its further progress (and, ideally, a master narrative that justifies its past, its present and its future all at once). (Muller 2012) The identity question in Europe is closely related to the democratic legitimacy deficit, European citizenship, the European constitution and the increasing importance of regional identities (Selker 2004). This is due mainly to the work of those intellectuals who have analysed the processes of European identity construction, critiqued policies of identity and searched for ways to construct it in a more democratic style (Fossum 2001; Lucarelli et al. 2011). The main kind of intellectual activity is academic analysis of European integration, EU politics and governance, the European public and so on; with respect to European identity, this analysis includes the definition of identity, the correspondence between European and national identities and the background and foundations of a European identity (cultural, historical, political) (Checkel and Katzenstein 2009; Cotta 2017). European intellectuals have also been important activists, organising various actions like collective appeals against the Iraq war (from February to May 2003, protests took place in numerous capitals, such as London and Rome), for the political unity of the EU ( January 2013) and in support of the Maidan in Kyiv ( January 2014). What is especially important is that these intellectuals can differ in their aesthetic, philosophic or other points of view but nevertheless unite in their efforts to promote the humanistic traditions of Europe. In some aspects, they are severe critics of EU policy, attributing the current crisis the EU finds itself in to the result of the crisis of the neoliberal model (and global capitalism) (Badieu 2005; Zizek 2015) or as a crisis of German ‘ordoliberalism’ and Eurocrats (Habermas 2012). But Euro-optimism, as opposed to Euro-scepticism, gives them the hope of being able to reassess the European project, which is ‘not merely an institutional fantasy’ (Habermas 2012). Their analytical reports and conclusions have become the subject of public discussions which can be vibrant, especially in times of 316

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crisis. Intellectuals can raise their voices loud enough to be heard by both the public and politicians. Public intellectuals influence the debates on a European identity as a non-zero-sum game between European and national identities, and they are able to create influential intellectual communities. The ideas and opinions of people like Jurgen Habermas, Umberto Eco, Slavoy Zizek, Zigmunt Bauman and others are discussed in the public space. In a Habermasian understanding, the European public is a community of people with a civic identity and with influence over the political agenda keeping Europe alive as ‘an active utopia’ (Bauman 2014). This is a liberal picture of a European identity and European public built on a common historical basis. Such thought influences the understanding of Europe as a specific civilisation which is important for cultural cooperation (Ferrari and Tafuro Ambrosetti 2018). That the cultural heritage of Russia is a component of European culture would seem undeniable when seen through the lens of its cultural heroes, Tolstoy, Chekhov and Tchaikovsky, to name but a few, and supporting, therefore, the more positive view of Dondurey about ‘a common cultural space’. Yet there is a difference between a civic identity based on political principles versus cultural feelings of belonging (Eco 2012). Intellectuals, on the one hand, participate in various think tanks and help to define political identity; on the other hand, they have, again and again, reconstructed the tension between their vision of a good society and the political order. The classical division between intellectuals on the left and those on the right is connected with their political positions, for example, their attitude towards the welfare state, the multicultural model and the right to be different and to oppose. New demarcation lines were constructed after the so-called ‘big bang’ enlargement of Europe in 2004. Intellectuals in the new member states from East Central Europe were not ready to follow the older member state pattern of memory/heritage politics and demanded a re-writing of the historical narrative. They were not unwilling to sit as a corner-stone of memory on the Second World War Holocaust and have achieved recognition as the victims of two totalitarian regimes and in equating the Soviet regime with the Nazis in terms of their effects. Another point of division inside the EU and their intellectuals was created by the migrant crisis stimulating the rise of right-wing political forces in Europe (Bluhm 2019a). In his edited collection delivering a comparative analysis of intellectuals, Gagnon (1987) called on them to avoid a moralising tone and proposed using the terms ‘lions’ and ‘foxes’ with respect to intellectuals: ‘lions’ (liberals) try to change the order; ‘foxes’ (conservatives) try to keep it. Such a demarcation helps to escape a solely normative approach whereby the opponents of certain ideas are simply accused of being dishonest people. This is especially important now in the context of identity politics and the polarisation of debate. For new conservatives are not ‘foxes’ trying to keep the status quo. They pursue radical change in politics, including in relation to identity. Their struggle is against the multicultural and ‘political correctness’ model they regard as supported by EU. The Amsterdam-based Centre for European Renewal (CER) in May  2017 published a document entitled The Paris Declaration: A  Europe We Can Believe in, which provides a good glimpse of the basis on which European conservatives cooperate across borders. Written by ten European conservative intellectuals, the document treats ‘Russian adventurism’ and ‘Muslim immigration’ as threats to Europe, second to what they see as a far greater threat, ‘the false Europe’ of multiculturalism, reneging on its Christianity (Bluhm and Varga 2019). In the contemporary world, the construction of identity is politicised by the efforts of both politicians and public intellectuals. Despite the differences between the new right and liberal/left political forces in the EU on the question of what constitutes Europe, there is some mutually strong consideration of what Europe is not. The promotion of Europe’s identity and ‘cultural heritage turns into a promotion of values – and eventually into a promotion of liberal democratic social and political order’ (Lähdesmäki 2019: 32). After 2014, Russia is assessed by the EU as an authoritarian state; consequently it is excluded from the European space, even 317

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the cultural one. In this way, European cultural identity has become a new line of demarcation between the EU and Russia. At the same time, in Russia, Conservative public intellectuals have created the ideological field, network and meta-frame of a new Conservatism with an anti-Western and anti-European spirit. The key factor in this process is connected with ‘the return of the self-identity problem and thoughts about geopolitical space’ (Bluhm 2019b: 27). In 2013, Putin ‘asserted in his annual state of the nation a morally conservative world-view in opposition to the West’s liberal one, exposing Russia’s willingness to fight against what it considered to be the West’s normative imperialism’ (Ferrari and Tafuro Ambrosetti 2018: 138). In Russia, there is some (not an entire) consensus of politicians, including the Kremlin elite and Conservative public intellectuals (Dugin, Prokhanov, Prilepin, Mikhalkov), in criticising the European Union not only for political but also for cultural reasons. They utilise the mass media to declare the loss of Europe’s civilisational role, the threat to Christian values, destroying European traditions and culture. Their message correlates with the views and declarations of right-wing parties in Europe, in Hungary and Poland particularly (Buzogány and Varga 2019). All of them emphasise the crisis of the European Union and European politics as a result of ill-advised politics on the part of EU elites. In the new version of Russian identity politics, intellectuals are invited to participate in the construction of the idea of the Russian civilisation, its distinct manner of development, Christian values and a Russian model of statehood. Conservative ideologists propose changing the interpretation of basic values: instead of human rights – pravda (righteousness), instead of democratisation – the real power of people (Bluhm 2019b: 43). Conservative ideas are spread by means of culture: articles, books, films, television programmes. The film director Nikita Mikhalkov leads a television programme ‘Besogon’ (Exorcist) on the channel of the Russian Orthodox Church; the writer Zakhar Prilepin is the author and presenter of the television programme ‘The Lessons of the Russian’, where he teaches the lessons of Russian patriotism with a large portion of anti-Europeanism. The polarising nature of identity politics in Russia and at least parts of the EU creates a new obstacle for cultural dialogue. A new conservative turn in Russia has a certain anti-European character. Europe is portrayed as the eternal enemy of Russia. The new Russian identity politics defines Russia as the last bastion of Christian values which have been lost in Europe. This kind of identity politics contributes to the transformation of culture into a divisive factor rather than a unifying force.

Actors in EU-Russia cultural diplomacy today The Ministry of Culture of Russia (2015) notes the organisation of complex events of international cultural cooperation, such as Years, Seasons and Days of Russian Culture abroad, various Festivals of Culture and Arts and so on. Analysts of cultural cooperation describe some good results from the ‘cross cultural years’ which were organised in EU countries and Russia (the last one was the 2016 year of Russian culture in Greece and Greek culture in Russia), as well as other events such as festivals, exhibitions, conferences and seminars. Vlaemink (2017) specifies good examples of cultural cooperation, including international festivals and exhibitions in the field of music (e.g. ‘Europe through the Eyes of the Russians, Russia through the Eyes of Europeans’), cinema (e.g. the ‘27+One’ festival), theatre (e.g. the ‘Caravan of the World’ festival) and architecture (e.g. the ‘Mosconstruct’ project). The exchange programme called ‘Europe through the Eyes of the Russians, Russia through the Eyes of the Europeans’ was promoted by Vladimir Tarnopolski, a well-known composer and professor of music at the Moscow Conservatory. This 318

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project received EU sponsorship and the support of cultural centres and educational institutions in Austria, Bulgaria, France, Hungary, Italy, Latvia, Poland, Romania and the United Kingdom. A group of nine European composers wrote music related to Russia and its culture and history, while the same number of Russian composers dedicated their compositions to the nine European countries just listed (Vlaemink 2017). Classical forms of cultural cooperation between Russia and the EU such as tours and concerts, exhibitions and publishing activities are still being maintained, even after the events of 2014 which have seen so many other forms of cooperation halted (as many other chapters in this collection illustrate). For instance, a range of cultural events in 2016–2018 was organised, and the Russian Ministry of Culture initiated a new international cultural project ‘The Russian seasons of XXI Century’. In 2018, cultural events of the Russian seasons were held in Italy. 2019 was the year for Germany: the season began at the Berlin Philharmonic on 7 January 2019 with a performance of the opera ‘Iolanta’ by Pyotr Tchaikovsky, under the direction of the Artistic Director of the Mariinsky Theatre, Valery Gergiev. In 2020, France will be the host country for the seasons project. Cultural cooperation is also supported by regions, for example, in November  2018, the Perm region held the Week of Sicilia. The annual Dyagilev festival in the Perm Theatre of Opera and Ballet has become a great cultural event in recent years, thanks to the cooperation of Greek musical conductor Teodor Currentzis, who was an artistic director of the Perm theatre in 2011–2019, along with other famous cultural figures of Europe. The Diaghilev Festival in Perm usually includes a set of cultural events; in recent years, they included the premiere of the dramatic oratorio ‘Jeanne d’Arc au bucher’ by Arthur Honegger, directed by one of the most sought-after and talked-about directors in the world, Romeo Castellucci; avant-garde ballet ‘Nicht Schlafen’, created by the famous Belgian choreographer Alan Platel; and educational and club programmes. Nongovernmental organisations funded by both public and private foundations actively participate in cultural diplomacy. Two public organisations are the main implementers of cultural diplomacy efforts: the Russian Association for International Cooperation (RAMS), established in 1992, and the Russkiy Mir Foundation, established in 2007 (Klueva and Tsetsura 2015). Their work successfully targets Russian-speaking diasporas in the European Union; such NGOs have become powerful actors of cultural dialogue, though this targeting of the Russian diaspora suggests a line of division. The main efforts to promote cultural interrelations now belong to directors of museums and theatres, to the authorities responsible for cultural relations between EU and Russian regions, to cultural figures, the so-called ‘ambassadors of culture’. This suggests analysis would do well to compare cultural diplomacy with second-track diplomacy because it is realised by experts more than by state figures and institutions. Directors of large museums always search for cultural connections around the world. Mikhail Piotrovsky, Director of the Hermitage, considers the museum the most democratic institution in the world because it provides for the dialogue of cultures and even claims that the ‘Hermitage is a geopolitical player as well’ (see Kishkovsky 2019). If museums can indeed be players in the international arena, the role of their directors as actors of cultural diplomacy is understandable.

Conclusion Both the historical heritage of culture and the long-term experience of bilateral cultural cooperation between Russia and the EU member states give hope for the institutionalisation of EU-Russian cultural dialogue. The creation of the cultural policy approach in both the EU and 319

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Russia has influenced their attempts to institutionalise their relations (Sidorova 2014; Vodopyanova 2016). Political factors, however, have had an impeding effect, and the institutionalisation process was suspended (Meszaros 2016; Mulcahy 2017). In this way, the identity politics as constructed by politicians and public intellectuals creates a new obstacle for cultural cooperation. At the same time, cultural links are preserved and developed in other forms, based on bilateral cooperation between Russia and the EU member states, between twinned cities and regions, between museums, galleries, theatres and so on. It is not an exaggeration to say that every week (if not every day) in the cities of Russia, cultural events take place that are connected with European partners and European subject matter. New actors have been involved in the process, such as regional authorities and centres and NGOs (although their activity is targeted at particular spheres of culture, i.e. the support of Russian compatriots abroad). Now analysts have started saying that Russia-EU relations will have to focus on nonpolitical issues for the time being, from business ventures and technology transfers to humanitarian and cultural issues (Trenin 2019), although others have pointed out that such exchanges have long been a part of EU-Russia relations (e.g. David et al. 2013). The main role in cultural cooperation/cultural diplomacy between Russia and the EU belongs today to cultural figures and experts who propose contemporary forms of cooperation. Cultural diplomacy of the second track could keep cultural ties between EU and Russia afloat in time of troubles and hopefully in the long run will contribute to mutual understanding and an increase of mutual trust.

Acknowledgements The research for this chapter was conducted through the support of DAAD, the project ‘Social responsibility of intellectuals in a Global Context (2008–2018): Cosmopolitan Identity vs. Populism&Nationalism’, personal ref. no. 57440915.

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Lucarelli, S., Cerutti, F. & Schmidt, F. (eds.) (2011) Debating Political Identity and Legitimacy in the European Union, London: Routledge. Meszaros, E.L. (2016) ‘The EU-Russia “Uncommon” Spaces, Stereotypes and Growing Russophobia: Does Cultural Diplomacy Stand a Chance in Shaping the Future EU-Russia Relations’, in A. Stoica and I. Horga (eds.), Culture and Paradiplomatic Identity: Instruments in Sustaining EU Policies, Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Publishing, pp. 52–68. Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation (2015) Osnovy gosudarsnvennoi kul’turnoi politiki, Moscow: Ministry of Culture of the Russian Federation. Mulcahy, K.V. (2017) Public Culture, Cultural Identity, Cultural Policy: Comparative Perspectives, New York: Palgrave Macmillan. Muller, J.-W. (2012) ‘The failure of European intellectuals’, available at www.eurozine.com/articles/201204-11-muller-en.html (accessed 30 April 2018). Razlogov, K. (2009) ‘Russia and EU cultural partnership in the context of modern-day geopolitics’, available at http://cultureworkshop2009.iis.ru/agenda (accessed 30 October 2017). Russia-EU (2009) International Workshop. Russia-European Union: Signs on the Road Map of Cultural Cooperation, Moscow, 9 December 2009, available at http://cultureworkshop2009.iis.ru/agenda (accessed 14 January 2020). Selker, O. (2004) ‘The Limits of European Integration: the Question of European Identity’, Ankara Avrupa Calismalari Dergisi 3(2): 27–38. Sidorova, E. (2014) ‘EU-Russia Cultural Relations’ Rethinking EU-Russia Cooperation’, International Organisational Research Journal 9(3): 68–82. Stoicheva, M. (2016) European Identity. Theoretical Dilemmas and Analytical Approaches, Sofia: Sofia University Press. Stoicheva, M. (2017) ‘The Relative Geography of Identity Conflicts: Modes and Representation in the context of European Integration’, Journal of Conflict and Integration 1(1): 92–112. Trenin, D. (2019) ‘Russia Facing Europe: a Provisional Road Map’, Carnegie, available at https://carnegie. ru/commentary/80014 (accessed 29 October 2019). Vlaemink, E. (2017) ‘Reconceptualising culture in times of trouble: EU-Russia cultural cooperation and dialogue beyond the Ukraine crisis’, Gosudarstvennoye Upravlenie, issue 65, available at https://cyber leninka.ru/article/n/reconceptualising-culture-in-times-of-trouble-eu-russia-cultural-cooperationand-dialogue-beyond-the-ukraine-crisis (accessed 23 March 2021). Vodopyanova, E. (2016) ‘Sotrudnichestvo Evropeiskogo Soyuza I Rossii v sfere kul’tury’, Vestnik Tomskogo universiteta 2(220): 37–44. Webb, M. (2009) ‘Shaping a common approach to the development of long-term cooperation between Russia and the EU in the field of culture’, available at http://cultureworkshop2009.iis.ru/agenda (accessed 30 April 2019). Wiesand, A. (2002) ‘Comparative Cultural Policy Research’, Canadian Journal of communication, 27, available at www.ericart.org/web/files/86/en/wiesand.pdf (accessed 2 March 2019). Yuval-Davis, N. (2006) ‘Belonging and the Politics of Belonging’, Patterns of Prejudice 40(3): 197–214. Zamorano, M.M. (2016) ‘Reframing Cultural Diplomacy: The Instrumentalization of Culture under the Soft Power Theory’, Culture Unbound 8(2): 166–86. Zizek, S. (2015) Trouble in Paradise. From the End of History to the End of Capitalism, London: Penguin Book. Zonova, T.V. (2013) ‘Cultural diplomacy as a soft power tool in the EU-Russia relations’, Cultural Diplomacy, available at www.culturaldiplomacy.org/academy/content/pdf/participant-papers/2013-06-iscditaly/Dr._Tatiana_Zonova (accessed 20 May 2019).

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28 Unsocial media in the EU and Russia Maxine David

In its 2018 report on the state of EU-Russia political relations, the European Parliament condemned Russia for its use of disinformation campaigns, referring specifically to Russia’s use of social media to interfere in the affairs of EU member states (European Parliament 2018). As a space, therefore, in which existing tensions in the EU-Russia relationship are played out, attention to social media is warranted. However, as ‘Internet-based applications’ (Kaplan in van Dijck and Poell 2013), social media are caught up in arguments about the future of internet governance generally, such that, when it comes to social media, EU-Russia relations exist within a wider context. Each actor is just two among an array of actors facing similar challenges as technology develops in such a way and at such a pace as to outstrip the capacity of any governmental actor to anticipate or control fully developments in the information space. The EU and Russia have responded in ways that are not necessarily bound up in their mutual relations. Their separate responses nevertheless illuminate the relationship, particularly with respect to their political and normative differences and how they act on behalf of their societies in terms of reinforcing democracy or undermining it. ‘[D]esigned to facilitate social interaction and for using, developing and diffusing information through society’ (Kavanaugh et al. 2012: 482), social media are spaces in which a range of actors, including governmental, can insert themselves in both transparent and opaque ways. This explains the resurgence of political, scholarly and journalistic work on propaganda, misand disinformation (Bennet and Livingstone 2018; Helmus et  al. 2018; McGeehan 2018; Nimmo 2016). This agenda is driven by the actions of Russia, the dogwhistle tactics of certain EU leaders and politicians (witness the conspiratorial discourse of Italy’s Matteo Salvini on the ‘genocide of the Italian people’ or Hungary’s Orban on ‘Islamic expansion’) and by the Trump administration and associated claims of ‘fake news’. This chapter proceeds as follows. It first considers the literature regarding what social media are, talking through the platforms and their ‘ecological’ environment, the context in which they and their users operate. This first section also examines the evolution of social media research, from earlier preoccupations with identifying users1 to more recent research concerned with patterns of and motivations for usage, as well as the response of governments to developments here. The chapter then moves to a discussion of Russian attempts to manipulate EU societies using social (and other) media before looking at the separate responses in Russia and in the EU 323

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to the challenges brought by technological changes impacting on information, democracy, the public sphere and political participation. Here, the role of corporations is also considered, an important conversation for understanding the values debate in relation to the EU and Russia.

Social media – context and ecology It is worth cementing understandings of what social media are, given a noticeable lack of time is spent on defining them (Lomborg 2017). First, their base on the internet means social media form part of an interconnected system, meaning policy relating to internet governance has implications for social media; indeed, such media often occasion the need for regulatory mechanisms. Second, social media are applications or, better, platforms that allow ordinary people to self-publish, facilitating ‘the creation and exchange of user-generated content’ (Kaplan in van Dijck and Poell 2013; see also Bennett and Segerberg 2012; Lomborg 2017; Shirky 2011). A third definitional aspect is that social media are platforms for building hierarchical or horizontal connections among people. Motivations may be purely social, with social media used for building and maintaining social relationships (Valenzuela 2013), what Van Dijck and Poell (2013) refer to as ‘connectedness’ and Boulianne (2019) as ‘networking’. Social media platforms have been focused on, too, for their role as a place where people read and exchange news (Boulianne 2019; Lomborg 2017; Valenzuela 2013), as well as a forum for political participation or expression (Bennett and Segerberg 2012; Boulianne 2019: 40; Valenzuela 2013). Finally, social media are used for information sharing (Bennett and Segerberg 2012; Boulianne 2019; Shirky 2011; Valenzuela 2013). Social media platforms are therefore fora for citizens to self-publish, exchange information, communicate and build communal connections, including politically directed networks. The latter two aspects particularly have centred societies in EU-Russian relations, as well as state– society relations  – with many EU states concerned about Russian state-sponsored attempts to influence the information shared on social media (Willemo 2019: 16–17) with a view to ‘erod[ing] the EU countries’ internal consensus’ (Liik 2018: 7); while the 2011 and 2012 antiregime protests in Russia meant the ‘state began to narrate the Internet as a Western subversive technology . . . and ultimately a threat to Russian society that needs to be controlled and curtailed’ (Budnitsky and Jia 2018: 606). In terms of what social media might be researched, a distinction can be made between those social media that allow people to self-publish and connect versus social media messaging apps such as Whatsapp, Telegram or Signal that allow connections (although the end-to-end encryption of the latter two make them invaluable applications for organising political activity without fear of state surveillance) but which are not used for the creation and publication of user content. In the EU-Russian context, the major social media platforms, Facebook, Instagram and Twitter are used in the EU states and Russia and therefore offer scope for the building of cross-national social connections. Russian social media platforms, Vkontakte (equivalent to Facebook), Odnoklassniki and My World are used (the latter two much less so) in Russia but, while not restricted to Russia, are not in common use across the EU states by non-Russian EU citizens. Unsurprisingly, given their reach, Facebook and Twitter garner the lion’s share of general analytical attention, 2016 statistics showing that approximately 80 per cent of Facebook users and 72 per cent of Twitter accounts are located outside the United States (Alexa.com in Boulianne 2019: 41). While the platforms can be investigated individually, they exist in a broader set of communications, both online and offline. Scholars argue for an ecological mindset when working in this area. Tufekci and Wilson (2012), for instance, argue social media must be placed in relation to 324

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wider changes in political communication: ‘the connectivity infrastructure should be analyzed as a complex ecology rather than in terms of any specific platform or device’ (2012: 365). Others have made a different but connected point about the limits of what is analytically possible if the intent is to establish the effect of a single social medium upon its users. Boulianne cautions that: Given the seamless use of multiple platforms, it is difficult to distinguish the use of specific platforms. While platform effects seem to be a promising line of future research, the challenge will be untangling the effects of specific platforms given the interconnectedness of their uses. (2019: 49) Others have focused on these interconnections. Lokot (2018) reveals how Russian opposition activists understand the importance of social media in generating a public profile but also, in the context of the ‘networked authoritarian regime’ (see also Maréchal 2017) operated in Russia, focus on their own security, hosting some material abroad and using whatever tools the internet provides to highlight their causes. This is consistent with other studies focused on how social media are used in protest situations, the method used for accessing the platforms, for example, computer, mobile or both, as well as other connectivity tools, text, television and so on (see Tufekci and Wilson 2012). Thus, social media are an important part of the online world but precisely that, a part of it, meaning analysis of social media necessarily strays beyond those media alone. Underlining the ecology of technological communications, studies have found that social media function as channels of communication to traditional media, sometimes even setting ‘mainstream’ media agendas.2 Traditional media can also have amplifying effects. However, in their useful overview of how social media have evolved, McCay-Peet and Quan-Haase (2017) make the powerful point that we are talking of a highly dynamic area, that context is all important. This is a point underlined by Lomborg (2017: 8) too, who also argues for more conceptually directed research that is critically and historically rooted. There is therefore a limit to how far conclusions drawn in any one context can be deemed applicable to another – relevant counsel for the study of EU-Russian social media relations. Such caution is doubly warranted given the fast pace at which social media analysis has shifted. In the context of arguments that social media were democratising tools, earlier accounts were concerned with the demographics of internet access and social media usage: typically, questions revolved around whether usage differed along gender, age, education and other lines and what this meant for representation. In the context of EU-Russia relations, this was especially true in the Russian, rather than EU, case (David 2015). At the current time, given internet penetration rates are far higher,3 aided by developments in mobile technology, especially 4G, analysis takes internet access – and therefore social media access – across all the people in ­EU-Russia relations far more for granted. The bigger questions debated revolve around the role and influence of a wide variety of actors – whether governmental or non-governmental. Additional preoccupations are how people use social media, to what effect, the impact of corporatism on social media and therefore democracy and recently created citizen journalists. It is worth adding here the voices of the social media platforms themselves. Vkontakte’s ‘mission is to connect people, services and companies by creating simple and convenient communication tools’ (Vkontakte n/d). In 2017, Facebook changed its mission statement from one that spoke of ‘making the world more open and connected’ to one in which the stated aim is to ‘give people the power to build community and bring the world closer together’ (Zuckerberg 2017). But are social media platforms really empowering people? 325

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Social media’s dwindling democratising potential Given the nature of the media under examination – that is, the social world – it is unsurprising that questions of power feature. Questions about whether technological advances like the internet and, later, social media, could facilitate the building of a more politically participative citizenry became particularly acute in the aftermath of the so-called Arab Spring of 2011, in which social media were widely reported as having contributed to this showing of democratic spirit. Work focused on the capacity of social media to put pressure on authoritarian regimes (Tufekci and Wilson 2012), offering a new space in which to organise opposition and express opinions. The tale was largely one of social media empowering people to tell their own story in their own way, using self-gathered evidence, relaying it in real time (Van Dijck and Poell 2013). Facebook was an important first source of information about the 2011 Egyptian protests, also playing host to documentary photographs and videos. Both Twitter and blogs were important media for keeping others informed about events as they occurred (Tufekci and Wilson 2012: 374). All ideas of the democratising potential of social media have been tempered by evidence that governments are alive to this potential (Bruns 2019; Shirky 2011; Tufekci and Wilson 2012; van Dijck and Poell 2013). The Arab Spring engendered feelings of vulnerability in some, including among ‘Russian leaders, who are seeking to impose strict regulation on the internet infrastructure and social networks’ (Nocetti 2015: 112), impelled by their own experience of protests at home, especially in 2011–12, which ‘[p]opular and media discourse framed . . . as a revolt of the networked online public’ (Budnitsky and Jia 2018). But governments of all persuasions have understood social media potentially expose government and society to risk, provoking repressive responses. Positive accounts exist, of course, of how social media, as sources of information, can facilitate exchange of knowledge, perception or need, of concerns and experience. Kavanaugh et al. (2012) point out that governments can access huge amounts of information about their citizens, extending their reach with a view to providing better services (see also Van Dijck and Poell 2013: 10). Such accounts are outweighed, though, by those who consider the ways in which governments use social media against rather than for their citizens. Fuchs (2012) reminds us of responses to the 2011 riots in England in which government and mainstream media talked of social media as the causes of the riots, distracting from the economic and political root causes. Thus, social media became a scapegoat for poor policy rather than a platform to build more responsive policies (see also van Dijck and Poell 2013; and Zollmann in Klaehn et al. 2018: 184–5). Other governmental responses are deeper and more extensive, China a common reference point for showing what governments are capable of in this regard (see Xu and Albert 2017). But it is clear that a far wider range of citizens are vulnerable to injurious government responses: Social media manipulation is big business. Since 2010, political parties and governments have spent more than half a billion dollars on the research, development, and implementation of psychological operations and public opinion manipulation over social media. In a few countries this includes efforts to counter extremism, but in most countries this involves the spread [sic] junk news and misinformation during elections, military crises, and complex humanitarian disasters. (Bradshaw and Howard 2018: 3) In their report, Bradshaw and Howard identified evidence of political parties employing consulting firms to ‘use social media to manipulate public opinion’ (2018: 9) in 14 countries, including 326

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Austria, Poland and the United Kingdom, while Russia employed ‘tech savvy youth . . . to support social media manipulation efforts’ (ibid.). In just short of a decade, analysis of social media has made a journey from optimism that ordinary people can both exercise and enhance their democratic rights to concerns about how they are the subject of manipulation by both governmental (including Russia and some EU states) and corporate actors on those very platforms supposed to ‘emancipate’ them. Analysts have also noted the fragmenting effects of social media: ‘social networks . . . have actually increased the tendency of people to polarize along group and even tribal lines’ (Barabanov et al. 2018: 17). As far as the Russian landscape is concerned, this is a development out of step with a Kremlin that ‘continues to create a unipolar political space within Russia’ (Morozov 2008: 173). But for a Kremlin intent on eroding democracy and sowing confusion elsewhere, such media are important instruments. For an EU concerned about the susceptibility of their citizenry to conspiracy theories, mis- and disinformation and fake news, malign intentions on the part of the Kremlin combined with a public largely lacking good information literacy make for a perfect storm.

Social media as a battleground In the ECFR 2018 Power Audit, 18 of the then-28 member states were reported as fearing Russian interference in their domestic politics through propaganda. Boyd-Barrett (in Klaehn et al. 2018: 174) spoke of how in the 2017–2018 period or so he was focused on ‘some of the most significant propaganda wars of our times’, most of which Russia had been part of and which successfully sowed doubt regarding what constitutes a reliable source. Others also echo the language of war, Giles (n.d.) referring to Russia’s ‘information warfare’. Direct lines to the Kremlin are not always easy to establish, but, whether directly or through tacit permission, consensus abounds: the Kremlin enacts (or allows) disinformation and propaganda policies, mixing truth and fiction in a near-perfect concoction designed to instil doubt in the mind of the public (Helmus et al. 2018; Hug 2017; Soldatov and Borogan 2015). While the St Petersburg troll factory is known to most, it is just one of a ‘network of troll farms’ (Giles n/d: 10). Trolls and bots are used to disseminate and augment mis- and disinformation on social media sites (Willemo 2019), the Kremlin and its proxies understanding all too well the relationship between traditional and social media and its amplifying effects, especially given the increasingly cluttered but fragmented information environment. There are numerous cases that illustrate Russian activity seeking to divide society in EU member states, many exploiting existing vulnerabilities. The so-called migration crisis was a particular case in point, exemplified by the 2016 fake ‘Lisa’ story in Germany, where Muslim migrants were accused of raping a Russian–German girl, a story amplified over RT Deutsch as well as social media and attracting attention beyond Russian state media in Germany and elsewhere. Further, Russia is deemed to have used social media to manipulate publics in elections in France, Germany, the United Kingdom’s EU referendum and the Catalan vote on secession from Spain (McGeehan 2018: 52; Chernenko in this volume). Other tactics look mischievous rather than malicious, such as the taking over of a Swedish television station’s Twitter account in 2015 to relay Russian information (Giles n/d: 10). But not all those who fall victim to Russia’s ‘information war’ do so unwillingly. Orban’s Hungary is regarded as consenting to Russian state capture, among other things, by inviting Russian disinformation through the establishment and part funding of a Russkiy Mir Centre in 2017 (see Krekó and Győri 2017). The EU, albeit slowly, has responded to Russian interference. In March 2015, the European Council (2015) instructed the high representative to develop an action plan in response 327

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to Russian disinformation. From this emerged a communication team (East StratCom), which identified a relative vulnerability in the eastern neighbourhood and a need to bolster the general media environment (EastStratCom 2015). Strengthening the message of EU unity against the Kremlin’s assault on the information space, the European Parliament delivered its own report outlining its own concerns, 5 of its 24 points speaking to questions of information, journalism, censorship and their impact on civil society (European Parliament 2015). In 2019, the budget for the EEAS’s strategic communications was doubled, to 5 million EUR, part of it allocated to increasing staffing, to work in Brussels as well as the delegations. Despite this, it remained unclear whether the East StratCom Team was an effective way of managing the problem. In the longer term, we would want to see research focused on perceptions of the EU as a propaganda actor itself: what has been, in Bjola’s words (2018) the impact on the EU’s ‘moral authority’? Meanwhile, in March 2019, the establishment of the Rapid Alert System saw the EU joining forces with the G7 and NATO to ‘identify and prevent spread of disinformation campaigns’ online, including through social media (European Commission 2019). The year before, the Social Observatory for Disinformation and Social Media Analysis (SOMA) was launched after receiving the EU’s H2020 funding. In process terms, it bears some resemblance to the East Stratcom team in that it also asks people to report on disinformation. However, its objectives are wider, addressing many of the criticisms levelled at the EU approach so far. It is well resourced, for example, in terms of applications to verify content, and embodies the widening actorness talked about so much in the social media literature, bringing universities, media organisations, tech and consulting companies and civil society organisations (SOMA 2019a) under an umbrella organisation that demarcates independent members from policymakers. To cement its structural base, in May 2019, it launched the EU Centre for Research in Social Media and Information (EU REMID) (SOMA 2019a). Perhaps most notably, by funding SOMA, we see the EU turning from a dominant focus on identifying and countering Russian disinformation on social and other media to looking inward, too, examining interactions on social media among Italian political parties and their Twitter followers, for instance (SOMA 2019b). While unlikely to have any effect in terms of improving EU-Russia relations, the revised approach has two benefits. First, it suggests the EU realises Russia is not the only source of disinformation EU citizens encounter on social media. Second, it represents a more sensible approach to improving the social media landscape for EU citizens. This is much needed considering a 2018 Eurobarometer report revealed a very low level of trust (26 per cent averaged across the EU) in the news EU citizens read on their online social networks and messaging apps, albeit with considerable differences among the member states (Flash Eurobarometer 464 2018: 4; 9). SOMA is a relatively new actor in the EU environment, so its efficacy is undetermined, but the EU’s reinvigorated approach to the information space and to the regulation of social media companies gives some cause for optimism.

Regulating the online world As already intimated, state actors are not the only sources of threat to the EU or Russia. Both have fought battles to ensure they can assert some control over the internet and social media companies. Both share misgivings about the hegemony of the United States, whether the US state with respect to internet governance or its corporations with respect to social media platforms. The damage to democracy that corporations can do was highlighted in the Cambridge Analytica scandal, a prime example of how certain logics, in this case capitalist economics, function to depress democratising potential. With access gained to huge data sets of social media users, the consulting firm Cambridge Analytica used algorithms to mine the data harvested from social media, much 328

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of it from Facebook,4 categorising groups of people in order to micro-target social media users in the United Kingdom’s referendum on EU membership and in the 2016 US elections. Such use of proprietary knowledge makes it impossible to know precisely how users are being steered or by whom. The scandal is important for revealing the microtargeting but also outlines a pattern of dubious behaviour on Facebook’s part, its tendency to attempt to ‘divert attention from its own business practices’ and to employ strategies that ‘by accident or design also severely undermine critical, independent, public-interest research’ (Bruns 2019: 5); analysis supported by Broudy, who speaks of the interesting nature of social media in relation to propaganda and commercial logics, commenting that ‘there isn’t much profit in truth-telling’ (Klaehn et al. 2018: 181–2). Despite, widely speaking, converging concerns about regulation of the information and social media space, the EU and Russian responses have diverged. Russia has been a consistently vocal voice on internet governance, failing in its 2012 attempts to secure revision of the International Telecommunication Regulations that govern the internet, in order to ensure the influence of multiple stakeholders, the EU voting against the revisions. Russia has participated in the global Internet Governance Forum (IGF) since its inception and the regional group of IGFs since 2010. It has also been concerned with ensuring social media platforms, including nonRussian, are subject to Russian regulatory forces and, even without this, has sought to compel social media companies such as Facebook and Twitter to remove content (see Vendil Pallin 2017: 11–12). More recently, it has taken steps at home to assert its sovereignty over the internet, as discussed in more detail later. The European Commission became seized of the matter in a different way; witness the 2018 General Data Protection Regulation (GDPR), important for social media since it affects how online companies, including social media platforms, collect user data. This is a point much understood by the EU, as its 2017 antitrust case against Google (European Commission 2017) and the launch of its probe into Facebook and Google in late 2019 (EUObserver 2019) attest. However, the effectiveness of the GDPR is much questioned as a result of little evidence the EU is enforcing it against Big Tech, suggesting ‘the EU Parliament might have the greatest domain knowledge and political will to act’, but it ‘has little actual leverage over the platforms’ (Bruns 2019: 15). Clearly, social media do not form a landscape in which transparency abounds, to the detriment of democracy, given an ‘open public discourse is one of the basic conditions of democracy, because this is how citizens can discuss their common matters, form political opinions and ultimately reach a political decision’ (European Parliament 2019: 11). The EU has focused increasingly on protecting citizens, conscious that they make themselves more vulnerable to malign intentions by providing, largely unwittingly in terms of understanding how they might be used, data about their preferences, politics, family and friends. Facebook’s Mark Zuckerberg has acknowledged that online regulation is unavoidable but has also correctly identified the fact that questions abound regarding: ‘which nation’s values are going to determine what speech is going to be allowed for decades to come’ (in Brandom 2019). The existing differences between the EU and Russia are, as in other areas explored in this Handbook, brought sharply into focus.

Russia’s approach Russia offers evidence to support theoretical arguments about how governments can subvert the democratising potential of social media, with recent developments sparking speculation about the internet environment and, by extension, social media. Russia has used its membership of the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation and BRICS to drive an ‘Internet sovereignty narrative’ (Budnitsky and Jia 2018: 600; David 2018) abroad, while enacting it at home through a 329

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November 2019 bill, known as the internet sovereignty bill. Once fully implemented, it will mean all internet activity passes through state-controlled points, such that the state will be able to block content and identify the origin of traffic. Its critics rightly argue it threatens online freedom, while the Kremlin argues it is justified given the CIA origins of the internet and the freedoms it offers (Soldatov and Borogan 2015). These are merely the latest official developments in a longer pattern of increasing surveillance: from the System for Operative Investigative Activities (SORM), allowing the interception of information; to the 2012 creation of the Federal Supervision Agency for Information Technologies and Communications (Roskomnadzor), authorised to blacklist and block sites; to laws such as the so-called Yarovaya’s Law, ostensibly a tool in the fight against terrorism but used to require certain surveillance actions of telecoms providers, including decryption, as well as retention of data in Russia (see David 2015, 2018); or the 2017 legislation forbidding access to proxies, such as VPNs, that allow citizens anonymous access to banned information or sites. These efforts have had mixed effects. Soldatov and Borogan (2015: 314) point out that Russian internet companies have responded to Kremlin threats by capitulating, that threats can achieve self-censorship. Nevertheless, the Kremlin has not always successfully established control: few VPN providers complied with Roskomnadzor’s demands and, famously, neither did Telegram’s Chief, Durov. Having failed to force Telegram to deliver on decryption requirements, the Kremlin was then forced to halt its far from granular attempts to block the app after unintentionally blocking a host of other services, with an attendant effect on regular business and economic activities (Kolomychenko 2018). Equally, Russian citizens proved creative, themselves installing VPNs to prevent geo-blocking and ensure encryption. The latest legislation is a response, however, to such resistance. It empowers the state to cut Russia off from the outside world through the creation of a local domain name server system. This ‘splinter-net’ will likely reduce the reach of Russian citizen journalism in the types of crisis moments in which such an instrument might be used (Gershkovich 2019), as was the case in the 2011–12 protests. Whether the deep packet inspection tools required to achieve the granularity missing from the 2018 action against Telegram can be made effective still remains to be seen. Nevertheless, the intention – both to censor and silence Russian users of social media – is significant and sets Russia on a quite different path to that advocated in Brussels, although the same cannot be said for all the member states.

EU member states EU member states may not have gone so far as Russia but they also give cause for concern as the European Parliament (2019) has remarked. The latest policies and legal measures developed at the Member State and the EU level to tackle disinformation and propaganda have been collected and analysed . . . including the German Network Enforcement Act, the French Act against Informational Manipulation and the Italian law against fake news, along with the co-regulatory initiative between the French government and Facebook. . . . The analysis finds that the legal restriction of content may pose a greater harm to democracy than disinformation itself. In the German case, legislation policing social media companies came into force in 2018, requiring them to remove hate speech and propaganda in 24 hours. In France, President Macron introduced legislation in 2018, conferring power upon the judiciary to remove ‘fake news’ in an election period, occasioned by concerns of Russian interference in the United Kingdom’s EU 330

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referendum and also by the dumping of email data from Macron’s party just before the presidential elections, with many suspecting a Russian hand there, too. Further, in late 2018, Facebook announced a time-limited experiment in co-regulation, giving French authorities access and insight into the platform’s content policies and how it polices hate speech. In 2018, Facebook also announced an initiative directed at allaying Italian fears, this time through fact-checking on the Italian side, Facebook hosting a corrective piece where necessary. Such moves diverge from the Russian approach but remain vulnerable to much criticism, including for ceding too much ground to the social media companies. However, it is on the grounds of subjectivity of interpretation and consequent censorship that citizens should be concerned, as illustrated in the UK case. In June 2019, experts of different nationalities came together with a view to ‘[examining] the similarities and differences between the approach being taken by Russia, the UK and a number of EU member states in managing the online lives of their citizens’. Organised in the context of the British Government’s White Paper on Online Harms, the seminar focused on what the United Kingdom could learn from Russian experiences in using child protection laws to regulate (inhibit) freedom of expression online (Foreign Policy Centre 2019). The White Paper proposed that a new regulator be established, with the power to create codes of practice, to sanction (including forcing withdrawal of services and blocking ISP access) offending online platforms and to initiate legal proceedings against the relevant executives (GOV.UK 2019). Those familiar with the 2012 creation and subsequent actions of Roskomnadzor will recognise clear similarities in this securitisation of the online environment. That the United Kingdom is a vastly freer society and largely seen as operating a governmental structure prohibiting the wrongful exercise of power5 is beside the point. The seminar functioned as an important moment in which observers were reminded about the dangers of complacency6 and of the fact that lessons learned in the Russian environment are not applicable to that space alone.

Concluding remarks A stark absence considering the social world focused on in the previous discussion has been in relation to people-to-people contacts. The vast majority of attention is focused in the ­EU-Russia case not on how social media can connect peoples but rather on how Russia has utilised a range of instruments with no particular goal except to erode the trust of EU citizens in their own state, in democracy and information. Equally, scholarly and political attention has been seized by responses to such actions in the EU and recognition that EU member states are no less susceptible to securitising logics than Russia, although it should be emphasised in order to avoid any impression of equivalence that EU states are largely more politically constrained in terms of levels of scrutiny and challenge to governmental attempts to restrict online freedoms. Nevertheless, considering some of the democratic backsliding already seen in some EU states, Brussels has no room to be complacent that its vision of the social media environment – and information space more widely – will be realised and democratic values visibly realised for EU citizens in their social media interactions. There is at least a sign in the last two years or so of Brussels realising this. Future research should continue to focus on the EU institutions and developments in relation to regulatory mechanisms, content verification processes and counterpropaganda projects. Meanwhile, after years of attempts to build support at the international level to temper the dominance of the United States over internet governance, Russia’s domestic policies in relation to social media share more differences than similarities with the EU approach, even while falling short of the relatively repressive Chinese model of internet governance. Still, a continued focus 331

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on the Russian information space, especially asking questions relating to social media platforms, their place in the information and communications ecology and their democratising potential, is very much required. This therefore remains a ripe space for analysis, both on account of understanding processes in the EU and Russia separately and the impact on external perceptions of both actors. Equally, the ‘information war’, fought on social as well as other media, warrants continued attention. This is a space in which EU-Russia relations could easily deteriorate further or improve enormously – the direction of travel resting in Russian (Kremlin) hands. As with so many aspects of EU-Russia relations, therefore, this is a story still very much in the writing.

Notes 1 Those interested in internet penetration issues can usefully access sources such as the ITU, comScore or statista.com. Other sources, such as Alexa, sit behind paywalls. 2 For arguments regarding how Facebook and Twitter fed Al-Jazeera and other media, such that: ‘This emerging communication system [. . .] profoundly transformed the Arab public sphere’, see Tufekci and Wilson (2012: 367). 3 According to the International Telecommunications Union (2018) 80.86  per cent of Russians were internet users in 2018, up from 70.52 in 2014. EU countries in 2018 varied: France 82.04 per cent, Germany 89.74, Portugal 74.66 and United Kingdom 94.9. 4 Cadwalladr has written extensively on this for The Guardian over a number of years. See also the documentary The Great Hack. 5 See Freedom House for country reports: https://freedomhouse.org/report/freedom-world/freedomworld-2018 6 See also the work of Index for Censorship.

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McGeehan, T.P. (2018) ‘Countering Russian disinformation’, Parameters 48(1): 49–57. Online at https:// search.proquest.com/docview/2062950905?pq-origsite=gscholar (accessed 10 January 2020). Morozov, V. (2008) ‘Sovereignty and democracy in contemporary Russia: a modern subject faces the postmodern world’, Journal of International Relations and Development 11: 152–80). Nimmo, B. (2016) Countering Disinformation: an ABC, Policy Brief, Issue 2016/01 – February 2016, Institute for European Studies, Vrije Universiteit Brussel. Nocetti, J. (2015) ‘Contest and conquest: Russia and global internet governance’, International Affairs 91(1): 111–30. Shirky, C. (2011) ‘The Political Power of Social Media’, Foreign Affairs January/February, available at www. foreignaffairs.com/articles/2010-12-20/political-power-social-media (accessed 1 August 2019). Soldatov, A. and Borogan, I. (2015) The Red Web, New York: Public Affairs. SOMA (2019a) ‘The observatory’, available at www.disinfobservatory.org/the-observatory/ (accessed 3 January 2020). SOMA (2019b) ‘SOMA project newsletter – issue #3’, available at https://mailchi.mp/651153c38aae/ soma-newsletter-no3?e=%5BUNIQID%5D (accessed 3 January 2020). Tufekci, Z. and Wilson, C. (2012) ‘Social media and the decision to participate in political protest: observations from Tahrir Square’, Journal of Communication 62: 363–79. Valenzuela, S. (2013) ‘Unpacking the use of social media for protest behavior: the roles of information, opinion expression, and activism’, American Behavioral Scientist 57(7): 920–42. Van Dijck, J. and Poell, T. (2013) ‘Understanding social media logic’, Media and Communication 1(1): 2–14. Vendil Pallin, C. (2017) ‘Internet control through ownership: the case of Russia’, Post-Soviet Affairs 33(1): 16–33. Vkontakte (n/d) ‘Company info’, available at https://vk.com/about (accessed 1 August 2019). Willemo, J. (2019) Trends and Developments in the Malicious Use of Social Media, Riga: NATO Stratcom COE. Xu, B. and Albert, E. (2017) ‘Media censorship in China’, Council on Foreign Relations, available at www. cfr.org/china/media-censorship-china/p11515 (accessed 1 August 2019). Zuckerberg, M. (2017) ‘Bringing the world closer together’, Facebook, 22 June, available at www.facebook. com/zuck/posts/10154944663901634 (accessed 1 August 2019).

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29 Epistemic communities in EU-Russia relations A dialogue of the deaf? Sabine Fischer

After seven years of geopolitical conflict, the EU and Russia are not likely to return to the status quo ante which existed before the outbreak of the Russian-Ukrainian crisis in 2014. As a matter of fact, relations had been on a downward slope for at least a decade before they went over the cliff with the Russian annexation of Crimea in March 2014. At stake is no less than the reconceptualisation of the relationship (Liik 2019). In such situations of uncertainty, epistemic communities can play a constructive role by providing policymakers with ideas and connecting to counterparts across borders to foster dialogue, trust and common understanding. This chapter investigates epistemic contacts between foreign policy expert communities in the EU and Russia. Based on the analysis of developments since the 1990s, it concludes that, while epistemic dialogue is ongoing, previous hope for the emergence of epistemic communities which could support, among other things, rapprochement and integration at the political level, has not come to pass.

Epistemic communities – the concept Peter M. Hass defined epistemic communities as networks ‘of professionals with recognised expertise and competence in a particular domain and an authoritative claim to policy-relevant knowledge within that domain or issue-area’ (Haas 1992: 3). He specifies that epistemic communities need not necessarily consist of professionals subscribing to the same methodology. Rather, they include scientists who share the ‘belief or faith in the verity and the applicability of particular forms of knowledge or specific truths’; in other words, ‘a “thought collective” – a sociological group with a common style of thinking’ (ibid.). The concept of epistemic communities in the IR literature focuses on their connection to policymaking. Epistemic communities can play a role ‘in articulating the cause-and-effect relationships of complex problems, helping states identify their interests, framing the issues for collective debate, proposing specific policies, and identifying salient points for negotiations’ (Haas 1992: 2). The knowledge generated by epistemic communities is informed by their respective and shared world views. Epistemic communities can operate on the national and the transnational levels. Whether they have an impact on policymaking in their respective fields depends on international and national structural realities: on the nature of decision-making processes and on the openness of decision-makers to 335

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expert advice. The latter, it is assumed, is particularly strong in situations of uncertainty when epistemic communities can take on different functions: they can explain complex situations, they can help define the self-interest of a state or faction and they can support the formulation of policies – in other words: offer solutions (Haas 1992: 15). In a later work, Haas (2012) called epistemic communities ‘the transmission belt by which knowledge is developed and transmitted to decision makers’. The IR debate on epistemic communities was especially vivid in the late 1980s and the 1990s, when the end of the ideological and geopolitical confrontation between the superpowers opened new spaces for interaction between scientific communities; all of a sudden, knowledge and ideas could travel across formerly impermeable frontiers. Some of the ground-breaking changes in the international system were explicitly ascribed to the impact of epistemic communities (Adler 1992). The literature on epistemic communities is closely linked with liberalinstitutionalist and constructivist theories of international relations, which were greatly inspired by the fundamental change in Soviet foreign policy thinking and action in the second half of the 1980s, and the search for a new identity and foreign policy of the Russian Federation during most of the 1990s (Checkel 1997; Pursiainen 2000).1 Twenty years later, Davis Cross (2013) argued that the concept should be broadened and adjusted to increasing transnational processes, including among scientific constituencies across borders. In her understanding, epistemic communities need not be confined to academic professionals but can comprise scientific and non-scientific, governmental and non-governmental actors. They can be highly specialised academics, high-ranking militaries or former diplomats. Davis Cross (2013: 159) stipulates that ‘[t]he epistemic community literature thus far has focused too narrowly on scientists because of the misguided notion that scientific knowledge is somehow superior to other forms of knowledge’. What remains important as a condition for impact is: i) the internal cohesion of an epistemic community, that is, a consensus on the knowledge/ information/truth to be communicated into the political process, and ii) access to the political process.

Epistemic communities in EU-Russia relations: the context(s) The broader understanding of the concept of epistemic communities suggested by Davis Cross is applied here: epistemic communities can include academic scholars as well as researchers and experts working in think tanks and other non-academic, policy-orientated research institutions and actors without an academic or think tank background, such as diplomats, military, journalists or NGO representatives with a specific interest in a subject. In other words, epistemic communities can be formed by individuals with expert knowledge on a specific subject and a common interest in influencing political decisions on this subject in a specific way. What is important is that they exhibit the internal cohesion already described and have access to decision-making processes. Most studies on transnational epistemic communities focus on either transnational spill-over effects from one epistemic community to the other resulting in the emergence of one transnational epistemic community (Adler 1992) or on transnational, issue-specific epistemic communities impacting different national decision-making processes (other contributions in Haas 1992; Keck and Sikkink 2004). The unprecedented change in the relationship between the Soviet Union (later Russia) and Western countries in the late 1980s and early 1990s led many Western and Russian scholars to believe that Russia’s transformation would ultimately result in its integration with the Western community of states. Growing interaction between them seemed to suggest the emergence of 336

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a strong transnational epistemic community in support of this process. These early beginnings were extremely asymmetric, though. Drastic economic decline in the 1990s left Russian academia destitute and dependent on support, including from EU sources, thereby suggesting a spill-over of values, research methods and knowledge from the Western (European) to the Russian research community. Thirty years later, little is left of this emerging fundament of an epistemic community. On the contrary, as Romanova (2019) points out, the academic communities on both sides are neatly separated by their approaches towards analysing the relationship, by their research results and messages to decision-makers in the EU and Russia. This chapter looks at the development of EU-Russia cooperation on science and education as well as of research communities on both sides to retrace this process.

EU-Russia cooperation on science and education Transnational cooperation on science and education forges transnational bonds between experts and students and brings world views and understandings of science closer together. It is, therefore, an important background variable for the emergence of epistemic communities across state borders. EU-Russia cooperation on science and education started in the 1990s under the Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (Deriglazova and Mäkinen this volume). In 1996, the EU and Russia established a Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee. In 2000, a Science and Technology Agreement was concluded. The institutionalisation of cooperation reached its peak in 2003, when the ‘EU-Russia Common Space of Research and Education, including Cultural Aspects’ (Council of the European Union 2005) was created as a part of the Four Common Spaces between the EU and Russia. In the same year, Russia joined the Bologna Process, thereby paving the way to increased student mobility, more systematic cooperation between Russian and EU universities and an overall rapprochement of its educational system with European standards. The Science and Technology Agreement is still in force, and the Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee belongs to the few official dialogues which were not abolished in 2014. This indicates that the EU and Russia remain interested in developing their cooperation on research and education despite the breakdown of their political relationship. Notwithstanding this, the cooperation has become more and more contested on both sides since its ‘golden age’ in the early 2000s. Deriglazova and Mäkinen (2019: 184) stress that, due to economic developments in Russia, ‘cooperation [in the field of higher education] transformed from technical aid in the 1990s towards a more equal partnership in the mid-2000s’. As a result, Russia formulated diverging positions and interests with more resolve. Against a background of increasingly tense political relations, ambitions to institutionalise EU-Russia relations further in the field of science and education could not be realised. Russia’s association with the European Framework Programmes for Research and Technological Development, which was discussed extensively during the first half of the 2000s, foundered on Russian resistance and the EU’s waning interest. Different understandings of cooperation on science and technology also characterised both sides’ approaches to the 2010 Partnership for Modernisation (Forsberg and Haukkala 2015: 181).

The Russian context The post-Soviet development of Russian science and higher education can be divided into three phases. In the 1990s, research institutions, the most important of which belonged to the Russian Academy of Science, experienced an existential crisis due to the breakdown of the 337

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Russian economy. Academic and teaching staff left in their thousands to find jobs in the economic sector or emigrated. Research and publication activities came to a near standstill. With the economic recovery of the 2000s, the state regained the capacity to invest in science and education. This benefited not only the Russian Academy of Science but also other research institutions and think tanks. By the end of the 2000s, Russia exhibited a considerably more diversified field of government and non-government funded research institutions than ten years before. The Russian government and research institutions actively developed cooperation on science and education with the EU (Deriglazova and Makinen this volume). In the second half of the 2000s, they also started to expand contacts in other geographical directions (Graef 2018). The foreign policy expert community in particular engaged with their equivalents in China and other non-Western countries. This reflected global changes as much as the increasing Russian conviction that the world had become multipolar and it was time for Russia to shift its focus away from the West. The third stage was characterised by the Russian state taking more control of the activities of state- and non-state-funded actors in the field. A key event in this context was the highly controversial reform of the Russian Academy of Science between 2013 and 2018 (Dezhina 2014). Proponents of the reform had long criticised the RAS for its outdated structure, inefficiency and inability to keep up with international scientific standards. Opponents claimed that the Russian state used the reform i) to gain access to the property (particularly real estate) of the RAS and ii) to erect a system of political control over the formerly widely independent RAS (Baganov 2018). According to this view, by 2018, the RAS had lost its strong position vis-à-vis the government. The Russian state also introduced new laws which constrain the possibilities of research institutions, among other organisations, to receive funds from outside Russia. The so-called foreign agents law subjects organisations which receive foreign funding to considerable bureaucratic pressure (Belokurova and Demidov this volume). Such measures on the part of the Russian government are designed to discourage engagement with Western partners. Even though they target civil society organisations rather than research institutions, their impact can be felt in the area of science, education and think tanks as well.2 The access of research institutions to decision-making processes in Russia has also undergone considerable change over the past 30 years. During the 1990s, despite crumbling research structures, individual representatives of some research institutions maintained high-level access to decision-makers. This included personalities like Evgeny Primakov (IMEMO, later Foreign Minister and Prime Minister), Georgy and Alexey Arbatov (Institute for US and Canadian Studies of the Russian Academy of Science [ISKRAN], Carnegie), Sergey Karaganov (Institute of Europe, SVOP) and others. Some of them had played a prominent role in the development of Novoe Myshlenie (New Thinking) in Soviet foreign policy under Mikhail Gorbachev and were able to preserve important links with the decision-making process after 1991. With the increasing centralisation of foreign policy decision-making under President Putin (Romanova this volume), access for representatives from the RAS and other research institutions started to shrink. The Ministry of Foreign Affairs maintains an expert council which includes the heads of the most important research institutes, and has working relationships with experts on many levels. However, the Ministry has little impact on the actual decision-making, which is confined to the President and his inner circle. The research and think tank community has practically no access to these actors. As a result, it has an indirect impact on foreign policymaking at best and is limited to shaping (public and) media debates through statements and publications. Many Russian research institutes and think tanks work on foreign policy and international relations, including on Russia’s relations with the EU. Not all of them are relevant when 338

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investigating EU-Russian transnational epistemic contacts. The institutions described here have been selected because they have: i) a prominent position, if not in the political decision-making process, then, in the foreign policy debate in Russia, and ii) sufficient contact with expert communities in the EU to have the potential to form an epistemic community. The Institute of Europe (IoE) of the Russian Academy of Science was founded in 1987 with the aim of accumulating knowledge about political, economic and societal processes in Europe. It was the driving force behind the creation of the Russian Association of European Studies, a Russia-wide network of research institutions, universities and individuals dealing with the European Union and European politics. The IoE cooperates with the Delegation of the European Union to Russia on a variety of projects; it also sustains cooperative relationships with research institutions and other organisations in numerous EU member states. The Primakov Institute for World Economy and International Relations (IMEMO) is the biggest research institute in this field in Russia. It has always had a special status because of the influential position of its former director, Minister of Foreign Affairs and Prime Minister Evgeny Primakov. The institute has a department of European politics, as well as a large department of international security, which also deals with European security. IMEMO is home to some of the most prominent researchers on international economy and security in Russia and is well connected in EU member states and internationally. The Russian International Affairs Council (RIAC), created in 2010, set itself the task of building epistemic communities with the aim of facilitating Russia’s international integration and global peace. Approximately fifty per cent of its funding comes from the state. The organisation functions as a network structure involving scholars and experts from across all of Russia. Its presidium and membership include numerous prominent and influential individuals, including former Minister of Foreign Affairs Igor Ivanov, as well as high-ranking representatives of the most important research institutions in Russia. RIAC has replaced the Council on Foreign and Defence Policy (SVOP) as Russia’s most important platform for discussions about international relations. The Valdai Discussion Club is another Russian network organisation with considerable influence on the foreign policy debate. It is managed by the Higher School of Economics (HSE), the Moscow State Institute for International Relations (MGIMO), RIAC and SVOP. The mission of the Valdai Discussion Club is to provide a platform for leading Russian and foreign academics, intellectuals and decision-makers to participate in the setting of the global intellectual agenda. The research institutions and network organisations described previously have strongly overlapping membership. The more prominent research staff of institutes like IMEMO, IoE or others are often members of all three network organisations at once. The most important foreign policy journal, Russia in Global Affairs, is affiliated with both RIAC and SVOP. It is published in English and Russian and has become the key platform for debate among the Russian foreign policy community. Only a few researchers from other Russian cities play a relevant role in this context.3 Ultimately, it is a rather narrow, Moscow- and male-dominated circle of people who shape the Russian expert debate on international relations, foreign policy and EU-Russia relations. They represent a very strong mainstream discourse dominated by neo-realist great power thinking about international relations. However, the foreign policy debate exhibits a variety of views and positions. More recently, patriotic think tanks operating in the field of advocacy, public diplomacy and propaganda have gained more prominence in the foreign policy process and debate. Among the most important ones for EU-Russia relations are the Dialogue of Civilisations (DOC) and the Russian Institute for Strategic Studies (RISI). RISI is state funded and has close working relations with the Presidential Administration, the Security Council and security services. It 339

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is said to have been instrumental in the development of Russia’s approach towards Ukraine in 2014/2015 (Galeotti 2016: 14; Vendil-Pallin and Oxenstierna 2017). The institute was reorganised under a new leadership in 2017; it remains unclear if it will be able to maintain its prominent position in the future. The Dialogue of Civilisations Research Institute (DOC RI) was opened in Berlin in 2016. Its chairman and co-founder is ultra-rich and ultra-conservative Vladimir Yakunin, former CEO of the Russian Railway Company, a friend of President Putin with close connections with the Russian Orthodox Church. In its efforts to promote a dialogue among civilisations, the DOC emphasises traditional values. On the other end of the political spectrum, a few think tanks and networks try to promote a pro-European and liberal message and to maintain ties with counterparts in the EU. Among them are, for instance, the European Dialogue Expert Group and the Moscow Carnegie Centre. They are well connected with the liberal political and expert community as well as civil society in the West but remain marginalised in the expert and political community in Russia.

The context in the EU In the EU, research and expertise on Russia vary significantly, depending on the resources available and the foreign policy interests of a given member state. The latter also shapes experts’ access to decision-making processes. The largest expert communities dealing with Russia and Eastern Europe can be found in larger member states such as Germany, France, the United Kingdom or Poland. In France, Germany, Poland and the United Kingdom, the main international relations think tanks (such as the Institut français des relations internationals [ifri] in Paris, the Deutsche Gesellschaft für Auswärtige Politik [DGAP] and the Stiftung Wissenschaft und Politik [SWP] in Berlin or Chatham House in London) have departments dealing with Russia and Eastern Europe. Fewer research institutions, such as the Centre for Eastern Europe and International Studies (ZOiS) in Berlin or the Centre for Eastern Studies (OSW) in Warsaw, focus exclusively on Eastern Europe. Remarkably, the Polish Ministry of Culture and National Heritage still maintains the Centre for Polish–Russian Dialogue and Understanding, a networking organisation and think tank which is ‘dedicated to improving dialogue and understanding’ between the two countries. In smaller member states, the availability of expertise on Russia depends to a large extent on geographic location and foreign policy interests. Finland, a small member state but with a long border with Russia, has several research institutions and a comparatively big expert community dealing with Russia. Much of the relevant research is also conducted at universities across the EU. Some organisations, such as the European Union Institute for Security Studies in Paris (which is part of the European External Action Service), the European Council on Foreign Affairs or the Brussels based Centre for European Policy Studies (CEPS) and European Policy Centre (EPC), see themselves as European think tanks without national allegiances. Academic and policy-orientated research on Russia has been subject to changes in the university and political environment since the 1990s: the marginalisation of area studies and the increasing dominance of quantitative over qualitative research methods in the social sciences discourages students and junior researchers from taking such a focus. As a result, the number of post-graduates or post-doctoral researchers with specific country expertise (including historical knowledge and language proficiency) has been shrinking drastically. Moreover, with the end of the Soviet Union, political societal interest in a Russia that was no longer among the major international players withered in the 1990s. Only when geopolitical competition increased did governments and expert communities in the EU (and also in the United States) rediscover Russia as a research subject. During the same period, and with the accession to the European Union 340

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of central and eastern European countries such as Poland and the Baltic States, the perception of the region started to change as well. More emphasis was now put on the countries around Russia in the European political as well as in the think tank debate. With the conservative turn in Russian domestic politics and foreign policy in 2011/12 and, finally, the outbreak of the Russian–Ukrainian conflict in 2014, Russia returned to the centre of attention of EU expert communities – as a security threat rather than an interesting research subject. Established research institutes and think tanks across member states are well connected with each other. This is not least due to EU and member states’ efforts to promote linkages by funding intra-EU dialogue processes and joint projects. It is also a result of the increasing Europeanisation of foreign policy and foreign policy debates in most member states. Expert exchanges conducted with the aim of deepening the knowledge of the respective others’ perceptions and goals with a view to European integration processes and foreign policy have indeed formed pan-EU epistemic communities over the past decades. With the strengthening of right-wing populist forces in European and national politics, it is to be expected that the number of related think tanks with similar positions and values will increase as well and may transform into eurosceptic communities in the future.4 The research and think tank community in the European Union is considerably more diverse than its Russian counterpart. It encompasses individuals and research institutions from the 27 (previously 28) EU member states with very different perspectives on Russia and Eastern Europe. Increasing linkages and interdependence between national expert communities have led to the Europeanisation of views and positions in many fields. This includes the European debate on Russia, which has seen remarkable rapprochement among, for instance, established expert communities in Poland, France and Germany. The annexation of Crimea and the Russian–Ukrainian conflict have certainly accelerated this development. Yet disagreements remain, for instance, between Germany and other EU member states on the NordStream2 pipeline project.

Dialogue between EU and Russian expert communities – towards the emergence of epistemic communities? Various initiatives and projects at the bilateral level between individual EU member states and Russia aim to facilitate the emergence of closer ties and convergence among expert communities on both sides. Experts have been meeting in the context of the German–Russian Petersburg Dialogue since 2001 and of the Franco–Russian Trianon Dialogue since 2018.5 Both dialogues were initiated at the heads of states and governments level by then-Federal Chancellor Gerhard Schroeder and Russian President Vladimir Putin in the case of the St.  Petersburg Dialogue and by French President Emanuel Macron and Russian President Vladimir Putin in the case of the Trianon Dialogue. Their aim is to foster engagement among the respective civil societies, cultural and business communities, thereby preserving and enlarging the fundament of bilateral political relations. German political foundations, such as the Friedrich Ebert Foundation, the Heinrich Boell Foundation or the Konrad Adenauer Foundation, actively support German-Russian and EU-Russian expert dialogues. Another very notable example for bilateral expert dialogue is the Polish–Russian Group on Difficult Matters. The group was initiated in 2002 and includes historians, political scientists and political actors. Its work is heavily dependent on the ups and downs of the political relationship between Russia and Poland. In 2015, the group published an impressive volume on the history of Polish–Russian relations, featuring Russian–Polish co-authored chapters on the different phases and aspects of the relationship (Rotfeld and Torkunov 2015). 341

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There are attempts to forge epistemic communities at the academic level as well. A recently published special issue of the Journal of Contemporary European Studies (Romanova 2019) pairs EU and Russian authors to discuss EU and Russian research on security relations. However, the authors contrast EU and Russian research rather than formulate a joint perspective. Most of the academic research on EU-Russia relations is produced either by EU/Western scholars for an EU/Western audience or by Russian scholars for a Russian audience. Romanova (2019) states that the weakness of the transnational epistemic community and its lack of a common message to decision-makers in Moscow, Brussels and EU capitals deprives it of any constructive role in the present political crisis. Only very few dialogues remain which involve Russian experts and explicitly target EURussia or, more broadly, European-Russian relations. One example is the European Leadership Network.6 It is not focused on EU-Russia relations specifically but involves actors and scholars from the EU and Russia and tackles issues which are relevant in the EU-Russia context. The ELN functions as an independent, non-partisan, pan-European NGO involving present and future European leaders. It explicitly applies a wide definition of Europe which deliberately includes Russia, Turkey and other states outside the EU’s borders; its aim is to overcome the legacy of the Cold War by collectively addressing the political, economic and security challenges of the twenty-first century. The OSCE Network of Think Tanks and Academic Institutions follows a similarly broad understanding of Europe.7 This structure is indeed an epistemic community with the common aim to support the OSCE; it interacts closely with the OSCE structures. However, Russian participation is limited to one think tank/person. The EU-Russia Expert Network on Foreign Policy was initiated by the EU Delegation to Russia and the Russian International Affairs Council in 2016.8 EUREN brings together 40 prominent foreign policy experts and think tanks from Russia and EU member states. It is funded by the EU Delegation to Russia.9 Its members represent think tanks and universities in different cities in Russia and from 14 different EU member states. EUREN aims to provide a platform for the exchange of information, to build trust, to explore potential areas of cooperation and to formulate joint policy recommendations to political leaders in the EU and Russia. While these goals correspond with Haas’s and others’ understanding of an epistemic community, the results of EUREN’s work demonstrate the limitations emanating from a difficult political context: the network has been able to jointly produce content (Fischer and Timofeev 2018 and 2020). At the same time, its discussions reflect in many ways the disagreements and the lack of confidence at the political level. Dialogue between foreign policy expert communities is heavily affected by the deterioration of political relations between the EU and Russia. The lack of trust at the political level can also be felt at the expert level, which has become very polarised indeed. In the EU, some of the Russian think tanks included in this chapter are in fact seen as instruments in Russia’s attempt to undermine political systems and societies in the West (Vendil-Pallin and Oxenstierna 2017).10 In such conditions, transnational epistemic communities are not likely to emerge in the foreseeable future.

Expert dialogues – but no epistemic communities This chapter  has discussed the concept of epistemic communities as formations involving a variety of experts from academia, think tanks, governments and other institutions which display: i) internal cohesion, that is, a consensus on the knowledge/information/truth to be communicated to political decision-makers, and ii) access to the political process. It has analysed the different contexts in which EU and Russian experts operate and interact and has described 342

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transnational expert networks operating between the EU and Russia with goals that correspond to the criteria of epistemic communities. The focus was on networks and organisations that aim to increase trust, foster stability and contribute to cooperative and peaceful relations between Russia and the EU and, more broadly, on the European continent. Experts in the EU and Russia see the world differently, interpret key developments differently and come to different conclusions in their research and policy recommendations. This is true even for those experts who take part in transnational expert dialogues and networks. What unites them is their readiness to engage in dialogue and the desire to contribute to an improvement of EU-Russia relations. Yet they come to it by different routes, and they express different, often irreconcilable, opinions as to how to achieve this goal. In other words, EU-Russia expert contacts and dialogues today lack the cohesion required for them to complete the journey from networks to epistemic communities and, therefore, find it difficult to convey strong and united messages to political decision-makers. Their existence is important nonetheless: they can still produce ideas on the reconceptualisation of the relationship between Russia and the EU. They can also provide a basis for the emergence of ‘real’ epistemic communities in the future, should the political context allow for it.

Notes 1 The liberal-institutionalist and constructivist debates in IR as well as research on the influence of epistemic communities on the end of the Cold War remained largely limited to Western (European and particularly US) scholarship. 2 As is the case, for instance, with the Levada Centre, an independent polling institute, and other ‘liberal’ research institutions which have come under increasing pressure in recent years. 3 St.  Petersburg State University and the HSE St.  Petersburg Campus are relatively well positioned among research institutions in the Russian regions. It is much more difficult for representatives from more remote places in Russia to gain a prominent position in the foreign policy debate in Moscow. 4 See, for instance, the efforts of the German ‘Alternative für Deutschland’ to obtain funding for the ‘Desiderius Erasmus Foundation’ which was founded in 2017. 5 See https://petersburger-dialog.de for the St. Petersburg Dialogue and https://dialogue-trianon.fr for the Trianon Dialogue. 6 See www.europeanleadershipnetwork.org. 7 See www.osce-network.net. 8 See www.eu-russia-expertnetwork.eu. 9 In 2017, it was merged with the EU Delegation’s public diplomacy activities. The author of this chapter was the coordinator of EUREN from 2016 to 2020. 10 It should be expected that contacts between Russian institutions and an emerging right-wing think tank community in Europe will increase with time.

References Adler, E. (1992) ‘The emergence of cooperation: national epistemic communities and the international evolution of the idea of nuclear arms control’, International Organization 46(1): 101–45. Baganov, A. (2018) ‘Za pyat’ let RAN poterpela sokurshitel’nuyu pobedu’, Nezavisimaya Gazeta, 27 June, available at www.ng.ru/science/2018-06-27/9_7253_reform.html (accessed 7 August 2019). Checkel, J. (1997) Ideas and International Political Change. Soviet/Russian Behavior and the End of the Cold War, New Haven and London: Yale University Press. Council of the European Union (2005) ‘Road maps’, C/05/110, Moscow, 10 May. Davis Cross, M.K. (2013) ‘Rethinking epistemic communities twenty years later’, Review of International Studies 39(1): 137–60. Deriglazova, L. and Mäkinen, S. (2019) ‘Still looking for a partnership? EU-Russia cooperation in the field of higher education’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 184–95, doi:10.1080/14782 804.2019.1593113 343

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Dezhina, I. (2014) ‘Russia’s academy of sciences’ reform: causes and consequences for Russian sciences’, Russie.Nei.Visions No. 77, available at www.ifri.org/en/publications/enotes/russieneivisions/russiasacademy-sciences-reform-causes-and-consequences-russian (accessed 10 May 2019). Fischer, S. and Timofeev, I. (2018) ‘Selective engagement between the EU and Russia’, EUREN Report 1, November, available at http://188.127.251.150/wp-content/euinrussiapdf/Interim_Report_eng.pdf (accessed 7 August 2019). Fischer, S. and Timofeev, I. (2020) ‘Alternative futures of EU-Russia relations in 2030’, EUREN Report 2, November  2020, available at http://eu-russia-expertnetwork.eu/en/analytics/2020-11-euren-report (accessed 15 March 2021). Forsberg, T. and Haukkala, H. (2015) The European Union and Russia, London: Palgrave. Galeotti, M. (2016) ‘Putin’s Hydra: inside Russia’s intelligence services’, ECFR Policy Brief 169, May 2016. Graef, A. (2018) ‘Denkfabriken und Expertise: Russlands außen- und sicherheitspolitische community’, Osteuropa 68(8–9): 77–98. Haas, P.M. (1992) ‘Introduction: epistemic communities and international policy coordination’, International Organization 46(1): 1–35. Haas, P.M. (2012) ‘When does power listen to truth? A constructivist approach to the policy process’, Journal of European Public Policy 11(4): 569–92. Keck, M. and Sikkink, K. (2004) Activists beyond Borders. Advocacy Networks in International Politics, Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press. Liik, K. (2019) ‘EU-Russia Relations: Where Do We Go From Here?’, in K. Raik and A. Rácz (eds.), From Fostering Interdependence to Managing Vulnerabilities’, Tallinn: ICDS, pp. 276–86. Pursiainen, C. (2000) Russian Foreign Policy and International Relations Theory, Aldershot, Hants: Routledge. Romanova, T. (2019) ‘Studying EU-Russian relations: an overview in search for an epistemic community’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 27(2): 135–46, doi:10.1080/14782804.2018.1515729 Rotfeld, A. and Torkunov, A. (eds.) (2015) White Spots – Black Spots. Difficult Matters in Polish-Russian Relations, 1918–2008, Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press. Vendil Pallin, C. and Oxenstierna, S. (2017) ‘Russian think tanks and soft power’, FOI Analysis, August.

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Part 6

Regional relations

30 EU, Russia and the question of Kaliningrad Pertti Joenniemi

The Oblast as a region in between The Kaliningrad region (the Oblast) does not really fit in. In standing out as a kind of ‘little Russia’ encircled by Lithuania and Poland as EU countries, the Oblast unavoidably raises profound questions pertaining to the role, power and influence of marginal actors between the EU and Russia. While having initially figured since the demise of the Soviet Union in 1991 as a rather acute problem, particularly in the socio-economic field, it then gradually turned into a laboratory of cross-border integration, sliding, particularly since Russia’s intervention in Ukraine in 2014, into a region increasingly militarised and isolated from its neighbours. At large, its standing on the EU-Russian agenda has significantly declined. Thus, in addition to addressing the background, this chapter aims at tackling the question of why it has more recently disappeared as a joint concern and figures by and large as a rather isolated and utterly militarised geographic space. In fact, the region forms a rather special entity already in the sense of being geographically separated by more than 500 kilometres from mainland Russia and surrounded by Lithuania and Poland, that is, countries belonging to the EU as well as NATO. It has frequently been viewed as something beyond the ordinary, as indicated, for example, by the constant employment of labels such as enclave, exclave or ‘bridge’, as opposed to an ‘outpost’. The exceptionality has also been evidenced by the rather extensive number of studies on Kaliningrad (e.g. Berger 2010; Oldberg 2015; Yann et al. 2015). It warrants special attention, as it obviously distorts, due to its nature as a ‘puzzle’, the drawing of clear-cut territorial borderlines separating the inside and the outside. The exceptionality applies equally to its relationship with the EU and Russia. It has thus been characterised as ‘a small Russia inside the EU’, viewed as a ‘Baltic Hong Kong’, seen as comparable to ‘Singapore’ or depicted as an entity that is no longer just Russian space but constitutes a kind of emerging and intermediary ‘third space’ located between and yet distinct from the different cores (Sezneva 2010). Due to its betweenness, the Oblast significantly problematises the modern idea of territorial sovereignty and in general any conceptualisations of a well-bordered and unambiguous political space. However, it also figures as something ‘unordinary’ in terms of time and does so by being, for example, in Russia’s 1999 medium-term strategy for relations with the EU, outlined as a ‘pilot region’, that is, an entity paving the way into a different future. More broadly, the Oblast 347

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breaks with a clearly delineated conceptualisation of space and time. The exceptional nature of the region may therefore – pending interpretation – be comprehended as constituting a problem if not something of a danger, though it can also on good grounds be viewed as a promise and an asset. The Oblast’s obscurity clearly stands out as something out of the ordinary, and the region’s exceptionality offers an inroad into a broader issue pertaining to changes over time in the selfunderstanding of the European Union as well as of Russia. It is about the Oblast’s constitutive power with Kaliningrad approached as a configuration that through its in some sense obscure being impacts and problematises the identities of the Union as well as Russia. It does so by forcing them to relate to and deal with the region’s overlapping and diverse as well as borderbreaking nature, that is, qualities that unavoidably undermine efforts to divide European political space neatly into insiders and outsiders. In short, the issues at stake pertain to the Oblast’s inherently postmodern being. It could initially be thought that Kaliningrad’s exceptional nature is not much of a problem for the Union, whereas it may well stand out as something quite challenging once viewed from a Russian perspective. While defining itself as a rather postmodern subject to start with, the EU could presumably be rather well equipped to embrace and cope with the betweenness and diversity of the Oblast and digest its, in many ways, border-transcending nature. It could therefore also on good grounds be argued that the Union is in a far more advantageous position and clearly ahead of Russia in tackling the various issues raised by the need to incorporate Kaliningrad into Europe’s increasingly integrated, fuzzy and border-transcending political landscape. This is so as Russia has, in comparison to the EU, been much more stuck in an explicitly modern self-understanding, one calling among other things for indisputable territorial sovereignty, unambiguous borders separating the inside from the outside and more generally clearly demarcated spaces (Prozorov 2004). Kaliningrad should therefore – due to its inherently postmodern nature ‒ stand out as something much more unsettling, not just politically but also in ontological, identity-related terms, for Russia than in the case of the European Union (Makarychev and Sergunin 2017). I would, however, like to argue that such an assumption is overly simplified and also assert that the constellation has not been a stable or, for that matter, a straightforward one over time. Instead, significant variation seems to have taken place, allowing Russia to take the lead at least on some occasions. Yet it also appears that Russia has more recently returned to an explicitly modern self-understanding and one that has forcefully impacted its conceptualisations of political space as well as time. This has then also been reflected in Russia’s approach to Kaliningrad with the change – that is, the increased emphasis on Russia as an impeccably modern and basically power-political state – threatening to undermine most if not all of the progress made over the recent years in the efforts of turning the Oblast from a burden and trouble spot to an asset in the EU-Russia relationship but also Europe at large.

The European Union as a transformative power Notably, the core concept and departure underlying the EU’s self-understanding has been that of peace. It has forcefully impacted the way the Union conceptualises itself and how it has been brought about at least internally as a rather integrated and de-bordered entity, therefore boiling down to a rather fuzzy, that is, postmodern entity. In addition, the centrality of peace as a core constitutive departure has also had bearings on the EU’s external policies – above all the approaches and policies coined in view of the more immediate neighbourhood – with the Union depicting itself first and foremost as a force for good. The endeavour to export its norms, 348

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values and forms of governance also to impact the exterior has consequently been comprehended as something inherently positive and progressive (Wæver 1996). By and large, the aim over time has been one of converting the difference embedded in the exterior to similarity through the pursuit of quite inclusive policies of integration. Such policies have been on offer, as the constitutive difference required in the construction of the Union’s identity has basically consisted of Europe’s power-political past. The EU has in that sense been rather self contained. It has in principle – with the constitutive difference applied in constructing the Union’s identity consisting of temporal rather than spatial bordering – then also been void of the rather modern need of drawing divisive lines separating the internal from the external and to do so in order for it to feel secure in terms of its very being. It may be noted, though, that the construction of identities also stands out as an intersubjective process. This implies that the Union’s identity and secure sense of being are not just matters to be decided upon by the EU itself. It does not boil down to something self contained, as it also hinges on the recognition – or, for that matter, non-recognition – provided by significant others. This, then, implies that Russia is also furnished with some power to be exercised either by confirming or refusing to confirm the identity as a force for good that the EU aspires to. It further means that, due to its nature as an overlapping entity encircled by the EU and a kind of ‘little Russia’ semi-integrated into the Union, Kaliningrad stands in this context as a potential asset. It provides Russia at least potentially with considerable agency concerning the country’s ability to play the game of recognition and capitalise on the Union’s need to have its identity, one integrally related to peace and progress, also confirmed by Russia as one of the Union’s significant others. Yet it is obvious that the option is in a number of ways a quite limited one. It has remained limited above all due to the fact that the Union’s nature as a postmodern peace project has not been viewed as something all embracing and generally valid. Instead, it has been comprehended as coming, by and large, to a halt at the EU’s external borders with the exterior depicted as qualitatively rather different from the interior (Diez 2004). In other words, in view of external challenges such as that of Kaliningrad, the Union has not always aspired to present itself as an inherently postmodern configuration as to the policies it devises. It has on occasion also been tempted to search in a very modern fashion for a non-convertible and threatening difference in its exterior, with this difference then confirming the Union’s positive being (Sukhankin 2017). The change from postmodern aspirations in internal policies to more modern ones seen as valid vis-à-vis the exterior has then also impacted the EU’s approach to borders and bordering (see also Delcour this volume). In short, the postmodern efforts of de-bordering have been converted to an emphasis on lines of division. Instead of being designed to be connective in nature, they have been predominantly furnished with the function of securing that the internal remains clearly separated from the external. The prevalence of such a protective logic – as evidenced quite explicitly by the Schengen acquis – then also implies that borders are not seen as something to be overcome in order for the EU to be able to fully project its peaceful being into its exterior and to do so in an unencumbered manner. Their function has rather become one of shielding the Union’s exceptional nature from external and rather modern dangers such as those of crime, smuggling, corruption, transmittable diseases and illegal migration (Browning 2003). This, then, also implies that it has been far from easy for Russia to play the recognition game ‒ due to its own quite modern self-understanding ‒ by drawing on the Oblast’s inherently postmodern nature. It has, in fact, been relatively easy for the EU to ignore Kaliningrad as something calling for special attention and to be dealt with through measures such as those of de-bordering and efforts of integration, that is, approaches confirming the Union’s exceptional nature. At large, the Oblast has been conceptualised as part of the qualitatively quite 349

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different – that is, modern – exterior, and the tackling of the region’s various plights has consequently been seen as warranting rather strict moves of bordering, that is, measures conducive to its further isolation rather than a resort to integrative policies.

Policies reconsidered The Union has therefore approached the Oblast as an issue part and parcel of its basically modern and qualitatively different exterior rather than something to be brought in line with its own postmodern being. The dominance of Russia’s own and rather modern either-or approach visà-vis Kaliningrad, one premised above all on hard security and military issues as prime concerns, has further contributed to the fact that it has been relatively easy for the Union to evade the issues involved and deny any responsibility. Russia’s own emphasis on undivided sovereignty as a core departure to be applied, including in the case of Kaliningrad despite its temporal (see Gänzle and Müntel 2011; Sezneva 2002) and spatial peculiarities, has further allowed for efforts to shoulder responsibility to lie exclusively on Russia itself. Yet the Union has in the end been forced to admit that the ordinary modern approach based on efforts to establish and preserve a rather strict division between the inside and the outside does not work. It has been obliged to recognise that Kaliningrad has unavoidably – in particular with Lithuania and Poland joining the EU ‒ turned into an overlapping and shared, that is, postmodern space. It has therefore also been forced to admit that the standard approaches such as those of a strict application of the logic underlying the Schengen rules do not fully apply and that policies are called for that are better in tune with the quite exceptional challenges posed by Kaliningrad’s unavoidably fuzzy and border-transcending nature. The EU has thus been increasingly prepared to approach the Oblast as a special case and to admit that it calls for arrangements and solutions beyond the ordinary. It has accepted, although somewhat reluctantly, that Kaliningrad has to be approached in a proactive manner and does so, despite also offering Russia an opportunity to assert influence over questions that are in some ways also internal to the Union. The issues involved have to be dealt with, even if they blur the borderline between the Union’s interior seen as postmodern and the exterior viewed as modern in nature, that is to say a line crucial for the EU’s self-understanding and secure sense of being. The shift in approach has then implied that it has become conceivable that the Union aspires actively to coin policies that are quite Kaliningrad specific in nature. They have among other things comprised arrangements aiming at reducing the region’s spatial isolation by allowing travel by land (by train or automobile) between mainland Russia and the Oblast by train by acquiring a so-called Facilitated Transit Document (FTD). Since 2004, all transit passengers have had to possess international passports. Still another arrangement making it possible for Kaliningrad to assume the function of a bridge and a gateway instead of remaining as a dead end consists of the visa-free areas, that is, the Oblast and the Polish voivideships of Warmian-Masuria (Misiunas 2004: 400–6; Diener and Hagen 2011: 578–81). In addition, a variety of region-specific and border-transcending local arrangements were set in place (Yann et al. 2015). They were – before being abrogated by Poland in 2016, mainly due to Russia’s interference in Ukraine since 2014 and overtaking of Crimea ‒ not just important in reducing Kaliningrad’s isolation and nature as a mere object of policies designed elsewhere but also in providing it with the option of influencing its nearby environment. The Oblast was increasingly able to link to the Baltic Rim by participating in the various political, economic and cultural arrangements premised on networking and border-transcending cooperation. Or, to express it in somewhat more abstract terms, Kaliningrad was provided with the option of converting its postmodern being, one frequently seen as a source of its problems, into an asset. 350

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The Union has, however, suspended biannual EU-Russian summits since 2014, also including, therefore, various regional and bilateral projects and programmes as well as different types of financial aid to the Russian Federation. This obviously impacts Kaliningrad, although some projects dealing exclusively with cross-border cooperation and civil society have still been maintained (Schmidt-Felzmann 2018). The Oblast has also disappeared as a special item from various EU strategies dealing with the region, such as the Strategy for the Baltic Sea Region.

Problematising Russia’s being With regard to Russia’s self-understanding, the Oblast has stood out as something inherently problematic in at least two different ways. First, the Oblast’s post–Cold War position added to the spatial discontinuity that was, as such, there already during the Soviet period but became far more pronounced with the demise of the Soviet Union and Kaliningrad’s transformation into an enclave/exclave. And second, a rather profound question pertaining to Russia’s sovereign being emerged as the region could at least potentially be as much influenced by the policies of the EU as by those of Russia itself. Thus, the Oblast’s altered nature as an entity at the interface between Russia and the EU could amount to a dangerous breach of Russia’s territorial integrity and sovereign being. It could impact the country’s still quite modern identity, although it could also be viewed as a resource in the sense of forming a bridge that allows Russia to link in with the rather integrated, spatially blurred and postmodern EU. The broader question at stake thus consists of whether Russia has been able to move over to an increasingly postmodern discourse on political space and coin an identity better in tune with European developments at large. A positive answer would have been important, as it would have added to Russia’s ability to deal proactively with an overlapping case, such as that of the Oblast, that unavoidably questions Russia’s sovereign being. It would not just remain an object unavoidably exposed to and impacted by Europe’s increasingly postmodern nature but could also – due to an altered self-understanding – be able to position itself as a subject willing to contribute to the unfolding of a distinctly postmodern Europe. It could at least in some ways join the European project of togetherness with peace and development as the unifying master signifiers. This is to say that the nature of the Oblast as a both/and type of entity unavoidably raises some rather profound and problematic questions. They have not been easy to address, and it has been at least as difficult for Russia as the EU to provide durable answers (Morozov 2010; Sergunin 2018). The challenges faced by these two entities have been of a quite different nature. This is so as there has been a temporal difference present in the sense that the Union is already harbouring a postmodern identity – with Kaliningrad then depicted as a deviation that may pollute the EU’s being if allowed to move from the exterior towards the interior. In the case of Russia, the reading has been a quite different one since the Oblast as an issue to be settled jointly with the EU calls for adding postmodern elements into Russia’s still firmly modern being. Overall, the Oblast may be comprehended as an issue that is bound to facilitate Russia’s move into a postmodern direction. This has to take place if Russia wants to be in tune with the more general European developments. It may, however, also be utilised in efforts to stay with a modern self-understanding by comprehending Kaliningrad’s being as something border breaking with the region being unduly exposed to some rather problematic influences. They are problematic not just by endangering the region’s belonging as an integral part of the country but even more so by unsettling Russia’s inherently modern self-understanding. Thus, the efforts of sorting out Kaliningrad as an entity beyond the ordinary and an actor that does not easily fit in have made it mandatory to address questions that reach far beyond the Oblast as such and pertain to Russia’s being as a whole. 351

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Notably, these identity-related discourses facilitated rather than hampered, at least initially, the adoption of a distinctively cooperative approach, one premised on Russia viewing itself as an integral part of Europe and firmly European in essence. Such an understanding then also allowed for aspiring to the position of an increasingly central actor in European decisionmaking and, in consequence, also reaching out for some actorness through a positioning of Kaliningrad within a distinctly postmodern Europe. This agency has, however, diminished over time, with Russia increasingly defining itself as a kind of Russian Russia, an ‘authentic’ entity largely detached from Europe, if not overly anti-European in nature. The key discourses pertaining to Russia’s essence and presence on the national scene have been outlined as either liberal, centrist or conservative in essence (Hopf 2016: 229). Initially, the liberal one became quite influential, although not dominant in any exclusive manner during the early years of post-Soviet Russia, as it had to compete with a conservative one within a rather polarised setting. It lost its standing quite rapidly, however, providing the centrist and more traditional discourses with the option of turning hegemonic. Importantly, the dominance of the centrist discourse was cemented by incorporating quite a number of elements and themes that were initially part of the liberal as well as conservative discourses. What is relevant here in view of Kaliningrad is that the liberal discourse contained at least some elements potentially applicable to efforts at outlining a pro-active and integration-based Russian policy. A core idea advanced by the Liberals held that Russia had – in order to remain a major actor on the international scene – to become an integral part of Europe and more generally the West. Their efforts of reaching out – and to do so particularly in economic matters – implied that the position of the Oblast at the interface of Russia and the EU could also be conceived as an asset. It could be exploited in the various efforts to link up with the rest of Europe. Arguably, the initial strength of the Liberals implied that policies related to hard security to some extent lost their standing in the view of the Oblast as well. There was less emphasis on Kaliningrad as a military outpost and more preparedness to reach out towards the environment on terms basically set by the EU. The Russian political leadership was even able to take initiatives of its own rather than merely reacting to proposals made by various European actors. It could, at best, outline visions pertaining to an increasingly de-bordered Europe with Kaliningrad as a focal point for such policies, as exemplified by the proposal for a ‘Baltic Schengen’ launched by the former Prime Minister Chernomyrdin in 1998. The aim was in general to reduce the restrictive impact of borders in the area through different and more relaxed visa procedures. And more concretely, the Free Economic Zone (FEZ) ‘Amber’ was established in Kaliningrad in 1991, to be turned into a Special Economic Zone (SEZ) in 1996, with the Oblast provided with some special arrangements and privileges in the field of economy in terms of customs-free trade and tax-breaks for foreign investors. Still another move in the same direction consisted of Russia’s approval of the placing of issues pertaining to Kaliningrad on the EU’s agenda. It was possible to admit that the Oblast stands out as an issue that has to be tackled through joint efforts. It could also, in calling for special attention due to its nature as an entity located at the interface between the Union and Russia, be turned into a ‘pilot region’. The special arrangements pertaining to the Oblast could then – if they proved to be successful – be extended to cover Russia’s north-western parts more generally (Aalto 2002; Joenniemi 2000: 162–3). More broadly, the liberal view of Russia’s belonging to the European space provided them at least on some occasions with the option of taking the lead. They did so by outlining measures and suggesting solutions to the Kaliningrad puzzle premised on rather postmodern thinking. They could hence, somewhat paradoxically, challenge the Union’s rather modernist understanding of its exterior. 352

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However, the preconditions for the pursuit of proactive policies were quite feeble even to start with, and they were quite soon undermined by the internal political struggles in Russia as well as the Union’s basically rather dismissive approach. The liberal dominance was quite short lived and restrained from the very start by the paradigmatically different and inherently modern self-understanding advocated above all by the Conservatives. The Liberals were discredited early on by the rather harsh realities pertaining to Russia’s economic collapse and ills, such as rising crime and rampant corruption. The demise of the Liberals then implied that the Centrists could take over, and they did so by reducing significantly not only the impact of the Liberals on foreign affairs but also that of the Conservatives (Hopf 2016). As such, the aspirations of the centrist forces were at least initially pro-European in essence, although with Europeanness conceived in a rather cautious way based on quite modern paradigms. Russia has first and foremost been depicted as a rather traditional great power, and the fact that it has failed to anchor itself as a partner in the construction of an increasingly postmodern Europe has amounted to a pursuit of policies that are in a number of ways anti-European in essence. With the economic problems left over from the more liberal period remaining to some extent unsolved, more emphasis has been placed on hard security. In short, the Russia of the centrist forces is one that came into being as an entity seen as exposed to many unwarranted influences from abroad and constantly threatened by external actors. As part of the changing discursive environment, the changes in self-understanding – including a far stronger reliance on some aspects part of the Soviet legacy – have therefore implied that issues pertaining to hard security have significantly increased in priority. The emphasis on hard security in the efforts of anchoring Russia spatially in a rather modern manner has then amounted to the employment of military means in Ukraine, including Crimea. This has then also undermined the prospects for any further progress as to Kaliningrad. The sanctions imposed among others by the EU and the increasingly critical views prevalent in Lithuania and Poland concerning Russia’s policies, as well as the counter-sanctions introduced by Russia, unavoidably reduce the prospects of making use of Kaliningrad’s special qualities in any positive manner (Oldberg 2015). It is also worth noting that Russia’s quite modernist approach ‒ including a retreat from some demilitarisation towards an increased emphasis on hard security, rather strict bordering and turning away from Europe ‒ has not been conducive to the emergence of a cleavage between the Oblast and mainland Russia. At large, Europeanness appears to be in decline, whereas Russianness has been on the increase, including in the self-understanding of the Kaliningraders (Oldberg 2015). In fact, the almost a million inhabitants seem to have moved in the very same direction as Russia at large and hence approve of the decline of their subjectivity and the re-installation of their standing as an object of policies designed by Moscow. Arguably, the increased impact of not just the centrist but also the conservative discourse in the way in which the Kaliningraders construct the region’s identity contributes to policies based on bordering rather than de-bordering. They too increasingly aspire to stay aloof instead of linking in to their nearby environment in order to shield themselves against influences generated in the immediate exterior or, for that matter, in Europe at large (Klemeshev et al. 2017). Rather than trying to capitalise on their, in some ways, unavoidably postmodern being, they have increasingly associated themselves with the conflictual, oppositional and anti-Western departures as part of the general development in Russia.

Conclusion Kaliningrad has hence moved backwards in temporal terms, as indicated, among other things, by the fact that a negative and threat-based reading of their in-between position again 353

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predominates. It is being increasingly framed as a classical security problem and slotted into a quite conventional and polarised either/or frame. Overall, it is conceptualised as an issue related predominantly to concerns pertaining to hard security and uninfringed national sovereignty. The visions of the region developing into some kind of border-blurring entity and a ‘bridge’ have been undermined by the employment of impeccably modern and quite binary images of ‘us’ versus ‘them’. The previous emphasis on de-territorialisation has been traded for a rather firmly bordered re-territorialisation as indicated, for example, by the employment of concepts such as those of a ‘battle-station’ (Sukhankin 2017) and in general the exacerbation of Kaliningrad’s position as an exclave (Oldberg 2018). At large, the dominant discourses are far less about cooperation and Kaliningrad as an asset in EU-Russia relations. They pertain instead predominantly to themes such as the positioning of nuclear-equipped missiles, strategic deterrence, coercion and containment. The Oblast is increasingly viewed through a security-related perspective and seen as being rather exposed and vulnerable in lacking operational depth for the forces deployed there and with reinforcement having to cross, if need be, two countries. It is comprehended as a vital military asset (Westerlund 2017), an outpost, first line of defence and military stronghold that pertains to the conflictual relations between Russia and NATO rather than those premised on cooperation between Russia and the EU. Thus, the aspirations for old-fashioned modern clarity are back, with issues such as sovereignty, territorial integrity and border-drawing high on the agendas and increasingly constitutive in impact. Kaliningrad is subsequently seen as a security-related problem and depicted first and foremost in traditional terms as a military hotspot. It is getting increasingly militarised, isolated and also more dependent on Moscow. Obviously, this change in the discursive environment makes life easier for Russia in identity-related terms, since the danger-infused discourse allows for a return to comprehensions pertaining to the country’s traditional being. It also reduces the pressure of moving over to an identity and an aspiring for ontological security better in tune with a cooperation-based, integrated and basically postmodern Europe. Somewhat ironically, the EU may also be at home with the fact that Kaliningrad can now be slotted into the category of rather modern and security-infused problems. There is far less need to approach the Oblast as an enclave and a ‘little Russia’ in some sense inside the EU and to coin policies for two quite different variations of Russia and to treat Kaliningrad in more inclusive terms than Russia in general. Overall, Kaliningrad can also be dealt with through rather strict bordering, as it no longer stands out as clearly as it used to do as a deviant and overlapping case in the Union’s exterior. One may, however, on good grounds, also argue that the current state of relief in ontological and identity-related terms is not there to stay. The political landscape is in general turning postmodern with the issues of globalisation, regionalisation and localisation becoming increasingly important. This is the case despite the fact that the changes have also generated considerable resistance in Europe as well as many other parts of the world. For sure, there may be serious issues pertaining to security involved, but they tend to be postmodern, for example, in the form of global warming, and often identity-related rather than modern in essence, with emphasis on sovereignty and territorial unity and divisive borders. Remedies are certainly called for, but in order to work, they have to be of a postmodern rather than modern kind. It may hence be claimed that the current dominance of rather modern, sovereignty-based approaches with an emphasis on hard security in a military sense also impacting the policies pursued with regard to the Oblast are far from durable. The fact remains that Kaliningrad basically figures as a postmodern issue, and durable solutions can only be found if this is fully recognised – however difficult 354

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this is in view of the identity-related challenges encountered by the EU and in particular Russia in trying to sort out the rather exceptional nature of the Oblast.

References Aalto, P. (2002) ‘A European geopolitical subject in the making? EU, Russia and the Kaliningrad question’, Geopolitics 7(3): 142–74. Berger, S. (ed) (2010) Kaliningrad in Europa. Nachbarschaftliche Perspektiven nach dem Ende des Kalten Krieges, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag. Browning, C.S. (2003) ‘The internal/external security paradox and the reconstruction of boundaries in the Baltic: the case of Kaliningrad’, Alternatives 28(4): 545–81. Diener, A. and Hagen, J. (2011) ‘Geopolitics of the Kaliningrad exclave and enclave: Russian and EU perspectives’, Eurasian Geography and Economics 52(4): 567–92. Diez, T. (2004) ‘Europe’s others and the return of geopolitics’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 17(2): 319–35. Gänzle, S. and Müntel, G. (2011) ‘Europeanization “beyond” Europe? EU impact on the domestic policies in the Russian enclave of Kaliningrad’, Journal of Baltic Studies 42(1): 57–79. Hopf, T. (2016) ‘Crimea is ours: A discursive history’, International Relations 30(2): 227–55. Joenniemi, P. (2000) ‘Kaliningrad, Borders and the Figure  of Europe’, in J. Baxendale, S. Dewar and D. Gowan (eds.), The EU & Kaliningrad. Kaliningrad and the Impact of EU Enlargement, London: Federal Trust, pp. 157–71. Klemeshev, A., Fedorov, G. and Fidrua, E. (2017) ‘Specific Kaliningrad character of the Russian identity’, Bulletin of Geography, Socio-economic Series 38: 47–55. Makarychev, A. and Sergunin, A. (2017) ‘Russia’s role in regional cooperation and the EU strategy for the Baltic Sea region (EUSBSR)’, Journal of Baltic Studies 48(4): 465–79. Misiunas, R. (2004) ‘Rootless Russia: Kaliningrad – status and identity’, Diplomacy & Statecraft 15(2): 385. Morozov, V. (2010) ‘Western hegemony, global democracy and the Russian challenge’, in C.S. Browning and M. Lehti (eds.), The Struggle for the West. A Divided and Contested Legacy, London and New York: Routledge, pp. 185–35. Oldberg, I. (2015) ‘Kaliningrad’s difficult plight between Moscow and Europe’, UIpaper 2. Oldberg, I. (2018) ‘Kaliningrad’s problematic enclave status’, Baltic World 4: 94–6. Prozorov, S.V. (2004) Political Pedagogy of Technical Assistance. A Study in Historical Ontology of Russian Postcommunism, Tampere: Studia Politica Tamperensis. Schmidt-Felzmann, A. (2018) ‘Kaliningrad in EU-Russian relations – the neglected enclave by the Baltic Sea’, in Oldberg, I. (ed.), Marketplace of Military Bastion? Kaliningrad between Brussels and Moscow, UIpaper 3: 35–45. Sergunin, A. (2018) ‘Kaliningrad: from one to another puzzle?’, in I. Oldberg (ed.), Marketplace or Military Bastion? Kaliningrad between Brussels and Moscow, UIpaper 3: 47–59. Sezneva, O. (2002) ‘Living in the Russian Present with a German Past: The Problems of Identity in the City of Kaliningrad’, in D. Crowley and S: Reid (eds.), Sites of Everyday Life in the Eastern Bloc, Oxford: Berg Publishers, pp. 47–64. Sezneva, O. (2010) ‘Modalities of Self-understanding. Identification and Representation in the post-1991 Kaliningrad. A Critical View’, in S. Berger (ed.), Kaliningrad in Europa. Nachbarschaftliche Perspektiven nach dem Ende des Kalten Krieges, Wiesbaden: Harrassowitz Verlag, pp. 35–57. Sukhankin, S. (2017) ‘Kaliningrad: From a Boomtown to Battle-Station’. European Council on Foreign Relations, available at www.ecfr.eu/article/commentary_kaliningrad_from_boomtown_to_battle_sta tion_7256 (accessed June 2019). Wæver, O. (1996) ‘European security identities’, Journal of Common Market Studies 34(1): 103–32. Westerlund, F. (2017) ‘Russia’s Military Strategy and Force Structure in Kaliningrad’, RUFS Briefing, 42. FOI. Swedish Defence Research Agency. Yann, R., Sebentsov, A. and Zotova, M. (2015) ‘The Russian enclave of Kaliningrad: challenges and limits of its integration in the Baltic region’, Cybergeo: European Journal of Geography 1–22, doi:10.4000/ cybergeo.26945

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31 The Northern Dimension Dmitry A. Lanko

The Northern Dimension (ND) is an initiative aimed at elevating a programme to the level of a policy. Wilson (2015) has delivered a generalised distinction between the two, arguing that while ‘programmes are short-term interventions that create temporary improvements in the wake of challenges . . . policies . . . are covenants we collectively choose to live by’. Thus, the ND as a programme is a number of short-term interventions, which usually take the shape of international projects aimed at tackling one of the challenges that the North faces: a severe climate; vast, sparsely populated territories; and a vulnerable environment. In turn, the ND as a policy is the process of choosing the covenants to live by in the North characterised by those challenges. Since Finland initiated the ND in the late 1990s, there have been two attempts to elevate the ND to the level of a policy, but in both cases, as this chapter will demonstrate, the ND was reduced back to the level of a programme. Anything can have an ND: historians of the international Communist movement in the early twentieth century write of an ND of the Communist international (Comintern) (Weiss 2017); scholars of literature write of an ND of satire (Sirviö 2015); zoologists of an ND of biodiversity (Walls and Vuorisalo 2000) and so on. Of the two attempts to elevate the ND from the level of a programme to that of a policy, one attempted to create an ND policy of the EU, while the other set a more ambitious aim to create an ND policy for the entire world. This chapter begins by demonstrating how the Finnish initiative triggered attempts to build an ND policy of the EU and how those attempts resulted in the transformation of the ND into a programme. It provides an overview of scholarly literature on the ND, including Russian literature in an attempt to understand Russian expectations of the ND. It will discuss the attempt to ‘renew’ the ND into a minilateral (Kahler 1992) policy of the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland. It links the three major challenges of the North to the four partnerships established under the auspices of the ‘renewed’ ND policy. Further, the chapter highlights the place of each governing body of the ND policy within a system capable of choosing common covenants to live by in the North acceptable for the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland. It pays attention to the roles of the United States, Canada and Belarus, which are not full partners of the ND, but which have played roles in the formulation and implementation of the ND policy. Finally, it distinguishes between those ND governing bodies which continued working after the 2014 EU-Russia conflict and the bodies which ceased working after 2014. It demonstrates that the 356

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bodies responsible for implementing the ND as a programme continued working after 2014, while the work within bodies responsible for the ND as a policy stalled. It then outlines two scenarios regarding how the current situation might develop.

Finland initiates ND for the EU Finland initiated the ND upon its entry to the EU, when the country sought to ‘customize’ (Ojanen 2000) the EU to the specific needs of Northern countries. That included a greater role for the EU in Finnish-Russian relations, which, from the Finnish perspective, otherwise lacked stability (Forsberg and Ojanen 2000). Domestic public consent was the key factor that made Finland’s promotion of the ND a model success case of a ‘small state’s influence within the EU’ (Arter 2000). In Finland, which remained neutral during the Cold War, a vast share of the population did not want to identify their country as unequivocally ‘Western’ immediately after the collapse of the Soviet Union, but an overwhelming majority identified themselves as ‘Northern’ (Heininen 1998). As a result, both the prime minister, from 1995–2003 Paavo Lipponen (Lipponen 1998), and the opposition leader, former Premier Esko Aho (Ojanen 1999: 23), actively promoted the ND. The European Commission became active in the ND when it realised that support for the ND could boost the Commission’s role in the making of the Common Foreign and Security Policy of the EU (Haukkala 2003a). In 2000, the European Council endorsed an Action Plan for the ND with external and cross-border policies of the European Union for the period of 2000–2003 (European Council 2000), thus ending the period when the ND was a Finnish initiative but not having declared what the ND would be from then on. The ND was not an independent programme with its own financial resources; rather it was seen as an umbrella for various EU programmes, such as Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS) when their actions concerned the ND area. Nor was the ND a policy, but some EU policies, primarily the Common Foreign and Security Policy and Regional Policy, were expected to obtain their NDs. The Action Plan described various challenges in the European North, which at that time was widely perceived as a periphery (Moisio 2000), partly inhibited by indigenous peoples divided by state borders (Karppi 2001). In response to those challenges, the Action Plan called for horizontal cooperation and coordination across various EU initiatives, programmes and policies in areas parts where those initiatives, programmes and policies concerned the European North (Haukkala 2003b). In 2003, the Commission prepared the second Northern Dimension Action Plan (European Commission 2003), which, for the most part, focused on successful projects implemented in the European North (see Salminen et al. 2001) in five priority sectors, from economy, business and infrastructure to justice and home affairs. However, the Action Plan did not contain covenants to live by in the European North, which leads to the conclusion that in the early 2000s, the EU failed to elevate the ND to the level of a policy. An overview of those projects also allows for the conclusion that most of them concerned Northwest Russia (Haglund 2005). The projects listed in the Action Plan were aimed at tackling specific challenges of the European North, including Northwest Russia. Some of the challenges were products of the Soviet Union and its collapse, while others emerged as a result of globalising influences (Nicol 2005; Southcott 2005), such as climate change. The projects listed in the Action Plan differed seriously in geographical coverage and scale (Scott 2004): some covered the cross-border cooperation of neighbouring municipalities divided by the Russian–EU border, while others covered the entire Baltic Sea Region (Tassinari 2005). On an even greater geographical scale, an Arctic window of the ND was built, aimed at facilitating joint projects of agencies from non-EU Arctic nations and EU non-Arctic member states (Heininen and Nicol 2007; Powell 2011). 357

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Russia wants to be a ‘subject’ of the ND Academic literature tends to refer to the ND, which is an initiative aimed at transforming a programme into a policy, sometimes as an ‘initiative’ (Arter 2000; Filtenborg et al. 2002; Moisio 2003), sometimes as a ‘policy’ (Lindström 2000; Nicol 2005; Haglund-Morrisey 2008), and sometimes as a ‘programme’. The latter tendency is more characteristic of Russian literature on the ND, which forced some other Russian scholars (see Derkach 2002) to underline that the ND is not another programme, like TACIS, but a policy. In general, Russian literature evaluated the fact that the ND was supposed to transform from a programme into a policy positively. For example, Sergounin (2000) underlined the opportunities that the ND can offer to Northwest Russia and Antyushina (2002a, 2002b) claimed that the ND was another factor which could potentially make Russia a meeting point between Europe and Asia. Various academic studies treat Russia sometimes as an ‘object’ and sometimes as a ‘subject’ (Laine 2011) of the ND. If the ND is a policy seeking to outline the set of covenants that peoples of the (European) North will choose to live by, then it is important whether Russia and the EU select the covenants together or whether Russia has to accept the covenants suggested by the EU. In the former case, Russia becomes a ‘subject’ of the ND; in the latter case, it would be no more than an ‘object’ of the policy. Among Western scholars, some speak of the ND of the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (Haukkala 2009), thus assigning Russia the role of an ‘object’ of this policy. Others, however, discuss the ND as a ‘pillar of the bridge between Russia and the EU’ (Kivikari 2002), thus making Russia a ‘subject’ that is helping to build the bridge from its end. Russian authors who do not see any other role for Russia in the ND than that of an ‘object’ tend to treat it negatively, while Russian authors who expect Russia to be a ‘subject’ of the emerging ND policy tend to treat it positively. For example, Deryabin (2000) warned that if the ND remains an EU policy, it will hardly be able to take Russia’s interests into consideration. Such warnings had been a tendency in Russian literature on the ND until 2006, when the ND transformed from an EU policy into a minilateral policy of the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland. Post-2006 Russian literature on the ND was more optimistic about the policy. For example, Romanova (2008a) wrote of the opportunities that the ND offers to the Russian–EU energy dialogue, Busygina and Filippov (2009) elaborated on the opportunities for the development of EU institutions and Lanko (2010) discussed the opportunities for the entire Baltic Sea Region. Even Bolotnikova and Mezhevich (2012), who assessed the opportunities as exaggerated, also wrote of opportunities rather than of threats.

ND of the EU vs ND for the entire world Russian scholars are pleased to underline that the first person to propose building an ND policy was a Russian, Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev (1987). Some Western scholars also pay tribute to Gorbachev for having proposed the ND (see Heininen 1998). However, what Gorbachev proposed significantly differed from the seemingly similar proposal made by Finnish Prime Minister Lipponen (1998) a decade after Gorbachev. While Gorbachev proposed an ND for the entire world, Lipponen suggested that the EU alone could have an ND. Thus, having proposed the ND, Finland started looking for supporters of the emergent policy among EU member states in the first place. Despite its initial refusal to support the Finnish initiative due to personal rivalry between Lipponen and then-Swedish Prime Minister Göran Persson (Tuomioja 2007), Sweden later supported it, as did Denmark (Heurlin 2000). The Baltic States, though they have never been active in the ND, supported the initiative, which they saw as evidencing their 358

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successful transition ‘from a part of the Soviet Union to an important country within Europe’s ND’ (Dickinson 2013). In the mid-2000s, the scope of the ND spilled beyond the EU’s borders. Russia sought to ‘renew’ the ND in 2006 expecting to become a ‘subject’ of the policy and to replace East– West rivalry with ‘East–West collaboration in the European North’ (Hønneland 2010). Norway expected that participation in the ND could help it influence the EU’s energy policy (Offerdali 2010) after Britain pushed for formation of the policy during its 2005 presidency (McGowan 2011). Iceland started seeking a more pro-active foreign policy after 2006, when the US Air Force deactivated its base in Keflavik, thus leaving Iceland, which does not have a military, to rely on cooperation with Norway and other Nordic countries in securing its own territory and airspace (Ingimundarson 2009). Belarus perceived participation in the ND as a way to improve its relations with the EU in general and with Poland in particular (Dayner 2013). Canada’s interest towards the ND was grounded in the prospects of the ND to open an ‘Arctic window’ and to provide another useful framework for a greater role for indigenous peoples in Arctic politics (Arnold 2012). The US sought to coordinate its cooperation with Nordic and Baltic countries and with Russia through its Northern European Initiative (NEI) and later through Enhanced Partnership in Northern Europe (e-PINE): ‘NEI and US support for more effective institutions in the North aided Finnish attempts to concretise the ND’ (Bunse 2009: 92). To conclude, all these countries, both EU and non-EU, pursued very different interests when participating in the ND. Regardless of those differences, they still had a chance to choose common covenants to live by as soon as they understood the common challenges of the global North, which equally face EU’s northernmost member states, Norway and Iceland, Russia and Belarus, and the United States and Canada.

Common challenges of the ND area In 2002, a ministerial meeting of the ND took place in Ilulissat, Greenland (European Commission 2002). Foreign Ministers of the northernmost EU member states invited the foreign ministers of some EU accession states and of Russia to discuss the future of the ND after the EU enlargement planned for 2004. The meeting launched the process of ‘renewing’ the ND, completed in 2006. The meeting was a success partially due to the fact that Greenland was a place where the most important challenges of the global North were most visible to all ministers present. As already indicated, those challenges are: the severe climate; vast, sparsely populated territories; and a vulnerable environment. EU members Finland and Sweden, non-EU Norway and Iceland, Russia and Belarus, as well as Canada and the state of Alaska equally face those challenges. The climatic conditions of the North required commonly adopted principles in energy policy, which failed to emerge even between Russia and the EU due to significant differences in the long-term vision of the energy dialogue in Brussels and in Moscow (Romanova 2008b; see also Kustova this volume). The sparse population and long geographical distances characteristic of the North (Tammilehto 2000) made partners of the ND pay greater attention to the people and infrastructure. Within the ND Policy, the focus on the people led, first, to the ND Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-Being, which resulted in the implementation of a great number of successful projects in such fields as preventing communicable (Rowe and Rechel 2006) and non-communicable (Maslennikova and Oganov 2018) diseases and control of alcohol consumption (Imaeva 2018). Second, the focus on the people saw, in the ND, the provision of the Partnership on Culture, which focused on the indigenous peoples of the North divided by state borders (Karppi 2001). A focus on infrastructure resulted in the ND Partnership 359

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in Transport and Logistics (Zhura et al. 2019). Finally, the concern of all ND partners regarding the vulnerable environment of high-latitude ecosystems (Whiteman et al. 2004) resulted in the establishment of the Environmental Partnership (NDEP) within the ND, with its two ‘windows’: one focusing on wastewater treatment, energy efficiency and solid waste management and another one prioritising nuclear safety. Since the ‘renewal’ of the ND in 2006, more money has been spent through the NDEP than through any other partnership; by early 2014, its Support Fund managed by the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development contained 347.2 million EUR (NDEP 2014). Multiple academic accounts have registered successful projects implemented with the help of the NDEP (Casteel 2009). It is worth noting that those achievements took a good deal of time, between 1997, when Lipponen proposed the ND, and 2014, when implementation of the ND started facing difficulties.

How does it work? The 2006 ‘renewal’ of the ND manifested its transformation from the EU’s ND into a minilateral ND of the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland, as well as laying ground for its further transformation into an ND for the entire world. Before 2006, individual EU member states, primarily Finland, but also other Nordic countries and Germany, and institutions of the EU, primarily the Council and the Commission, but also the Parliament and the High Representative of the Common Foreign and Security Policy, dominated the decision-making. The 2006 ‘renewal’ handed decision-making over to four parties of the ND: the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland, which were supposed to make all decisions unanimously from then on. Some authors evaluated the ‘renewal’ as a model relationship among the EU, Russia and their ‘shared neighbourhood’ in other regions of the world, for example, in the Black Sea Region (Flenley 2008). Such an evaluation of the ‘renewed’ ND seems to be an exaggeration because Norway and Iceland can hardly be considered the ‘shared neighbourhood’ of Russia and the EU, but one cannot help agreeing that the ‘renewal’ of the ND resulted in the building of an effective model for cooperation between Russia and the European Economic Area. In practical terms, decision-making was split into three levels. On the upper level, the Summit is expected to choose the covenants for all partners to live by. By the time the ND was ‘renewed’, the European North had lost its reputation as a source of ‘evil’ (Sorvali 2002) that it had had during earlier periods. Moreover, it had gained the reputation of being the most peaceful part of Europe, mostly thanks to the fact that the area remained in peace throughout the entire period of the Cold War (Khudoley 2016), as well as throughout the turbulent post–Cold War period. In 2006, the ND Summit decided to build an ND policy with the aim of finding common responses to the challenges listed previously. Unfortunately, the 2006 Summit has been the only summit held so far. Parliamentary cooperation in the form of bi-annual meetings of the Parliamentary Forum of the ND (in 2019 Norway hosted the sixth meeting of the Parliamentary Forum) aims at discussing the covenants to live by in the ND Area in times when holding a Summit is impossible due to the EU’s restrictions on Russia, imposed following the 2014 crisis. ND Ministerial Meetings are in charge of organisational decisions. The first Ministerial Meeting in 2008 launched the ND Partnership in Transport and Logistics and the ND Partnership on Culture, while the second Ministerial Meeting in 2010 established the ND Institute and the ND Business Forum. ND Senior Officials Meetings supervise practical activities in the periods between Ministerial Meetings. There have been no Ministerial Meetings in 2014–2019 due to the EU’s restrictions on Russia, imposed following the 2014 crisis, but Senior Officials Meetings convened in 2014 in Oslo, in 2016 in Reykjavik and in 2019 in Brussels, thus giving 360

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reason to hope for continuation of the ND policy. The Finnish EU presidency in 2019 also did its best reviving the ND policy (Antonen 2019). Regional institutions, the Nordic Council, the Council of Baltic Sea States, the Barents Euro-Arctic Council and the Arctic Council also expressed their interest in the ND, while some scholars perceived the ND as a means to coordinate the activities of the regional institutions (Aalto et al. 2017). Last but not least, international financial institutions such as the European Bank for Reconstruction and Development, the European Investment Bank, the Nordic Investments Bank and the Nordic Environment Finance Corporation provided the financing and supervision of particular projects implemented under the auspices of the four ND Partnerships.

What to expect Since 2014, the conflict between the EU and Russia has negatively influenced policy building under the auspices of the ND (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016). Despite the conflict, practical cooperation was preserved, and all four ND partnerships continued their work. The Parliamentary Forum continued gathering, the Business Forum went on bringing business leaders from the entire ND area together and the Institute continued facilitating inter-disciplinary research seeking to find innovative solutions for the entire ND Area. Neither Summits nor Ministerial Meetings have been held since the third Ministerial Meeting in 2013, but senior officials continued meeting. The ND went on developing as a programme; it supervises the implementation of projects under the auspices of a particular ND Partnership and it has even launched new projects. However, the process of choosing common covenants for the entire ND Area to live by has stalled. That gave Russian and Finnish Presidents Vladimir Putin and Sauli Niinistö, respectively, reason to conclude that the ND as a policy ‘came to a standstill’ after 2014 (Niinistö 2017). Revival of the ND as a policy is possible. At the same time, it will require finding new incentives for all parties to enhance their commitment to the ND. The severe climate is still a challenge, but recent research has demonstrated that climate change has assisted an increase in economic growth in cooler countries (Diffenbaugh and Burke 2019), the group to which all countries of the ND Area belong. The Northern environment remains vulnerable, but multiple projects, primarily those implemented under the auspices of the ND, have contributed to a significant improvement of the situation in Northwestern Russia. That was the primary reason most projects under the auspices of the ND Environmental Partnership launched after 2014 targeted potential sources of pollution in Belarus, not in Russia, sanctions being only a secondary reason. Norway failed to influence the formation of the EU’s energy policy, even through active participation in the ND. Finally, with the return of US Air Forces to Iceland after 2014, the elite in the latter country stopped feeling abandoned by their partners, which resulted in Iceland’s reduced interest in the ND. It is also possible that the ND will serve as a model helpful in overcoming the ongoing crisis in the EU. Recent literature on European disintegration (Vollaard 2014; Webber 2014; Rosamond 2016; Zielonka 2017) demonstrated the lack of models of disintegration. Recent controversies over Brexit also demonstrated that the EU had failed to work out a ‘Plan B’ for the case of a sizeable economy deciding to quit. The ‘neighbourhood’ model proved successful when dealing with the small developing economies of Eastern Europe, Eurasia, the Balkans and the Middle East, but serious problems emerge amid attempts to apply the model to sizeable economies. Past experience of EU-Russia relations demonstrated the EU’s failure to apply the ‘neighbourhood’ model to its relations with Russia. Recently, the EU did not even attempt to apply the ‘neighbourhood’ model to its relations with the United Kingdom past Brexit. Given the fact that the economies of Britain and of Russia are of a comparable size, the ND could 361

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serve as a model for finding the covenants that the EU and the United Kingdom will choose to live by after Brexit. Post-Brexit, the EU needs a Western Dimension.

Conclusions The ND has developed from an initiative into a programme, but attempts to develop it further into a policy have so far stalled. Two initiatives launched the ND. First, the Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev in the late 1980s proposed an ND as a joint policy of the Soviet Union and Western nations aimed at tackling the challenges that humankind meets in the North, to be built after the end of the Cold War. Second, Finnish leader Paavo Lipponen in the late 1990s proposed an ND as an EU policy aimed at tackling the challenges that the EU meets in the North, including relations with Russia. The Finnish initiative was a success: this small member state managed to convince the EU that such a policy needed to be built. However, the ND of the EU alone proved unnecessary: by the late 1990s, the EU had worked out common covenants to live by for its entire territory; thus, it was pointless to work out special covenants to live by in its Northern part. As a result, in the mid-2000s, the ND performed perfectly as a programme within certain EU policies, primarily Regional Policy and the Common Foreign and Security Policy, but it performed poorly as a stand-alone policy. In 2006, the ND was ‘renewed’ by means of involving non-EU partners: Norway and Iceland, Russia and Belarus and the United States and Canada. At the Helsinki Summit, leaders of the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland set the ambitious aim to make the ND a minilateral policy aimed at choosing the covenants to live by acceptable to all four partners. The United States and Canada became observers to the new policy, while Belarus participated in its implementation without a special status. The partners expected the ND policy to provide solutions to the three greatest challenges of the ND Area: the severe climate; vast, sparsely populated territories; and a vulnerable environment. Between 2006 and 2013, the partners established four partnerships within the ND: the Environmental Partnership, the Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-Being, the Partnership in Transport and Logistics and the Partnership on Culture. The partners established governing bodies, such as the Summit, the Ministerial Conference, the Senior Officials’ Meeting and the Parliamentary Forum. The partners also established the ND Institute and the ND Business Forum. The partners agreed on the procedure for project selection aimed at tackling the challenges of the ND Area. Since 2006, many projects have been completed and many new projects have been chosen for implementation. Completing old projects and selecting new projects to be implemented did not cease even after the 2014 EU-Russian conflict, although it significantly complicated the relations between the two. The process of choosing the covenants to live by in the North acceptable to all partners did stall after 2014, although the Finnish EU presidency in 2019 did its best to re-activate the process. Thus, today, the ND, with all the projects implemented under its auspices, is a programme rather than a policy. There is a possibility that the ND as a policy will return. There is also a possibility that the ND will become another model for relationships between the EU and sizeable economies, such as, but not limited to, the economy of the Russian Federation.

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32 EU-Russian cross-border cooperation, its instruments and programmes Gleb Yarovoy

Interaction across state borders is nothing new to either the border communities or national governments worldwide. Still, the spirit, principles and practices of this interaction differ on a given border and change over time. The nature of cross-border cooperation (CBC), which has been actively developing on the border of Russia and the European Union (EU) since the early 1990s, has changed significantly since the end of the Cold War and remains ambiguous. Subnational actors from both sides consider the border as a resource for regional development while national and supranational actors aim also at securitising the borderland. The balance between cooperation and control has been changing throughout the last quarter of a century while still allowing subnational actors to create cross-border structures and improve cross-border governance. The intensity of interaction has gradually increased from a ‘lack of relations’, through ‘information’ and ‘consultation’ to genuine ‘co-operation’, aiming also at ‘harmonisation’ and ‘integration’ of regional development strategies across the border (Ricq 2006: 129–33). However, recent turbulence in international relations, caused by the Ukrainian crisis, as well as the imperfect nature of legislation and governance in Russia, have jeopardised further development of CBC at the EU-Russian border. In this context, questions about the driving forces behind the development of cross-border governance in the last 25 years and the limits of ‘cross-border integration’ (Sohn 2014) at the EU-Russian border are central to this chapter. The chapter begins with a short theoretical overview of EU-Russian CBC by putting the latter into the paradiplomacy/securitisation context and continues by investigating the evolution of EU-Russian CBC. Starting as a normative idea of supporting the post-communist transformation in Russia and its border regions with the Interreg and TACIS initiatives, the system of cooperation at the subnational level has developed into jointly financed and managed crossborder programmes in the framework of the European Neighbourhood Instrument. However, CBC and cross-border regions, created at the external border of the Community, have always been both instruments of regional development (especially for subnational authorities practising paradiplomatic activities) and EU and Russian foreign (and security) policy tools. In the last part of the chapter, the current challenges to the development of EU-Russian CBC are discussed. The constellation of factors in the EU-Russia context makes optimistic scenarios for the development of sub-national cooperation unlikely. Yet CBC remains one of the few areas of mutually beneficial relations. While the EU proceeds with soft securitisation of its external borderlands, 366

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Russia and EU member states maintain a minimum level of communication, sub-national actors use the border as a (both material and institutional) resource for regional development and nonstate actors at the grass-root level enjoy people-to-people contacts, which enhance trust among neighbours.

EU-Russian CBC in the paradiplomacy/security context According to a broad definition by the Council of Europe’s Outline Convention on Transfrontier Co-operation between Territorial Communities or Authorities, also called the ‘Madrid Convention’, CBC entails ‘any concerted action designed to reinforce and foster neighbourly relations between territorial communities or authorities within the jurisdiction of two or more Contracting Parties and the conclusion of any agreement and arrangement necessary for this purpose’ (CoE 1980). The institutional and participatory features of CBC are usually specified in official agreements between sub-state public actors, located on both sides of the border, whose institutional appearance usually takes the form of a cross-border region (CBR). Actors of cross-border cooperation are regional and local authorities; non-governmental organisations (NGOs); and cultural, scientific and educational institutions, as well as private business and individuals. Their combination depends on a specific CBC model and areas of cooperation. The following reasons led to CBC development in Europe: a will to overcome historical barriers, a demand to eliminate the difference in the level of development caused by the ‘barrier’ effects of state borders (the ‘peripherality problem’) and a need to solve the problems associated with a large number of poorly managed investments and ‘everyday absurdity’1 arising from uncoordinated actions by national governments (Gabbe et  al. 1999: 3), as well as willingness to use the border as a resource (Sohn 2014) for regional development. In Europe, cross-border cooperation is a rather long-standing phenomenon. As an institutionalised process, it started with the Italian–Austrian agreement on cross-border trade in Tirol, concluded in 1949 (Markusse 2004: 666). Nowadays, CBC has acquired a pan-European scale. Hardly any part of the state borders within the European Union (EU) is not encompassed in a CBR, or ‘euroregion’ (Keating 1998: 180). After the end of the Cold war, cross-border structures began to appear along the former Iron Curtain, allowing the regions of Russia and the EU, especially as the latter enlarged towards the Russian border, to cooperate closely in different areas. By its very nature, CBC at the external borders of the EU is distinct from that at the borders between the EU member states (MSs). The latter may be understood in the context of European spatial planning and cohesion policy, where CBC is a meso-layer of multi-level governance and where the EU is not merely a regulator but rather a supportive mechanism in terms of legislative and financial assistance. At the external border of the EU, including the EU-Russian borderland, an interplay between endogenous processes of territorial cohesion and exogenous inputs such as the EU’s Neighbourhood Policy, international cooperation and crises occurs. EU-Russian CBC should be described, thus, as a process of searching for an unstable equilibrium between the paradiplomatic activities of subnational actors and (soft and hard) security strategies of nation-states (EU MSs and neighbouring states) and the EU; between cooperation and control. The paradiplomatic approach (the term ‘paradiplomacy’ broadly refers to the involvement of subnational units or regions in international affairs, see e.g. Kuznetsov 2015) explains CBC as an instrument of regional development or, to be more precise, as a process of searching for resources for internal regional development in the external environment (Schmitt-Egner 2002). By this logic, sub-national authorities (administrations) on both sides of the (EU-Russian) border consider the EU, with its extensive financial resources, a sponsor for their initiatives 367

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(see e.g.  Kramsch and Hooper 2004: 2). Looking for the best for their regions, they follow basic rules established by EU regulations to get investments for territorial development. This approach is well presented by De Sousa, who defines CBC as any type of concerted action between public and/or private institutions of the border regions of two (or more) states . . . with the objective of reinforcing the (good) neighbourhood relations, solving common problems or managing jointly resources between communities. (2013: 673) At the same time, regional actors are not keen on strictly obeying all possible principles embedded in the EU’s CBC regulations, such as the partnership principle and participatory governance practices: CBC regions and programmes at the EU-Russian border represent rather more ‘bureaucratic’ than ‘social’ partnerships (Fritsch et al. 2015). Although the European Commission (Commission) termed euroregions ‘the laboratories of European integration’ (Kramsch and Hooper 2004: 3) and they are sometimes promoted as ‘a kind of Europe closer to the citizens, a bottom-up approach to Europe’ (Pasi 2007: 73), in reality ‘most of these entities remain unknown to the local populations, which they are supposed to serve’ (De Sousa 2013: 676). On the EU-Russian border, the Commission pays little attention to how EU governance principles are realised within the ‘external’ CBC programmes, considering them, to a great extent, part of its ‘securitising strategy’. A critical geopolitical approach to EU-Russian CBC suggests that ‘the EU attempts to confront conflicts and political challenges in its neighbourhood by establishing a cross-border strategy based on control and surveillance as well as economic, political and social integration through CBC practices’ (Koch 2018: vii). Throughout EU-Russian CBC history, the balance of the paradiplomacy/security equilibrium has weighed more heavily on one or the other side. The uneven dynamics of EU-Russian CBC development has also been reflected in the academic discourse. The EU’s main research narrative on CBC has significantly evolved from considering CBC the ‘laboratory’ of EU-Russian integration (see e.g. Eskelinen et al. 2013; Khasson 2013; Liikanen and Virtanen 2006) to seeing it as reflecting the current problems of cooperation (Fritsch et al. 2015; Koch 2017a; Laine et al. 2018; Liikanen et al. 2016; Varró 2016). As ‘Russian academic and expert communities had been rather receptive to the European concepts and models of regionalism’ (Lunder and Heden 2019: 51), an optimistic attitude towards the state of the art and the future development of CBC also dominated until the mid-2010s. Researchers tried to underline the positive potential of different subnational initiatives (Davydov and Chekalina 2011; Joenniemi and Sergunin 2012; Oding and Fedorov 2009; Yarovoy 2010). However, the Ukrainian crisis led Russian researchers to reconsider the CBC perspectives (Khudoley 2016; Kolosov et al. 2018; Sebentsov and Zotova 2018), as well as to refocus substantially their activity to study the positive potential for cooperation between the Russian regions and their neighbours from the Eurasian Union.

EU’s CBC policy towards Russia in the 1990s and early 2000s In the 1990s and 2000s, diverse forms and models of CBRs appeared in Eastern Europe as a reaction to various exogenous stimuli, from the collapse of the Iron Curtain and de-bordering of Europe to the introduction of new sources of funding for regional cooperation and development in the EU. As happens in many areas of politics, after developing new mechanisms for tackling internal problems, the EU tried to diffuse these mechanisms beyond its borders 368

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(Boerzel 2011; Lavenex and Schimmelfennig 2009). This was also relevant for the EU’s policy of territorial cooperation ‘designed to create stability both within and beyond its boundaries’ (Liikanen 2016: 19). Diffusion of EU mechanisms was not a difficult task in the field of CBC where it came into play, first by widening Interreg programmes to the external borders of the European Community (EC) following Finland’s membership in 1995, second by introducing Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS)-CBC programmes and, finally, by launching the Northern Dimension initiative. In 1989, the European Commission supported 14 pilot cross-border projects and the next year launched the Interreg Community Initiative (European Commission 1990) with a budget of over 1 bln EUR. Since that time, the European Union has become the most supportive actor of CBC in Europe. In the framework of the 1995 enlargement, three Interreg programmes were launched at the EU/Finnish-Russian border: ‘Nord’, ‘Karelia’ and ‘South-East Finland–Russia’. In 1996, the EU launched the TACIS-CBC programmes, attempting to mirror Interreg projects across the Finnish–Russian border. By doing so, the EU has created a second track in its foreign policy towards Russia. With the same intention, seemingly, the EU joined regional initiatives in Eastern and Northern Europe, such as the Council of the Baltic Sea States and the Barents Euro-Arctic Council (BEAC) (see also Sergunin this volume), which both had prominent cross-border cooperation component. For the same foreign policy reason, in 1997, after some preparatory work made by Finland, which had recently joined, the EU launched the Northern Dimension initiative (Lanko this volume), which soon benefited from a more concrete substance with the creation of the Euroregion Baltic (1998, involving Denmark, Lithuania, Poland, Russia and Sweden) and Euregio Karelia (2000, involving Finland and Russia). These euroregions, institutionalised cross-border structures, in their turn, were the result of the paradiplomatic activity of regional actors, whose primary tasks were to promote regional development, trust and mutual understanding between neighbouring communities. Thus, the ‘top-down’ securitising logic of the EU CBC strategy – promoting cooperation between border regions to sustain stability in its close neighbourhood – met with a ‘bottom-up’ paradiplomatic approach by regional actors. At the legislative level, the EU’s financial support to CBC was anchored in the EU-Russian 1997 Partnership and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) (see also Kalinichenko; Khudoley and Ras this volume). Art. 86 of the PCA states that ‘Russia receives temporary financial assistance from the EU . . . to speed up Russia’s economic transformation’ (EU and Russia 1997). At the instrumental level, TACIS-CBC was one of the multilateral TACIS sub-programmes with an annual budget of about 23–27 million EUR in the early 2000s. It was evident that ‘assistance to socioeconomic reforms in the post-Soviet space within the framework of EU TACIS proceeds from the imperative of minimising and managing the ‘new’ or ‘soft security threats’ (Prozorov 2004a: 19, emphasis in original). This explains why the EU continued the TACIS program without regard to the critics of inefficiency (see e.g. Mikhaleva 2005). Prozorov (2004a) calls the system of EU financial, managerial and even ideological support of post-communist transformation a ‘political pedagogy of technical assistance’, which was targeted at promoting good governance, civil society and market economy (on the basis that promoting stability enhances security). According to Fritsch, however, this pedagogy, or ‘conditionality and the coercive power’ over the third countries, especially in the field of territorial cooperation, became ‘less relevant as a mechanism or mode of external governance, giving way to alternative, less hierarchical, forms of “new governance” such as “lesson-drawing”, “social learning” or “communication” ’ after 2004 EU enlargement (2013: 50–1). Whereas ‘pedagogy’ as a set of cooperation practices has some negative connotations of being too normative and moralistic, for the development of EU-Russian CBC, per se, this ‘pedagogy’ 369

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period became a time of institutionalisation of previously unsystematic initiatives into stable cross-border structures (Kortelainen 1997). The EU’s programmes – Interreg, TACIS and the Northern Dimension – also allowed for some harmonisation of cross-border projects. In 1998, Euroregion Baltic, the first CBR which included regional actors from both the EU MSs and Russia, was created. Two years later, Euregio Karelia appeared at the ground border between Russia and Finland. As clearly stated in the Statute of the Euregio Karelia, one of the goals of the CBR is to ‘get EU finances’ as well as to ‘co-ordinate EU Interreg and TACIS projects’ (Euregio Karelia 2000; see also Liikanen 2008; Prozorov 2004b). Moreover, the Euregio Karelia as such was considered by their founders an ‘umbrella project’ (Shlyamin 2002), being at the same time ‘a model for cooperation at the EU external borders’ (Cronberg and Shlyamin 1999: 28–9). These cross-border structures, as well as the other initiatives and institutions of sub-national cooperation in the ‘new Northern Europe’, were created by regional authorities in line with the EU’s ‘pedagogy’. The process of creating CBRs and prioritising their activities took place without the active participation of Moscow (although representatives of the Russian MFA participated in all important meetings at the regional level). Russia could offer little in terms of legislative or financial regulation of CBC activities, except for some limitations to regional competencies in the fields of external relations. As late as 2002, Russia joined the Madrid Convention, which for more than 15 years remained the legal basis for the CBC projects and initiatives of the Russian regions. In 2017, the Federal law ‘[o]n the basics of cross-border cooperation’ was adopted (Russian Federation 2017). It is a rather superficial document, which defines the main areas of cooperation, the rules for concluding CBC agreements and the reporting system on CBC activities. The law also limits CBC actors to federal, regional and local authorities. Neither private business nor NGOs are mentioned. Before the launch of the European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument (ENPI) programmes in the 2010s, the Russian government did not actively participate in funding CBC development, the only exception being infrastructural projects, such as the construction of border-crossing points.

ENPI and Russia’s co-ownership of CBC programmes The situation with regional cooperation changed significantly by the mid-2000s due to, on the one hand, the geopolitical shifts resulting from the 2004 EU enlargement, and, on the other hand, the economic recovery of and political centralisation in Russia. These changes demanded new regulation of EU-Russian relations in all areas (Allision et al. 2006), including CBC. The EU’s aspirations towards securitising the external borders (Koch 2018) were supported by the growing desire of both the EU and Russia to increase their influence in the post-Soviet space, or the new EU-Russian ‘joint neighbourhood’. With the 2004 enlargement, when the EU external border was significantly moved to the east, the European Neighbourhood Policy (ENP) was developed as a new foreign policy instrument. In the ENP conceptualisation, regions were assigned the role of important transmitters of EU foreign policy. This effect was supposed to be achieved by giving the EU’s border regions additional competences and new responsibilities in the development of CBC with border regions of the third countries. Cross-border initiatives, along with interstate cooperation, were proclaimed the most important factor in strengthening the internal unity and security of the EU. In this situation, funding under the new programmes has become another important aspect in strengthening the subnational regions bordering Russia (European Commission 2004a). A strategic decision on what would be the ENP’s financial mechanism, the ENPI, was taken in September  2004 (European Commission 2004b). In the final document, Russia received 370

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the status of a ‘strategic partner’. The EU offered Russia use of the ENP budget to finance CBC projects. From 2007–2013, 13 ENPI programmes, including 5 programmes along the EU-Russian border – from Murmansk/Finland to Kaliningrad/Poland – were adopted (European Commission 2018a). Due to the large number of difficulties associated with formal procedures for financing and reporting, caused by differences in Russian and European legislation, the Programmes’ approval process was delayed. Their ratification in the Russian State Duma took place at the end of July 2010. The basic difference between the new ENPI programmes and the 1990s–2000s TACIS and Interreg programmes was in the principle of selection and financing of the projects. ENPI programmes were organised on the principle of co-financing from the EU (of 50 per cent), Russia and the EU MS (or Norway) or MSs involved. By allocating substantial budgetary funds to the CBC projects, Russia upgraded its status from the subordinate of EU policy to co-owner of the programmes. All in all, Russia has invested more than 103 mln EUR in five ENPI CBC Programmes. Not least important is the fact that the decision-making process within the framework of ENPI programmes was based on unanimity, which emphasised equality and partnership between the participating regions and actors (see Figure 32.1). The Joint Selection Committee ( JSC), which evaluates and selects project applications, includes an equal number of representatives of the authorities from each of the Programme-participating countries. For example, the JSC of the ENPI CBC ‘Karelia’ consisted of five representatives from the regional level from Finland and Russia (5FINr, meaning one of three Finnish regions participating in the programme, and 5RK, meaning the Republic of Karelia, in the scheme);

or

p Re g

tin // n Fu ng

di Lead partner (FINr or RK) Project consortium (FINr+RK partners)

n io pl ic at ap Pr oj

d te

c le se on cts on je si pro

i ec

D

EU Commission Russia, Finland

ec t

Joint Monitoring Commitee (2FINn+2RUSn+3FINr+3RK)

Funding // Reporting

F se ina le l d ct ec ed is pr ion oj o ec n ts

Joint Managing Authority (Council of Oulu Region)

Joint selection committee (5FINr+5RK)

Figure 32.1 Decision-making process in the ENPI CBC Programmes (based on the example of ENPI CBC ‘Karelia’). 371

372 Finland: Lappi Sweden: Norrbotten Nor way: Finnmark, Troms, Nordland Russia: Murmansk Oblast, Archangelsk Oblast, Nenets Okrug Finland: Kainuu, Pohjois-Pohjanmaa, Pohjois-Karjala Russia: Republic of Karelia Finland: Etelä-Karjala, Kymenlaakso, Etelä Savo Russia: Leningrad Oblast, St Petersburg Estonia: Kirde-Eesti, Lõuna-Eesti, Kesk-Eesti Russia: Leningrad and Pskov Oblasts, St Petersburg Latvia: Latgale, Vidzeme Regions Russia: Pskov Oblast Lithuania: Marijampolės, Tauragės and Klaipėdos Apskritys Russia: Kaliningrad Oblast Poland: Trójmiejski, Gdański, Elbląski, Olsztyński, Ełcki, Suwalski, Starogardzki Russia: Kaliningrad Oblast

Kolarctic http://kolarctic.info/kolar tic-2014-2020

Karelia www.kareliacbc.fi South-East Finland-Russia www.sefrcbc.fi Estonia-Russia www.estoniarussia.eu Latvia-Russia http://latruscbc.eu/ Lithuania-Russia www.eni-cbc.eu/lr Poland-Russia www.plru.eu/

1

2

* These are indicative budgets, as stated in the Joint Operational Programmes (available on the Programmes’ websites).

7

6

5

4

3

Eligible regions

Programme

Table 32.1 EU-Russia ENI CBC land-border programmes 2014–2020

68.2

27.2

27.3

35.7

72.3

43

63.4

Budget*, mln EUR

Sept 2018

Oct 2018

Sept 2018

Oct 2018

July 2018

July 2018

July 2018

Ratified by Russian Duma

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in the ENPI ‘Kolarctic’, this body included three representatives of regional authorities from Russia, Finland, Sweden and Norway (for the list of participating regions, see Table 32.1). The Joint Monitoring Committee ( JMC) was the supreme decision-making body. In ENPI ‘Karelia’, it consisted of two representatives of the national level of each participating country (2FINn and 2RUSn in the scheme) and three representatives of the regional level of each country (3FINr and 3RK in the scheme). Formally, the JMC had a decisive voice in approving projects selected for implementation by the JSC; however, only very serious reasons could lead the JMC to cancel the decision on selected projects made by the JSC. The Joint Managing Authority ( JMA) provides technical and financial management and oversees programme implementation. JMA is a separate division of one of the regional administrations in one of the EU MSs. In the case of ‘Karelia’, it is the Regional Council of Northern Ostrobothnia; in ENPI ‘Kolartcic’, the responsible region was Lapland. After receiving the approved list of projects from the JMC, the JMA conducts all negotiations related to project financing with the European Commission, maintains the Programme’s accounts from which payments are made to the lead partner of each specific CBC project, signs the contract with the lead partner, monitors the progress of the project and reports to the Commission. Thus, the decision-making process in the framework of the ENPI CBC Programmes, as well as the technical work has been significantly de-centralised compared to TACIS/Interreg. Previously, all project-related decisions were made by the European Commission Delegation in Moscow. The ENPI institutional design devolved it to the regional level, as prescribed by the EU principle of subsidiarity. This was one of the factors which allowed ENPI programmes to go beyond infrastructural development and include political integration at the sub-national level (Koch 2018: 31).2 On the other hand, ‘inter-actor trust, based on personal relations and common objectives, greatly contributes to stability’ in the EU-Russian CBRs (ibid.: 39), even in the current situation of the deepest deterioration of EU-Russian relations following the 2013–2014 events in Ukraine. Moreover, the persistent position of regional representatives, especially those of the Finnish regional councils involved in ENPI CBC programmes and relative JMAs, resulted in the extension of ENPI CBC funding to the 2014–2020 EU financial planning period in the form of the new European Neighbourhood Instrument (ENI).

Current trends and challenges in EU-Russian subnational cooperation Decisions concerning the continuation of ENPI programmes and their inclusion (under the ENI programmes) were in fact taken before the Ukrainian crisis. In 2014, the EU considered whether ENI CBC programmes were to be included in the ‘sanctions package’, but the idea was rejected as a result of continuous Finnish lobbying in Brussels (Koch 2018: 66–9). Seven ENI CBC land-border programmes and one CBC programme for the Baltic Sea region were listed for the 2014–2020 programming period. Eight EU MSs, Russia and Norway are part of these programmes. The total EU financial contribution to ENI CBC programmes is 178 million EUR, EU MSs allocate 51 million EUR, and the Russian Federation committed to 91 million EUR (European Commission 2018b). Programme documents were adopted in 2015, and EU-Russian negotiations on financial matters were completed in 2016. However, until July–October  2018, agreements on these programmes were pending ratification in the Russian State Duma due to the ongoing crisis in EU-Russian relations. Right after the ratification, new joint projects were launched in all CBC programmes. The latest rounds of project applications have shown that at the grassroots level, ‘ordinary’ collaborators maintain high interest in interacting with partners on the other side of the border. 373

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The number of applications has greatly exceeded the financial capabilities of the programmes. The number of Russian actors (NGOs, universities, cultural institutions etc.) as so-called lead partners or project applicants is constantly increasing. It shows the growth of competences of regional actors, their understanding of the opportunities available and their acceptance of EU standards of project management, which might be construed as evidence of a more general culture of governance. Currently, all EU-Russian CBC programmes are secured institutionally and financially until the end of the ENI implementation period, which will go far beyond the 2014–2020 EU budgetary framework, as was already the case with ENPI arrangements. The future developments of ‘top-down’ CBC will depend on high politics, on whether both the EU and Russia will decide to continue allocating money to CBC programmes and projects. ‘Bottom-up’ cooperation, however, is based on sustaining the already established networks on the sub-national level. The success of this cannot be measured during the ENPI/ENI implementation period and will be known when or if the money ever flowing from the EU and participating states stops. Recently, decisions on continuation of the financing of the EU-Russian CBC programmes, at least in the case of the EU, have been largely dependent on the efforts of regional lobbyists in Brussels. They were able to demonstrate that the EU’s foreign policy strategy and regional development interests in the border areas do not contradict each other and that CBC can still sit at the foreign (and security) policy and paradiplomacy nexus, contributing to the stable functioning of cross-border structures and programmes. Although there is a difference between the ad hoc CBC institutional arrangements created in the framework of ENPI ( JMAs, JMCs and JSCs) and long-term CBC structures and networks, such as CBRs (BEAR, ‘Karelia’ and ‘Baltic’), they both have similar weaknesses. Decision-­ making bodies constitute bureaucratic partnerships or technocratic structures. On both sides of the border, they lack engagement with and from the social partners. Thus, their evolution towards more transparent and open structures, based on participatory governance, is one of the main challenges for the future development of the CBC programmes. Since all the decisions are made (only) by regional officials from both sides of the border, this potentially leads to a politically biased selection of projects rather than projects that serve wider societal interests. Seemingly, the co-option of the economic and social partners (non-state and semi-independent actors, such as NGOs, private companies, education and research institutions etc.) into the decision-making process on CBC programmes could potentially ease the ownership problem as well as making programmes more visible to (potential) stakeholders and beneficiaries (Fritsch et al. 2015). However, no study on the motivation of both sides (i.e. regional officials and economic and social actors) to follow the EU’s partnership principle at the EU-Russian border has been carried out, and thus this option remains uncertain.

A vision for the future Although CBC between Russia and the EU has shown its relative stability, its further development depends on many factors: both internal, inherent to Russia’s, the EU’s (and its MSs’) political processes; and external, related to the international environment. Even though cooperation in the framework of cross-border projects continues and new cooperation programmes have been approved, they have not given rise to a new quality of cooperation. Projects and programmes ensure the continuity of interaction but do not produce a synergistic effect. None of the CBC areas has adopted or even drafted a joint regional development strategy in any field of regional economy. Western sanctions and, even more, Russian counter-sanctions have had a negative impact on cooperation in areas where ‘cluster’-type cooperation was possible (Sebentsov and Zotova 2018: 98). 374

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As indicated previously, EU-Russian CBC represents a process of seeking the unstable equilibrium between security strategies of (states and) the EU, and paradiplomatic actions by subnational units. Therefore, these multilateral relations constitute a non-zero-sum game; all actors gain. The EU stabilises its borderlands, nation-states develop peripheral areas, sub-national actors get considerable resources for regional development and networking. Thus, although for the EU Eastern neighbourhood in general and for EU-Russian relations in particular, possible scenarios are inevitably complex and contradictory (Laine and Scott 2018), positive improvements, or at least maintenance of the status quo, are still possible even in the context of ongoing international confrontation, where (geo)political ambitions are winning over socioeconomic pragmatism. Seemingly, any forecasts for CBC development are meaningless until Russia-Western relations are normalised. A conservative or inertial scenario should be considered the most likely in the medium term. This implies the preservation of the current system of cooperation  – multi-level, multi-actor, multi-sphere but limited to the level of ‘co-operation’ (Ricq 2006: 129–33). The levels of ‘harmonisation’ or ‘integration’ of regional development strategies cannot be achieved without corresponding movements at the level of interstate interaction. The border between Russia and the EU remains a barrier to rather than a bridge for cooperation. Apart from some positive cases of local visa-free regimes, it is more likely to be a space of stricter limits (including a militarisation perspective) than one of contact. As Russian policy towards the EU has always been rather reactive or adaptive than pro-active (DeBardeleben 2018: 181), EU policy towards Russia will be a dominant factor in the further development of CBC. In this respect, the previously mentioned lobbying activities of the EU MSs’ (primarily Finnish) regional actors in their capitals and in Brussels will also play an important stabilising role, ensuring the continuation of regional cooperation. Their engagement in existing cooperation networks and trust-based relations with Russian counterparts (for different forms of trusts in EU-Russian CBC, see Koch 2017b) creates a strong foundation for keeping the cross-border structures and initiatives functioning. Thanks to this, CBC will remain one of the few bridges of positive communications between Russia and the European Union. This CBC function of normalising relations is also recognised in Moscow. Leonid Slutsky, a chair of the Russian Duma Committee on International Affairs, noted after the ENI CBC programmes’ ratification that these programmes represent a ‘constructive block’ in the overall miserable picture of bilateral relations and that they could ‘compensate the negativity’ that has lately accumulated between the countries (Sputnik 2018). In this respect, the role of existing CBRs and programmes in maintaining positive communication and trusty relations, at least at the sub-national level, is as important as it was at the beginning of the 1990s.

Acknowledgements This chapter  has been prepared within the framework of the Academy of Finland grant nr. 318149 ‘Participatory Governance on the EU-Russian Border’

Notes 1 There are many issues which could and have been improved just by simple coordination and communication between the local, regional and national authorities on both sides of the border. See GuillermoRamírez and Nikolov (2015) for detailed examples. 2 The question of whether we should actually consider this a form of ‘regional’ or ‘political’ integration is an interesting one but lies outside the scope of this chapter. 375

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References Allision, R., Light, M. and White, S. (2006) Putin’s Russia and the Enlarged Europe, London: Chatham House. Boerzel, T. (2011) ‘When Europe hits . . . beyond its borders. Europeanization and the near abroad’, Comparative European Politics 9(4): 394–413. Council of Europe, CoE (1980) ‘European outline convention on transfrontier co-operation between territorial communities or authorities’, European Treaty Series, No. 106, 21 May. Cronberg, T. and Shlyamin, V. (1999) ‘Euregio Karelia – A Model for Cooperation at the EU External Borders’, Crossing Borders in the Northern Dimension, Oulu: Regional Council of North Ostrobothnia, pp. 25–9. Davydov, D.M. and Chekalina, T.N. (2011) ‘Cross-border cooperation as a tool of branding in the Baltic region’, Baltic Sea Region 2: 74–6. DeBardeleben, J. (2018) Backdrop to the Ukraine Crisis: The Revival of Normative Politics in Russia’s Relations with the EU? in M. Sussex and R.E. Kanet (eds.), Power, Politics and Confrontation in Eurasia: Foreign Policy in a Contested Area, Basingstoke, Hants: Palgrave Macmillan, pp. 161–85. De Sousa, L. (2013) ‘Understanding European cross-border cooperation: a framework for analysis’, Journal of European Integration 35(6): 669–87. Eskelinen, H., Liikanen, I. and Scott, J.W. (eds.) (2013) The EU-Russia borderland: new contexts for regional co-operation, London: Routledge. EU and Russia (1997) ‘Agreement on partnership and cooperation’, Official Journal of the European Communities, L 327/3, 28 November. Euregio Karelia (2000) ‘Statute of the “Euregio Karelia” ’, available in Russian at http://docs.cntd.ru/ document/919303630 (accessed 24 October 2018). European Commission (1990) ‘Notice C(90) 1562/3 to the member states, laying down guidelines for operational programmes which member states are invited to establish in the framework of a Community initiative concerning border areas (INTERREG)’, Official Journal, C 215, 30 August. European Commission (2004a) ‘European neighbourhood policy’, Strategy Paper, Communication from the Commission COM (2004) 373 final, Brussels, 12 May. European Commission (2004b) ‘Proposal for a regulation of the European Parliament and of the council laying down general provisions establishing a European neighbourhood and partnership instrument, communication from the commission’, COM (2004) 628 final, Brussels, 20 September. European Commission (2018a) ‘Ex-post evaluation of 2007–2013 ENPI CBC programmes’, Final Report, January, available at https://ec.europa.eu/neighbourhood-enlargement/sites/near/files/ex_post_evalu ation_of_2007-2013_enpi_cbc_programmes_report.pdf (accessed 24 October 2018). European Commission (2018b) ‘Polish-Russian cross-border cooperation continues’, 16 March, available at https://eeas.europa.eu/delegations/russia/41474/polish-russian-cross-border-cooperation-contin ues_en (accessed 24 October 2018). Fritsch, M. (2013) The Russian Dimension in European Spatial Development Policy, Joensuu: UEF. Fritsch, M., Németh, S., Piipponen, M. and Yarovoy, G. (2015) ‘Whose partnership? Regional participatory arrangements in CBC programming on the Finnish–Russian border’, European Planning Studies 23(12): 2582–99. Gabbe, J., Malchus, V., Mahnkopf, K. and Martinos, H. (1999) Institutional Aspects of Cross-Border Cooperation, Gronau: AEBR. Guillermo-Ramírez, M. and Nikolov, A. (eds.) (2015) Spatial planning and cross-border cooperation, available at www.aebr.eu/files/publications/Guide_-_CBC___Spatial_Planning.pdf (accessed 24 October 2019). Joenniemi, P. and Sergunin, A. (2012) Laboratories of European Integration: City-Twinning in Northern Europe, Euborderregions Working Papers Series 1, Peipsi Center for Transboundary Cooperation. Keating, M. (1998) The New Regionalism in Western Europe: Territorial Restructuring and Political Change, Northampton: Edward Elgar Publishing. Khasson, V. (2013) ‘Cross-border cooperation over the Eastern EU border: between assistance and partnership under the European neighbourhood and partnership instrument’, East European Politics 29(3): 328–43. Khudoley, K.K. (2016) ‘The Baltic Sea region and increasing international tension’, Baltic Region 8(1): 4–16. Koch, K. (2017a) ‘The role of territoriality in the European Union multi-level governmental cooperation framework of Finnish–Russian cross-border cooperation’, European Urban and Regional Studies, doi:10.1177/0969776417736

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Koch, K. (2017b) ‘The Spatiality of Trust in EU External Cross-Border Cooperation’, European Planning Studies 26(3): 591–610. Koch, K. (2018) Geopolitics of Cross-Border Cooperation at the EU’s External Borders, Oulu: Juvenes Print, Nordia Geographical Publications 47(1). Kolosov, V. et al (2018) ‘Looking east and west: the shifting concepts of Russia’s borders with CIS countries and the EU’, in J. Laine, I. Liikanen and J.W. Scott (eds.), Post-Cold War Borders: Reframing Political Space in Eastern Europe, London: Routledge, pp. 72–90. Kortelainen, J. (1997) ‘Crossing Borders – Accumulating Regional Capital’, in J. Kortelainen (ed.), Crossing the Russian border: regional development and cross-border cooperation in Karelia, Joensuu: University of Joensuu, pp. 167–79. Kramsch, O. and Hooper B. (2004) Cross-border Governance in the European Union, New York and London: Routledge. Kuznetsov, A. (2015) Theory and Practice of Paradiplomacy: Subnational Governments in International Politics, New York: Routledge. Laine, J., Liikanen, I. and Scott, J.W. (eds) (2018) Post-Cold War Borders: Reframing Political Space in Eastern Europe, London: Routledge. Laine, J. and Scott, J.W. (2018) Conclusions – On borderscapes of post–Cold War borders, in J. Laine, I. Liikanen and J.W. Scott (eds.), Post-Cold War Borders: Reframing Political Space in Eastern Europe, London: Routledge, pp. 246–56. Lavenex, S. and Schimmelfennig, F. (2009) ‘EU rules beyond EU borders: theorizing external governance in European politics’, Journal of European Public Policy 16(6): 791–812. Liikanen, I. (2008) ‘New neighbourhood and cross-border region-building: identity politics of CBC on the Finnish – Russian border’, Journal of Borderlands Studies 23(3): 19–38. Liikanen, I. (2016) ‘Building regional stability through cross-border cooperation: changing spatial imaginaries and sovereignty concepts of EU neighbourhood policies’, in I. Liikanen, J.W. Scott and T. Sotkasiira (eds.), The EU’s Eastern Neighbourhood: Migration, Borders and Regional Stability, London: Routledge, pp. 19–35. Liikanen, I., Scott, J.W. and Sotkasiira, T. (eds.) (2016) The EU’s Eastern Neighbourhood: Migration, Borders and Regional Stability, London: Routledge. Liikanen, I. and Virtanen, P. (2006) ‘The new neighbourhood: a ‘constitution’ for cross-border cooperation’, in J.W. Scott (ed.), EU Enlargement, Region-Building and Shifting Borders of Inclusion and Exclusion, Abingdon: Routledge, pp. 113–30. Lunder, T. and Heden, A. (2019) ‘Spatial imagination and political notions of the Baltic Sea region’, Baltic Worlds 12(1): 50–1. Markusse, J. (2004) ‘Transborder regional alliances in Europe: chances for ethnic Euroregions?’, Geopolitics 9(3): 649–73. Mikhaleva, G. (2005) ‘The European Union and Russian Transformation’, in N. Hayouz, J. Leszek and W. van Meurs (eds.), Enlarged EU – Enlarged Neighborhood. Perspectives of the European Neighbourhood Policy, Bern: Peter Lang, pp. 107–26. Oding, N.Y. and Fedorov, G.M. (2009) ‘Revitalization of Russian participation in cross-border cooperation in the Baltic sea’, Bulletin of Baltic Federal University Kant 3: 63–9. Pasi, P. (2007) ‘Euroregions as micro-models of European integration’, in J. Langer (ed.), Euroregions – the Alps–Adriatic Context, Bern: Peter Lang, pp. 73–9. Prozorov, S. (2004a) Political Pedagogy of Technical Assistance: A Study in Historical Ontology of Russian Postcommunism, Tampere: Tampere University Press. Prozorov, S. (2004b) ‘Border Regions and the Politics of EU-Russian Relations. The Role of the EU in Tempering and Producing Border Conflicts’, Working Papers Series in EU Border Conflicts Studies 2004–3. The University of Birmingham. Ricq, Ch. (ed) (2006) Handbook on Transfrontier Co-Operation, Strasbourg: Council of Europe. Russian Federation (2017) ‘Federal law 179-FZ “on the basics of cross-border cooperation” ’, adopted 26 July, available at https://rg.ru/2017/07/31/sotrudnichestvo-dok.html (accessed 24 October 2018). Schmitt-Egner, P. (2002) ‘The concept of “region”: theoretical and methodological notes on its reconstruction’, Journal of European Integration 24(3): 179–200. Sebentsov, A.B. and Zotova, M.V. (2018) ‘The Kaliningrad region: challenges of the exclave position and ways to offset them’, Baltic Region 10(1): 89–106. Shlyamin, V. (2002) Rossiya v Severnom Izmerenii. Petrozavodsk: Petrozavodsk State University Press.

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33 Russia and the EU in the Arctic Alexander Sergunin

Many regional and global players are showing a growing interest in the development of the Arctic. The EU’s interest in the region has gradually increased since the 1990s. Initially, the EU limited itself to three major means of influencing Arctic politics: i) northern EU member states, such as Denmark, Finland and Sweden, ii) bilateral dialogues with the non-EU countries, especially Iceland, Norway and Russia in the context of the Northern Dimension (ND) (see Lanko this volume), and (3) multilateral institutions (UN specialised bodies, Arctic Council [AC] and Barents-Euro-Arctic Council [BEAC], where the EU has non-permanent and permanent observer status, respectively). In the 2000s, however, Brussels decided to play a more visible role in the region as an independent actor by launching an Arctic strategy of its own, trying to elevate its status in international institutions dealing with the High North1 and even setting a regional agenda in areas such as fisheries, environmental protection, climate change, shipping, indigenous peoples rights, scientific and educational cooperation and so on. It is no surprise that other Arctic players’ (Canada, Norway, Russia and the United States) reaction to the EU’s growing intervention in regional affairs was wary. Since Russia is a key Arctic player which controls a large part of the region, this country is naturally of interest to the EU as a potential partner in the High North. This chapter aims to discuss how EU-Russian relations in the Arctic region evolved over the past quarter century. In particular, there are three specific research objectives with this study. First, to examine past and ongoing EU-Russian cooperative programmes in the High North. Second, to discuss the problems and obstacles which impede cooperation between Brussels and Moscow in the region. Finally, to outline the prospects and identify opportunities for future EU-Russia cooperation in the Arctic in the short- and mid-term perspectives.

Literature review Unfortunately, the academic literature on the EU-Russian relations in the Arctic is scarce. It is replete with fundamental works on either EU (Archer 2014; Liu et al. 2017; Stępień and Koivurova 2017; Wegge 2015) or Russian (Lagutina 2019; Laruelle 2014; Sergunin and Konyshev 2016; Yarovoy 2014) Arctic policies, but very few authors touch upon relations between 379

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Brussels and Moscow in this region. There are some works on the EU-Russian cooperation in the ND framework (Heininen 2001, 2011; Joenniemi and Sergunin 2003; Lejins and Nackmayr 2000; Ojanen 2001; Rafaelsen 2014). They are mostly focused on depicting specific areas of cooperation. These works are basically of a descriptive nature and do not pay much attention to the theoretical/conceptual issues. The second group of publications aims to examine various forms of cross-border cooperation (CBC) between the EU and Russia in the North ( Joenniemi and Sergunin 2012; Rafaelsen 2014; Yarovoy this volume). These works are of a similar (descriptive) character as the first group, although they study cooperative programmes which are different from the ND. Third, there are authors who study some functional areas of EU-Russia cooperation in the Arctic, such as energy (Hunter 2017; Stępień et al. 2014), shipping (Ringbom 2017), fisheries (Blomeyer 2015; Liu 2017), environment (Fadeyev 2012; Stępień et al. 2014), indigenous peoples (Hennig and Caddell 2017) and science (Zaika 2017). Although these works have no ambitions to produce fundamental theoretical conclusions, they are helpful in the sense that they reveal the positive experiences of EU-Russian Arctic cooperation and the need to return to a cooperative track. Finally, there are several works which cover both the theoretical and practical dimensions of the subject and provide a thorough analysis of problems and opportunities in the EU-Russia relations in the Far North (Aalto 2013; Depledge and Tulupov 2016; Etzold and Haukkala 2011; Laine 2011). These publications suggest various theoretical explanations of EU-Russia relations in the Arctic, ranging from the neo-realist and neo-liberal to post-positivist perspectives. Particularly, these scholars discuss the phenomenon of the so-called ‘Arctic exceptionalism’ in relations between Brussels and Moscow. The form of these publications (journal articles or book chapters), however, constrains their ability to deliver a comprehensive study of the subject.

Historical retrospective: the EU conceptual framework for Arctic strategies Since the 1990s, the EU has shown an active interest in the Arctic, citing as justification its concern over the competition among various powers for the natural resources of the High North, over territorial disputes and the claims of several countries to control the Arctic sea passages, and over ecological ‘hot spots’ in the region. Initially, the EU mostly limited its activities in the Arctic to the implementation of the ND programme (Heininen 2001; Joenniemi and Sergunin 2003; Konyshev and Sergunin 2012; Lanko this volume). In the early 2000s, the idea of an ‘Arctic window’ grew popular in the EU and was reflected in the new concept of the ND adopted in November 2006. Instead of being a regional dimension of the EU’s Common Foreign and Security Policy (CFSP), it became a joint policy of four equal partners: the EU, Russia, Norway and Iceland. In the ND context, the EU actively cooperates not only with individual countries (including Russia) but also with three regional institutions concerned with Arctic issues – the AC, BEAC and the Nordic Council of Ministers (NCM). In October  2007, the European Commission adopted the Action Plan for an Integrated Maritime Policy, which touched on issues such as the division of the continental shelf and the exploitation of sea routes in the Arctic (Commission of the European Communities 2007a). In March 2008, the European Commission (2008a) drafted a document which focused largely on ecological problems. In particular, the following issues were highlighted: the destruction of the established ecosystem as a result of the melting polar ice, the negative consequences of natural resources’ development and of the increasing number of international trade routes and intensified competition among Arctic powers for the use of natural resources and sea routes in the 380

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Arctic. To prevent dangerous developments, the EU proposed to intensify cooperation within international organisations, to develop an EU Arctic strategy and to establish a dialogue between the EU and the Arctic countries that did not belong to the EU. Russian, Norwegian, Icelandic, US and Canadian experts have viewed this document as the EU’s attempt to claim a role in Arctic affairs. It has also been noted that much of the impetus pushing the EU toward a more aggressive Arctic policy has come from Denmark, Sweden and, in particular, Finland (Heininen 2011: 26, 29), which felt excluded from Arctic affairs despite being heavily impacted by them and having significant interests in the region. In November 2008, the European Commission released the first document to describe the main contours of the EU’s Arctic strategy (Commission of the European Communities 2008b). The document identified three main priorities for the EU’s future policy in the region: i) protecting the Arctic environment and indigenous peoples, ii) ensuring the stable development of the region and the rational use of its natural resources and iii) developing a mechanism for multilateral cooperation in the Arctic. It notes the need for broad dialogue on questions of Arctic policy on the basis of the UN Convention on the Law of the Sea and the key roles played by the ND and the AC (in whose work Russia takes an active part) in cooperation in the Arctic. Despite such ‘multilateralist’ rhetoric, this document hardly mentioned Russia and the BEAC, which are indispensable for regional cooperation in the Arctic. One year later, in 2009, the EU Council of Ministers approved the Commission’s communication. In January  2011, the European Parliament called for a more active EU Arctic policy, but its voice in such matters is merely advisory. Since then, the EP has published Arctic resolutions on a regular basis (European Parliament 2014, 2016, 2017). In July 2012, the Commission and the EU’s High Representative for CFSP submitted their progress report and an evaluation of the EU Arctic Policy (European Commission and EU High Representative 2012). In April  2016, they published a new Joint Communication on ‘An integrated European Union Policy for the Arctic’ (European Commission and EU High Representative of the Union for Foreign Affairs and Security Policy 2016). In the following June, the Foreign Affairs Council, in turn, issued its Conclusions on the Arctic policy, endorsing the Commission’s priorities and reiterating the EU’s strong regional interest (Council of the European Union 2016). The documents emphasised three priorities: climate change mitigation, sustainable development and international cooperation in the region. These documents may seem ambitious only if one does not take into account the limited political instruments available to the EU. In practice, it all boils down to monitoring, research and discussions, many of which are designed to persuade the Arctic countries of the need to maintain higher environmental standards, even to the detriment of their economic activity. It is not surprising that a few of the non-EU countries of the Arctic region are not overly enthusiastic about these claims, although they perceive them as reasonable and do not refuse to participate in dialogue initiated by the EU. To demonstrate the EU’s relative weakness in Arctic politics, it should be mentioned that Brussels’s application for permanent observer status in the AC was never approved by the Council. Russia, Canada and indigenous peoples’ organisations (which have the status of permanent participants in the AC) for various reasons blocked the idea of granting permanent observer status to the EU.

Historical retrospective: EU-Russia practical cooperation in the Arctic ND partnerships and various EU-Russian CBC programmes were the main forms of cooperation between Brussels and Moscow in the High North. 381

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Northern Dimension As far as the ND is concerned, from 2007–2013, its ‘Arctic window’ was aimed at supporting stability, well-being and sustainable development in the region by means of practical cooperation. It covered a wide range of sectors, such as the environment, nuclear safety, health, energy, transport, logistics, promotion of trade and investment, research, education and culture. In particular, the Northern Dimension Environmental Partnership (NDEP) was to bring partners and initiatives together to facilitate fundraising for environmental projects, pooling the collective expertise and resources of the international financial institutions (IFIs) active in the North: European Bank of Reconstruction and Development (EBRD), European Investment Bank (EIB), Nordic Investment Bank, Nordic Environment Finance Corporation and the World Bank. Each project was assigned an IFI that acted as Lead Implementing Agency to manage a project from inception to completion. Through their expertise, the IFIs identified and developed new projects which, once approved by the NDEP contributors, followed an organised and transparent implementation programme which adhered to the procurement rules of the lead IFI. For environmental projects, NDEP grants complemented loans provided by IFIs and these in turn could leverage further local and international funding. For example, under the NDEP’s auspices, wastewater treatment plants were built or rehabilitated in Arkhangelsk and Komi Republic (Northern Dimension Environmental Partnership 2019). The NDEP’s nuclear ‘window’ has become a major multilateral initiative in dealing with nuclear waste management in north-west Russia. Its focus was on the Kola Peninsula, Arkhangelsk and Murmansk regions, which constituted the largest repository of nuclear waste in the world. The NDEP coordinated its work with the Contact Expert Group of the International Atomic Energy Agency. NDEP nuclear safety projects included construction of spent nuclear fuel storage facilities, defueling of nuclear submarines and modernisation of spent nuclear fuel transportation systems on the Kola Peninsula (Northern Dimension Environmental Partnership 2019). As for the Northern Dimension Partnership on Transport and Logistics (NDPTL) it had a general aim of developing major transnational transport connections and logistics infrastructure between the partner countries with the view of stimulating sustainable economic growth and trade at the local/regional and global levels (Northern Dimension Partnership for Transport and Logistics 2018; Rafaelsen 2014). In practice, however, the NDPTL had a slow and difficult start. The decision to establish it was taken on 28 October 2008. However, only at the end of 2012 was an NDPTL support fund established so that the first projects could be funded. Moreover, it turned out that Russia was not a high priority for the NDPTL partnership: in 2013, the secretariat selected only one (the road from the ‘Brusnichnoye’ border-crossing point to the Vyborg bypass) of 12 projects submitted in the first call and this project related to the Baltic rather than Arctic region (Rafaelsen 2014: 39). Prior to the Ukrainian crisis, the Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-being (NDPHS) worked according to the initial provisions (The Oslo Declaration of 2003), which stipulated that the partnership should promote cooperation and should develop in the two priority areas: i) reducing major communicable diseases and prevention of lifestyle related non-communicable diseases and ii) enhancing and promoting healthy and socially rewarding lifestyles (The Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Wellbeing 2014: 3). The EU started to fund the NDPHS projects rather late – from 2011. Despite the EU’s modest participation in the projects, Russia was rather supportive of this partnership. In 2010–2013, Russia became increasingly involved in the NDPHS, considering it a politically important partnership that could play a significant role in the regional cooperation. Russia 382

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actively participated in the work of expert and task groups, being the co-lead partner in two expert groups and one task group, and was engaged in the running of NDPHS projects. It also contributed financially, mostly to the secretariat budget (Rafaelsen 2014: 55). Established in 2010, the Northern Dimension Partnership on Culture (NDPC) is the youngest of the four ND partnerships. From the very beginning, its aim was to contribute to social and economic development in the region by focusing on culture-based creativity cooperation, promoting the operating conditions for cultural and creative industries (CCI) by bridging the gap between public and private funding and strengthening cooperation between the cultural and creative industries and the business community throughout the entire ND area (The Northern Dimension Partnership on Culture 2017). Furthermore, culture was seen as the driving force in regional and international development and an important part of cooperation in all other sectors across the ND area. As in the case of the NDPHS, the EU financial contribution to the NDPC was quite modest. Brussels funded four projects with Russia’s participation in 2011–2014. True to the project’s strategic focus, these were all culturally orientated and included a study on the Viking route heritage sites in Russia and a mapping study of music industry operators in North West Russia. The EU’s total contribution was as little as 572,498 EUR (Rafaelsen 2014: 92). In the course of the NDPC’s early activities, some fundamental conceptual differences between the EU and Russian partners emerged. While CCI was a fast-developing sector in Europe, it was not the case in Russia. Russia has only recently taken an interest in this sector and its contribution to economic development. Many stakeholders were unconvinced that CCI belongs to the cultural area and therefore questioned the focus of the NDPC. The fact that it was the ministries of culture that participated in the NDPC was also questioned, as some countries saw CCI as part of economic development. In their assessments of the programme, EU experts emphasised that, to achieve long-lasting results, the NDPC would require a predictable and larger funding stream. Considering the dual nature of the CCI (a cross-over between economic development and culture), the funding could originate from both public (EU, national funding and other organisations) and private sources (Rafaelsen 2014: 63–4). While EU financing has been instrumental for the NDPC’s project activities, it has been less of a catalyst for attracting funding from other sources (public or private) in comparison to other ND partnerships. The NDPC partners expressed their interest in having a dialogue with the European Commission’s DG Education and Culture to get more information on available funding opportunities from EU funds. EU experts also suggested measures to strengthen the NDPC secretariat, because with its limited staff and scarce financial resources, it was unable to run the partnership effectively (Rafaelsen 2014: 64). In the post-Ukrainian crisis period ND partnerships developed rather sluggishly: some projects were cancelled or suspended; only projects approved in the pre-crisis period were continued, and no new projects were launched. For example, the NDEP did not initiate any new projects with Russia in the 2014–2020 EU budget cycle but, at the same time, turned its attention to cooperation with Belarus. Some modest activities and progress can be observed in the cases of NDPHS (The Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Wellbeing 2018) and NDPC (The Northern Dimension on Culture 2017) alone.

EU-Russia CBC programmes Along with the ND’s ‘Arctic window’, EU-Russia collaboration in the High North took place in the context of various EU-Russia CBC programmes (see also Yarovoy this volume). The earlier EU-Russia CBC projects were executed under the Tacis, Phare and Interreg programmes 383

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(1990–2000s). A  new policy and implementation framework for CBC on the EU external borders was elaborated by the 2006 European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument (ENPI) (European Parliament and the European Council 2006) and further detailed in the 2007 Implementing Rules (Commission of the European Communities 2007b). According to these documents, CBC has three main objectives, to promote economic and social development in border areas; address common challenges (environment, public health, safety and security); and establish better conditions for people, goods and capital mobility. In 2007–2013, two EU-Russia CBC programmes covered the Arctic areas. The Kolarctic programme included several border regions from Russia (Murmansk and Arkhangelsk Regions, Nenets Autonomous District), Finland (Lapland), Norway (Finnmark, Troms, Nordland) and Sweden (Norrbotten). The so-called adjoining areas were Pohjois-Pohjanmaa (Finland), Västerbotten (Sweden), Republic of Karelia, Leningrad Region and St. Petersburg (Russia) (European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument 2011: 20). The CBC Karelia Programme united several Finnish (Pohjois-Pohjanmaa (Northern Ostrobothnia), Pohjois-Karjala (North Karelia) and Kainuu) and Russian (Republic of Karelia) regions. The adjoining areas included Lapland and Pohjois-Savo (Finland), as well as the Murmansk, Arkhangelsk and Leningrad Regions and St. Petersburg (Russia) (European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument 2011: 20). These programmes had the following priorities: i) sustainable economic and social development, ii) coping with common challenges (health, security, accidents, environmental risks, and management and border issues) and iii) people-to-people cooperation and identity building. The Ukrainian crisis, followed by reciprocal EU and Russian sanctions, the Russian economic crisis of 2014–2016 and re-militarisation of the North European region, had a very negative impact on EU-Russia CBC. For example, investment risks rose for those European companies which planned participation in the CBC projects with Russia. The EIB and EBRD, which were involved in financing the EU-Russia CBC projects, had to cancel or seriously limit their activities in this field. EU sanctions targeting Russian leading banks also complicated these financial institutions’ participation in the CBC activities. In general, mutual mistrust and suspicion have rapidly increased in EU-Russia relations, which resulted in cancelling or delaying many cooperative efforts in the border regions (Golunov 2017). On the other hand, given tense relations between Brussels and Moscow, the EU leadership believed that shifting the focus of the EU-Russian bilateral cooperation from the national to regional and local levels would be a proper solution (EEAS and DG NEAR 2017). For the 2014–2020 EU budget cycle, which coincided with the post-Ukrainian crisis, a European Neighbourhood Instrument (ENI) was adopted in March 2014. The rules established for the ENPI CBC have been simplified and adapted based on previous experience. As far as the ENI CBC programme is concerned, the 2017 mid-term review noted that most ENI CBC programmes were at the inception stage (i.e. implementing the preparatory actions required to start the programme) (Commission of the European Communities 2014: 2). This can be explained by Brussels’s hesitance about the future of the CBC programmes in the context of EU-Russia tensions. The ENI CBC Kolarctic programme’s geographical area (including the core and adjacent regions) remained the same (see Figure 33.1). The overall aim of the programme is to promote a viable economy and attractiveness of the region, where inhabitants and visitors come to enjoy the Arctic nature and where natural resources are used in a sustainable way. The programme has the following thematic objectives: i) business and SME development, ii) environmental protection, climate change mitigation and adaptation, iii) improvement of accessibility to the regions, development of sustainable and climate-proof transport and communication networks 384

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Source: The Kolarctic CBC Programme 2014–2020 2018: 1.

REPUBLIC OF KARELIA

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OULU

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AR

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Figure 33.1 Kolarctic programme 2014–2020 area.

NORWAY

D AN

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and systems, and iv) promotion of border management and border security, mobility and migration management (Kolarctic CBC Programme 2014–2020 2018: 4). The Karelia CBC programme 2014–2020 retained its core geographical area and extended its adjoining regions by including three new Finnish regions (North Savo, South Savo and South Karelia) (see Figure 33.2). Its Joint Operation Programme defines its overall objective as follows: to make the programme area attractive for the people to live and work and businesses to locate and operate. The four thematic objectives chosen for the Karelia CBC programme are: i) business and SME development, ii) promotion of local culture and preservation of historical

core region adjoining regions social, economic or cultural centre Murmansk region Lapland

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North Karelia

South Savo

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Figure 33.2 Karelia CBC Programme 2014–2020 area. Source: The Karelia CBC programme 2015: 6.

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heritage, iii) environmental protection, climate change adaptation, and iv) promotion of border management, and border security (Karelia CBC programme 2015: 9–10).

Analysis: key debates and developments Despite the overall positive assessment of outcomes from the EU-Russia ND partnerships and CBC programmes, neither Brussels nor Moscow want to produce a rosy picture of their cooperation in the region and are quite self-critical in terms of their assessments. Four main types of problems associated with the implementation of the ND and CBC concepts can be identified. First, is the partners’ capacity and preparedness to enter into a programme partnership. Second, there is the partners’ willingness and capacity to manage the programme and, notably, to establish a system of joint management responsibility. Third, potential obstacles come in the realm of partners’ knowledge and capacity to develop and implement project proposals and, finally, support from the national level for the establishment and management of the programme by local partners (see, for example, European Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument 2011: 16). Notwithstanding these more practical issues, the ND and CBC experiences in the Arctic region show that the main hindrances came from political factors rather than from the technical inexperience of the participants. The implementation of ND and CBC programmes in the North suffered from the spill-over of political conflicts between its participants, including but not limited to the 2008 Georgian–Russian armed conflict, tensions over the human rights situation in Russia, some Baltic Sea region countries’ opposition to the construction of the NordStream gas pipeline, the 2014 Ukrainian crisis and so on. As the ‘lesson’ from the EU-Russia ND and CBC programmes in the North demonstrates, it is impossible to develop cooperation in the Arctic against the political will of participating countries. However, as evidenced by the rather positive experiences of some NDEP projects, as well as the Kolarctic and Karelia programmes, with a little political support or at least governmental neutrality, cooperative programmes can be successfully implemented and have positive ‘confidence-building’ effects and some useful practical results for participants. As far as the EU’s efforts to play a more visible role in the High North affairs, Moscow’s reaction has been rather ambivalent. On the one hand, the Kremlin was interested in attracting EU investment, high tech and research expertise to the exploration of the Arctic. Moreover, on the bilateral level, Russia cooperated (and cooperates) with several EU member states, such as Denmark, Finland, France, Germany, Poland, Sweden and the United Kingdom in various areas. On the other hand, Moscow has serious concerns about potential EU activity in the Far North. First and foremost, Russia and some other Arctic actors were discontented with EU ambitions to present itself as a normative power trying to establish norms and rules in the region where it was a newcomer and had no power to enforce these rules. For example, Canada and indigenous peoples’ organisations were unhappy with the EU’s position on sealing and whaling. Canada, Russia and the AC permanent participants did not support the EU’s application for permanent observer status in the Council at the 2013 Kiruna AC ministerial meeting. It should also be noted that, despite the ‘multilateralist’ rhetoric, the EU strategic documents on the Arctic saw only a symbolic role for Russia and Arctic regional and sub-regional institutions, while other regional players saw them as indispensable for the success of Arctic cooperation. Moreover, EU-Russian tensions because of Brussels’s criticism of Russia’s foreign policies in the post-Soviet space and human rights practices (even prior to the Ukrainian crisis) spilled over to the sphere of Arctic politics and increased Moscow’s reluctance to acknowledge the EU 387

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as a fully fledged Arctic player. With the start of the Ukrainian crisis in 2014, Russia hardened further its position on the EU’s role in the Arctic. Thus, prospects for EU-Russian cooperation in the region remain uncertain.

Conclusion Given Russia’s and some other Arctic actors’ reluctance to allow the EU to play a more significant role in the High North, it is safe to assume that ND partnerships and CBC programmes will remain the main venues for EU-Russia cooperation in the Arctic. In general, the EU-Russia ND and CBC programmes provide a rather effective instrument for the promotion of strategic cooperation between partner countries in the High North. Relations between some EU member states and Russian institutions in the areas of transport, border management, environment, health care, education and culture seem to be very strong, and there is a great willingness to continue cooperation. These practical forms of cooperation appear to be strongly supported at high political levels in both EU countries and Russia. There are, however, a number of caveats regarding the role of the ND and CBC in developing EU-Russia Arctic cooperation. While relations between Europe’s and Russia’s northern sub-national authorities seem to be strongly supported by past and existing programmes, the same impact is not so evident in relations between Brussels and Moscow. Many complex geopolitical reasons negatively affect EU-Russia relations, including the Arctic. For this reason, the ND/CBC programmes probably have the greatest strategic value at the regional and local levels rather than at the top tier. On the other hand, there is a growing feeling in Brussels that the ND and CBC provide valuable forums for practical cooperation between the EU and Russia, which may eventually allow a broader political engagement. The European Council decision (taken in the aftermath of the Ukrainian crisis) to exclude CBC from restrictions on cooperation with Russia confirms this trend. On a practical note, better coordination and synergies could be sought between ENI CBC and other ENP instruments (bilateral, regional and neighbourhood-wide assistance) and EU political initiatives. It is especially important to establish a proper division of labour between the ENI CBC programmes, and the ND partnerships. Currently, there are some duplications in terms of specific projects, participants and funding schemes. The ND partnerships should be revived because they have proved to be important cooperative instruments which complement and reinforce the ENI CBC programmes. As far as the prospects for the EU’s future Arctic policies are concerned, Brussels will probably enhance its activities in the regional and sub-regional forums, such as the AC, Arctic Economic Council and BEAC, which lacked EU attention in the past. For example, Brussels is likely to participate more actively in those institutions’ working groups and task forces where it has expertise – environment protection, shipping, fisheries, telecommunications. It is highly probable that the EU and Russia will continue their Arctic cooperation in an indirect fashion through various multilateral fora: for instance, the International Maritime Organisation’s Polar Code implementation and further improvement; fisheries management through the North Atlantic regional fishery management organisations and Central Arctic Ocean fishery ban regime; fighting illegal, unreported and unregulated fishing in the so-called Arctic enclaves; the development of an agreement on conservation and sustainable use of marine biodiversity under UN auspices; and enhanced scientific cooperation. In other words, some chances for cooperation between the EU and Russia in the Arctic remain, regardless of current tensions between them.

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Acknowledgements This chapter is based on the study done in the framework of the following research projects: (1) Russian Foundation for Basic Research (RFBR) and Foundation «Maison des Sciences de L’homme» (France) joint project no. 20-514-22001, and (2) RFBR and DFG (Germany) joint project no. 21-514-12001.

Note 1 In this chapter, the concepts ‘Arctic’, ‘High North’ and ‘Far North’ are used synonymously.

References Aalto, P. (2013) ‘Explaining the “Arctic exception” in European Union–Russia relations: what is missing?’, The Northern Review 37: 101–25. Archer, C. (2014) ‘The Arctic and the European Union’, in R. Murray and A.D. Nuttall (eds.), International Relations and the Arctic: Understanding Policy and Governance, Amherst: Cambria Press, pp. 383–410. Blomeyer, R. et al (2015) Fisheries Management and the Arctic in the Context of Climate Change. Brussels: The European Parliament, available at www.europarl.europa.eu/studies (accessed 3 January 2019). Commission of the European Communities (2007a) ‘An integrated maritime policy for the European Union’, COM(2007) 574 final, Brussels, 10 October, available at http://eur-lex.europa.eu/LexUri Serv/LexUriServ.do?uri=CELEX:52007DC0575:EN:NOT (accessed 1 May 2019). Commission of the European Communities (2007b) ‘Regulation (EC) No 951/2007 of 9 August 2007 laying down implementing rules for cross-border co-operation programmes financed under regulation (EC) No 1638/2006’, Brussels, available at www.translation-centre.am/pdf/Translat/Reg_951_ 2007/951_2007.pdf (accessed 3 January 2019). Commission of the European Communities (2008a) Climate Change and International Security. Paper from the High Representative and the European Commission to the European Council. SI 13/08, 14 March, Brussels, available at www.consilium.europa.eu/ueDocs/cms_Data/docs/press-Data/en/ reports/99387.pdf (accessed 3 January 2019). Commission of the European Communities (2008b) ‘The European Union and the Arctic region: communication from the commission to the European Parliament and the Council’, COM(2008)763 final, Brussels, 20 November, available at http://eeas.europa.eu/arctic_region/docs/com_08_763_en.pdf (accessed 3 January 2019). Commission of the European Communities (2014) ‘Commission implementing regulation (EU) No. 897/ 2014 of 18 August 2014 laying down specific provisions for the implementation of cross-border cooperation programmes financed under regulation (EU) No 232/2014 of the European Parliament and the Council establishing a European neighbourhood instrument’, Brussels, available at https:// ec.europa.eu/neighbourhood-enlargement/sites/near/files/neighbourhood/pdf/key-documents/ cross-border-cooperation/20160808-eni-cbcimplementing-rules.pdf (accessed 2 January 2019). Council of the European Union (2016) ‘Council conclusions on the Arctic’, Brussels, 20 June, available at http://data.consilium.europa.eu/doc/document/ST-10400-2016-INIT/en/pdf (accessed 1 May 2019). Depledge, D. and Tulupov, D. (2016) ‘EU-Russia relations in the Arctic on ice’, ECFR’s Wider Europe Forum, available at www.ecfr.eu/article/commentary_eu_russia_relations_in_the_arctic_on_ice (accessed 3 January 2019). EEAS and DG NEAR (2017) ‘European neighbourhood instrument cross-border cooperation programme 2014–2020, mid-term review’, available at https://ec.europa.eu/neighbourhood-enlargement/sites/ near/files/180611_eni_cbc_-_mid-term_review.pdf (accessed 2 January 2019). Etzold, T. and Haukkala, H. (2011) ‘Is there a Nordic Russia policy? Swedish, Finnish and Danish relations with Russia in the context of the European Union’, Journal of Contemporary European Studies 19(2): 249–60. European Commission and EU High Representative (2012) ‘Developing a European Union policy towards the Arctic Region: report on progress since 2008 and next steps, Joint Communication of 26 June 2012’, Brussels, available at https://eeas.europa.eu/archives/docs/arctic_region/docs/join_ 2012_19.pdf (accessed 2 August 2019).

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Lejins, A. and Nackmayr, J.-D. (eds.) (2000) The Northern Dimension: an Assessment and Future Development, Riga: Latvian Institute of International Affairs. Liu, N., Kirk, E. and Henriksen, T. (eds.) (2017) The European Union and the Arctic, Leiden/Boston: Brill Nijhoff. Northern Dimension Environmental Partnership (2019) ‘Projects’, available at https://ndep.org/projects/ (accessed 4 January 2019). The Northern Dimension on Culture (2017) ‘Annual report 2017’, available at www.ndpculture.org/ media/W1siZiIsIjIwMTgvMDIvMjgvNm4zMDB0bm9nNF9Bbm51YWxSZXBvcnRORFBDX18y MDE3LmRvY3giXV0?sha=4cc547e7dc0c250b (accessed 2 January 2019). Northern Dimension Partnership for Transport and Logistics (2018) ‘History’, available at www.ndptl.org/ history (accessed 2 January 2019). Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-Being (2014) Report on the Implementation of the NDPHS Strategy in 2010–2013, adopted during the 23rd Meeting of the Committee of Senior Representatives 24–25 April 2014, Berlin, Germany, available at www.ndphs.org/internal files/File/About_NDPHS/Report_on_implementation_of_NDPHS_Strategy_in_2010-2013.pdf (accessed 2 January 2019). Northern Dimension Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-being (2018) ‘NDPHS progress report for 2017’, April, available at www.ndphs.org/internalfiles/File/About_NDPHS/Progress%20Reports/ NDPHS_Progress_report_for_2017.pdf (accessed 2 January 2019). Ojanen, H. (ed) (2001) The Northern Dimension: Fuel for the EU? Programme on the Northern Dimension of the CFSP, Helsinki: The Finnish Institute of International Affairs & Institut fur Europaische Politik. Rafaelsen, B. (2014) ‘Mid-term evaluation of the EU support to the Northern dimension partnership’, Brussels, 20 January, available at www.ndptl.org/c/document_library/get_file?p_l_id=12068&folderId= 16355&name=DLFE-4204.pdf (accessed 2 January 2019). Ringbom, H. (2017) ‘The European Union and Arctic Shipping’, in N. Liu, E. Kirk and T. Henriksen (eds.), The European Union and the Arctic, Leiden/Boston: Brill Nijhoff, pp. 239–73. Sergunin, A. and Konyshev, V. (2016) Russia in the Arctic. Hard or Soft Power? Stuttgart: Ibidem-Verlag. Stępień, A. and Koivurova, T. (2017) Arctic Europe: Bringing Together the EU Arctic Policy and Nordic Cooperation, Rovaniemi: Arctic Centre, University of Lapland. Stępień, A., Koivurova, T. and Kankaanpää, P. (eds.) (2014) Strategic Environmental Impact Assessment of Development of the Arctic, Rovaniemi: Arctic Centre, University of Lapland. Wegge, N. (2015) ‘The European Union’s Arctic Policy’, in L.C. Jensen and G. Hønneland (eds.), Handbook of the Politics of the Arctic, Northampton: Edward Elgar Publishing, pp. 533–49. Yarovoy, G. (2014) ‘Russia’s Arctic Policy’, in R.W. Murray and A.D. Nuttall (eds.), International Relations and the Arctic. Understanding Policy and Governance, Amherst: Cambria Press, pp. 191–234. Zaika, Y. (2017) ‘International scientific dialogue in the Arctic’, available at https://arctic.ru/analitic/ 20171120/687596.html (accessed 1 May 2019).

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34 From a ‘common’ to a ‘contested’ neighbourhood Connecting levels of analysis in EU-Russia interaction Laure Delcour

Over the past 15 years, the EU-Russia interplay in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus has drastically changed. In the late 1990s to early 2000s, the EU and Russia envisaged cooperating in what would become a ‘common neighbourhood’ after the 2004 EU enlargement, namely Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus. However, since the early 2010s, the region has turned into a ‘contested neighbourhood’ where the EU’s and Russia’s policies collide. If anything, the chain of events that unfolded in Ukraine in 2013–14 glaringly exposed the sheer magnitude of this contestation and its implications at both the domestic and regional levels. What, then, explains the sharp deterioration of EU-Russia interaction and the clash between their policies in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus? This chapter seeks to map the major turning points in the EU’s and Russia’s policies in the region and to analyse the drivers behind their collision. It points to the emergence – by the early 2010s – of region-building projects as a drastic change in both actors’ toolbox. It argues that the spill-over of tensions finds its roots in both Russia’s concern over (what it regards as) an unacceptable EU encroachment into its ‘near abroad’ and reactions to the EU’s Eastern Partnership.

A growing sense of mistrust between the EU and Russia in the ‘common neighbourhood’ At the end of the 1990s, in the EU’s view EU-Russia cooperation in Eastern Europe was both natural and desirable. It was tightly interwoven with their roles as major regional powers: ‘Russia and the Union have strategic interests and exercise particular responsibilities in the maintenance of stability and security in Europe, and in other parts of the world’ (European Union 1999). The Roadmap on the Common Space on External Security adopted in Moscow in 2005 thus called for ‘close result-oriented EU-Russia collaboration’ with the view to ‘creating a greater Europe without dividing lines’ (EU-Russia Roadmaps 2005: 56). In particular, it envisaged exploring possibilities for joint approaches and joint action on crisis management, including in ‘regions adjacent’ to the EU and Russia (ibid.: 42). According to the European Commission, EU-Russia 392

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collaboration on frozen conflicts in the ‘common neighbourhood’ was to be premised on ‘active Russian cooperation with the EU and EU readiness to step up cooperation on crisis management and civil protection’ (European Commission 2004: 4). In sharp contrast to US actions, Russia did not initially perceive the EU’s increased engagement in the post-Soviet space as problematic (Zagorski 2005: 72). This is due to three factors. First, the document that laid the ground for the future ENP, the Patten-Solana letter released in 2002, explicitly sought to engage in reflection on how Russia ‘might be linked to, or fall within’ the new initiative (Patten and Solana 2002: 4). The quest for tight linkages between the EU-Russia partnership and the ENP (even envisaging Russia’s participation in the latter) was premised upon the EU’s vision of Russia as ‘an indivisible part of the region’ (ibid.). While leading to the design of a specific policy framework for EU-Russia relations, Russia’s refusal to take part in the ENP did not significantly alter the EU’s inclusive narrative: In the East, Russia is of course much more than a neighbour, since it is a strategic partner; but it is also a neighbour. . . . We feel that Russia’s place in our emerging neighbourhood policy is central, to our mutual benefit. (Verheugen 2003)1 Second, for many in Russia, the EU was still keeping a relatively low profile in the post-Soviet space, with (in Moscow’s view) limited capacities to shape political and especially security developments (Zagorski 2005). If anything, the uncertain incentives initially offered to neighbours, the vague ENP conditionality (Sasse 2008) and its unclear link with rewards (Casier 2011), as well as the EU’s weak involvement in unresolved conflicts, did little to raise Russia’s concerns about a rising EU influence in the region. Third, others in Russia – such as the former Ambassador to the EU Vladimir Shemiatenkov – explicitly welcomed the inception of the ENP (the ‘Wider Europe’ initiative in 2002–3) as a shift toward a growing EU involvement in the region – even though Russia’s place in, or next to this initiative had yet to be defined The introduction of the concept of the ‘Wider Europe’ into the vocabulary of the European Union signals a welcome change in the EU’s political philosophy. Up until now, it has been basically egocentric. In terms of a metaphor coined by a well-known Brussels expert, the EU is “cosmos” and the rest of Europe – “chaos”. . . . In this context the idea of the ‘Wider Europe’ is revolutionary. It ushers in the possibility of organizing the “chaos”, in one way or another, without making it part of the Union. (Shemiatenkov 2003) However, the cooperation envisioned in the early 2000s failed to materialise. Throughout the decade, the EU and Russia conducted their policies in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus independently from each other, with limited dialogue (if any) on conflicts and areas initially envisaged for EU–Russia collaboration in the region. Crucially, both actors came to regard the actions of the other in the ‘common neighbourhood’ with growing mistrust. In a context marked in the mid-2000s by Russia’s increasing fear of a loss of influence in the post-Soviet space, the EU repeatedly embraced views which were deemed contrary to Moscow’s interests. For instance, the EU explicitly supported the new incumbents who gained power after the Rose and Orange revolutions in Georgia and Ukraine, respectively; by contrast, Russia perceived the political upheavals there in terms of geopolitical contestation with the West (Delcour and Wolczuk 2015: 460). Thus, while the EU was still clearly distinct from the United States in Russia’s perceptions, the ENP became increasingly associated with zero-sum game perceptions, 393

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whereby enhanced EU clout in the ‘common neighbourhood’ would systematically translate into a loss of influence for Russia (Selivanova 2008). For the EU, the shift toward a ‘more assertive Russian stance’ in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus carried implications for both EU-Russia relations and the ENP (European Commission 2004: 2). Some of these negative implications were glaringly exposed during the gas crises over which Russia and Ukraine were opposed in the second half of the 2000s. In the EU’s view, these crises primarily signalled the need to reduce energy imports from Russia. The 2006 crisis prompted the EU to ‘look again at dependence on Russian energy and gas supplies and to reappraise energy security issues’ (Stern 2006: 14). In the aftermath of the 2009 crisis, which led to major disruptions of energy flows in some EU member states (for instance Bulgaria), the EU accelerated the diversification of energy imports away from Russia by supporting pipelines allowing the Union to import gas from the Caspian region, such as Nabucco (Siddi 2018). By contrast, for Russia, the 2006 and 2009 crises pointed to the risks associated with the transit of energy flows, which as a consequence of the EU’s reaction had to be borne fully by the Russian supplier (Kaveshnikov 2010: 600). The 2009 crisis, in particular, accelerated the reorientation of Russian gas exports to the EU away from Ukraine, through the NordStream route and the Belarusian transit corridor (Siddi 2018: 1560). The EU’s concern vis-à-vis Russia’s increasing assertiveness also grew in the wake of the conflict in Georgia (August 2008), during which the Union (France, acting on behalf of the EU Council) had brokered a ceasefire. In the EU’s view, Russia’s actions in Georgia (including the recognition of the two breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, which the EU firmly condemned) infringed the ‘right [of Eastern European and South Caucasus countries] freely to determine their foreign policy and their alliances’ (Council of the European Union 2008). Thus, with the conflict in Georgia the EU’s interaction with Russia ‘reached a crossroads’ (ibid.) Therefore, throughout the second half of the 2000s the ‘common neighbourhood’ increasingly turned into a mirror image of the EU’s and Russia’s growing divergent views and emerged as a ‘subject of competition for influence’ between the two actors (Fischer 2008). In seeking to explain the predominance of patterns of competition over cooperation, the academic literature initially pointed to the difference between the EU’s and Russia’s international actorness and the resulting incompatibility of their interests in the region. In this vein, it is the drastically different structures, identities and worldviews of the two actors that have fuelled the transformation of the ‘common neighbourhood’ into a ‘contested neighbourhood’. Academic debates on EU-Russia interaction in the ‘common neighbourhood’ have been informed by the reading of the EU as a ‘normative power’ (Manners 2002) whose form of power is ideational rather than material or physical (Manners 2011: 230).2 The source of the EU’s power, then, lies in its values and norms  – themselves based upon universal principles (Manners 2002: 241) – that it seeks to project to its neighbourhood. An important corollary is that the EU regards itself as a ‘force for good’ in world politics, especially in its vicinity (Diez and Pace 2011), where it seeks to offer ‘a benign face to its neighbours’ (Kratochvíl 2009: 5). In essence, the EU contends that the adoption of its norms and rules will ultimately bring stability and prosperity to the EU’s Eastern neighbourhood, as was the case in post-war Western Europe and in post–Cold War Central and Eastern Europe. Thus, with the ENP, the EU primarily seeks ‘to extend a European ‘postmodern security community’ across the wider Europe’ (Averre 2009: 1690). By contrast, Russia has often been examined as a former hegemon seeking to maintain its influence over its lost empire. Starting from the collapse of the Soviet Union, Russia’s policy vis-à-vis former Soviet republics has been premised upon a vision in which Russia’s security is tightly interwoven with the fate of these countries. Thus, Russia has persistently sought to limit 394

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other (especially Western) actors’ influence in the region. For some, this denotes an ‘imperial syndrome’ (Lo 2002: 13); in this line of thought, Russia seeks to retain and/or regain those territories over which it used to rule. Nevertheless (and this is by no means contradictory), Russia’s attitude toward its ‘near abroad’ can also be regarded as defensive. In this vein, Russia’s policies primarily reflect fear of encirclement by enemies and ‘encroachment by alien powers’ close to Russian borders (Valovaya 2005). In sharp contrast to the EU, Russia has mostly been depicted as a ‘negative actor’ (Tolstrup 2009) and a ‘black knight’ (Tolstrup 2015) seeking to obstruct the free choice of Eastern European and South Caucasus countries. Russia’s negative image is associated in the literature with its behaviour as a ‘a non-normative or a realpolitik-oriented actor’ (Casier 2013: 1379) and a ‘geopolitical player’ (Siddi 2018: 1553). Russia, therefore, is primarily driven by the maximisation of its power (and recognition thereof by the West [Kropatcheva 2012: 33]). It has also shown its readiness to use a whole gamut of policy tools (including coercion) in order to countervail democratisation and liberalisation supported by the West in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus (Tolstrup 2009: 923). However, the sharply contrasted picture which emerged from initial academic debates has led to blind spots in the analysis of EU-Russia interaction in the ‘common neighbourhood’. First, it has failed to capture the shifting dynamics of the EU’s and Russia’s policies and therefore the key changes in their interaction. If – as implied in the literature – the two actors are in essence drastically different and their interests are both incompatible and deeply entrenched, competition should have constantly prevailed over other patterns of interaction in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus. However, a chronological overview of EU-Russia interaction highlights shifting dynamics evolving from a limited dialogue to a more conflictual interplay (Casier 2016). This calls for nuancing the assumption of a competition fuelled exclusively by different international ‘actornesses’. Second (and closely connected), the ‘normative argument’ (Casier 2013) lends itself to criticism as it regards both actors as monolithic and thereby misses important nuances in their policies. In fact, neither actor can be characterised as purely normative or non-normative; instead, both combine elements of normative and structural power (Averre 2009). The EU, in particular, can be regarded as a ‘regional normative hegemon’ (Haukkala 2008: 1602) seeking a monopoly over the definition of norms in the neighbourhood. In the region, it uses ‘its economic and normative clout to build a set of highly asymmetrical bilateral relationships that help to facilitate an active transference of its norms’ (Haukkala 2008: 1601). The EU exerts power in the international arena through the externalisation of market-related policies (Damro 2012). This ‘market power Europe’ can use both persuasive and coercive means (ibid.) in order to achieve its goals. Therefore, the norms the EU seeks to diffuse as part of the ENP can hardly be disentangled from its interests. The EU can – just like Russia – act as a geopolitical player, including in policy areas which are regarded as intimately entangled with Russia’s sources of power, such as energy. For instance, the EU’s support to pipeline projects meant to bypass Russia and import gas from other sources can best be explained by the ‘geopolitical goal of countering Russian influence and power’ (Siddi 2018: 1553). Russia, in turn, has its own normative project (Makarychev 2008: 30), closely related to how it sees its role in world politics. While Russia certainly deploys geopolitical power, its policies in Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus can also be driven by commercial interests (Langbein 2016; Siddi 2018). This is because Russia should not systematically be treated as a unitary actor (Langbein 2013). The Russian government and businesses can sometimes pursue different interests and their interaction yields different outcomes (Langbein 2015; Siddi 2018). Importantly, the very foundations of Russia’s foreign policy have evolved; for instance, the meaning of derzhavnichestvo (i.e. ‘the concept of Russia as a ‘great power’ following its own specific path of development’ [Averre 2008: 33]) shifted toward greater pragmatism in the 2000s, in response to the global 395

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environment (ibid.: 34). Russia’s foreign policy in the late 2000s can be portrayed as dual, that is, combining cooperative and non-cooperative approaches with the West, including in the ‘common neighbourhood’ (Kropatcheva 2012). Therefore, unpacking the EU’s and Russia’s actorness has enabled scholars to bring strong nuances to the assumption that they offer radically different approaches to their neighbourhood (Averre 2009).

Deep integration projects: a bone of contention between the EU and Russia in the ‘contested neighbourhood’ However, with the emergence of two deep integration projects (the EU’s Eastern Partnership (EaP) in 2009 and the Russia-driven Eurasian integration process in 2010), the countries located between the enlarged EU and Russia have increasingly become an ‘object of contention’ between Brussels and Moscow (Haukkala 2015: 27). In 2008–2009, the creation of the EaP exacerbated Russia’s concerns over what it regarded as a Western encroachment in its sphere of influence. This is due to three factors. First, the EaP was launched in a context marked by tensions between Russia and the West over Kosovo’s declaration of independence (and recognition thereof by a number of Western countries), talks of NATO enlargement to Ukraine and Georgia and the Russian–Georgian conflict. Second, the EaP was initiated by two EU member states – Poland and Sweden – whose relations with Russia have traditionally been tense. Therefore, it was specifically perceived as an ‘anti-Russian initiative’ (Bordachev and Skriba 2014: 19), all the more so as no consultations took place between Brussels and Moscow prior to its launch. Third, the EaP significantly enhanced the prospects of Eastern European and South Caucasian countries’ integration with the EU. Under the EaP, the EU increased the size of rewards as compared to the ENP. It offers an enhanced contractual framework in the form of Association Agreements (AAs) replacing the Partnership and Cooperation Agreements (PCA) signed in the 1990s; deeper economic integration with the conclusion of deep and comprehensive free-trade agreements (DCFTAs); visa liberalisation, that is, the lifting of Schengen visa requirements once specific conditions are met; and increased sectoral cooperation, for instance, in the energy area (European Commission 2008). The EaP also mirrors a shift in the EU’s approach to legal approximation. It envisages a massive diffusion of EU rules and standards; for instance, the DCFTAs require partner countries to approximate their legal framework with over 90  per cent of the EU’s trade-related acquis (Duleba et  al. 2012: 78). In addition, the EaP promotes a result-orientated approach to legal approximation, which is conceived as an instrument to reach political association, deeper economic integration and visa liberalisation (van der Loo 2014: 64). Therefore, in contrast to the ENP Action Plans, legal approximation efforts are geared towards specific goals. Another major difference with the ENP is that legislative approximation provisions under the AAs/DCFTAs are legally binding (Delcour and Wolczuk 2013: 190; van der Loo 2014: 63). With the EaP, the EU has also reinforced its policy mechanisms with a view to facilitating domestic change in line with its demands; for instance, it has moved from the vague ENP conditionality toward ex-ante, sectorspecific conditionality, notably as part of the DCFTA and visa liberalisation negotiations. As a consequence, in Russia’s view, the EaP draws new dividing lines across Europe and in fact across the post-Soviet space. Therefore, in reponse to what it regarded as a critical change in the regional context, Russia (together with Belarus and Kazakhstan) launched in 2010 the Eurasian Customs Union (ECU), which was upgraded in 2015 to a Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU). For Russia, the ECU/ EAEU is ‘viewed above all else as a geopolitical project’ (Zagorski 2015: 4). Moscow used the Eurasian integration process to counter the EU’s growing influence in Eastern Europe and the 396

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South Caucasus by both offering a higher degree of integration than the EaP and seeking full membership of EaP countries in the ECU/EAEU. From the outset, the Eurasian integration process was indeed designed as an ambitious project (Dragneva and Wolczuk 2013). It was meant to be more effective than any previous regional scheme in the post-Soviet space and, ultimately, to reach a much higher degree of regional integration. Shortly after its creation, it appeared that it had ‘more chances than its predecessors’ (Vinokurov and Libman 2012). First, the ECU pursued a clear and narrow objective (i.e. trade integration) contrasting with the vague and all-encompassing agenda of the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) (ibid.). Second, its small membership entailed less scope for disagreement, in contrast to the broadly based post-Soviet organisations. Third, it was based upon hard-law integration and delegation to supranational institutions; this was also in contrast to the CIS, where soft integration prevails as it allows for accommodation of sovereignty concerns (Dragneva 2004). As a result, the Eurasian project deepened at a much faster pace than many other regional integration projects in the post-Soviet space (Dragneva and Wolczuk 2013: 3). Between 2010 and 2015, it developed from a Customs Union with a common external tariff and a common customs code to a Single Economic Space and then the EAEU. However, by offering a higher level of integration than the EU under the EaP, Russia rendered both offers incompatible; in other words, it is impossible for Eastern European and South Caucasus countries both to be members of the EAEU and pursue deep economic integration with the EU (Delcour and Wolczuk 2017). This is because the creation of a Customs Union entails the establishment of a common external tariff and the delegation of sovereignty to a supranational institution, thereby excluding the conclusion of free-trade agreements with third countries. Thus, membership in the EAEU excludes the signature of a DCFTA with the EU. At the same time, in 2012–2013, Russia pushed EaP countries (which, by that time, were negotiating an AA/DCFTA) for full membership in the ECU/EAEU. In Ukraine, Russia launched a campaign and introduced custom checks and trade bans to deter the country from signing an association agreement with the EU and instead lure Ukraine into the ECU (Delcour and Wolczuk 2013). While Russia’s pressure proved insufficient in the case of Ukraine, Moscow successfully wielded tremendous leverage vis-à-vis vulnerable Armenia. In September 2013, after three years of substantial reforms in line with EU demands, the Armenian president announced that the country would not sign an AA/DCFTA but instead join the EAEU. Importantly, when failing to ‘induce’ post-Soviet states into joining the Eurasian integration process, Russia deployed a broad array of punitive measures vis-à-vis the three countries which signed an AA with the EU in 2014, namely Georgia, Moldova and Ukraine. Russia imposed a series of trade restrictions on Moldova and Ukraine (Cenusa et al. 2014) and stepped up its pressure over Georgia by signing treaties of Alliance and Strategic Partnership/Integration with the breakaway regions of Abkhazia and South Ossetia, respectively. However, nowhere has Russia’s retaliation been more massive than in Ukraine. In early 2014, Russia responded to what it regarded as a coup – the ousting of President Yanukovych and the arrival into power of an interim government determined to sign the AA with the EU – by undermining Ukraine’s territorial integrity, that is, annexing Crimea and supporting rebels in Donbas. Upon the signature of the AA between Ukraine and the EU in June 2014, Russia requested that a trilateral dialogue between itself, the EU and Ukraine be organised to address its concerns. Yet these concerns (e.g. the risk that EU products transiting through Ukraine would benefit from the CIS free-trade agreement and thus flood the Russian market) proved ill-grounded (in the previous example, due to the application of rules of origins) and were therefore rejected by the EU (Dragneva and Wolczuk 2014). In fact, the adjustments demanded by Russia to the DCFTA would have resulted in providing Moscow with a veto over Ukraine’s approximation to the EU’s rules (ibid.). 397

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Therefore, the emergence of two deep economic integration projects  – which appeared much more ambitious in terms of scope, depth and methods of integration – paved the way for a chain of interactions and clashes between the EU’s and Russia’s policies, which culminated in Ukraine in early 2014. The collision between Moscow and Brussels attracted considerable academic attention and triggered fierce debates, many of which sought to identify the roots of the clash. Admittedly, most scholars highlight the interlocking dynamics between the EU’s and Russia’s actions. Yet for some, the EU carries a major responsibility in failing to achieve a ‘continental vision of Europe’ in which Russia could integrate, thereby triggering a ‘counter-hegemonic offensive’ by Moscow (Sakwa 2018). In a similar vein, for Nitoiu and Sus (2018: 5) the crisis in Ukraine can be seen as the result of the ‘unsettled evolution [of the EU] as a hybrid empire’, which led Russia to use its hard power. By contrast, others ascribe a key importance to Russia’s combination of region-building and region-spoiling actions which themselves are reactions to the EU’s emergence as a ‘normative reference’ in the post-Soviet space (Delcour and Wolczuk 2017). Using constructivist lenses, still others point to the role of the Black Sea region in Russia’s ‘great power identity’; in that line of thought, Russia’s attempts to create its own Eurasian project and to bring Ukraine into it was an ‘important identity-management strategy’ (Samokhvalov 2018). In most analyses seeking to explain the clash between the EU and Russia’s policies, the countries located between them have remained ‘a missing variable’ (Korosteleva 2015: 199) and are predominantly regarded as a theatre for EU-Russia interaction, with limited influence on the outcomes of the play. Admittedly, scholarly heedlessness only mirrors the very design of the EU’s and Russia’s policies (ibid.). However, it overshadows the sheer diversity of countries’ responses to EU-Russia interaction and, ultimately, denies agency to Eastern European and South Caucasus states.

A divided or a fragmented neighbourhood? Perspectives for the ‘in-between’ countries The clash between the EU’s and Russia’s policies around deep economic integration has seemingly resulted in the emergence of a ‘divided neighbourhood’. While Georgia, Moldova and Ukraine are now associated with the EU, Armenia and Belarus are EAEU members, and Azerbaijan has remained on the sidelines of the two integration projects. However, this clear-cut picture neglects two major developments. First, as a result of Russia’s support for secessionism across the region, the ‘common neighbourhood’ is in fact fragmented, with dividing lines passing through the countries (Delcour and Kostanyan 2014). This is perhaps best illustrated by Russia’s attempts to integrate Georgia’s breakaway territories with the EAEU. Given that unresolved conflicts are Russia’s key leverage over associated countries, such a regulatory fragmentation is likely to persist. Second, for some countries in the region, engagement in a deep integration project does not exclude links (whatever their form may be) with the other actor. For instance, Armenia, a member of the EAEU, in 2017 signed a new agreement enhancing its cooperation with the EU. Likewise, Georgian exports to Russia have substantially increased since Russia lifted its trade bans in 2013 – just a few months before Georgia signed the AA/DCFTA. Two research avenues – both of them placing the emphasis on the ‘in-between countries’ appear especially promising to get a better grasp of the complex interactions in the region and bridge the research gaps noted in the previous section. First, in-depth analyses of perceptions and identities in Eastern European and South Caucasus countries provide an enriched understanding of the partner countries’ shifting receptivity to 398

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the EU’s and Russia’s policies (Delcour and Wolczuk 2018). This is because they bring major nuances to the prevailing picture of a ‘divided neighbourhood’. For instance, research on Moldova points to the fragility of the European choice, which is ‘not yet set in stone’ (Korosteleva 2010: 1281). Likewise, research on the South Caucasus indicates that even though they have made opposite choices in terms of deep economic integration, Armenia and Georgia share a sense of identification with Europe (Kakachia and Markarov 2016). Second, closer scrutiny of domestic reforms at country and/or sector level points to the limitations of both the EU’s and Russia’s influence. In fact, the different foci of the EU and Russia (on sector-specific reforms for the EU, on geopolitical orientation for Russia) create loopholes for domestic actors to pursue their own objectives (Delcour 2018b). At the macro level, this paves the way for hybrid engagements, as illustrated by Armenia’s continuous quest for closer links with the EU despite joining the EAEU in 2015. At the sectoral level, EU and Russian policies carry limited explanatory weight to account for reforms (or lack thereof) in Eastern European and South Caucasus countries. This is because external influences are mediated by domestic actors whose interests and preferences are key in shaping receptivity to the EU’s and Russia’s policies (Hagemann 2013; Dragneva and Wolczuk 2015; Ademmer 2017; Delcour 2017). Therefore, the evolution of EU-Russia interaction and domestic developments in the ‘contested neighbourhood’ are intimately intertwined. In essence, the implementation of the AA – a litmus test for the EU’s influence in the region – will crucially hinge on domestic capacities and EU assistance to enhance them, but it will also be affected by Russia’s actions. Russia will likely keep using its broad array of tools (in particular, its preferred security leverage) over associated countries with a view to undermining EU-demanded reforms. Yet it will also continue shaping its toolbox to the domestic elites in place, as illustrated by its soft reaction to Georgia’s signature of the AA, which needs to be placed in the context of attempts to normalise ties between the two countries after its former president, Mikheïl Saakashvili, lost power. However, despite Russia’s attempts to contain its influence, the EU will remain highly attractive to many countries in the region, whether as a beacon of democracy, a template of modernisation or a counterweight to Russia. It will likely continue to appeal to some EAEU members, especially in light of both the latter’s mixed record and Russia’s inability to offer a credible alternative to the EU’s model. While both the EU and Russia will remain key actors in the region in the foreseeable future, their interaction is unlikely to change drastically anytime soon. Eastern Europe and the South Caucasus will remain pivotal to Russia’s diplomacy, and any Western initiative aimed at deepening integration will continue to be perceived as detrimental to Russia’s interests. At the same time, Russia will continue seeking EU recognition of its own projects in the region, not least the Eurasian Economic Union. Yet for the EU, the annexation of Crimea and Russia’s actions in Donbas have marked unacceptable shifts, which have turned Russia into a ‘strategic challenge’ (EU External Action Service 2016: 33). While it is prepared to engage selectively with Russia over pressing foreign policy issues (such as counter-terrorism) and in areas where it has a clear interest (such as energy), in the ‘contested neighbourhood’, the EU will first and foremost continue strengthening relations with Eastern partners (Council of the European Union 2016) despite the fact that Russia regards these countries as being part of its zone of influence. Given the growing estrangement between the two former strategic partners, calls for restoring trust with Russia – such as the one launched by French President Macron in August 2019 – are unlikely per se to bring about positive change in EU-Russia interaction. This is because any breakthrough hinges crucially on tangible progress in the conflict in Ukraine. Therefore, the ‘contested neighbourhood’ has become much more than just a theatre for EU-Russia interaction. In fact, it now plays a crucial role in the restoration (if any) of this interaction. 399

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Notes 1 Emphasis in the original text. 2 The following paragraphs are based upon Delcour (2018a).

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EU, Russia and global governance

35 Russia in the liberal world order Maxine David and Ruth Deyermond

Ideas about the nature of international order have been central to the contest between Russia and ‘the West’ in the twenty-first century and are fundamental to the relationship between Russia and the structures and states of the European Union (EU). The extent to which this order is, or should be, a liberal one is the source of much political and analytical debate in the EU-Russia landscape, as is the nature of the role of the United States (US) in both international and European politics and security. In the context of a more assertive Russian foreign policy, a rising China and a closer Sino-Russian relationship, and difficult Russia-US relations, the EU is increasingly entangled in the net of Russia’s relations with others, especially the US. This chapter begins by considering the idea of a liberal world order (LWO), its origins, and some of the most significant debates about its character. Intimately connected to these debates are the issues of the LWO’s Cold War origins and its relationship to US hegemony. It explores Russia’s relationship to the LWO, and the ways in which that relationship is informed by Russian governmental concerns with US hegemony, or unipolarity. The chapter then considers the complex interrelationship of Russia, the LWO and Europe before concluding with some thoughts about possible futures.

The liberal world order Although the origins of the LWO are located in the political thought and practice of the nineteenth century (Sørensen 2006; Ikenberry 2018: 13), the order to which the term refers is generally agreed to have emerged at the end of, and as a response to, the Second World War (Deudney and Ikenberry 1999; Ikenberry 2005; Kobayashi 2017). The creation of key LWO institutions, including the Bretton Woods institutions, the General Agreement on Tariffs and Trade (GATT, later the World Trade Organisation), and the European Economic Community occurred in the 1940s and 1950s, those institutions understood to be mechanisms both for preventing another world war and for rebuilding after the last one. These institutions were created in the context of the Cold War, and most of them reflected the hegemonic position of the United States in relation to North America, Western Europe and East Asia. Nevertheless, scholars also recognise the building of the LWO was necessarily a joint effort, in which European and certain East Asian states were key to establishing its 405

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institutions, norms and practices, including free trade, alliances, multilateralism and the projection of democracy (Ikenberry 2005). The EU and its member states are therefore regarded as key actors in the LWO. The expansion of the LWO at the end of the Cold War was similarly tied to US hegemony, and to the global extension of that hegemony in the 1990s, during the US’s ‘unipolar moment’. This expansion was geographic, institutional and issue-related; it included the creation of new multilateral institutions and the further development of existing ones such as the EU, together with the emergence of more explicit and assertive practices and norms including democracy promotion and peacekeeping (notably including the Responsibility to Protect [R2P] doctrine). The LWO has several features that distinguish it from other types of international order. One is the multiplicity of actors and actor types and thus the relative de-emphasis of states. As Kobayashi (2017), notes, the liberal perspective sees ‘global governance as a shared practice of state and non-state actors, institutionalized by multilateral legal instruments, and maintained by shared aspirations of global community-building’. In evaluating the LWO, analysts consider the extent to which it offers what Ikenberry (2005) terms ‘voice opportunities’ to those at the regional and global levels, constituting, essentially, debates about power and representation. As such, international organisations and institutions form a crucial part of the order (Colgan and Keohane 2017: 37), as instruments for facilitating representation and cooperation and building trust between actors. The development of international law is a significant adjunct, providing the necessary regularity and reassurance for building trust and cooperation. Although the LWO is characterised by a plurality of actor types, it is not characterised by normative pluralism. Liberal political and social values are, of course, central to the LWO. During the Cold War, this aspect of the US-led liberal order was understood by its members to distinguish it from the Soviet-led bloc; questions of democracy and human rights were central to the dominant discourse of ‘the West’ that identified the LWO as not only different from but superior to Communist opponents. The LWO was and remains associated with values that include freedom, justice, equality and transparency (Sørensen 2006). For Ikenberry, the pre-eminent theorist of the LWO, the liberal international order is founded on rules, defined by openness, ‘organized around open markets, security alliances, multilateral cooperation, and democratic community’ (Ikenberry 2005: 133). Thus, the LWO has twin foundations of economic liberalism and politics, especially democracy promotion and the protection of human rights. If these are areas of general agreement among theorists of the LWO, there is disagreement among both scholars and actors about the interrelationship between the US-led liberal order and the broader post–Cold War order that transcended the limits of US hegemony. In particular, the relationship of the LWO to the United Nations (UN) is ambiguous – some UN structures, documents and practices appear to be the product of the same demands and norms that led to the creation of the LWO institutions, but the central role of the USSR, in particular, was also critical for its development. As discussed later, this matters because disputes about the character of the international order is one of the areas which has created friction between Russia and Western states in the twenty-first century. The character of the LWO’s liberalism is another issue contested by analysts and actors. One element of this debate concerns the use of institutions and accompanying rules to constrain actors – what Sørensen refers to as the Liberalism of Restraint (2006). The Liberalism of Restraint is matched, in Sørensen’s understanding, by a Liberalism of Imposition, an ‘activist’ approach ‘seeking to enforce a certain set of rules on the behaviour of member states’ (Sørensen 2006: 261). Imposition has come also in the Western view that liberal democracy should be exported to those who do not have it, in its more extreme form through military interventions to change a regime (Kinacioğlu 2012). The ‘saviour-complex’ (the idea that weaker states 406

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might need to be ‘saved’ by stronger ones) and the democratic peace thesis inherent in the LWO have provoked discussions about sovereignty and imperialism (Chandler 2003; Duncombe and Dunne 2018; Sørensen 2006) and raised the question of whether the values (democracy, human rights etc.) inherent in an order such as the LWO could be successfully imposed or whether this constitutes an oxymoron. Analysts have also focused on the delegitimising effects on the LWO of so-called humanitarian interventions considering its roots in thinking on soft power (Chinkin 1999; Coady 2002). Russia is not the only space, therefore, to challenge this order.

Russia and the liberal world order Russian governmental representations of the international order and Russia’s position in it are grounded in an understanding of the character and evolution of the post–World War Two order that is significantly different from that of many Western governments and Liberal scholars. The liberal narrative has framed the post-1945 world order as one in which the hegemonic position of the US facilitated the creation of international institutions, multilateralism, economic development based on a capitalist model, and shared liberal norms. It represents the post-1989 order as a geographic expansion of, rather than a qualitative change in, that order. In contrast, the twentyfirst century Russian governmental narrative has characterised the post-1989 order as an increasingly destabilising departure from the order established after World War Two by states including the Soviet Union (Putin 2020), driven by US unipolarity and revisionism. In this understanding, the current world order is, or should be, a continuation of the post-1945 international settlement, one characterised by limited institutions (principally, the UN Security Council) in which inter-state relations operate within the framework of international law, grounded in the principle of state sovereignty, and in which pluralism of domestic political models is respected. It appears, then, that one of the problems at the heart of the disputes between Russia and liberal political elites and analysts in ‘the West’ over international order is a difference of understanding about the character of the order. The Russian view is of a thin post-1945 international order that has been distorted by US unipolarity; the Liberal Western view is of a thick liberal order constituted under conditions of US hegemony, that expanded after 1989, was originally accepted by the Russian government, but which the Russian government is now actively seeking to undermine. This division in understanding and practice was not always evident. In the period immediately after the end of the Cold War, Russia appeared to many Western observers to have embraced the LWO. Russian admission into the economic structures of the LWO was an early and striking example of this. Russia joined the International Monetary Fund (IMF), the World Bank institutions and the newly created European Bank for Reconstruction and Development (EBRD) in 1992 and the G7 (or G8) in 1997; the Russian government sought admission to the WTO for several years, finally being admitted in 2012. Russia’s joining of the Partnership for Peace (PfP) and the signing of the NATO-Russia Founding Act in 1997 appeared to indicate an acceptance of a US-led security order. Beyond the membership of multilateral institutions, Russia in the early 1990s appeared to be in the process of normative alignment with the LWO, embracing a democratic political model and committing to human rights principles. Speaking at the United Nations Security Council (UNSC) in January 1992, for example, Boris Yeltsin declared that ‘democracy is one of the major achievements of human civilisation’, that ‘our top priority is to guarantee all human rights and freedoms in their entirety, including political and civil rights’, and that ‘Russia regards the United States and the West not as mere partners but rather as allies’ (United Nations Security Council 1992). As Forsberg has noted, ‘liberal values were not imposed on Russia in the early 1990s; rather, Russians had embraced them by themselves’ (Forsberg 2019: 164). 407

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A change in Russian governmental attitudes towards the LWO began to be noted by external observers and evident in governmental statements from the late 1990s, particularly in the context of the 1999 NATO intervention in Kosovo. NATO’s actions brought about a shift, if not in Russia’s foreign policy, at least in Russian perceptions of the West – what Lynch (2001) describes as ‘stronger scepticism towards the West’. Gorodetsky (2003) portrayed Kosovo as a ‘wake-up’ call for the Kremlin, a view supported by the revisions made to the April 2000 Military Doctrine, with its emphasis on threats to Russian security. Baranovskii (1999) considered this recognition that Russia would suffer the same experiences as Serbia if it were not sufficiently strong. As would later be the case with the 2003 invasion of Iraq, the failure to obtain UNSC authorisation for the Kosovo intervention challenged the primacy of the body on matters of international peace and security and the importance of international law (David 2017). These concerns were extended and amplified by the assertively hegemonic foreign policy of the George W. Bush administration which combined a disregard for these key elements of the international order with a vigorous assertion of US dominance and the discursive promotion of democracy, including in the post-Soviet space, often in ways that appeared designed primarily to serve US national interests (Deyermond 2015). As this suggests, the post–Cold War role of the US is central to understanding the contemporary Russian challenge to the LWO. Since the turn of the twenty-first century, Russia has consistently argued about the dangers of unilateralism, unipolarity, and US hegemony, a forceful voice against those who argued that the ‘American system’ could not be seen as imperial in nature given its negotiated character and institutional underpinnings (see Monaghan 2006). Further, Russia has been critical of the idea that American dominance was warranted by virtue both of the various types of protections that the US offers to others, as well as the fact that others contribute to the system itself (Ikenberry 2005: 137). Rather, for Russia, US power has come at the expense of the ‘multilateral, rule-based order’ (Ikenberry 2005: 135). The US’s alleged aspirations towards unipolarity and the undermining of the UNSC, international law and the state sovereignty principle are represented as the principal threat to international order. The US’s attack on state sovereignty is understood to come not only from the unlawful military action in Kosovo and Iraq but from an attempt to impose its own political model on other states. This, in Russian governmental representations, is an attack on pluralism in the international system and an authoritarian attempt to suppress the democracy of the international system in the name of liberal norms. As policy documents, speeches and interviews demonstrate, this has been the dominant position of the Russian government on questions of international order since the mid-00s. Its most prominent articulation occurred in Putin’s 2007 speech to the Munich Security Conference, in which he asked: What is a unipolar world? However one might embellish this term, at the end of the day it refers to one type of situation, namely one centre of authority, one centre of force, one centre of decision-making. It is [sic] world in which there is one master, one sovereign. . . . And this certainly has nothing in common with democracy. . . . Incidentally, Russia – we – are constantly being taught about democracy. But for some reason those who teach us do not want to learn themselves. (Putin 2007) Similarly, in an article on Russian foreign policy, Putin identified the BRICs grouping as ‘a striking symbol of the transition from a unipolar world to a more just world order’ (Putin 2012). The 2016 Russian Foreign Policy Concept asserts as a Russian governmental priority the need 408

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to counter challenges to the primacy of international law, interference in states’ internal affairs, and attempts at regime change by unnamed states – clearly the US and NATO allies (Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2016). The emergence of a more hostile position towards the LWO in the twenty-first century supports Clunan’s (2018) arguments regarding Russia and the LWO. Clunan argues that Russia has supported a ‘charter liberalism’ variant of the LWO, grounded in ‘nondiscriminatory multilateral institutions that have preserved great power peace’ though a tolerance of plural political models and a state-centric approach (Clunan 2018: 46). The development of liberal humanist and economic neoliberalist elements in the LWO, which gave primacy to democracy and human rights principles at the expense of state sovereignty and international pluralism, have, she suggests, been the principal reasons for Russian opposition to the LWO as currently constituted. Russian governmental understandings of the LWO in the twenty-first century appear to be shaped in multiple ways by perceptions of the US’s role and intentions. They also appear to be informed by a Realist worldview, which frames the multilateralism and norms of the LWO as instruments of US national interests. This has significant implications for Russian governmental representations of, and interactions with, the European Union and its members.

Russia, Europe and the LWO The Russian governmental understanding of the character of the LWO and its response to the liberal character of European states and institutions reflects a realist conception of international relations. The realist character of core elements of twenty-first-century Russian foreign policy has been widely noted by scholars (for example, Gunitsky and Tsygankov 2018; Kropatcheva 2012; Lynch 2001). One element of this realist approach has been the assumption that US dominance extends to include significant control over the international actions of allied LWO actors; another is the assumption that national interest motivations underpin actions that therefore only appear to be driven by those normative concerns that supposedly characterise the LWO. Both of these have been very significant for Russia’s perceptions of the EU. The challenge to core elements of the LWO in Russia’s interaction with Europe is evident in several areas. The first is an apparent reluctance to recognise the genuinely multilateral character of European regional organisation. Multilateralism is, of course, fundamental to the constitution of the EU, but recognition of multilateral cooperation on the basis of state equality and shared identity, not hegemony, is inconsistent with a realist worldview. Although formally committed to developing relations with the EU, the Russian government has demonstrated a preference for bilateral engagement with key European states, particularly France and Germany (see David et al. 2013; Schmidt-Felzmann this volume). It is reflected in, for example, the annual report by prominent Russian international relations scholars from the Institute of World Economy and International Relations (IMEMO), which views Russian challenges in Europe in relation to France and Germany, not the EU as an institution (IMEMO 2020: 441). A consequence of this realist focus on powerful states rather than institutions is an assumption that the EU operates primarily as a great power tool, and specifically as a mechanism for the assertion of US hegemony, even though the US is not a member of the EU. This is most commonly done by linking EU actions in the post-Soviet space to the US and often pairing it with NATO expansion. The 2016 Russian Foreign Policy concept, for example, identifies EU ‘geopolitical expansion’, together with that of NATO, as the primary cause of destabilisation of Russia-West relations (Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs 2016: Article 61) – a formulation that implies a power politics agenda at odds with the EU’s goals and practices. This framing of EU action can also be seen in governmental accounts of the start of the Ukraine crisis and helps 409

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to explain Russia’s role in the ongoing Ukraine crisis. From this perspective, the EU’s attempt to reach an Association Agreement with Ukraine in 2013 was understood as a mechanism by which the US asserted its influence to detach Ukraine from Russia, and the Euromaidan protests and the removal of the Yanukovych government were seen as the product of a Western attack on Russian regional interests and part of a wider strategy to alienate Russia from its neighbours. In a 2014 article on the Ukraine crisis, for example, Foreign Minister Lavrov claimed that the EU and the US ‘have been trying to compel Ukraine to make a painful choice between east and west’ and that Western states, despite their repeated assurances to the contrary, have carried out successive waves of NATO enlargement. . . . The EU’s Eastern Partnership programme is designed to bind the so-called focus states tightly to itself, shutting down the possibility of co-operation with Russia. (Lavrov 2014) This is a realist explanation filtered through what Morozov describes as the Russian government’s ‘conspirological worldview’ (Morozov 2015: 27), in which ‘there is always some secret centre from which any political action is directed’ and in which, given ‘its tendency to see the world as bipolar’, this centre is identified in the West (Morozov 2015: 32). This realist framing of the EU’s organisation and purpose appears to inform Russian responses to other central elements of the LWO as it is manifested in Europe. Most significantly, perhaps, is the contest over liberal norms that has emerged, particularly in the last decade. As a normative actor that places democracy and human rights at the core of both its internal, member-state identity and its external relations, the EU is a manifestation of one of the central elements of the LWO: the importance of shared liberal political norms. Understood through the lens of state-centric Realpolitik, however, norms become a site of competition and a tool to advance great power interests. This perspective had been shaped by the ‘colour revolutions’, which have been understood by the Russian government as a mechanism by which the US advanced its national interests under the cover of support for democracy (Deyermond 2016; Wilson 2009). Subsequent norm promotion by the US and the EU in the Eurasian space has generally been treated as an aggressive act, designed to undermine Russian influence, and as behaviour requiring pushback. This has led to the development of ‘normative rivalry’ between Russia and the EU in the region (Dragneva and Wolczuk 2012). Others have made the compelling argument that in both Georgia and Ukraine, Russia has ‘parodied’ (Burai 2016) Western norms, in these cases the preventative aspect of R2P, ‘decoupling it from its original context . . . and applied it without any evidence of such crises’ (ibid: 77). While the effect of such parody and Russia’s contestation of norms relating to humanitarian intervention generally is to insulate Russia from accusations of hypocrisy, it also serves to undermine an important normative doctrine (‘concept’ for Russia  – see Baranovsky and Mateiko 2016) that was adopted by the UN General Assembly less than two decades ago. Indeed, deeper studies of Russian officials’ attitudes to R2P are instructive, the cleaving to a ‘restrictionist’ (Baranovsky and Mateiko 2016: 50) position on R2P revealing the limits of Kremlin commitment to multilateralist approaches to problem-solving. Indeed, they suggest Russia engages in contestation over multilateralism itself (David 2019) and that what it really champions is multipolarity (see Makarychev and Morozov 2011). In 2006, Monaghan related Russian thenForeign Minister Ivanov’s conception of multipolarity as ‘emphasis[ing] a more positive form of multi-polarity, one that did not involve opposition, but sought to build a new architecture of international relations, one of collective responses to contemporary challenges’ (2006: 993). At 410

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the current time, such an analysis would seem optimistic, the lines dividing multilateralism and multipolarity etched firmly, the EU on one side (European Union 2016), Russia on the other (Monaghan 2006).

Dead or dying? The liberal world order The EU-Russia relationship has been, and will likely continue to be, shaped in significant ways by another critical aspect of the contemporary LWO – its apparent decline and perceptions of that decline. Debates about the decline of the LWO have proliferated in the last decade, particularly since the election of Donald Trump as US president in 2016. We can discern at least four categories of argumentation in the literature focused on the reasons for the decline of the LWO. Interrelated as they are, broadly speaking, they can be set under headings relating to: i) the exploitation of US hegemony, ii) the efficacy of international institutions, iii) identity and iv) a lack of sufficient active support. The first, as noted previously, concerns the role of the US itself in the post–Cold War era. US hegemonic overreach, particularly during the period of the ‘Global War on Terror’, undermined the credibility of the US leadership of the LWO and thus of the LWO itself. Ikenberry argued in 2005 that ‘the postwar rules and institutions . . . shared visions and communal binds that shaped and sustained this United States-led order appear to be eroding’ (2005: 134); Duncombe and Dunne (2018) make similar arguments. Consistent with this is the Russian governmental view of the US as the author of its own and the LWO’s decline, that the sustainability of cooperation was contingent on responsible behaviour by the hegemon and the absence of violence and conflict. The majority of the arguments about the decline of the LWO relate to the second category. They revolve around the role of rules, regimes and the institutions built to defend them, about their capacity to deliver the promised benefits of prosperity and stability and to restrain power, especially that of the hegemon, with the UN a particular focus of analysis. The liberal bargain, in short, did not hold. These are precisely the arguments that Russia, under both Yeltsin and Putin, made in relation to the US’s (and some European actors’) liberal interventionist impulses, as the Kremlin discourse around the 1998–9 Kosovo Crisis testifies. Further, Russia’s points about the importance of institutions with respect to upholding the rules and standards, of ensuring order, have been given substance in the post-intervention Iraqi and Libyan landscapes, although questions can indubitably be asked about Russia’s own role in Syria. Sørensen (2006: 267) perhaps best captures the overarching debate on interventionism in his conclusion that a Liberalism of Imposition goes too far, while a Liberalism of Restraint does not go far enough. Until the Trump administration, the US and Russia sat on opposite sides of this conundrum, while the EU member states were divided, some of them unengaged in the debate altogether. It was of little surprise, therefore, that for a long time, Brussels did not deliver, and did not seem capable of delivering, a consistent message – as Weymouth and Henig (2001) demonstrate in relation to the NATO bombing of Belgrade in 1999 – although the EU’s Global Strategy of 2016 (EUGS) and its attendant institutional (widely defined) structures have gone some way to remedying this. Nevertheless, in the Russian perception, there is little value in continuing cooperation at the multilateral level as long as international institutions are not capable of restraining the worst excesses of US behaviour – though this does not, of course, imply that the importance placed on the role of the UNSC by the Russian government has diminished. In the economic sphere, the crisis of capitalism (Sørensen 2006) has undermined support for the neoliberal facet of the LWO, particularly at sub-state level, and has generated a return to the discourses of protectionism. The LWO is associated, as Ikenberry notes, with ‘financial 411

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crises and rising economic inequality’ (Ikenberry 2020: 135); strikingly, despite their radically different views of the desirability of a liberal international order, Mearsheimer also suggests that one reason for the failure of the LWO is ‘rising income inequality’ and ‘recurring financial crises’ (Mearsheimer 2019: 8). Such arguments have been particularly significant in the EU, as the 2008 financial crisis affected all EU member states but sowed deep divisions between the ‘fiscally responsible’ north and the ‘fiscally irresponsible’ south. The failure of the Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership (TTIP) in 2016, the proposed trade agreement between the EU and US, provoked substantial protest within the EU, with trade unions, NGOS and environmental groups uniting in their opposition – a sign, one might say, of the voice opportunities successfully at work in the LWO, except for the singular lack of deep acknowledgement on the EU’s part regarding the reason for that opposition, such that some have spoken of the illiberal aspects of the LWO (Sørensen 2006). Connected to all these problems is the problem of the democratically unsupported extension of power to multilateral institutions, which Colgan and Keohane term ‘multilateral overreach’ (2017: 42), and a resultant feeling among publics that their future was being decided by those outside their state – in other words, by those who had no claim to their allegiance. Like the crisis of the LWO’s neoliberal economic model, this has undoubtedly created an environment in which populist authoritarianism could flourish (Peterson 2018). The failure of liberal states and institutions to be vigilant, to ensure that the presumed benefits of liberal world order did trickle down to ordinary citizens have created a situation whereby a range of actors, of which Russia is only one, have credible grounds to challenge the current configuration of the liberal world order and to demand change. The third category concerns identity. Colgan and Keohane make a persuasive argument that the post-1989 loss of the communist ‘other’ in relation to which the LWO and its member states had constructed that order’s (and their own) identity (2017: 40) account for the twenty-firstcentury rise of illiberalism and populism. The failure to uphold the social contract has undoubtedly further sown the ground for a return to nationalist thought and policies, as seen clearly in the US under Trump, and in the United Kingdom, Hungary and Poland. The so-called refugee crisis and migration issues have revealed unequivocally that significant numbers of people in some EU states and in the US have not met with equanimity the bringing together of different peoples, suggesting there are clear (yet just as clearly unanticipated) limits to the capacity of LWO states to meet and cooperate. The final category of argumentation concerns leadership: the LWO is in decline because of the failure of its adherents to defend it or uphold it. This argument is most frequently directed towards the role of the LWO’s hegemon, the US, and in particular to the radical change of approach by the Trump administration. Haass (2018), for example, suggests that The weakening of the liberal world order is due, more than anything else, to the changed attitude of the US [under Trump]. . . . America’s decision to abandon the role it has played for more than seven decades thus marks a turning point. The liberal world order cannot survive on its own, because others lack either the interest or the means to sustain it. Ikenberry is even more blunt, arguing that ‘the liberal world order is collapsing because its leading patrons, starting with the United States, have given up on it’ (Ikenberry 2020: 133). Although most contemporary discussion is focused on the Trump administration, criticism of US inaction predates it. Lieber (2016) notes the Obama administration’s expectation that others would defend the liberal world order when the domestic policymaking environment tied the US’s hands (Lieber 2016). Responsibility extends beyond the US, therefore. It is not 412

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at all clear that the EU, even today, has understood and made the argument to its peoples that the liberal world order is something that must be upheld and defended on a daily basis and in a multitude of spaces. Accusations that the US ceded the interventionist ground – especially in Syria – to Russia often miss the EU as an equally culpable target. The bombing of hospitals in Syria, the continued use of chemical weapons, the sacrificing of the Kurds – all of these have occurred despite international structures that either prohibit them and/or (should) make them morally reprehensible. Any householder knows, without maintenance, sometimes costly maintenance, structures crumble. All of what is set out here is revealing of a loss of legitimacy for the LWO. The US, particularly, is seen as having undermined trust in the LWO through interventionism and the delegitimation of international law, something that was possible only in a context of unilateralism. At the same time, others have argued for more resilience and durability in the LWO than some acknowledge (Ikenberry 2018; Peterson 2018). Thus, analysis is divided between those asking whether we are witnessing a breakdown of or, less catastrophically, a thinning out of cooperation and trust in the LWO. All this suggests that those looking to Russia as the actor responsible for the decline of the LWO would be better served turning their ideas on culpability to those actors at the thick end of that order. That is not to deny, however, those challenges to the LWO Russia has mounted, not least in terms of pursuing the path of an alternative order.

Conclusions: if not liberal, what type of order? Russia’s relationship to the LWO is complex, informed by the Russian governmental realist worldview, the role of US hegemony, and a contested understanding of the relationship of liberalism to key elements of international order including state sovereignty and international law, and of the role of norms in that order. In accepting the idea that Russia is a contester of norms, we should also not suggest that it contests all norms (Kurowska 2014). The Russian government recognises that Russia is a beneficiary of the economic elements of the liberal world order; through free trade and the WTO, it has access to more markets on more favourable terms (Clunan 2018). More broadly, its ‘return to the world stage’ was aided by features of the LWO, especially institutions and Russia’s seat at many of them. Any evidence of challenge to that order should therefore be seen as consistent with its concerns about the dangers of US hegemony and unipolarity. However, given the role of the US in sustaining the liberal world order, the obvious question is whether Russia can challenge US hegemony without simultaneously challenging, even bringing down, those elements of LWO that are beneficial to it. If there is evidence of a Russian governmental desire to undermine, or replace, the US-led LWO, there is no evidence that it rejects the structure of post-1945 international order more generally. The continued importance of the UN and the discursive attachment to principles of state sovereignty and international law are supplemented by a growing focus on multilateral institutions at a regional level. Importantly, however, these are not politically liberal institutions (members are not liberal democracies, and the institutions are not concerned with – indeed, often reject  – liberal norms) and, reflecting the Russian governmental preoccupation with power and polarity, they are dominated by Russia, or Russia and China, in the case of the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO). This appears to be consistent with the claims of the current Foreign Minister Lavrov, who says Russia sees the future as reflecting ‘processes aimed at boosting multipolarity and what we call a polycentric world order’ (Lavrov in Shcherback 2019). In practice, Russia looks increasingly embedded in relations with those to its east and south and increasingly resistant to deepening relations with those to its west. 413

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Russian membership in European-centric multilateral organisations (the Council of Europe and the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe) is increasingly outweighed by its membership of those grounded in Eurasia, Asia and beyond: the Eurasian Economic Union, the BRICS, the SCO and the Collective Security Treaty Organisation. However, these memberships have not replicated the thicker relations produced by LWO institutions, and there is little to suggest a strong adherence to the social contract aspects of the LWO. Nor is there evidence of Russia using its hegemonic position, grounded in its historical relations with other post-Soviet members, to the benefit of their combined societies, as advocates for continuing American leadership in a LWO have argued the US has done. Instead, the Eurasian regional organisations appear designed to achieve the three realist goals of maintaining regional dominance, balancing against the US and sustaining a relationship with China that both assists that balancing and checks further Chinese regional influence. Consistent with this realism, Russian ideas about desirable forms of international order appear to be shaped by an understanding of the 1945–89 order as thin and not grounded in the expansionist liberalism of the post-Cold War period. Given the central role of US hegemony and liberal principles in the founding of the post-1945 order, however, expectations of a thin-order devoid of both these elements may be misplaced. As the debates around the decline of the LWO during the Trump period suggest, the world after the LWO may not confer the economic benefits and legal protections necessary to the protection and advancement of Russian goals, including the great power status that is central to the Putin government’s conceptions of Russian identity. Russian governmental approaches to the LWO may prove damaging not only for the future of a liberal international order and ­Russia-Europe relations but also for Russia itself.

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36 EU-Russia-US relations Diverging visions on European security Maria Raquel Freire

Relations between the European Union (EU) and Russia are affected to a great extent by the way these two actors interact with the United States (US). The US is historically a traditional ally of the EU and a core member of the North Atlantic Treaty Organisation (NATO), a major organisation providing for security in the European space of which Russia is not a member. Moscow’s suspicion towards NATO is well known, and relations with the US have balanced between cooperation and competition, just like with the EU, though relations between Washington and Moscow have proceeded on more difficult terms. Additionally, the EU is a regional organisation, whereas Russia and the US are federal states, which makes their foreign policymaking different. This means the EU has to deal with the foreign policies of its 27 member states (after Brexit), as this is an area where intergovernmental decision-making applies (see also Fernandes this volume). From these differences in cohesion and from their distinct means of achieving political objectives, there have resulted difficulties in the building of so-called strategic partnerships between the EU, Russia and US. Historically and thematically, relations between the EU, the US and Russia show differences. For example, after the September 11, 2001 terrorist attacks in the US, there was a wave of support coming from the EU and Russia, showing solidarity and willingness to cooperate further on counter-terrorism matters. By contrast, the Moscow–Paris–Berlin axis that existed at the time of the Iraq war in 2003 was critical of the US intervention, indicative of the division within the EU between those that supported the US move and those that were critical of it, with Russia aligning with France and Germany in countering the US intervention. Later on, in February 2008, the Declaration of Independence of Kosovo generated new contestation, with strong US support, criticism from Russia and a divided EU.1 The deterioration of relations between Russia and the West now became evident, also underlining the divisions among Western states (Weymouth and Henig 2001). In the summer of 2008, when the Georgia five-day war broke out, both the EU and the US were very critical of Russian actions. More recently, the 2014 annexation of Crimea (repatriation in Russian terms) and the war in Eastern Ukraine generated antagonism between Russia and the West. Sanctions became a visible part of the difficult relations, including the suspension of much of their contact. These examples show how, depending on the topic, the three might agree on a common position or follow divergent paths:

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the EU and Russia might align, the EU and the US might counter Russia and there might be divergence among Western states. This chapter seeks to map these relations since the end of the Cold War, highlighting the issues that constitute a challenge and an opportunity. In the analysis of the ups and downs in these relations, the chapter makes a twofold argument. First, there have been different visions of the international order that have shaped disagreement and contributed to the lack of trust, as the emptiness of the partnership agreements between the EU/US and Russia demonstrate. Second, there have been unintended consequences of policies drafted for inclusiveness and more security in Europe, which ended up leading to feelings of exclusion and insecurity, well exemplified in Russia’s positioning towards the enlargement of the EU and particularly that of NATO. The chapter is organised into three main sections. The first one maps relations between the three major players, showing how dynamics of cooperation and competition have persisted in their relations. Different typologies have been used to describe Russian relations with both the EU and the US (the West), as well as between Russia and each of these actors. After periods of romanticism, pragmatism and rivalry, military assertiveness has made its way into these relations, with Ukraine marking a more profound change in Western relations with Russia. Since 2014, these have become frosty and changed the cooperation–competition format that characterised relations after the end of the Cold War. The second section briefly focuses on security as a topical issue area, grappling with actors’ readings of the European security architecture and the management of security issues. This illustrates the dynamics of cooperation–competition that have underlined these relations, showing the distinct visions that have developed as well as unintended policy consequences resulting thereof. Finally, the third section discusses possible future developments in the face of a strained context for the relations between these three players, focusing in particular on implications for the EU-Russia relationship.

Mapping EU-Russia-US relations The literature on EU-Russia, US-Russia and West-Russia relations draws to a great extent on empirical studies that seek to grasp the logics of cooperation and competition that inform their evolution (Forsberg and Haukkala 2018). The ups and downs that have marked these relations attest to the difficulty in finding common political agreement on a number of issues, as well as to the prevailing distrust. Institutionally, the EU became increasingly relevant for Russia in financial and economic terms, especially as the 1990s advanced and a new Partnership and Cooperation Agreement between the two came into force in 1997 (three years after it was signed, mostly due to the Chechen wars). The agreement was inclusive, pointing at political dialogue, trade and investment, legislative cooperation, scientific and technological cooperation, education, environment and culture, among other things (EU and Russia 1997). The 1990s saw deep changes in Russia, seeking its new identity after the collapse of the Soviet Union in a particularly difficult internal context (Lynch 2003). The sense of loss in status affected Russian politics; the Kremlin tried to counter US hegemony (Monaghan 2007; Tsygankov 2009) while also attempting to recover international recognition as a great power. The NATO intervention in Kosovo in 1999 was a first test of relations (Antonenko 2007; Roberts 2018: 238). Under the leadership of the US, NATO’s out-of-area intervention caused tensions in Russian relations with the West, including with the EU. Russia opposed the intervention on the basis it lacked an appropriate UN mandate (UNSC/6659 1999), an early example of Russian criticism of US policies of global intervention that has characterised their relations since then. 418

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Despite the climate of tension, dialogue and cooperation on political, economic and security matters with the EU were strengthened with the November 2003 Joint Declaration signed in Rome that paved the way for the creation of the ‘Common Spaces’. The Roadmaps were signed in May 2005, having as a goal a Europe without dividing lines, built around four areas of cooperation, namely a Common Economic Space; a Common Space of Freedom, Security and Justice; a Common Space of Cooperation in the field of External Security; and a Common Space of Research, Education and Culture. In this more cooperative context, the European Security Strategy of 2003 refers to Russia’s role in relevant areas, including energy security and managing the stabilisation of the Western Balkans and of the Israeli-Arab conflict, as well as the importance of developing a strategic partnership with Moscow (Council of the European Union 2003: 14). However, the establishment of the European Neighbourhood Policy in 2004 was not welcomed by Moscow, which did not want to be one more partner in such a diverse group of states (Lazareva 2014: 44). As then-Deputy Foreign Minister Chizhov stated (cited in Haukkala 2010: 3), ‘[i]n contrast to some smaller Eastern European or South Caucasus countries striving for EU-membership Russia is neither a subject nor an object of the European Neighbourhood Policy’. The drawing-up of the EU-Russia strategic partnership in line with the four Common Spaces sought to address Russian concerns. Moscow and Washington collaborated in the fight against terrorism, organised crime and the proliferation of weapons of mass destruction and the consolidation of economic and political benefits, and made reference to the same strategic geographic areas and issues, such as Afghanistan and the Middle East and relations with NATO. These goals were stated in the Joint Statement on a New Relationship between the US and Russia (November 2001), reinforced at the Moscow Declaration on the New Strategic Relationship signed in May 2002 and reaffirmed in meetings and statements in both capitals. Moscow shut down some Cold War military facilities, amply supported the US campaign in Afghanistan and gave its consent to the stationing of American military forces in Central Asia, showing a cooperative stance (Mankoff 2008). This was part of the Russian support towards the Global War on Terror after the September  11, attacks in the US. In response, it became a member of the G8 and got support for its accession to the World Trade Organisation (WTO). Nevertheless, Russia criticised the US for meddling in its internal affairs, particularly regarding rule of law and human rights issues (Margelov 2006). Moreover, the US-led intervention in Iraq in 2003 was a matter for dissent. It raised divisions on multiple fronts, with Russia opposing it and EU member states divided between those supporting and those against the intervention. The Paris-Berlin-Moscow axis symbolised the fracture in the political misalignment at the EU’s core (Rubin 2003; Ambrosio 2005). As a consequence, ‘while the EU was split, NATO was sidelined’ (Hoffmann 2003: 1034). For Russia, this meant an opportunity to oppose Washington’s presumption and express joy for the weakening of NATO, despite Russian enhanced engagement in the organisation’s activities (Kanet 2005: 3). The enlargements of the EU and NATO have been high on the agenda, with Moscow becoming particularly critical of the expansion of the Atlantic Alliance. The changing map of Europe, with the borders of both the EU and NATO coming closer to Russia, elicited criticism about interference in an area that Russia considered of vital importance. The overlapping neighbourhood has grown into an area of high-intensity confrontation between the two actors, as evidenced in Georgia (2003 and 2008) and Ukraine (2004 and 2014), where distinctive narratives on EU-Russia security relations have been constructed (Svarin 2016; Browning 2018). Putin’s 2007 Munich speech had made it clear that NATO’s expansion plans were against Russian interests, that Moscow was worried about the US missile defence shield plans and about Western support for the colour revolutions in the post-Soviet area. The latter added to mistrust between Russia and both the US and the EU (Beacháin and Polese 2010; Finkel and Brudny 419

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2012). The role of the US in Russia’s strategic neighbourhood has been described as one of interference and meddling to the detriment of Russian interests (Lieven 2002; Trenin 2006; Sakwa 2008; Grodsky 2009). In this strained context, some argue the five-day war in Georgia shows the exclusion of Russia from ‘the broader European security framework’ (Åslund and Kuchins 2009: 2; see also Prozorov 2006); others discuss the need to reassess relations and think about a new framework for these (Antonenko and Giegerich 2009), and some talk about a new Cold War (Galbreath 2008; Lucas 2008; Sakwa 2008). The Georgia five-day war was a strong point of dissent in EU/US relations with Russia (Cornell 2008; Ó Tuathail 2008; Tsygankov and Tarver-Wahlquist 2009). Nevertheless, the aftermath of the war allowed for openness in relations both with the EU and the US. The 2010 EU-Russia Partnership for Modernisation focusing more on modernisation and less on democratisation (Freire and Simão 2015; see also David and Romanova 2016) paved the way for renewed dialogue. This was also the time of the ‘reset’ policy of the US when President Obama sought to ‘reverse what he called a “dangerous drift” in this important bilateral relationship’ (The White House 2010). The reset focused on issues of common interest such as arms control and relations with Iran and Afghanistan. Despite allowing for an improvement in relations (Deyermond 2013), soon problems were identified on the way to the ‘reset’ of relations (Blank 2010; Stent 2012). Russia’s support to the government of Syria has been maintained since the beginning of the war in 2011. The airstrikes in 2015 changed the course of the war to the benefit of the Assad regime. Russia and the West have been on different sides of the conflict, with Syria referred to as a ‘proxy war’ (Hughes 2014; Stent 2016). Arguments about the responsibility to protect and the territorial integrity of Syria have been put forward by Russia, whereas many point to a more global agenda behind Russia’s involvement (Allison 2013; Charap 2013; Averre and Davies 2015; Freire and Heller 2018). In parallel with these developments, recurrent accusations of espionage, diplomatic expulsions and political imprisonments have added to the climate of tension. The Snowden case in 2013 involving the disclosure of US authorities’ classified information and his later asylum in Russia, the poisoning of Sergei and Yulia Skripal in the United Kingdom in 2018 or mutual accusations about involvement in elections and of disinformation (see also Chernenko this volume) are illustrative of the many issues that regularly feature on the strained agenda of EU-US-Russia relations. The annexation of Crimea in 2014 constituted, nevertheless, a fundamental shift in relations by crystallising differences between Russia and the West. Geopolitical readings of events in Ukraine (Mearsheimer 2014) and discussions about their implications for European security, including with regard to the EU and NATO (Biersack and O’Lear 2014; Averre 2016), to Russian status considerations (Forsberg 2014; Larson and Shevchenko 2014; Freire and Heller 2018) and to the impact of sanctions ( Jones and Whitworth 2014; Giumelli 2016; Romanova 2016a), have all been addressed. Energy issues have also in this context become an area of discord. While some argue energy is mostly business (Kaveshnikov 2010), many have framed it in a geopolitical grid, discussing the dependence/interdependence relationship, as well as the role and place of Russia as an energy power and the implications for relations with the EU (Aalto 2016; Casier 2016; Perovic et al. 2009). The war in Ukraine contributed to the tensions, and both Russia and the EU have deepened their policy of diversification of transit and partners (Gusev and Westphal 2015; Kratochvíl and Tichý 2013), as is visible in new projects. However, Russia may not be in a position to completely rule out Ukrainian transit (Götz 2015; Korteweg 2018; Pirani 2018), whereas for the EU, Russia remains the main natural gas supplier. For Russia, this status is not just about money but also recognition and identity (Sharples 2013: 686). For now, the EU and Russia maintain a ‘marriage of convenience’ ( Johnson 2005) in 420

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energy-related matters, despite the US’s increased pressure to obtain entrance to the EU energy market (shale gas). The current state of affairs in Russian relations with the EU and the US signals three main aspects: the emptiness of the agreed-upon strategic partnerships between Russia and both the EU and the US; how developments in the building of the post–Cold War order ended up having unintended consequences of reinforced mistrust and disagreement, particularly regarding the design of the post–Cold War European security architecture (David and Deyermond this volume); and how insecurity has come to mark relations in the wider Europe, with Ukraine and Syria as examples straining relations between these actors in a difficult regional and international context.

EU-US-Russia relations: security issues in the agendas The European ‘security architecture’ has evolved around the central role of NATO, the marginal role of the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe (OSCE) and a limited contribution from the EU. In the process, the NATO–Russia Council was established in 2002 (replacing the 1997 Permanent Joint Council), but Russia never considered itself fully integrated in the European security system (MacFarlane 2001; de Haas 2010; Kortunov 2016; Lavrov 2018). This translates into Russia’s criticism of NATO enlargement policies and the deployment of military forces close to its borders, showing a persistent fear over Western institutions (Splidsboel-Hansen 2002). In the same way, the feeling of encirclement, mainly driven by NATO enlargement and reinforced by the EU’s Neighbourhood Policy, has been a central element sustaining the drive towards a new military build-up and an arms race by the US and EU-NATO countries as well as Russia. In fact, Russia has advanced alternative visions for the reordering of European security – in its 1999 Medium Term Strategy for Development of Relations with the European Union, later with the European Security Treaty Proposal advanced by then-President Dmitry Medvedev in 2008 (The Kremlin 2009), or more recently at the OSCE High Level Panel with the proposal for a Community for Greater Eurasia (OSCE 2015; Karaganov 2016). The common ground for these proposals is the assumption that European security without Russia will never be attained, underlining Russian understanding that it has been excluded from the related processes and institutions. In different ways, these proposals meant to ‘refurbish old principles and bring Russia back into the European security discussion and decision-making’ (Freire and Simão 2018). Many of the issues discussed before, from NATO enlargement to Western support to the colour revolutions in the post-Soviet space, from disagreement over Syria to mutual accusations of espionage, have made the security agenda between these actors a burdensome one. Nevertheless, cooperation has been possible in issues such as counter-terrorism or negotiations with Iran. On the latter, Russia has remained a crucial actor as both a supplier of nuclear technology to Iran and as a critical element in the negotiations (Omelicheva 2012). Equally, as the Trump administration decided to withdraw from the nuclear deal with Iran and restate the sanctions regime in 2018, Russia-EU relations have found new ground on which to improve (Thomson and Kulesa 2017). However, since the Ukrainian crisis began in 2013, the management of security relations between the EU and Russia has sharply deteriorated. The same applies to the US. This crisis illustrates rather well how EU-US-Russia security relations are exposed to regional and global dynamics. US policies towards Russia and European security more broadly have been major factors, shaping the approximation of some EU members and Russia (as was partly the case with the US decision to invade Iraq in 2003) (Gordon and Shapiro 2004). Despite expectations that 421

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with the arrival of Trump to the US presidency the status of relations could potentially change, the accusations about complicity and exchange of information before the 2016 US presidential elections and interference in this process, together with conflicting visions on Syria and Ukraine (David 2017a), have led to a difficult relationship between the US and Russia. There are valid reasons for Russia to be invested in the materialisation of a new, more inclusive European security regime, where Russia would have voice, vote and veto, and which would be based on shared principles of sovereignty and respect for the territorial integrity of states, as core norms binding the parties into the common framework proposed (Karaganov and Suslov 2018). However, finding a balance between the current contested order and new proposals to reshape it remains difficult. The Ukraine conflict questioned the very foundations of the security regime Russia has been promoting, given the violation of the very basic principles that were at the core of this security order. The end result has not only been the imposition of sanctions but also contradictory dynamics regarding Russia’s inclusion in the European security system. It is a formal part of this architecture, but it is not a member of the institutions that have come to dominate the management of European security, namely NATO and the EU (Freire and Simão 2018). The annexation of Crimea and the crisis in Ukraine represent a definitive shift with regard to Russia’s position in the European security order. This erosion of the European security regime has important implications for relations between Russia and the EU/US. The divergence among EU member states in this regard further complicates the overall picture. Moreover, military-related affairs have testified to the difficulties in relations, particularly between Russia and the US but with clear implications for the EU and the wider Europe. President Bush’s plan for a missile defence shield in Europe, announced in 2001, raised criticism from Russia, which read it as a threat (Glaser and Fetter 2001; Mankoff 2012). In 2009, President Obama abandoned the plan, which he did not consider the most strategically efficient to deal with the threats coming from Iran and North Korea (Harding and Traynor 2009; Khoo and Steff 2014). In May 2016, the new US defence system was inaugurated, and Russian reaction was again bitter (Kramer 2016). The Russian investment in military equipment in this context included the development of a new anti-missile system inaugurated in 2018 (Roth 2018). According to Russian officials, NATO had crossed a red line by strengthening air defence capabilities in Eastern Europe (The Moscow Times 2018). These continuous disagreements over the commitment to the established limits and the growing resentment in relations have led to the withdrawal of both Russia and the US from fundamental Cold War military arrangements. These include the Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty (CFE), from which Russia formally withdrew in 2015, after having suspended its participation back in 2007; the Anti-Ballistic Missile (ABM) Treaty, from which the US formally withdrew in 2002; and the IntermediateRange Nuclear Forces (INF) Treaty, regarding which, in February 2019, the US announced its withdrawal, with Russia following suit (Kimball 2019). Back in 2002, Karaganov stated that the world was watching ‘the progressive collapse of the international political and strategic systems that were formed after the Second World War and that were canonised in the new level in the Russian-American treaties in the 1970s’ (cited in Lynch 2003: 8). The current state of affairs seems to confirm the assumption. The building blocks of a European security regime are loose and its sources are stumbling in the face of developments that have been read differently in the West and Russia. The goal of a stable, secure and inclusive Europe that underlined the ENP had the unintended political consequence of increasing the distance between the EU and Russia, feeding mistrust and mutual criticisms, particularly about interference in the post-Soviet space. NATO’s enlargement, from the beginning more controversial, added to suspicion in relations between Russia and both the US and the EU (David 2017b). 422

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EU-Russia-US relations contribution to global governance What are the future avenues for cooperation and the remaining challenges, given the vision that the three actors have on global governance and international order? Delinking the regional dimension of security in EU-US-Russia relations from the more global context where relations take place is difficult. In fact, regional challenges relate to the narratives associated with the ‘shared’ neighbourhood which have become increasingly antagonistic, with Ukraine and Syria signalling discord, or to counter-terrorism activities, which have provided ground for closer collaboration. Challenges at the structural level will remain with the redefinition of the European security order providing ground for competitive and cooperative relations. Transnational threats to security coming from criminal organisations, cyber attacks or terrorist groups will keep adding to the security challenges these players face. At the level of the key actors, overcoming mistrust and reaching the political conditions for the normalisation of relations will remain on the agenda. The ways forward are not bright. An attempt to reinstate the old status quo through a ‘resettype’ exercise would be insufficient in face of the inadequacy of the ‘old order’. ‘Moscow’s answer to the EU’s mantra, [that] “there is no return to the business as usual for Russia” is: we do not want business as usual’ (Romanova 2016b). A deeper reassessment needs, therefore, to be made. Starting anew might mean the need for the joint definition of policies and actions and joint monitoring of results – that is, co-ownership of decisions (Casier et al. 2016) and processes. The recognition that security and integration mean different things to Russia and the West must be the basis of the identification of the structural causes that need to be tackled. Ad hoc and smallscale initiatives might ease tensions, but they will not solve crystallised differences. For these, confidence-building measures and constructive dialogue need to be developed (Freire 2017). A major challenge to these potentially positive steps remains the domestic dynamics both within the EU and its member states and in Russia. The EU has been facing increased pressure for greater military investment, which has been largely legitimised as a response to a perceived revisionist-Russian stance (Nielsen 2017). Moreover, pressures on the EU’s democratic institutions and the election of extremist parties have been interlinked with accusations of Russian interference in domestic political processes, raising tension over a new field of perceived insecurity in EU-Russia relations (Dobrokhotov 2017). The ways in which the Russian regime will manage the pressures associated with the economic and political impact of the sanctions regime and of a more militarised foreign policy also remain important challenges to EU-Russia and US-Russia security relations. These changes are part of ‘a global realignment of the international system’, which seems to be pointing at a long ‘cold peace’ (Sakwa 2017).

Acknowledgements The author acknowledges support from the Jean Monnet Centre of Excellence ‘Peace Relations, Ontologies and Narratives in Europe: EU and its Eastern Neighbours’ (PRONE), 611269-EPP-1–2019–1-PT-EPPJMO-CoE, University of Coimbra. The European Commission’s support for the production of this publication does not constitute an endorsement of the contents, which reflect the views only of the author, and the Commission cannot be held responsible for any use which may be made of the information contained therein.

Note 1 To this day, Cyprus, Greece, Romania, Slovakia and Spain do not recognise Kosovo’s independence. 423

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37 Russia and the EU in Asia Vasilii Kashin

This chapter examines the interactions between Russia and the EU in Asia. Asia, for the purposes of this work, is defined as East Asia and South Asia, also known as the Indo-Pacific region. The concept ‘Indo-Pacific region’ is not European, however, and is expressly denied by Russia at the political level. It was pioneered by Australian, Japanese and then American politicians but is formally accepted by France, the EU country with the most active presence in the region, which has developed a specific Indo-Pacific strategy. The name features widely in European publications, all meaning Russia has to deal with this new political reality. The region plays an increasingly important role for both the EU and Russia, and both see it as key for their long-term economic perspectives. However, the general trend towards deglobalisation and the new great power rivalries have made them significantly alter their strategies of economic engagement with Asia. The emerging Sino–US political and military rivalry together with the rise of other regional powers put this region centre stage of global power politics. As a result, both Russia and the EU are trying to redefine their roles in relation to the regional economy and regional security. A growing body of literature in Russia, the EU and United States is dedicated to Russian policies in Asia and their effects on Russia’s economic perspectives and its foreign policy. The sustainability of Russian attempts to boost cooperation with Asian countries is the subject of significant debate, although the key place of the region in Russian foreign policy is recognised (Lukin 2016; Lo 2019). Some Russian researchers insist Russia has a successful Asian strategy (Bordachev and Kanaev 2014) and see the boost in cooperation with Asia as a natural consequence of the changing global order (Karaganov and Suslov 2019). Yet a number of authors consider all Russian policies in Asia in general a failure and the Russian role in the region to be failing (Blank 2017; Gabuev 2016). Much of this work is focused specifically on Russian relations with the most important partner Moscow has in the region, China. Many continue to question the durability of the Russian–Chinese partnership (Baev 2016), although a growing number recognise its substantive nature and the need to analyse its driving forces and internal contradictions (Ma and Zhang 2019; Bolt 2014). Russo-Chinese cooperation is also examined as a potential factor which may influence the international order and the possible consequences of that for the EU (Kaczmarski 2015). Equally, an increasing number of European authors examine the consequences of the rise of the Asian countries, especially China, for EU foreign 428

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policy (Fox and Godement 2009), while others have asked what advantages Europe has in dealing with the regional powers (Pejsova 2018). This chapter examines and compares the interactions in Asia of the evolving Russian and EU foreign policy and security interests, the economic involvement of each actor in Asia, the process of rebalancing of the Russian economy towards the East and the possible consequences of that for EU-Russia relations.

Russian and EU economic relations in Asia Both Russia and the EU long ago recognised the importance of Asia, particularly China, for their future economic policies. Currently, China is the second biggest economic partner for the EU (after the United States) and Russia (after the EU), and its share is continuing to grow. However, EU and Russian roles in the region differ significantly because of the different structures of their economies. For example, Russian exports to the three most important trade partners in the region (China, Japan, South Korea) are completely dominated by mineral products, mostly hydrocarbons: mineral products accounted for 76 per cent of Russian exports to China and Japan and 82 per cent of Russian exports to South Korea in 2018 (Russian-Trade. com 2019). The EU, meanwhile, acts as a technology and capital exporter to the middle and lower income regional economies and as a competitor and peer partner for the developed ones. The EU is, however, increasingly concerned about Chinese market distortion practices, including targeted support of specific industries and the role of state-run enterprises and the government and Communist Party (CCP) in resource allocation and export support practices. These issues were reviewed by a European Commission report in 2017 (European Commission 2017) and later led to the introduction of new trade defence rules, primarily targeting Chinese dumping practices. Other major ongoing issues between the EU and China are alleged Chinese intellectual property rights violations and the Chinese forced technology transfers. These are the areas of significant activity for EU diplomacy with China and with other Asian countries. Similar issues are present in Russian–Chinese relations but are of secondary importance. Russian exports of high-tech civilian (i.e. non-military) equipment remain limited; few Russian companies compete with Chinese tech giants directly, and those who do receive their share of state support and are largely owned by state corporations, such as Rostech. Russia is primarily interested in the expansion of Russian energy exports to Asia, including China, and in the diversification of Russian economic ties in the regional countries to keep its economic dependence on China at a comfortable level. Russia is also interested in increasing manufacturing exports to Asia, but its potential in these fields remains limited. More practical and pressing goals for Russia are the removal of barriers to non-energy commodity exports (including agricultural products, metals, chemicals, wood products) and attracting Asian investment into certain sectors of the Russian economy, especially in the Far East. The need to encourage non-energy commodity exports into the region creates a clear motivation to gradually liberalise Russian trade with the region. Current priorities of Russian economic diplomacy in Asia include insulating trade and investment cooperation from the negative influence of the US (and, to a lesser extent, EU) sanctions. To achieve this, Russia tries to boost trade in national currencies, accounting, for example, for some 15 per cent of the turnover between Russia and China in 2018. In June 2019, during Chinese President Xi Jinping’s visit to Russia, an agreement to facilitate this trade further was signed. Operating within the Eurasian Economic Union (EAEU) framework, Russia has tried to accelerate the process of trade negotiations with Asian countries. The EAEU has signed FTA agreements with Vietnam and Singapore and is negotiating with a number of other Asian 429

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countries, including India, Iran and South Korea. The non-preferential trade agreement between the EAEU and China, signed in 2018, is considered a possible step towards a free trade area (FTA) in the more distant future. With the expansion of an FTA network, Russia hopes to diversify its exports to Asian countries by first increasing the share of agricultural commodities and food products and then moving higher in the value chain to sales of non-military machines and equipment, chemicals and medicines. Compared to Russia and the EAEU, the EU has achieved much greater progress in negotiating trade with Asian countries. It developed FTA agreements with South Korea and Japan, signed an agreement with Vietnam and is conducting negotiations with all other ASEAN countries and India. Although Russia supported the Chinese Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) from an early stage and in 2015 signed a joint declaration on convergence between the EAEU and BRI, Moscow does not want to be seen as a mere part of the Chinese initiative. Instead, it promotes its own initiative of Greater Eurasia to lead to a network of agreements, covering most areas of cooperation and including China. They are to create a framework of cooperation in the region which, to an extent, would protect the interests of smaller players against superpowers, including China (Bordachev and Pyatachkova 2018). In sum, Russian and EU economic interests in Asia rarely affect each other. There is a certain potential for limited competition between Russian and EU companies selling military equipment and various dual use technology products, such as space and nuclear energy equipment but, generally, the actors target different parts of the market and so have limited opportunities to cooperate or compete. Russia and the EU may share similar concerns about market access, intellectual property rights protection, trade distortions by the Asian countries, particularly by China, but the issues where cooperation between Moscow and Brussels could occur are a lower priority for Russia compared to the EU. Both the EAEU and EU are trying to expand their FTA networks in the region but in an unconnected fashion (although the EAEU and the Russian Ministry of Economic Development officials do study EU policies in the region).

Russian economic rebalancing towards Asia and possible consequences for EU-Russian relations The key factor which will produce a major long-term effect on EU-Russian relations is Russian economic rebalancing towards the East. This is a very slow process, begun in the late 1990s and driven by changes in the global economic geography. The result will be a slow economic decoupling of Russia and the EU, as Western Europe will cease to be the top Russian export market, weakening the fundamentals of the overall relationship. This is a historical change for Russia (see Connolly and Deak this volume). Asia’s increase in Russian trade is driven mostly by the members of the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) countries, while Russian trade with South Asian countries remains insignificant (the trade volume with India is only a little over 10 per cent of Russia’s trade with China). The Russian government’s ability to significantly speed up or slow this process is questionable; rather, the Russian leadership tries to emphasise this rebalancing in the political rhetoric when it needs to. One early but notable example was an article by Vladimir Putin where, prior to the 2012 Vladivostok APEC summit, he called Russia ‘an intrinsic part of the Asian-Pacific region’ and underlined that developing ties with the region would play a key role for the country’s development (Putin 2012). During the crisis period of 2014, the Russian state-run media clearly exaggerated the speed of the ‘turn to the East’, even claiming that cooperation with the Asian countries makes Russia largely immune to the Western sanctions (Andreev 2014). However, later, top Russian officials such as Vice Prime Minister Igor Shuvalov would maintain that 430

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no ‘turn to the East’ policy has ever existed: Russia was not ‘turning to the East’, just developing trade relations there (RIA Novosti 2017). The practical priorities of Russian economic policies in Asia have facilitated this gradual growth in the importance of the Asian markets by implementing infrastructure projects (such as the East Siberia–Pacific oil pipeline, the Power of Siberia natural gas pipeline etc.) and negotiating trade deals while trying to build a more diverse network of economic ties to reduce dependence on just one partner. These priorities are represented in the Greater Eurasia concept as outlined by Putin in 2016 (Russian President 2016). At the same time, this concept could be seen as a response to the major regional initiatives of other players, including the Chinese BIR, the Indian concept of the Indo-Pacific and US projects such as the Trans Pacific Partnership and, later, Indo Pacific Strategy (Bordachev and Pyatachkova 2018). At the beginning of the rebalancing process, China and APEC accounted for a modest share of Russian external trade which was dominated by the EU. In 1999, APEC countries combined made up only 17 per cent of all Russian external trade compared to 34 per cent for the EU and 13 per cent for Central Europe. China was just the sixth largest trade partner for Russia, after Germany, Ukraine, United States, Belarus and Italy (although trade statistics for individual EU countries can be significantly distorted because of the single market). The Chinese share in Russian external trade was lower than 5 per cent (Protown.ru 1999). In 2018, China alone accounted for 15.7 per cent of Russian trade, while the major trade partner in Europe, Germany, had only an 8.7 per cent share. APEC in general had a 31 per cent share of Russian external trade in goods, while the EU’s share was 42.7 per cent (Rosstat 2018). As a source of imports for Russia, APEC overtook the EU in 2017 when its share reached 40.3 per cent versus the EU’s 38.2 per cent (Central Bank of Russia 2019). China accounts for a little more than half of Russian Asian trade. While the overall trade with APEC was 213 bln USD, trade with China in 2018 was 108 bln USD, and 12.5 per cent of Russian exports and almost 22 per cent of Russian imports went to China. Russia normally runs a small deficit with China while enjoying a surplus with APEC (Russian-Trade.com 2019) The 2014 EU economic sanctions on Russia, for which Russia placed counter-sanctions, could accelerate that process considering the Russian–European trade volume has been falling significantly faster than the overall Russian external trade volume. This led to a decrease of the EU share in both Russian imports and exports (RAS Institute of Europe 2014). However, the effect of the sanctions appears to be largely limited to 2014–2015 when they were imposed and the Russian economy was in a state of acute crisis (see Timofeev this volume). The Western sanctions which affect cooperation between Russia and the Asian countries the most at this stage are not the European but the American sanctions. Some Asian business entities, especially in China, fear coming under the US secondary sanctions for cooperation with the blacklisted Russian companies and individuals, which causes them to limit any cooperation with Russia. Russia remains dissatisfied with the structure of Russian exports to China and tries to improve it by increasing the share of agricultural and food products and exports of non-military equipment and machines. Current trade negotiations with China aim to remove existing trade barriers. Another matter of concern is that the Chinese share in Russian trade in Asia may at some point in the future become large enough to affect Russian national security adversely. Russia tries to offset this by boosting trade relations with other Asian economies, especially Japan. The growth of Russian trade with Asia became more visible during the period of China’s export-dominated economic expansion of the 2000s. The rebalancing is driven by growing demand for Russian commodities in the Asia Pacific and is facing a major obstacle, that is, Russian geography: the main centres of economic activity and the main sources of tradable commodities are located far to the West, necessitating the implementation of a large-scale state 431

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investment project to make trade possible and economically attractive. For example, the first Russian natural gas export pipeline to China, the Power of Siberia, operational from December 2019, is more than 4000 kilometres long and cost 17.5 billion USD (RBC 2018). Such projects take several years to negotiate and several more to build before starting to contribute to bilateral trade. The Eastern Siberia–Pacific oil pipeline, inaugurated in 2011 and since expanded, is about 4200 km long and, before the subsequent upgrades, cost almost close to 12 billion USD (Transneft 2011). The cost and complexity of the liquefied natural gas (LNG) projects which are to diversify Russian energy exports to the Asian countries is even greater; for example, the Yamal-LNG operated by Novatek cost 27 bln USD; the initial projections of the cost of Arktik-SPG-2 project were 25.5 bln USD and costs are expected to grow (Toporkov and Overchenko 2019). That brings the issue of raising the capital for such projects. Western financial markets are largely closed to Russia because of the sanctions. China still has a tightly regulated state-owned financial industry and cannot fully replace the West as lender. The most important Russian infrastructure project since 2014, the Power of Siberia I pipeline, was entirely funded by the Russian federal budget, which is typical, recently, for such large infrastructure projects. Typical statistical instruments are not always effective for determining the actual size of Asian, especially Chinese, investments. Most Asian countries invest in Russia through third countries. For example, data for the Japanese investments is disrupted by the fact that Japanese corporations funnel money into Russia though their European subsidiaries. Chinese investments are usually conducted offshore via the British Virgin Islands and Cayman Islands and are difficult to track. While the official statistics of the Russian Central Bank registered foreign direct investment (FDI) inflow of 16 bln USD from 2011–2017 (Central Bank of Russia 2019), the research conducted by Skolkovo Institute has shown the actual volume was 36 bln USD (Remyga 2018). That means that, during that period, China was the leading investor into Russia. Thus, in a situation of deteriorating relations between Russia and the West, Asia has gradually turned not only into Russia’s main trading partner but also into a major source of capital. However, that capital inflow falls far below Russian expectations and is almost invisible to and uncontrollable by the Russian government. Possibilities to use Chinese capital for the large-scale strategic projects are also limited by fears of giving official China too great a role in the Russian economy through state-run monopolies. Compared to Chinese corporations, European private business remains a more comfortable partner for the Russians. The lack of FDI is further complicated by Russian conservative fiscal policies, put in place in the late 1990s and meant to avoid a state debt increase, as well as reluctance to allow foreign investment into strategic sectors such as oil and gas. The state-owned Chinese monopolies in the banking and energy sectors are treated especially carefully, which brings Russian policy close to that of the EU. This lack of capital significantly slows down the process of Russian economic rebalancing. That means there is a significant space for EU-Russian cooperation which could make Europe a stakeholder in the Russian export projects for the Asian markets. Such projects would create a demand for European capital, technology and skilled personnel, and the Europeans are already involved in some of them – just on a scale which is far below their potential. However, the current climate in the relations between Russia and the West makes the extension of such cooperation unlikely in the coming years. The relatively increasing importance of the Indo-Pacific region for the Russian economy in the longer turn may decrease Russia’s dependence on ties with Europe. Russian infrastructure and energy projects such as the building of the expanded system of oil and gas pipelines and LNG terminals and the building of new roads, highways, bridges and seaports on the Chinese border will, in future, enable Russia to quickly shift exports between the European and 432

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Asian markets. The growing economic cooperation will have an important political and human dimension since the initial projects will provide additional opportunities for establishing connections between the members of Russian political and economic elites and the elites of some Asian countries. The similarities of the political and economic models of Russia and some major Asian economies, including authoritarianism, the important role of state-run corporations and crony capitalism may, in future, once the cultural differences and lack of information are overcome, make cooperation between them smoother than that between Russia and the EU. That new quality in economic relationships, good relations between elites and similar positions in international politics may, in turn, define subsequent Russian choices in crucial issues of technological standards, platforms and partnerships and so play a defining role in twenty-first century politics. At the same time, in the longer perspective, it may also create additional opportunities for EU-Russian cooperation, in particular aimed at the Chinese market. Such an approach can become more realistic as Russia gradually improves its trade conditions with China, removing some existing technical barriers through negotiations, while EU relations with China may come under the negative political influence of the acute China-US rivalry.

Russian and EU foreign policy priorities in Asia Currently Russia has no major security concerns in the region and can afford to remain a passive spectator in many potentially explosive issues of Asian politics. Russia does not support any side of the Sino-Japanese dispute in the East China sea over the Senkaku islands, nor does Moscow take a stance on the competing territorial claims of China and some ASEAN countries in the South China sea. Here, the Russian position is limited to calling on the sides involved to exercise restraint and engage in bilateral talks. In spite of the quickly progressing relationship with China, Russian foreign policy in Asia remains largely disconnected from Chinese interests. Russia is capable of maintaining robust cooperation with some of China’s main competitors, such as India and Vietnam, and developing a security and political dialogue with Japan. At the same time, Russia maintains active cooperation in defence and dual-use (nuclear, space) technology with several regional players, being the leading arms exporter to China, India and Vietnam and a significant weapons supplier to Indonesia, Malaysia, Myanmar and some other Asian countries. Meanwhile, Russia customarily criticises the United States for escalatory behaviour such as conducting freedom of navigation patrols (FONOPs) and efforts to internationalise the South China Sea issues. Basically, the goals of Russian politics here are to avoid taking sides and to engage all of the regional players while trying to check and block US policies in the region as much as possible (Korolev 2018). Sometimes, however, close cooperation with China threatens to undermine Russian attempts to balance, as was the case with the joint Russian–Chinese naval exercise in 2016, which took place in the South China Sea (in the area close to Chinese Guangdong province which is not disputed). Growing Russian–Chinese cooperation on the global agenda makes it more and more difficult for Russia to maintain a neutral stance in the region’s politics, but that remains Moscow’s policy priority. The paradox of Russian foreign policy is that while a shift towards great power competition and greater insecurity takes place in the region, as far as foreign policy and national security interests are concerned, the situation here looks almost idyllic for Russia itself. It currently has stable and friendly relations with every country of East and South Asia. Since the early 2010s, Russia has voiced its concept of the regional security ‘system of equal, common and indivisible security in Asia’, which is supported in China (Russian President 2010). However, that vision lacks substance, and Moscow is not particularly active in its promotion. 433

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At the same time, the EU and some of the member countries are trying to find more prominent roles in the regional security for themselves, even if it sometimes upsets their relations with some regional players. The EU is coming under pressure from various groups of interests which affect EU policies on technological cooperation with China, trade and the attitude towards BRI. The EU as a whole and some individual EU members are concerned about the security risks associated with the expansion of the Chinese technological giants such as Huawei (Euractiv 2019). Yet China has developed a 16 + 1 mechanism which includes 16 Central and Eastern European countries cooperating with Beijing, much to the dissatisfaction of the major EU economies. In March 2019, Italy became the first and so far the only G7 country to join the BRI, an action which led to criticism from France, Germany and other European governments. The EU is engaging increasingly in Asian security. In May  2018, EU foreign ministers agreed ‘to strengthen work with Asian partners to promote global security, and to engage more for enhanced security in Asia’ (EEAS 2018). This entails better coordination between member states and boosting cooperation with Asian countries, especially in areas like counter-terrorism, maritime security, non-proliferation and hybrid threats (EEAS 2018). EU former High Representative Federica Mogherini’s tour through several Asian countries in August 2018 was to an extent dedicated to boosting security cooperation in the region with the focus on ASEAN countries (Euractiv 2018). However, formulating a single foreign policy towards the region (see also Fernandes this volume), especially concerning relations with China, remains a challenge. As a bloc, it supported the 2016 UN Convention of the Law of the Sea tribunal ruling on the case brought by the Philippines against the Chinese actions in the South China Sea. The EU statement was careful and balanced because some smaller countries were afraid to offend China. Brussels took note of the ruling (which China did not recognise) and called on all sides to resolve all issues peacefully and according to international law. However, major EU powers – the United Kingdom, Germany and France – made much stronger statements demanding the Chinese abide by the ruling (Reuters 2016). Further, the United Kingdom and France criticised Chinese actions in the South China Sea and sent warships to conduct joint exercises with regional partners. France has emphasised its role in Asian regional security since 2013. In 2016, the French Ministry of Defence published an important strategic document titled ‘France and the security in Asia Pacific’ (Ministry of Defence of France 2016). In June 2019, a much-upgraded version called ‘France and the security in the Indo-Pacific’ was released. It underlines the presence of significant Chinese territories and military forces in the region and describes the region’s vital importance for French economic and political interests (Ministry of Defence of France 2019). The United Kingdom in recent years engaged in the FONOP activities, challenging Chinese maritime claims both independently (Navaltoday.com 2018) and together with the United States ( Johnson 2019). The United Kingdom has boosted its cooperation with countries in the region, including the revitalisation of a UK-led military alliance in the region – the Five Power Defence Arrangements. In 2019, the German government considered sending (but did not) a Navy ship into the Taiwan Straits (South China Morning Post 2019). Part of the logic behind these actions is the desire to strengthen the security relationship with the United States by proving the usefulness of European allies. However, by doing so, certain EU member states risk forcing Asian countries to do what they fear most: choose between China and the United States. Russian policy in the region is aimed at avoiding exactly this kind of danger. And danger it is, for the region is home to several of the most critical global military hotspots: the Korean Peninsula, China–Japan territorial dispute in East China Sea, the Taiwan issue, 434

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territorial disputes in South China Sea, Indian-Chinese border disputes, the India-Pakistan conflict and so on. Washington is also increasingly concentrating its available military assets in the Indo-Pacific theatre. The Indo-Pacific, along with wider US–China military rivalry, are the main sources of growth in global defence expenditure in recent years. The Asian share of global defence expenditure rose from 8 per cent in 1988 to 28 per cent in 2018 (SIPRI 2019: 2–6). Considering the region’s global economic importance, with Asia Pacific alone accounting for more than 40 per cent of global GDP (Xinhua 2018) and the wider Indo-Pacific more than 60 per cent of GDP and two thirds of global growth (US Department of Defense 2019: 2) – the regional political and security agenda is of global importance. Global players, including Russia and the EU, face challenges finding the right strategy for this complicated region. Smaller regional players are facing similar difficulties. Having developed close economic ties with both China and the United States, they face difficulties in pursuing their traditional multi-vector balancing policies. In November 2018, the Singaporean Prime Minister Lee Hsien Loong expressed concern that the ASEAN countries may face the choice between the United States and China, although such a choice should be avoided or postponed as long as possible (Maria 2018). Neither Russia nor the EU force the regional countries to make this choice. Cooperation with them provides the smaller countries of the region with additional autonomy, increasing their ability to withstand pressure from the superpowers. In practice, it renews their interest in defence technology and military cooperation with both Russia and Europe. Nevertheless, while the Russian and the European security policies in Asia do not currently appear to affect each other directly, the actors may yet be drawn into the deepening confrontation between China and the United States. As during the two World Wars, the Pacific and European theatres are becoming interconnected, although this time Europe is a secondary theatre for great power rivalry while the Pacific is the main one. EU countries do not possess the expeditionary capabilities to change significantly the balance of powers in the Pacific. The forces Europe can deploy there are negligible compared to the quickly growing Chinese, Japanese and South Korean navies, let alone the US forces in the region. That means that the military situation in the Pacific will have growing importance for EU foreign policy and has to be a matter of dialogue between Russia and the EU.

Conclusion The Indo-Pacific region is becoming an increasingly important region of interest for both Russia and the EU. For Russia, a quick rebalancing of its economic relations towards Asia for the first time offers the country a real alternative to European markets for its commodities. Ongoing export markets diversification in the longer term strengthens the Russian position in economic and political dialogue with the EU. However, this process of rebalancing is gradual, and it will likely take more than a decade for APEC countries to reach the same share of Russian external trade as the EU currently enjoys. Russia emphasises multilateral economic diplomacy in Asia, trying to build a network of trade agreements which will facilitate the diversification of Russian exports and decrease dependence on the Chinese market. Russia also promotes its Greater Eurasia vision, which is supposed to take the form of a network of multilateral advanced economic cooperation agreements in the more remote future. The EU currently has a much higher level of economic presence in the region. However, Europe is increasingly concerned with Chinese distortions of international trade, systematic subsidising of domestic high-tech industries and violations of intellectual property rights. A new challenge for the EU is finding the right strategy for dealing with the Sino–American 435

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economic confrontation, which is not limited to the trade war but is also increasingly affecting the high-tech sector. In the security field, Asia is paradoxically the least problematic region for Russian foreign policy. In this region, Russia enjoys friendly and productive relations with every partner and tries to stay away from the contentious issues on global security. The challenge to this Russian policy lies in the political, economic and security partnership with China, which continues to intensify. But so far, Russia has managed to maintain its strategic autonomy in the region. At the same time, the EU is becoming more and more involved in security issues in the IndoPacific, gradually moving towards the support of the United States in their great power rivalry with China. Basically, the EU appears to be walking into a situation of choice between China and China’s regional adversaries, which Russia has so far successfully avoided. Nevertheless, the security landscapes in Europe and Asia are becoming more interconnected, with China sending ships for joint exercises with Russia in the Northern Atlantic and Russia and the United States regularly shifting forces between European and Pacific theatres, suggesting Russia too is being drawn in. The new dynamics in the policies of both Russia and the EU in the Indo-Pacific region create both challenges and opportunities for their cooperation. Extensive political dialogue on the security and economic developments in Asia would benefit both actors. Russia at some point might need more advanced cooperation and dialogue with the EU to achieve its foreign policy goals in Asia, which are boosting cooperation with all regional players while maintaining special security relations with China and general strategic autonomy. The EU may also serve as an important counterbalance to growing Chinese economic influence. Furthermore, Russian attempts to enter new Asian markets with a more diverse range of products and services create demand for European capital and technology. The lack of both significantly slows down Russian progress in this direction at the moment. With Asia becoming the hotbed for the global arms race, including nuclear, Russia and EU will also need to understand better each other’s intentions and views in this region, not least in order to interact better in Europe.

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38 The EU, Russia and the Middle East Tuomas Forsberg

This chapter examines the evolution of EU and Russian policies towards the Middle East since the end of the Cold War. The Middle East has been an area where the EU and Russia have seen their goals as largely overlapping and fit for ‘strategic partnership’. In many issues, their positions have differed from those of the United States. However, they have not formed any longstanding coalition and have preferred closer relations to the United States rather than mutual cooperation. In many cases, particularly with regard to the Syrian civil war, the positions of the EU and Russia have also clashed. Nevertheless, the area is still often seen as a promising field for ­EU-Russian ‘selective engagement’ where cooperation could continue and even expand despite the confrontation emanating from the Ukrainian crisis. Therefore, the key question with regard to EU-Russia relations in the Middle East is to what extent the overall dynamics of the relationship affect their cooperation in this region or, conversely, whether the experiences from their cooperation in the Middle East influence the overall relations? The research dealing with EU-Russia cooperation in the Middle East has been limited and consists mainly of policy-orientated papers (e.g. Mühlberger and Siddi 2019). There is plenty of literature on the EU’s or Russian policy towards the Middle East, but their mutual cooperation is typically a side topic that is hardly discussed (Rivetti and Cavatorta 2015; Dannreuther 2018; Trenin 2018; Vasiliev 2018). This could be seen as an indication of the lack of cooperation, but there is enough evidence that even after the Ukrainian conflict, the EU and Russia have been able to discuss jointly and carry out policies, particularly in multilateral frameworks, concerning various Middle East conflicts. Nevertheless, the lack of public material on such behind the scenes interaction is probably one reason it has not been systematically covered in the research literature. This chapter first looks at the general EU and Russian strategic views of the area and the overall evolution of their policies towards the region. Then it moves to a case-by-case examination of the Israeli-Palestinian conflict, Iraq, Iran, Syria and Yemen, contrasting and comparing EU and Russian approaches and assessing the level of cooperation in each case. The chapter concludes by reviewing the conditions for cooperation and discussing prospects for the future.

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The Middle East in the EU and Russian grand strategies The broader Middle East has been a key area of interest for the EU because of geographical proximity, economic and strategic interests and historical reasons. It is an area that gave rise to the idea of a common European foreign policy in the 1970s. For the EU, the region is a mixture of diverse threats and challenges, particularly of terrorism and uncontrolled migration, but it is also of political and economic importance for many EU countries and thus for the EU as a whole. Democracy promotion has been one of the key objectives of the EU’s Foreign Policy in the region since the launch in the 1990s of the Barcelona process, upon which the Euro–Mediterranean partnership was based. Nevertheless, the practice of EU foreign policy has often contradicted these normative goals (Cavatorta and Pace 2010). Moreover, most recently, democracy promotion has not been elevated to a visible place among the EU goals in the region. Rather, the 2016 EU Global Strategy states that the EU favours a stable and prosperous Middle East and supports functioning regional orders towards that end (EU 2016). Although the Middle East has been one of the areas where a more unified EU policy has been seen as both desirable and achievable, in reality, EU member states still run foreign policies in the region that differ not only in intensity but also in some questions of substance. France and the United Kingdom have been the leading EU powers in the region, both having distinctive national strategic interests and historical legacies, but neither of them has been able to rally other EU member states around their military-strategic objectives (Lafont Rapnouil 2018). The European External Action Service (2018) has formulated the policy goal of democratisation with emphasis on the features of each specific country. For Russia, after the end of the Cold War, the Middle East was at first not an area of key interests. Whereas the Soviet Union was deeply engaged in the region, having a set of allies that shared ideological affinities pursuing Arab socialism, such as Syria, the position of Russia has been much more flexible and pragmatic. Although the basic inherited pattern of relationships and sympathies has not changed fundamentally or overnight, Russia’s relations with traditional US allies and with Israel in particular did improve, while traditional partners were no longer seen as the key assets of influence in the region. It took time before any clear Russian strategy with regard to the region emerged. Foreign Minister and then-Prime Minister Yevgeny Primakov had a background as a Middle East expert, and he took an active part in many processes and diplomatic negotiations related to the region in the 1990s. Primakov tried to develop a more independent Russian position in the region compared to the early 1990s, when Russia mainly endorsed the US-led attempts to broker a peace. Yet the resources were limited, and other issues and areas seemed more pressing. Russia’s presence and diplomatic activity in the region started to become more visible again under Vladimir Putin’s presidency, reflecting the ascendancy of Russia in the global arena during the 2000s (Mobiden 2010; Karasik 2018). Russia’s key strategic interest at the beginning was to preserve an internationally recognised role in the area not only within the UN framework but also in more specific settings concerning the major issues in the area. Russia’s position in the Middle East started to take a firmer shape in the 2010s. One reason for this was the Arab Spring 2011 that gradually led to confrontation with the West, particularly in the Syrian conflict (Dannreuther 2015). Although Russia did not immediately condemn the civilian movements that rebelled against their governments, it soon emerged as a champion of the doctrine of sovereignty in the area and regarded the Arab Spring not in terms of democratisation but as a return to Islamism and fragmented societies. One factor that shaped Russia’s policy was its own growing Muslim population and the need to curb their connections to the Jihadist forces. Most concretely, Russia meddled in the Syrian civil war, supporting the Assad 440

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government. At the same time, Russia has tried to build new relationships with key actors of the region more comprehensively and find flexible and pragmatic approaches to other conflicts there (Stepanova 2018; Dannreuther 2018). The Middle East is undoubtedly an important area for Russia in its attempts to play a global role. However, and perhaps surprisingly, the region as such does not have any prominent place in Russia’s overall foreign policy documents. Although it has certainly grown in importance since the end of the Cold War for strategic, energy and identity reasons, Russia defines its interests and partners in a flexible manner. The 2016 Russian Foreign Policy Concept outlines it as follows: Russia will continue making a meaningful contribution to stabilizing the situation in the Middle East and North Africa, supporting collective efforts aimed at neutralizing threats that emanate from international terrorist groups, consistently promotes political and diplomatic settlement of conflicts in regional States while respecting their sovereignty and territorial integrity and the right to self-determination without outside interference. (Russian Federation 2016) Yet, as Trenin (2018) has argued, in essence, the Russian Middle Eastern policy goes far beyond the region, as it is an arena where Russia has seen it lucrative to challenge the United States’ hegemony in the global order. This perspective spills then over to EU-Russia relations there: to the extent the EU position differs from that of the United States, Russia sees the EU’s role positively. Both parties have seen the other as a potential partner in many international issues of the region, and Middle East questions have been regularly discussed at bilateral EU-Russia meetings. Yet deliverables have been mostly limited to talks, declarations, lending support to UN resolutions and other coordination in multilateral platforms. Although their key interests have been mostly compatible, the sense of rivalry between Russia and the EU has also grown in the Middle East as distrust has increased and perceptions of the intentions and actions of the other have become more negative. In practice, Russia has welcomed the EU’s role in the fight against terrorism and post-conflict reconstruction, but it has vehemently resisted the EU’s emphasis on values, seeing them as hypocritical or counterproductive. The EU has assessed the role of Russia in the Middle East mostly in a favourable or neutral manner with regard to the overall strategic situation, but the view that Russia is mainly a spoiler in the region also exists. Particularly, the EU regards Russia’s role in the Middle East as too narrow and self interested, as it often neglects democratic values as well as humanitarian and environmental viewpoints. The negative perceptions of Russia within the EU are most clearly shared with regard to the Syrian civil war. However, as Baev (2017) notes, European views on Russian activities in the Middle East are still rather diverse depending on the member state. To a large extent, they reflect the overall national approaches towards Russia.

Israel and Palestine The Israeli-Palestinian conflict has been a long-term issue in world politics. Both the EU and Russia have deemed it important to have a recognised diplomatic role in addressing it. Both parties think that this is perhaps the root issue to be solved in the area and have been trying to find a balanced position in the conflict that would create a stable peace. In practice, the EU and Russia have supported the two-state solution and have tried to outline a road map on that basis. They have worked together in the framework of the so-called Middle East Quartet consisting of the 441

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United Nations, the United States, the EU and Russia since the early 2000s. Regularly, the EU and Russia have been closer to each other than to the United States. They have endorsed many resolutions in the UN that have condemned Israel while the United States has opposed them; they have issued joint statements urging the parties to conduct political dialogue and resisted the US positions that have called for harsher acts towards the Palestinian Authority. The EU  – or the EC at the time  – has pursued a ‘common foreign policy’ towards the Israeli-Palestinian conflict since the 1970s. Initially, the security of the Israeli state was the key concern, but gradually the Palestinian question received more attention. The EU has consistently supported a two-state solution, recognising ‘Israel’s right to exist and to exist in peace and security’ and ‘the legitimate rights of the Palestinians’ (in Persson 2018: 341, 338). Indeed, Persson argues that ‘there simply is no other conflict that has occupied such a central place in the EC/EU’s foreign policy over these past five decades’ (Persson 2018: 346). Furthermore, the EU has been the major external donor of the Palestinian Authority. Along with attempts to create economic sustainability and functioning borders, it has tried to foster state-building by focusing on democratic Palestinian government as well as the rule of law. Israel has regarded the EU policy as leaning too much towards the Palestinian side, but the Palestinians feel that the EU has remained rather silent with regard to the Israeli use of force. The EU and Israel have also concluded agreements to foster their bilateral relations, and their mutual trade relations particularly are flourishing. Since the end of the Cold War, Russia and Israel have also formed a special relationship of sorts (Barmin 2018; Katz 2018). One background factor that contributed to this was the migration wave of Russian speakers with a Jewish background from Russia and the other republics of the former Soviet Union to Israel. Over one million native Russian-speaking Israelis now constitute a substantial political force in the country (see Remennick and Prashizky 2019). Despite the fact that mutual relations have improved, and particularly that the cultural and economic connections between the countries have significantly expanded, Russia and Israel do not quite share the same view of the region and its problems. Although the Palestinian question has gradually become somewhat less important on the agenda, other issues, such as Syria and Iran, continue to be highly contested. Both the EU and Russia have seen the Middle East peace project as a key to stability in the wider region. Yet they have not succeeded in driving the project to any significant lasting outcomes. The Middle East Quartet has been criticised for its inefficiency (Tocci 2013). There have been efforts to foster peace negotiations at regular intervals both on the EU’s and Russian side but separately rather than together. France hosted an international conference in June 2016 with the aim of restarting the peace talks, but the meeting ended only with a vague declaration. Russia tried to organise a meeting between Netanyahu and Abbas later in 2016, but that did not materialise. Nevertheless, the Palestinian Authority has continuously hoped for stronger EU and Russian input to the conflict resolution. This has become even more important since the US policy towards the issue changed under Trump, when Washington decided to move its embassy from Tel Aviv to Jerusalem. Both the EU and Russia have criticised the United States for that move and have declared that they will regard Jerusalem as a joint capital of both states.

Iraq The opposition to the US-led Iraq war in 2003 was an issue that has perhaps most famously brought Russia and a number of key EU states together. Before and during the war, Russia issued joint statements with France and Germany that were critical of the use of force in Iraq. These countries also cooperated in the UN Security Council by blocking the mandate for 442

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legitimation of the war. Yet, since EU member states were split over the issue, the Iraq case did not constitute a significant area of formal EU-Russia cooperation. Both parties have shared the aim of stabilising the country and erasing terrorism after the war, but they have only marginally worked together towards this end. The European Union reformed its Iraq policy after 2003. Although the internal divisions still existed, and France in particular voiced its scepticism, all member states agreed on the need to engage with the new Iraqi government and support the reconstruction and stabilisation of the country, as outlined in the new strategy issued in 2004. The problems of terrorism and migration remained pressing for years to come. Nevertheless, the amount of European aid has stayed at a relatively modest level. The EU strategic objectives with regard to Iraq are as follows: preserving the unity of the country and peaceful relations with the neighbours and promoting a democratic inclusive system of government and functioning justice, reconstruction, humanitarian assistance and economic growth, as well as conducting dialogue on migration (Pearson 2018). Russia defended Saddam Hussein’s regime diplomatically against the United States and other Western pressure in the 1990s up to the 2003 war on Iraq. However, close relations to the Baathist government that the Soviet Union had cultivated had already eroded when Gorbachev supported the UN resolution that authorised the use of force after the Iraqi occupation of Kuwait in 1990. After the 2003 war, Russia quickly developed working relations with the postSaddam regime and intensified cooperative relations during the 2010s (Mamedov 2019). Russia has gradually re-established itself as a major partner of Iraq: Russia’s role in the energy business has been on the rise and it has also concluded several armament deals. Yet the post-2003 EU-Russia cooperation concerning Iraq has been limited. The EU and Russia have neither strongly disagreed over the principles of post-war reconstruction, nor have they seen the need to engage in intensive mutual cooperation.

Iran Over the past 20 years, the EU’s and Russia’s policies towards Iran have revolved around the dispute over the Iranian nuclear programme. The Iranian nuclear issue was first negotiated in the E3 + 3 framework, created in 2003, that included three EU states as well as the United States, Russia and China. Russia’s input was deemed valuable, since it was seen as the country that had best relations with Iran. Although there were differences of opinion between the EU countries and Russia, they largely agreed that an international agreement regulating the use of nuclear energy in Iran would be the best solution. They both wanted to prevent the United States from resorting to the use of military force and feared that the failure with Iraq could be repeated. Russia, however, did not share the view that Iran was attempting to build nuclear weapons, and it opposed sanctions against the country. There were fears that the Ukraine conflict would spill over to the negotiations over the Iranian nuclear issue. Yet, only few signs of a clash between Russia and the Western parties seemed to exist, and these primarily concerned the continuation of the arms embargo and restrictions on technology that could be used for missiles. The EU had hoped that Russia would play a more active role as a broker, but in the end, neither Russia nor the EU were key players. The outcome of the negotiations depended almost exclusively on the bilateral US–Iran dynamics. The historic deal (The Joint Comprehensive Plan of Action) on Iran’s nuclear programme was finally struck in July 2015 (Cronberg 2017). Both the EU and Russia supported the continuation of the treaty with Iran and resisted the US plans of new trade sanctions. They have underlined the overall benefits of the deal and their commitments to it against the US policy of denouncing it. In September 2018, the EU 443

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declared that it would bypass the US sanctions by allowing European companies to trade with Iran in accordance with EU law by means of a special money transfer vehicle and would open that to other partners in the world. Major EU member states, Russia and China issued a joint statement that they would continue legitimate business with Iran. The Russian representatives welcomed the EU position and plans for keeping the treaty with Iran in place. As one Russian arms control official put it, ‘Everything that Ms Mogherini has said is extremely positive’ (Khan and Foy 2018). Thus, to some extent, it seemed that the EU and Russia had a converging agenda vis-à-vis Iran. Yet the relations between the EU and Iran suffered another blow in January 2019 when the EU decided to impose new sanctions on Iran, accusing its intelligence service of carrying out assassinations of regime opponents including attempts in several EU countries. At the same time, cooperation between Russia and Iran continued to expand: the two agreed on energy cooperation, looked for a solution to the Syrian civil war (the Yemeni issue being more strained) and carried out joint military exercises in the Indian Ocean.

Syria The vicious civil war in Syria has constituted the most salient and difficult issue in the Middle East for EU-Russia relations. From the start, the EU and Russia adopted different strategic and normative perspectives on how to deal with the Syrian crisis. These issues were discussed already at the EU-Russia Summit in June 2011, but this dialogue did more to reveal the disagreements than to help create a common understanding. The question concerning UN legitimation for an intervention in Syria was particularly contested. The EU, headed by France, condemned the Syrian government for its violations of humanitarian law and was willing to impose sanctions aimed at curtailing its ability to wage war on its people. France and the United Kingdom, in particular, did not rule out the possibility of a military intervention to remove President Assad from power. Russia, however, lent its full support to Assad and accused the rebels of terrorism. Russia blocked statements criticising the Syrian government in the UN Security Council and strongly resisted all attempts to intervene internationally in an issue that it regarded as a matter of the sovereignty of the Syrian state (Allison 2013; Trenin 2013; Averre and Davies 2015; Averre 2019). Russia’s policy with involvement in the Syrian civil war only grew in October 2015, when it launched a military operation in support of the Assad regime, though the publicly stated reason was that it was an anti-terrorist campaign (Freire and Heller 2018). Russia’s military contribution did help the government to prevail in the conflict, but it did not end it. For that purpose, Russia, together with Turkey and later also with Iran, hosted peace talks on Syria in Astana starting late 2016, but no significant progress was achieved. The position of the EU towards Russian military involvement was somewhat ambivalent at the beginning: High Representative Federica Mogherini refused to characterise Russia’s role as either ‘positive’ or ‘negative’ but called it a ‘game changer’ instead (Gotev 2015). Later, Mogherini argued that ‘Russia risks being trapped in another quagmire like Afghanistan unless it helps orchestrate a political transition in Syria’ (Borger 2015). The EU thus started to see Russia’s role in a more negative light when the war continued. EU foreign ministers criticised Russia for attacking not only terrorist groups such as ISIS but also the more moderate opposition groups. They also regarded it as ‘highly regrettable’ that Russia vetoed UN-sponsored investigations of the suspected use of chemical weapons by the Assad regime. The EU representatives were dissatisfied with Russia’s willingness to guarantee only a limited cease-fire in order to deliver humanitarian assistance to the worst war-affected zones. They repeatedly called Russia and Iran 444

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to use their influence on President al-Assad not to use chemical weapons, to conduct political dialogue and to end the civil war. These statements merely underlined the EU’s marginal role in the crisis. The EU in cooperation with the UN organised its own peace conference on Syria, focusing on aid, in April 2014. Russian representatives were absent there, whereas Mogherini criticised the Astana process for failing to guarantee a de-escalation of military activities and the release of political prisoners. So far, the EU and Russia have only managed to exchange some basic views of the Syrian situation. The separate peace initiatives speak volumes about the gap that exists between the parties in this critical Middle East question. This also means that they have not been able to talk about the principles and plans for post-conflict reconstruction in Syria. Cooperation has remained on a very practical level concerning, for example, the delivery of humanitarian aid. Russia has been urging the EU to take a more active role in aiding Syria and moving from pure humanitarian assistance to investments (Chizhov 2017), but the EU has remained lukewarm. However, even here, Russia wanted to differentiate between the US and EU approaches, believing that it would be easier to convince the EU of the need to start economic reconstruction (Bloomberg 2018).

Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Yemen Regarding other momentous countries in the region, Saudi Arabia, Qatar and Yemen have been high on the agenda in the late 2010s. Relations between Russia and Saudi Arabia were strained for a long time based on the Cold War pattern of relations, most visible in the Afghan War, as well as by reason of incidents that dated to the pre-WWII era. Although diplomatic relations were re-established in 1992, Putin’s visit to Riyadh in 2007 was the first official visit of a Russian head of state to Saudi Arabia and a sign of diplomatic rapprochement. However, in the Syrian civil war, the countries supported opposite sides. The main concern of Saudi Arabia was, however, not Russia but the growing influence of Iran in the region. The Syrian question therefore did not prevent the countries from tightening their relations. Saudi Arabia seemingly started to carry out a more independent foreign policy towards Russia, trying to convince the Kremlin that it was a better partner than Iran. Russia and Saudi Arabia found joint positions, for example, in oil production, and in 2016, they agreed to limit oil production to guarantee price stability. In October 2017, Saudi King Salman visited Moscow with a massive delegation of 1500 representatives; the countries signed a number of agreements ranging from energy to military and space cooperation. According to Sergei Lavrov, the Saudi-Russian relations thereby ‘reached a new qualitative level’ (Wintour 2017). A very concrete sign of the change in relations was that the Saudis started to buy weapons from Russia. Although the United States remained the key partner for the Saudis, they obviously were disappointed with the lack of US support under the Trump administration. Cooperation and mutual support also emerged in wider diplomatic questions. Since late 2017, Saudi Arabia decided to abstain from voting rather than support UN resolutions condemning the Russian military intervention in Ukraine. Most strikingly, the good relations between Putin and Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman became visible at the G20 summit in November 2018 when the Russian and Saudi Arabian leaders demonstratively high fived despite the allegations of the murder of US-based dissident journalist Jamal Khashoggi at the Saudi embassy in Turkey. In their official statements, Russian representatives backed the Saudi positions of denying the crime, declaring that there was not enough information available to conclude that the alleged assassination had taken place as reported by the Western media. 445

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The relations between the EU and Saudi Arabia have not been particularly developed. Economic ties have been relatively strong, arms trade being of major importance for some countries such as the United Kingdom, but the political relations have stayed on the formal level. There is no separate EU partnership scheme with Saudi Arabia and the other Gulf states. Moreover, most recently, the trend has been towards conflict rather than cooperation. The Saudi involvement in the Yemeni civil war started to create pressure on the EU level and in many member states that the EU should freeze all arms trade with the Saudis. The Khashoggi murder case led many member states to suspend arms trade with the Saudis: a development that is strikingly different from the state of Russian–Saudi relations. Qatar constituted a major international crisis in June  2017 when its neighbouring Gulf states Bahrain, Saudi Arabia and the United Arab Emirates as well as some other states formed a coalition that blocked the land and sea connections to the country as well as their air space from Qatari planes, accusing it of sponsoring terrorism. In reality, the main concern of the coalition were Qatar’s close links with Iran and the influence of the Doha-based media network Al-Jazeera. Qatar hoped for support from third parties such as Turkey but also from the EU and Russia. Both the EU and Russia indeed issued statements that were separate but almost identical in substance calling for the end of the blockade and diplomatic negotiations. The EU states and Russia also concluded arms deals with Qatar. Finally, Yemen became another country of major international concern in the Middle East in the 2010s. The power struggle between the Yemeni government and the Islamist, originally northern Yemeni, Houthis who blamed the government for corrupt relations with Saudi Arabia and the United States, escalated into a civil war in 2014, and the following year, the Houthis drove the earlier internationally recognised government in Sanaa into exile. While the Houthis were backed by Iran, the Saudis formed an international coalition with a group of Arab countries and launched a military campaign in support of the government. The civil war led to a severe humanitarian crisis, and the Saudi-led intervention was additionally accused of genocide of the civilian population (Kentish 2016). Until the 2010s, Russia kept a rather low profile with regard to Yemen, but this changed when it started to boost its presence in the Middle East. Following the Cold War pattern of relations, it showed some interest in re-establishing a military base in Yemen. Moreover, Russian private military companies have allegedly operated in Yemen. Russia did not, however, form a close relationship with the Houthi government or actively support any of the parties in the civil war. Rather, it assumed a growing diplomatic role by meeting with Yemeni representatives on both sides, hosted informal talks between the conflicting parties and offered peace mediation services (Carnegie 2018). The EU also attempted to find a resolution to the Yemeni civil war. By using the standard diplomatic language related to such crises, it repeatedly urged all parties to the conflict to take steps towards de-escalation, to agree on a ceasefire and to engage in peace talks. No military involvement was considered; rather the EU resorted to increasing humanitarian aid and local peace-building initiatives. Although the EU representatives had some direct contacts with the warring parties, it operated from Amman and its main strategy was to support the work of the UN Special Envoy to Yemen, Martin Griffiths. EU representatives have not publicly commented on Russian peace mediation efforts.

Conclusions Many researchers have suggested that cooperation between the EU and Russia could be based on the idea of selective engagement (Fischer and Timofeev 2018). However, in order for that to 446

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succeed, it is not clear who needs to do what. Some pundits think that the EU needs to develop a downgraded, ‘values-light’ agenda for dealing with Russia on these issues (Titov 2016). Others feel that the West needs to be ready to defend its own red lines in the Middle East when it opens dialogue with Russia (Kozhanov 2018: 30). So far, the Middle East offers a mixed package of evidence in assessing the trends in ­EU-Russia cooperation. In the many crises and issues in the Middle East, cooperation has clearly existed, but its intensity and deliverables have still been rather limited (Stepanova 2018). Although the positions of Russia and the EU have been rather close to each other with regard to the Israeli–Palestinian conflict, the Iran nuclear issue, the Qatar boycott and the Yemen civil war, they have tended to wait for the US leadership or acted independently with other partners rather than forming a joint coalition. In Syria, both parties acknowledge that they need each other in the fight against terrorism, conflict management and effective post-conflict recovery, however differently they have viewed the causes and the course of the conflict. Although the increased tensions stemming particularly from the Ukraine crisis have led the EU and Russia to cooperate on questions where their interests coincide and to use that as a vehicle for building trust, the parties have not been able to engage in mutual cooperation in the Middle East on any larger scale. The potential remains unfulfilled, and the general lack of trust hinders cooperation in the Middle East, most clearly when it comes Syria, despite a number of positive experiences in cases such as the Iran nuclear deal and the Israeli–Palestinian conflict. It is therefore unlikely that the Middle East could be a real trailblazer for improved EU-Russia relations. However, both new pressing challenges in the region and radical changes in US policy may force the parties to tighten their cooperation.

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39 EU-Russia relations in multilateral governmental frameworks Elena Kropatcheva

The EU and Russia participate in a great number of international multilateral frameworks – international governmental organisations (IGOs), (in)formal groupings of states and international agreements. However, the literature on EU-Russia relations focuses on their regional interaction. This is understandable, as the EU and Russia are neighbours, who interact most intensively in their common ‘neighbourhoods’. Nonetheless, this contribution aims to analyse EU-Russia relations in the global multilateral context. The goal is to study how the EU and Russia understand multilateralism and how they act in multilateral fora, as well as which opportunities for and impediments to cooperation they face. The chapter  starts with a more general question about how the EU and Russia see multilateral fora and how they understand multilateralism. The next parts consider several examples of ­EU-Russia relations within the most important global multilateral frameworks: the United Nations (UN)/the United Nations Security Council (UNSC); multilateral arms control; global environmental agreements (the Kyoto Protocol); and, finally, the G7/G8 and G20.1 The theoretical frameworks and methods which scholars use to address these issues are also briefly discussed. The concluding part summarises the main conclusions and points to possible future avenues of research.

The multilateralism of the EU and Russia The way actors engage with multilateral frameworks reflects their understanding of multilateralism and the role it plays in their foreign policy (Klein et al. 2010). Various theoretical strands have dealt with the question of what multilateralism is: multilateralism studies per se (Keohane 1990), regime studies (Gehring 1992;) and governance studies (Lucarelli et al. 2013). There is no single accepted definition of multilateralism. Any organising principle, institution or activity can be multilateral if it involves ‘cooperative activity among many countries’ (Caporaso 1993: 603). A more specific understanding of multilateralism, offered by normative institutionalism, is coordinating relations in accordance with certain principles, values and norms (Ruggie 1992; North 1991). Rational institutionalism, to the contrary, sees ‘pure’ normative multilateralism as unrealistic because international actors seek multilateralism ‘only if it serves their purposes’ (Martin 1993: 92). This approach treats multilateralism as one of the available strategies, including unilateralism, bilateralism and ‘minilateralism’ (Naim 2009). 449

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The EU has proclaimed its own multilateralism in many strategic documents. The EU’s type of multilateralism has been classified as normative and rule-of-law based (Van Vooren et al. 2013; Manners 2002) because of the EU’s democratic and liberal values (Bouchard et al. 2014; Jorgensen 2009). The voices of even the smallest EU member states affect the EU’s policies. The EU’s multilateral engagement is primarily about involvement, participation and consultations with its partners. By aspiring to multilateralism, the EU also aims to ‘reinforce its status and regional leadership in an international context that is structured in a way beneficial to the Union’ (Casier 2018: 205). However, the EU’s multilateralism faces constraints both from within as well as from the outside. At the internal level, it is challenged by competition among its different institutions, by divergent interests and positions among its members and by contradictions in its strategic documents between ideational aspirations and material (economic and security) interests, as well as by the growth of nationalistic and anti-EU sentiments within the EU (Kissack 2010; Klein et al. 2010; Renard 2016; Smith 2018). At the international level, the EU’s multilateralism is challenged: by the policies of competitive powers, especially Russia and China; by the growth of US unilateralism and the problems in transatlantic relations. Overall, the EU’s normative approach to multilateralism raises high standards against which not only the multilateral engagement of other actors is assessed but also its own practices. While it has been ‘natural’ to speak of the EU’s policy in terms of multilateralism, multilateralism is not the framework within which analysts normally think about Russian foreign policy (Legvold 2009). Nonetheless, the number of studies trying to understand the Russian approach to multilateral fora has been growing (Kobayashi 2017; Kropatcheva 2016; Makarychev and Morozov 2011; Rowe and Torjesen 2009). To understand whether Russian policy can be considered multilateral, it has frequently been discussed in comparison to the normative multilateralism of the EU. Like the EU, Russia proclaims the importance of multilateral fora and multilateralism in most strategic foreign policy documents. Russia engages with multilateral frameworks out of genuine interest (multilateralism as a value) as well as instrumentally (multilateralism as a tool) (Rowe and Torjesen 2009: 2). Thereby, it is easy to fall into the trap of simplification in describing Russian behaviour as unilateral (Kobayashi 2017: 205). In the words of Renz (2018: 40): ‘Such an interpretation . . . neglects the important role multilateralism historically has played in the country’s international politics’ (see also: Tsygankov 2009: 51). Russian understanding and application of multilateralism reflects both international and domestic developments: the more liberal and Western-orientated Russia of the 1990s was more open to multilateral cooperation while the more authoritarian and nationalistically-orientated country since 2007 has been challenging multilateral institutions, for example, the Organisation for Security and Cooperation in Europe, UNSC and others (although in some cases in response to a more unilateral US policy, as in the case of some arms control agreements). Further compared, there are, nonetheless, significant differences in how the EU and Russia treat multilateral frameworks. Russia exercises a ‘great power’ multilateralism, preferring fora where the most powerful global actors participate (Rowe and Torjesen 2009; Mankoff 2011). As Renz (2018: 46) writes: ‘Instead of seeing it [multilateralism] as a ‘horizontal tool’ that gives an equal say to big and small powers alike’, while emphasising the importance of equality at the international level, the Kremlin refers to the equality of great powers in making international decisions. Multilateralism is needed to exercise veto power over the actions of other powerful actors. Another significant difference is that Russia exercises ‘multipolar multilateralism’: ‘each time Russia failed in multilateral diplomacy, it resorted to politics of multipolarity, balance of power and alternative institutional arrangements’ (Tsygankov 2012: 2). One recent example is Russia’s involvement in the so-called ‘Astana peace process’ in Syria – a trilateral informal grouping consisting of Russia, Iran and Turkey. Most frequently, scholars explain these differences in 450

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the EU’s and Russia’s approaches to multilateralism by their differences in national security culture and political culture. While the EU is ‘post-Westphalian’ (Sperling 2013) or ‘post-modern’ (Smith 2018: 542), Russia is ‘Westphalian’ or ‘modern’ in inclining to the Realpolitik of the nineteenth century (see also Joenniemi this volume). As Casier (2018: 205) explains, the concepts of multilateralism for the EU and Russia are not neutral preferences ‘but are understood in light of a broader ideational interpretation of international relations’. This is why social constructivist approaches and discourse analysis have been most frequently used to grasp the meanings behind the EU’s and Russia’s multilateralism (see Kratochvíl this volume). In summary, at the theoretical level, it is not always clear what multilateralism is and what it is not and whether unilateralism is the only opposite of multilateralism. This vagueness is also reflected in how the multilateralism(s) of the EU and Russia is discussed. The focus in the EU literature is often on what detracts from normative multilateralism in the EU’s policies. The focus in the literature on Russian multilateralism is on those multilateral elements in its foreign policy, which can still be categorised as multilateral in the context of its growing unilateralism. Because multilateralism is seen as important both by the EU and Russia, this creates opportunities for cooperation within the global multilateral context. Nonetheless, the differences in how multilateralism is understood are very strong, and they have generated conflicts and disagreements in EU-Russia relations, linking both the global and regional levels of relations. The following sections demonstrate how the EU and Russia apply their understanding of multilateralism in several multilateral frameworks in practice.

The United Nations and its Security Council The first IGO which is mentioned in the EU’s and Russia’s foreign policy documents is the UN. Given the enormous extent of the UN system, the focus here is restricted to what the UN means for the EU and Russia in general and on the work of the UNSC. The EU and Russia have both ideational aspirations in relation to the UN – to act as multilateralist and cooperative actors – and pragmatic interests, primarily to increase their power and leverage, which often, however, impede their multilateralism (Blavoukos and Bourantonis 2017; Laatikainen and Smith 2006; Sergunin 2018). Both the EU and Russia are influential actors within the UN system. Russia and two (at the time of writing) EU member states (France and the United Kingdom) are permanent members of the UNSC. Within the UN General Assembly (UNGA), many countries in the EU’s neighbourhood vote unanimously with the EU member states, while Russia has much influence among ‘rising powers’ and states which are dissatisfied with the Western-dominated system of international relations (Brantner and Gowan 2009). In this, the UN reflects the deeper competition and contestation processes regarding the world order. At various times, both the EU and Russia have experienced disillusionment with and within the UN/UNSC. The EU ‘lost faith’ in the UN/UNSC because of its inability to act effectively in the Western Balkans during the 1990s (Brantner and Gowan 2009). Because of the Russian opposition, in 1999, NATO states implemented a NATO intervention instead of a UN peacemaking operation. In other words, the EU was disappointed with the UNSC’s inability to shape into a powerful multilateral forum. The EU’s role within the UN is undermined by the fact that the UN is ‘an institutional framework based on [state] sovereignty’ (Brantner and Gowan 2009: 36). As a consequence, overall, the EU’s policy is comparatively passive, and it is the United States that ‘sets the agenda’ (Hurd 2017: 675). Given the EU is not a permanent member of the UNSC, it relies instead on coordinating policies with the two permanent European members of the UNSC, the United Kingdom and France (Casier 2018: 206). Besides, EU states have opportunities to impact the UNSC work as non-permanent members on a rotating 451

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basis. For example, Germany, the Netherlands and Sweden are among the most active UNSC non-permanent members. Because of the individual interests of its members, it has been challenging for the EU to act coherently on all issues. This was the case for the US-led intervention in Iraq in 2003, which was strongly opposed by Germany and France but supported by the United Kingdom and Poland. Even though the idea of changing the French and UK seats into one EU UNSC seat has been discussed, both states reject this option (Brantner and Gowan 2009). More recently, in 2018, Poland promoted bigger UN involvement in Ukraine, but ‘ran into opposition from France, which was worried that this would undermine the Normandy Format’ (International Crisis Group 2019: 10). Russia has tried to use these divisions by trying to build closer relations with the states which have opposed certain US policies. Nevertheless, the EU has acted as a coherent actor in most international crisis situations. For Russia, its permanent membership in the UNSC plays the most important role in its engagement with the UN. It has been one of the main attributes of Russian great power status. Like the EU, Russia experienced disillusionment with the UN/UNSC but for a different reason: rival relations within the UNSC between Russia (often with China’s support) and the United States/‘collective West’ have weakened Russia’s ability to use the UNSC but also the UNSC as a multilateral forum in general (Einsiedel and Ugarte 2015; Gowan 2015; International Crisis Group 2019). The UNSC members not only pursue incompatible material interests but contest international legal principles, norms and rules (Allison 2013; Baranovsky and Mateiko 2016; Kurowska 2014). Nonetheless, the UNSC gives Russia opportunities to constrain/deny actions by others, especially the United States (Katz 2018: 5). More recently, Russian foreign policy has been in flux, with Russia acting with more confidence vis-à-vis the West in the UNSC and other multilateral frameworks. Despite problems within the UNSC, there are also examples of cooperation. As Howard and Daval (2018: 80) observe, since 1999, the UNSC has authorised all UN multidimensional peacekeeping operations, with the exception of Ukraine and Syria. Summing up, the EU and Russia are interested in the UN/UNSC as a global multilateral forum for cooperation and interaction and have been actively involved in its work. While there have been examples of cooperation among the EU and Russia, especially on second-order security issues within the UN, this interaction reflects serious differences in their conceptions and practices of multilateralism – not only broader understandings of what a world order is and how it should function but also of what is fair or ‘honourable’ in international relations (Tsygankov 2012). These differences explain why interaction between the EU and Russia in the framework of the UN/UNSC has not brought them closer. Overall, publications, which deal with ­EU-Russia interaction within the UN/UNSC, are scarce, with most studies dealing with Russian–‘Western’ cooperation and, more frequently, competition and contestation processes from both realist and social constructivist perspectives.

Multilateral arms control The EU and Russia also interact on arms control, both within the UN and beyond it. Most literature on arms control is policy orientated, and only a few studies have focused on EURussia relations in this context. Because arms control is a ‘high politics’ issue which depends on cooperation and multilateralism, it is worthwhile to look at EU-Russia relations in this field as well. The most important global multilateral arms control treaty is the Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), which was signed in 1968. Both the EU and Russia support non-proliferation of nuclear and other weapons of mass destruction (Einsiedel and Ugarte 2015). Despite Russia’s interest in non-proliferation, its nuclear modernisation (along with the similar policies of other nuclear states) undermines the NPT. The EU’s difficulty is how to play a stronger role in the 452

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NPT processes when only states are parties to the NPT. Additionally, the NPT institutionalises divisions among the EU states, as Cronberg (2017: 12) explains: Two member states, France and the UK, are NWS [nuclear weapons states]. Four other member states – Belgium, Netherlands, Italy and Germany – have US non-strategic nuclear weapons stationed on their soil. . . . The most active members for the NPT alternative reform agenda – focusing on nuclear disarmament – are also EU member states, namely Austria and Ireland. This is why it is difficult for the EU to come up with a coherent position, which negatively affects the EU’s normative multilateralist approach to arms control (Hellendorff 2018: 22). Nonetheless, the EU has played an important role on some specific non-proliferation issues – such as signing the Iran deal in 2015 (Cronberg 2017), for which the EU engaged actively at different levels and in different fora, while Russia was ‘an extremely constructive partner during the whole process’, despite the deterioration of Russian–Western relations and sanctions (Cronberg 2017: 40). The US withdrawal from this agreement in 2018 has complicated this situation. One more case, illustrative of the limits to EU-Russia cooperation on arms control, is the negotiations process around the Arms Trade Treaty (ATT). The ATT was adopted by the UNGA in 2013 and became the first global instrument to regulate international trade in conventional arms. For the EU, this agreement meant ‘upholding the principle of effective multilateralism in the field of arms control’ (Romanyshyn 2015: 880). After the United States agreed to the ATT, the EU engaged actively to convince three other important arms traders – Russia, China and India – to support the Treaty, albeit without success. As Romanyshyn (2015: 883) explains: ‘Russia did not perceive the EU’s internal policy of arms export control as the best example worth emulating’ and saw double standards in it. Despite the EU’s promotion of the ATT, the EU member states are divided into those who trade in arms and therefore are interested in profit from it and those who do not. In addition to Russia’s interest in increasing its revenues from arms trade, Russia was especially distrustful of the inclusion of a humanitarian agenda in the ATT and regarded the Treaty as a reflection of a mainly Western view on global arms trade (Romanyshyn 2015: 887). Summing up, these several examples show different patterns of EU-Russia interaction: while it was possible for the EU and Russia to cooperate on some NPT-related issues, being against nuclear proliferation in general, they disagreed on the ATT. Russian ‘multilateralism’ in the area of arms control has been instrumental. It engages in arms control if this contributes to its status, power or security or brings other specific benefits. More recently, it seems that Russia has become more interested in its own nuclear modernisation rather than in maintaining arms control regimes. Russian multilateralism in the field of arms control is constrained by both negative developments in Russian–Western relations as well as by more reliance of the state on military actors and instruments (see Romanova this volume). The EU’s multilateralism in the area of arms control has been constrained by its own divisions on such issues as nuclear modernisation versus disarmament or by an inability to convince other important actors to engage in specific arms control agreements, as well as by US unilateralism. Because the core of arms control regimes concerns nuclear states, in particular the United States and Russia, it is difficult for the EU to act as a strong influential actor here. However, because the EU is affected directly by negative developments in US–Russia arms control (such as the collapse of the IntermediateRange Nuclear Forces regime), it has to engage more proactively on this matter, mediating between the United States and Russia. The EU’s overall good ties with the United States and experience of cooperation with Russia on arms control-related issues will be valuable. 453

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The Kyoto Protocol Climate change is another global challenge which requires multilateralism. The Kyoto Protocol is illustrative of cooperative EU-Russia interaction on global environmental issues. In order to understand Russia’s and the EU’s policies in this area, scholars have applied institutionalist and domestic politics approaches. The Kyoto Protocol was adopted in 1997 and entered into force in 2005. It is ‘an international agreement linked to the UN Framework Convention on Climate Change [UNFCCC], which commits its Parties by setting internationally binding emission reduction targets’ (UNFCCC 2019). Even though in the beginning there were disagreements within the Union, for the EU, ‘in the 2000s, climate change clearly became a priority’ (see Khrushcheva and Maltby 2016: 10). In this case, the EU ‘as a different kind of polity, one deeply concerned with international law, institution building and a normative vision’ has acted as the international ‘agenda setter for climate change mitigation’ (Schreurs and Tiberghien 2010: 22). Because Australia and the United States were against this agreement, Russia’s participation in it was needed to avoid failure. In the beginning, however, Russia did not support the Treaty. Vladimir Putin sent ambivalent signals to the EU, most likely on purpose in order to get more benefits during the process of negotiation (Henry and Sundstrom 2010). As a result, the EU became very active in trying to gain Russia’s support. EU leaders met with President Putin personally. The EU also signalled readiness to support Russia’s membership in the WTO, even though ‘the linkage of these two issues was never formally acknowledged by either side’ (Henry and Sundstrom 2010: 116). Russia was also interested in selling ‘hot air’ − the extra emissions credits it acquired (Forsberg and Haukkala 2016: 114). Joining the Kyoto Protocol was furthermore important in terms of Russian symbolic politics: at that time, Russia wanted to improve its image as a cooperative partner with European values (Henry and Sundstrom 2010: 116). As a consequence, Russia ratified the Kyoto Protocol in 2004. There is a significant difference in the EU’s and Russia’s approach to multilateralism in environmental issues. In comparison to the EU’s normative environmental multilateralism, for Russia, this is an area of instrumental cooperation. Besides, not all Russian domestic actors were convinced of its necessity, and some were against the Kyoto Protocol, fearing negative consequences for Russia’s economic development. These factors have hindered Russia’s implementation of the Kyoto Protocol (Khrushcheva and Maltby 2016). Domestic mechanisms for its implementation were not set up. The Kyoto Protocol envisioned two commitment periods from 2008 to 2012 and from 2013 until 2020. While Russia participated in the first commitment period, in 2011, it decided not to take on new targets. Because it was not possible to gain sufficient international support for the second commitment period, negotiations for a new agreement continued. In 2015, the Paris Agreement was adopted as a separate instrument under the UNFCCC rather than an amendment to the Kyoto Protocol. Again, the EU as a whole and its individual member states were among the driving actors behind this agreement, with Russia a constructive partner (Dröge 2017; Sergunin 2018). In 2017, the United States decided to withdraw from it. In summary, the EU’s ability to arrive at a coherent policy despite initial disagreements, diplomatic proactiveness and ability to offer specific benefits to Russia were important to convince it to participate in the Kyoto Protocol. Besides, there were important domestic enabling conditions in Russia: interest in cooperation and normative affinity with the West – which has drastically changed since 2007. Despite Russia’s instrumental environmental multilateralism, as the recent accident with nuclear testing (BBC 2019) suggests, Russia can be as secretive about

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serious environmental concerns as the USSR used to be. It shows that environmental multilateralism and human security are subordinate to Russia’s political and military goals. Nonetheless, it remains a convenient area to show Russian symbolic multilateralism, as the Paris Agreement demonstrates.

EU-Russia relations within the G7/G8 and G20 The EU and Russia have also interacted within the G8 and G20 at the highest political level. The G7 is an informal club of heads of states and governments, which is based on democratic values and a market economy. The EU itself is not a member of it, but the European Commission and the Council Presidency have regularly participated in G7 meetings (Hajnal 2007: 37–52). The EU is wellrepresented in the G7  – by France, Germany, Italy and the United Kingdom. Other members are Canada, Japan and the United States. After the dissolution of the USSR, Russia aspired to join the G7 (Tsygankov 2012: 3). In the beginning, the EU members of the G7 were divided over Russia’s membership, with Germany and the United Kingdom being against (Tsygankov 2012: 3). Nonetheless, when the United States under the presidency of Bill Clinton decided to open the G7 to Russia, the EU reached consensus, having agreed that this move was important ‘to avoid bruising the pride of the power vanquished in the Cold War by inviting it to the G7’ (Postel-Vinay 2014: 13). Besides, the G7 members hoped thereby to stimulate Russia’s democratic development (Postel-Vinay 2014; Tsygankov 2012). Russia was accepted as a full member of the political G8 in 1998, even though it remained excluded from G7 discussions on economic and financial issues. The G8 was very important for Russia as ‘the second best’ great power multilateral forum (after the UNSC) (Baev 2009: 57). Yet Russia’s own unilateralism has undermined its symbolic multilateral G8 policy. Most importantly, in 2014, when Russia was the chair of the G8 and was supposed to hold the Summit in Sochi, other members cancelled their participation in it and expelled Russia from the G8 in response to its actions in Crimea. The EU, as a special member, which has not held the chairmanship, organised an ad hoc G7 meeting in Brussels (Gnath and Schmucker 2016: 32). While the G7 was able to respond to Russia’s annexation of Crimea quickly and coherently, the G20 was polarised on this issue. The G20, which was founded in 1999 in response to the 1998 financial crisis and which became more prominent in 2008 in response to a new global financial crisis (Postel-Vinay 2014), is very diverse in its membership. Both authoritarian and democratic states, status quo states and states dissatisfied with the Western-dominated world order interact within this forum. The EU enjoys the status of a permanent formal member in the G20, and four EU states are present within the G20 (France, Germany, Italy and the United Kingdom). Because of its inclusiveness and flat structure, members cannot be excluded ‘if there is no general consensus’ (Luckhurst 2016: 195). Summing up, for the EU, it is easier to act coherently in multilateral fora dealing with global issues in which the Western democratic states dominate. The EU’s normative approach to multilateralism implies that a state can be punished if it violates its normative multilateral commitments. However, it is more difficult for the EU to act in global fora with many diverse, especially authoritarian, members. For Russia, the G20 embodies its understanding of what multilateralism is – diverse Western and non-Western membership, the involvement of great powers on important global issues on an equal basis, where Russia’s voice is heard and no sanctions can be taken against its policy and where it has supporters and sympathisers. Yet there is a realistic understanding in Russia that the G20 is a secondary global governance forum (Krickovic 2018: 371).

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Conclusion At first sight, the active participation of the EU and Russia in multilateral fora indicates their interest in multilateralism. The EU and Russia have many opportunities to cooperate and have constructively engaged on different global issues and in different fora. Nonetheless, cooperation has been hindered by different understandings of multilateralism, by international competition and contestation processes and by internal challenges in the EU, as well as by recent changes in Russian foreign and domestic policy. Cooperation is usually easier to achieve: when the EU acts as a coherent actor, as especially the case with environmental policies; when Russia has certain symbolic or material benefits from cooperation; and, at times, when multilateralism fits in well with Russian domestic and foreign policy objectives. Overall, multilateralism means, for the EU, normative commitment (including environmental); for Russia, multilateralism means flexibility and power capability. The literature which deals with EU-Russia interactions in global multilateral frameworks is rather scarce. Even those studies which focus on the multilateralism of the EU and Russia from a comparative perspective limit themselves to the case studies from their common ‘neighbourhoods’ rather than more global cases and global multilateral fora. The research gap is evident: there has been no systematic and comprehensive examination of EU-Russia interaction in the global multilateral context. Nonetheless, many publications, which were overviewed here, have addressed the topic at least cursorily, which indicates that it is an important subject that cannot be ignored. The EU is engaging actively in different multilateral frameworks, even without being a formal member in some of them. Russian multilateral diplomacy is also very active, despite its more assertive and unilateral foreign policy. The changes in the EU (Brexit; strengthening of anti-EU, anti-multilateralism and illiberal political forces in some EU states) as well as changes in Russian foreign policy make the analysis of the EU-Russian global interaction more relevant. A scholar studying EU-Russia global interaction and multilateralism would, nonetheless, face certain challenges. First of all, the question is about whether it is still relevant to study multilateralism when multilateralism is not functioning properly, when multilateral regimes are eroding and multilateral fora lack efficiency. Many theoretical concepts of multilateralism emerged in the early 1990s and the question is to what extent they still accurately describe the multilateral behaviour of actors today.2 Besides, there is no agreement on what multilateralism is. As a result, the EU’s multilateralism is often undervalued when seen through the prism of its own aspiration to act as a normative multilateralist actor, while Russian multilateralism is most frequently dismissed altogether. Morse and Keohane (2014) have introduced a new understanding of multilateralism – ‘contested multilateralism’. The question is whether in the Russian case we still deal with multilateralism (even if it has elements of contestation) or with unilateralism which is hidden under the cover of symbolic multilateralism. The second question is how to study the EU’s policy within the global multilateral context, when the EU is often participating in these fora only indirectly, represented by two or three EU states, which often prefer to act as individual states with their own interests (see also Fernandes this volume). Nonetheless, the EU remains an important actor, which is involved in the work of major global frameworks and cannot be excluded. Despite differences among its member states, the EU has been acting coherently in global multilateral frameworks. The interaction between the EU and Russia in the global context exemplifies the interaction between democratic and authoritarian states, which is another valuable avenue for research. All in all, scholars have used realist analyses and social constructivism (in particular, discourse analysis), institutionalist and domestic politics approaches to analyse EU-Russia relations. 456

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Instead of focusing on single theoretical interpretations and single methods, approaches combining these perspectives can be applied, for example, neoclassical realism (Kropatcheva 2018; Romanova 2018; see also Smith and Yuschenko this volume). Indeed, the study of EU-Russia global interaction would benefit from the use of practice theory, interpretative and ethnographic methods in order to understand what exactly they are doing in multilateral fora, how they interact and with which results, thus moving beyond more general discussions on WesternRussian relations in global frameworks. Besides, a focus on EU-Russia interaction can help to generate new ideas on some practical issues, such as arms control, where new stimuli and ideas are urgently needed.

Notes 1 For EU-Russia interaction in global economic fora (the WTO), see Connolly and Deak in this volume. 2 I would like to thank Anna Kreikemeyer for raising this issue.

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Henry, L.A. and Sundstrom, L.M. (2010) ‘European Union Leadership in Climate Change: Mitigation through Multilevel Reinforcement, in K. Harrison and L.M. Sundstrom (eds.), Global Commons, Domestic Decisions. The Comparative Politics of Climate Change, Cambridge: The MIT Press, pp. 105–38. Howard, L.M. and Daval, A.K. (2018) ‘The use of force in UN peacekeeping’, International Organization 72(1): 71–103. Hurd, I. (2017) ‘The UN security council’, in A. Gheciu and W.C. Wohlforth (eds.), Oxford Handbook Online: The Oxford Handbook of International Security, Oxford: Oxford University Press, doi:10.1093/ oxfordhb/9780198777854.013.45 International Crisis Group (ICG) (2019) ‘Council of despair? The fragmentation of UN diplomacy’, Crisis Group Special Briefing 1, 30 April, available at www.crisisgroup.org/global/b001-council-despairfragmentation-un-diplomacy (accessed 10 October 2019). Jorgensen, K.E. (ed.) (2009) The European Union and International Organisations, London: Routledge. Katz, M. (2018) ‘Russia’s security council diplomacy and the Middle East’, Russian Analytical Digest 114: 5–7. Keohane, R.O. (1990) ‘Multilateralism: an agenda for research’, International Journal 45: 731–64. Khrushcheva, O. and Maltby, T.F.R. (2016) ‘The future of EU-Russia energy relations in the context of decarbonisation’, Geopolitics 21(4): 799–830. Kissack, R. (2010) Pursuing Effective Multilateralism. The European Union, International Organisations and the Politics of Decision Making, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Klein, N., Reiners, W., Zhimin, C., Junbo, J. and Slosarcik, I. (2010) ‘Diplomatic Strategies of Major Powers: Competing Patterns of International Relations? The Cases of the United States of America, China and the European Union’, MERCURY E-Paper (2), February, available at http://mercury.uni-koeln. de/fileadmin/user_upload/E-paper_no2_r2010.pdf (accessed 10 October 2019). Kobayashi, K. (2017) ‘Whose global governance? Explaining the evolution of Russia’s approach to global governance, 1945–2016’, Rising Powers Quarterly 2(1): 183–209. Krickovic, A. (2018) ‘The G20’, in A.P. Tsygankov (ed.), Routledge Handbook of Russian Foreign Policy, London: Routledge, pp. 367–77. Kropatcheva, E. (2016) ‘Russia and the collective security treaty organisation: multilateral policy or unilateral ambitions?’, Europe-Asia Studies 68(9): 1526–52. Kropatcheva, E. (2018) ‘Power and National Security’, in A.P. Tsygankov (ed.), Routledge Handbook of Russian Foreign Policy, London: Routledge, pp. 43–59. Kurowska, X. (2014) ‘Multipolarity as resistance to liberal norms: Russia’s position on responsibility to protect’, Conflict, Security & Development 14(4): 489–508. Laatikainen, K.V. and Smith, K.E. (2006) The European Union at the United Nations. Intersecting Multilateralisms, London: Palgrave. Legvold, R. (2009) ‘The Role of Multilateralism in Russian Foreign Policy’, in W.E. Rowe and S. Torjesen (eds.), The Multilateral Dimension in Russian Foreign Policy, London: Routledge, pp. 21–45. Lucarelli, S., Langenhove, L.V. and Wouters, J. (eds.) (2013) The EU and Multilateral Security Governance, London: Routledge. Luckhurst, J. (2016) G20 since the Global Crisis, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Makarychev, A. and Morozov, V. (2011) ‘Multilateralism, multipolarity, and beyond: a menu of Russia’s policy strategies’, Global Governance 17: 353–73. Mankoff, J. (2011) Russian Foreign Policy. The Return of Great Power Politics, 2nd ed., Toronto: Rowman & Littlefield. Manners, I. (2002) ‘Normative Power Europe: A  Contradiction in Terms?’, Journal of Common Market Studies 40(2): 235–58. Martin, L.L. (1993) ‘The Rational State Choice of Multilateralism’, in H. Milner and J.G. Ruggie (eds.), Multilateralism Matters. The Theory and Praxis of an Institutional Form, New York: Columbia University Press, pp. 91–124. Morse, J.C. and Keohane, R.O. (2014) ‘Contested Multilateralism’, Review of International Organisations 9: 385–412. Naim, M. (2009) ‘Minilateralism: the Magic Number to Get Real International Action’, Foreign Policy 173: 135–6. North, D.C. (1991) ‘Institutions’, Journal of Economic Perspectives 5: 97–112. Postel-Vinay, K. (2014) The G20. A New Geopolitical Order, The Sciences PO Series in International Relations and Political Economy, London: Palgrave Macmillan. Renard, T. (2016) ‘Partnerships for effective multilateralism? Assessing the compatibility between EU bilateralism, (inter-)regionalism and multilateralism’, Cambridge Review of International Affairs 29(1): 18–35. 458

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Renz, B. (2018) Russia’s Military Revival, London: Wiley. Romanova, T. (2018) ‘Russia’s neorevisionist challenge to the liberal international order’, The International Spectator 53(1): 76–91. Romanyshyn, I. (2015) ‘Explaining EU effectiveness in multilateral institutions: the case of the arms trade treaty negotiations’, Journal of Common Market Studies 53(4): 875–92. Rowe, W.E. and Torjesen, S. (eds.) (2009) The Multilateral Dimension in Russian Foreign Policy, London: Routledge. Ruggie, J.G. (1992) ‘Multilateralism: the anatomy of an institution’, International Organization 46(3): 561–98. Schreurs, M.A. and Tiberghien, Y. (2010) ‘European Union Leadership in Climate Change: Mitigation through Multilevel Reinforcement’, in K. Harrison and L.M. Sundstrom (eds.), Global Commons, Domestic Decisions. The Comparative Politics of Climate Change, Cambridge: The MIT Press, pp. 23–66. Sergunin, A. (2018) ‘The United Nations’, in A.P. Tsygankov (ed.), Routledge Handbook of Russian Foreign Policy, London: Routledge, pp. 355–66. Smith, M. (2018) ‘The EU, the US and the crisis of contemporary multilateralism’, Journal of European Integration 40(5): 539–53. Sperling, J. (2013) ‘The Post-Westphalian State, National Security Cultures, and Global Security Governance, in S. Lucarelli, L.V. Langenhove and J. Wouters (eds.), The EU and Multilateral Security Governance, London: Routledge, pp. 26–42. Tsygankov, A.P. (2009) ‘Russia in Global Governance: Multipolarity or Multilateralism?’, in D. Lesage and P. Vercauteren (eds.), Contemporary Global Governance: Multipolarity vs. New Discourses on Global Governance, Brussels: Peter Lang, pp. 51–62. Tsygankov, A.P. (2012) ‘Russia and Global Governance in the Post-Western World’, Russian Analytical Digest 114: 2–5. UNFCCC (2019) ‘What is the Kyoto Protocol?’, available at https://unfccc.int/kyoto_protocol (accessed 10 October 2019). Van Vooren, B., Blockmans, S. and Wouters, J. (2013) The EU’s Role in Global Governance. The Legal Dimension, Oxford: Oxford University Press.

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40 Unrealised potential The EU and Russia in regional multilateral institutions Sergey Utkin

Both Russia and the EU have repeatedly expressed their support for global and regional multilateral institutions. In this chapter, the focus is on some of the most notable regional ones – the Organisation for Security and Co-operation in Europe (OSCE), the Council of Europe (CoE) and the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO).1 The key question is how wide the gaps between the EU and Russia are in their perception and recourse to these organisations.

Multilateralism in Europe and Eurasia In the 2003 European Security Strategy (ESS), prepared by the then-EU High Representative Javier Solana, the EU officially proclaimed ‘effective multilateralism’ one of the guiding principles aimed at development of a more stable international order (Council of the EU 2003). The document resulted from the unpleasant experience of the Iraq war, which divided EU members. The ESS also explicitly pointed at the importance of the OSCE and the CoE as the embodiment of the regional dimension, helping to make ‘effective multilateralism’ a reality. Nevertheless, in a 2010 book discussing the EU’s take on multilateralism, this regional level was omitted altogether, while the UN was the focus (Kissack 2010), and in a 2014 book on the topic, the OSCE and the CoE apparently warranted only some brief mentions (Bouchard et al. 2014). This rather exclusive focus on global fora in the discussion on multilateralism is relatively common (Dworkin and Gowan 2019). However, literature dealing specifically with the OSCE, CoE and SCO can better clarify the EU’s and Russia’s position on these organisations compared to general works on multilateralism (see also Kropatcheva this volume). When, in 1997, the Stockholm Peace Research Institute (SIPRI) published its major volume Russia and Europe, only a small chapter of it (Zagorksy 1997) directly dealt with regional institutions. Looking into Russia’s attitude to the Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE)/OSCE, Zagorsky examined the few preceding years, noting that, starting from summer 1993, Russia offered numerous, and eventually unfulfilled, proposals to increase the role of the CSCE, suggesting that it could coordinate the activities of other regional structures including the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS), NATO, Western European Union (WEU), EU, CoE and even NATO’s partnership framework – the North Atlantic Cooperation Council. Russia also sought a form for a CIS joint presence in the CSCE. 460

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The 2000 edition of the OSCE Yearbook offers some insights into the gap between the parties’ positions. The head of the OSCE department in the Russian Ministry of Foreign Affairs, Mikhail Petrakov, wrote a piece where he praised the 1999 Charter for European Security adopted at the OSCE Istanbul summit but did not hide Russia’s disappointment with the West (Petrakov 2000). In his view, Western countries tried to limit the OSCE to a tool used to support democracy and human rights in the former Yugoslav and post-Soviet spaces, which risked weakening the organisation. He noted that issues that arise in the West, such as in Northern Ireland, Pays Basque or Corsica, are rarely addressed in the OSCE and any OSCE involvement is rejected. The message was obviously one of a pro-Western bias in the OSCE’s functioning, which had to be corrected. In the same volume, Wolfgang Ischinger, at that time the state secretary at the German Foreign Office, found the OSCE of value mostly where Petrakov saw reasons for complaint (Ischinger 2000). In his view, the OSCE had to intervene in matters of human rights, ensuring respect for established standards, specifically in Chechnya and the former Yugoslavia. The OSCE presence in the Baltic states was praised by Ischinger as the mechanism that helped to achieve significant progress towards the integration of Russian minorities. The organisation had to maintain the former Yugoslavia as the focus of its activities, including post-conflict reconstruction and elections observation. Ischinger also noted that the OSCE would only gain in importance as yet more countries became EU members, because countries like Russia and the Ukraine, who have no perspectives in the near future of taking part in these developments from inside the EU, and unlike the US and Canada are not in permanent alliances with Europe, will need a real forum where they enjoy the right to share in decisions as equal partners. (Ischinger 2000: 39–40) This would help the EU to gain Russia as ‘a stable and predictable neighbour’ (ibid.). The former German ambassador to the OSCE, Reinhard Bettzuege, saw this in less rosy terms. He found that the EU and NATO enlargement could make it ‘increasingly less compelling that only the OSCE be able to assume certain tasks which were assigned to it in the past’ (Bettzuege 2002: 43). As an example of possible contradictions, he referred to the police mission in Bosnia, whose functions were transferred from the UN to the EU, although it would have ‘fit the OSCE like a glove’ (2002: 43). He also noted that OSCE missions to the Baltic states were brought to an end in January 2002 despite protests on the part of Russia, which led to a prolonged debate over the OSCE budget and the organisation’s paralysis until spring that year (2002: 40). The perception that post–Cold-War tensions between Russia and the West affected the OSCE has been recurrent. In 2008, Stewart noted that ‘[r]egular clashes between the United States and Russian governments over the enlargement of NATO in 1999 and 2004, NATO intervention in Kosovo and Russian military offensiveness in Chechnya have escalated the OSCE crisis’ (2008: 271). Disappointment and even disengagement are the common characteristics describing the Russian attitude towards the OSCE before the Ukraine crisis (Kropatcheva 2015). Moreover, while Russia became increasingly disappointed, the United States became invisible in the OSCE, more or less leaving it to the EU to decide on the relevance of the organisation. The EU used this opportunity ‘to sharpen the contours of its “European interest”, mainly vis-à-vis Russia and the former Soviet Union’ (van Ham 2009: 143, 146). The first years of Russian membership in the CoE were marked by the escalation in Chechnya, which was among the major matters of concern for Russia’s partners. Russia, in 461

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turn, hoped to use the CoE instruments in order to ensure respect for the rights of Russianspeaking minorities in the Baltic states, which were heading towards EU and NATO membership. Ten years after Russian accession, Massias came to the conclusion that the key dilemma had not changed, since the CoE was ‘still torn between the political and geographical urge not to exclude Russia, and its fundamental principles based on the respect of human rights and democratic standards’ (Massias 2007). However, he had to admit that excluding Russia was not an option for the CoE, because this would ‘destabilise’ the organisation and fuel anti-Western feelings in Russia. A group of authors discussed the so called ‘Strasbourg effect’ – the influence exerted by the European Court of Human Rights (ECtHR) on member states’ behaviour – with regard to Russia (Mälksoo and Benedek 2018). The Court issues binding sentences that force states to pay fines for violations of human rights and thus incentivises them to avoid new violations in the future, which sometimes requires adjustments to national legislation and standards. The authors admit that the effect can be confirmed vis-à-vis Russia but they also warn that it is ‘dwindling’ with time, in the light of policies taken in the course of the last decade by the Russian government and courts. Entin and Entina, in their turn, point to the ECtHR alleged deficiencies, which could be summarised as politicisation and side-taking in regional conflicts (Entin and Entina 2019). In their view, given the depth of certain regional conflicts, it is next to impossible to keep a totally neutral attitude towards the issues presented to the Court. Even if neutrality is staunchly pursued, it does not work as a guarantee against accusations of partisanship. Like most countries, big or small, Russia does not limit its foreign policy activities to one part of the world. The multi-vector diplomacy is further boosted by the country’s geography. The unprecedented rise of China (Allison 2017) had to be accommodated by its direct neighbour. The feeling of growing disappointment with the West possibly contributed to the dynamics of the Chinese–Russian relationship, but it could not set the general course. An attempt to develop a Eurasian pillar for Russia’s policies is natural, but this does not guarantee success. The Russian–Chinese relationship is multifaceted, and the effort to build a multilateral institution – the SCO – does not necessarily stand out. Whatever the future development of this particular institutional framework might be, it does give hints at what could be the common interests that the very diverse states of Eurasia could work on together. Discussing Western assessments of the SCO, Matveeva and Giustozzi distinguish three schools of thought: the normative, which criticises the SCO for its unwillingness to accept Western values; the instrumental, offering a moderately positive outlook on prospects of Western engagement with the organisation seen as ‘a fact of life’; and the geopolitical, seeing the SCO as a tool to threaten the United States and its allies (2008: 23). Russian experts mostly look at the ways the SCO framework could be useful in fields other than fighting narrowly defined security risks. This might include economic interaction, education and cultural initiatives. As is often the case, experts’ ideas go much further than the actual political decisions. In their extensive overview of the SCO, Koldunova and Kundu (2014) offer two scenarios for the organisation: depending on the character of the NATO presence in Afghanistan, either the SCO could help NATO stabilise the country or it would have to combat instability deriving from Afghanistan and reconcile tensions among Central Asian states aggravated by the unstable environment. This idea again emphasises the SCO’s functionality in regional security issues. A recent collection of articles studying various aspects of SCO security-related work, including on energy and information security or the security arrangements required in the context of the Belt and Road Initiative (BRI) refers to the EU only in light of the information warfare registered between Russia and the West in the course of the Ukraine crisis (Luzyanin 2017). 462

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Lukin (2015), researching the prospects of the SCO, only briefly mentions the EU in the context of a comparison to discuss economic integration and the risk of the enlargement process in Eurasia. In a similar manner, Smirnova uses the EU to explain the idea of the ‘Eurasian Higher Education Zone’ as somewhat similar to the Bologna process (Luzyanin et al. 2015). In sum, the available research on multilateral institutions often lacks detail. The assessments are made at some strategic level, while the everyday business of the organisations in discussions is all but ignored.

OSCE and the Council of Europe: imperfectly inclusive The negotiations on what later became the Helsinki Final Act of 1975 were among the first instances when member states of the then-European Community (EC) made use of their newly established coordination framework  – European Political Cooperation (von Groll 1982). As shown by Zagorsky (2005: 62), suggestions formulated by the EC in 1973 had much greater impact on the eventual ‘Decalogue’ of principles enshrined in the Final Act than the ideas formulated by the Eastern Bloc. The CSCE process was slow and cumbersome, especially in terms of implementation of the agreed-upon principles, but the very fact that it gave birth to a flexible regional framework, which included both sides of the Cold War rivalry, is remarkable. The 1989 revolutions in Eastern bloc countries along with political changes that were going on in the Soviet Union around that time had a great influence over the substance and speed of debates in the CSCE (Zagorsky 2005). The issues related to human rights and political freedoms that usually had been among the most controversial in the CSCE suddenly disappeared as the reformed East appeared ready now to accept the values and principles of the West. But European states failed to make use of the CSCE in order to avoid the violent warfare that followed the collapse of Yugoslavia and the Soviet Union. In the subsequent conflict management, NATO and Russia played key roles, acting on the basis of ad hoc arrangements tailored for specific conflicts rather than previously agreed CSCE procedures. The mainstream of European security left the OSCE process on the sidelines. The Russian government, which in the 1990s had to muddle through from one economic and political crisis to another, clearly understood its inability to change the tide. Early ideas of NATO enlargement floating in the US State Department suggested that by 2005 the Alliance could include Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, as well as other European states, which could lead to an eventual merger with the CSCE (U.S. Department of State 1993). But policy planners also mentioned the risk that Russia could again turn into a threat to the West, in which case further NATO expansion had to be stopped. The failure to get rid of the dividing lines by bringing Russia on board remains a recurring topic for scholars (e.g. Hill 2018). The roots of the upcoming tensions which separated Russia and the West ever more were already evident. Some parts of the Russian government and elite circles wanted to strengthen ties with the West, seeing the CSCE as one of the communication channels but hardly the main one. This line of thinking was likely behind Russia’s agreement to allow OSCE mediation in Chechnya in 1995–98 (OSCE 2018b: 68–9). Another part of the Russian elite retained growing suspicion towards Western influence, including through international organisations, especially in Russia’s post-Soviet ‘backyard’ (Zagorksy 1997: 526). Amongst EU officials, the OSCE was by the late 1990s seen as a convenient mechanism that could help develop cooperation with Russia. It is in this spirit that the organisation is repeatedly mentioned in the EU’s Common strategy on Russia (European Council 1999). References to the OSCE became standard. When the EU and Russia agreed a Road Map for the Common Space of External Security in 2005, it included a pledge to enhance cooperation within the 463

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OSCE in order to prevent and resolve conflicts as well as to fight terrorism (EU and Russia 2005). At the same time, the fact that, in the context of the European security architecture, the OSCE has been overshadowed by other entities, including the EU itself, could not go unnoticed. Although the first years of Vladimir Putin’s first presidential term are usually considered a time of relatively productive revival in relations with the West, which included the creation of the NATO-Russia Council and the new dynamics in EU-Russia cooperation, this was not the feeling in the OSCE. Russia’s readiness to defend its ‘backyard’ grew stronger, even if this went contrary to previously achieved agreements (Ghebali 2001). The EU and NATO enlargements tilted the balance significantly away from the OSCE and contributed to the alienation of Russia, though some authors suggested to look at that as the ‘survival of the fittest’ amongst international organisations (Bailes et al. 2008). While the organisations foreign to Russia happened to be ‘the fittest’, the Russian leadership concentrated on investments in the fitness of their sovereign state rather than any multilateral framework. Russian criticism towards the OSCE grew, reaching its peak around 2008, when Putin sharply criticised the OSCE Office for Democratic Institutions and Human Rights (ODIHR) for its attempts to scrutinise Russian presidential elections to a much further extent than they did in other countries (CNN 2008). Faced with restrictions, the ODIHR refused to monitor the 2008 Russian elections. Given the idea floating that Russia might simply leave the OSCE, Russia’s experts had to make a strong case in favour of the OSCE’s validity (Zagorsky and Entin 2008). Later that year, the OSCE presence failed to prevent conflict around South Ossetia. The job of mediation between Tbilisi and Moscow was mainly performed by French President Nicolas Sarkozy, and the post-conflict international presence in Georgia took the form of the EU Monitoring Mission, thus, making the EU a de facto peacekeeper in a region bordering Russia. 2008 was also the first year of Dmitry Medvedev’s presidency. He immediately came up with the idea of a significant update to the Euro-Atlantic security architecture that took the form of the draft European Security Treaty (EST) (President of Russia 2009). The draft EST was seen as an offer of a legally binding framework that would help overcome issues between key international security organisations in the Euro-Atlantic area. The debate around Medvedev’s idea had to happen somewhere, so it occurred in the OSCE as the so-called Corfu process started by the Greek OSCE Chairmanship in 2009 (OSCE 2010a). That was not the original intention of Russia, since it aimed at a new start rather than the usage of an old platform. But, eventually, all participating states had to admit that no framework other than the OSCE could be established at that point for a common discussion on regional security. This did not mean readiness to any significant progress in the OSCE, as was demonstrated by the very modest results of the 2010 Summit held in Astana, which to this day remains the last one for the organisation (OSCE 2010b). By all estimates, the 2014 Ukraine crisis brought the OSCE under the spotlight (Utkin 2014). While both key Western security-related institutions – NATO and the EU – as well as the Russia-led Collective Security Treaty Organisation (CSTO), were seen as partisan in regard to the erupting conflict, the OSCE happened to be the only neutral and capable mechanism that was used to send a monitoring mission in Ukraine. As the conflict in eastern Ukraine remains unresolved, international attention to the OSCE persists above previous levels. EU member states, including via the EU financial instruments, make a massive contribution to the work of the OSCE, assessed at the level of about 70 per cent of the total expenditure (OSCE 2018a). The EU’s support is especially important for the fate of the Special Monitoring Mission in Ukraine (Šimáková 2016). In order to boost the efficiency of its involvement, the EU set up 464

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a special format for dialogue and regular best practices exchange with the OSCE (EEAS 2018). The EU and Russia continue to make use of the OSCE, which neither of them is particularly happy with, but around which they are unable to shape any better alternative. In itself, this will not necessarily prevent new waves of marginalisation – the OSCE will not disappear, but key issues of regional security might be discussed and decided elsewhere. While the CSCE was a mechanism of East–West dialogue, bringing together the continent divided by the Cold War, the Council of Europe provoked little attention in the Eastern Bloc. When the Iron Curtain fell, membership in the CoE was among the lowest-hanging fruits for former socialist countries willing to join Western organisations. Russia joined in 1996. CoE membership was interpreted by its proponents in Russia as a quality sign, as accession to the civilised community. The conservative opposition was rather unhappy with the mechanism, which, in their view, limited Russian sovereignty, including on the use of capital punishment deemed necessary by many conservative voices. These claims might even have pushed members to agree to Russia’s accession, especially in light of the upcoming Russian 1996 presidential elections (Chernega 2015). Russia ratified the European Convention on Human Rights (ECHR) in 1998, in the last stage of Boris Yeltsin’s presidency, but the West saw Russia’s membership as a means of supporting further progress on human rights rather than as recognition that the country had successfully reached established standards (Mälksoo and Benedek 2018). The reproaches made towards Russia on its human rights record in the CoE framework have been more or less identical with those made by the EU, but for Russia, the CoE is a more convenient mechanism to discuss issues in detail, since Russia itself agreed to it. To this day, Russia remains the only CoE country that has not ratified the Protocol No.6 to the ECHR on the prohibition of the death penalty, although the Russian authorities maintain a moratorium on the actual usage of this punishment (CoE 2019). Just as with the OSCE, the CoE experienced a certain loss of relevance due to EU/NATO enlargements. It was probably less acute, since the ECtHR mechanism still plays a role in human rights defence, including for the EU members, but ideas on the strengthening of the CoE did not find enough enthusiasm, since there were other institutions that the majority of members saw as central. In a way, it might be the EU’s enlargement fatigue that can ensure a raison d’être for the CoE in the longer term (Chernega 2015). Whereas for the OSCE, the 2014 Ukraine crisis gave a chance for revival, for the CoE, that was a serious blow, specifically in terms of Russia’s role in the organisation. The CoE Parliamentary Assembly (PACE) rapidly deprived Russian parliamentarians of voting rights, pointing at their involvement in the legislative procedures incorporating Crimea into Russia and at overall assessments of the incorporation as a violation of international law (PACE 2014). Although the PACE plays a relatively limited role, it is involved in decision-making on CoE functioning, which led to further escalation. Russia refused to make its contribution to the CoE budget and warned that it could even leave the CoE if its member states were not provided with equal decision-making rights (Euractiv 2019). Five years after the crisis began, a compromise was found to keep Russia in the organisation with full rights, although the move was faced with harsh criticism (Reuters 2019). Champions of Russia’s return primarily pointed at the importance of the ECtHR for Russian citizens. Russia, in its turn, agreed to restore payments to the CoE budget (CoE 2018: 184). Participation in the CoE may potentially serve as common ground for the EU and Russia, but the widespread opinion in the EU is that Russia sees its commitments under CoE conventions differently and has been ever less interested in their implementation (see also Morozov; DeBardeleben this volume). 465

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Shanghai Cooperation Organisation: the EU as an outsider Mentions of the SCO by the EU’s External Action Service (EEAS) are limited to a few informational references on the occasions when separate SCO members or the region of Central Asia appear on the EU’s radar. A  number of Russia critics among EU members expressed suspicion towards any regional structure where Russia played an important role. With the rise of China, similar concerns towards Beijing have strengthened. One can conclude that any extensive offers or even publicly expressed interest in the activities of the SCO do not find much consensus in the EU, even when the core area where these regional organisations are present is discussed. While the EU’s 2007 Central Asia Strategy mentioned it as a potential interlocutor for ‘an open and constructive dialogue’, a similar 2019 document only promises to ‘continue monitoring developments’ in this organisation (Council of the EU 2007; European Commission 2019). The European Parliament produced some rare semi-official documents addressing the SCO directly, which shed some light on the debate in the EU. The Parliament’s reaction to the 2007 strategy openly expressed the view that ‘Russia and China tried to increase their spheres of influence in Central Asia’ through the establishment of the SCO (European Parliament 2008). A briefing paper on the SCO prepared by the European Parliament Research Service (EPRS) concluded that the EU ‘acts in line with a normative rationale according to which the SCO’s basic norms and values deviate too fundamentally from the EU’s normative foreign policy goals to allow formal interaction’, while also leaving room for doubt, referencing experts who believed that the EU had to become more pragmatic (EPRS 2015a). A separate EPRS briefing paper explored ‘China’s leading role’ in the SCO, claiming that after ‘the US withdrawal from Afghanistan, China and Russia are the major powers in Central Asia, on an equal footing. In this regard, the SCO acts as a forum to balance the powers of the two rivals in Central Asia’ (EPRS 2015b). The SCO’s attention to the EU is limited as well but there was at least one registered visit by 24 EU ambassadors to the SCO Headquarters in Beijing upon the EU’s initiative (SCO 2017). In 2019, the SCO Secretary General came up with the idea of a trilateral SCO-EU-UN cooperation to combat terrorism, illegal drug trafficking and cross-border crime (SCO 2019). Echoing Russia’s ‘Greater Eurasia’ proposals, Kazakhstan officially promotes development of ties between regional institutions, including SCO, EU, ASEAN and the Eurasian Economic Union (The Astana Times 2019). Terrorism-related risks in Central Asia remain at the heart of the SCO activities. The goals of the regular exercises by the SCO countries are set accordingly (China Military 2018). The real achievements of the SCO (as well as those of many other regional organisations that prioritise dialogue) can be assessed as modest. While the 2014 Ukraine crisis did produce certain negative effects for relations between SCO members, the impact was not nearly as serious as for the OSCE or CoE (Lanteigne 2018). At the same time, no attempt was made by Russia to use the organisation’s potential as backing during the crisis, since it was clear that the views of other members on developments in Ukraine did not coincide with the Russian one. The SCO 2017 enlargement added to doubts about whether the organisation will be able to develop further, given the persistent tensions between India and Pakistan on the one hand and India and China on the other. The internal difficulties do not escape the attention of Western observers, and some are even suggesting that in the longer run, both Russia and China could lose interest in the organisation and their agreement to enlarge it might be interpreted as a sign of precisely that, rather than a success (Maduz 2018). A bigger and presumably looser group will not necessarily be more efficient. 466

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When non-EU states prioritise bilateral engagement over cooperation with the EU as a whole, they are often blamed for a destructive ‘divide and rule’ approach. However, when the EU is clearly set to remain an outsider to a multilateral framework, which is the case of the SCO, its fascination with multilateralism runs out of steam. The question, which is answered negatively in the EU, is ‘whether the SCO can offer anything that cannot be obtained through discussions with China, Russia or the Central Asian states’ (Renard 2013). This is despite the fact that this logic, combined with some emphasised criticism towards the multilateral institutions in question, could rhetorically deprive almost any of them of meaning.

Conclusion Regional organisations might be seen as the EU’s natural allies in the development of ‘effective multilateralism’. As is so often the case, the reality is more complicated than the proposed conceptual frame. The potential of the OSCE and CoE becomes appealing when the EU and NATO feel limitations to their competences, for example, when they are unable to ignore the role of Russia in a particular issue. When a regional structure excludes the EU, it is then the EU’s turn to treat that organisation with suspicion, a stance somewhat similar to the one Russia maintains towards the EU and especially NATO. On the opposite side of Russia’s geography, the SCO represents an attempt to build a nonWestern regional institution. The West is not an obstacle to consensus-building among SCO members, but it also does not see good enough reasons to help this organisation or even engage in a regular dialogue with it. This design also has its flaws. The SCO countries may proudly recognise non-interference in each other’s internal affairs as the basic principle, but this also hints at the fact that members have very divergent, sometimes conflicting, sets of policies. Further development of the Russian–Chinese relationship and the level of these countries’ actual interest in the SCO will have significant impact on the attitude of outside actors, including the EU, towards the organisation. Given the impact of the 2014 Ukraine crisis, there is little reason to expect any growth in political cohesion between the EU and Russia. One of the consequences will be the blockage of any strengthening of organisations that bring Russia and the EU members together. They may still remain functional at the current level, though. In terms of future scenarios, it is possible that some strong and urgent regional challenge might push these unwilling partners towards each other but such challenges, that is, catastrophes and conflicts, are worst-case scenarios that both parties would undoubtedly prefer to avoid.

Note 1 The SCO started to develop as a neighbourhood security cooperation of Russia, China, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan and Tajikistan in 1996 and was officially established as an organisation in 2001, with Uzbekistan joining the club. In 2004–2012, a number of Eurasian countries – Mongolia, Iran, Belarus, ­Afghanistan – received observer status within the organisation. A separate status was established in 2008 for ‘dialogue partners’ – Armenia, Azerbaijan, Cambodia, Nepal, Sri Lanka, Turkey. Some international organisations – UN, CIS and ASEAN, along with Turkmenistan, have ‘guest attendances’. The major SCO enlargement happened with the accession of India and Pakistan in 2017.

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Index

Abkhazia and South Ossetia 50, 154, 394, 397 academic cooperation 3, 11, 109, 300 – 11 academic mobility 301 – 2, 304, 308 acquis (Communautaire) 124, 126, 197, 217, 219 – 23, 245 – 6, 276, 349, 396 actor-network theory 136 Adriatic 212 aeronautics 279, 281 Afghanistan 98, 155, 419 – 20, 444, 462, 466 – 7 Africa 4, 155, 441 Agency on CIS, Compatriots and International Humanitarian Cooperation 28, 29; see also Rossotrudnichestvo agriculture 29, 247, 257, 283, 302; agricultural 42, 119 – 20, 256, 429 – 31 Albania 210 Alekseeva, Lyudmila 179, 181 alienation 6, 7, 10, 33, 157, 213, 464 Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty 422 anti-trust (antitrust) 62, 222, 243, 246 – 7, 329 approximation 44, 86, 133, 230, 242, 270, 303 – 4, 397; legal (legislative) 3, 11, 32, 44, 85 – 6, 133, 217 – 25, 230, 242, 245, 251, 270, 277, 396 – 7, 421 Arab Spring 155, 293, 326, 440 Arctic 3, 213, 234, 254, 257, 259, 362, 379 – 84, 387 – 91; Arctic Council 361, 369, 379; and Barents Euro-Arctic Council 361, 369, 379 – 81, 388; and EU Arctic Strategy 381; window 357, 359, 380, 382 – 3 Arkhangelsk 382, 384 – 6 Armenia 5, 59, 77, 86, 117, 220, 264 – 5, 397 – 9, 467 arms control 258, 420, 444, 449 – 50, 452 – 3, 457; and Arms Trade Treaty 453 ASEAN 430, 433 – 5, 466 – 7 Asia 3, 7, 63, 110, 112, 233 – 7, 271, 314, 358, 405, 414, 428 – 38, 466 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation 233, 430 – 1, 435 Assad 255, 420, 440, 444 – 5 association agreement 86 – 7, 108, 110, 156, 168, 271, 396 – 7, 410 Astana peace process 444 – 5, 450

asymmetry 19, 21 – 2, 111, 125, 158, 176, 196, 229 – 32, 234, 236 – 7, 303, 307 Atlanticism 72; and Atlanticists 72 Austria 112, 209, 211, 314, 319, 327, 367, 453 authoritarian 17, 59, 61, 64, 168, 174, 296, 317, 325 – 6, 408, 412, 433, 450, 455 – 6 aviation 123, 221, 279 Azerbaijan 5, 59, 270, 398, 467 Balkans 5, 49, 210, 212 – 13, 361, 419, 451 Baltic: Council of Baltic Sea States 361, 369; countries 74, 359; rim 350; Sea (region) 143, 210 – 13, 351, 357 – 8, 361, 369, 373, 387; states 54, 60, 167, 208, 210 – 11, 270, 341, 358, 461 – 2 balance of power 51, 76, 131, 435, 450 Barents Euro-Arctic Council see Arctic Belarus 5, 10, 59, 64, 77, 86, 117, 142, 154, 210, 220, 264 – 5, 270 – 1, 356, 359, 361 – 2, 383, 394, 396, 398, 431, 463, 467 Belgium 276, 453; see also Benelux Belt and Road Initiative 271, 430, 434, 462 Benelux 84, 208 biotechnology 283 Black Sea 208, 210, 212 – 13, 360, 398 black swan event 5 Bologna Process 300 – 6, 308 – 11, 337, 463 border 7, 21, 26, 29, 48, 53, 60, 78, 86, 98, 108, 129, 132, 140, 185, 195, 197 – 8, 208 – 10, 242, 248, 290, 292, 317, 335 – 7, 340, 342, 348 – 9, 351 – 2, 354, 357, 359, 366 – 71, 374 – 8, 384, 386 – 8, 395, 419, 421, 432, 435, 442; bordering 54, 349 – 50, 353 – 4; border-transcending 348, 350; de-bordering 55, 290, 368; management 98, 198, 386 – 8 Bosnia and Herzegovina 153, 210 Bretton Woods 405 Brexit 53, 84 – 5, 113, 141, 146, 361 – 2, 417, 456 Budapest Convention on Cybercrime 186 – 7 Budapest Memorandum 54, 63 Bulgaria 319, 394 bureaucracy/bureaucracies 26, 28, 30, 268 Bush, George W. 408, 422 471

Index

Canada 269, 356, 359, 362, 379, 381, 387, 455, 461 capital 10, 39, 116 – 18, 120 – 1, 123 – 7, 156, 207, 212, 229, 257, 263 – 4, 269, 290, 316, 342, 375, 384, 419, 429, 432, 436, 442, 465; and capitalism 52, 106, 316, 411, 433; flows 116, 120 – 1, 123; outflows 121, 125; and state capitalism 17 – 18 Caspian 242, 394 Central Asia 39, 142, 157, 202, 282, 419, 462, 466 – 9 Central Europe 143, 317, 431; Central European 124, 209 Chakrabarty, Dipesh 140 – 1 Chechnya 18, 61 – 2, 112, 153, 165, 169 – 71, 175, 178, 210, 231, 461, 463 China 1, 5, 7, 11, 22, 52, 77, 121, 157, 213, 232 – 7, 258, 266 – 7, 269, 271, 306, 326, 338, 405, 413 – 14, 428 – 38, 443 – 4, 450, 453, 462, 466 civil code of Russia 222 civil society 2, 3, 7 – 10, 19, 32, 59, 61, 109, 113, 168 – 70, 173 – 6, 178, 180 – 1, 282, 289 – 97, 328, 340, 351, 369; organisations 109, 290, 293, 295, 328, 338 climate change 7, 243, 245 – 8, 251, 283, 294, 357, 361, 379, 381, 384, 387, 454; and Paris Agreement 246 – 7, 454 – 5 coercion 45, 83, 252, 354, 395 COEST 39 Cold War 15 – 16, 18, 42, 48 – 9, 54 – 5, 72 – 3, 77, 106 – 7, 113, 123, 132, 144, 151, 162 – 4, 242, 244, 248, 264, 342, 351, 357, 360, 362, 366, 394, 405 – 8, 411, 414, 418 – 22, 439 – 42, 445 – 6, 455, 461, 463, 465 Collective Security Treaty Organisation 191, 414, 464 colonial 139, 141 – 2; and anticolonial 140; and colonialism 106, 141; and colonisation 142; and neo-colonial 134, 141; and neo-colonialism/ neo-colonialist 140, 146; and postcolonial 3, 7, 139 – 46; and postcolonialism/post-colonialist 130, 135 – 6, 230 colour revolutions 19, 49, 154, 168, 180, 292, 410, 419, 421 common European home 18, 110, 113, 264 common external tariff 86, 397 Common Foreign and Security Policy 5, 38, 151, 154 – 5, 357 – 8, 360, 362, 380 – 1 Common Security and Defence Policy 5 Common Spaces 17, 37, 44, 108, 117, 144, 152, 154 – 5, 195 – 6, 201, 210, 221, 223, 233, 263 – 4, 276, 301, 315, 337, 419; economic 18, 39, 117, 196, 263 – 7, 271, 419; External Security 18, 39, 154, 392, 419, 463; Freedom, Security and Justice 18, 39, 184, 195 – 6, 419; Research,

472

Education and Culture 18, 39, 196, 276, 283, 315, 337, 419 Common Strategy on Russia 19, 59, 175, 230, 463 Commonwealth of Independent States 151, 231, 290, 357, 369, 397, 460 communism/communist 31, 88, 106, 144, 264, 356, 406, 412, 429; and post-communist 60, 86 – 8, 129, 164, 263, 366, 369 competition 1, 6, 10, 15, 19 – 20, 22 – 3, 29, 39, 62, 65, 73, 87 – 8, 90, 100, 120, 191, 221 – 2, 251, 252, 265, 267, 269 – 71, 306, 340, 380, 394 – 5, 410, 417 – 18, 430, 433, 450 – 2, 456; normative 48, 53, 58 – 9, 61, 63, 65, 146 conditionality 49, 59, 60, 86, 88, 107 – 8, 110, 174, 195 – 202, 231, 369, 393, 396 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE) 17, 162 – 3, 460, 463, 465 confidence-building measures 190 – 1, 423 conflict 5, 18, 19, 21, 23, 29, 30, 49, 50, 53 – 4, 61 – 2, 64 – 6, 76 – 7, 90 – 2, 101, 123, 129, 134, 142 – 3, 146 – 8, 154, 156, 162, 165, 169, 175, 180, 185 – 6, 190 – 1, 206, 210 – 15, 231, 233, 243, 245 – 51, 253, 258 – 60, 292, 296, 315, 335, 341, 356, 361 – 3, 368, 387, 393 – 6, 398 – 9, 411, 419 – 20, 422, 435, 439 – 47, 451, 461 – 4, 467 conservatism 113, 318, 320 conservative 28 – 9, 32, 55, 113, 317 – 18, 320, 340 – 1, 352 – 3, 375, 432, 465 constitution/constitutional 27, 30, 61, 83, 96, 178, 189, 218, 316, 320, 409; Constitutional Court 30, 61, 174, 175, 178, 219 – 20; of Russia 175, 219 constructivism 3, 71, 95 – 6, 100 – 2, 129 – 37, 456; and constructivist 16, 27, 60, 83, 100, 129 – 36, 206, 209, 336, 343, 398, 451 – 2; and postconstructivist 130, 136 containment 89, 254 Conventional Forces in Europe Treaty 422 Cooperation Council 9, 40, 151, 460 Copenhagen Criteria 49, 58, 107, 164 cosmopolitan 141 Council of Europe 18, 61 – 2, 112, 163 – 4, 166, 173, 175, 184, 186 – 7, 200, 219, 320 – 1, 367, 414, 460, 463, 465; and Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe 18, 61, 112, 173, 175, 177, 179 – 80, 184, 367, 423, 460 – 2, 465 – 7 Council of the European Union 37 – 8, 43, 45 – 6, 163, 176, 186, 188, 275, 294, 297, 337, 343, 381, 394, 399, 419 Council on Foreign and Defence Policy 339 counter-sanctions 126, 253, 257, 353, 374, 431 Countering American Adversaries through Sanctions Act 254 – 5 COVID-19 pandemic 5, 7, 10

Index

Crimea 5, 8, 21, 33 – 4, 37, 39, 41, 43, 48 – 52, 54, 60, 63 – 4, 76 – 7, 89, 112, 134, 145, 156, 168 – 9, 173, 206, 210, 230 – 1, 253 – 4, 259, 264, 282, 335, 341, 350. 353, 397, 399, 417, 420, 422, 455, 465 crisis management 99, 153, 155, 158, 392 – 3 Croatia 210, 212 cross-border 9, 11, 21, 30, 42, 98, 109, 209 – 10, 265, 280, 290, 295, 347, 357, 366 – 75, 466; cooperation 2, 3, 9, 17, 20, 27, 29, 30, 98, 99, 110, 290, 293, 351, 357, 366 – 7, 369 – 70, 380; region 366 – 7 cultural and creative industries 383 cultural diplomacy/cooperation 109, 312 – 14, 318 – 22, 277, 312, 314 – 20 Cyber 43, 184 – 91; attacks 6, 42 – 3, 187 – 90, 212, 252, 254 – 5, 423; and Budapest Convention on Cybercrime 186 – 7; crime 184, 186 – 7; and cybernetic 43; operations 50, 190; security 3, 9, 21, 184 – 8, 191; space 11, 184 – 5, 190 – 1, 213, 255 Cyprus 123, 164, 208, 212 – 13, 423 Czech Republic 125 deep and comprehensive free trade area 86, 126, 396 – 8 decarbonisation 247 – 9 decentring 141 decision-making 2, 22, 26 – 8, 38 – 9, 45, 73, 93, 95, 98 – 100, 109, 129, 207, 231, 264, 295, 335 – 6, 338 – 40, 360, 371, 373 – 4, 408, 417, 421, 465 democracy promotion 59, 168, 290 – 1, 293, 295 – 6, 304, 406, 440 democratisation 19 – 20, 50, 66, 163, 178 – 9, 289 – 91, 303 – 4, 306 – 7, 318, 332, 395, 420, 440 denial of service 187 Denmark 209 – 11, 358, 369, 379, 381, 387 derzhavnichestvo see great power deterrence 152, 154, 157, 354; mutual 9, 153, 157 Deutsch, Karl 129 dialogue: and Civic Chamber of Russia 32; of civilisations 339 – 40; civil society 2, 7, 32, 289, 295, 297; EU Economic and Social Committee 32; expert 341 – 3; Franco–Russian Trianon 341, 343; German–Russian Petersburg 341; Human Rights 173, 293; policy 31, 294; Polish–Russian Group on Difficult Matters 21, 341; regulatory 223; sectoral 29, 39; Society 2, 7, 32, 289, 295, 297 diplomacy 20, 52, 314; and Alexander Gorchakov Public Diplomacy Fund 32; cultural 109, 312 – 14, 318 – 20; cyber 184 – 5; economic 429, 435; EU 294, 429; high level 20; multilateral 450, 456; multi-vector 462; and paradiplomacy

30, 366 – 8, 374; public 32, 65, 294 – 6, 300 – 1, 306 – 7, 339, 343; and Public Diplomacy Programme 295; Russia 399; second-track 319 Directorate General: Education and Culture 383; External Relations 39; Trade 39 discourse 8, 16, 32, 53 – 4, 62 – 3, 65, 96, 101 – 2, 110 – 11, 113, 130 – 1, 133 – 7, 139 – 40, 143 – 5, 152, 168, 176, 179, 232, 244, 289 – 91, 293, 306, 312 – 13, 323, 326, 329, 339, 351 – 4, 368, 406, 411, 451, 456 disinformation see information dissident 178, 445 (distributed) denial of service 187 diversification 33, 85, 121, 126, 232, 234, 238, 243, 258, 268, 394, 420, 429, 435 domain name servers 187, 330 Donbas 54, 89, 156, 264, 397, 399; Donbass 21, 76, 134, 258 – 9 Early Warning: Mechanism 246; and Policy Planning and Early Warning Unit 40 Eastern Europe see Europe Eastern Partnership 1, 20, 45, 49, 51, 59, 86, 88 – 9, 110, 126, 155 – 6, 165 – 6, 168, 210, 265, 267, 392, 396 – 7, 410 East Stratcom Task Force 43, 65, 189, 328 EBRD see European Bank for Reconstruction and Development economic: cooperation 18, 20, 23, 28, 41, 103, 116, 126, 221, 231 – 3, 263, 266 – 9, 277, 430, 433; rationale/rationality 7, 123, 300 – 1, 306; relations 3 – 4, 7, 11, 17, 19, 22, 44, 116, 125 – 6, 227, 229 – 33, 235 – 9, 251, 271, 429, 433, 435 education 7, 9, 29, 65, 107, 175, 209, 265, 268, 277, 291, 296, 300 – 4, 306 – 8, 319, 325, 337 – 8, 367, 374, 379, 382 – 3, 388, 418, 462 – 3; (RoadMap) Common Space on Research, Education and culture (see Common Spaces) embargo: arms 443; Russian food import 118, 211, 256; trade 257 empire 17, 28, 51, 76, 133, 135 – 6, 139 – 42, 217, 394, 398 end of history 55, 242 energy: Charter Treaty 230 – 1, 238, 242, 245 – 6; coal 7, 232, 234, 237; cooperation 7, 98, 241 – 2, 244, 444; and crisis 242, 394; and decarbonisation (see decarbonisation); dependence 84, 90; dialogue 16 – 17, 98, 237, 242 – 3, 246 – 7, 249, 251, 358 – 9; and Eastern Siberia Pacific Ocean oil pipeline 233, 431 – 2; and electricity 212, 243 – 4, 265, 268 – 9; and gas 394; and Gas Advisory Council 243, 246; and gas market directive 211, 246; and gas wars 20; hydrocarbons 31, 232, 248, 429; and liquefied natural gas 22, 233, 237, 244, 268,

473

Index

432; and Nabucco 394; and Nord Stream 40, 243, 246 – 8, 255, 341, 387, 394; nuclear 212, 242, 281, 430, 443; and oil 257; and Power of Siberia 233, 431 – 2; and renewable energy 243; security 21, 43, 211, 234, 242 – 4, 282, 394, 419; and shale 244, 254, 421; and South Stream 212; and Third Energy Package 243, 246, 248; transition 7, 268; weapon 243, 251; and YamalLNG 432 enlargement 1, 15, 17 – 19, 41 – 2, 44, 48, 60, 66 – 7, 74, 78, 86 – 7, 99, 105 – 7, 110, 129, 141, 143, 152 – 4, 164, 197, 229 – 30, 233, 242, 270, 317, 359, 369 – 70, 392, 396, 410, 418 – 19, 421 – 2, 461, 463 – 7 environment (the) 2, 9, 32, 44, 98, 209, 234, 246 – 8, 270, 275, 277, 283, 289 – 90, 292, 296, 302, 356, 359 – 62, 379 – 82, 384, 387 – 8, 412, 418, 441, 449, 454 – 6 epistemic community/ies 3, 33, 335 – 343 Erasmus+ 66, 295, 300 – 3, 343 Estonia 42, 55, 60, 62, 65 – 6, 131, 164, 167, 176, 184, 187 – 8, 190, 208, 212, 270, 372; Bronze Soldier 187, 212 EU: Common Strategy 59, 153, 175, 230, 463; Delegation to the Russian Federation 39, 41, 207, 295, 342 – 3; Framework Programme 275, 278 – 9, 282, 303, 305, 337; Global Strategy (EU) 53, 89, 145, 156, 230, 300, 411, 440 Eurasia 6, 30, 44, 51, 55, 63, 72, 78, 86 – 8, 111 – 12, 117, 130, 142 – 3, 155, 157 – 8, 213, 220 – 1, 231, 259, 263 – 71, 307, 361, 368, 396 – 9, 410, 414 – 15, 421, 429 – 31, 435, 460, 462 – 3, 466 – 7 Eurasian customs union 86, 88, 264, 267, 396 – 7 Eurasian Economic Union 30, 44, 63 – 4, 86, 88, 112, 117, 120, 220 – 2, 259, 263 – 74, 396 – 9, 414, 429 – 30, 466; and Eurasian Economic Commission 221, 264 – 6, 270 – 1 Eurasianism 63, 72, 78, 130, 142 – 3; and Eurasianist 111; and neo-Eurasianist 142 Euratom 276 – 7, 281 Eurocentrism 48, 50, 52, 55, 139 – 42, 179, 230 Eurojust 187, 197, 200 – 1 Euromaidan 21, 63, 88, 156, 264, 410 Euro-optimism 316 Europe 5, 6, 10, 15, 17 – 18, 20, 48 – 50, 52, 58 – 61, 63, 74, 77, 79, 85, 105 – 6, 108, 110 – 13, 129, 133, 135, 139, 141 – 6, 152 – 3, 155, 157 – 8, 179 – 80, 189, 222, 233, 235, 244, 248, 259, 263 – 4, 268 – 70, 279, 305, 308, 313 – 18, 339, 342, 348, 351 – 4, 358, 360, 367 – 8, 383, 393, 396, 398 – 9, 405, 409 – 10, 414, 418 – 19, 422, 429, 431 – 2, 435 – 6, 460 – 1, 463; (Central and) Eastern 15, 19, 39, 43, 49, 54, 60, 73 – 5, 136, 141, 143, 165, 231, 233, 242, 270, 275, 291, 305, 340 – 1, 361, 368, 392 – 9, 419, 422, 434; greater 152, 154, 392; 474

Northern 370; united 313; Western 15, 20, 71, 124, 141, 151, 242, 394, 405, 430; wider 48, 112 – 13, 232, 393 – 4, 421 – 2 Europol 186 – 7, 197, 200 – 1 European: Bank for Reconstruction and Development 360 – 1, 382, 384, 407; business sector 40, 44; Commission 21, 28 – 9, 37 – 45, 53, 62, 109, 189, 199 – 200, 202, 211, 222, 243, 246 – 7, 264 – 7, 271, 275, 280 – 1, 294, 301, 303, 312 – 13, 315, 329, 357, 360, 368 – 9, 371, 373, 380 – 1, 383, 392, 423, 429; Communities 17 – 18, 129, 380 – 1, 384; Convention on Human Rights 59, 175, 219, 465; Council 38, 40, 43, 59, 64, 155, 157, 164, 189, 207, 253 – 4, 256, 315, 327, 340, 357, 384, 388; Court of Human Rights 59, 61, 112, 173, 175, 178, 219 – 20, 279, 462, 465; Economic Area 266, 360; Economic Community 162, 229, 405; External Action Service 38 – 40, 42 – 7, 65, 109, 157, 164, 169 – 70, 175 – 6, 186, 189, 207, 210, 230, 277, 280 – 1, 294, 308, 328, 340, 384, 399, 434, 440, 465 – 6; Higher Education Area 302; Instrument in Democracy and Human Rights 175, 291, 293; Investment Bank 248, 361, 382, 384; Neighbourhood and Partnership Instrument 293, 370 – 1, 373 – 4, 384, 387; Neighbourhood Instrument 366, 372 – 5, 384, 388 – 9; Neighbourhood Policy 1, 20, 49, 53, 85 – 6, 88, 141, 165, 196, 218, 292, 370 – 1, 388, 393 – 6, 419, 422; Outline Convention on Transfrontier Co-operation between Territorial Communities or Authorities 367; Parliament 9, 21 – 2, 30, 32, 37 – 9, 41 – 7, 59, 156 – 60, 163, 176, 189, 199, 277, 282 – 4, 294, 323, 328 – 30, 381, 384, 466; Parliament Research Service 466; Political Cooperation 463; Security Strategy 53, 154, 188, 419, 460; Security Treaty 154, 421, 464; Space Agency 281 – 3 Europeanness 48 – 9, 87, 90, 142 – 6, 353 Europeanisation 3, 5, 8, 48, 51 – 2, 105 – 13, 131, 135 – 7, 146, 155, 206 – 7, 220, 237, 303 – 4, 306 – 7, 341 Eurosceptic(ism) 10, 130, 316, 341 EU-Russia: Business Cooperation Council 40; Civil Society Dialogue 32, 289, 295, 297; Civil Society Forum 176, 295 – 7; Human Rights Dialogue 173, 293; Industrialist Round Table 40; Parliamentary Cooperation Committee 30, 41 Facebook 324 – 6, 328 – 31 Far North 380, 387 fascism 106, 166 – 7 Federal Antimonopoly Service 222 Federal Statistic Agency 222 Finland 22, 131, 209, 211, 340, 356 – 60, 369 – 73, 375, 379, 381, 384 – 7; and Paavo Lipponen 357 – 8, 360, 362

Index

fiscal policy 119 five guiding principles 37, 40, 42 – 3, 44, 90, 156, 275, 294, 296 force for good 133, 348, 349, 394 foreign agents law 65, 168, 176, 338 foreign direct investment 121, 123 – 6, 232 – 3, 266, 268 – 9, 432 Foreign Policy Concept 18, 27, 31 – 2, 156, 168, 176, 217, 231, 408 – 9, 441 France 21, 85, 122, 126, 129, 154, 188, 190, 207 – 13, 222, 305, 319, 327, 330, 332, 340 – 1, 387, 394, 409, 417, 428, 434, 440, 442 – 4, 451, 453, 455; and French Ministry of Defence 434 free trade 28 – 30, 85 – 6, 108, 116 – 17, 120, 125 – 6, 197, 267, 269 – 71, 277, 352, 396 – 7, 406, 413, 430; area 28 – 30, 86, 108, 120, 125, 197, 267, 269 – 70, 277, 430 functionalism 129 G7/8 328, 407, 419, 434, 449, 455, 457 G20 445, 449, 455 GATT 219, 405 Gazprom 62, 123, 211 – 12, 237, 243, 246 – 7, 251 gender 4, 109, 131, 290, 325 genocide 168, 323, 446 geopolitical approach 76, 78, 368 geopolitics 27, 78 – 1, 89, 130 – 1, 135 – 7, 152, 213 – 15, 244 Georgia 19, 42 – 3, 49 – 50, 59, 76 – 8, 86, 101, 126, 134, 154 – 6, 168, 180, 210, 212, 264, 292, 387, 393 – 4, 396 – 1, 410, 417, 419 – 20, 464 Gerasimov doctrine 89 Germany 21, 74, 84 – 5, 122, 124 – 6, 144, 154, 184, 187, 190, 207 – 15, 222, 235, 256, 305, 314, 319, 327, 332, 340 – 1, 360, 387, 409, 417, 431, 434, 442, 452 – 3, 455 Giddens, Anthony 130 – 1 Globalization 26, 55, 354 global south 1, 141 Global War on Terror 165, 169, 411, 419 Gorbachev, Mikhail 18, 162, 164, 264, 338, 358, 362 – 3 governance: global 406, 423, 455; multi-level 367; network 197 – 8, 201 – 2 great power 51 – 1, 73 – 4, 77, 87 – 9, 110, 113, 133, 196, 339, 353, 395, 398, 409 – 10, 414, 418, 428, 433, 435 – 6, 450, 452, 455; management 50 – 1 Greece 208 – 9, 318, 423 Green Deal (EU) 5, 247 Greenland 359 harmonisation 86, 112, 120, 126, 154 – 5, 219 – 20, 269, 306, 366, 370, 375 health 44, 109, 209, 278 – 9, 281, 302, 382, 384, 388; care 388; public 359, 362, 382 – 4 Heckscher-Ohlin theory 117

hegemony 1, 20, 48, 52 – 3, 55, 82, 86, 89, 132, 141, 145 – 6, 152, 202, 263, 271, 291, 328, 405 – 9, 411, 413 – 15, 418, 441; and hegemon 76 – 7, 140, 145 – 6, 394 – 5, 411 – 12 Helsinki: Final Act 8, 58, 62, 162, 463; process 18 higher education 300 – 11, 337, 343, 463 Higher School of Economics (HSE) 339, 343 High North 379 – 81, 383, 387 – 9 high representative (for Foreign and Security Policy) 9, 38, 40, 42, 179 – 80, 207, 327, 360, 381, 434, 444, 460 history 5, 10, 15 – 23, 27, 49, 55, 71, 74, 76, 90, 110, 140 – 2, 167, 174 – 5, 177, 209 – 10, 217, 242, 263, 289, 296 – 7, 313 – 15, 319, 341, 368; and historical approaches 76 – 7; and historical legacy 139 – 40 Holocaust 48, 317 Horizon 2020 275, 278 – 9 human rights 3, 18 – 19, 30, 32, 41, 58, 61 – 4, 144, 162 – 72, 173 – 83, 197 – 200, 202, 211, 218, 231, 253, 255, 289, 291 – 4, 296, 318, 387, 406 – 7, 409 – 10, 419, 461 – 3, 465; dialogue 173, 293; and Human Rights Watch 167, 292; Presidential Commission on Human Rights 175, 179 Hungary 10, 61, 112, 125, 167, 318 – 19, 323, 327, 412 hybrid: actor (empire) 131, 135, 142, 146, 398; friendship 21; operation 185; threats 4, 6, 21, 43, 189, 282, 434; warfare 29 Iceland 356, 358 – 62, 379 – 80 identity 4 – 9, 22, 27, 48 – 9, 52 – 3, 55, 61, 63, 72, 75, 78 – 9, 86 – 7, 101, 109 – 12, 131 – 6, 139 – 43, 146 – 8, 179, 209, 302 – 3, 307, 312 – 13, 315 – 22, 336, 348 – 9, 351 – 5, 384, 398, 409 – 12, 414, 418, 420, 441; and belonging 6, 209, 313, 317, 351 – 2 indigenous peoples 357, 359, 379 – 81, 387 IMF see International Monetary Fund imperialism 76, 106, 318, 407 import: embargo 211; restrictions (bans) 254, 256, 265; substitution 29, 31, 53, 233, 236 – 7, 271; tariff (duties) 119 – 20, 267, 270 India 233, 235, 266, 430 – 1, 433, 435, 453, 466 – 7 Indonesia 433 Indo-Pacific 428, 431 – 2, 434 – 6 Industrialist Round Table 40 influence campaigns 210 information 11, 28, 31 – 3, 43, 145, 157, 175, 184 – 8, 190 – 1, 213, 276 – 8, 280, 295, 308, 314, 323 – 4, 326 – 32, 336, 342, 366, 383, 420, 422, 433, 445, 462; and disinformation 6, 43, 65, 188 – 9, 210, 323, 327 – 8, 330, 420; and misinformation 64, 326 information and communication technologies 186, 190 – 1, 278, 332 475

Index

innovation 9, 84, 121, 133, 265, 275 – 6, 279, 281, 295, 308 – 9 Institute for Security Studies 152, 259 – 60, 340 Institute for World Economy and International Relations 339 institutionalism: classical 94, 96 – 7; discursive 96, 101 – 2; historical 95, 99 – 100, 102; rational 99, 449; rational choice 94 – 5, 98 – 9, 102; sociological 95 – 6, 100 – 2 institutions 27, 39 – 41, 109, 247, 301, 319, 397, 409, 449, 454, 462, 467; and international institutions 93, 101, 189 intellectual property rights 120, 270, 277, 429 – 30, 435 intelligence 444; General Intelligence Department of the Russian Ministry of Defence 29, 43, 189; Russian 26 – 30 interests 3 – 4, 6, 8, 10 – 11, 15 – 17, 19 – 22, 31 – 2, 37 – 8, 42 – 4, 51 – 3, 58 – 60, 62, 64, 66, 74, 77 – 8, 83, 95 – 6, 98, 102, 106, 108 – 11, 130, 144, 152 – 3, 158, 163 – 4, 166, 173 – 4, 178, 180, 185, 198, 206 – 9, 211, 217, 220, 223 – 4, 231, 242, 244 – 5, 258 – 9, 263, 266 – 7, 269 – 71, 276, 280, 282, 301, 308, 313, 335, 337, 340, 358 – 9, 374, 381, 392 – 5, 399, 408 – 10, 419 – 20, 429 – 30, 433 – 4, 440 – 1, 447, 450 – 2, 456, 462 interdependence 6, 16, 83 – 4, 98, 143, 185, 217, 241 – 4, 246 – 7, 263, 341, 420 Intermediate-Range Nuclear Forces Treaty 422, 257 international: cooperation 93 – 4, 180, 185, 187, 256, 275, 302, 305, 307, 315, 319, 367, 381; Monetary Fund 84, 234 – 6, 407; liberal order 7 – 8; relations theory (IR) 71 – 2, 75 – 7, 129, 131, 133, 136 – 7, 139 – 41, 143, 145 – 6, 300, 335 – 6, 343 – 4, 457 internet 65, 167, 175, 185 – 6, 188, 296, 323 – 6, 328 – 31 interregional 21, 30, 32, 263; and INTERREG 21, 30, 32, 263, 366, 369 – 71, 373, 383 intersubjective 95, 349 intervention/ism 52, 156; see also liberal, intervention/ism Iraq War 316, 417, 442, 460 Iran 7, 40, 155 – 6, 207, 253, 266, 420 – 2, 430, 439, 442 – 7, 450, 453, 467 Ireland 125, 217, 453, 461 iron curtain 367 – 8, 465 Israel(i) 440 – 2 Israel-Palestine 419, 439, 441 – 2, 447 Italy 112, 208 – 11, 305, 319, 323, 431, 434, 453, 455 Japan(ese) 234 – 5, 263, 428 – 35, 455 Joint Managing Authority 371, 373 Joint Monitoring Committee 373 Joint Selection Committee 371 476

Kaliningrad 3, 19, 21, 30, 197 – 8, 210, 290, 347 – 55, 371 – 2 Karelia 290, 369 – 74, 384 – 7 Kasparov, Garry 164 Kazakhstan 64, 77, 86, 117, 220, 264 – 8, 396, 466 – 7 Kerch 157, 255 – 6 Kohver, Eston 213 Kolarctic (programme) 372 – 3, 384 – 7 Kosovo 1, 19, 49, 87, 154 – 5, 165, 168, 210, 408, 411, 417 – 18, 461; Liberation Army 165 Kovalyov, Sergei 178 Kremlin 5, 10, 19 – 22, 26 – 8, 31, 42 – 3, 49 – 51, 65 – 6, 78, 87, 112, 130, 144 – 6, 164, 166 – 8, 188, 195, 199, 201 – 2, 255 – 6, 264, 292, 318, 327, 330, 332, 387, 408, 410 – 11, 418, 421, 445, 450; and Administration 27, 255 – 6, 339; and Presidential Executive Office 27 Kyoto Protocol 449, 454 Kyrgyzstan 86, 117, 154, 180, 220, 264 – 5, 292, 467 Lapland 373, 384 – 6 Latvia 60, 62, 65 – 6, 164, 167, 176, 198, 208, 270, 319, 372 law 94, 112, 123, 126, 174, 241; EAEU 220; enforcement 112, 173, 186, 200, 218 – 20, 222; EU 38, 217, 219 – 21, 223 – 5, 246, 280, 444; European 108, 174, 219, 330; hard law 223, 397; humanitarian 190, 444; international 7 – 8, 30, 53, 63 – 4, 156, 185, 189 – 91, 218 – 19, 267, 406 – 9, 413, 434, 454, 465; on NGOs/foreign agents 32, 65, 168, 176, 292, 338; rule of 18, 50, 58 – 9, 61, 86, 121 – 3, 144, 163, 169, 175, 178, 197, 202, 211, 218 – 19, 291, 293 – 4, 302, 419, 442, 450; Russian 32, 61, 164, 186, 200, 217 – 22, 280, 306, 330, 370, 397; soft 220, 223, 276, 281; US 254 – 6 Leningrad oblast/region 290, 372, 384 – 6 LGBT 62, 167, 176, 200 liberal 8, 16, 28, 29, 31, 34, 89 – 90, 107 – 9, 111 – 12, 116, 132, 135, 141, 152, 154 – 5, 174, 178, 231, 234, 242, 244, 248, 317 – 18, 340, 343, 352 – 3, 380, 407, 411; democracy 17, 52, 54 – 5, 75, 86, 106 – 7, 113, 133, 178, 406 – 7, 413, 450; intervention/ism 1, 411, 413; and liberalism 71, 74, 111, 113, 151, 406, 409, 411, 413, 414; and liberalisation 39, 395; multilateralism 152; values (norms) 58 – 9, 61, 64, 109, 135, 164, 407 – 8, 410, 413, 450; world order 3, 7 – 8, 44, 64, 405 – 16 Libya 53, 155 liquefied natural gas 22, 233, 237, 432; see also energy Lisbon Treaty 10, 38, 40, 117, 155, 206 – 7, 293, 312 Lithuania 39, 42, 60, 198, 210, 270, 347, 350, 353, 369, 372

Index

Litvinenko, Aleksandr 212 Lucas paradox 121 Lukin, Vladimir 179 Luxembourg 276; see also Benelux Maastricht Treaty 71, 87, 129, 153, 206, 313 Macron, Emmanuel 188 – 9, 330 – 1, 341, 399 Magnitsky (law) 176 Malaysia 433; and Malaysian Airlines Flight MH17 213, 254 Malta 164 maritime 221, 380, 388, 434 Marxism 71; and Marxism-Leninism 76; and Marxist ideology 218 media 3, 6, 19, 20, 30 – 2, 54, 59, 61, 64 – 5, 89, 123, 132, 134, 145, 166 – 8, 176, 178, 187 – 8, 293 – 5, 318, 323 – 32, 338, 430, 445 – 6; mainstream 61, 65, 111, 116, 130, 143, 241, 289, 304, 325 – 6, 339, 463; radio 123; social 3, 6, 64 – 5, 89, 323 – 32; television 123, 169, 318, 325, 327; traditional 65, 325 Mediterranean 208, 212 – 13, 440 Medvedev, Dmitry 31, 49, 54, 106, 135, 144, 154 – 5, 232, 292, 421 Mega Science 279 memory 21 – 3, 136, 206, 209, 296, 317; and Memorial Human Rights Centre 169 Merkel, Angela 45, 74, 155 Meseberg Memorandum 155 Middle East 3, 7, 9, 98, 155 – 7, 163, 230, 242, 361, 419, 439 – 47 migration 52, 98, 136, 158, 176, 198, 266, 270, 327, 349, 412, 440, 443 military 26 – 9, 43, 50, 82, 85, 89, 99, 185, 187, 253, 303, 336, 350, 352 – 4, 359, 408, 418 – 19, 421 – 3, 428 – 31, 434 – 5, 440, 444 – 6, 455, 461; action 18, 155, 212, 408; actor 8, 453; alliance 78, 434; capabilities 85, 98; conflict 175; cooperation 22, 99, 206, 213; crisis 155, 326; and dual use goods (production) 254, 278, 282; expenditure 85, 423; force 42, 55, 419, 421, 434, 443; intervention 156, 406, 444 – 5; operation 49, 153, 444; potential 21; power 29, 49, 53, 132; security 21 Ministry 28 – 9, 55, 167, 176, 186, 189, 199, 219, 222, 292, 302, 313, 318 – 19, 338, 340, 409, 430, 434, 461; of Economic Development 28 – 9, 430; of Foreign Affairs 29, 31 – 3, 165 – 7, 176, 186 – 7, 189, 370; of Justice 219, 222, 292, 297 Minsk: Agreements 44, 64, 156, 254, 256, 259, 265, 282; and OSCE Minsk Group 156; process 156, 259 missiles 354, 443; Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty 422; anti-missile system 422; BUK 213; defence shield 419, 422; national missile defence 422 modern Russia 8, 130, 174, 314, 348 – 51, 353 – 4, 451

modernisation 20, 29, 37, 61, 106, 117, 120 – 1, 126, 142, 144, 155, 184, 211, 220 – 1, 230 – 2, 237, 264, 269, 276 – 7, 292, 295, 301, 305 – 7, 337, 382, 399, 420, 452 – 3 Mogherini, Federica 9, 42, 90, 157 – 8, 444 – 5 Moldova 50, 59, 86, 142, 155, 210, 270, 397 – 8 monitoring mission 464 Moscow State Institute for International Relations 339 most-favoured-nation 117, 119 multicultural/multiculturalism 141, 317 multilateralism 8, 101, 152 – 3, 406 – 7, 409 – 11, 449 – 56, 460, 467; and bilateralism 449; contested 456; effective 101, 460; and minilateralism 449; symbolic 455 – 6 multipolarity 50 – 2, 73, 151 – 2, 157, 410 – 11, 413, 450 multi-vector diplomacy 462 Munich Speech 51, 134, 154, 419 Murmansk 290, 371 – 2, 382, 384 – 6 Nagorno-Karabakh 2, 156 National Security Concept of the Russian Federation 165, 168 nationalism 106, 111, 177, 244, 320; Russian 111 Navalny, Alexey 5 – 6 NATO see North Atlantic Treaty Organisation Nazism 167; Nazi Germany 209; Nazis 317; neo-Nazis (neo-Nazism) 166, 177 near abroad 65, 74, 76, 78, 152, 392, 395 neighbourhood: common 17, 19, 20, 84 – 6, 88, 152, 392 – 6, 398; contested 3, 155, 237, 392, 394, 396, 399; shared 22, 40, 50 – 1, 210, 267, 270, 360, 423 Netherlands 184, 189, 211, 213, 222, 276, 452 – 3; see also Benelux new basic agreement 39, 41 – 2, 152, 154 – 6, 220, 278 non-governmental organisations 26, 31 – 4, 62, 109 – 10, 168 – 9, 176, 180, 200, 210, 289 – 96, 319 – 20, 367, 370, 374, 412; and governmentorganised NGOs 32 – 4, 293; and Memorial Society 32; and Moscow Helsinki Group 32; and Soldiers’ Mothers 32; and Transparency International - Russia 32 non-interference 50 – 1, 62, 467 non-preferential trade agreement 266, 269, 430 non-proliferation 155, 158, 255, 434, 452 – 3 non-tariff barriers 118, 120, 266 Nordic: Council of Ministers 380 – 1; countries/ states 208, 209, 212, 359 – 60; Environment Finance Corporation 361, 382; Investment Bank 361, 382 Normandy format 156, 207, 452 norms 4, 6, 7, 19, 21, 41, 49 – 50, 53, 58 – 62, 64 – 6, 86, 88 – 9, 94, 96, 105, 107, 109 – 10, 112 – 15, 117, 120, 124 – 6, 130 – 8, 140, 145, 477

Index

152, 155, 173 – 5, 177, 179 – 82, 190 – 1, 195, 197, 201 – 2, 218 – 19, 221, 244, 247, 290, 304, 314, 348, 387, 394 – 5, 406 – 10, 413, 422, 449, 452, 466; and normative convergence 86, 196 – 7, 201 – 2, 307; and normative power (Europe) 48 – 9, 53 – 4, 60, 83, 132, 134, 136, 141, 144, 153, 174, 387, 394; and normative principles 55; and norm entrepreneurship 132; and norm-maker 20, 174, 179; and norm-taker 20, 131, 133, 144, 174, 179 North Atlantic Treaty Organisation 1, 19, 22 – 3, 49, 54 – 5, 66, 73 – 4, 77 – 9, 85, 87, 90, 99 – 100, 106, 110, 143, 151, 153 – 5, 157 – 9, 163 – 5, 168, 188, 210, 213 – 14, 328, 347, 354, 396, 407 – 11, 417 – 22, 451, 460 – 5, 467 Northern Dimension 3, 9, 30, 108, 110, 209, 356 – 62, 369 – 70, 379, 382 – 3; Action Plan 357; Business Forum 360 – 2; Environmental Partnership 360 – 2, 382, 383, 387; Institute 360 – 2; Parliamentary Forum 360 – 2; Partnership in Public Health and Social Well-Being 359, 382 – 3; Partnership on 382; Partnership on Culture 359, 362, 383 North Korea 155, 253, 422 North Macedonia 210 Norway 356, 358 – 62, 371 – 3, 379 – 80, 384 – 5 nuclear: arms control 343, 354, 436; fuel (energy, power) 7, 212 – 13, 242, 266, 277, 280 – 1, 430, 443; fusion 277, 281; and International Thermonuclear Experimental Reactor 282, 303; Iran dossier 155, 421, 443, 447; power 85; proliferation 109; research 276, 281, 303; safety 277, 281, 360, 382; sector 277; state 452 – 3; submarines 382; technology 433; waste 209, 382; weapon 63, 109, 452 – 4 Obama, Barack 152, 412, 420, 422 oligarch(y) 31, 178 Orange Revolution in Ukraine 42, 49, 109 – 10, 393 Orban, Victor 112, 323, 327 Organisation for Cooperation and Security in Europe 3, 112, 154, 156, 163, 166, 175, 184 – 5, 190, 342 – 3, 421, 460 – 1, 463 – 7 Organisation for Economic Cooperation and Development 221, 232 Organisation for the Prohibition of Chemical Weapons 43, 189, 213 organised crime 98, 200, 419 Orientalism 139, 141 Ostpolitik 237, 264 other(ing) 5, 22, 48 – 9, 60 – 1, 83, 105, 107, 134 – 6, 139, 142 – 3 Pakistan 78, 266, 435, 466 – 7 Palestine/Palestinian 441 – 2; see also Israel-Palestine paradiplomacy see diplomacy 478

Parliamentary Assembly of the Council of Europe see Council of Europe parliamentary cooperation 41, 360 Partnership: and Cooperation Agreement (PCA) 18 – 20, 27, 29, 30, 37 – 9, 41, 58, 61, 100 – 1, 144, 151 – 3, 156, 164, 175, 184, 195 – 6, 209, 219 – 22, 231, 242, 246, 276 – 8, 280 – 2, 314, 369, 396; Instrument 293, 294, 296, 370, 384, 387; Modernisation 20, 37, 106, 117, 144, 184, 211, 264, 276, 295, 301, 337, 420; for Peace 407 path dependence (dependency) 95, 99 peacekeeping 406, 452 people-to-people links 22, 44, 109, 269, 277, 293 – 6, 300, 331, 367, 384 pipeline politics 241 – 2, 245 Pohjois-: Karjala 372, 384; Pohjanmaa 372, 384; Savo 384 Poland 10, 20 – 1, 41 – 2, 54, 60 – 1, 112, 154, 167, 198, 209 – 12, 235, 318 – 19, 327, 340 – 1, 347, 350, 353, 359, 369, 371 – 2, 387, 396, 412, 452 polarity (pole of power) 73, 145, 413; and bipolarity 73, 151, 152, 153, 410; and multipolarity 50 – 2, 73, 151 – 2, 157, 410 – 11, 413, 450; and pluralistic unipolarity 77; unipolarity 51, 73, 327, 405, 406, 407 – 8, 413 Polish–Russian Group on Difficult Issues 341 political: dialogue 11, 151, 153, 155 – 6, 158, 175 – 7, 277, 418, 433, 435 – 6, 442, 445; relations 2, 4, 9, 16 – 17, 134, 151, 157, 229 – 30, 232, 258, 271, 278, 323, 337, 341 – 2, 446 populism 110, 113, 412; and populist 10, 53, 55, 61, 65, 112, 341, 412 Portugal 117, 208, 332 positivism/positivist 131 – 2, 135; historical 131; post-positivist 380 postcolonial(ism) 3, 7, 130, 135 – 6, 139 – 46 postmodern 8, 60, 96, 106, 111, 130 – 1, 135, 348 – 54, 394, 451 post-Soviet space 17, 21, 78, 139, 143, 146, 229, 231 – 2, 264, 369 – 70, 387, 393, 396 – 8, 408 – 9, 421 – 2, 461 power 3, 6 – 8, 10, 28, 29, 38, 42, 72 – 9, 82 – 90, 95, 110, 146, 156 – 7, 178, 208, 217, 220, 229 – 33, 245, 253, 348 – 9, 369, 380, 392, 393, 395, 420, 428 – 30, 450 – 3, 455, 466; civilian 132; great (see great power); hard 28, 398; market 230; market power Europe 395; military 29, 53, 132; normative (see norms, and normative power (Europe)); soft 8, 153, 179, 300 – 1, 306 – 7, 314, 407; structural 50, 53, 395; superpower 27, 153, 336 President Executive Office (Administration) 27, 29 President of Russia 27, 154, 256, 265, 314, 341, 431, 464 Primakov: Doctrine 151, 153; Evgeny 50, 196, 338 – 9, 440; Institute for World Economy and International Relations 338 – 9

Index

principled pragmatism 89, 153, 156 propaganda 5, 17, 43, 50, 52, 167, 184, 189, 199, 323, 327 – 30, 339 Putin, Vladimir 6, 18, 26, 27 – 9, 31, 40, 49, 51, 59, 63 – 4, 78, 87, 108, 111 – 12, 117, 134, 142 – 3, 145, 152 – 5, 157, 165, 167, 169, 174, 177 – 8, 189, 196, 199, 231, 264 – 6, 313, 318, 338, 340 – 1, 361, 407 – 8, 411, 419, 430 – 1, 440, 445, 454, 464 Qatar 445 – 7 rapprochement 16, 37, 152 – 3, 220, 231, 233, 237 – 8, 258, 335, 337, 341, 445 rational(ity) 71, 74, 94 – 5, 98 – 102, 116, 125, 158, 381 realism 2, 71 – 2, 74 – 6, 78 – 9, 129, 131, 151, 245, 414; classical 72 – 5, 79; historical 76, 78; neoclassical 72, 75, 79, 457; neo-realist 60, 339, 380; political 152; romantic 179; Russian 76 – 9; structural 72, 74 – 5, 77 – 9 regime 164, 255, 289, 317, 325, 388, 423, 443 – 4, 449; Assad 420, 444; change 49, 51, 88 – 9, 406, 409; European security 422; free-trade 116; human rights (see human rights) 180; Putin’s 40, 174, 325; sanctions (see sanctions); tax 280; visa (see visa, regime) region/regionalism 1, 7, 63, 65, 76, 131, 142 – 3, 156, 175, 197 – 8, 210, 212, 242, 263, 268, 319, 341, 347 – 8, 350 – 2, 354, 357 – 8, 360, 367 – 8, 379 – 88, 392 – 5, 398 – 9, 428 – 30, 432 – 6, 439 – 42, 445, 447, 464, 466; -building 143, 392, 398; Euregio 369 – 70; pilot 347, 352 regulatory convergence 218, 221, 242 reset 20, 152, 155, 157, 420 restrictive measures 252 – 3, 277 – 8, 292, 296 revealed comparative advantage 118 resilience 10, 38, 43 – 4, 53, 73, 89 – 90, 145, 185, 189, 297, 413 Responsibility to Protect (R2P) 168, 406, 410, 420 revisionism 76, 407; and revisionist 76, 423 revolution: 1989 463; Bolshevik 52; colour 19, 42, 49, 109 – 10, 154, 168, 180, 292, 393, 410, 419, 421; Euromaidan 156; French 106; October 142; post- 77; shale gas 244; world socialist 17 Ricardo’s theory of comparative advantages 117 – 19 roadmap 18, 20, 108, 152, 154, 221, 223, 233, 241, 248 – 9, 276, 301, 315, 392, 419 Romania 314, 319, 423 Rompuy, Herman van 155 – 6 Rossotrudnichestvo 28 – 9 Roundtable of Industrialists 31 RT 32, 65, 327 Russian: Academy of Science 32, 337 – 9; Association for International Cooperation 319; Association of European Studies 339;

Chamber of Commerce 31; Council for International Affairs (see Russian, International Affairs Council); Constitutional Court 30, 61, 174 – 5, 178, 219 – 20; empire 17, 51, 76, 142; Federal Assembly 28, 30; Federal Security Service 28, 198, 201; Federal Supervision Agency for Information Technologies and Communications 330 – 1; Foreign Intelligence Service 28; foreign minister 29, 62, 166, 196, 338, 410, 413, 419, 440; foreign policy 10, 18, 26 – 33, 50, 73, 75 – 8, 110, 132, 134, 144, 146, 151, 156 – 7, 163, 165 – 6, 168, 176, 196, 217, 224, 231, 253, 259, 293, 300, 307, 335 – 6, 338 – 9, 341 – 3, 395 – 6, 399, 405, 408 – 9, 417, 423, 428 – 9, 433, 436, 439, 441, 445 – 6, 449 – 2, 456, 462; Foreign Policy Concept (see Foreign Policy Concept); government 26 – 34, 62, 66, 109, 164, 166 – 7, 175, 184 – 5, 187 – 8, 221 – 3, 244, 256, 271, 289, 293, 296, 300, 338, 370, 395, 407 – 11, 413, 432, 462 – 3; Institute for Strategic Studies 33, 339; and Institute of World Economy and International Relations 32, 338 – 9, 409; International Affairs Council 33, 339; Medium Term Strategy 153, 347, 421; Military Intelligence Service 43, 189; Ministry of Agriculture 29; Ministry of Culture 313, 318 – 19; Ministry of Defence 28; Ministry of Foreign Affairs 28 – 9, 31 – 3, 167, 176, 186, 370; Ministry of Industry and Trade 29; Ministry of Interior 28, 202; nationalism 111; Orthodox Church 26 – 7, 32, 167, 318, 340; (Permanent) Mission of Russia to the EU 29, 40, 166, 168; PIR Centre 33; prime minister 28, 50, 54, 264, 338 – 9, 352, 440; and Russkiy Mir 32, 319, 327; Security Council 28, 33, 339; State Duma 30 – 1, 173, 176, 178, 219, 222, 238, 256, 371 – 3, 375; Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs 31 Russophobia 20 sanctions 3 – 4, 7, 17, 21 – 2, 28, 31, 33 – 4, 37, 40, 43 – 4, 54, 64, 84, 86, 89, 117, 121, 126, 154, 156, 164, 173 – 4, 184, 201, 210 – 12, 217, 229, 231, 233, 243, 246 – 7, 252 – 9, 264, 266, 271, 275, 277, 279 – 82, 300, 303, 305, 307, 353, 361, 373 – 4, 384, 417, 420 – 3, 429 – 32, 443 – 4, 453, 455; reciprocal 21, 277, 384; regime 258, 281, 421, 423 Sarkozy, Nicolas 154, 464 Saudi Arabia 445 – 6 scenarios 2, 247, 252 – 3, 258 – 9, 267 – 8, 289, 297, 357, 366, 375, 462, 467 Schengen 195, 197, 210, 349 – 50, 352, 396 science and technology 3, 275 – 83, 337; Joint Science and Technology Cooperation Committee 302, 337; Science and Technology Agreement 278, 337 479

Index

Sea of Azov 210 sectoral: agreements 97, 276; approach (cooperation) 16, 59, 97 – 9, 102 – 3, 248, 276, 396, 398; dialogues 29, 39 security 3, 11, 20 – 1, 28, 41, 43, 50, 53 – 4, 71 – 3, 75 – 6, 79, 85, 90, 98 – 100, 109, 11, 123, 151 – 8, 163 – 5, 168 – 9, 177 – 8, 195 – 6, 200 – 1, 206 – 7, 209 – 13, 220, 237, 243 – 4, 248, 255, 265, 300 – 1, 325, 339 – 42, 350, 352 – 4, 366 – 70, 374 – 5, 380, 384, 386 – 7, 392 – 4, 399, 405 – 8, 417 – 23, 428 – 9, 43, 433 – 6, 442, 444, 450, 452 – 3, 455, 462 – 5; architecture 73, 79, 418, 421, 464; and Charter for European Security 461; Council (Russia) 28, 33, 339; Council (UN) 155, 207, 213, 252, 407, 442, 444, 449, 451 – 2; cyber (see cyber, security); energy (see energy, security); ontological 53, 354; and securitisation 84, 209, 243 – 4, 248, 331, 366; services 28 – 9, 198, 339 selective engagement 7, 9, 43 – 4, 90, 156, 158, 217, 259, 275 – 8, 281 – 2, 439, 446 September 11 2001 (9/11) 153, 165 Serbia 19, 108, 164, 210, 408 shared neighbourhood see neighbourhood Shanghai Cooperation Organisation 3, 191, 329, 413 – 14, 460, 462, 466 – 7 shipping 379 – 80, 388 Siberia 233, 431 – 2; Power of Siberia 233, 431 – 2; and Siberian overflight charges 39, 211 siloviki 28 – 30, 108 Singapore 347, 429, 435 Skripal (poisoning) 22, 29, 189, 213, 252, 256, 420 Slavophiles 106, 111, 142 Slovakia 423 Slovenia 44, 314 small border traffic 21 Snowden, Edward 421 social media 3, 6, 64 – 5, 89, 323 – 32 socialisation 96, 100 – 1, 107, 109, 136, 197 socialism/socialist 17, 52, 106, 218, 440, 465 Solana, Javier 393, 460 solidarity 5, 38, 41 – 4, 52 – 3, 206, 213, 296, 417 South Caucasus 392 – 5, 397 – 9, 419 South Korea 429 – 30, 435 South Ossetia see Abkhazia and South Ossetia sovereign democracy 87, 109, 111, 135, 180 sovereignty 15, 18 – 20, 27, 32, 48 – 51, 53, 60 – 4, 101, 105 – 6, 110 – 11, 130, 156, 168, 177, 186, 189 – 91, 220, 231 – 2, 329, 347 – 8, 350, 354, 397, 407 – 9, 413, 422, 440 – 1, 444, 451, 465; and post-sovereignty 49, 53, 55, 101 Soviet Union see USSR space 254, 264, 276 – 7, 281 – 2, 430, 433; cooperation 99, 445 Spain 184, 188, 190, 208, 327, 423; and Catalonia 188, 327 spillover 21 480

Sputnik 32, 65, 375 Stalin 209 St Petersburg Declaration 18 State Duma 30 – 1, 173, 176, 178, 219, 222, 256, 371, 373 strategic: autonomy 157, 436; culture 75; partnership 16, 18, 87, 108, 117, 151 – 2, 154, 156 – 7, 195 – 6, 218, 276, 278, 282, 397, 419, 439 structural power see power, structural subaltern 52, 135, 139 – 40, 143, 145 – 6 summit: APEC 430; EU-EaP 168; EU-Russia 9, 27, 31, 42, 45, 100, 151, 153 – 5, 176, 186, 199, 210, 276, 315, 351, 444; G7/8/20 445; Northern Dimension 360 – 2; OSCE 461, 464 sustainable development 43, 381 – 2 Sweden 22, 209, 211, 314, 358 – 9, 369, 372 – 3, 379, 381, 384 – 5, 387, 396, 452 Syria 1, 21, 28, 53, 156, 207, 255, 411, 413, 420 – 3, 439 – 42, 444 – 5, 447 Tajikistan 467 Technical Assistance for the Commonwealth of Independent States (TACIS) 175, 290, 304, 357 – 8, 366, 369 – 71, 373, 383 technology 3, 236, 254, 263, 275 – 81, 323 – 5, 337, 421, 429 – 30, 432, 435 – 6, 443; and biotechnologies 302; and nanotechnologies 302; transfer 242, 268, 320, 429; see also science and technology Telegram 324, 330 Tempus 301, 304 terrorism 7, 98, 122, 153, 156, 158, 165, 184 – 6, 200 – 1, 330, 399, 417, 419, 421, 423, 434, 440 – 1, 443 – 4, 446 – 7, 464, 466; and counterterrorism 44, 184 – 6, 399, 417, 421, 423, 434 Three Seas 212 timber 211 Titiev, Oyub 169 trade liberalisation 120, 126, 230, 236, 270 Transatlantic Trade and Investment Partnership 412 transgovernmental 9, 11, 29 – 30, 34, 98 transit 177, 197, 199, 212, 247, 253, 268, 271, 350, 394, 420; Protocol 242 – 3, 246 transnational 4, 6, 9, 26, 29, 31 – 4, 98, 109, 112, 184, 294 – 5, 303, 335 – 7, 339, 342 – 3, 382, 423 Transnistria 50, 154 – 6 transport 98, 247, 254, 266 – 9, 275, 277, 292, 360, 362, 382, 384, 388 Treaty on the Functioning of the European Union 38, 279 Trump, Donald 255, 323, 411 – 12, 414, 421 – 2, 442, 445 Turkey 78, 85, 108, 112, 134 – 5, 212 – 13, 233, 266, 342, 444 – 6, 450, 467 Turkmenistan 467

Index

twinning 109, 295 Twitter 324, 326 – 9, 332 Ukraine 5, 6, 19, 27, 33, 37, 40, 43, 49 – 51, 54, 58 – 63, 65, 72 – 3, 75 – 8, 86 – 90, 97, 99, 101, 108 – 110, 112 – 13, 117, 123, 126, 142, 145 – 6, 153 – 4, 156 – 7, 166 – 70, 176, 180, 184, 190 – 1, 207, 210 – 13, 223, 229, 231, 233, 246 – 7, 252 – 5, 268 – 71, 277, 292 – 3, 312, 340, 347, 350, 353, 373, 392 – 4, 396 – 9, 409 – 10, 417 – 23, 431, 443, 445, 447, 452, 461 – 7 UN 3, 166 – 7, 184 – 7, 190 – 1, 201, 207, 221, 252 – 3, 379, 388, 406, 411, 413, 440 – 6, 449, 451 – 2, 460 – 1, 466 – 7; Charter of 63, 190; Convention on the Law of the Sea 381, 434; Framework Convention on Climate Change 454; General Assembly 77, 186, 190 – 1, 410, 451; Security Council 155, 207, 213, 252, 407, 418, 442, 444, 449, 451 – 2 unilateralism 408, 413, 449 – 51, 453, 455 – 6 unipolarity 51, 73, 77, 327, 405 – 8, 413 unintended consequences 58, 95, 99 – 100, 102, 418, 421 United Kingdom 5, 10, 21 – 2, 63, 65, 85, 108, 122, 129, 164, 189 – 90, 207, 209 – 13, 263, 305, 319, 327, 329 – 32, 340, 361, 387, 412, 420, 434, 440, 444, 446, 451 – 3, 455 United States 1, 3, 5, 7, 11, 17, 20 – 2, 49, 51, 54, 63, 65, 71, 73, 77, 85, 112, 121, 125 – 6, 144 – 5, 151 – 5, 157, 165, 167, 176, 179, 185, 190 – 1, 212 – 13, 235, 237, 244, 252 – 9, 263, 267 – 8, 290, 294, 328 – 9, 331, 338, 340, 343, 356, 359, 361 – 2, 379, 381, 393, 405 – 14, 417 – 23, 428 – 9, 431, 433 – 6, 439 – 47, 450 – 5, 461 – 3, 466; Enhanced Partnership in Northern Europe 359; Northern European Initiative 359; and US State Department 165, 463 USSR 1, 8, 15, 17 – 18, 22, 51 – 2, 71 – 4, 76, 86 – 7, 105 – 6, 116, 132, 142, 151, 162, 164, 166, 169, 174, 179, 209, 217, 232, 263, 276, 281, 336, 340, 347, 351, 357, 359, 362, 394, 406 – 7, 418, 440, 442 – 3, 455, 461, 463 Uzbekistan 467

Valdai Club 33, 52, 111, 237, 339 values: democratic 43, 89, 135, 189, 304, 331, 441, 455; EU 7 – 8, 38, 53, 58 – 64, 66, 107, 110 – 11, 134, 144, 162 – 3, 164, 166 – 7, 169 – 70, 173, 189, 198, 300, 304, 306, 313, 331, 348 – 9, 394, 447, 466; European 19 – 21, 58 – 60, 64, 87, 105, 107, 110 – 13, 179, 189, 317, 341, 454; gap 21 – 2, 52, 61, 130, 152, 441, 462, 466; liberal 58, 61, 64, 109, 135, 164, 407, 450; Russian 32, 48, 52, 60 – 1, 63, 109, 111 – 13, 134, 136, 142 – 4, 162, 164 – 5, 167, 173, 179, 198, 300, 318, 340; shared 17 – 18, 20, 43, 49, 58 – 9, 87, 105, 110, 112, 142 – 4, 152, 164, 173, 179, 198, 211, 290, 313, 315 – 16, 337, 407, 455; Western 61, 134, 462 Vietnam 233, 429 – 30, 433 visa: dialogue 109, 198 – 202; facilitation (agreement) 40, 197, 198 – 9, 210; liberalisation 29, 208, 396; (-free) regime 19, 21, 44, 117, 197, 199, 280, 375; waiver 60, 62, 195, 197, 201 Visegrad countries 208, 211 Vkontakte 324 – 5 Westphalian (post-) 451 Western: European Union 151, 460; and Westernisation 20, 106 – 7, 130, 135 – 6, 179; and W/westerniser 55, 72, 106, 142 World: Bank 84, 122, 267, 382, 407; Health Organisation 4, 279; order 50 – 1, 407 – 8, 413, 451 – 2, 455 (see also liberal world order); Trade Organisation 18, 28 – 9, 39, 41, 97, 117, 119 – 20, 125, 211, 217, 219 – 21, 230, 233, 246, 248, 267, 269, 271, 277 – 8, 405, 407, 413, 419, 454, 457 Yeltsin, Boris 30, 59, 163, 178 – 9, 407, 411, 465 Yemen 439, 444 – 7 Yugoslavia 49, 129, 153, 461, 463 zero-sum 79, 89; game 7, 88, 154, 166, 317, 375, 393 – 4; policy 75

481