Putin's Version Of Ukrainian History

I didn’t really want to go here, but a tweet by Simplicius decided me. In the penultimate post, in which I solicited comments about the Putin - Tucker interview, I expressed dissatisfaction with Putin’s historical narrative. That narrative presented Russian as the good guy defender of all Russian peoples—including those living in Ukraine—against “brutal” Polish oppression. I expressed the view that this narrative would most likely play well to the Russian portion of Putin’s audience but would prove befuddling to the American portion. I also pointed out that Putin presented some pretty tendentious interpretations of history, as well as outright mistakes. Several commenters suggested that Putin really didn’t care what anyone in the West would think, and today Simplicius doubled down with that take:

SIMPLICIUS Ѱ @simpatico771

Westoids complaining about Putin's interview being too pedantic have an inflated sense of self-worth: they assume the interview is primarily designed to appeal to them. Little do they know the West has become so irrelevant that it's no longer even necessarily the chief intended audience for Putin's transmissions.

For instance, many of Putin's statements go viral in China, generating hundreds of millions or even billions of views/impressions on sites like Weibo, vastly larger engagements than the entire population of most of the West combined. In the east, where the citizenry is learned, historically-literate, etc., Putin's longueurs are actually appreciated, dissected, and discussed. This is particularly the case in China, where the majority of people are not only history buffs, but have a sacred respect for history and tradition.

In the West, Putin's words may fall on deaf ears and be drowned out by illiterate popculture noise, but the West is no longer relevant to the world. In other places, Putin's words will reverberate, consummating their intended effects.

11:06 PM · Feb 8, 2024

It’s true—I’m a Westoid. But I’m not historically illiterate—unlike Simplicius. Nor is Putin a professional historian. The narrative he presented reflects the Russian national myth. Most nations live on such myths—part fact, part fiction to bolster self identity and affirmation. We Americans certainly indulge in that, too. It’s not my purpose to dismiss such myths as unimportant for a nations public life, nor to offer a special plea for any particular nation. National myths, founding myths, whatever you prefer to call them, can serve a purpose, when properly tempered by a self critical purpose. When taken too literally, on the other hand, they can lead to injustice and even tragic wars. That’s why I want to simply point out what Putin was engaged in. A correct understanding of Russian and Ukrainian history will lead to a better appreciation of why Putin’s course of action was necessary.

First of all, I take it as a given that most nations seek to expand their influence to defensible natural boundaries. The lack of such boundaries often leads to conflict. If you reflect on American history I think you’ll see that dynamic at work in the growth of the United States—the urge to find defensible borders and to exclude foreign intervention. That dynamic also presupposes a sense of national identity. That, too, can be seen at work in American history, particularly during the Civil War. In 1860 Americans did not yet share a unified national identity.

To begin, I accept Putin’s claim that the East Slavs (Russians, Ukrainians, Belorussians) are essentially a cultural continuum. In making that claim Putin appeals to the historical priority of Novgorod even over Kievan Rus’. I won’t pretend to sort that history out, but I do believe that it’s legitimate for Putin to maintain that an East Slav cultural continuum and identity—probably articulated through tribes—existed at the period in question. Putin’s observation is important because it corrects a typical Western impression that Russia grew and expanded simply as an extension of Muscovy—the reality of Russia is more complicated than that, and Russia as a cultural and political reality preceded the rise of Muscovy.

On the other hand, Putin chooses to refer to these East Slavs as “Russians”, which signals an intent on his part to maintain Russian hegemony. I say that because at this period in time the national identities of Slavic nations were still developing. Putin’s designation of Ukrainians as Russian, while having some legitimacy in terms of kinship—he often speaks of a “fraternal” relationship, although “cousin” might be closer to reality—is anachronistic in that it freezes these national identities at an artifically early date. The reality is that, while a close relationship has always existed—and continues to exist—among East Slavs, there has been some divergence of identity over the centuries. That divergence has not been uniform over space—there is little doubt that much of the Ukrainian population would be satisfied to be part of the Russian Federation, yet the Western portion would not be satisfied. For cultural reasons. How to deal with these complex issues in practice, in terms of political organization, is the question. Small divergences can make a big difference in politics.

The collapse of Kievan Rus’ under the onslaught of the Golden Horde (1240) led to a fracture in East Slavic political unity, which in turn led to divergences in identity. The territories now known as Ukraine came under Lithuanian and, a bit later, Polish hegemony, as these nations strove to push back against the Turkic Tatar heirs to the Golden Horde. That dynamic developed into conflict with the Ottoman Turks who also sought to push into the Urkainian regions—nothing new, because the Ukrainian steppes have for ages been a battleground. The Slavs in these regions did not lose their East Slavic identity and culture—remaining distinct from the Poles and Lithuanians, especially, in their Orthodox Christianity—but they did also have closer contact with the West than did Muscovy. In this respect Putin makes a somewhat misleading statement:

The southern part of Russian lands, including Kiev begun to gradually gravitate towards another magnet, the center that was emerging in Europe. This was the Grand Duchy of Lithuania, and it was even called the Lithuanian Russian Duchy because Russians were a significant part of this population. They spoke the old Russian language and were Orthodox. But then there was a unification, the union of the Grand Duchy of Lithuania and the Kingdom of Poland. A few years later. Another union was signed, but this time already in the religious sphere, some of the Orthodox priests became subordinate to the Pope. Thus these lands became part of the Polish-Lithuanian state.

Poland and Lithuanian had been in a personal union since 1385—through marriage of their rulers. Lithuania had sought that union to gain Polish support to counteract pressure from the Teutonic Knights in East Prussia and from the growing power of the Grand Duchy of Moscow. By 1385 Lithuania already stretched across Belarus and most of Ukraine to near the Black Sea. Polish support was needed to hold that vast area together. The full political union that Putin is referring to occurred in 1569, but the reality of joint Lithuanian and Polish action in Ukraine had been ongoing for two centuries by then. The religious union—the Union of Brest—occurred in 1595/6, but—contrary to Putin’s narrative—wasn’t related to the political union. In fact, the Union of Brest was heavily motivated by outrage among Ukrainian clergy over the promotion of Moscow, by the Patriarch of Constantinople, to a Patriarchate—thus eclipsing Kiev in ecclesial stature. That resentment over Kiev’s displacement by Moscow was a sign of Ukraine’s divergent identity.

However, Putin chooses to describe all this as part of a systematic Polish “colonization” of Ukraine:

During decades the Poles were engaged in colonization of this part of the population. They introduced a language there, tried to entrench the idea that this population was not exactly Russians, that because they lived on the fringe, they were Ukrainians. Originally the word Ukrainian meant that the person was living on the outskirts of the state, along the fringes, or was engaged in a border patrol service. It didn't mean any particular ethnic group. So the Poles were trying to, in every possible way, to colonize this part of the Russian lands and actually treated it rather harshly, not to say cruelly, all that led to the fact that this part of the Russian lands began to struggle for their rights.

The meaning of the Slavic word kraj—from which the word Ukraina is derived—is actually more complicated than Putin suggests. While it may have the meaning Putin describes in archaic language, modern usage is different. In modern Polish it refers to a country, but especially to the speaker’s home country. Thus, a Pole living abroad might say he is going to travel do kraju, meaning, to Poland—no further explanation is required. In Czech, it refers to an administrative district. In Russian it refers to a region in basically the same sense as an oblast. The basic idea of a region or country holds true in other Slavic languages, like Serbian. The idea that Poles foisted the name “Ukrainian” on Russians to dupe them into thinking they weren’t really Russian is simply nonsense. The fact that Russians call Ukrainians “Ukrainian” and Ukrainians call their country Ukraina is proof of that.

Now, as for the cruel treatment of Ukrainians by the Poles and the struggle of Ukrainians for their rights. That all sounds good to modern ears, but the reality was a bit different centuries ago. The reality of oppression in Ukraine in the sixteenth and seventeenth centures was the same as the reality of oppression in Russia. The nobility owned vast estates in the wide open lands of Ukraine (and Russia) and treated the peasants like, well, serfs. It had nothing to do with nationality, per se, except that the nobility in Ukraine—a warrior caste in those areas—were heavily (but not exclusively) Polish. The same was true in Russia, as witnessed by the regular peasant rebellions against their noble oppressors that Putin doesn’t mention.

Putin then goes on to maintain that the “Ukrainians”, having failed to secure their rights from the Poles, appealed to Russia to help them. Putin specifically mentions the Ukrainian hero Bohdan Khmelnytsky in this regard:

… Warsaw did not answer them, and in fact rejected their demands, they turned to Moscow …

Here's the letters from Bohdan Khmelnytsky, the man who then controlled the power in this part of the Russian lands, that is now called Ukraine. He wrote to Warsaw demanding that their rights be upheld. And after being refused, he began to write letters to Moscow. Asking to take them under the strong hand of the Moscow Tsar. … But Russia would not agree to admit them straight away, assuming that the war with Poland would start. Nevertheless, in 1654, the Russian assembly of top clergy and landowners, headed by the Tsar, which was the representative body of the power of the old Russian state, decided to include a part of the old Russian lands into Moscow Kingdom. As expected, the war with Poland began. It lasted 13 years, and then in 1654, a truce was concluded. And 32 years later, I think a peace treaty with Poland, which they called eternal peace, was signed. And these lands, the whole left bank of Dnieper, including Kiev, went to Russia. And the whole right bank of Dnieper remained in Poland.

Here’s the real story.

Khmelnytsky was the hetman of the host of the Zaporozhian Cossacks. The Zaporozhian Cossacks controlled an area just north of Crimea (purple in the map), which—contrary to Putin’s representations—was not part of the Russian lands and had not been part of Kievan Rus’.

The Cossacks had a semi-autonomous state and sought to expand their reach and their autonomy, placing them in conflict with Poland—but also, at times, with Russia and the Ottoman Empire. When it served their purposes they allied variously with Russia, Poland, or the Turks, and later with the invading Swedes. They were looking out for their own interests and had no desire to be part of Russia, per se, except to the extent that that might serve their interests. Part of the context for the war with Poland that Putin refers to was a vacancy on the Polish throne, which Khmelnytsky was urging the Tsar to seek—hoping to expand his own influence. Here’s the short version of what took place:

After the Treaty of Pereyaslav in 1654, the Zaporozhian Host became a suzerainty under the protection of the tsar of Russia, although for a considerable period of time it enjoyed nearly complete autonomy.

But later—and Putin doesn’t tell you this—the Cossacks learned that getting the Tsar’s protection was one thing, but getting out from underneath the Tsar’s protection was quite another thing. So they tried to go back to the Polish side:

After the death of Bohdan Khmelnytsky in 1657, his successor Ivan Vyhovsky initiated a turn towards Poland, alarmed by the growing Russian interference in the affairs of the Hetmanate. An attempt was made to return to the three-constituent Commonwealth of nations with the Zaporozhian cossacks joining the Polish–Lithuanian Commonwealth by signing the Treaty of Hadiach (1658).

The “rank and file” Cossacks rejected that treaty, but in 1709 they joined up against Russia with the Swedes at Poltava. Woops! There were more attempts to break free from Russian domination over the succeeding decades, but the Zaporozhian host was finally crushed in 1795.

Here’s the point. The Zaporozhian Cossacks—and Bohdan Khmelnytsky specifically—are central to the Ukrainian national narrative. Yes, Khmelnytsky was a fierce enemy of the Poles, but he certainly wasn’t a Russian partisan either—and that’s certainly not what he stands for to Ukrainians today. This paragraph from Wikipedia points out the significance of all this today. What you’ll also see is the way in which Putin’s narrative mirrors that last part almost exactly—in some parts nearly word for word:

Although in 1775 the Zaporozhian Host formally ceased to exist, it left a profound cultural, political and military legacy on Ukraine, Russia, Poland, Turkey and other states that came in contact with it. The shifting alliances of the Cossacks have generated controversy, especially during the 20th century. For Russians, the Treaty of Pereyaslav gave the Tsardom of Russia and later Russian Empire the impulse to take over the Ruthenian lands, claim rights as the sole successor of the Kievan Rus', and for the Russian Tsar to be declared the protector of all Russias, culminating in the Pan-Slavism movement of the 19th century.

I won’t attempt to evaluate the role of Pan-Slavism in the foreign policy of the Russian Federation, except to say that Russian Pan-Slavism—which is to say, Russian hegemonism—can be a sore point for non-Russian Slavs who don’t see Russia as their Big Brother.

What’s my point? Am I beating up on Russia? No. Every nation has its national myths to build their self identity and, sadly, to justify some of the seamier sides of their policies. America goes around the world waging wars to spread democracy, sweetness, and light without a thought to its own interests. Right? Poles are nothing but victims of history. Right? Britons bravely shouldered the White Man’s Burden for the good of their subjects. Right? Russia has never harmed any other nation—that didn’t get what they deserved. Right?

In my comments yesterday I maintained that Putin coulda and shoulda made his big point about East Slavic identity quickly—and then moved on to the current conflict. That history—beyond the reality of a shared culture among East Slavs—is almost all irrelevant to the present. Everything I wrote about above is in the past and can’t be changed. In the big scheme of things, the Poles and Lithuanians and Cossacks were always going to be the losers. Sadly, even if they had realized that, they probably would’ve been brutalized by history—as the Poles were from 1772 on. Trying to recover past glories was always a bad idea. Poland has a viable national state now for the first time in a long time. That may not have been Stalin’s plan in 1945 but that’s the reality, and Poles should simply embrace that. They need to drop the idea of somehow getting even with Russia for the past.

As for Ukraine … Even great powers like Russia need secure borders. Ukraine, in the nature of things, was always going to have to pay attention to Russian concerns in that regard. Joining up in a patently anti-Russian conspiracy like NATO was simply cruising for a bruising. The fact is, Ukraine as an independent nation was just too young in its existence to have a coherent national identity. Rather than go slow, the anti-Russian Western Ukraine—goaded on by American Neocons—tried to impose their more developed (and distinctly Russo-phobic) identity on the rest of Ukraine that had no interest in confrontation with Russia. For all his tendentious narrative of Russian history, Putin is right—Russia, having exercised exemplary patience, ultimately was left with no choice but to initiate its Special Military Operation.

America? Americans need to wake up—to a lot of things. That probably won’t happen without a rude wake-up call. History is good at sending those. A good start would be to accept the reality of a multi-polar world and to stop inflicting—by our compulsive meddling—suffering and misery on nations in which we have no real interest.