By Pasquale Preziosa
Understanding what future Russia desires requires a preliminary distinction between the country, its ruling class, and the political system that governs it: three closely linked realities whose interests and perspectives do not always coincide. The Kremlin’s decisions bind the Russian state, but they do not necessarily express all the aspirations of its society, nor do they allow us to consider the country’s future behavior as already determined. This distinction also applies to democracies: what changes is the ability of citizens to influence the decisions of those in power, challenge them, and determine their correctness. The central issue, therefore, concerns the strategic project pursued by the Russian leadership and the conditions that may favor, contain, or modify it.
The imperial tradition is a component of Russian political culture and helps explain the difficulty Moscow has in accepting the full autonomy of the states that have emerged in the territory once subject to its rule. On a different level—that of internal separatism—the wars in Chechnya also demonstrate how heavily the maintenance of territorial control weighed on the decision-making of the Russian leadership. Historical interpretations are constructed in hindsight and allow us to recognize a continuity that, as events unfolded, was not always evident.
In the Russian case, the imperial legacy is intertwined with the experience of invasions suffered, from the Napoleonic invasion of 1812 to the Nazi invasion of 1941 against the Soviet Union. The memory of vulnerability and the aspiration to expand its influence thus help explain a strategic culture in which defensive needs and ambitions for power can overlap. Events, however, unfold at different times and under different conditions, and even seemingly similar behaviors may stem from distinct motivations.
Interpreting the present, therefore, requires considering both the weight of historical legacies and the choices that take shape in the face of new circumstances. Imperial continuity represents, in this sense, an important key to understanding Russian politics; its explanatory power must, however, be weighed against changes in the context and the decisions of its protagonists.
Therefore, attributing to Russia an unchanging expansionist nature risks steering the analysis toward a predetermined conclusion, just as it would be simplistic to interpret each of its initiatives as a mere defensive reaction. It is necessary to evaluate statements, actions, capabilities, and constraints as a whole, bearing in mind that intentions may solidify or change in response to the evolving context, the results obtained, and the costs incurred.
The introductory pages of Sabino Cassese’s How to Measure a Democracy help us understand precisely the context in which these intentions take shape and may evolve. Cassese describes the resurgence of nation-states, the deepening of power inequalities, and the weakening of multilateralism in favor of bilateral relations. He also highlights a European contradiction: a persistent capacity to attract, accompanied by a political weakness that exposes the continent to decisions made by others.
His reflection thus offers a framework for interpreting Russian ambitions as well, even without addressing them directly in the pages mentioned here. Equality among states has never eliminated geopolitical hierarchies. In the contemporary world, however, the gap between formal equality and the actual ability to influence international decisions takes on particular significance.
The Kremlin’s project can also be interpreted as an attempt to permanently position Russia among the powers capable of contributing to the definition of rules, freeing it from having to accept those established elsewhere. An explicit reference to this aspiration is found in the March 2023 Foreign Policy Concept, in which Russia presents itself as a “country-civilization” and a major Eurasian and Euro-Pacific power, claiming an autonomous role in the construction of a multipolar order. This self-representation expresses both a conception of Russian identity and the international status that its leadership seeks to guarantee; it documents the way in which power legitimizes itself, without, in and of itself, demonstrating the correspondence between declared principles and actual behavior.
From this approach emerges, first and foremost, the demand for recognition of its own geopolitical status.
Moscow wants to be regarded as an indispensable partner on key strategic issues. Its nuclear arsenal, permanent seat on the Security Council, and ability to influence regional balances underpin this aspiration. Territory is important, but so is the ability to prevent others from making decisions without involving it. For a great power, the ability to obstruct the choices of others can compensate, at least in part, for a lesser capacity for political appeal. Ukraine embodies this interconnection between territory, security, and recognition. In June 2024, Putin made a ceasefire and the start of negotiations contingent on Ukraine’s withdrawal from the entire territory of the four regions claimed by Moscow and its renunciation of NATO membership, demands that went beyond the positions then under Russian military control.
This statement documents the publicly declared objectives at that stage, but, on its own, does not allow us to determine what conditions Moscow might accept in a future agreement. The strategic significance, however, is clear: Moscow sought to dictate both Ukraine’s borders and its international orientation. This reveals a hierarchical conception of relations between states, one that the current Russian leadership expresses toward Ukraine: formal independence can coexist with limited sovereignty in practice, when a neighboring power seeks to determine Ukraine’s alliances and defense capabilities. The Russian proposals of December 2021 confirm that the dispute went beyond Ukraine alone: the demand to block further NATO enlargement and to limit military mobilizations, using the situation in 1997 as a reference point, affected the overall structure of European security.
Interpreting these proposals as evidence of a predefined plan to conquer the entire continent would be arbitrary, but interpreting them as a demand limited to the Donbass would be equally reductive: in fact, they also concerned the distribution of power in Europe.
Here lies a contradiction in the multipolarity proposed by the Kremlin: claiming autonomy from the other great powers while, at the same time, restricting the autonomy of its neighbors. An order with multiple centers of power may, in fact, result in more balanced relations among the great powers and be more coercive toward smaller states. The plurality of poles, in and of itself, does not guarantee freedom for those who live among them.
The relationship between security and control of the geopolitical space must also be examined more closely. Russian perceptions of vulnerability must be included in the analysis, along with Western decisions and their effects. A perception of threat, however, does not make recourse to war inevitable. When a state’s protection depends on the weakness and subordination of neighboring states, the pursuit of security takes on the characteristics of a hegemonic claim. Ukrainian, Polish, and Baltic concerns are therefore part of the same equation and must be considered an integral part of any assessment of European security.
There is, moreover, an internal dimension that is equally important. It is reasonable to interpret the confrontation with the outside world as a means of legitimizing power: the promise of restoring Russia’s greatness can justify demands for discipline and sacrifice. This interpretation remains, however, a hypothesis to be verified, and does not fully explain the Kremlin’s choices. The regime’s continuity, international prestige, and the country’s long-term interests do not necessarily align; a choice that serves to preserve power may, on the contrary, entail lasting costs for society. Asking what Moscow desires therefore also requires asking what costs it is willing to accept and which it can actually bear.
A country’s level of ambition must take into account available economic and financial resources, demographic dynamics, access to technology, military capabilities, and the quality of its foreign relations. Potential international sanctions also affect this balance, increasing costs and limiting the possibilities for pursuing stated objectives.
The relationship with China introduces a further dilemma: the quest for greater autonomy from the West may increase dependence on an economically stronger partner, thereby restricting precisely those same margins of choice that Moscow seeks to expand. Russia aspires to be an autonomous power, but the possibility of realizing this ambition must be assessed in light of the asymmetries and interdependencies that also characterize its relations with Beijing. The future therefore remains open, shaped by the interplay of ambitions, resources, and constraints.
If coercion yields benefits at costs deemed acceptable, the Russian leadership may be encouraged to resort to it again; if, on the other hand, it encounters sustained resistance and a credible prospect for negotiation, it may recalibrate its objectives and instruments. It could also choose to prolong the conflict if it deemed a compromise riskier than continuing it.
None of these outcomes follows automatically from history: each also depends on the assessments of Russian leadership and the choices of other actors. For Europe, these considerations have significant strategic implications: it must have the capacity to protect itself and support Ukrainian autonomy, while at the same time developing a political strategy capable of influencing the costs and benefits that Moscow associates with its choices. Cassese’s reference to European weakness takes on concrete meaning here: those who fail to transform their resources into decision-making capacity run the risk of becoming the subject of negotiations among others.
Negotiations between Russia and Ukraine must be carefully prepared and accompanied by verification mechanisms, as their outcomes will help shape the future European security architecture. A willingness to negotiate does not, in and of itself, demonstrate a willingness to renounce coercive objectives: precise commitments, reciprocity, controls over implementation, and predictable consequences in the event of a violation are necessary.
Furthermore, the effective participation of the states whose sovereignty and security will be directly affected by the agreements is essential. An agreement reached without Ukraine’s participation would ultimately reproduce precisely the hierarchy between major powers and subordinate states that Moscow seeks to assert.
The criterion for assessing a shift in Russia’s stance will be its willingness to accept concrete limits on its own behavior and to respect the effective autonomy of its neighbors. Words can open up room for negotiation; it will be verifiable commitments and consistent behavior that will demonstrate their substance.
From this analysis emerges a Russian leadership that seeks recognition of its status as a great power, privileged influence in its neighborhood, and a greater ability to shape the international order. The territorial and political scope of this ambition remains variable.
Understanding this ambition means identifying which claims must be contained and on which interests a negotiation can be built.
The European challenge consists of creating conditions in which coexistence proves more advantageous than coercion, without compromising its own security by hoping that this will happen spontaneously.
Analysis by Pasquale Preziosa, professor of Geostrategy and Geopolitics in the Level II Master’s Program in International Negotiation
Note: This article first appeared on 5 October 2026 in Formiche and was reprinted in a translated version with the author’s perission.