At the outset of the Second World War, a famous observation about Russia and Western policy echoed through leaders. The notion that Russia was a puzzle wrapped in a mystery gained renewed relevance with the conflict in Ukraine, sparked by Vladimir Putin. The Kremlin framed the war with a mix of longstanding NATO suspicions and arguments about Ukraine’s leadership or the claimed genocide of ethnic Russians. Yet none of these explanations resolved the core question: what are Russia’s ultimate aims, whether a revisionist impulse held by a calculating leader or a fear-driven bid to restore the country’s position on the world stage?
The authorial hint suggested by Churchill endures: perhaps the key lies in Russia’s national interests. These interests have long been shaped by geography, a defining factor for the world’s largest nation. Unlike marked natural barriers that shield other European powers, Russia faces few impediments to the west beyond the Urals. This vast European landmass has historically been invaded from the west, from Polish and Lithuanian forces in 1605 to Swedish incursions in 1708, to Napoleon in 1812 and the German armies of 1914 and 1941. The geographic reality has repeatedly fed a view that Moscow cannot rely on natural frontiers for defense and must project power further afield to create strategic space.
Russia’s traditional stance has been explained as a preference for controlling accessible ports and routes to the sea. The strategic posture includes securing Crimea in the Black Sea and Kaliningrad in the Baltic, while expanding buffers toward Europe to increase the margin of safety. During the era of the Romanovs, borders stretched to include much of present-day Finland, the Baltic states, Poland, and Ukraine, a pattern that has persisted in some form for other imperial ambitions. In the Soviet period the expansion went further, extending influence into East Germany and the Balkans, reflecting a persistent aim to shape the European periphery.
Maps in continuous mutation
These geographic and historical considerations help explain why neighboring European powers viewed Russia with caution, even fear, as Ukraine faced renewed pressure and Russia’s expansionist tendencies reemerged. The map of Europe has been a rotating collage, influenced by which power was ascendant at the moment. Sweden, Poland-Lithuania, Prussia, Germany, and Russia all asserted influence, prompting varied levels of support for Ukraine, increased defense budgets, and shifts in security thinking. Finland moved toward NATO membership. The Baltic states pursued permanent alliance bases, with Latvia reactivating compulsory service. Poland, a central hub in the region, bolstered its army to well over 300,000 active personnel.
The region’s wartime memories haunt policy choices. Capitals have often relied on Washington over Brussels to ensure security, and no European capital remains fully confident that danger has passed. Only Helsinki has managed to maintain a careful balance. A political cartoonist’s phrase, described as the art of leaning east without showing a retreat to the west, captures the delicate posture some leaders have adopted.
The memory of Soviet repression still shapes perceptions across the Baltic states. Many societies have chosen to educate their citizens about the past, ensuring that episodes of liquidation and deportation are not forgotten. Museums in Riga and Warsaw preserve the memory of occupation and political oppression to remind new generations of the costs of totalitarian rule.
The fragility of the Baltic states
Looking ahead, geopolitics offers clues about stability in the region. The Baltic states remain highly exposed to nearby power dynamics and are tightly connected to Western Europe through a relatively short geographic distance. This proximity has earned them the label of NATO’s Achilles heel by some analysts, particularly Estonia and Latvia, where sizeable Russian communities can influence domestic debates and security considerations. The presence of ethnic minorities becomes a factor that leaders watch closely, given the tendency for regional tensions to be leveraged for strategic purposes.
For Poland, Ukraine represents a security buffer. The notion that Kyiv’s fate could impact Warsaw has circulated in public discourse for years. Among European Union border members, Finland has often been cited as the most secure, with its history of avoiding absorption during the Soviet era lending credibility to that view. The Baltic republics were historically tied to Moscow’s orbit, while Poland once found itself in a different orbit during the communist era.
Across the region, early fears about war have given way to more measured concerns about the ability of the Russian armed forces to sustain an offensive in Ukraine. The Kremlin’s voice remains audible, but Moscow no longer enjoys broad sympathy in the region. Citizens across cities such as Vilnius often echo warnings about accountability, reminding observers that international law can still catch up with aggressive actions.