On 9 July 2026, The Economist published a major interview with Russian billionaire Andrey Melnichenko, prepared after roughly 60 hours of conversations, as well as his by-invitation article “Why a broken Russia is bad for the world”. In them, one of Russia’s largest industrialists presented his own programme for Russia’s post-war order.
On the surface, this programme appears moderate. Melnichenko proposes preventing Russia’s humiliation, complete international isolation, dependence on China, transformation into a closed military fortress and disintegration into separate states. Instead, he proposes preserving a united and sovereign Russia, returning it to the international security system, restoring economic relations with Europe, creating more predictable conditions for private property and allowing big business to participate in shaping future state policy.
In brief, his proposal can be formulated as follows: Russia must remain united and preserve its territory, international status, industrial system and nuclear weapons, but it must be governed more rationally. The state bureaucracy should abandon its most destructive methods, big business should gain political influence, and the West should recognise Russia as an indispensable participant in a new security architecture.
Yet behind the language of peace, security and an attractive quality of life lies a far more specific interest. Melnichenko is not proposing to free people from the Russian system; he is proposing to save that system from military defeat, economic degradation, internal collapse and the complete absorption of private property by the state.
He does not merely want to preserve a country. He wants to preserve the space in which Russia’s colossal private fortunes arose, in which major raw-material corporations operate and in which decisions determining the lives of millions of people are made without their participation.
What Melnichenko Is Really Defending
The central value in Melnichenko’s construction remains Russia as a single state. Economic development, security, predictability and a more comfortable life are supposed to appear only after Russia itself has been preserved.
The sequence is of fundamental importance.
First, the proposal is to preserve the state’s territory, a single centre, international sovereignty, industry and military power. Only then are people promised better living conditions within the form that has already been preserved.
Yet another possibility is not considered: perhaps this very form of statehood is the reason why the individual is repeatedly subordinated to territory, the army, the security services and the interests of the central government.
Melnichenko does not begin with the individual’s right to choose the form of government under which they live. He does not discuss the right of republics and regions to leave Russia. He does not propose transferring financial, political and coercive power from Moscow to the territories. Nor does he question the right of a single centre to control an immense space stretching from the Baltic Sea to the Pacific Ocean.
Melnichenko proposes making this centre more rational.
An unpredictable personalist dictatorship could be replaced by a system in which decisions are made by officials, major entrepreneurs, technocrats and representatives of the security apparatus. It could be more economically effective than Putin’s system. It could be less confrontational towards Europe, protect property more reliably and use repression more cautiously.
But that would not make it a democracy.
The individual would still not determine the form of the system. The form of the system would still be determined by people who already possess capital, administrative resources and access to power.
Melnichenko’s project is therefore not a transition from dictatorship to freedom. It is a proposal to replace personal dictatorship with a more rational oligarchy.
Why the Russian Oligarch Is Speaking Now
Before the full-scale war, Russian big property existed simultaneously within two systems.
Russia was the place where resources, enterprises, state contracts and super-profits were obtained. The West was the place where property was stored, families lived, capital received legal protection and personal security was ensured.
Russian billionaires benefited from a centralised and opaque Russian economy, while moving a substantial part of their own lives beyond the borders of the state that had helped them become rich.
After 2022, this model collapsed. Western sanctions restricted access to property and international infrastructure. At the same time, the Russian state began redistributing private assets more aggressively, using prosecutors, courts and administrative pressure.
Melnichenko discovered that neither an enormous fortune nor old connections guaranteed the security of property. The Economist also described an attempt by Russian prosecutors to confiscate assets linked to him.
This is why his intervention should be viewed not as a neutral analysis of the public interest, but as a political proposal by a major owner.
- To the West, he is saying: do not dismantle Russia, because a united and rationally governed state is safer than an uncontrolled collapse.
- To the Russian authorities, he is saying: do not destroy large-scale private capital, because without entrepreneurs, technology and professional management the state will face economic catastrophe.
He presents himself and other major owners as a force capable both of restraining the extremes of state dictatorship and of preserving Russia within its current borders.
This is an attempt to strike a new bargain.
Big business recognises the need for a strong Russia, the preservation of its territory and its international agency. In return, the state grants large capital protected property rights and participation in government.
Once again, the individual is absent from this bargain.
Why Russia’s Break-up Is Especially Dangerous for Russian Big Capital
In Andrey Melnichenko’s argument, the break-up of Russia is presented primarily as an international threat. He speaks of possible conflicts over new borders, competition for natural resources, the disruption of production chains and the risk of losing unified control over the nuclear arsenal. These concerns cannot be dismissed as entirely invented: the disintegration of a large state would indeed require a complex division of powers, property, debts and infrastructure. Yet there is another dimension to Melnichenko’s position, one about which he says considerably less. Russia’s break-up would pose a direct threat to the system of ownership within which his own fortune arose and continues to exist.
Russia’s largest fortunes were not formed simply through market competition or within regional economies independent of one another. They emerged inside a single centralised state in which Moscow controlled the rules of privatisation, access to raw-material assets, export infrastructure, railway tariffs, energy, taxation and relations between business and the security services. Even companies whose main enterprises and deposits are located thousands of kilometres from the capital are legally, financially and politically embedded in a system governed from the federal centre.
For a major owner, this arrangement offers an obvious advantage. There is no need to negotiate separately with every region in which raw materials are extracted, a railway passes or an industrial facility is located. The principal rules are set at federal level. Moscow determines the tax regime, the terms for exploiting subsoil resources, export policy, the tariffs of natural monopolies and the permitted degree of autonomy for regional authorities. If a local society demands a different distribution of revenues or higher environmental compensation, the federal centre can restrict those demands administratively, financially or politically.
This does not mean that Russian oligarchs exercise complete control over Moscow. Under Putin, the relationship of dependence has been reversed: the state itself can seize assets, change the rules or force an owner to finance projects required by the authorities. Yet even in this system, big capital continues to exist within a single political field. Its security depends on its relationship with one centre, not on the consent of dozens of independent territories.
Russia’s break-up would destroy this arrangement. Several countries could emerge in place of a single state, each with its own government, parliament, tax system, courts, environmental legislation and conception of how revenues should be distributed. An enterprise that is currently part of a single Russian corporation could find itself within the territory of a new state after the borders change. A railway route to an export port could cross several jurisdictions. A deposit, processing plant and export terminal could be divided by state borders.
For corporations, this would mean not only additional costs and more complicated logistics. The principal change would be political: existing property rights would no longer be treated as unconditional.
The new states would inevitably begin to reconsider the relationship between territory, resources and ownership. They would ask why revenues from coal, gas, metals or fertiliser extraction had for decades been concentrated in companies managed from Moscow, while producing regions received only a limited share of taxes and had no independent say over the terms on which their resources were exploited. Local governments could demand a larger share of revenues, changes in tax rates, state holdings in raw-material enterprises or the conclusion of new licensing agreements.
The origins of ownership would become a separate subject of review. A significant share of Russia’s largest assets was privatised during the 1990s and 2000s amid weak institutions, opaque transactions, political patronage and unequal access to state property. As long as the Russian Federation continues to exist, the legal continuity of the state protects the results of that privatisation. Even when individual transactions raise public doubts, an owner can refer to Russian legislation, decisions of Russian courts and the state’s formal recognition of those rights.
After new states emerge, that continuity would no longer be self-evident. Their parliaments and courts could ask whether they are automatically obliged to recognise every decision made by the former federal authorities. They could begin reviewing privatisation transactions, subsoil licences, tax privileges and transfers of infrastructure assets. In some cases, ownership would be preserved. In others, additional payments, state participation or even the return of certain assets could be required.
The environmental question would be no less important. Many of Russia’s mining and industrial regions bear serious consequences from the exploitation of natural resources: air and water pollution, soil degradation, accumulated waste, deteriorating public health and local economies dependent on a single employer. Within a centralised system, environmental claims often give way to the interests of major companies and the federal budget. New states could impose considerably stricter requirements for restoring damaged territories and compensating accumulated harm.
Russia’s break-up would therefore expose big capital to more than the risk of losing part of its market. It would mean losing the single legal and political space that made it possible to manage assets under common rules and resolve the most important questions through relations with Moscow.
Companies whose businesses depend on long production chains would be especially vulnerable. Melnichenko’s enterprises are linked to coal mining, fertiliser production, energy, rail transport and exports through seaports. This model is efficient precisely because all its elements lie within one state or are governed by coordinated federal rules. After disintegration, every link in the chain could become subject to separate taxation, government regulation and political bargaining.
The new countries could also adopt different positions towards Western sanctions and international requirements. Some would seek rapid integration into the European economic system and distance themselves from former Russian owners. Others would try to preserve existing enterprises and jobs but demand changes to ownership structures. Still others might use the assets as instruments of domestic politics and nationalise them. Melnichenko and other major owners would no longer have a single centre capable of guaranteeing uniform conditions throughout the former Russian space.
This is why his defence of territorial integrity cannot be explained solely by concern for global security. Preserving a united Russia also preserves the economic map on which Russian big capital was built. It preserves common infrastructure, recognition of old property rights, a single market and the possibility of negotiating with one state authority.
This does not mean that every major entrepreneur consciously seeks to preserve dictatorship. A predictable state, protected property and a unified market are indeed rational business interests. But an owner’s interest should not automatically be presented as the interest of society.
For the owner of a corporation, disintegration means legal uncertainty, a review of assets and the need to negotiate with several states. For people living in a resource-producing region, the same process could mean the first real opportunity to decide who owns local natural wealth, what share of revenues should remain in the region and what obligations a company owes to the population.
This is precisely where Melnichenko’s interests diverge from those of the people.
He proposes preserving the unity of the state because a united state preserves the familiar structure of ownership. Regional societies are promised more effective government, but not the right to reconsider the relationship that has developed between territory, resources and owners.
The Russian big-capital elite’s fear of disintegration therefore has a very material foundation. The issue is not only instability and borders. The issue is that, together with the Russian Federation, the political and legal system that converted control over the natural resources of vast territories into the private fortunes of a few dozen people could also disappear.
Why Russia’s Problem Does Not End with Putin
It is politically convenient to explain Russia’s catastrophe through the personality of Vladimir Putin. If one man is the cause of the war, repression and external aggression, then after his departure it should be enough to replace the leadership, hold elections, release political prisoners, moderate foreign policy and gradually return the country to normal life. Under this approach, Russia itself remains almost unchanged, while responsibility for what happened is assigned to a narrow group of people who temporarily seized the state.
But Putin did not create Russia’s imperial system. He inherited a state already adapted to the concentration of power and systematically removed the remaining constraints that prevented its full capabilities from being used.
By the time he came to power, Russia was already a territorially immense, politically diverse and economically uneven country governed from a single centre. Federalism existed formally, but regional autonomy depended not on constitutionally protected powers, but on the balance of forces between Moscow and local elites. Most financial resources, foreign policy, the army, the security services, the prosecution service, the principal courts and nationwide media were controlled by the federal authorities.
This structure created the conditions for an authoritarian restoration from the outset. Any leader who gained control of Moscow simultaneously gained the ability to influence the entire country through budget transfers, security institutions, federal legislation and an appointed administrative hierarchy. Establishing personal rule did not require building a state mechanism from scratch. It was enough to subordinate the existing central institutions and gradually eliminate regional, political and social counterweights.
That is precisely what Putin did. He did not invent the regions’ dependence on the federal budget, but he turned it into an instrument of political subordination. He did not create Russia’s security services, but he made them the foundation of the regime. He did not invent the idea that state territory is an unconditional value, but he made fear of disintegration one of the principal justifications for centralisation. He did not create the habit of placing the interests of the state above human rights, but he carried that logic through to war, mass repression and the effective destruction of political competition.
This is why replacing the president and changing official rhetoric will not be enough after Putin leaves. If the existing structure of the state is preserved, the next leader will inherit the same instruments: a centralised budget, dependent regions, a unified security-service system, a subordinate prosecution service, controlled courts, federal control over television and the ability to use the army without genuine public oversight.
At first, the new regime may appear considerably softer. It may release prisoners, permit some independent media, restore relations with Europe and carry out limited political reforms. Society will perceive this as a return of freedom. Yet the state machinery capable of abolishing that freedom will remain almost untouched.
A crisis will then inevitably arise. One region will demand greater fiscal autonomy. A national republic will raise the question of broader political powers. A resource-producing territory will demand that a larger share of revenues remain within the region. A dispute may emerge over property, language, borders or the right to leave the state.
At that moment, even a relatively liberal government will face a choice: recognise the territory’s right to determine its own future, or preserve Russia’s integrity by force. If preservation of the state has already been declared the supreme value, the central government will again begin restricting freedoms. First, under the pretext of temporary stabilisation, the security services will be strengthened and regional politics restricted. Parties and organisations accused of separatism will then be banned. After that, pressure will extend to journalists, activists and political opponents.
Authoritarianism can therefore return not because another Putin must necessarily come to power, but because the state structure itself will push any leader towards centralisation. To retain control over an immense territory composed of regions with different interests, resources and identities, Moscow will once again use financial dependence, administrative pressure and coercive institutions.
The size of a state does not in itself produce dictatorship. Large countries can be democratic if their regions possess protected powers, the courts are independent, the security institutions are subject to public control and a territory’s right to make an independent political decision is not treated as a crime against the state. Russia’s problem is not merely its size, but the combination of an immense territory with an imperial centre that does not recognise its constituent parts as full political subjects.
The Russian system demands regional submission but calls it federalism. It concentrates money in Moscow and then presents its return to the territories as assistance from the federal centre. It deprives local societies of the ability to control the security institutions and then claims that unified administration is necessary for safety. It prohibits discussion of withdrawal from the state, while presenting the country’s very existence as an expression of the free unity of its peoples.
Under these conditions, a change of leader may alter the degree of violence, but it does not remove the reason for its return.
To make freedom durable, holding elections in Moscow is not enough. The Moscow centre must be deprived of the ability to overturn their result for the entire country. Replacing the leadership of the security services is not enough. Coercive power must be divided and made accountable to autonomous societies. Giving the regions more money is not enough. Their right to determine their own taxes, laws and political form of existence must be recognised.
As long as Russia remains a single imperial space, any democratisation will remain reversible. The central government may temporarily surrender some powers, but in a crisis it will again demand their return in the name of preserving the territory.
Russia’s problem therefore cannot be reduced to Putin. Putin is the system’s most destructive product, but not its only possible form. He may be followed by a better educated, less aggressive and outwardly liberal leader. Yet if that leader inherits the same centralised apparatus and the obligation to hold the same empire together, over time he will face the same political temptations.
As long as a single Moscow centre retains the exclusive right to command the regions, money and force, the mechanism for restoring dictatorship will also remain.
- It is not only the ruler who must be removed.
- The very structure of power that allows one ruler to subordinate millions of people and dozens of territories must be dismantled.
Russian Sovereignty Is Not Individual Freedom
Whose sovereignty does Melnichenko propose preserving?
One of the central concepts in Andrey Melnichenko’s argument is Russian sovereignty. He proceeds from the view that the country must retain the ability to determine its foreign policy, internal structure, economic model and relations with other states independently. He regards any substantial restriction of that independence as a threat not only to Russia, but also to international stability.
At first glance, this position appears logical. Sovereignty is indeed a foundation of the international order: one state should not be placed under the direct administration of another, and its political decisions should not be dictated from abroad.
But in Russia’s case, a fundamental question arises: to whom does this sovereignty actually belong?
One of the central concepts in Andrey Melnichenko’s argument is Russian sovereignty. By it, he means the state’s capacity to determine its internal structure, economic policy, military strategy and relations with other countries independently. From this perspective, any serious restriction of Moscow’s capabilities is perceived as an attempt to deprive Russia of political agency and turn it into a dependent territory whose decisions are made from outside.
This understanding of sovereignty is consistent with the conventional logic of international relations, but it does not answer the central question: who within the state has the right to make these independent decisions? A country’s independence from external rule does not mean that its residents freely determine state policy. In the Russian system, sovereignty belongs not to society or to the regions collectively, but to the central government, which speaks on behalf of the entire country and is subject to almost no constraints from below.
Moscow demands that other states recognise Russia’s borders, military interests and right to choose its own foreign-policy course. At the same time, the federal centre does not recognise a comparable right for the territories within Russia. Tatarstan, Bashkortostan, Sakha, Buryatia, Karelia, Chechnya, Kaliningrad Oblast, and the regions of Siberia and the Far East cannot independently reconsider the nature of their relationship with Moscow, change the extent of the powers transferred to the centre or raise the question of establishing their own state.
Even public discussion of a region’s withdrawal from Russia is treated not as a legitimate political position, but as a threat to territorial integrity. This means that the right to self-determination is recognised only for Russia as a single state, not for the societies that the state unites. The federal centre may demand freedom from external interference, while the territories may not demand freedom from the interference of the federal centre itself.
This arrangement cannot be regarded as a system of powers agreed voluntarily. In a genuine federation, the central and regional authorities possess their own protected competences, and their relationship is regulated not by the political will of the capital but by stable legal mechanisms. In Russia, the limits of regional autonomy are in practice determined by Moscow. The federal government controls the main financial flows, the security institutions, nationwide legislation and a substantial part of regional personnel policy. If a territory’s interests conflict with those of the centre, the region has almost no independent instruments with which to defend itself.
Russian sovereignty is therefore organised as a vertical hierarchy. At its summit stands the federal government, which possesses the right to speak for the whole country. Below it are the regions, whose autonomy is limited by decisions from the centre. Lower still stands the individual, who exercises almost no control over either the federal or the regional system of government.
Within such a structure, the state’s independence from the outside world can coexist with the complete political dependence of its population. Russia can make international decisions independently, maintain an army, control natural resources and conduct its own foreign policy, but none of this says anything about the ability of citizens to change the government, influence the budget, control the security institutions or determine the form of the state.
For the individual, what matters is not only whether their country is subordinate to other states. It matters equally whether the state itself is subordinate to the will of society. If the central government does not depend on the genuine choice of citizens, strengthening state sovereignty expands primarily the capabilities of that government. It gains greater freedom from external restrictions, while the individual gains no greater freedom from the state.
This is why the concept of sovereignty has become such a convenient instrument for the Russian elite. Under its protection, the interests of the government, the security apparatus and big capital can be combined. The state preserves control over territory, resources, the army and international policy. The political and economic groups associated with it retain access to property, influence and the distribution of financial flows. Meanwhile, the autonomy of regions and citizens can remain minimal.
Melnichenko’s proposals fit fully within this logic. He speaks of the need to preserve Russia as an independent centre of power, but he does not propose changing the internal distribution of sovereignty. His programme contains no right for regions to choose their own form of statehood, no possibility of reconsidering their relationship with Moscow and no mechanism allowing territories to reject decisions made by the federal centre. Sovereignty continues to belong to Russia as a single state and, in practice, to those who control the central institutions.
This is especially important in light of how the concept of sovereignty has been used by the Russian authorities in recent decades. Under the pretext of protecting the country from external influence, the activities of independent organisations were restricted, political opponents were persecuted, media freedom was reduced and the remnants of regional political autonomy were destroyed. Any activity beyond state control could be presented as the product of foreign interference.
At the same time, Moscow demanded respect for Russia’s foreign-policy choices but did not recognise the same right for neighbouring states. Ukraine, Georgia and other countries could be treated as sovereign only for as long as their decisions did not contradict Russia’s interests. As soon as they sought to leave Russia’s sphere of influence, Moscow began to regard their choice as a threat to its own security.
The result is a one-sided model. Russia demands that other countries refrain from interfering in its affairs, but considers it acceptable to limit the choices of its neighbours. The federal centre demands freedom from external pressure but does not grant comparable freedom to its own regions. The state claims the right to determine the future independently, but does not recognise this right for individual societies and people.
The discussion of preserving Russian sovereignty therefore cannot be separated from the question of who its true bearer is. If sovereignty belongs to the Moscow centre, preserving it means preserving Moscow’s power over the regions and population. If, however, people are regarded as the source of power, then they must be able to change not only their leaders but also the very form of the state in which they live.
In that case, regional societies must have the right to determine independently how much power the centre should possess, to control a substantial share of their own resources and to decide whether they wish to preserve their existing relationship with Moscow. Without this, sovereignty remains not the right of people to govern their own lives, but the right of the central state to govern people.
Melnichenko defends Russia’s independence in the external world, but does not explain why this independence should belong specifically to a single Moscow centre. He demands recognition of Russia’s right to determine its own future, but does not extend that right to the territories and societies of which Russia is composed.
His proposal to preserve sovereignty therefore amounts in practice to preserving the existing distribution of power. Russia remains independent in relation to other states, while the regions and people remain dependent in relation to Moscow.
Why Melnichenko Considers It Necessary to Preserve Russia’s Nuclear Weapons
The place occupied by nuclear weapons in Andrey Melnichenko’s reasoning is particularly revealing. When considering Russia’s possible disintegration, he warns that the disappearance of a single state could lead to a struggle for control over the nuclear arsenal, military infrastructure, natural resources and new borders. This logic implies that preserving Moscow as the sole command centre for the nuclear forces appears to him safer than the emergence of several states on the territory of the present-day Russian Federation.
The danger of an uncontrolled division of the nuclear arsenal is real. The break-up of a state possessing thousands of warheads, their delivery systems, nuclear-complex enterprises and vast stocks of fissile material would require an extraordinarily complex international operation. Yet the existence of this problem in no way means that the only solution must be to leave the nuclear weapons in the hands of the next government in Moscow.
Melnichenko is effectively proposing that the old structure be preserved: a united Russia would continue to possess the nuclear arsenal, but it would be managed by a more rational, predictable and negotiable government. He does not, however, explain why a state that used nuclear blackmail to shield a war of conquest should automatically retain the full capabilities of a nuclear superpower after that war ends.
Russian nuclear weapons have long performed more than a defensive function. They have become a political instrument that allowed Moscow to wage a conventional war against a weaker state while simultaneously deterring possible intervention by countries capable of stopping the aggression. The Russian leadership threatened escalation not because Russia had been attacked by a nuclear power, but because it sought to limit the scale of assistance to Ukraine and raise the cost of any outside intervention.
In this sense, nuclear deterrence was used offensively. The arsenal protected not Russian territory from invasion, but the Russian government’s freedom to wage war beyond its own internationally recognised borders. The very existence of this arsenal allowed the Kremlin to assume that other states would constantly have to account for the risk of escalation and would therefore be unable to use every available means to defend Ukraine.
After this, it is impossible to proceed from the assumption that the problem lies only in Putin’s personality. There are no grounds for believing that transferring the same weapons to the next government in Moscow would automatically eliminate the threat. A new regime may be softer, more rational and more interested in cooperation with Europe. But a preserved nuclear arsenal would remain an instrument of pressure that could once again be used during the next political crisis to shield external aggression or coerce neighbouring states.
The question must be posed differently. It is not why losing Moscow’s unified control over nuclear weapons would be dangerous, but why Moscow should retain those weapons at all after the Russian state used them as cover for the destruction of Ukraine and as a threat to the entire European security order.
Preserving Russia’s nuclear status is often presented as a condition of stability. Yet for neighbouring countries, it is precisely the existence of an enormous arsenal in the hands of the Russian state that has become a source of permanent instability. Russia acquired the ability to combine conventional aggression with the threat of catastrophic escalation. As a result, Moscow’s security was in practice placed above the security of every state around it.
Russia’s disintegration should therefore not be accompanied by a mechanical division of nuclear weapons among the new states. No new country should automatically receive warheads, missiles, strategic bombers or nuclear-complex facilities merely because they happen to be located on its territory. Such inheritance would indeed create a danger of nuclear proliferation and increase the risk of conflicts among successor states.
The alternative must be internationally controlled disarmament. Nuclear facilities, warheads, delivery systems and fissile materials should be placed under the joint control of an international coalition involving European states, the United States, relevant international organisations and the legitimate representatives of the new states. Following an inventory, a verifiable process should begin for decommissioning the weapons, dismantling delivery systems and destroying or safely processing nuclear materials.
Such an operation would be technically difficult, expensive and lengthy. But the complexity of the task is not an argument for preserving the threat. After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the world already faced the need to determine the fate of nuclear weapons located on the territories of several new states. Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan relinquished the Soviet arsenals stationed on their territories and became non-nuclear states.
Russia’s later violation of its commitments to Ukraine demonstrated the weakness of a system based solely on political assurances. In the future, it will therefore not be enough to demand that new states abandon nuclear weapons in exchange for another set of security promises. Genuine international guarantees will be required, along with a permanent allied military presence where necessary, treaty-based mechanisms of collective defence and automatic consequences for violations of agreements.
Yet Russia’s betrayal of the earlier guarantees does not prove that the Russian nuclear arsenal must be preserved. On the contrary, it proves that such a concentration of military power must not again be handed to a single Moscow centre in the hope that the next ruler will be more responsible than the previous one.
In this context, nuclear weapons should be treated not as Russia’s inviolable inheritance, but as part of the property of an aggressor state whose fate must be determined together with its debts and international obligations. The Russian arsenal has enormous material value. Its dismantlement, the processing of nuclear materials, the purchase of individual components and the financing of safe disposal could be incorporated into the broader system of settlements with the states harmed by Russia.
The international community would have an interest in purchasing and decommissioning Russian nuclear weapons, because such a solution would simultaneously reduce the global threat and create a source of funds to cover Russia’s obligations. The corresponding amounts should not be credited to the Russian state or its former owners, but directly against its debts and reparation liabilities.
The first priority must be the debt to Ukraine. Russia destroyed Ukrainian cities, infrastructure, enterprises, energy facilities and human capital. The value of nuclear materials, delivery systems, facilities and related infrastructure transferred to international control should therefore be credited not against Russia’s domestic liabilities, but against the amount that Russia and its successor states are required to pay Ukraine.
This mechanism should later be extended to all internationally recognised Russian debts: compensation to other affected states, claims by private individuals and companies, environmental damage, the cost of demining, the restoration of security and other obligations established by international decisions.
Nuclear weapons should therefore not remain a symbol of preserved Russian greatness. They should become part of the settlement for the consequences of Russian policy. Instead of transferring the arsenal to the next government in Moscow, it should gradually be removed, dismantled and credited against the debts of the state that used nuclear threats as cover for war.
Melnichenko Speaks About Russia’s Future but Says Little About Its Debts to Other Countries
The second fundamental problem with Andrey Melnichenko’s project lies in the way the question itself is framed. He discusses Russia’s post-war future as though the international community’s principal task will be to ensure its security, preserve its territorial integrity and return the country to the global economy. His concerns are how to prevent Russia from becoming dependent on China, how to avert internal disintegration, how to preserve its sovereignty and how to incorporate Moscow into a new European security architecture.
But before guarantees for a future Russia are discussed, it is necessary to determine how it will answer for the damage it has already caused. A post-war order cannot begin by protecting an aggressor state from the consequences of its own actions. It must begin by restoring the rights of the countries and people harmed by Russian and Soviet policy.
The largest and most urgent obligation is the debt to Ukraine. Russia has destroyed homes, businesses, power stations, railways, ports, bridges, hospitals, schools and agricultural infrastructure. Yet the physical destruction of assets accounts for only part of the damage. The war has caused deaths and injuries, mass displacement, the loss of jobs, the suspension of production, falling public revenues, the destruction of the education system and a long-term deterioration of Ukraine’s demographic and economic potential.
According to a joint assessment by the Government of Ukraine, the World Bank, the European Commission and the United Nations, as of 31 December 2025 direct physical damage had already exceeded $195 billion, economic losses had reached approximately $667 billion, and recovery and reconstruction needs over the following ten years were estimated at almost $588 billion. These calculations cover only a particular period of the war and do not constitute the final amount of Russia’s liability.
The cost of reconstruction must be supplemented by individual claims from citizens and companies; compensation for lost property, death, injury and disability; the cost of medical and psychological care; demining; environmental restoration; the return of displaced people; lost income; and Ukraine’s additional post-war security expenditure. Russia’s final obligations may therefore indeed be measured not in hundreds of billions but in trillions of euros. The exact amount, however, must be determined not by a political slogan but by a comprehensive international system for assessing damage.
Such a system is already taking shape. The UN General Assembly recognised the need to hold Russia to the legal consequences of its internationally wrongful acts, including reparation for damage, and recommended the creation of an international compensation mechanism. The Council of Europe established the Register of Damage Caused by the Aggression of the Russian Federation against Ukraine and later began forming an International Claims Commission to assess submitted claims and determine the amounts of compensation due. By June 2026, more than 165,000 claims had already been submitted to the Register.
This means that payments to Ukraine cannot be treated as voluntary assistance from a future Russian government. They are an obligation of the state that committed the aggression. Sources of payment should include Russian state property, frozen external assets, export revenues, future tax receipts, income from state-owned enterprises and part of the value of property transferred to successor states if Russia disintegrates.
Melnichenko proposes restoring predictability for Russian capital and gradually returning Russia to the international economy. But Russian billionaires’ property cannot first be protected, export restrictions lifted and Moscow granted new security guarantees, while the cost of rebuilding Ukraine is left to European and Ukrainian taxpayers. Re-entry into international markets must be directly tied to recognition of the debt and compliance with an established payment schedule.
Russia cannot preserve its principal raw-material assets, nuclear status, international influence and ability to earn trade revenues while declaring the destruction of Ukraine a completed historical episode. A substantial share of future Russian income must be directed not towards rebuilding military power or restoring the former consumption levels of the Russian elite, but towards compensating the damage caused by the war.
Ukraine, however, is not the only country to which Russia has obligations.
Georgia must also occupy a distinct place in any system of settlements with Russia. After the 2008 war, Russia maintained a military and political presence in Abkhazia and South Ossetia. The European Court of Human Rights found that, after the active phase of hostilities had ended, Russia exercised effective control over those territories and was responsible for numerous human-rights violations.
Responsibility towards Georgia is no longer merely a political demand. In 2023, the European Court awarded compensation to victims in connection with violations committed after the 2008 war, and in October 2025 it ordered the payment of more than €253 million in relation to systemic violations caused by the establishment and reinforcement of boundary lines around Abkhazia and South Ossetia. That amount concerns specific violations of the rights of more than 29,000 people and is not a comprehensive estimate of all the damage caused by war, occupation, loss of property and the long-term restriction of economic activity.
A future settlement with Georgia must therefore include more than judgments already delivered. A separate assessment will be required of destroyed and lost property, forced displacement, damage to the economy, restrictions on access to land and the consequences of prolonged Russian control. Nor can the withdrawal of troops and the end of occupation substitute for compensation: ending a violation does not remove the duty to repair the consequences of actions already committed.
A similar question exists in relation to Moldova. The European Court of Human Rights has repeatedly found that Russia exercised effective control over the Transnistrian regime through military, economic and political support. Consequently, ending the Russian presence in Transnistria must also be accompanied by consideration of claims from Moldova and affected individuals, rather than limited to the withdrawal of Russian forces.
Russia’s overall bill, however, is not confined to actions committed by the Russian Federation after 1991. Moscow formally continued the Soviet Union’s membership of the United Nations, including its permanent seat on the Security Council, and retained a substantial share of Soviet international rights, assets, military infrastructure and political status. In December 1991, Boris Yeltsin notified the United Nations that the Soviet Union’s membership of all UN bodies would be continued by the Russian Federation.
Russia cannot therefore use the Soviet inheritance selectively. It cannot regard itself as the continuator of the USSR when the permanent seat on the Security Council, diplomatic property, the nuclear arsenal and great-power status are concerned, while declaring itself an entirely new state when responsibility for Soviet aggression, occupations, deportations and confiscations is discussed.
This does not mean that every historical claim automatically becomes a ready-made and uncontested legal debt of modern Russia. International law on state succession in respect of responsibility for long-past wrongful acts remains complex, while some post-war issues were regulated by treaties concluded under entirely different political conditions. Each claim must therefore be considered separately, taking account of the law applicable at the time, agreements concluded, the duration of the violation, the nature of the damage and any possible time limits for bringing claims.
But the absence of an automatic solution does not mean the absence of responsibility itself.
Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia remained under Soviet occupation and annexation for decades, the legality of which was not recognised by a number of Western states. As early as 1983, the European Parliament condemned the Soviet occupation of the Baltic states, and later European and American official documents continued to describe their incorporation into the USSR as an unlawful occupation and annexation.
The damage in this case does not consist solely of lost state independence. It includes confiscated property, the forced restructuring of the economy, deportations, political repression, the destruction of institutions, demographic changes and the use of the territory in the interests of the Soviet centre. The Baltic states therefore have grounds to demand a separate international mechanism for assessing damage, while Russia, as the state that appropriated the principal rights and assets of the USSR, cannot simply refuse to take part in such proceedings.
Finland must not disappear from this picture either. In 1939, the Soviet Union attacked Finland and was subsequently expelled from the League of Nations. As a result of the war, Finland lost territory, hundreds of thousands of people were forced to leave their homes, and the economic and human costs fell on the state that had been attacked.
Post-war treaties changed the borders and consolidated a particular political outcome, so a present-day legal claim by Finland cannot be declared to exist automatically. But this does not eliminate the question of the historical responsibility of the USSR and its Russian continuator. If, after Russia’s break-up, a general international process is created to assess the Soviet imperial legacy, Finland must be able to submit claims connected with Soviet aggression, territorial losses, population displacement and the confiscation of property.
The same logic applies to other states in Central and Eastern Europe that experienced Soviet occupation, military intervention or the forced restriction of sovereignty. This may include Poland, where the Soviet Union participated in the partition of the country in 1939 and bears responsibility for mass repression; Hungary, where Soviet troops suppressed the 1956 uprising; Czechoslovakia, which was invaded in 1968; and other countries and territories whose political systems and economies were subordinated to the Soviet centre for decades.
At the same time, a future compensation system must not become an arbitrary imposition of an unlimited historical bill on every successor state. Claims must be supported by documents, assessed by independent commissions and separated according to the nature of the damage. Current obligations already recognised by international courts must be distinguished from historical claims for which a legal procedure will still have to be created.
Priority should remain with Ukraine, Georgia and other countries where Russian violations continue or belong to the modern period and are already under consideration by international institutions. Historical claims against the USSR should form a separate track: a commission on Soviet occupations, confiscations, deportations and military interventions. It should identify the affected states, verify the evidence, determine the forms of compensation and decide what share of the obligations should be assigned to Russia or to its principal political and property successor.
If Russia disintegrates, the disappearance of the Russian Federation must not extinguish its debts. Successor states cannot receive territory, infrastructure, natural resources, foreign assets and stakes in state corporations while simultaneously refusing the obligations of the former state. The distribution of responsibility must take account of the volume of inherited property, population, economic capacity, the involvement of regional authorities in the aggression and which new state preserves Moscow’s institutions, the main body of the armed forces and international representation.
The largest share of Russia’s current debt must pass to the state that becomes the principal continuator of the Russian Federation. If it retains Moscow as its capital, most federal institutions, foreign assets, raw-material corporations and Russia’s place in international organisations, it cannot then declare itself unrelated to the obligations of the former regime.
Other successor states must also participate in settlements to the extent that they receive part of Russia’s state inheritance. Their responsibility need not, however, be identical. A territory that has freed itself from Moscow, did not control foreign policy and receives no substantial share of federal assets cannot automatically bear the same level of responsibility as the principal Moscow-based successor.
The issue, therefore, is not the collective punishment of the population of the former Russia. It is the principle that state assets and state obligations cannot be separated from one another. Receiving property creates a corresponding share of responsibility.
This is precisely what is absent from Melnichenko’s programme. He discusses in detail how to protect a future Russia from China, disintegration, humiliation and international isolation, but says almost nothing about how Russia will compensate other countries for the damage it has caused. In his construction, the world is expected to help create a more predictable Moscow, recognise its sovereignty, preserve its industry and secure its place in the international system.
That sequence is unacceptable.
Aggression and occupation must first end, seized territories must be returned, debts recognised and payment mechanisms created. Only then can the gradual return of the Russian state or its successors to full economic and political relations be discussed.
Russia cannot simply end the war and declare that it is now time to think about its future. Its future is inseparable from the future of the countries it has harmed.
Ukraine must be the first and largest recipient of reparations. Separate contemporary obligations exist towards Georgia, while claims may arise from Moldova and other affected states. A process for assessing the Soviet legacy should then be opened: the occupation of the Baltic states, the attack on Finland, violence and confiscations in Poland, the suppression of Hungary and Czechoslovakia, and other actions of the Soviet system.
For decades, Russia benefited from the status, property and military power of the USSR. It cannot inherit only the rights and refuse to discuss the debts.
Post-war Russia or its successor states must enter the international system not as a party once again granted guarantees and forgiven for the past, but as debtors required to settle with the victims of Russian and Soviet aggression.
What Happens to Russia’s Debts After Its Break-up
If the Russian Federation ceases to exist in its present form, that must not mean the disappearance of its international obligations. The break-up of a state changes the political map, but it does not in itself cancel the damage caused by that state, judicial decisions, the claims of victims or the duty to pay compensation. Otherwise, disintegration could become a way to preserve the property of an aggressor state while simultaneously eliminating its debts.
The difficulty is that disintegration may not produce one obvious successor to which all the assets and obligations of the Russian Federation automatically pass. Several states may emerge, differing in territory, population, economic capacity, the volume of inherited property and the degree of their involvement in the former system. Some may retain the federal institutions, most of the armed forces, diplomatic missions and state corporations. Others may be formed by regions that for decades were financially and politically dependent on Moscow and had no control over Russian foreign policy.
It would therefore be wrong to distribute responsibility among all the new states in equal proportions. It would be equally wrong, however, to allow each of them to declare that the war, occupations and other violations were committed by a state that no longer exists and that there is consequently no one left to answer for them. Under such an approach, Russian state property would acquire new owners, while obligations towards affected countries and individuals would be left without a debtor.
Not only territory and powers, but the entire state inheritance must be divided. This includes gold and foreign-exchange reserves, overseas real estate, holdings in state companies, oil and gas infrastructure, transport networks, export enterprises, military property, tax revenues, international claims and obligations to compensate for damage. A state that receives part of the Russian Federation’s assets must accept the corresponding share of its debts.
This does not mean that responsibility can be calculated by simple arithmetic, for example by dividing the total debt in proportion to the population or land area of the new countries. Such a solution would ignore the actual distribution of property and power. A small state might receive major deposits, export infrastructure or a substantial share of federal assets. A more populous territory, by contrast, might receive almost none of the property that generated income for the former state.
The distribution of obligations should therefore take account of several factors: the value of inherited assets, the volume of natural resources, economic capacity, share of the population, control over former federal institutions, the involvement of regional authorities in the war and which state becomes the principal continuator of the Russian Federation in international relations.
The largest share of responsibility should pass to the state that retains the political and property core of the former Russia. If a new Russian republic centred on Moscow inherits the federal institutions, most foreign assets, state corporations, the armed forces and the diplomatic network, it should assume the largest part of Russia’s contemporary obligations. It cannot simultaneously claim Russia’s international status and declare that it bears no responsibility for the actions of the Russian state.
In international practice, selective succession would be especially dangerous: a new state might accept only the advantageous parts of the inheritance. It could seek to retain a place in international organisations, rights to diplomatic property, control over export enterprises and access to frozen assets, while rejecting judicial decisions and compensation claims. Such an approach must be ruled out in advance: the rights and obligations of a state cannot be considered separately from one another.
The position of regions that free themselves from Moscow’s control should be assessed differently. If a territory did not participate in shaping foreign policy, did not control the armed forces and does not receive a substantial share of federal property, it would be unjust to impose on it the same responsibility as on the principal Moscow-based successor. This is especially true of peoples and regions that resisted the war or were themselves subjected to internal colonial exploitation.
At the same time, liberation from Moscow must not become a means of concealing assets of the former Russian Federation. If a new state receives deposits, transport facilities, enterprises or other state property, their value should be taken into account when determining its participation in the compensation system. Responsibility in such a case arises not because the inhabitants of the region personally made the decision to wage war, but because the state receives part of the former system’s property inheritance.
An international agreement on succession will be required to distribute the debts, rather than a series of unilateral declarations by new governments. Successor states, affected countries, international financial institutions and compensation bodies must all take part in this process. A separate commission should establish a complete inventory of Russian assets and obligations, identify the principal successor and calculate the shares of the remaining states.
Such an agreement must cover more than reparations to Ukraine. It should include obligations towards Georgia, Moldova, individual citizens and companies, as well as other claims recognised by international courts or future compensation commissions. Historical claims connected with actions of the USSR should be considered within a separate legal track, because their foundations, evidence and methods of calculation differ from obligations arising from contemporary Russian aggression.
Participation in the compensation system should become one of the conditions for international recognition of the successor states. A new country should not gain access to European markets, international finance, investment protection or unfrozen Russian assets until it recognises the share of obligations assigned to it. This is necessary not to punish the population, but to prevent Russian property from being rapidly transferred to new states and private structures, after which the recovery of compensation would become practically impossible.
Former Russian owners must also not be allowed to use disintegration to separate property from obligations. If a major company was linked to the state and benefited from access to resources, infrastructure or political decisions, its assets may form part of the payment mechanism. This applies especially to state property, companies involved in financing the war and the assets of individuals closely connected to the Russian authorities.
At the same time, the compensation system must distinguish state responsibility from the collective guilt of the population. An ordinary person should not lose a home or personal property merely because they lived within the Russian Federation. The principal sources of payment should be state assets, income from natural resources, the profits of state enterprises, the property of responsible individuals and a share of future export receipts.
Russia’s break-up must mean the division not only of imperial territory, but also of imperial property. The division of property must inevitably be accompanied by the distribution of debts. The disappearance of the former state’s name cannot extinguish the claims of people and countries harmed by its actions.
Why Russian Responsibility Is Not Limited to Rebuilding Structures
The amount of Russia’s debt cannot be reduced to the cost of destroyed homes, roads, power stations and enterprises. Physical damage is the easiest part to see and assess, but it represents only one layer of the war’s consequences. If compensation is limited to the cost of new construction, a substantial share of the real losses suffered by Ukraine and its population will remain unpaid.
When an apartment building is destroyed, the damage is not exhausted by the cost of constructing a new one. People lose furniture, documents, personal belongings, equipment, savings and their familiar environment. They are forced to find temporary accommodation, change jobs, move children and begin life again in another city or country. Even if the building is reconstructed several years later, the lost years, disrupted social ties and danger endured do not disappear.
The destruction of an enterprise likewise cannot be assessed solely by the value of its premises and equipment. The suspension of production means the loss of contracts, customers, export markets, tax receipts and professional teams. Workers lose income and skills, suppliers lose orders, local budgets lose revenues and the state loses part of its economic potential. An enterprise can be rebuilt, but recovering its former position in the market is far more difficult.
Human losses form a separate category. When a person is killed, compensation cannot restore the family’s former life, but the aggressor state must still answer for lost income, the maintenance of children, family expenses and moral harm. In cases of severe injury, the assessment must include not only the cost of initial treatment but also years of rehabilitation, prosthetics, medication, care, loss of earning capacity and the adaptation of housing.
The consequences of war change not only the life of the person directly affected but also the lives of their family. Relatives may be forced to leave work to provide care. Children may grow up after losing a parent or with a family member suffering a severe disability. These effects last for decades and must form part of the overall assessment of damage.
Mass forced migration also creates losses that cannot be measured solely by the cost of accommodating refugees. Ukraine loses workers, specialists, entrepreneurs, students and future taxpayers. Some of those who left will not return even after the war ends, because they will have built families and economic ties in other countries. This means a long-term reduction in population, domestic demand and the possibilities for economic development.
Countries that accepted Ukrainian refugees also bear additional costs. They finance housing, education, healthcare, social support and integration programmes. These expenses did not arise from voluntary migration, but as a direct consequence of Russian aggression. The issue of compensation should therefore not be limited to relations between Russia and Ukraine: the recognised expenses of other states may also become part of international claims.
Demining constitutes a separate obligation lasting for many years. Mined territory remains dangerous after active hostilities end. Land cannot safely be used for agriculture, construction or industry, while people continue to be killed and injured. The cost of locating and destroying munitions, lost income from unusable land and subsequent medical assistance to victims must all be taken into account.
Environmental damage likewise cannot be reduced to repairing individual facilities. Soil and water contamination, the destruction of forests, damage to protected areas, flooded mines, ruined industrial sites and leaks of hazardous substances may affect health and the economy for generations. Restoring nature often takes far longer than rebuilding infrastructure, while some effects may prove irreversible.
The destruction of the energy system creates a chain reaction of losses. The value of a power station or substation is only the first part of the damage. Power cuts halt enterprises, ruin equipment and goods, reduce production, close small businesses and increase household costs. Hospitals, schools and public utilities are forced to use backup power, while the state must purchase equipment and energy at higher prices.
The same logic applies to transport infrastructure. A destroyed bridge affects more than the cost of transportation. It changes routes, increases delivery times, raises prices and restricts access to jobs and medical institutions. The losses spread throughout the economy and continue until the transport network is restored to normal operation.
Damage to cultural heritage must also be counted. Destroyed museums, archives, libraries, places of worship and historic buildings cannot always be restored to their original condition. The loss of cultural sites affects national memory, education, tourism and the identity of society. Their value cannot be determined solely by the price of construction materials.
Ukraine’s future security expenditure is an additional component of Russia’s debt. Even after the war ends, the country will be forced to maintain larger armed forces, reinforce its borders, build defensive structures, develop air defence and remain permanently prepared for renewed aggression. These costs were created by Russia’s actions and must be taken into account when determining long-term obligations.
This is why the total amount of physical damage and the cost of reconstruction do not constitute the final bill. They reflect only the losses that can be directly linked to destroyed objects. Full responsibility includes human, economic, environmental, cultural and demographic damage, as well as the expenses that Ukraine and other states will continue to bear after the war ends.
Melnichenko discusses how to make a future Russia safe, economically developed and attractive as a place to live. But Russian society cannot be the first to benefit from post-war recovery while the state has not begun to pay for the lives and normal existence it destroyed in other countries.
Future Russian revenues should not be directed first towards restoring former consumption levels, rebuilding the military-industrial complex or protecting the fortunes of big capital. A substantial share should be used to compensate damage, rebuild affected countries and comply with decisions of international bodies.
Only after these debts have been recognised and payments have begun can the full return of Russia or its successor states to the international economic system be discussed. Ending the war halts further destruction, but it does not erase the consequences of what has already been done.
Why Europe Must Not Pay Once Again to Preserve Russia
There is another calculation within Andrey Melnichenko’s proposal that he does not state directly. His project is not addressed to every part of Europe in the same way. He understands that in Poland, the Baltic states, Finland, Sweden, Norway and other countries in north-eastern Europe, talk of a “rational”, “renewed” and “predictable” Russia will inspire far less trust. These countries know all too well how Moscow uses periods of weakness, peaceful rhetoric and economic cooperation to rebuild its strength and then exert pressure on its neighbours.
The principal audience for such a programme is therefore the political and business establishment of Germany, France, Italy and certain other Western European countries. They are being offered a familiar bargain: abandon the idea of Russia’s disintegration, help preserve a single centre, gradually restore trade and receive in return a manageable state that will no longer act so crudely and unpredictably.
In practice, Melnichenko is calculating that part of the Western European elite will once again accept convenience as a substitute for security. He asks them to believe that the problem lay not in Russia’s structure, but in failed leadership, the excessive influence of the security services and the exclusion of professional business from decision-making. If major owners, technocrats and people capable of calculating economic consequences are returned to the system, Russia will supposedly become more rational and therefore less dangerous.
This calculation makes it appear as though German, French and Italian politicians are once again being treated as people who need only be offered cheap raw materials, a large market, predictable contracts and a promise of stability in order to stop asking more uncomfortable questions. Who will control the Russian army? Why should the nuclear arsenal be preserved? Who will pay the debts to Ukraine, Georgia and other affected states? Why should the regions remain under Moscow’s authority? What would prevent the new system from rebuilding military power and returning to coercion a few years later?
Melnichenko cannot fail to understand that Poland, the Baltic states and the Nordic countries will ask precisely these questions. Their political attitudes towards Russia were shaped not by abstract theory, but by the historical experience of living alongside the Russian Empire, the Soviet Union and the modern Russian Federation. They have seen Moscow conclude agreements, recognise borders and promise non-interference, only to later declare earlier arrangements unjust, temporary or imposed.
Latvia, Lithuania and Estonia know that Russian claims about security may mean demands to restrict the sovereignty of neighbouring states. Poland knows that Russian proposals for agreement may be combined with the partition of territory and the subsequent denial of responsibility. Finland knows that formal agreements do not exclude military attack if Moscow decides that changing borders serves its interests. Sweden and Norway understand that Russian military policy relies not only on direct invasion, but also on constant pressure, demonstrations of force, intelligence activity and the use of strategic ambiguity.
These countries will not necessarily assess every scenario for Russia’s future in the same way. But they are far less receptive to the idea that replacing Putin with more rational leadership while preserving the rest of the structure will be enough. For them, the problem lies not only in the personality of the Russian president, but in the ability of a single Moscow centre to concentrate resources again, rebuild the army and subordinate domestic policy to the idea of great-power status.
A different approach has historically been stronger in Germany, France and Italy. A substantial part of their political and business elites became accustomed to viewing Russia as a difficult but unavoidable partner. Its enormous territory, energy resources, nuclear weapons and permanent seat on the UN Security Council created the impression that Russia could not be changed, but had to be dealt with.
This produced a policy based on the belief that economic interdependence would gradually make the Russian authorities more predictable. Trade, investment, energy projects and the participation of Russian capital in the European economy were treated as instruments of stabilisation. It was assumed that a state closely tied to the European market would not destroy the system from which it derived income.
That calculation failed. The Russian authorities used revenue from trade and resource exports not only to raise living standards, but also to finance the army, the coercive apparatus and foreign-policy pressure. Economic integration did not alter the form of the Russian system. It provided that system with additional resources.
Melnichenko proposes restoring essentially the same model, but with a different group of managers. This time, the guarantor of rationality is supposed to be not the market itself, but Russian big capital. Billionaires and corporate executives are expected to prevent another catastrophic war because war destroys their property, international connections and ability to use their capital.
Yet this argument has already been disproved by recent Russian history. Big capital could not stop the war, could not protect property from the state and did not create an independent political institution capable of restraining the president. Russian billionaires existed because of the system and within it. Their fortunes did not become a counterweight to power because property rights depended on the same central government.
Melnichenko is now asking Western Europe to believe that, after the catastrophe, big capital will suddenly be capable of restraining the Russian state. But there is no independent judiciary, protected political competition, genuine federation or system of separated powers to make this possible. The proposal is to preserve the same unified centre while adding to the decision-making circle people better able to understand economic consequences.
This could make Russia not less dangerous, but more dangerous. Putin’s present system undermines its own economy through corruption, repression, technological isolation and disastrous decisions. A more professionally governed Russia would be able to rebuild industry, exports, the budget and military capabilities more quickly. If it also preserved its territory, natural resources, nuclear weapons and centralised authority, Europe would receive not a neutralised Russia, but a more efficient version of the former state.
Western European countries are in effect being asked to pay for Russia’s reconstruction once again. For decades, Europe bought Russian raw materials and thereby filled the budget of a state that later used the accumulated resources for war. Now, after the war, Europe is being asked to reopen markets, restore investment, remove restrictions and grant protection to Russian property.
At the same time, Europe will have to finance entirely different costs. It will have to participate in rebuilding Ukraine, support Ukrainian refugees, rearm its own forces, reinforce its eastern border, develop air defence and maintain heightened military readiness for decades. European countries are already paying, and will continue to pay for a long time, for the consequences of Russian aggression.
If Russia simultaneously retains its main state assets, natural-resource revenues, nuclear arsenal, industrial system and international status, the distribution of costs will be exceptionally favourable to the Russian elite. Russia gains the opportunity to rebuild its economy. Russian capital gains protection. Moscow receives a new international agreement. Ukraine and European taxpayers pay for the destruction carried out by the Russian state.
This is precisely what Europe must not allow.
Russian assets and future revenues must first be used to repay debts to the affected states. Only then can the normalisation of trade and protection of Russian property be discussed. The European market must not be reopened in exchange for promises of good behaviour. Access must be tied to specific obligations: the payment of reparations, the abandonment of nuclear blackmail, the reduction of military capacity, recognition of neighbouring states’ borders and the impossibility of restoring a single imperial vertical of power.
It is particularly dangerous to revive the contrast between a “pragmatic” Western Europe and an “emotional” Eastern Europe. For many years, warnings from Poland, the Baltic states and the Nordic countries were often treated as products of historical trauma, national fear or excessive suspicion. The policies of Germany, France and Italy, by contrast, were presented as more mature and rational because they were based on dialogue, trade and the preservation of channels of cooperation.
Yet the countries closer to Russia assessed the nature of its system more accurately. Their warnings were based not on irrational hostility, but on an understanding of the mechanism of Russian policy. Moscow treats concessions not as a basis for mutual restraint, but as evidence of the other side’s weakness. It uses economic dependence as an instrument of pressure. It observes peace agreements only until violating them appears advantageous. It explains internal centralisation by reference to an external threat and external expansion by reference to the demands of its own security.
Melnichenko probably understands that convincing Polish, Baltic and Nordic elites of the safety of a preserved Russia will be much more difficult. His message is therefore directed primarily at those countries where a desire to return to normality still exists: to resume trade, reduce military expenditure, restore predictable energy ties and stop living in a permanent state of crisis.
It is this desire that he turns into a political resource.
Western Europe is being offered an attractive illusion: Russia can remain large, united, nuclear-armed and sovereign, yet cease to be a threat if it is governed by more rational people. Meanwhile, disarmament, the division of imperial territory, the review of property rights and compensation obligations measured in trillions are presented as sources of chaos that it would be wiser to avoid.
But the chaos was created not by Russia’s break-up, but by its preservation. War, mass migration, the destruction of Ukraine, rising European military expenditure, the energy crisis and the threat of nuclear escalation are consequences of the existence of a unified Russian state, not of its disappearance.
Europe must therefore not choose convenience over security once again. It must not agree to preserve Russia merely because dismantling it would be complex, expensive and dangerous. Preserving the empire also has a price, and Europe has already begun to pay it.
Melnichenko is effectively inviting Western European states to trust the Russian elite once again and finance its recovery once again. He assumes that German, French and Italian politicians will prefer a predictable bargain to the difficult reconsideration of Russia’s entire structure.
But Poland, the Baltic states and the Nordic countries already know the price of such predictability. They understand that Russia uses periods of peace to rebuild its strength and economic cooperation to reinforce a state that later again demands recognition of special rights over neighbouring territories.
European policy must be based not on the hope that the next Russia will be more rational, but on making it impossible for the next Russia to repeat the same path.
This means that Russia cannot preserve all the advantages of a great power while leaving Europe to bear the costs created by its aggression. It must not retain its nuclear arsenal, principal state assets, export revenues and control over the regions merely because it is more convenient for Western European governments to deal with one centre.
Europe has already paid once for the mistaken belief that the Russian empire could be made safe through trade and dialogue. It must not pay a second time to preserve it.
The Central Question Is Not How to Preserve Russia
After all of Melnichenko’s arguments, one fundamental question remains: why should the future of the people living within the territory of the present-day Russian Federation be considered exclusively as the future of Russia?
The answer is already embedded in that formulation. The state must survive, while everything else — the political system, the distribution of property, the rights of the regions and the position of the individual — may be changed only within borders established in advance. Even discussion of another arrangement begins not with the interests of people, but with fear of the state’s disappearance.
But a state possesses no independent right to eternal existence. It is justified only for as long as it creates security, protects freedom and depends on the choice of society. If it systematically subordinates regions, destroys political competition, wages wars of conquest and turns the population into a resource for preserving its own power, its territorial integrity ceases to be an unconditional value.
This is precisely what Melnichenko avoids. He discusses the quality of Russia’s future government, but not the right of people to reject the Russian structure itself. He allows for changes to the regime, relations between the state and business, foreign policy and the economic model, yet preserving a single centre remains a condition that is not open to discussion.
His project therefore cannot be regarded as a project for the future of the people. It is a project for the future of the state and for the elite interested in its continuation. People are offered better conditions, more predictable rules and a less destructive government, but they are not granted the essential right to determine for themselves the state in which they will live and to whom political power should belong.
A genuine post-war order must proceed from the opposite principle. Territory and state symbols should not determine the fate of the individual; people should determine borders, institutions and the form of the state. Where societies decide to create independent countries, that decision must be recognised. Where several states voluntarily choose to preserve a common market, transport system or political union, such an association can exist on a contractual basis rather than under Moscow’s authority.
The international community should therefore not decide in advance that Russia must necessarily survive. Its task is different: to prevent wars among the new states, ensure control over dangerous weapons, protect civilians, establish rules of succession and prevent the obligations of the former state from disappearing.
Melnichenko proposes beginning with the preservation of Russia and then searching for a more rational form for it. The correct sequence is the reverse. The freedom of people, the security of neighbouring states, the payment of debts and the impossibility of renewed aggression must come first. Only then will the societies located within the territory of present-day Russia be able to decide independently what states and unions they require.
The future does not have to be called Russia. It has to be free.
Iv.Spolan
Author of the model “Basic Law of Political Economy”
