Russia as an Aspiring Great Power in East Asia: Perceptions and Policies from Yeltsin to Putin (St. Antony's Series)

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St Antony’s Series General Editor: Jan Zielonka (2004– ), Fellow of St Antony’s College, Oxford Recent titles include: Paradorn Rangsimaporn RUSSIA AS AN ASPIRING GREAT POWER IN EAST ASIA Perceptions and Policies from Yeltsin to Putin Motti Golani THE END OF THE BRITISH MANDATE FOR PALESTINE, 1948 The Diary of Sir Henry Gurney Demetra Tzanaki WOMEN AND NATIONALISM IN THE MAKING OF MODERN GREECE The Founding of the Kingdom of the Greco-Turkish War Simone Bunse SMALL STATES AND EU GOVERNANCE Leadership through the Council Presidency Judith Marquand DEVELOPMENT AID IN RUSSIA Lessons from Siberia Li-Chen Sim THE RISE AND FALL OF PRIVATIZATION IN THE RUSSIAN OIL INDUSTRY Stefania Bernini FAMILY LIFE AND INDIVIDUAL WELFARE IN POSTWAR EUROPE Britain and Italy Compared Tomila V. Lankina, Anneke Hudalla and Helmut Wollman LOCAL GOVERNANCE IN CENTRAL AND EASTERN EUROPE Comparing Performance in the Czech Republic, Hungary, Poland and Russia Cathy Gormley-Heenan POLITICAL LEADERSHIP AND THE NORTHERN IRELAND PEACE PROCESS Role, Capacity and Effect Lori Plotkin Boghardt KUWAIT AMID WAR, PEACE AND REVOLUTION Paul Chaisty LEGISLATIVE POLITICS AND ECONOMIC POWER IN RUSSIA Valpy FitzGerald, Frances Stewart and Rajesh Venugopal (editors) GLOBALIZATION, VIOLENT CONFLICT AND SELF-DETERMINATION Miwao Matsumoto TECHNOLOGY GATEKEEPERS FOR WAR AND PEACE The British Ship Revolution and Japanese Industrialization Håkan Thörn ANTI-APARTHEID AND THE EMERGENCE OF A GLOBAL CIVIL SOCIETY

Lotte Hughes MOVING THE MAASAI A Colonial Misadventure Fiona Macaulay GENDER POLITICS IN BRAZIL AND CHILE The Role of Parties in National and Local Policymaking Stephen Whitefield (editor) POLITICAL CULTURE AND POST-COMMUNISM José Esteban Castro WATER, POWER AND CITIZENSHIP Social Struggle in the Basin of Mexico Valpy FitzGerald and Rosemary Thorp (editors) ECONOMIC DOCTRINES IN LATIN AMERICA Origins, Embedding and Evolution Victoria D. Alexander and Marilyn Rueschemeyer ART AND THE STATE The Visual Arts in Comparative Perspective Ailish Johnson EUROPEAN WELFARE STATES AND SUPRANATIONAL GOVERNANCE OF SOCIAL POLICY Archie Brown (editor) THE DEMISE OF MARXISM-LENINISM IN RUSSIA Thomas Boghardt SPIES OF THE KAISER German Covert Operations in Great Britain during the First World War Era Ulf Schmidt JUSTICE AT NUREMBERG Leo Alexander and the Nazi Doctors’ Trial Steve Tsang (editor) PEACE AND SECURITY ACROSS THE TAIWAN STRAIT

St Antony’s Series Series Standing Order ISBN 978-0-333-71109-5 (hardback) 978-0-333-80341-7 (paperback) (outside North America only) You can receive future titles in this series as they are published by placing a standing order. Please contact your bookseller or, in case of difficulty, write to us at the address below with your name and address, the title of the series and the ISBNs quoted above. Customer Services Department, Macmillan Distribution Ltd, Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS, England

Russia as an Aspiring Great Power in East Asia Perceptions and Policies from Yeltsin to Putin Paradorn Rangsimaporn Diplomat, Ministry of Foreign Affairs of the Kingdom of Thailand Thailand

In association with St Antony’s College, Oxford

© Paradorn Rangsimaporn 2009 All rights reserved. No reproduction, copy or transmission of this publication may be made without written permission. No portion of this publication may be reproduced, copied or transmitted save with written permission or in accordance with the provisions of the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988, or under the terms of any licence permitting limited copying issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency, Saffron House, 6-10 Kirby Street, London EC1N 8TS. Any person who does any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages. The author has asserted his right to be identified as the author of this work in accordance with the Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988. First published 2009 by PALGRAVE MACMILLAN Palgrave Macmillan in the UK is an imprint of Macmillan Publishers Limited, registered in England, company number 785998, of Houndmills, Basingstoke, Hampshire RG21 6XS. Palgrave Macmillan in the US is a division of St Martin’s Press LLC, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010. Palgrave Macmillan is the global academic imprint of the above companies and has companies and representatives throughout the world. Palgrave® and Macmillan® are registered trademarks in the United States, the United Kingdom, Europe and other countries. ISBN-13: 978-0-230-21011-0 ISBN-10: 0-230-21011-2

hardback hardback

This book is printed on paper suitable for recycling and made from fully managed and sustained forest sources. Logging, pulping and manufacturing processes are expected to conform to the environmental regulations of the country of origin. A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library. A catalog record for this book is available from the Library of Congress. 10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1 18 17 16 15 14 13 12 11 10 09 Printed and bound in Great Britain by CPI Antony Rowe, Chippenham and Eastbourne

Dedicated to my parents

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Table of Contents List of Maps

ix

List of Tables

x

Acknowledgements

xi

Abbreviations 1

xii

Introduction

1

1.1

1

Research aims

1.2 Elite perceptions and Russian foreign policy

2

1.3

Terminology

5

1.4

Data and methodology

7

1.5

Chapter outline

9

2 Actors in Russia’s East Asia Policymaking

11

2.1 Defining and characterising actors

11

2.2

Central actors

13

2.3

Sectoral actors

17

2.4

The political elite

19

2.5

Specialists

20

2.6 The Russian Far East elite

21

3 Continuities and Evolution in Russian Perceptions of East Asia

23

3.1 The Eurasianist perspective

23

3.2

The Economic perspective

29

3.3

The Multipolarity perspective

35

3.4 Russia as a ‘Great Power’ – the unifying theme 4 The Many Faces of Eurasianism

40 42

4.1 Russia’s ‘Turn to the East’ and a balanced foreign policy

44

4.2 Geopolitics and the Neo-Eurasianist movement

49

4.3 The ‘Intercivilisational’ interpretation of Eurasianism

53

4.4 Critical views and the ‘End of Eurasia’

56

4.5 Conclusion: Rationalising Russia’s great-power status

58

vii

viii

Table of Contents

5 Economic Integrationist Aim and Projecting Influence 5.1

60

Economic integration: Russia’s place in the East Asian sun?

61

5.2

Energy interdependence: The locomotive for Russia’s integration?

79

5.3

Arming East Asia: Russia’s economic gains or strategic liability?

89

Conclusion: The realisation of Russian influence and great-power ambitions

99

6 Multipolarity and the East Asian Balance of Power

101

5.4

6.1 Multipolarity and Russian foreign policy

7

8

102

6.2 Managing a multipolar East Asia

108

6.3 Russian views of an East Asian regional security system

122

6.4 Conclusion: Reasserting Russia’s derzhavnost’

128

Case Studies

130

7.1 The ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF)

130

7.2 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC)

134

7.3 Russia as a Eurasian landbridge

139

7.4 Russia’s oil pipeline routes to East Asia

144

Conclusion

152

8.1 The beginnings of a Russian East Asia discourse

152

8.2 The perceptual components of the discourse

154

8.3 The convergence of perceptions from Yeltsin to Putin

155

8.4 Three perspectives in search of a great-power role

156

Notes

159

Bibliography

218

Index

250

Maps 2.1

The Russian Far East and East Siberia in 2008

7.1

The Trans-Siberian Land Bridge Network

140

7.2

East Siberia-Pacific Ocean (ESPO) Oil Pipeline Route (as of April 2007)

148

ix

13

Tables 5.1 Russian total trade turnover with East Asia (1996–9) (US$ million)

62

5.2 Russian total trade turnover with East Asia (2000–7) (US$ million)

66

x

Acknowledgements As this book is based on my doctoral thesis, I am greatly indebted to my supervisors, Alex Pravda and Yuen Foong Khong at the University of Oxford, who provided wise guidance and enriching advice throughout my research. I am also grateful to Bobo Lo, James Sherr, and Akihiro Iwashita for reading earlier drafts of this work and making many helpful comments. I am greatly indebted to the Slavic Research Centre, Hokkaido University, Sapporo, particularly Akihiro Iwashita and Osamu Ieda, for their generous hospitality and funding for my stay there in February–March 2005 and March–July 2008 to conduct research for this book. Much appreciation is further due to those who kindly agreed to be interviewed. I especially would like to thank Viktor Sumskii, Viktor Pavliatenko, Aleksandr Lukin, Aleksandr Voskresenskii, and Sergei Sevastianov whose invaluable assistance made possible many of my interviews in Moscow and Vladivostok. I am sincerely grateful to the Royal Thai Embassy in Moscow for their kind support, and to the Thai Foreign Ministry who sponsored my postgraduate studies and kindly granted me leave to conduct further research. This work, however, represents my personal views and not that of the Royal Thai Government. I am also grateful to the editorial team at Palgrave Macmillan for their help. My heartfelt thanks go to Kanokon Worachanyawong for her unflinching support and patient understanding throughout. My deepest gratitude goes to my family for their love, support, and enduring faith in me. I would like to thank the following for permission to reproduce copyright material herein: Shoichi Itoh and Hisako Tsuji at the Economic Research Institute for Northeast Asia (ERINA), Niigata, to reproduce respectively the Map of the Eastern Siberia-Pacific Ocean Oil Pipeline Route (as of April 2007) from http://www.erina.or.jp, and the Map of the Trans-Siberian Land Bridge Network from Hisako Tsuji, ‘The Curtain Rises on Act Two of the “Siberian Land Bridge”’, ERINA Report, vol. 78, November 2007, p. 38; Kaol Ito at the Slavic Research Centre for producing Map 2.1 The Russian Far East and East Siberia in 2008; Europe-Asia Studies as parts of Chapter 4 have previously appeared in my article ‘Interpretations of Eurasianism: Justifying Russia’s Role in East Asia’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 58, no. 3, 2006, pp. 371–89; and the Bangkok Post for the cover image entitled ‘Russian President Vladimir Putin arrives Don Muang military airport 19 October 2003. Deputy Prime Minister Suvit Khunkitti greeted him. Bangkok Post photo by Chanat Katanyu.’ Every effort has been made to trace rights holders, but if any have been inadvertently overlooked the publishers would be pleased to make the necessary arrangements at the first opportunity. xi

Abbreviations AMM

Annual Ministerial Meeting (ASEAN)

APEC

Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation

APR

Asia-Pacific Region

ARF

ASEAN Regional Forum

ASEAN

Association of Southeast Asian Nations

ASEM

Asia-Europe Meeting

BEF

Baikal Economic Forum

bm

3

billion cubic meters

BP

British Petroleum

bt

billion tons

CMC

Carnegie Moscow Centre

CNPC

Chinese National Petroleum Company

CSBM

Confidence and Security Building Measure

FDI

Foreign Direct Investment

FESCO

Far Eastern Shipping Company

FPS

Federal Border Service (Federal’naia pogranichnaia sluzhba)

FSB

Federal Security Service (Federal’naia sluzhba bezopasnosti)

GRU

Main Intelligence Directorate (Glavnoe razvedyvatel’noe upravlenie)

IAEA

International Atomic Energy Agency

IDVRAN

Institute for Far Eastern Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences (Institut dal’nego vostoka)

IMEMO

Institute for World Economy and International Relations, Russian Academy of Sciences (Institut mirovoi ekonomiki i mezhdunarodnykh otnoshenii)

IPD-MID

Information and Press Department, Russian Foreign Ministry

ISKRAN

Institute of the US and Canada, Russian Academy of Sciences (Institut SShA i Kanady)

IVRAN

Institute of Oriental Studies, Russian Academy of Sciences (Institut vostokovedeniia) xii

Abbreviations

xiii

KPRF

Communist Party of the Russian Federation (Kommunisticheskaia partiia Rossiiskoi federatsii)

LDPR

Liberal Democratic Party of Russia (Liberal’no-demokraticheshkaia partiia Rossii)

LWR

Light-Water Reactor

MGIMO

Moscow State Institute of International Relations (Moskovskii gosudarstvennyi institute mezhdunarodnykh otnoshenii)

MID

Foreign Ministry (Ministerstvo inostrannykh del)

MO

Defence Ministry (Ministerstvo oborony)

mt

million tons

Mtoe

Million tons of oil equivalent

MTC

Military-Technological Cooperation

NDR

Our Home is Russia Party (Nash Dom Rossiia)

NEA

Northeast Asia

NEAEC

Northeast Asian Energy Community

NICs

Newly-Industrialised Countries

NMD

National Missile Defence

NPT

Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty

OIC

Organisation of Islamic Conference

PA

Presidential Administration (Administratsiia Prezidenta)

PMC

Post-Ministerial Conference (ASEAN)

PSA

Production Sharing Agreement

RFE

Russian Far East

RNKTES

Russian National Committee for Pacific Economic Cooperation (Rossiiskii Natsional’nyi Komitet po Tikhookeanskomu Ekonomicheskomu Sotrudnichestvu)

SB

Security Council (Sovet Bezopasnosti)

SCO

Shanghai Cooperation Organisation

SEA

Southeast Asia

SVOP

Council for Foreign and Defence Policy (Sovet po vneshnei i oboronnoi politike)

SVR

Foreign Intelligence Service (Sluzhba vneshnei razvedki)

TEK

Fuel and Energy Complex (Toplivno-Energeticheskii Kompleks)

TKR

Trans-Korean Railway

3

tm

trillion cubic metres

xiv

Abbreviations

TMD

Theatre Missile Defence

TNK

Tiumen Oil Company (Tiumenskaia Neftianaia Kompaniia)

TSR

Trans-Siberian Railway

TsSVI GSh

Centre for Military-Strategic Research, General Staff (Tsentr Voenno-Strategicheskikh Issledovanii General’nogo Shtaba)

VPK

Military-Industrial Complex (Voenno-Promyshlennyi Kompleks)

1 Introduction

1.1 Research aims After the collapse of the Soviet Union, most commentators dismissed Russia as a marginal power playing an increasingly limited role in world affairs, including in East Asia. Yet in just a decade, Russia has resurfaced as a major player that cannot be ignored. Especially since Putin became president, Russian diplomacy has grown more active and confident, buoyed by high energy prices and increasing internal stability. While much attention has been paid to Russia’s more assertive role with regard to the West and the former Soviet space, little has been given to Russia’s role in East Asia – an undeniably increasingly important region. Most works have focused on Russian relations with particular East Asian states, but an examination of the regional dimension in Russian policy is lacking. This book attempts to redress this gap in the literature by examining Russian foreign policy thinking about East Asia as a region rather than as a mere sum of Russian bilateral relations with each state. By doing so, the book addresses another issue that has received inadequate coverage – the range of elite perceptions and thinking about Russia’s East Asia policy, their policy implications, and their understandings of Russia’s role and interests in this region. In so doing, this book aims to provide a greater understanding of Russia’s stance and policy towards this region, focusing on the years from Yeltsin’s second term (1996–2000) through Putin’s second term (2000–May 2008). From analysis of the elite discourse on East Asia, the book identifies three major perspectives by which the elite view Russian relations with East Asia. The first is an identity-based perspective based on the perceptions of Russia as a Eurasian country. Moscow used its perceived unique geographical presence and proximity, historical significance, and sense of mission in East Asia, to justify its right to play a role in this region. Secondly, an economics-based perspective in which the region appeared as a dynamic one, full of economic opportunities for Russia. This perspective highlighted the development of the Russian Far East (RFE) and its integration into the East Asian economy. 1

2 Russia as an Aspiring Great Power in East Asia

Thirdly, a perspective on East Asia as multipolar, in which Russian views of regional security were informed by balance-of-power thinking. Russia also sought to enhance its influence and status in the region by developing bilateral ties and participating in multilateral institutions, while seeking to preserve a stable external environment for Russia’s internal development. The central argument is that these three perspectives, Eurasianist, Economic, and Multipolarity, reflected the elite’s aspirations for Russia to reassert itself as a great power in East Asia. Under Putin, this great-power aim became more coherent than that under Yeltsin. Through Putin’s recentralisation of power over foreign policy making, these perspectives were brought into greater convergence towards realising this goal under a more pragmatic approach to foreign policy. Russia sought to become a great power by making itself indispensable for regional security, through increasing its influence and presence in the region while securing a stable environment for its internal development.

1.2 Elite perceptions and Russian foreign policy This book takes as its premise that perceptions matter in a state’s behaviour and foreign policy. A state is not a monolithic entity, but rather composed of human beings who make policy decisions influenced by their interpretations of a phenomenon. How they perceive the phenomenon, in turn, may be influenced by many stimuli, including ideas, beliefs, and material considerations. Thus perceptions can usefully be seen as an ‘intermediate variable’ or ‘causal nexus’ between the environment and behaviour; that is, considerations of phenomena external to an individual must be screened through that individual’s perception before s/he acts.1 Perceptions matter in foreign policy making, but to what extent and how they do so remain matters for debate and further study. It is difficult and arguably impossible to impute cognitive variables to a particular action in as multifaceted a process as foreign policy making. Other explanatory variables, such as material capabilities, domestic politics, and external circumstances, are significant, and it remains unclear how they influence the role of cognitive variables themselves.2 Nonetheless this does not mean that foreign-policy analysis based on cognitive variables is a fruitless task. Indeed, a study of foreign policy making that takes into account cognitive factors produces a richer explanation through providing better understanding of how policymakers interpret the international system and events and how best to respond to them based on their interpretation of the national interest. As Wendt argued, ‘the content of interests is in turn constituted in important part by ideas . . . power and interest have the effects they do in virtue of the ideas that make them up’.3 Goldstein and Keohane, on the other hand, argued that ‘ideas as well as interests have causal weight in explanations of human actions’.4 Thus cognitive factors are undoubtedly important in determining

Introduction

3

policy, but how and to what extent they are remains open to debate. The role of perceptions in foreign policy making has been extensively analysed by Jervis, in which policymakers’ perceptions often diverge from that of reality, thereby introducing bias or distortion in policymaking and outcome. Here, the perceptions or beliefs of policymakers may act as a ‘proximate cause’ of foreign policy behaviour, which influences at other levels of analysis, be it international or domestic, cannot immediately explain.5 Jervis also pointed out that a key source of misperception of a country’s foreign policy behaviour is the assumption that this was based on a unitary actor rather than, as is often the case, the ‘outcome of shifting interactions among conflicting forces and interests’ within that country’s foreign-policy elite.6 Thus to better understand a country’s foreign policy one must first understand the internal foreign policy-making environment in which the interplay of domestic politics – between different interest or governmental groups, and between their competing interpretations of the national interest – is a crucial point of departure for understanding how policy is made and, more tentatively, why policy is as it is.7 There have been numerous studies of the causative role of cognitive/ psychological variables on Soviet policy.8 With the collapse of the Soviet Union, there has been a renewed interest in the study of cognitive factors in determining Russian foreign policy. This interest may have reflected the debate on post-Soviet Russia’s identity, national interests, foreign policy, and the new international order that was heatedly conducted by the Russian elite in the early 1990s.9 This debate was broadly characterised as one between Westernisers – those who support a pro-Western foreign policy orientation based on shared values of democracy and market economy – and Fundamentalist Nationalists/Eurasianists (a mix of communists and nationalists), who saw Russia as a unique civilisation that should follow its own political and economic development course different from that of the West, while pursuing the re-establishment of the Russian/Soviet Empire and an anti-Western foreign policy. Another more centrist Pragmatic Nationalist view did not entirely reject Western values of democracy and market economy but asserted that their application to Russia should take into account Russia’s interests and specific conditions as opposed to the Westernisers’ blinding pursuit of these values. Pragmatic Nationalists advocated an independent Russian foreign policy, one that was less Western-oriented and more diversified through forging relations with other non-Western states.10 By 1993, this characterisation became less representative of the elite debate, as a consensus based on the Pragmatic Nationalist position began to form. The official Russian position toned down its initial pro-Western course and adopted a more balanced policy, placating some of the opposition to the initial pro-Western course and taking into account some concerns of the Fundamentalist Nationalists/Eurasianists. Nonetheless some foreign policy debate and differing elite perceptions remained.11


This book does not aspire to demonstrate direct causal linkages between perceptions and policies. Instead it proposes to outline and dissect the contents of the elite discourse on Russia’s East Asia policy and analyse their policy implications.12 In so doing, the book examines whether there was a coherent perception of East Asia and Russia’s role in it and whether a policy was formulated reflecting this. It also seeks to provide better understanding of Russia’s policy by analysing the interplay between different elite perceptions. But it does not make specific claims on how particular perceptions determine actual policy. The distinction may be seen as between claiming ‘hard causality’ and ‘soft causality’. The approach taken here is one of ‘soft causality’, in which the association between elite perceptions and their policy implications with that of actual policy is indicated by correlation rather than causation.13 To be able to confidently prove causation would require access to key policy papers, minutes of meetings, and policymakers’ personal memos. Such access is particularly difficult for a contemporary study of a rather closed country like Russia. Despite the limited access to data, it is still analytically appropriate and useful to identify elite perceptions, their indication of security priorities and policy implications, and the nature of the policy debate, from open and available sources, in order to enhance our understanding of Russia’s East Asia policy rather than to explain it outright.14 Emphasis is thus on the policy discourse and policymaking environment rather than on the policymaking process itself. Gilbert Rozman, a prominent researcher, takes this approach. His works on the perceptions of Northeast Asian states towards one another during the Cold War and after show that a country’s perception of another is not monolithic. By analysing the shifting interplay between different elite actors and perceptions one could discern the role of changing perceptions on actual policy or indicate future policy shifts.15 Rozman’s approach emphasises intensive study of how nations debate their own circumstances and their policy implications. He argues for detailed research on particular countries and argues against the tendency to dismiss area studies as ‘unscientific’.16 Taking a similar approach, Neumann has analysed the elite’s self-perceptions of Russia’s identity and perceptions towards the European ‘other’. He shows that Russia’s debate on Europe throughout the ages has reflected its own national identity formation and foreign policy orientation.17 However, what has been less studied is Asia as Russia’s ‘other’ in identity and foreign policy formation. Chapter 4 of this book hopes to fill in this gap and help shed some light on the broader historical debate regarding Russia’s identity vis-à-vis Asia by examining Russia’s understanding and interpretation of its Eurasian identity in relation to its role in East Asia. While there are many studies on Russian elite perceptions of individual East Asian countries,18 there are relatively few on East Asia treated as a regional whole. One study examines Russia’s early East Asia policy as part of the broader elite debate between two competing foreign policy trends – Westernism and Eurasianism – but does not identify what the key

Introduction

5

foreign policy concepts involved were, apart from Eurasianism which was not clearly analysed.19 Lo, on the other hand, does examine the key concepts involved in Russia’s East Asia policy, and this book draws on some of these. But he does not analyse the different views regarding these concepts among the foreign policy elite in great detail.20 Rozman rightly contends that such an analysis is necessary and that analysts should focus their examination more on the internal Russian debate and images of East Asian states in order to understand and detect potential changes in policy.21 Another recent study examines Russian strategic thinking towards wider Asia. While a welcome addition to the literature, its focus tends to remain on Russian thinking and policies in terms of major states rather than as a region.22

1.3 Terminology In Jervis’s classic work, perceptions were understood to mean foreign policy actors’ ‘beliefs about the world and their images of others’.23 This implies that perceptions may not necessarily be based on reality, but on one’s understanding of reality. The term ‘perception’ is often used by social scientists interchangeably with other cognitions like ‘images’, ‘beliefs’, and ‘attitudes’, though it is analytically useful to draw some distinctions between the key terms employed here. As Lukin notes, ‘image’ describes the entire picture of a foreign country (or region) that a person has or a member of a particular elite group shares, while ‘perception’ is used in a narrower sense to designate some aspects of the broader image of the country (or region).24 Since this study specifically focuses on foreign policy and security25 aspects in Russian thinking of East Asia as a region, ‘perception’ is used instead of ‘image’ as the umbrella cognitive term and employed interchangeably with ‘view’. In denoting how the elite perceived specific concepts like Eurasianism, economic integration, and multipolarity discussed herein, the terms ‘interpretation’ or ‘understanding’ are sometimes used. ‘Perspective’ is used to refer to a cluster of perceptions associated with a particular reference point. For instance, elite perceptions highlighting economic integration, arms transfers, and energy interdependence are together referred to as the Economic perspective. Thus the three main perceptual components of the elite discourse on East Asia are referred to as the Eurasianist, Economic, and Multipolarity perspectives. Goldstein and Keohane’s categories of ideas, defined as beliefs held by individuals, can be applied to clarify this book’s central argument.26 We focus on two categories of theirs – ideas as principled and causal beliefs. For analytical purposes, the elite’s consensual ultimate goal of (re)establishing Russia’s great-power status is considered a ‘principled belief’ as it is a normative idea that Russia deserves to be a great power with a corresponding role in East Asia, regardless of whether it is objectively right or wrong.27 The three main perspectives distinguished above fall into the category of ‘causal belief’, inasmuch as they were perceived as means by which Russia could (re)establish its great-power status in the region.


Perhaps one reason why there has not been a study on perceptions and policy towards East Asia as a regional whole is that there is no clear definition among analysts of what constitutes this region, or whether it even exists as a ‘community’ – of the countries sharing common traits, culture, interests, and values arguably akin to that of Europe. Different ‘Asian cultures as regional identity do not constitute a strong basis for regionalism.’ Indeed, strong nationalism in East Asia has hindered regionalism, and any attempts to create a viable East Asian community must take into account national sovereignty as the basis for regional organisation and cooperation.28 Thus, East Asian regionalism remains underdeveloped, despite recent moves towards developing the ASEAN+3 (China, Japan, and South Korea) into an East Asian community. The first East Asian summit in Kuala Lumpur in December 2005 failed to produce a sense of community or common interests among its participants. It was a far cry from what former Malaysian Prime Minister Mahathir Mohammad had in mind when he proposed such a community in 1990 since this summit included India, Australia, and New Zealand, with Russia as an observer. Furthermore, East Asia is often seen as a sub-region – part of the Asia-Pacific Region (APR) or of wider Asia. Nonetheless both Russian and non-Russian analysts29 using the terms the ‘APR’ or ‘Asia’ often end up describing primarily Russian policy towards countries in Northeast Asia (NEA) and Southeast Asia (SEA), which now encompasses all ASEAN states since 1999. In this author’s view, the countries of NEA together with those of SEA constitute East Asia.30 Thus East Asia is a useful analytical framework as it contains those countries that Russia focuses on when it talks about policy towards the Far East or the APR. While other analyses focus on the sub-region of NEA, which reflects the priority traditionally given by Russia to countries in this area, Russia has increasingly factored SEA into their policy thinking particularly since ASEAN has taken the lead so far in regionalism.31 Furthermore, the APR is too broad a geopolitical entity to render an analysis of Russian policy towards this region useful or coherent since any comprehensive analysis of the APR should also include Australia, New Zealand, the US, the South Pacific, and the Pacific Rim Latin American countries.32 Since the Asia-Pacific countries – in which Russia is primarily interested, apart from the US – are mainly East Asian states, the APR as an analytical unit appears superfluous. Nonetheless it is often used and understood by the Russian elite as a dynamically growing and integrating economic entity.33 In this respect, the term APR will sometimes be used to reflect the broader connotations and understanding of Russian economic perceptions and policy. Taiwan is part of East Asia but Russian relations with this country are limited as Moscow supports Beijing’s ‘One China’ position. Although Mongolia may be part of Northeast Asia, its importance for Russia’s policy has become marginal, as Mongolia has lost its ‘buffer’ status during the Cold War. Both are excluded from this analysis. The Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) will also not be focused upon since it primarily covers Central Asia, although it will

Introduction

7

be briefly examined within the context of Russo-Chinese relations.34 Given the contentious nature of East Asia having a distinct political, sociocultural, and economic regional identity, it must be clarified that this book does not primarily address the issue whether there exists a Russian perception or understanding of East Asian regionalism. Rather, it examines the Russian elite’s perception(s) of Russia’s role in East Asia with regard to the nature of the collective dynamics of the states in this region as defined above.

1.4 Data and methodology Data for this study have been collected primarily from official documents such as the Foreign Policy and National Security Concepts35 and statements by foreign policy actors recorded in newspaper reports (Russian and foreign), official documents, academic and military journals, and some cited in secondary Russian and foreign sources and scholarly works. More than 40 semi-structured interviews of relevant analysts and specialists and government officials and diplomats were conducted, mainly in Moscow (October–November 2005) and Vladivostok (November 2004).36 As most interviewees have preferred to remain anonymous, names will not be disclosed unless the views cited are identical to those they have already publicly expressed. The sources used were chosen on two grounds. The first was relevance in two senses: the extent to which their contents pertained to perceptions and policies about East Asia and also the policymaking ‘weight’ of the actor concerned (see Chapter 2). The second consideration was to achieve as extensive a range of sources as possible in order to avoid selection bias. The focus is on the years between 1996 and early 2008 – towards the end of Putin’s second term – since it is from 1996 onwards that the beginnings of a foreign policy towards East Asia became discernible and substantive enough to warrant analysis. Moreover, this time frame is useful for examining the change and continuity in elite perceptions and the nature of the foreign policymaking environment from Yeltsin to Putin. This study does not strictly attribute a particular perception to an institutional actor since perceptions may vary between individuals within that institution. It may, however, illustrate the broad perceptual consensus of that institutional actor shared by individuals within it. It also highlights any divergences in perception within the institutional actor or elite group, and any shared views across different groups or institutions. Furthermore, the subject under study here encompasses a broad range of issues that render categorisation of various actors under different labels difficult and superficial. However, in analysing the elite interpretations and perceptions of a specific concept or issue, categorisation is sometimes employed to give more analytical depth; though it should be noted that no individual actor perfectly fits in a particular typology. But regarding the elite’s overall perception of East Asia and Russia’s role in it, no categorisation is attempted.


The elite’s perceptions, interpretations, or understandings of ideas and policies are inferred from the aforementioned sources as the use of direct observational methods is difficult. Since the study does not aspire to find direct causality between perceptions and policy, we rely on descriptive inference – the process of understanding an unobserved phenomenon on the basis of a set of observations.37 Our observations focus on ‘articulated perceptions’ – perceptions that were articulated in publications and direct interviews collected here.38 It is these ‘articulated perceptions’ that constitute the discourse on East Asia on which we focus. Without access to personal and internal memos and minutes of meetings, the validity of inference remains limited. However, if the perception inferred from the actor’s statement remains consistent in different sources and contexts, then it appears unlikely that the statement was made instrumentally; whether or not it represents the actor’s true beliefs remains unproven.39 A ‘grounded theory’ approach to methodology, used by qualitative sociologists, has been applied here in the categorisation of the three main perspectives which constitute our research’s units of analysis. Instead of selectively choosing data according to a priori theoretical categories, provisional categorisation was made based on preliminary data and then compared with additional collected data to see whether the categorisations fit. Data were then reformulated so as to make them empirically valid.40 These three perspectives consistently appeared in Russian policy statements on East Asia during the period examined.41 This categorisation proves useful as together these perspectives encompass most of the major issues in Russian relations with East Asia. Problems of selection bias are minimised inasmuch as the study does not make claims about which perspective had the greater influence on Russia’s East Asia policy. Rather, all the perspectives are seen as significant, given their consistent appearance in policy statements. All included the common theme of Russia’s aspirations to become a great power with an enhanced presence and role in East Asia. Indications of convergence or divergence of elite perceptions within each perspective and between perspectives are inferred from the sources examined. For instance, whether there were different views among elite actors regarding Russia’s role in East Asia or the means to realise this. What kind of policies were proposed or implied by each perspective and how perspectives were interpreted with respect to particular interests and elite actors is also inferred from the data. A priori criteria or categorisation of the sources is necessary in order to provide more systematic analysis and guidelines for inferring different perceptions from the evidence.42 Two kinds of evidence are involved here – the statements of elite actors and actual policy. One could argue that statements are also a form of policy – as ‘speech-acts’ – that represent a certain perception or are communicated instrumentally. This body of evidence is our primary focus and the observable implications within each perspective are categorised according to the aspect or theme, within a particular perspective, emphasised and

Introduction

9

advocated by the elite. This analysis constitutes the main part of the book (Chapters 4, 5, and 6). Our lesser emphasis on actual policy implemented is addressed in Chapter 7, which examines four case studies of Russia’s East Asia policy, policies with a regional scope taken by Moscow to restore its regional influence: (1) Russian participation in the ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF); (2) Russian participation in the Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC); (3) Russia as a Eurasian Landbridge policy, primarily through the potential linking of the TransSiberian Railway (TSR) with the Trans-Korean Railway (TKR); and (4) Russian oil pipeline policy, the route of which for a long while was undecided, whether to go to the Pacific coast or to China. These cases are not, strictly speaking, full-fledged case studies but rather illustrations of the policy discourse and conduct examined in each case. It is an ‘atheoretical’ type of case study where narrative is used in the process-tracing.43 Our case studies have the following aims: (1) to identify the contents of the particular policy discourse and the perceptions and interests of the actors involved and (2) to ascertain how these policies relate to Russian great-power ambitions in East Asia. The cases selected are further varied according to ‘type’. The first two cases on Russian participation in multilateral institutions are most likely cases of a policy with regional scope, while the two latter cases approximate least likely ones since the bilateral dimension with particular East Asian states may be more prevalent. The cases selected do not necessarily correspond exclusively to one of the three perspectives identified but often reflect a mixture of different perspectives. For instance, the landbridge case reflects both the Eurasianist and Economic Perspectives. While the cases selected reflect various perspectives on East Asia, we essentially explore whether there existed an underlying greatpower theme which would illustrate the elite’s shared great-power aspirations; the policies examined being the means to realise this end.

1.5 Chapter outline The book firstly provides the policymaking and historical backgrounds. Chapter 2 examines the relative ‘weight’ of Russian actors in East Asia policy, and the nature of policymaking under Yeltsin and Putin. The former illustrates the likely influence of different actors on policy and thereby the corresponding significance of these actors’ articulated perceptions analysed in subsequent chapters. The latter gives the background against which the perceptual components of the elite discourse interact through different periods. Chapter 3 examines the continuities and evolution of Russian perceptions and policies towards East Asia, focusing on policy in the nineteenth century, the Soviet period, and up to the early post-Soviet period. It illustrates the enduring features of the three perspectives examined thereafter. The book subsequently dissects the perceptual contents and policy implications of Russia’s three main perspectives on East Asia. Chapter 4 outlines the three main elite interpretations of Russia’s


Eurasian identity – the official pragmatic, the geopolitical or Neo-Eurasianist, and the intercivilisational interpretations. It shows what each entails for Russia’s relations with East Asia. It argues that Russia’s Eurasian identity was used instrumentally to justify Russia’s regional presence and perceived right to have a significant role. Eurasianism can thus be understood as the ‘ideational’ foundation for Russia’s great-power status. Chapter 5 analyses different elite emphases in increasing Russia’s economic role in East Asia – through economic integration, especially that of the RFE; energy interdependence; and selling arms. It shows the consensual view that Russia had to integrate into the AsiaPacific economy and develop its RFE, but this objective was not fully achieved. Russia also emphasised the use of its two remaining economic assets, energy and arms, for projecting economic and political influence. Economic strength was thus perceived by the elite as one important prerequisite attribute for Russia to become a great power. Chapter 6 examines elite views of a multipolar East Asia and the implications for Russia arising from shifts in the regional balance of power, namely China’s rise and the US military presence and developments. While Russia attempted to counterbalance US power globally, the shifting East Asian power balance necessitated Russia to seek to preserve a stable regional environment, while finding ways to enhance its own influence. Russia advocated a Concert of Powers approach to managing regional security, since this was most consonant with Russia’s multipolarity and great-power thinking. East Asian multipolarity thus posed both challenges and opportunities for Russian aspirations to become a great power. An analysis of selected East Asia policies of Russia is then made in Chapter 7. The four case studies show that underlying the expected dominant perspective in each case were indications of Russian aspirations to become a great power. It argues that all cases are regional policies that share a common theme of being seen as the means to assert Russia’s great-power status in East Asia. Finally, Chapter 8 concludes the book’s main arguments and findings – that there existed an elite discourse on East Asia as a region, in which the three major perspectives identified can be interpreted as ‘causal beliefs’ that help realise the ‘principled belief’ in Russia’s great-power status. Under Putin, this great-power aim became more clearly defined, with increased recognition by Putin that Russia must build up its economic strength first in order to become a great power. Nonetheless there was no clear consensus among the elite as to the means or policies to realise Russia’s great-power aim and what kind of great power Russia should be, resulting in the continued lack of a coherent and well-defined East Asia strategy. I have used the American Library of Association and Library of Congress (ALA-LC) transliteration system but without diacritics. However, the common spelling of words like Yeltsin and Yukos is used and the citation of Russian words/names from English-language material will be kept in their original form. For example, ‘Alexander Lukin’ is used when referring to English-language works by this author, but ‘Aleksandr Lukin’ is used when referring to Russianlanguage works by the same author as this is the proper transliteration.

2 Actors in Russia’s East Asia Policymaking

This chapter serves two purposes. Firstly, it assesses the ‘weight’ or significance of different elite actors’ statements on East Asia examined in the following chapters according to their likely influence on Russia’s East Asia policymaking and discourse. Secondly, it outlines the nature of policymaking under Yeltsin and Putin, highlighting the differences and continuities between the two periods. This provides the background against which we assess the greater convergence of elite perceptions under Putin. The chapter firstly characterises the Russian foreign policy elite according to their likely influence on policy. It then examines each actor in more detail with regards to their role in East Asia policy.

2.1 Defining and characterising actors Perceptions can be held by an individual policymaker or shared by a particular group. The term ‘actor’ is used herein when referring to the major groups and individuals involved in the East Asia discourse and/or policymaking, including those who participated continuously in the policymaking process and those who influenced discourse and/or policy occasionally when dealing with specific issues.1 These actors are collectively referred to as the ‘foreign policy elite’, whose perceptions are considered distinct from the general public’s in two ways – their greater potential impact on foreign policy making and their higher level of informed opinion due to their expertise and greater access to information.2 However, unlike Soviet times when the foreign policy elite was structurally centralised, the scope of who constitutes postSoviet Russia’s foreign policy elite has broadened. Democratisation led to a ‘proliferation’ of actors due to the greater freedom of expression and media outlets. This increases the difficulty in ‘weighing’ the significance of actors, especially non-official ones. Moreover, proximity and influence depends to a large extent on personal contacts, making it harder to assess an actor’s influence.3 Furthermore, the exact extent of Russian official actors’ influence in determining foreign policy is difficult to discern, since their influence does 11


not necessarily correspond to that outlined in the constitution. Moreover, the access and significance of actors varies according to the issue in question, for example military or economic. Also, sometimes actors act autonomously according to their own interests – an acute problem under Yeltsin. In light of this, the question of who determines East Asia policy is problematic. Although the president has the final say in policy, this was questionable during Yeltsin’s later years. Moreover, who influences the president’s decisions on East Asia policy and how remains unclear. As this research concentrates on tracing and outlining the nature of elite discourse, it nonetheless seems worth analysing the following units broadly distinguished by their level of proximity to East Asia policy. This elite characterisation helps to identify the significance of the evidence examined. Primary emphasis would be given to statements made by central actors who determine policy and represent the official position. This group includes the president, the Presidential Administration (PA), the Security Council (SB), the Foreign Ministry (MID), the intelligence services, both internal (FSB) and external (SVR, GRU), the Defence Ministry (MO), and the Russian Armed Forces. The second group consists of sectoral actors, who become significant in particular issues that directly concern them, like arms transfers and energy issues. This group firstly consists of those at the official level, such as the economics and energy ministries, and secondly, economic interest groups like the Military-Industrial Complex (VPK) and the Fuel and Energy Complex (TEK). The third group is the non-governmental political elite who are prominent either in terms of institutional responsibility and expertise like both legislative chambers’ international affairs committees, or active and vocal in the foreign policy and East Asia discourse. The fourth group consists of specialists based at relevant academic institutes like the Institute for Far Eastern Studies (IDVRAN), Moscow State Institute of International Relations (MGIMO), Institute for World Economy and International Relations (IMEMO), Oriental Institute (IVRAN), and independent institutions like the Carnegie Moscow Centre (CMC). It also includes the Council for Foreign and Defence Policy (SVOP), which gathers various specialists to make policy recommendations, and journalists specialising in East Asian affairs. The significance of this latter group lay in its informed ‘critical’ or ‘auxiliary’ capacity in relation to the government’s perceptions and policy towards East Asia. However, its actual influence was marginal and dependant on personal contacts and access to the Kremlin rather than institutional clout. The last group is the Russian Far East elite which lies outside this circle of influence and were vocal on issues directly pertaining to their interests, for instance border demarcation (see Map 2.1).4 However, their influence on such issues became increasingly marginal under Putin. It should be noted that individual actors can transcend these layers of the elite, and perceptions and policy positions can be shared by different actors, cutting across institutional boundaries and elite groups. The nature and evolution of these groups’ influence from Yeltsin to Putin is now briefly examined.

Actors in Russia’s East Asia Policymaking 13

Map 2.1

The Russian Far East and East Siberia in 2008

Source: Produced by Kaol Ito, Slavic Research Center.

2.2 Central actors The apex of executive authority of a presidential system lies with the president. The 1993 Constitution states that the president ‘determines the fundamental direction of foreign policy of the state’.5 In organisational terms, the defence and foreign ministers, and directors of the intelligence agencies, report directly to the president. They also are members of the president’s SB, which often acts as a forum for different actors to assert their


positions rather than having significance in itself.6 The president also has a foreign policy aide and the PA has a foreign policy directorate. In this respect, Russian foreign policy is essentially ‘presidential’. However, the nature of affairs under Yeltsin and Putin were quite different. Bureaucraticinfighting between MID, the MO, and the PA, and the autonomous pursuit of self-interests by some governmental agencies, notably the arms export monopoly Rosvooruzhenie, undermined the coherence and coordination of Yeltsin’s East Asia policy. According to Blank, this ‘deinstitutionalisation’ and ‘privatisation’ of foreign and security policymaking was a deliberate strategy of Yeltsin’s to assert control over the state and its apparatuses. The result, however, was that Russia’s Asian policies were essentially the subject of a ‘free-for-all’ where rival factions contended among each other for preferences and access.7 During his second term, Yeltsin himself was often too incapacitated to coordinate or direct foreign policy leaving this to more capable and assertive characters like Evgenii Primakov who was foreign minister (1996–8) and prime minister (1998–9), questioning the view that Yeltsin’s foreign policy was truly presidential.8 For instance, the term Russo–Chinese ‘strategic partnership towards the 21st century’ was coined by Primakov and accepted by Yeltsin on their way to Beijing in 1996.9 Putin, on the other hand, restored some semblance of order to the previous policymaking chaos and managed to coordinate and direct foreign policy by navigating through the murky waters of different competing actors and interests. He initially balanced between the Yeltsin faction (for example, Presidential Chief-of-Staff Aleksandr Voloshin, Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov, and former Prime Minister Viktor Chernomyrdin) and his own people – the siloviki and Pitertsy – former colleagues and friends from his time in the KGB and St. Petersburg politics. The balance, however, ultimately shifted in favour of Putin’s own people.10 There is evidence that Putin liked to work with a small group of close associates, namely Sergei Ivanov and Dmitrii Medvedev, each identified respectively with the group of siloviki and economic liberals within the ruling elite, in which Putin tried to maintain balance.11 Nonetheless he did not make decisions in a vacuum and had to rely on advice and information from other actors. Putin retained Sergei Prikhod’ko from the Yeltsin administration as his foreign policy aide. Under Putin, there has been less bureaucratic rivalry over foreign policy compared to that under Yeltsin, with the PA assuming primacy in overall foreign policy making over MID.12 However, the influence of Prikhod’ko and the PA’s foreign policy directorate on the formation of East Asia policy was likely to be limited due to its small size and the absence of a sizeable autonomous information base on international affairs, which meant that the PA must rely largely on MID for information. This was further compounded by the lack of East Asia specialists within the PA. Although a few were later recruited, they were at junior level and unlikely to be prominent enough to wield much influence. Prikhod’ko himself was


a former diplomat specialising in Europe, though apparently acquiring knowledge and interest in East Asian affairs, particularly regarding China. Apart from the PA’s limited capacity, the PA was mainly responsible for protocol and organisational work rather than formulating East Asia policy itself. The relationship between the PA and MID appeared to be two-way, with the PA, in consultation with the president, setting the overall East Asia agenda, while MID may propose more detailed policy initiatives to be discussed with the PA and for the president’s consideration.13 The president also has another important source of advice and information – the intelligence services. The SVR in particular has the most direct operational impact on foreign policy and managed to maintain its professional respect after the collapse of communism, being less involved in internal political rivalry than other security agencies.14 During Yeltsin’s second term, the SVR’s role apparently increased to being not only a tool but also an initiator of foreign policy. In September 1999, Yeltsin himself publicly stated that the SVR played a greater role in foreign policy than MID or any other institution.15 Moreover, Primakov headed the SVR before becoming foreign minister, and was close to his successor, Viacheslav Trubnikov. Thus the SVR’s role in foreign policy making was probably high during this period. The SVR also has Asia specialists who can provide alternative analysis and policy prescriptions.16 On arms transfers, for example, the organisational interests of the security services and MID dictate that they both sometimes act as restraints on the export of arms – when it is politically sensitive in MID’s case, and a threat to national security in the security services’ case.17 On the other hand, the security services are close to the VPK and may more aggressively support arms exports as a foreign policy tool to extend Russian influence (SVR) and to prevent social unrest from further degradation of the VPK (FSB) than MID.18 Given Putin’s intelligence background and close associates in charge of the security services, it seems likely that their input in the formulation of all major foreign security policy decisions, including on East Asia, and as a key source of analysis and information for Putin remained high.19 In terms of resources, experience, and specialists at its disposal, MID appears to be the most influential institution in Russia’s East Asia policy.20 As one senior MID official noted, ‘the main brains regarding our Asian policy are of course in MID’.21 Nonetheless the Ministry’s stature was initially not as high as that during Soviet times due to competition for influence from other governmental agencies and the shortage of new skilled and specialist staff due to poor pay.22 For instance, during the 1992 territorial negotiations with Japan, MID’s Far Eastern department could find only one Japanese expert to join the ad hoc section on this issue.23 Nonetheless in comparison with other government agencies, MID remained the only institution well equipped to influence East Asia policy in all spheres, by advising, coordinating, and implementing, if not fully determining and initiating policy. When MID did make policy initiatives to the president through the PA, this was


likely in consultation with the latter, for instance on border demarcations with China. Thus, MID acted in concordance with the PA to set the East Asia policy agenda. Moreover, MID acted as a conduit of ideas and proposals from the research community, conveying them to the PA. Nonetheless the final decision on whether these proposals were accepted lay with the president and the PA.24 During the late 1990s, MID’s First (China, Japan, and the two Koreas) and Second (ASEAN countries) Asia departments together oversaw diplomacy with East Asia. In June 2001, a Department for ASEAN and All-Asian Affairs responsible for Asia-Pacific multilateral institutions and bilateral relations with ASEAN states was created.25 In January 2008, this Department was further separated into two departments – the Department of the Asia-Pacific Region which oversees bilateral relations with ASEAN and South Pacific states, along with Japan, and the Department of General Asian Problems which is responsible for multilateral and regional affairs. A deputy foreign minister in charge of Asian affairs is usually appointed to oversee these departments, give advice to the foreign minister, be the representative of Russian interests in dealings with Asia, and be the main troubleshooter in Asian affairs, for instance on North Korean negotiations.26 As an institutional body, MID often spoke in one voice and its statements in the period under study could be seen as representing the official position, though this was sometimes contradicted by other elite actors’ statements and actions as subsequently shown. MID’s formal role as main coordinator and overseer of foreign policy was also sometimes undermined by Yeltsin’s intermittent creation of other coordinating bodies that threatened to bypass MID; such as the short-lived Foreign Policy Council. Furthermore, when various ministries and agencies conducted their ‘own’ foreign policies, which sometimes diverged, MID often had to act as the intermediary.27 Nonetheless, despite being challenged by other agencies, the permanence of MID was undisputed and it remained the main actor in making foreign policy recommendations (in consultation with the PA and subject to presidential approval) and implementing them. During the 1990s, the MO, Armed Forces, and Federal Border Guards Services (which came under FSB control in 2003), often acted independently, contradicting the official foreign policy line, especially regarding the post-Soviet space.28 They and the security services tended to take a hard line approach to Russia’s foreign policy, being determined to recapture past Soviet glory and reassert traditional great-power status. This position was very much informed by a predominant Cold War geopolitical mindset shared by much of the political elite, where notions of balance of power and threat perceptions still came into play.29 In East Asia, they tended to take a nationalist/conservative stance on the territorial issue with Japan30 and tended to continue seeing international relations as a zero-sum game, primarily vis-à-vis the US but also China. This was reflected in their statements contradicting MID’s position on issues like the Chinese demographic


and military threat, and balancing US power, especially during NATO’s 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia. Despite concerns over China, they were also the main advocates, along with the VPK, of exporting arms to China and other states. The military also supported the ‘militarization’ of the SCO as opposed to MID and the economic ministries that favoured ‘economisation’.31 Despite Putin’s greater attempts at coordination and coherence of Russia’s East Asia policy, divergent pressures from vested interests still characterised the policymaking context, notably regarding energy supply as the decision on the Far Eastern oil pipeline route illustrates (see Chapter 7). However, to the extent that the final decision on East Asia policy lay with Putin, one can say that Putin’s foreign policy was presidential.32 On the other hand, due to the wide range of issues he must face, it is likely that Putin’s authority was both proactive and reactive, the latter to procedural matters like summit meetings and decisions on issues that required protracted and complex negotiations that relied on experienced agencies like MID; for instance, Sino–Russian border demarcation. Putin’s authority on foreign policy became proactive on ‘major’ issues or those that he felt strongly about. One indicative example was his decision to allow US bases in Central Asia after September 11. However, there were no such clear examples in the East Asian context.33

2.3 Sectoral actors Official sectoral actors like the economic and energy ministries had authority and influence on more specific issues, namely Russian economic integration and trade development in the APR.34 Unlike their relative autonomy in domestic economic policy, the economic ministries had to coordinate with MID on foreign economic relations. For instance, the leading actor in Russia’s accession to APEC was MID’s Economic Cooperation Department and not the Economic and Trade Ministries. Russia’s initial Individual Action Plan submitted in November 1998 was prepared by MID and then discussed by the relevant ministries and adopted by an inter-ministerial commission, headed by the foreign minister. Upon entry, however, the Economic, Trade, and Labour Ministries, became more involved and led individual APEC committees and working groups while MID acted as the coordinating ministry.35 Economic interest groups sometimes pursued their own agenda in East Asia in ways that contradicted official policy in the 1990s. The VPK, for example, often initiated arms contracts with China based on its commercial selfinterests independent from national interest considerations and Kremlin supervision, or in collusion with senior figures in the Kremlin.36 The VPK was a very powerful lobby group in the early 1990s with many figures close to the industry placed in government; for example, first Deputy Defence Minister Andrei Kokoshin and SB Secretaries Iurii Skokov and Oleg Lobov.37 The VPK’s initial influence was based on three grounds. Firstly, the industry


employed about 2 million people, often in regions with few other industries. Thus the Kremlin risked a political backlash and regional instability were it to ignore the VPK’s demands. Secondly, the VPK was an important element in the image of Russia being a great power; military-technological cooperation (MTC) being perceived as one of Russia’s few remaining tools to project power.38 Thirdly, much of Russia’s technological prowess was concentrated in its defence industries. Russian arms also found a receptive and potentially expanding market in East Asia, thereby ensuring the VPK’s role in East Asia policy. While the VPK was able to act semi-autonomously due to the fragmented nature of arms exports policymaking under Yeltsin and the lack of a permanent effective governmental body to oversee arms transfers,39 Putin’s reassertion of control better placed these groups under presidential authority. In 2000, Putin transferred arms export and MTC supervision from the then Ministry of Industry, Science, and Technology which, like the economic ministries, were under the federal government’s jurisdiction to the MO, which is under the president’s jurisdiction, thereby ensuring that Rosoboroneksport came under Kremlin control through the MilitaryIndustrial Commission headed by Sergei Ivanov.40 In December 2007, Putin established Rostekhnologii (Russian Technology) – a defence industry supercorporation incorporating Rosoboroneksport and other industrial and financial companies related to the defence industry and headed by Sergei Chemezov who is another close ally of Putin. The VPK’s political influence, however, gradually gave way to the TEK’s increased influence and access to those in power, due largely to its increased share in Russia’s economic development.41 The TEK’s share in total industrial production rose from 24 per cent in 1990 to 34.5 per cent in 1997, generating around 60–5 per cent of all tax revenues and about 45 per cent of export earnings.42 Under Putin, this share increased with the TEK accounting for approximately 20 per cent of GDP in 2005, more than 60 per cent of all Russian export revenues, and 30 per cent of all FDI in Russia.43 The TEK’s increasing influence was also due to its political access, as large gas and oil enterprises were closely associated with the government. For instance, Viktor Chernomyrdin was former minister of Fuel and Energy and chairman of the state gas monopoly Gazprom. When he was first deputy prime minister (May–June 1992) and prime minister (1992–8), the TEK became the most powerful lobby group. Political support for the TEK in the late 1990s also came from the Our Home is Russia (NDR) coalition, which lobbied vigorously for non-military projects in Asia.44 At the beginning of Putin’s presidency, the VPK was the closest economic sector to Putin, but the relative power balance shifted in favour of the TEK by 2002.45 This shift might also be due to Putin’s own personal interest in Russia’s energy resources as the foundation for Russia’s economic development and also as an influential foreign policy instrument, key to Russia’s restoration as a great power.46 Putin has also appointed his close associates to the top positions in Gazprom (Aleksei


Miller and Dmitrii Medvedev), Rosneft (Igor Sechin – deputy head of the PA), and recently Transneft (Nikolai Tokarev). Moreover, the TEK’s increased influence in East Asia policy specifically was due to the sector paying greater attention to the East Asian market, and Siberian and RFE reserves. While the influence of state-controlled energy firms steadily increased under Putin, the ability of private energy firms to influence the government decreased due to the Kremlin’s pursuit of energy oligarchs like Yukos owner Mikhail Khodorkovskii.47 Furthermore, the Kremlin increasingly used state-owned or state-controlled energy firms like Gazprom, Rosneft, and Transneft as foreign policy instruments.48

2.4 The political elite The Russian legislature’s role in foreign policy is restricted by the 1993 Constitution as their power of legislation is undermined by the extensive use of executive decrees and the president’s veto rights.49 Both chambers (State Duma and Federation Council) have the power to ratify international treaties and consult with the president on ambassador nominations, but this holds marginal influence in policymaking.50 With Putin’s high popularity and working majority in the legislature through the pro-government Unified Russia party (Edinaia Rossiia) in both his presidential terms, the legislature’s role was even less than that under Yeltsin, becoming a ‘mouthpiece for views which Putin would like the outside world to ponder, but which he would prefer not to express himself’.51 Given this lack of formal institutional powers, this study pays attention primarily to statements issued by politicians who are specialists or sit on committees devoted to international affairs. These politicians, through their expertise and position, often acted as critics and commentators of the Kremlin’s East Asia policy, especially during Yeltsin’s presidencies. Moreover, the Federation Council was particularly interested in East Asian issues, as among its members were representatives from the Siberian and RFE regions.52 The ‘Eastern Dimension’ public movement, which aims to support the federal government on the economic integration of Siberia and the RFE into the APR and expand cooperation with Asia-Pacific, and particularly ASEAN, countries, was initiated and chaired by Mikhail Nikolaev, deputy chairman of the Federation Council and representative of the Sakha Republic.53 Russian legislators also participate in the Asia-Pacific Parliamentary Forum with Moscow hosting its 2007 session chaired by Sergei Mironov, the Federation Council chairman.54 The foreign policy views of outspoken and extremist politicians like Liberal Democratic Party of Russia (LDPR) leader Vladimir Zhirinovskii and Communist Party of Russia (KPRF) leader Gennadii Ziuganov demonstrate the divergence of views in the Russian elite. Views of political tendencies outside the legislature like Neo-Eurasianism would also be examined as one main interpretation of Russia’s Eurasian identity (see Chapter 4). Although the LDPR


and KPRF did represent the opposition under Yeltsin, they helped shape the policy discourse rather than influenced policy. Their already marginal influence on foreign policy became virtually non-existent under Putin. The political elite thus only had an indirect impact on foreign policy in terms of shaping the political climate in which executive decisions were made and reflected the contents and nature of the East Asia discourse.

2.5 Specialists In the Russian system, like the Soviet, the movement of individual specialists from academia to politics (and diplomacy) and vice versa was quite common.55 There are thus sometimes overlaps between the political elite and specialists. In post-Soviet Russia, the number of academic specialists decreased due to scarce funds and more attractive business opportunities. Thus while many academics held strong and principled views about Russia’s foreign policy and national interests, there was a degree of personal and institutional pleading to enhance the significance of their expertise for Russian policy. This was especially true for those institutes specialising on non-Western regional studies like Africa and Asia, who advocated a broadening of foreign policy beyond the initial concentration on the West.56 Unlike the mezhdunarodniki (experts on foreign countries and international relations) during Soviet times, the role of these institutes in Russian foreign policy making became marginal.57 Although some MID-affiliated institutes like MGIMO and the Diplomatic Academy and Russian Academy of Sciences institutes like the IDVRAN, IVRAN, and IMEMO did submit policy papers, their impact on actual policy was hard to ascertain but likely to be marginal compared to Soviet times.58 Indeed, it seems that any influence to be found was through personal connections of individuals in the academic community with those in power, rather than through an institutional framework. Thus, IMEMO director Nodari Simoniia, IDVRAN director Mikhail Titarenko, and vice-rector of the Diplomatic Academy Evgenii Bazhanov are East Asia specialists who were seen as rather influential through their connections with the organs of power, in addition to their expertise.59 Simoniia in particular had direct access to Putin through his capacity as the president’s adviser on the G8 and Africa, but used his time with Putin to also discuss Asia-Pacific issues. He often proposed policies on East Asia to the Kremlin but as personal initiatives rather than institutional ones.60 Despite the overall decline of research institutes’ influence, IMEMO’s remained relatively high through its researchers’ close connections with the SB and Federation Council and also through Simoniia’s personal access.61 The access of individual academics to policymakers, however, did not automatically translate into influence as their proposals competed with many others in a more decentralised environment.62 Most of these connections seemed to fluctuate depending on who was in or out of the


Kremlin’s favour. For instance, SVOP, under Sergei Karaganov, had greater influence under Yeltsin partly due to Karaganov’s close ties with Primakov. However, the Council’s influence became significantly less under Putin. While Karaganov was close to Prikhod’ko, he was not close to the Kremlin as a whole. Karaganov himself admitted that the Council did not aim to influence policy but rather the minds of the political elite.63 Furthermore, SVOP’s influence on policy was likely more in Russia’s relations with the West and the Near Abroad than the Far East as most of its members, including Karaganov but excepting Primakov, are specialists on the US and Europe. New foreign policy institutes like the Centre for Strategic Research and the Russian Institute for Strategic Studies, which has close ties with the PA and deemed somewhat influential, also focused on economic and general foreign policy issues rather than East Asia per se,64 though there is a growing interest in the APR.

2.6 The Russian Far East elite Centre–region relations in Russia were often characterised by conflict and political bargaining throughout most of the 1990s. The nature of this relationship inevitably affected federal policy towards East Asia and the fate of the RFE.65 Any impact on policy the RFE authorities may have had was mainly on border and territorial issues. Although having no real formal power in foreign policy making, their strong views and opposition to the resolution of border issues with Japan and China often conflicted with MID’s, occasionally indirectly influencing policy. For instance, in the 1990s, Sakhalin governors Fedorov and Farkhutdinov were vehemently against granting territorial concessions to Japan, inflaming the issue and provoking extensive resistance in order to extract economic and political gains from Moscow.66 Similarly, then Governor Nazdratenko of Primorskii krai was instrumental in Moscow’s reintroduction of the visa regime along the Sino–Russian border in January 1994 in order to curb the perceived threat of Chinese demographic expansion.67 Nazdratenko and Khabarovsk Governor Ishaev were vocal in campaigning against the transfer of Russian territory to China in the course of border negotiations in the mid-1990s.68 However, due to the decrease in the Federation Council’s power and the assertion of presidential control through the appointment of regional presidential representatives, the RFE elite became more muted in their criticism of official policy.69 For instance, the completion of the Sino–Russian border demarcation in 2004 did not prompt as vocal an outcry as during negotiations in the 1990s. Putin’s first appointed Far Eastern representative, Konstantin Pulikovskii, helped to improve communication between Moscow and the RFE but had only ‘formal’ or ‘nominal’ influence in policy initiative and policymaking.70 Indeed, the real function of the envoys was not so much to carry out particular control functions as to lend support for the president wherever


the situation required it, to show foreign policy unity.71 This centralising trend is further evidenced by Putin’s decision in 2004 to appoint governors instead of holding regional elections. Even since Yeltsin’s time, the one area where the RFE elite could have influenced federal policy – the initiation of a common RFE development and economic integration strategy – failed to materialise due to competing strategies held by the regional elite. The RFE research community’s impact on foreign policy was similarly weak and fragmented. Their influence on the RFE political elite, let alone on Moscow, was already marginal. Nonetheless the RFE elite were successful in drawing Moscow’s attention to their demographic plight, evoking the spectre of the ‘yellow peril’. More attention was given in official statements under Putin on this demographic crisis (see Chapter 5). While dissenting voices on East Asia policy under Yeltsin were often detected, this chapter has indicated that the Russian elite tended to speak more in one voice under Putin due to his recentralisation of control over foreign policy making. This development is further reflected in the discussion of the three main perspectives on East Asia in subsequent chapters. This chapter has assessed the likely ‘weight’ of statements made by elite actors according to their influence on East Asia policy, serving as a general guideline for our discussion in the following chapters. Before examining the perceptual contents of the three perspectives from 1996 to early 2008, their historical roots are firstly examined.

3 Continuities and Evolution in Russian Perceptions of East Asia

The post-Soviet Russian perceptions of East Asia discussed in the following chapters had roots in Russia’s past, particularly from the mid-nineteenth century onwards when Imperial Russia’s eastward expansion and influence reached its peak.1 Elements of Eurasianist, Economic and Multipolarity perspectives can be found among the Russian political and intellectual elite’s thinking towards the Far East in the latter half of the nineteenth century and also throughout the Soviet period. This chapter examines the evolution of elite perceptions from the nineteenth century to the first half of the 1990s. It further examines the underlying great-power theme that connected all these perceptions in the early post-Soviet period.

3.1 The Eurasianist perspective Eurasianism was essentially a self-perception of Russia and its place in the world. The Eurasianist perspective was thus not one of East Asia per se but rather an intellectual rationale for attracting Russia’s attention to its Eastern territories and neighbours in addition to its predominantly Western foreign policy orientation. This unique identity was also often espoused by Russian and Soviet leaders to appeal to Asian states in order to create a sociocultural and political affinity with them. Nonetheless, like post-Soviet Eurasianism, Tsarist Russia’s and the Soviet Union’s Eurasianist understanding was not only rooted in identity-based conceptions but also in geopolitics. Russia’s Far Eastern territories justified Russia’s role in East Asia while also lending it a special sense of mission, distinct from other European powers. These intertwining themes of identity and geopolitics in the elite’s understanding of Eurasianism were also found in post-Soviet interpretations of Eurasianism. 3.1.1

Identity and race

Although Russian thinking on its Eurasian identity had roots in the earlytwentieth century intellectual reaction to the strong Slavophile tendencies of the mid-nineteenth century,2 it was partly derived from a late-nineteenth 23


century intellectual concept of ‘Asianism’ which stressed Russia’s unique ‘Asian heritage and destiny’ and was personified by Prince Esper Ukhtomskii who was close to the then Tsarevich Nicholas II, accompanying him on his tour of the Far East in 1890–1.3 Asianism shared several ideas with twentiethcentury Eurasianism. Russia was seen as unique due to its geographical expanse and historical legacy of Mongol rule for two centuries. In this sense, Russia was different from the European powers and had a different destiny in East Asia. They therefore also shared the notion of Russia’s messianic spiritual mission towards the East.4 However, the Asianists were distinctly a marginal part of Russian elite society. Few people had a deep understanding of the Orient. A ‘yellow fog of ignorance’ cast over the Russian elite and people regarding the Far East.5 Russia’s 1904–5 war with Japan only reinforced pre-existing stereotypical views regarding the eastern threat.6 The Russian elite thus held an ambivalent view of the East – fear of the ‘yellow peril’ (zheltaia ugroza) and awareness of Russia’s Asian heritage.7 This dualism in Russian identity-based perceptions of East Asia was also evident among Asianists themselves. In slight contrast to Prince Ukhtomskii’s more benevolent view of the Far Eastern countries and races, the thinking of Fedor Martens, prominent expert on international law, and leading sinologist Vasilii Vasil’ev were more cautious. While they respected Chinese civilisation and opposed territorial annexation, they advocated friendly relations due to the fact that they perceived China as capable of reasserting its power.8 Others, especially in the RFE, saw China as a threat.9 The spectre of a military and demographic threat from the East similarly preoccupied General Aleksei Kuropatkin – War Minister and army commander during the Russo– Japanese war. Russia’s defeat only reaffirmed his pessimistic views and prompted Russia’s General Staff to draw up plans for a potential two-front war in Europe and Asia for the first time.10 Russian interest in Asia therefore came from a ‘double paradoxical approach, an appeal for a certain Orient and an attempt to reply to the “yellow peril.” Russian imperialism was indeed a defensive reaction to Asia’ sustained by fears of ‘miscegenation’ and Asian demographic invasion.11 Even at the height of Sino–Soviet tensions in the late 1960s, the rhetoric used among the political and intellectual elite was not merely one of ideological differences, but also one which reflected deep-seated historical fears of a Chinese threat. The dissident, Andrei Amal’rik, wrote that the Soviet Union will collapse due to the coming war with China and that the Soviet Union’s sparsely populated Far East will be particularly vulnerable to a Chinese invasion.12 In 1973, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn warned of a coming war with China, due not only to ideological conflict but also to Chinese demographic pressure.13 Views of Chinese demographic pressure on the Soviet Far East was characterised as not only a threat to its territorial integrity, but also to the ethnicity and hence identity of the Soviet Union itself. These two elements remained a potent part of post-Soviet Russian perceptions towards China and the Far

Continuities and Evolution 25

East, undermining the prospects of opening up the RFE to foreign economic presence to ensure regional development and survival (see Chapter 5). 3.1.2 Messianism, geopolitics, and the West To the small extent that Asianism had influence on Tsarist East Asian policy, it stressed one that was different from that of other Western powers and emphasised Russia’s right to participate in the region’s affairs due to its Asianist identity and geographical presence – both elements of which lent a sense of spiritual and civilisational mission in its eastward expansion. Thus Asianism, despite its relatively benevolent views toward the Asian peoples, was essentially an ideology for empire-building in a different guise. Nonetheless the influence of this ideology on Tsarist policy was limited and realpolitik ultimately prevailed.14 Both the Asianists’ and Eurasianists’ concerns with Russia’s Far Eastern acquisitions and borders suggest that their view was based also on geopolitics. This geopolitical component means that Eurasianism cannot be viewed as an exclusively identity-based ideology but one that shares some characteristics with the Multipolar perspective of East Asia – a region of great power rivalry for influence and conquest. Indeed, Ukhtomskii’s writings themselves can sometimes be interpreted as calls for further expansionism into the Far East.15 Russia’s unique identity was thus used to justify Imperial Russia’s increased influence in East Asia, similar to the use of MarxistLeninism during Soviet times. Both emphasised the difference between Russia and other Western powers, in terms of identity and culture in the former case, and in terms of political and socio-economic conditions in the latter. Both also emphasised the cultural, political, and socio-economic affinity with the oppressed peoples of the East.16 Thus Russia and the Soviet Union, as countries sympathetic to the Asian peoples’ plight, were promoted as better-suited partners for Asian states than the Western imperialists. The notion of Russia being a Eurasian country with interests in both Europe and Asia was also useful whenever Russia found itself isolated or marginalised in Europe and the West. After the losses of the Crimean War, Russia looked to Asia for its salvation in terms of prestige and influence.17 In his first memorandum to the Tsar in 1856, the Foreign Minister Prince Gorchakov argued that ‘Russia should turn away from Europe and expand in the future her national interest in Asia’.18 Dostoevskii’s comments on Russia’s role in the Caucasus and Central Asia nicely captured this line of thinking in latenineteenth century St. Petersburg: In Europe we are but parasites and slaves, but to Asia we shall come as masters. In Europe we are only Tatars, but in Asia we shall appear as Europeans. Russia is not only Europe but also Asia. Perhaps even more of our hopes lie in Asia than in Europe. . . . In our future destiny Asia will perhaps be our principal solution.19


The more Russia expanded into Asia, the more ‘Asian’ Russia became, in geographical presence if not cultural affinity.20 Russia used this development as a rationale for furthering its influence in the Far East. Russian imperial perceptions of East Asia in this period was therefore different from that of the other European powers in the sense that it was influenced by the dual notions of identity and geopolitics and not predominantly by mercantile ambitions of ‘imperialist Europe’.21 Geopolitics played a greater part in Russia’s Eurasianism than in Asianism. Unlike Asianism, Eurasianism never stressed Russia’s cultural or historical affinity with Asia in preference over Europe. Instead, Russia as Eurasia was seen as a ‘unified geographical world unto itself and belonged neither to Europe nor to Asia’.22 The primary reasons for the strengthening of the geopolitical character of Eurasianism from the beginning of the twentieth century were the changes in the international order, especially in East Asia where China’s decline was matched by Japan’s rise.23 Furthermore, Russia’s construction of the TSR from 1891 to 1904 was made in response to the growing threat from East Asia, and to consolidate Russia’s Far Eastern territory.24 The geostrategic importance of the ‘East-West transport corridor’ was thus a key factor in Russia’s Eurasianist policy, a consideration which remained in post-Soviet East Asia discourse. Closely linked with this was the pragmatic geoeconomic aspect of Eurasianism that gained significance under Putin (see Chapter 7). However, the extent to which Eurasianism influenced East Asia policy was severely limited, being espoused by émigrés who had no influence on the new Soviet Union. By the late 1920s, the movement had begun to fragment and died down as a political force. Moreover, the Eurasianists did not perceive the new territorial acquisitions in the RFE as part of Eurasia. Instead, they were seen as alien and geographically remained part of East Asia.25 Nonetheless even during Soviet times the ‘Asiatic’ aspect of Russia was utilised in response to alienation and threats from Europe. Indeed, Marxism in Russia developed national and anti-Western features. Lenin, having declared that ‘Russia, geographically, economically, and historically, belongs not only to Europe but also Asia’,26 called upon the semi-colonial Asiatic peoples to fight alongside Soviet Russia against Western imperialism. Lenin’s turn to the East thus bore similarities with Tsarist Russia’s attention to Asia in that both were ‘conditioned by a turning away from Europe more than by positive attractions to Asia as such’.27 Perceptions of Russia’s Asian heritage and its role in the Far East were thus largely dependent on its relations with the West. This condition remained in the post-Soviet era. One other continuity was the judicious use of Russia’s Asiatic identity to appeal to Asian states. Moscow tried to capitalise on the Soviet Union’s selfperception as a Eurasian state in its dealings with East Asia. For instance, while toasting a visiting Japanese foreign minister in 1941, Stalin proclaimed, ‘you are an Asiatic, so am I’.28 In Gorbachev’s July 1986 Vladivostok speech, the Soviet Union was ‘an Asian country’, but while speaking in


Europe it was European, intent on joining a ‘common European home’.29 The role of Eurasianism in Soviet thinking, moreover, could be detected in the similarity between Eurasianist vocabulary and Soviet terminology on the topic of cultural and ethnic fusion between the Soviet republics. To the extent that Eurasianism, and its predecessor Asianism, was used as a sophisticated justification of Russian imperialism, it was not surprising that it should be utilised by the Soviet elite to justify its rule over the non-Russian Soviet republics. However, in the final analysis, Russia or the Soviet Union could never be seen as an East Asian or Asian country in terms of culture, language, and ethnicity. Indeed, its Far Eastern territories were essentially a European outpost in East Asia, where the Russian habitants shared no common culture with what was (and still is) a culturally diverse region.30 Symbolic of this was the founding of Vladivostok in 1860 – Russia’s ‘window on the East’. Vladivostok means ‘rule the East’, a name that signified not Russia’s willingness to join and integrate with East Asian civilisations but rather to exert influence and domination of their own perceived superior civilisation on the East Asian peoples.31 3.1.3 The resurgence of Eurasianism (1992–6) Disillusionment with the lack of aid, attention, and understanding from the West during 1992–3 persuaded Russia’s political elite that an excessive Western orientation was not the solution to the country’s multifaceted problems, not least its search for identity and role in the world. The old concept of Russia being a Eurasian state, both in identity and geopolitical terms, represented a viable alternative to the pro-Western foreign policy orientation espoused by then foreign minister Andrei Kozyrev (1992–6). Many of the non-Westernisers in the foreign policy elite were able to embrace Eurasianism since the concept had the chameleon-like ability of presenting itself as all things to all people.32 The Eurasianism that emerged was essentially an amalgam of several ideas of Russian identity, including the notion of Russia’s uniqueness (spetsifika), Russia as an economic and cultural land bridge between Europe and Asia, its great power legacy and fate (derzhavnost’), and Slavophilism.33 Importantly, the Eurasianists were not necessarily anti-Western, as the more radical opponents to Kozyrev’s foreign policy, like the communists, were.34 Thus Eurasianism was an alternative that those in the administration, including Kozyrev, could officially embrace. Russia’s emblem of the double-headed eagle facing both West and East was used to symbolise the country’s Eurasian identity and the need to pursue a multi-vectored balanced foreign policy.35 Russia had interests in both regions and should not conduct foreign policy primarily towards the West while neglecting the Eastern dimension, or vice versa. Relations with the West remained a priority, but relations with Asia and especially the Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) also demanded Moscow’s focused attention. As earlier, Eurasianism, though significant in Russian


thinking towards East Asia, was not exclusively devoted to that region but one with global connotations. The Eurasianism that entered the elite debate on Russia’s identity and foreign policy in the early 1990s, however, had a more distinct geopolitical and geoeconomic content than its intellectual predecessors. This was firstly due to Russia’s territorial eastward shift after the collapse of the Soviet Union and secondly to the economic rise of East Asia.36 Sergei Stankevich, one of Yeltsin’s advisers, asserted that Russia was now separated from Europe by a whole chain of independent states, and it had thus moved farther away from Europe and nearer to Asia, geographically and geopolitically.37 Eurasianism did not feature in official foreign policy statements until October 1992, when signs of a shift in MID thinking were detected in Kozyrev’s address to the Supreme Soviet. Kozyrev stated that Russia should not limit its opportunities in the international arena to any one region, but rather should seek a ‘maximum of possible interactions’ in Europe, Asia, and elsewhere.38 Although Kozyrev was probably speaking with his audience in mind rather than presenting his own genuine intellectual transformation, Yeltsin’s visit to China and South Korea later that year did signify the increased importance Russia had now placed on East Asia. Official thinking began to emphasise the prospects of a Eurasian Russia becoming a bridge linking Europe and Asia.39 Kozyrev’s initial pro-Western foreign policy was also undermined by the success of the KPRF and LDPR in the December 1993 Duma elections, which influenced the Kremlin’s foreign policy shift into a less Western-oriented position, more reflective of what had become the mainstream, more nationalist position among the Russian elite. Evidence of this shift could be seen from Kozyrev’s February 1994 acknowledgement that it was necessary ‘to use in Russia’s interests its unique position as a Eurasian power’.40 In November 1994, a MID Foreign Policy Council meeting on the APR concluded that the stronger Russia’s positions were in the East, the more confidently and decisively Russia could act in the West. Thus Russian policy to the West and East had to be placed on an equal footing.41 Despite this there were critics who dismissed Eurasianism as mere rhetoric. ISKRAN-based researchers argued that despite official rhetoric, Asia continued to ‘play a secondary role’ in the overall context of Moscow’s foreign policy. Moscow’s East Asia strategy, it was argued, was incoherent, poorly coordinated, and often contradictory.42 Japan expert Konstantin Sarkisov warned that if Russia’s ‘Asian doctrine’ was based on ‘irritation and disappointment’ with the West and a desire to establish an opposing alliance, then this strategy was ‘hopeless’.43 Moreover, the Russian elite’s understanding of the ‘real East’ (the Muslim world, China, India, for instance) was often supplementary to their understanding of the East–West dichotomy as Russia (as the East) against the West in the foreign policy discourse.44 Even within East Asia specifically, there were two different ‘Easts’ in the Russian elite’s understanding. For Westernisers, the East represented the economic


dynamism of the APR in which Japan, and lesser so South Korea, was seen as the more attractive partner for Russia, being part of the developed West and sharing common values of democracy and a market economy. For Eurasianists, on the other hand, the East meant a chance for Russia to reassert its claim to be a great Eurasian power. China here was considered the more valuable partner and its statist model of government and economic development better met the Eurasianists’ aspirations for Russia.45 Thus the debate on Russia’s identity in the early 1990s affected how Russia perceived East Asia and the direction of Russia’s East Asia policy. The contradictory understandings of what the East represented for Russia hindered the development of a coherent East Asia policy. Instead of an ‘Eurasianist’ foreign policy leading to diplomatic successes in both the West and East, Russia was threatened with marginalisation in both regions. Moreover, apart from the general notion that Russia should pursue a balanced foreign policy, the specific East Asia policy implications of Eurasianism remained undefined during the early 1990s due to Eurasianism being a rather vague concept, open to numerous interpretations not dissimilar to its earlier manifestation of Asianism.46 The different nuances in elite interpretations of Eurasianism remained in the late 1990s, with various policy implications for Russia’s relations with East Asia.

3.2 The Economic perspective The elite’s Economic perspective of East Asia from Tsarist to post-Soviet Russia was essentially influenced by two factors – to penetrate the region’s markets with Russian goods and to integrate Russia’s economy, especially its RFE, into the region. There was also a political motivation underlining these perceptions – of projecting influence and power through economic instruments. Economic influence wielded for political gain was prominent in both Tsarist and Soviet Russian thinking towards East Asia in Russia’s struggle against the other powers for regional influence. However, with the fragmented nature of foreign policy making in the early 1990s and the increasing semi-independence of economic groups like the VPK and TEK to conduct foreign relations based on their own commercial interests, Russia’s economic policy in East Asia became largely determined by the ‘profit motive’ of these groups. This profit motive often led to tension with official aims to integrate Russia into the APR. 3.2.1 Penetration Pacifique, the profit motive, and projecting power Initially, seventeenth century Russia’s increased interest in the Far East was influenced by purely commercial reasons. The pursuit of valuable furs led to Russian eastward expansion and realisation that Russia could take advantage of its geographical position as a natural intermediary for commerce between the East and West. With expansion, trade with neighbouring East


Asian states gained prominence in Tsarist policy, as supported by the then foreign ministry (Posol’skiy Prikaz).47 By the late nineteenth century, Russian presence in the Far East significantly expanded when it managed to wrest control from China over much of what became the RFE through the treaties of Aigun (1858) and Peking (1860) – known in China as the ‘unequal treaties’.48 With the acquisition of these new territories, Russia realised it was strategically vulnerable if China were to reclaim its territories militarily. The decision to construct the TSR was thus not only based on economic but also strategic reasoning.49 However, the finance minister – Sergei Witte – was a strong supporter of the TSR as a means to penetrate the Far East economically as opposed to militaristic conquests. Witte’s vision was one of penetration pacifique, whereby the extension of Russia’s influence along the Pacific was to be achieved predominantly via economic means. Witte was essentially a Westerniser since he believed that Russia should become industrialised and part of the European community.50 But Witte’s vision of Russia’s role in East Asia had also a messianic element, similar to the Asianists and Eurasianists: Russia’s task abroad is both peaceful and, even more fundamentally, cultural in nature. Unlike the western European powers, who hope to exploit the Orient’s peoples economically and often also politically, Russia’s mission in the East must be to protect and enlighten them.51 But, unlike the Asianists, Witte did not perceive Russia’s identity as a unique synthesis between East and West, but saw Russian culture as higher than the Orient’s. Witte’s vision also shared the geoeconomic aspects of modern Eurasianism, in which Russia’s unique geography could be used in its advantage as a trade partner and transit point between the East and Europe.52 Witte’s influence on Russia’s East Asia policy was highest between 1896 and 1902, after which he started to fall out of the Tsar’s favour. Although much of the construction of Russia’s economic influence in East Asia – the TSR and Chinese Eastern Railway, and the Russo–Chinese bank – was pushed through by Witte, his penetration pacifique vision was virtually unshared by the Russian elite, most of whom still thought of diplomacy in military and political terms.53 The supremacy of military and political influence over economic during the Soviet period was even more so given the nature of international politics of the time. The Soviet economic perception was based on ideology (aid for, and trade with Socialist countries), and as a means for projecting Soviet power in the struggle against the capitalist West. Much of the Soviet Union’s trade with East Asia was therefore with those in the Socialist bloc, excepting China after the Sino–Soviet split.54 The notion of using economic influence to project power clearly manifested itself in the Soviet’s conventional arms transfer policy, whereby preference was ‘given to countries which adopted a socialist orientation, took an anti-imperialist attitude or were struggling for political and economic independence and


the overthrow of dictatorships’. Moreover, Soviet military supplies were significant for ‘penetrating the political and ideological structures of many countries, winning new political allies’ and attracting support for the USSR in international organisations.55 Despite these political considerations, the profit motive was also important as the Soviets did not offer these arms for free. Payment was often required in the forms of hard currency, credit arrangements, or barter exchange.56 Economic benefits also dictated Soviet East Asia policy as the relatively high level of Soviet–Japanese economic relations testified.57 Japan was the only East Asian country able to provide the Soviet Union with the necessary Western technology. Japan also offered a large export market for the Soviet Union’s natural resources, including energy, and investment for their exploitation. Nonetheless the limited competitiveness of Soviet goods and ideological differences restricted Soviet economic access to much of the non-Socialist East Asian market.58 Since much of Soviet exports to East Asia were raw materials, the country risked becoming a raw materials appendage rather than an integrated part of the regional economy, a continuing pertinent concern in post-Soviet times. 3.2.2 Integrationist aims and RFE development In the 1980s, Soviet perceptions of economic integration into East Asia were inextricably linked with the development of its own Far Eastern and Siberian territories. It was Gorbachev’s new economic vision for the Soviet Union in East Asia that opened up the possibilities for real economic integration. Gorbachev’s domestic reforms of perestroika, and his ‘new political thinking’ that emphasised the predominance of economics over the militarisation of Soviet foreign policy, led to a dramatic shift in Soviet perceptions of East Asia. Gorbachev was the first Soviet leader to recognise East Asia’s growing importance in international politics and economy and to grant it significance accordingly.59 This perception was influenced by the fact that East Asia had become a rapidly growing economy with a wave of newly industrialised countries (NICs), which had semi-authoritarian systems of government; hence not only potential markets but also potential models to emulate.60 Thus one of the major components of Gorbachev’s ‘new thinking’ towards East Asia, outlined in his speeches in Vladivostok (July 1986) and Krasnoiarsk (September 1988), was to expand trade with and fully integrate the Soviet Union into the Asia-Pacific economy, thereby facilitating RFE development.61 China itself was undergoing economic reforms with capitalist characteristics. The Soviet elite had been closely studying these developments, including the Japanese and South Korean cases. China presented the model with the most potential for the Soviets to emulate given its socialist system.62 The normalisation of Sino–Soviet relations in May 1989 was thus an important part of Gorbachev’s policy. Normalisation facilitated the opening up of the Soviet Far East, allowing the possibility


of international development of the region’s resources and economic integration. Another important prerequisite for successful integration was good relations with Japan. The Soviet elite began to realise that economic power would play a greater role in the modern APR. As Gorbachev noted in his 1988 Krasnoiarsk speech, ‘the Japanese seem to have proved that in today’s world the status of a great power can be attained without relying on militarism’.63 Soviet perceptions regarding multilateral economic institutions also transformed under Gorbachev. The Soviet Union sought membership in those major organisations that affected East Asian trade – the World Bank, IMF, and Asian Development Bank. Since the mid-1980s, Soviet representatives also attended regional institutions like the Pacific Economic Cooperation Conference and the Pacific Basin Economic Council, institutions which were earlier viewed with suspicion as US/Japanese-led attempts to build alliances against the Soviet Union.64 Gorbachev’s ‘new thinking’ towards East Asia therefore led to a revaluation of foreign policy priorities from one primarily based on military security to one focused on economic security, interdependence and integration into East Asia. These developments remained in post-Soviet Russian foreign policy thinking. 3.2.3 Integrationist aims and the profit motive (1992–6) Gorbachev’s view that the APR presented Russia with real economic opportunities continued in the post-Soviet elites’ perceptions of East Asia. There was an increasing belief among analysts and policymakers that the twenty-first century would be a ‘Pacific’ one and Russia should thus ‘economicize’ its East Asia policy.65 Russia ‘as a major Eurasian power’ was seen as ‘objectively entitled to a fitting place’ in Asia-Pacific economic development. Russia’s Asia-Pacific policy was urged to take a more pragmatic and ‘business-like’ approach.66 Economic integration into the region was understood to include the expansion of bilateral trade with East Asian states, participation in multilateral economic institutions and multilateral ventures to develop the country’s Far Eastern resources, and the development of the RFE and its integration into the Asia-Pacific economy. However, Russian achievements in these objectives were few and far between during the first half of the 1990s. Russia was not invited to join APEC in November 1994 due to a moratorium placed on new memberships until 1996. Some APEC members, like Australia and Canada, were against early Russian membership. Some MID officials themselves were doubtful about Russia’s readiness to join and fulfil its obligations since the RFE’s economy accounted for roughly only 5 per cent of Russia’s GNP and about as much of its population. Furthermore, the geographical division between Russia’s Western and Eastern parts prevented the marketing of goods produced in Russia’s industrialised and more developed West in the APR. The TSR’s high transit tariffs and the RFE’s limited port capacity meant further bottlenecks in exporting goods. There was also a lack of legal and organisational stability in Russia’s


economy and inexperience in economic cooperation on both the Russian and East Asian sides.67 While there was a need for development of the RFE and Eastern Siberia into an active actor that could conduct trade independently with its Asian neighbours, Moscow was reluctant of decentralising control, and its funding of the regions was limited.68 Numerous programmes were established to promote greater economic development and cooperation between the RFE and its East Asian neighbours; for instance, the UN’s Tumen River Project and free economic zones in Sakhalin, Nakhodka, and Vladivostok. However, the implementation of these projects was delayed due to a lack of funds, mainly from the Russian side, and problems of international cooperation as some of the RFE elite still viewed cooperation with foreigners with suspicion.69 Due to the perceived disregard by the federal authorities of the RFE in the early 1990s, local leaders often used the threat of ‘separatism’ to extract concessions and attract attention from Moscow.70 Trade with East Asian states was unsatisfactory for Russia, especially that with South Korea, which Moscow had initially high hopes for.71 In 1996, of Russia’s total foreign trade turnover of US$ 151 billion, trade with Japan and China together barely exceeded US$ 10 billion.72 A more serious problem was the qualitative structure of trade. Sergei Glaziev, former minister for External Economic Relations, viewed Russia’s excessive dependence on exports of just a few commodities as a ‘primitivization’ of the economy, which would lead to the deindustrialisation of the economic structure in the long run.73 This anxiety over the threat of Russia becoming merely a raw materials appendage remained a cause for concern for both policymakers and analysts. Russia’s one relative economic success story in East Asia – arms sales – became a source of apprehension for those advocating greater economic integration, since they perceived this as potentially undermining regional security and Russia’s economic integration.74 The VPK’s espousal of arms sales was directly motivated by their need to survive and obtain hard currency. In 1992, the Russian government’s procurement for its military was cut by 70 per cent. The government was also often unable to pay even for those ordered. By the end of 1995, the government owed the defence industry 11 trillion roubles.75 Thus in face of the threat of the defence industry going under with the potential loss of even more jobs and increased social unrest, the government turned to arms export for salvation. As Yeltsin noted, ‘the weapons trade is essential for us to obtain the foreign currency which we urgently need and to keep the defence industry afloat’. Executives of the state arms trade company Rosvooruzhenie observed that over 50 per cent of arms production was funded by proceeds from arms exports. Officially, the government portrayed the increase of arms transfers to East Asia as the ‘natural outgrowth’ of developing ties with these states, but, as then Russian ambassador to China Igor Rogachev acknowledged, economic motives were the fundamental reason. Voicing even more desperation, the then deputy


prime minister remarked that Russia was ‘willing to sell anything that our customers want, except nuclear weapons’.76 Indeed, the profit motive was so strong that some defence firms reportedly went ahead with deals prior to government authorisation, for instance the 1996 Sukhoi deal to grant China the license to indigenously manufacture 200 Su-27s.77 The ability of the MO’s Committee on Export Control to control arms exports was also in doubt, since it often did not know what was being exported in practice – technological ‘know-how’ being easily exported by military and industrial experts touring China.78 Officially, Moscow attempted to depict itself as having control over the arms transfer process. As then Deputy Prime Minister Shokin remarked in 1992, ‘we don’t want to go beyond the line that separates the sale of defensive and offensive weapons . . . we would like to preclude attempts to promote creeping, uncontrolled arms trade and to transfer technologies’.79 But the real state of affairs showed that central control was illusory. Another problem was that the defence firms were often competing among themselves, both inter-sectorally and intra-sectorally, to the detriment of Russia’s interests and policy coherence. For example, in 1992 the shipbuilding and missile-producing sectors lobbied the government to strike a deal with Taiwan at the same time as a major Su-27 deal with China was being discussed.80 Infighting between different ‘clans’ within Yeltsin’s Kremlin, such as that between the head of the President’s Security Service Aleksandr Korzhakov’s group and Prime Minister Chernomyrdin’s faction over the control of the arms trade, further affected arms transfer policy for much of the 1990s.81 Policy coherence was undermined by the fact that increasing profits and influence of arms sales had attracted competition between different groups. Thus ‘a full-scale turf battle’ occurred.82 East Asia’s many existing and potential markets, particularly in SEA, also increased the attraction of Russian arms exports. These markets were seen not only as a source of foreign currency but also as an opportunity to project Russian influence, at a time when Russian arms was considered one of the few remaining commodities that lent it any significance in the region. Indeed, a tacit coalition of arms exports supporters emerged between the VPK, MID, MO, and the RFE elite, where some firms producing military hardware for East Asian countries were located.83 With Putin’s consolidation of control over the arms trade, a convergence of rationales was borne between those driven by the ‘profit motive’, and those in government who saw arms transfers as a foreign policy tool. It seemed that the two competing rationales – economic integration and the profit motive – could be reconciled in the TEK’s economic perception of East Asia. Although this group shared the same perception and goals in East Asia as the VPK in seeking to penetrate new markets and earn profits, it differed in arguing for non-military cooperation with East Asian states. Energy interdependence was argued as more important for Russia’s long-term interests since it strengthened regional stability while better facilitating Russia’s integration


into the APR. It was the TEK which seemingly gained predominance over the VPK in the Kremlin’s Economic perspective of East Asia under Putin (see Chapter 5). In the final analysis, whatever the economic-based perception of East Asia, whether Russia could successfully gain a significant economic presence highly depended on its domestic reforms. The important linkage between domestic and foreign policy was well recognised by MID: ‘Russia’s standing in the APR . . . is and will be conditioned to a considerable degree by how fast and successfully we cope with our internal problems and how effective our economy becomes’.84

3.3 The Multipolarity perspective Russia often perceived East Asia as a multipolar region since its regional involvement in the late nineteenth century, arguably due to the fact that the region was susceptible to being perceived as such.85 This was especially true during the peak of imperial rivalry in East Asia in the late nineteenth century. Although Soviet–US rivalry conditioned the regional order during the first decade of the Cold War, the region gradually drifted towards tripolarity by the late 1960s with the deepening Sino–Soviet rift.86 While the US presence had increased during the 1950s with its bilateral defence arrangements with South Korea, Japan, and the Philippines (the ‘San Francisco system’), both US and Soviet strategic planners could not ignore China’s increasingly independent role.87 With the rise of Japanese economic power in the 1970s, East Asia came to be perceived as a ‘strategic quadrangle’, a concept that remained in post-Soviet Russian thinking.88 Another concept which was central to the Russian elite’s Multipolarity perspective was the balance of power. Moreover, Soviet/Russian perceptions of multilateral regional organisations were often viewed instrumentally through a balanceof-power prism. 3.3.1 Multipolarity and balance-of-power thinking Multipolarity was not a new concept for the post-Soviet elite. Soviet literature on international relations since the mid-1960s up to the advent of Gorbachev had already recognised the significance of rising powers like China and Japan. The growing Chinese threat to the Soviet Union and Nixon’s ‘triangular diplomacy’ in the early 1970s threatened to isolate the Soviet Union, prompting Soviet analysts to view international and regional politics in a more complex and less binary light. Moreover, the Soviets expressed preference for multipolarity to bipolarity as the former was considered more realistic in reflecting the new centres of imperialist competition and centrifugal tendencies associated with the increased influence of developing countries in international affairs.89 One manifestation of this view was the Soviet perception of East Asia as a strategic quadrangle, in which US policy was perceived as aiming to isolate the Soviet Union within


this grouping.90 Moreover, under Gorbachev, there was increased recognition that the NICs were different from the Soviet’s original conception of Third World states as they had become independent and important actors, and the old Soviet ‘zero-sum’ perception of capitalism versus socialism was not applicable.91 Since a number of the NICs formed part of ASEAN, this organisation was increasingly viewed by the Soviets as an important player in its own right. Post-Soviet Russia was able to conduct relations with ASEAN free from ideological constraints, presenting Moscow with new potential partners to cooperate with and perhaps gain influence in. While multipolarity as a foreign policy goal and concept was advocated relatively recently by Russia in the mid-1990s, the balance of power had long been a key part of Russian thinking and foreign policy towards East Asia. The balance of power is a controversial concept. Principally, it has two meanings – as a ‘situation of equilibrium’ and as a ‘system of states engaged in competitive manipulation of power relationships among themselves’.92 In other words, the concept can be distinguished as ‘a policy’ aimed at creating a certain state of affairs, and as ‘an actual state of affairs’.93 Not only does the nature of the East Asian structure affect Russian policy but how the Russian elite perceives the regional structure to be, or their desire for it to be, also influences policy. The balance of power thus has both objective and subjective connotations. Since we are examining perceptions, we would thus be focusing more on the subjective aspect – the desire for a multipolar region where balance-of-power politics come into play – than the objective aspect of whether the region is multipolar or not.94 The desire to achieve multipolarity and a balance of power itself implies a belief that such a system would lead to more stability and equilibrium between the powers than a system based on US hegemonism – a value-based judgement. Of course, multipolarity is not the sole precondition for balance-of-power politics since bipolarity also entails what Bull calls a ‘simple’ balance of power, requiring rough equality of power and capabilities between the two powers. Bull also uses the term a ‘complex’ balance of power to denote the situation of more than two powers which do not necessarily have equal power or capabilities. In this system, the strongest power is not necessarily in a position of preponderance because the others have the ability to combine against it.95 The instruments used to pursue a balance-of-power policy have changed from Tsarist and Soviet times. The maxim that ‘war is a mere continuation of policy by other means’96 might have held true for the pre-1991 period, but was rarely contemplated by the post-Soviet elite. Even during Tsarist and Soviet times, war as a political instrument in East Asia was to be used as the last resort when it was thought that swift victory could be achieved.97 Political and economic influences were often deemed more important. This could be seen from the multitude of views among Russia’s elite after the Sino–Japanese War (1894–5) regarding the regional power balance.98 Although balance of power considerations against Britain proved to be the


prevalent view, the means to achieve this ranged across economic, strategic, and political.99 Defeat and humiliation by Japan ten years later gave Russia a harsh lesson that it must appreciate the weakness of its position in East Asia, that of an overstretched and under-modernised empire. Russia also came to recognise that its influence could be enhanced by manipulation of the complex regional balance of power.100 These views continued to reverberate in Soviet and post-Soviet strategic calculations. 3.3.2 The instrumental use of multilateral regional organisations One means of enhancing Soviet/Russian influence in East Asia was through the inventive use of multilateral regional security regimes. For instance, Brezhnev’s 1969 Collective Security Initiative was a blatant attempt to acquire Soviet leadership in Asia against the spectre of a ‘revisionist’ China. Although the Soviets denied it, Brezhnev’s proposal was perceived by Asian states as a means to constrain China. The attempt was met with deep hostility and suspicion from the region and failed to attract any substantive support. Gorbachev’s proposals in the late 1980s for a Conference on Security and Cooperation in Asia were met with similar scepticism. Even though the proposals were more inclusive and covered a broader range of security issues than Brezhnev’s proposal, it still retained elements of balance-ofpower thinking. The regional security regime was advocated as a means to enhance Soviet influence and overcome its political and economic isolation in the region. Moreover, it was meant to manage Japan’s emergence as a major regional military power and to address the USSR’s sense of insecurity resulting from US naval predominance in East Asia.101 Thus the Soviets proposed the creation of multilateral security mechanisms essentially as a way to enhance its political and economic presence and as an alternative means to balance US and contain Japanese power. This line of thinking continued in post-Soviet Russia. 3.3.3 Redressing Russia’s decline in East Asia (1992–6) While the Russian foreign policy elite recognised the major East Asian players as those of the Cold War strategic quadrangle, they also acknowledged that Russia was the weakest side. Therefore, a weakened Russia had to pursue a policy of equidistance from the dominant players – China and the US – while reinforcing its ties with the weaker players – Japan and possibly ASEAN – in order to maintain the regional balance of power and to retain Russian influence. Westernisers within MID and the analytical community thus sought to ‘support centres of power independent of China’, and asserted that ‘every assistance to strengthen the political role of Japan would be very useful’. They urged that multilateral efforts should be in place to check the rise of any military power.102 Japan was initially viewed as the priority for Russian East Asia policy. However, an excessive rise in Japanese power was not necessarily desirable for Moscow. One significant reason why


the Russian elite gradually came to accept the US–Japanese alliance and US military presence in East Asia was the perception that were the alliance ‘uncoupled’, this would be ‘the best possible present for Japanese militarists and right-wingers’.103 Thus both MID officials and policy analysts saw the US as a stabilising force in containing Japanese remilitarisation.104 They also viewed the US system of alliances as a possible building block for a future regional security arrangement with Russian participation.105 There was also a fear among the Russian elite of a rising revisionist China, intent on upsetting the status quo. Since Russia needed a stable environment for its domestic reforms, how to deal with China’s rise was thus foremost in the minds of Russia’s policymakers. In a 1992 foreign policy conference, Vladimir Lukin, chairman of the International Affairs Committee of the then Supreme Soviet, voiced concern over China’s rise becoming a potential threat to the RFE. He advocated that Russia make a ‘historic compromise’ on the territorial issue in order to improve relations with Japan and also increase political and economic interdependence with China. A weak Russia, Lukin noted, could not afford to have complications in relations with both China and Japan simultaneously.106 Indeed, many in the Russian elite harboured hopes that improved relations with Japan would be possible given both countries’ mutual concern over China.107 However, the movement towards a compromise with Japan on the Kurils in 1992, led by Foreign Minister Kozyrev and his deputy Kunadze, was reversed by a powerful coalition of military officers and conservative-nationalist politicians. The latter’s views aired out in the July 1992 parliamentary hearings had a significant impact on the SB’s disapproval of Yeltsin’s planned September visit to Japan, which was subsequently cancelled.108 In November, Yeltsin went to Seoul in an effort to boost ties with another economically advanced Asian state in lieu of its lost chance with Tokyo. But while Russia was able to repay part of its Soviet debt through arms transfers, economic benefits from South Korea was not fully forthcoming. Since 1993, without the option of improved relations with Japan to balance China, Russia had to engage China constructively in order to accommodate it. Despite this rapprochement, some segments of the Russian federal and regional elite still viewed China as a potential threat. Indeed, a 1995 report prepared by the IDVRAN emphasised the need to rebuild Russia’s military strength in the RFE to ensure a rational balance of interests in the region, given the threats from the US–Japanese alliance, Japan’s territorial claims, and rising Chinese power.109 The East Asian balance of power, however, was often perceived by the Russian elite within the context of a global balance of power. Increasing US unilateralism thus significantly occupied Russian thinking towards East Asia then, and continued to do so (see Chapter 6). In 1992, then SVR director Evgenii Primakov warned that the post-Cold War world was faced with two trends: ‘on the one hand, there are forces intent on making the world unipolar. On the other, certain countries in


the so-called third world tend to become “centres of power”’. Primakov saw both trends towards a unipolar and multipolar world as dangerous for international stability and for Russia.110 The implication was that Russia and the US should cooperate to maintain international stability. The Russian elite’s initial expectations of being treated as an equal power by the US in a strategic condominium on international affairs were soon dashed, however, as the US increasingly acted unilaterally. By the mid-1990s, it became clear that neither was Russia in a position to act on an equal footing with the US, nor did the US desired Russia to do so. Primakov, and much of the Russian elite, were drawn to advocating a multipolar world, seeing this as the only feasible alternative for Russia. By 1994, even Kozyrev had begun to argue that ‘the twenty-first century world will neither be a Pax Americana nor any other alternative to bipolarity. It is going to be multipolar’, but his vision was cooperative rather than competitive in relation to the US, unlike Primakov’s.111 Kozyrev also believed that ‘interstate relations in the APR will be multipolar’.112 In Primakov’s understanding of multipolarity, it was realised that Russia was too weak to act alone to counter US power and had to instead act in concert with other powers, including China, India, the EU, and possibly Japan, countries which could prove useful in balancing US’s policies in specific issues at various times – a fluid balance of power rather than a rigid alliance system. Thus Moscow’s concept of multipolarity was in fact ‘revised bipolarity’ – bipolarity in disguise.113 This rationale and policy was applied to Russia’s policy in East Asia. As the region is home to at least two major powers (China and Japan) and one potential centre of power (ASEAN),114 it is particularly receptive to this application. Multipolarity also worked both ways as ASEAN’s interests in good relations with Russia was to some extent based on maintaining a regional balance of power, in light of China’s rise and possible US partial military withdrawal.115 However, since the US presence in East Asia was recognised by the Russian elite as a stabilising factor, multipolarity as ‘revised bipolarity’ did not completely apply to East Asia’s strategic realities. Indeed, the US was not the sole power that Russia had an interest in balancing. Despite official rhetoric, Moscow remained wary of China. However, because of the greater perceived US threat and the lack of other potential major strategic allies in the region, Moscow had to make do with close relations with China, not only to constrain US influence but also as a means to accommodate and placate Beijing. Russia’s perception of multilateral institutions was also instrumental, with a hope that the values and principles they enshrine, for example principles of sovereignty, could act as a constraint on US power. Thus the main values of global and regional institutions were that they offered minimal scope for the US to assert its primacy, by restraining the US through sheer weight of numbers or to require that all significant decisions be consensually based.116 Russian perceptions of East Asian institutions like ARF and APEC were often viewed in this instrumentalist light. Furthermore, these institutions


were perceived as useful for Russia not only to restrict US power but also to enhance Russia’s weakened role in the region – as a substitute for real power. Moscow’s penchant for multilateralism had the added benefit of portraying Russia as a responsible and non-revisionist player in regional affairs – a country prepared to work with others within regional institutions.117 In reality, however, the US, and increasingly China, continued to dominate these organisations’ agenda. By the mid-1990s, Moscow had also lost influence in the one issue that directly concerned Russia – Pyongyang’s nuclear programme. Moscow lobbied hard for the creation of an Asia-Pacific security system based on the North Korean talks with Russian participation. By participating in, and calling for, these multilateral forums, Russia aimed to be seen, heard, and occasionally followed in regional affairs (see Chapter 6).

3.4 Russia as a ‘Great Power’ – the unifying theme In 1994, foreign minister Kozyrev stated that ‘Russia is “doomed” to be a great power’. His argument was that despite present economic and social upheavals, Russia, due to its sheer geographical size, historical greatness, and retention of nuclear weapons, would remain a major force in world affairs no matter who held power.118 The implication was that, whatever the debate about Russia’s identity, economic presence in the APR, and role in the regional balance of power, the tacit consensus among most of Russia’s foreign policy elite was the aspiration to redress Russian decline and obtain, once again, great-power status. Although different groups might have different views on what kind of great power Russia would be, it could only be a country that is great. Indeed, if one examines the debate on Russia’s Eurasian identity, the most enduring aspect of Russia’s Eurasianism was not sociocultural but rather geopolitical. As Primakov observed, Russia lies in both Europe and Asia, and geopolitical factors continue to play a very large role in the elaboration of Russia’s policy towards countries worldwide. ‘Without such a geopolitical scope, Russia cannot be great . . . we must remember that history never nullifies geopolitical values. . . . Russia must concentrate on taking up a fitting place as a normal great power exerting positive influence on developments all over the world.’119 Thus the Eurasianist, Economic, and Multipolar perspectives on East Asia were inextricably linked with Russia’s great-power aspirations in this region; they rationalised this goal and were seen as the means to achieve it. Perceptions of East Asia as an economically dynamic region, where a cluster of powers reside, only interested Russia insofar that the region presented opportunities to enhance Russian power and influence, or threats which might undermine it. Russia’s sociocultural affinity with East Asia was only illusory and instrumental. To the extent that identity was important for Russia’s foreign policy, this was truer for Russia’s relations with Europe than East Asia. However, for much of the early 1990s, these different perspectives and their policy implications did not converge


into a coherent East Asia discourse and policy, but rather were somewhat atomised units within a fragmented and competitive foreign policy making environment. Whether this state of affair and the nature of elite perceptions had changed from 1996 onwards is examined in the following chapters.

4 The Many Faces of Eurasianism

Russia has always considered itself to be a Eurasian (Evroaziatskaia) country. We have never forgotten that a greater part of Russian territory lies in Asia. But frankly speaking, we have not always used that advantage. I think the time has come for us and the Asia-Pacific countries to go over from words to deeds . . . to build up economic, political and other contacts. Russia has all the requisite possibilities for this now. (Vladimir Putin)1 Putin’s statement above reflects the recognition that Russia’s unique Eurasian position could help enhance Russia’s engagement with East Asia. But there were many different elite interpretations of Eurasianism and their associated policy implications with regards to East Asia, which this chapter examines. How the elite perceived their Eurasian identity sheds much light on how they perceived East Asia and their role in that region. As seen in Chapter 3, Russia’s Eurasian identity was used to justify the pursuance of a balanced and multi-vectored foreign policy that rejected the early Western orientation. Eurasianism lent Russia the self-perceived right to be involved in its neighbouring regions’ affairs, including East Asia’s. Eurasianism thus helped justify Russia’s claim to great powerness and legitimate role in East Asian affairs. This great-power perception underlines the three major elite interpretations of Eurasianism with regards to East Asia discussed here. Although each interpretation may have different policy implications, they share the instrumentalist interpretation of Eurasianism to varying degrees. Rather than seeing it as a genuine alternative for Russia’s national identity in sociocultural terms or more tellingly as the portrayal of any cultural or social affinity with Asia as earlier Asianists had done,2 Eurasianism is perceived as a rationale for Russia to have a greater role and influence in East Asia as befits its great power and unique Eurasian identity. 42

The Many Faces of Eurasianism 43

The chapter distinguishes the three main interpretations of Eurasianism according to the elite’s emphasis on particular aspects of Eurasianism.3 It looks at the primary actors behind each interpretation and the main policies that they espoused and whether this was reflected in actual policy. The first interpretation was ‘Pragmatic Eurasianism’, which was the official and dominant position under both Yeltsin and Putin in the period under discussion. Russia, as a Eurasian country, was perceived as having interests in both West and East, thus necessitating a balanced foreign policy between the two vectors. Moreover, Russia’s Far Eastern territories legitimised Moscow’s perceived right to play an influential role in East Asia. The second interpretation emphasised geopolitics and was offered as a national ideology by some political parties and legislators. Rather than being a coherent group, ‘Neo-Eurasianism’ was a movement which gathered momentum and was arguably suggested to have some influence on the Putin administration, endorsed by the political establishment’s more ‘nationalist-orientated’ and anti-Western elements. The primary stance of this movement was to realign Russia away from, if not against, the West, and to ally itself with other powers. East Asia was not seen as important for Russia in its own right but as a useful counterweight to growing US global power. The third and rather marginal interpretation was ‘Intercivilisational Eurasianism’, which was advocated by IDVRAN director Titarenko, a prominent sinologist with some indirect influence on the government’s RFE development strategy and East Asia policy.4 Although this third interpretation shared the official interpretation’s advocacy for the pragmatic use of Russia’s unique geographical position as a landbridge uniting the economies of Europe and the APR, it also highlighted Russia’s potential ‘intercivilisational’ (mezhtsivilizatsionnye) role between Asia and Europe – as a unique ‘melting pot’ (assimiliatsionnyi kotel) of different cultures and ethnic groups. The chapter lastly examines more critical views of Eurasianism found among more pro-Western analysts and politicians. Despite each interpretation’s different emphasis and primary policy implications, they shared a common perception of Russia as a great power. In official policy statements, especially under Putin, there was an increasing overlap between the official position and the other interpretations regarding the pragmatic use of Russia’s geographic position as a means to enhance its significance in East Asia and indeed globally. Therefore, geoeconomic proposals like an energy network and the ‘Eurasian Transport Corridor’ landbridge project, espoused by both Intercivilisational Eurasianists and some Neo-Eurasianists, assumed more practical vigour under Putin than under Yeltsin (see Chapter 7).5 The Putin administration thus co-opted the practical policy prescriptions from other interpretations of Eurasianism as they were perceived as potential ways to enhance Russian influence.


4.1 Russia’s ‘Turn to the East’ and a balanced foreign policy This section firstly defines Pragmatic Eurasianism, outlining its main characteristics, its major policy implications, and its main supporters. It then examines the implicit geopolitical nature of this interpretation of Eurasianism, especially during the periods of intensified relations with China, often in response to negative developments with the US, which was more explicitly advocated by conservative elements of the Russian military and political establishments. 4.1.1

Pragmatic Eurasianism

Unlike the Eurasianism of the 1920s, which had a spiritual and civilisational focus, and post-Soviet Neo-Eurasianism, which had a fundamental geopolitical emphasis discussed later, the official usage of ‘Eurasianism’ was a statement of fact, that Russia is a Eurasian country with borders in both Europe and East Asia, and to the south, the Caucasus and Central Asia. Thus Russia has rightful interests in these regions and its foreign policy must be balanced between them.6 Pragmatic Eurasianism was thus not so much a national ideology as recognition of Russia’s ‘physical’ identity, and how best to preserve Russia’s interests with this identity in mind. In relation to East Asia, the very fact that Russia borders the Pacific Ocean, has long borders with the region’s rising power, China, and has territorial disputes with the region’s other power – Japan – means that Russia cannot avoid having an interest in the region’s security affairs. Moreover, these factors were also perceived as entitling Russia the distinctive ‘right’ to be involved and concerned with the region more than any other European state. In essence, the adoption of the language of Eurasianism by both the Yeltsin and Putin administrations was only partial, using Eurasianist language in a pragmatic sense in connection with the need to pursue a balanced and less Westernbiased policy, as prompted by the rise of public support for nationalist and communist parties (the so-called ‘red-brown’ coalition) in the 1993 and 1995 parliamentary elections. This notion of a balanced policy between East and West was the major characteristic of Pragmatic Eurasianism, gradually developing since 1993. One of the key supporters of this view was former Foreign Minister and Prime Minister Evgenii Primakov. An expert on the Middle East, prominent academician, former journalist, and senior intelligence officer under both the Soviet and post-Soviet regimes, Primakov consistently advocated the development of relations, and the revitalisation of old Soviet partnerships, with Asian countries. Although never adopting ‘Eurasianist’ language, the ‘East’ played a prominent part in Primakov’s world view. During a visit to Beijing in 1989, he remarked to Gorbachev that the strength of Soviet foreign policy laid ‘in cooperating not with an isolated group of states but with a broad range of states, especially in Asia’, which would make it ‘easier for the USSR


to deal with the West’.7 Primakov’s appointment in January 1996 was very much a product of the domestic backlash to Kozyrev’s pro-Western foreign policy which culminated in the communists’ and nationalists’ victory in the 1995 Duma elections. Yeltsin’s choice of Primakov was ideal in terms of attracting the support necessary from the State Duma to accept his appointment since Primakov shared much of the then anti-Western sentiments of the majority of the political elite but was at the same time enough of a pragmatist to recognise the importance and necessity of the West, especially the US, in Russia’s foreign policy. His advocacy of Russia’s great-power status also struck a chord with the prevalent feelings, or nostalgia, of the political elite. In his first press conference as foreign minister, he intoned that ‘Russia was and remains a great power. Her foreign policy should correspond to that status’, though ruling out a return to the Soviet past.8 The notion of Russia’s great-power status became associated with its Eurasian identity. The 1997 National Security Concept termed Russia a ‘European-Asian power’ the foreign policy of which is determined by ‘its unique strategic location on the Eurasian continent’.9 Regarding East Asia, Primakov outlined Russia’s priorities as strengthening ties with China and Japan and visited both countries (and Mongolia) in November 1996.10 Primakov perceived East Asia’s importance in balancing Russia’s relations with the West, as his 1997 statement attested: We tried to correct the ‘lean’ toward the West which had emerged in the past. . . . A power like Russia with its huge interest in Asia and the Middle East can’t have all its eggs in the ‘Western basket’. We have tried purposefully and actively to develop a political dialogue and economic ties with the leading powers in Asia – China, India, Japan and the ASEAN countries.11 But as MID was quick to point out, this attempt to pursue a balanced policy did not mean a ‘rejection’ of the Western vector of Russia’s foreign policy in favour of Asia.12 Russia’s Eurasian reality, its physical presence in both Europe and Asia, was perceived as necessitating a balanced policy between the two vectors. Then deputy director of MID’s Second Asian Department reaffirmed this pragmatic view. While noting that Eurasianism was increasingly attractive for Moscow as it sought to comprehend its identity, he gave more weight to the pragmatic interpretation of Eurasianism – of ‘structuring a balanced West-East foreign policy . . . in order to make gains in Asia and thus compensate the excessive Euro-Atlantic leanings of previous years’.13 Even officials from MID’s North America Department similarly observed that Russia as a ‘Pacific country’ required a ‘balanced’ policy, one that did not lean excessively towards the US.14 This pragmatic interpretation of Russia’s Eurasian identity was also emphasised by Grigorii Karasin, then deputy foreign minister in charge of Asian affairs, who argued, ‘[w]here should we


pigeonhole Russia, in Europe or Asia? In what part of the world do its roots lie? . . . In geography we are a Eurasian power, that is as clear as day’.15 But in terms of national identity, Karasin acknowledged that this was not as clear since Russia had historically been more attracted to the West. He drew parallels with Russia’s eastern strategy under Nicholas II and even evoked a similar messianic purpose, while simultaneously identifying Russia with the democratic West, ‘what can we bring to the East? What, in addition to the fine, enlightened ideas of democracy and peace, can we bring through this Eastern gate? . . . No doubt, as a country more than two-thirds of whose territory is in Asia, we must give the East the due attention that it deserves’.16 While Russian foreign policy, especially from 1996 onwards, manifested attempts to restore the balance between East and West, a more balanced policy had arguably been achieved under Putin. Putin’s foreign policy was geared towards maintaining this balance. However, the extent to which Russia’s ‘turn to the East’ to restore a balanced policy in the 1990s was based on the importance of East Asia per se and free from geopolitical thinking vis-à-vis the West was rather contentious. Undoubtedly, NATO’s eastward expansion played a major part in Russia’s increased attention towards Asia, although developing relations with the East Asian states also had its own benefits. The official position, however, was to adamantly deny claims that Moscow’s Eastern policy was based on Western developments. Primakov refuted the charge that Russia’s ‘eastern policy’ stemmed from considerations to augment Moscow’s negotiating position with NATO, dismissing this as ‘rubbish’ since relations with Asia had ‘greater values than some considerations of tactical advantage’ over NATO.17 This view was echoed by Karasin, who rejected claims that Russia’s turn to the East was linked to foreign policy failures in the West, emphasising that Russia’s Asia policy was ‘not a tactic or a ruse but a genuine strategy’.18 Foreign Minister Lavrov also maintained that Russia’s active policy in Asia was a ‘conscious choice, free of any momentary considerations of expediency’.19 4.1.2 Geopolitics and the West Despite official denials, the NATO link was clearly foremost in the mind of some government and military officials who shared a similar geopolitical outlook with the Neo-Eurasianists. Defence Minister Pavel Grachev, for instance, once remarked that ‘if NATO goes East, we will go East too’.20 The signing of the 1996 Russo–Chinese ‘strategic partnership’ was viewed positively by the military, especially by hardliners who opposed US hegemony such as Colonel General Leonid Ivashov, then head of the Main Directorate for International Military Cooperation of the MO, and Colonel General Valerii Manilov, then first deputy Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces, both of whom were publicly critical of NATO’s eastward expansion. NATO’s 1999 Kosovo campaign removed any doubts from the military and security services of a ‘threat from the West’, and increased the utility of relations


with China in their eyes. After Kosovo, Ivashov expressed support for a closer alliance with China to counter the ‘American military machine’,21 while Major General Anatolii Klimenko, then head of the influential Centre for Military-Strategic Research of the General Staff of the Armed Forces (TsSVI GSh), and Colonel General Trubnikov, SVR director during NATO’s Kosovo campaign, both endorsed expanding relations with China to counter growing US power.22 Thus in the military’s view advancements in Russia’s East Asia policy definitely had a direct linkage with developments on its western borders. Indeed, the utility of having China as a partner in condemning US and NATO actions seemed to hold more value than other spheres of the relationship, at least in the short-term.23 Eurasianism in this geopolitical interpretation also proved useful for those in the VPK who had a direct interest in maintaining NATO as an enemy to build up arms against, and to keep countries that the US regarded suspiciously, like China, India, and Iran, as customers.24 In the long-term, however, the spectre of a Chinese military and especially demographic threat remained unnervingly in the minds of the military and also that of some government officials and politicians, ranging from communists, liberals, and nationalists, and the RFE elite despite official denials (see Chapters 5 and 6). Nonetheless in the short-to medium-term, such a threat from China was deemed secondary to the threat from the US’s increasing unilateralism. Geopolitical considerations did play an important role in Russia’s ‘turn to the East’ in the latter half of the 1990s, despite denials by government officials. How the Russian elite perceived East Asia in the Pragmatic Eurasianist interpretation was thus conditioned on relations with the West to a significant extent. Despite official statements and calls for a balanced policy, the West remained the main referent for a majority of the Russian elite, influencing their perceptions of East Asia. Indeed, some of MID’s East Asia experts expressed doubts on whether Russia’s foreign policy was truly balanced since the US remained an important factor in Moscow’s policy.25 Not unlike Tsarist Russia, whenever Russia felt threatened and marginalised from the West, it looked to Asia for salvation, and its Eurasian identity was only given value under these circumstances. Under Putin, however, there was arguably less of a ‘knee-jerk’ reaction to developments in the West than that under Yeltsin, as Putin’s acquiescence to US troop deployments in Central Asia after September 11 and toned-down criticism of the US’s decision to abrogate the ABM Treaty and NATO’s eastward expansion initially seemed to suggest. Putin’s more accommodating move towards the US was made with the hope of garnering US goodwill, concessions, and respect in return.26 When this was not forthcoming, and the US invaded Iraq in 2003 despite strong Russian opposition, Moscow again turned to Asia. However, the official mantra of maintaining a balanced foreign policy, ‘predetermined by the geopolitical position of Russia as one of the largest Eurasian powers’, still held.27 Putin reiterated this position at a meeting with Russian


diplomats in January 2001, ‘a country with a geopolitical position like Russia’s has national interests everywhere and therefore in its policy there can be neither a Western nor an Eastern tilt’.28 Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov similarly maintained that the essence of Russia’s foreign policy laid in ‘the dialectical unity and interconnectedness – rather than opposition – of the Euro-Atlantic and Asian-Pacific dimensions’ and this was ‘undeniably an asset’ for Russia.29 Indeed, he argued, ‘the times are gone when Russia . . . “held the shield between two hostile races”’. Now ‘Russia plays an entirely different role, that of a connecting link between East and West’, in which the two vectors of Russia’s foreign policy ‘mutually complement each other’ in strengthening Russia’s international position.30 Mikhail Margelov, chairman of the Federation Council’s Foreign Affairs Committee, similarly asserted that ‘Russia is a bridge between the West and the East. Herein lie both our strength and our weakness. Our weakness consists in that we do not belong entirely to either, whereas our strength is in that neither can do without us’.31 Primakov, who had become president of Russia’s Chamber of Commerce, similarly perceived Russia’s ‘unique position as a bridge between Europe and Asia’ lending it a more prominent geopolitical role in bringing these two civilisations together.32 Some senior diplomats stressed Russia’s role as a bridge not only in geoeconomic and geopolitical terms but also in civilisational term, as a synthesis of Western and Eastern cultures that lent support to Russia’s great-power claim.33 Foreign Minister Lavrov asserted that Russia’s role today was ‘not of a shield but of a cultural and civilisational bridge’ and this ‘is needed as never before’.34 Despite such ‘civilisational’ language occasionally appearing in official statements, Eurasianism under Putin was essentially interpreted pragmatically and perceived instrumentally. For example, Putin publicly emphasised in his opening statement at the EU-Russia summit in May 2000 that Russia ‘was, is and will be a European country by its location, its culture, and its attitude towards economic integration’.35 Two months later with an East Asian audience, however, Russia, for Putin, became ‘both a European and an Asian state’, which does ‘justice to European pragmatism and Asian wisdom alike. And so the foreign policy of Russia will be a balanced one’.36 Russia’s Eurasian identity was often adopted instrumentally, whenever it served Russia’s interests. For instance, Russia as a multicultural, multinational, and multi-faith Eurasian country justified Putin’s participation at the Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC) in Malaysia October 2003. Mikhail Margelov, chairman of the Federation Council Committee on International Affairs, noted that Putin’s attendance was ‘perfectly logical’ due to Russia’s multi-faithness. However, this should not be seen as a ‘counterweight to Russia’s ambitions in the West but a policy which provides balance to Russian foreign policy in general’.37 This position on Putin’s OIC attendance was similarly supported by some Asia specialists since Russia was a ‘special civilisation’, possessing


traits of both European and Asian cultures.38 Moscow also perceived Russia’s Eurasian identity as an ideal justification for its right to join the AsiaEurope Meeting (ASEM), though as of now it remained excluded. Indeed, Russia’s identity undermined its prospects to join since new participants are proposed either by ASEAN or the EU but ‘in Asia Russians are regarded as Europeans, while in Europe they are regarded as Asians’.39 Russia’s exclusion from ASEM illustrated that Russia was seen by others as neither of Europe nor of Asia. Despite this, according to Russian diplomats, Moscow lobbied for its membership to be endorsed by ASEAN, as an Asian country.40 As shown, Pragmatic Eurasianism never rejected the importance of the West in Russian foreign policy, nor indeed Russia’s cultural affinity with Europe rather than Asia, in relative if not absolute terms. While the ‘civilisational’ dimension in Russia’s Eurasianism occasionally proved useful for Moscow to legitimise its right to participate in the affairs of its neighbouring regions, it was the pragmatic and tangible dimension of Eurasianism that was persistently and predominantly advocated by the Kremlin under Putin. The notion of utilising Russia’s unique geographical space was brought to its logical policy conclusion in the form of the landbridge project (see Chapter 7). As mentioned, the elite’s interpretation of Eurasianism was informed not only by considerations of identity but also geopolitics. We turn to this in examining the Eurasianist discourse among some segments of the political elite.

4.2 Geopolitics and the Neo-Eurasianist movement This section focuses on the non-governmental political elite’s interpretation of Eurasianism which has a predominantly geopolitical emphasis. It firstly indicates the differences between post-Soviet Neo-Eurasianism and the original Eurasianism of the 1920s, and highlights the main characteristics of Neo-Eurasianism as related to East Asia, including its policy implications espoused by different supporters of Neo-Eurasianism, ranging from the ‘redbrown coalition’ of communists and nationalists to the more recent overtly self-identified Eurasianists. It then examines the civilisational dimension in some Neo-Eurasianists’ perceptions, arguing that the underlying principle behind this remains geopolitical. 4.2.1

Eurasian uber alles

While those political parties and movements – notably the illiberal LDPR and KPRF – that supported a less pro-Western (or even anti-Western) and more pro-Eastern foreign policy in the early 1990s were often labelled as (Neo-) Eurasianists in both Western and Russian analyses,41 their Eurasianism was quite different from that of the early Eurasianist movement of the 1920s. Indeed, the major defining element of Neo-Eurasianism was geopolitical rather than as a political, cultural, or philosophical ideology.42


While original Eurasianism was against ethno-nationalism of the West European kind and embraced Eastern influence and culture in Russian life, the LDPR and other extremist nationalist parties were notorious for their xenophobia, chauvinism, and rabid Russian nationalism.43 Indeed, NeoEurasianism rejected the West but did not embrace the East. As Billington argues, ‘Eurasianists in post-Soviet Russia often saw themselves not so much blending the culture of two continents as isolating themselves from either’, to prevent Russia from being corrupted by outside influences. ‘Having been forced by the West to shrink its borders’, Neo-Eurasianists felt that ‘Russia must now look to its own East in Siberia to recapture its greatness and build its future’.44 However, the Neo-Eurasianists, and also the wider Russian political and foreign policy elite, did share with the original Eurasianists a strong belief that Russia’s place in international politics was rooted in geopolitics. Moreover, the original Eurasianists shared with the Neo-Eurasianists a belief of Russia’s derzhavnost’, although not in a chauvinistic imperialistic sense manifested in the KPRF’s and LDPR’s foreign policy manifestos.45 Thus, unsurprisingly, the discourse of Eurasianism appealed to many in the Russian elite, albeit in a distorted manner. The role of East Asia in these Neo-Eurasianists’ mindset was strictly based on a dichotomous worldview of a Eurasian Russia against the Atlantic West (US and UK). Some East Asian states were seen as powerful allies for Eurasian Russia in opposing Western hegemony. KPRF leader Ziuganov, for example, urged Russia as a Eurasian power to look east for allies to counterbalance the US, with China as an attractive potential partner.46 However, Marxism-Leninism played a lesser part in the KPRF’s foreign policy thinking than nationalism, strongly influenced by Eurasianism and geopolitics. For Russian nationalists like those in the LDPR and the smaller more radical National Bolshevik Party, this dichotomous world view was explicitly based on both classical European geopolitics, influenced by the works of Mackinder and Mahan, and those of the original Eurasianists. Both developed a ‘Continent-Ocean’ dichotomy, where the Eurasian ‘heartland’ was the land power and the US and UK the main oceanic powers.47 Who controlled the ‘heartland’ would thus become the main land power. Aleksei Mitrofanov, LDPR’s deputy leader and foreign policy expert,48 for example, believed that the world was developing into a confrontation between the continents of Eurasia and North America, with the US and its puppets – the UK and Turkey – as Russia’s main adversaries. Thus Russia should strengthen its position by creating a ‘Berlin-Moscow-Tokyo’ axis and reinforce it with a ‘Russia-China-India’ axis. Mitrofanov also envisaged a Russia–China–Japan alliance that will strengthen stability in the APR.49 However, he was, like LDPR leader Zhirinovkii, simultaneously fearful of Chinese demographic expansion and the loss of Russia’s Far Eastern territories to its more populous and powerful neighbour. Zhirinovskii, unlike his deputy, saw Russia as having two adversaries – the US and China – and was prone to play on


the Russian public’s fears of being invaded by the ‘yellow peril’ to stir up domestic support.50 He also viewed China as being too Westernised, and was adamantly against arms, technology, and production rights transfers to China.51 Like Zhirinovskii, the outspoken leader of the Neo-Eurasianist movement Aleksandr Dugin was a political chameleon whose views often adapted to the circumstances.52 Dugin’s world view was clearly influenced by geopolitics in which Russia, Eastern Europe, China, the larger part of the Middle East and India, and surrounding regions belong to the group of land powers of the ‘Heartland-Eurasia’ that are geographically and historically opposed to the ‘Rimland-World Island’ of sea power states, namely the US and UK.53 Dugin, however, perceived China with the West as Russia’s main enemy, and urged the creation of a powerful Moscow–Berlin–Tokyo–Tehran alliance under Russian leadership to oppose them.54 He argued that China wanted to become a member of the ‘Atlanticist’ geopolitical structure and its close relations with Russia was only temporary and instrumental.55 China was also seen as having territorial ambitions and posing a demographic threat to Siberia and RFE. Dugin proposed to weaken China by supporting separatist movements in Xinjiang, Tibet, Inner Mongolia, and Manchuria, thereby depriving China of a strategic platform for a potential ‘dash to the North’.56 Correspondingly, Dugin identified China’s ‘dash to the South’, towards Southeast Asia, as advantageous to Russia and the only circumstance under which China can become Russia’s partner, since this southward move would not affect Russian interests.57 However, it is clear that his views were contradictory and illogical. His proposal for an anti-Western alliance with Japan and Germany ignored the fact that both are part of the West, though he asserted that this was temporary; in the long term they would become allied with Russia.58 Japan was seen as a particularly important ally in East Asia to the degree that Dugin advocated the return of the Kurils to Japan as a bargain towards building such an alliance.59 Nonetheless Dugin did support the 2001 Russo–Chinese Treaty on Good-neighbourliness and China’s participation in the SCO, perhaps due to his support for Putin, but he nonetheless reiterated the greater significance of other Asian countries.60 East Asia in Dugin’s foreign policy vision was thus firmly based on geopolitical considerations, as one of the main pillars in Russia’s struggle with the US. Although some of Russia’s foreign policy behaviour since the late 1990s was identified with Neo-Eurasianist policy proposals,61 the degree to which the movement had any influence on the Kremlin, and Putin in particular, was open to question. Although Neo-Eurasianism attracted some sympathy from the Russian military and security services,62 the movement did not acquire much initial traction and were merely ‘trial balloons’ for authoritarian forces within the Putin administration.63 Despite Dugin’s and his Neo-Eurasianist movement’s expressed support for Putin, his more radical policy proposals like an explicit


alliance with Muslim and Asian states against the ‘Atlantic powers’ were not adopted by the Kremlin. Nonetheless some pragmatic economic-minded Neo-Eurasianist proposals like the creation of east–west and north–south land transport networks, the creation of a Eurasian Economic Community, and a Eurasian Energy Community appeared in some of Putin’s foreign policy speeches.64 However, to infer from this that Neo-Eurasianist thinking had direct influence on Putin’s speeches and policies would be a fallacy.65 Although the Neo-Eurasianist movement and its ideas appeared to attract support from the extremist fringes of the political and military elite, it seems likely that official policy statements and conduct would continue to focus on balancing relations with East and West rather than advocating any explicit alliance with one country or region against the other, as espoused by the Neo-Eurasianists. 4.2.2

Civilisational geopolitics

Despite the vague assigning of East Asia as Russia’s major partner in a wider Eurasia, Neo-Eurasianism did not perceive East Asia independently from its anti-West/US obsession. Moreover, there was no major ‘Asianist’ offshoot to Neo-Eurasianism which particularly emphasised Russia’s ‘Asian’ identity, perceiving East Asia as a region in its own right. Nonetheless to say that all supporters of Neo-Eurasianism discarded the non-geopolitical aspects of Eurasianism would be a mistake. For communists, for example, the East Asian economic and political systems represented a distinct model for Russia to emulate due to its semi-authoritarian system, statist model of economic development represented by the East Asian Tigers, and notably by China. Similarly, Arkadii Volskii, head of the Russian Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs, and his deputy, Aleksandr Vladislavlev, advocated economic reforms along the Chinese model, with the economy divided into a subsidised state sector and a competitive private sector, that would ensure Russia remain a great power.66 The view that China’s economic model could be adopted by Russia was not confined to the communists. German Gref, Putin’s Economic Minister, argued that although Russia would be unable to use the whole of China’s economic development model, it could learn from some successful practical Chinese experience, especially in attracting foreign investments.67 Furthermore, for communists like Ziuganov, Russia’s distinct Eurasianist identity entailed that Russian civilisation had more in common with that of East Asian than Western bourgeois civilisation. Therefore, by defending Russia’s interests and culture against Western hegemony, Russia also defends the interests of many other countries that do not want to submit to Western domination.68 Dugin similarly considered Western culture as spiritually degenerative; hence, Neo-Eurasianism aspired to transfer Russian spiritual attention to the East, which had preserved its spiritual way of life, culture, and religion.69


Neo-Eurasianism, like original Eurasianism, attempted to portray Russia as a ‘melting pot’ of civilisations, of different ethnic groups, religions, and nationalities. This attempt to appear all-encompassing in its assimilation of Asian and Muslim groups was important for Russia’s self-identification with Eastern states in their fight against Western hegemony. For instance, Ziuganov not only called himself a Russian nationalist but also modelled himself as a Bashkir nationalist, a Tatar nationalist, and a defender of Kalmykian Buddhism, connecting ethnic nationalism with communist notions of friendship between nationalities.70 Similarly, Dugin’s Neo-Eurasianist movement gathered support from all leading religious representatives in Russia. While the integrationist nature of Neo-Eurasianism was often trumpeted by its advocates, it was essentially a call for empire-building, for restoring Russian influence in the post-Soviet space. The sincerity of the civilisationalidentity aspect of Neo-Eurasianism was thus open to scepticism.71 It appears more likely that such overtures to integrate other cultures and nationalities had a tactical purpose to ‘identify’ Russia with the non-Western world, and subsequently appeal to it, and for creating a national ideology rather than genuine desires to signify Russia’s Asian identity as the original Eurasianists did to some extent. Thus the Neo-Eurasianists’ civilisational emphasis was similar to tsarist messianism and Soviet communism in evoking Russia’s civilisational mission in the East’s struggle against Western cultural and civilisational hegemony. Geopolitical reasoning underlined both the communists’ and Neo-Eurasianists’ espousals of Russia’s common values and self-identification with Asia. While the ‘civilisational’ dimension in the Pragmatic Eurasianist and Neo-Eurasianist interpretations of Russia’s identity was used tactically and instrumentally, another more marginal interpretation emphasised Russia’s civilisational proximity to the East as an important factor in Russia’s East Asia policy in its own right.

4.3 The ‘Intercivilisational’ interpretation of Eurasianism This section first outlines the characteristics of Intercivilisational Eurasianism, examining the writings of its key advocate – Mikhail Titarenko. It then examines the key policy proposals of Intercivilisational Eurasianism, assessing its role in Russia’s East Asia policy. 4.3.1

Titarenko’s Eurasianism

Titarenko was one of the few proponents of Russia’s Eurasian identity who articulated how this could be specifically applied to Russia’s relations with East Asia. Titarenko was a subordinate and close associate of Oleg Rakhmanin, a leading Soviet sinologist and Deputy Head of the Department of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union Central Committee who in the 1970s–80s strongly criticised Chinese reforms as being anti-Marxist and antiSoviet in character.72 By the late 1980s, Rakhmanin’s group began to more


positively view China’s reforms as necessary for socialism to survive.73 After the collapse of the Soviet Union, the remnants of this group – Titarenko and some senior IDVRAN researchers – perceived China, and other East Asian states, as an economic model most suited for Russia’s economic development and reform and as a viable alternative to the path Russia followed, a view similar to the KPRF’s.74 Titarenko argued that the East Asian economic model demonstrated the existence of alternative successful ways to build democracy and a market economy not necessarily based on the Western model and values.75 The 1997 East Asia financial crisis did not disprove his view as the crisis was not only due to the serious mistakes of the region’s leaders but also the rejection of their own ‘civilisational’ roots, accompanied by an uncritical and thoughtless assimilation of the Western values of consumer society.76 In his opinion, the East Asian economic model remained promising, due to being founded on stable and positive spiritual values as vindicated by the region’s recovery. Other prominent Asia experts, like IMEMO director Nodari Simoniia and MGIMO sinologist Aleksandr Lukin, similarly urged the Russian elite to pay more attention to the Chinese model.77 Although Titarenko supported Neo-Eurasianism, his understanding was less informed by anti-West geopolitical thinking that was emphasised by Neo-Eurasianists like Dugin and Ziuganov. For Titarenko, Neo-Eurasianism meant the ‘principles of collective discussion (sobornost’), interdependence, mutual aid, and cooperation of individuals and peoples, of dialogue based on equal rights, of co-development, of harmony, and of mutual complementarities in the relations between civilisations and the peoples of Russia, with a united common historic destiny’.78 Titarenko interpreted Russia’s Eurasianism as a model for a relationship of equality between different civilisations, which recognises their right to exist, to develop, and to cooperate with other civilisations and cultures.79 Similar to the official position, he proposed that the ‘Eurasian approach’ in Russia’s foreign policy meant active development of good mutually beneficial relations with countries worldwide based on Russia’s fundamental interests and respect for other countries’ interests, principles of ‘political and economic multipolarity’, and a ‘dialogue of equals between civilisations’.80 Regarding Russia’s role in East Asia, Titarenko noted that Russia’s geographical position predetermined its role as a bridge between Europe and East Asia, the geographical pivot of an integrated world order, and a factor of rapprochement and coordination between the Western and Eastern civilisations.81 Similarly to the original Eurasianists, he described Russia as where all the greatest world civilisations meet, influencing Russia and her people. He asserted that Russians should ‘understand our own geopolitical nature and recognise ourselves as a Eurasian state’. Russian culture ‘is a blend of different cultures’, and will be ‘impoverished’ if Russia only looks to one direction.82 Therefore, unlike other proponents of Russia’s Eurasian identity, Titarenko placed great stock on the value of intercivilisational exchanges between


Russia and Asia. This is particularly apparent in his views of Russo–Chinese relations, which he saw as having great potential for cooperation, despite their different reform paths.83 Titarenko regarded Russian Asian studies as having a special mission in helping to understand East Asia, furthering mutual understanding and equal cooperation between Russia and this region.84 He perceived Russian oriental studies as ‘imbued with the Eurasian spirit’ that gave equal respect to Eastern civilisations, as distinct from Western oriental studies.85 Lukin similarly emphasised the importance of Russian Asian studies as ‘Russia is objectively becoming more Asian, both in its interests and its problems’ – Russia’s future now depends on Asia.86 Titarenko’s views were further similar to that proposed by Karen Brutents, Asian specialist and former deputy head of the International Department of the Central Committee overseeing Soviet relations with the developing world. Brutents urged foreign policy to take into account the country’s ‘Western (European) and Eastern (Asian) civilisational characteristics’. He claimed that since ‘Russia is a home for tens of “eastern” nationalities and they are an equal element of a complex Russian multicultural society’, the Eastern world does not present itself as something foreign and alien for Russia, as it does for Europe and the US. However, he warned that although the desire to use the Asian factor in order to ‘absorb’ US pressure was understandable, to counter Russia’s Western policy with its Eastern was ‘deeply erroneous’. Reiterating the official line, he asserted that Russia needed a balanced foreign policy.87 Another Asia expert, Vladimir Petrovskii, likewise asserted that Russia could play an ‘intermediary’ role in the ‘dialogue of civilisations’. Moreover, Russia’s role and importance in the APR could be restored if Russia recognises its national interests and its ‘Eurasian nature’.88 4.3.2

Intercivilisational Eurasianism’s Far Eastern strategy

Some policy implications of Intercivilisational Eurasianism were to some extent reflected in official policy statements under Putin. In prescribing Russia’s East Asia policy and also RFE economic development and integration into the APR, Titarenko utilised Russia’s Eurasian identity in both civilisational and geopolitical senses, in which any efficient economic strategy and foreign policy demanded a full awareness of Russia’s ‘objective EuropeanAsia duality’. While the Russian public and elite recognised and accepted its European cultural, historical, economic, and civilisational roots, Russia’s Eurasian roots were ‘left outside the framework of its specific domestic socio-economic and foreign policy’. They argued that this neglect should be remedied by conceptually perceiving Russia as comprised of two economies in relation to the APR. The European and Western Siberia regions should be conceived as part of the global economy. Eastern Siberia and the RFE, on the other hand, constituted the regional Asia-Pacific economy. Russia should utilise this ‘dualism’ to full effect.89 There is tangential evidence that some of Intercivilisational Eurasianism’s policy proposals were given attention by


the Putin administration. For instance, the IDVRAN, under Titarenko and Mikheev, played a significant role in determining the concepts and strategy behind the Baikal Economic Forum (BEF).90 IDVRAN’s language was evident in the Asia-Pacific strategy outlined at the first meeting held in Irkutsk in September 2000, which stated that Russia ‘should perform its Eurasian function as a connecting and unifying economic, financial, informational, cultural and civilisational space between Europe and East Asia’.91 Titarenko and Mikheev asserted that the achievement of this objective implied the need for Russia’s participation in the ‘establishment of a common AsiaPacific economy and subsequently a political home based on principles of the uniformity of law coupled with the plurality of cultures and civilisational country distinctions’.92 The Intercivilisational Eurasianist approach was thus essentially based on exposing Russia to East Asia by pragmatic means like developing the RFE economy, and economic and political participation and integration into the APR. Further indications of the influence of Titarenko’s civilisational approach was illustrated by the slogan for the third BEF meeting in September 2004 entitled ‘Europe-Russia-Asia: Interaction of the Civilisations’, in which the Forum’s task was to contribute to the development of Russia taking into account the peculiarities of its economic, military, and political position so that Russia fullfils ‘its historic Euroasian mission of a bridge (geopolitical, infrastructural and spiritual) between two civilisations – the European and Asian ones’.93 However, whatever small significance the BEF earlier had on the government’s development strategy for Siberia and the RFE gradually decreased. Not only is the IDVRAN not as involved as before, but also the RFE governors did not attend the 2005 BEF meeting, having initiated their own Far Eastern Forum in Khabarovsk in September.94 Nonetheless the more pragmatic implications of Titarenko’s Eurasianist policy were reflected in the Kremlin’s statements – the development of Russia’s ‘geotransport’ position into a natural bridge between Europe and East Asia. This included the construction of new superhighways and railroads linking the RFE with Europe, and the renewal of existing trunk railroads like the TSR, linking it with the TKR.95 As the landbridge case study shows (Chapter 7), such policies were endorsed by the Putin administration.

4.4 Critical views and the ‘End of Eurasia’ More critical views of Russia’s Eurasian identity can be found in the liberalcentrist and pro-Western segments of the political elite. Vladimir Lukin, one of Yabloko’s founding members, though not explicitly endorsing Russia’s Eurasian identity, did agree with the official view on the necessity of pursuing a balanced policy between East and West and to be a bridge connecting the two. Lukin argued against using China to counter US hegemony since Russia’s relations with China were ‘too important to our country to


be viewed as a problem incidental to the other problems of our politics’. However, he recognised that the balance of power between Russia and China had radically become unfavourable for Russia.96 Despite Lukin’s support for the official balanced position, he did not perceive Russia’s identity as being distinct from that of Europe’s or to have any affinity with that of Asia, ‘I am pro-Europe and I think that Russia should be part of Europe, but not in the sense that Russia should cease being Russia’.97 More critical views arose from other leading liberals like Boris Nemtsov and Vladimir Milov who asserted that the West was Russia’s ‘natural partner’ and that ‘Russia remains an organic part of European civilisation’. Criticising Putin’s foreign policy, they argued that Russia has quarreled with the West but is still not welcomed in the East.98 Another leading Yabloko member and security expert, Aleksei Arbatov, perceived Russia’s gradual move towards Europe as being concordant with its realities that would lead to ‘the unification of Russia with Greater Europe . . . a return to Europe, an integral part of which Russia used to be a thousand years ago’. Although he acknowledged the benefits and necessity of partnership with East Asian states, he viewed China as a potential military threat. He argued that Japan, ‘a democratic country and an integral part of the West’, was a more appropriate partner for Russia. Arbatov perceived Russia’s Eurasian identity as a myth; Russia’s rightful place is in Europe.99 This point was similarly espoused by Dmitrii Trenin, deputy director of the CMC, whose views often reflected those of the liberal-centrist elite. Trenin argued against the notion of Russia returning to a Eurasian geopolitical identity like during the Russian and Soviet Empires, since this was incommensurate with Russia’s current realities. For Trenin, Russia as Eurasia was over and Russia as ‘a European country’ should integrate into the increasingly unified Europe. In Asia, Russia must establish itself as a European country in Asia and that it should not aim to be either a bridge or a barrier between West and East.100 Moreover, while Europe as a region is clear, Asia as a region remains divisive and vague. Thus it would not be constructive to speak about Russia becoming part of Asia when Asia itself has no definite meaning or shared common values and culture.101 He suggested instead that Russia become a ‘Euro-Pacific’ power, forging good relations with the US globally, and with Japan in Asia.102 He also urged Russia be understood as the ‘New West’ – possessing Western values but not necessarily joining Western institutions like the EU or NATO, and having a capitalist economy if not yet a full-fledged democracy.103 One prominent sinologist, Vilia Gel’bras, belittled the idea of Russia being a bridge between West and East, since for decades a synthesis between Euro-American, Asian, and Middle Eastern civilisations in the East had already occurred without Russia’s participation.104 Some RFE-based specialists perceived Russia’s Eurasian identity in strictly territorial and historical terms. From the civilisational standpoint, Russia was European. One noted that Russia was historically both a bridge


and a shield (against Mongol invaders) from Asia to Europe, and remained so.105 Another prominent sinologist urged that Russia discard the myth of its Eurasianness as admission to the club of Asian powers. Russia is a European civilisation, he maintained, but with vital interests and vast territory in Asia.106 Essentially, these critics are affirming what most senior Russian officials themselves believe as regards to Russia’s European identity. As Sergei Ivanov made clear, without any room for doubt, that Russians on the whole are ‘Europeans and not Asians, by culture and by language’.107 Emphasis of Russia’s Asian side, as earlier argued, is only made pragmatically and expressed publicly when the need arise.

4.5 Conclusion: Rationalising Russia’s great-power status The Russian elite’s interpretations of Russia’s Eurasianist identity were primarily instrumental – how to reap the maximum benefits from utilising Russia’s uniqueness, be it as a vast country located in both Asia and Europe, in a unique geopolitical position, and consisting of a multitude of ethnicities, religions, and civilisations. With regards to East Asia specifically, these unique identities of Russia were used to justify its perceived special right to play an influential role in Asia-Pacific affairs and to enhance its attractiveness as a partner to East Asian countries by virtue of its territorial presence in the region and also from its ‘Asiatic’ traits, self-proclaimed when the need arise. Thus Russia as Eurasia was not simply understood in terms of national identity or as a mere factual statement regarding its location in Europe and Asia. It was essentially understood as a justification of Russia’s right to be a great power with a commensurable role in global and regional affairs, including that of East Asia. Russia’s different interpretations of Eurasianism were thus used to rationalise Russia’s derzhavnost’ rather than being a professed affinity with Asian countries or a desire to become one. If anything, Russia has more civilisational and historical affinity with Europe and indeed the West has grabbed Russia’s attention more than the East ever has throughout Russia’s history. With this in mind, the main policy implication of this instrumentalist understanding of Russia’s Eurasian identity was that Russia continued to assert its right to have a significant role in East Asian affairs. Russia also demanded that it be granted respect by the East Asian countries as befits its great-power status. Russia sought to participate in all East Asian developments and to cultivate relations with East Asian states based on a combination of pragmatic, geopolitical, or even civilisational justifications. Moreover, Russia perceived East Asia as a useful counterbalance to its relations with the West and rationalised its right to pursue such a balanced policy with both the West and Asia based on its Eurasian identity. Nonetheless policy statements declaring Russia’s great-power status based on its Eurasian identity remain unconvincing if Russia does not have the capabilities or attributes


of a great power to back this. As Putin well understood, Russia would have to build up its power first in order to be taken seriously in East Asia and globally. Therefore, it was the more pragmatic and geoeconomic implications of Russia’s Eurasian identity that were co-opted and increasingly pursued by the Putin administration. Indeed, Russia’s East Asia policy motivated by the revival of Russia’s great-power status founded on economic growth and development gained ground under Putin. Although the primacy of economics in Russia’s East Asia policy had noticeably risen since Gorbachev, this was undermined by post-Soviet Russia’s weakness, hindering the Yeltsin administration’s pursuance of intensified economic relations and integration into the APR, and the development of its RFE. The development of these issues and views are discussed in the following chapter.

5 Economic Integrationist Aim and Projecting Influence

without vigorous efforts to attract our Asian neighbours . . . a rapid development of the eastern regions of Russia is impossible . . . we need a weighty Asian presence in Russia’s east as much as we do the integration of the Russian economy into the emerging new economic space of Asia. This is our strategic task for years to come. (Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov)1 The Russian elite since the 1980s held an enduring perception of East Asia as an economically dynamic region which presented opportunities for Russia’s economic development and reassertion of influence, as encapsulated in Ivanov’s statement above. But for most of the early 1990s this policy remained largely on paper; Moscow focused more on economic cooperation with Europe. Only in the second half of the 1990s, with Russia’s 1997 admission into APEC, did Moscow invest more energy in pursuing economic ties and an economic presence in East Asia, albeit not wholly successfully. While those areas of Russia’s economic strength like energy resources and arms were endorsed for their economic benefits, they were also increasingly seen as foreign policy tools under Putin. How the elite perceived the use of Russia’s economic power in East Asia varied, sometimes causing policy tensions. This chapter examines three main, sometimes conflicting, dimensions in Russia’s Economic perspective on East Asia, as emphasised and advocated by the elite. It examines the extent to which policy was implemented under Yeltsin and Putin in these three dimensions. The first was Russia’s integration into East Asia’s dynamic economic process. Economic integration was seen as essential for RFE survival, and hence Russia’s territorial integrity itself. It was also perceived as a means to enhance Russian prestige and influence in East Asia. Economic integration was the general official aim that was supported by the elite in Moscow and the RFE. The second dimension was Russia’s role as energy supplier that was perceived as a means to increase 60

Economic Integrationist Aim and Projecting Influence

61

Russia’s leverage vis-à-vis East Asia’s energy consumers. Moreover, the creation of Northeast Asian (NEA) energy networks could greatly facilitate Russia’s economic integration into East Asia. Emphasis on energy in Russia’s economic role was made by the fuel and energy complex (TEK), economic ministries, and increasingly so, the Putin administration and a large number of politicians and analysts. The third dimension was arms transfers as a projection of power and influence. Russia’s initial economic necessity of arms transfers to prop up its ailing defence industry was, under Putin, superseded by a more instrumentally driven perception of arms exports as a means to enhance Russian prestige and influence. Thus the ‘profit motive’ behind the defence industry’s advocacy of arms exports, with the tacit support of the Yeltsin government, was gradually subsumed by the Putin administration as a foreign policy tool; though the economic benefits for the military– industrial complex (VPK) and national economy continued to be espoused. The chapter argues that while these three dimensions sometimes led to policy conflict and incoherence under Yeltsin, the Putin administration endorsed them in a more coordinated manner, presenting a more coherent Russian Economic perspective on East Asia. This perspective was based on the overall aim to integrate Russia’s economy into the APR, using energy and arms supplies to increase Russia’s economic and political standing in the region. Despite the Putin administration’s increased control over different actors and economic resources, conflicting elite perceptions and interests remained. This resulted in an outwardly coherent Economic perspective, but one plagued by contradictory priorities.

5.1 Economic integration: Russia’s place in the East Asian sun? This part firstly examines integrationist aims under Yeltsin and Putin, outlining the factors behind the Yeltsin administration’s failure to successfully integrate Russia into the Asia-Pacific economy, and the nature of elite perceptions during Putin’s first term. It then looks at perceptions and policies regarding RFE economic development and integration into the APR, including the extent to which government strategy was implemented. Lastly, it examines the socio-psychological obstacles to greater integration based on fears of the ‘yellow peril’. 5.1.1 Virtual integration under Yeltsin (1996–9) Many official statements asserted that for Russia to gain significance in East Asia, it needed to integrate into this region’s dynamic economy.2 However, actual participation remained marginal throughout most of the 1990s. This was due to three main factors: preoccupation with the West; bad investment conditions, infrastructure and economic capacity weaknesses in the RFE; and the excessively high expectation that these shortcomings would be compensated by rapprochement with China. There were also ongoing


concerns among the elite that Russia’s exports was overdependent on raw materials and natural resources rather than being based on a diversified trade structure with developed and high-technological products. As will be shown, the Yeltsin government seemed reluctant or unable to redress these concerns. 5.1.1.1 Negligible East Asia Russia’s trade with the APR in the 1990s amounted to, on average, approximately one-fifth of Russia’s total trade turnover.3 Indeed, Russia’s share in the total trade of the Asia-Pacific countries was consistently less than one per cent in the 1990s.4 This was miniscule compared to Russia’s trade with Europe and the US – approximately 53–7 and 6–8 per cent respectively of Russia’s total trade each year in the latter half of the 1990s.5 Even with China, trade throughout the second half of the 1990s fell well short of the declared target of US$ 20 billion by 2000 (see Table 5.1). Russia’s share in China’s total trade in 2000 was 1.3 per cent6 while China’s share in Russia’s trade was only 4.7 per cent.7 Trade volume with Japan was similarly low, at less than US$ 4 billion per year in the latter half of the 1990s. Despite initial Table 5.1

Russian total trade turnover with East Asia (1996–9) (US$ million) Year

Country

1996

China Japan North Korea South Korea Taiwan Indonesia Malaysia Vietnam Singapore Thailand Philippines Laos Cambodia Myanmar Total Trade with East Asia Total Trade with World

1997

1998

1999

5,724.5 3,890.7 64.8 1,984 568 135.6 167.3 154 798.7 274.8 155.3 68.8 19.4 13.4

5,471 3,920 90.7 1,672.5 411 178.4 295 354 410.5 253.5 133.3 29.5 0.93 0.52

4,482.5 2,994 64.9 1,531 217.3 102.4 239.8 323 163.6 93 42 4.5 n/a n/a

4,495 2,564 55.7 1,142 325.3 57.3 475.2 183.7 220 163 77.3 2.2 n/a n/a

14,019.3

13,220.8

10,258

9,760.7

131,141

137,879

114,893

102,003

Source: Figures compiled and estimated from Russian Federal Customs Service Statistics. Tamozhennaia statistika vneshnei torgovli rossiiskoi federatsii sbornik 1997, 1999 g. (Moscow: Federal’naia Tamozhennaia Sluzhba, 1998, 2000). China figures include Hong Kong from 1997. Brunei figures are unavailable.


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improved Russo–South Korean trade, the figure consistently fell during 1997–9 (Table 5.1). Although Russo-ASEAN trade grew by 716 per cent from 1993 to 1996, Russia remained the ASEAN dialogue partner with the smallest trade share with ASEAN throughout the late 1990s.8 The share of ASEAN countries in Russia’s trade in the mid-1990s was meagre at 1.4 per cent (Table 5.1). The Russian foreign policy elite had not traditionally attached great significance to ASEAN. As one expert argues, ASEAN countries ‘always meant and will always mean much less to Russia than China or Japan’.9 Nonetheless there was a growing Russian awareness of ASEAN’s economic and political value since its members shared a number of common interests with Russia and had mutually complementary economies. However, the 1997 financial crisis ‘all but ruined the reputation of the ASEAN “tigers” in Russia’. Russo-ASEAN trade plummeted by 41 per cent. Despite ASEAN’s later recovery, the Russian elite remained cautious.10 5.1.1.2

Unfavourable domestic conditions

A major cause for low economic links was the unfavourable investment conditions in Russia in legal and infrastructure terms. In 2000, Japan was the tenth largest investor in Russia.11 While this low position might reflect the lack of progress in signing a peace treaty, it also demonstrated Russia’s unstable economic conditions.12 As Chufrin notes, while the Japanese government was legally limited in granting official guarantees to Japanese businesses working in Russia until a peace treaty was signed, even those economic opportunities that were available could not be used properly due to the lack of favourable legal, financial and administrative conditions in Siberia and the Far East.13 Moreover, Moscow’s ‘knee-jerk’ responses to internal economic woes only worsened matters. For instance, Moscow’s decision to enforce customs clearances from the end of 1996 to solve its chronic budget deficit negatively affected the inexperienced South Korean firms that had invested in Russia, driving up their commodity prices almost to the level of import prohibition. This caused South Korea’s direct investment in 1997 to fall to a paltry US$ 8 million, from US$ 41 million in 1996.14 5.1.1.3 Overdependence on raw materials and the Chinese market A more enduring concern expressed by policy analysts and the RFE elite was the ‘primivitisation’ of Russia’s trade structure – the heavy reliance on exporting raw materials and natural resources – that prompted some Russian nationalists to complain about the ‘Kuwait-isation’ of the economy. In 1997 and 1998, for instance, energy and basic metal products accounted for around 70 per cent of Russia’s exports.15 This overdependence was reinforced by the perceived mutual economic complementarities of the Russian and East Asian economies in the supply and demand for natural resources. However, some analysts dismissed this as a myth, arguing that though Russia in the short and medium term might have to rely on the export of its natural resources


in order to earn much needed foreign currency, it should turn attention to reviving its manufacturing industries in order to fill the potential East Asian demand for more advanced and high-technology products. This myth was well illustrated by Russo–Chinese economic relations. Due to Russia’s strategic partnership with China, Moscow placed great stock on receiving favourable access to the Chinese market, though this proved to be a disappointment. For example, to Moscow’s chagrin Russian firms did not win the tender for energy equipment for China’s Three Gorges Dam project in 1997.16 Putin’s Russia was similarly disappointed when it lost a US$ 8 billion tender to provide four atomic generating units.17 Although there was Chinese demand for Russian raw materials and Russian demands for cheap Chinese consumer goods, over-reliance on these commodities restricted the potential diversification of bilateral trade. Russia’s aggressive export of ferrous metals, for example, was vulnerable to changing Chinese demands.18 Even ASEAN states expected more from Russia than just raw materials and low-value-added products. They wanted greater cooperation in the field of scientific research, high technologies, energy technology, and commercial use of innovative products.19 5.1.1.4 Consensus on increased engagement Russia’s economic relations and integration into East Asia remained resolutely low, despite the relatively high level of diplomatic activity throughout the latter half of the 1990s. Indeed, Russia’s failure to integrate and Moscow’s lack of sufficient attention to the APR was deemed a strategic concern by the military. Lieutenant General Leonid Ivashov, for instance, warned that in the twenty-first century, Russia’s economic interests would begin to shift from the West to the East for ‘objective’ reasons. Major threats to Russia’s security were also likely to emanate from Asia and would only increase ‘if Russia tries to stay away from the Asia-Pacific economic processes’.20 Thus under Primakov’s premiership in the late 1990s, Russia showed greater appreciation of Russia’s need to participate actively in the Asia-Pacific economy and more soberly assessed the requirements for Russia’s successful integration. As one MID official observed in 1999, Moscow’s increasingly trade- and investmentoriented Asia-Pacific diplomacy reflected the fact that Russia’s security perceptions and policy towards East Asia were better coordinated with domestic interests, pragmatic economic concerns, and development plans.21 There was growing recognition among the Russian elite that for Russia to integrate successfully into the Asia-Pacific economy, Moscow had to base its policy on pragmatic means for achievable ends that more accurately reflected domestic conditions and national interests rather than mere wishful thinking. 5.1.2 Putin’s geoeconomic renaissance (2000–8) This ‘pragmatism’ in pursuing Russia’s economic integration into the APR was firmly taken up by the Putin presidency. This was due to two related factors.


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Firstly, the Putin presidency reprioritised foreign policy by following a more economic agenda, one that tried to match words with deeds and capacity. Lo has identified four key themes in this new economic agenda: (1) the direct linkage between an active foreign policy and domestic socio-economic transformation and prosperity; (2) the campaign to integrate Russia into ongoing international economic processes; (3) the profit motive of various economic sectors and the state; (4) the interrelationship between geoeconomics and geopolitics.22 These themes reflected Putin’s, and the Russian elite’s, greatpower aspirations for Russia. Economic strength and wealth was perceived as being equated to or translated into power and influence. Moscow’s pursuit of economic objectives should thus be seen as interrelated with its continuing ambitions to project itself as a regional and global power. This economic agenda also heralded in a more pragmatic foreign policy course. Thus the decision to close Russia’s naval base in Cam Ranh Bay in 2002, two years before the lease expired, was based on the calculation that the economic and strategic benefits from closure outweighed the strategic gains from continued possession.23 The interrelationship between geoeconomics and geopolitics in Putin’s integrationist aim was also reflected in the broader debate within the policy community regarding Russia’s role in the world economy. While liberal institutionalists believed in greater economic integration, ‘dirigists’, who advocated a greater state role in regulating economic relations, were wary of opening Russia’s markets to international competition. One significant influence on the latter view emanated from nationally oriented business sectors, united under the Russian Chamber of Commerce chaired by Primakov.24 This group perceived Russia’s economic policy as a direct means to realise its foreign policy goals – similar to Putin’s economic agenda. The second factor was that Putin had inherited a growing economy.25 Putin was therefore in a better position than Yeltsin to pursue Russia’s economic integration and RFE development, based on geoeconomic realities. Putin was more active than Yeltsin in reinvigorating relations with formerly neglected allies like Vietnam, Mongolia, and North Korea, and opened up new ties with countries like Thailand and Myanmar.26 Economic ties with key East Asian partners were intensified (see Table 5.2). Russo–Chinese trade turnover nearly doubled during Putin’s first term, from US$ 6.3 billion in 2000 to US$ 11.8 billion in 2003. The figure finally reached US$ 20 billion in 2005, and totalled US$ 40.7 billion in 2007 – a 40 per cent increase from 2006 – with around 70 per cent of Russian exports comprising raw materials, mainly energy resources. Russo–Japanese trade also rose to US$ 20 billion in 2007 – a 64 per cent increase from the previous year. Each country’s share in their partner’s total trade also rose. China became Russia’s third largest trading partner and Russia China’s eighth largest in 2007. However, while ASEAN-Russia trade did increase under Putin, ASEAN’s share of Russia’s total trade in 2006 was only 1.07 per cent while Russia’s share in ASEAN’s was 0.3 per cent – the second lowest among ASEAN’s dialogue partners.27 Despite

66 Russia as an Aspiring Great Power in East Asia Table 5.2

Russian total trade turnover with East Asia (2000–7) (US$ million) Year

Country

2000

2001

China 6,335 7,292.7 Japan 3,336 3,219 North Korea 46 78.3 South Korea 1,330.8 1,593 Taiwan 492.6 418.6 Indonesia 108 125.8 Malaysia 388 424.6 Vietnam 204.7 241 Singapore 520.5 682.5 Thailand 170 177 Philippines 58.4 67 Laos 1.6 3.8 Cambodia 1.5 4.8 Myanmar 3.8 33.5

2002

2003

9,432 11,875 2,783 4,296 79.6 113.6 2,201 2,650 672 1,099 193 418 577 725 403 433 610 248 323 431 128.6 222.5 4.2 2.4 3.6 1.6 100.8 11

2004

2005

15,180 20,664 7,345 9,581 210 233 3,989 6,363 2,330 1,931 366 551 537 823 808 913 351 626 728 998 267 271 6.7 11 4 8 25 3

2006

2007

29,108 40,744 12,244 20,094 210 n/a 9,515 14,986 1,687 2,109 607 916 1,134 1,903 653 1,092 1,227 1,540 907 1,336 167 241 4 n/a 10 n/a 9.5 n/a

Total Trade 12,997 14,362 17,510.8 22,526 32,146.7 42,976 57,482.5 84,961 with East Asia Total Trade 136,971 140,725 152,885 190,713 257,232 339,857 439,051 552,181 with World Source: Figures compiled and estimated from Russian Federal Customs Service Statistics, http://www. customs.ru/ru/stats/arhiv-stats-new/ (accessed March 2008); and Tamozhennaia statistika vneshnei torgovli rossiiskoi federatsii: Sbornik 2001–2, 2003, 2005, 2006 g. (Moscow: Federal’naia Tamozhennaia Sluzhba, 2002, 2004, 2006, 2007). China figures include Hong Kong. Brunei figures are unavailable.

Moscow’s increasingly focused attention on enhancing Russia’s economic role in East Asia, there remained criticisms and concerns among the elite regarding the strategy to achieve this. 5.1.2.1 The Pacific century revisited Putin’s administration repeatedly emphasised Russia’s direct affinity with the dynamically developing Asia-Pacific region, and the need for an economic upturn in Siberia and the RFE. This was emphasised more in the 2000 Foreign Policy Concept than in the 1993 version.28 The ability of East Asian economies to recover after the financial crisis and their movement to further integration and lessen dependence on the US (through, for instance, the proposal of an Asian Monetary Fund) impressed Moscow. These developments prompted Deputy Foreign Minister Ivan Ivanov to observe that the ‘Pacific Ocean basin’ would be ‘the centre of global economic growth in the 21st century’.29 Foreign Minister Igor Ivanov outlined the need for domestic reforms to facilitate Russia’s integration by effectively using the economic potential of the RFE, stimulating and supporting Russia’s industrial


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sector, improving credit and financial systems, and creating a favourable investment climate to attract foreign capital.30 There were indications that the Putin administration took some steps towards improving investment conditions such as improved tax regimes, better legal protection of ownership rights, and proper dispute resolution mechanisms. These were met with some success. For instance, Japan lifted a range of restrictions on trade with Russia in 2001, after a delegation from the Japanese Federation of Economic Organisations (Keidanren) conducted an extensive tour of Russia and were apparently satisfied with economic conditions.31 One MID official predicted that Japanese investment in Russia would increase since Japan would want to diversity its Sino-centric investments.32 Indeed, Japan’s Toyota and Suzuki apparently felt that Russia’s investment climate under Putin had sufficiently improved by both investing in St. Petersburg.33 South Korea’s Hyundai followed suit with Singapore planning to invest in Moscow real estate.34 Chinese investments also picked up. In 2006, China had invested US$ 1.5 billion in Russia. China was also reportedly investing in Chechnya, becoming the first foreign investor there.35 5.1.2.2 Russia as a raw materials appendage? An ongoing issue for debate among the elite was Russia’s role in the regional integration process – to remain predominantly a natural resources supplier or to develop its scientific and technological potential in order to conduct economic relations with East Asia at a more advanced and diversified level. Throughout the Yeltsin and Putin years, Russia’s trade structure to the APR leant heavily on the export of natural resources. In 2005, it was estimated that around 60 per cent of RFE exports predominantly comprised of energy, fishery, timber, and ferrous metals.36 Indeed, the share of machinery and equipment in Russia’s exports to China in 2006 was only 1.2 per cent, down from the previous year, while the share of natural resources, including energy, was more than 70 per cent.37 While most policy analysts agreed on the export of natural resources as a means to integrate Russia into the APR,38 they debated on the extent to which this should be relied upon. A leading advocate of the view that Russia should utilise its comparative advantage in natural resources to facilitate integration was Vasilii Mikheev, then deputy director of the IDVRAN. He proposed that ‘integration motivation’ appears when an economy cannot cope with its problems by using its own resources or via traditional foreign economic relations. In conditions of globalisation, this inability negatively affects the development of other closely tied economies, creating the incentive for countries to cooperate in resolving that problem. Greater economic cooperation and integration between Russia and NEA would facilitate Russia’s access to East Asian capital to develop its Far Eastern resources and economy; provide NEA states with alternative sources of energy to the Middle East; provide Chinese labour for RFE growth; and create a larger outlet for Japanese and South Korean goods.39


Regarding China in particular, IDVRAN director Titarenko maintained that the optimum scenario for Russia was of intensified relations of ‘codevelopment’ in which for the next decade focus would be on the full realisation of Russia’s comparative advantages in energy resources, transit functions of its territory, and scientific-technical potential to attract Chinese investment in the RFE and Siberia.40 Khabarovsk economists made similar proposals but acknowledged that the structure of the regional economy should gradually shift towards processed raw materials as this would be more viable.41 One prominent Khabarovsk economist held a pessimistic view that attraction of foreign investment to the RFE’s extraction of natural resources industry condemns the region into being a raw materials appendage of the APR, while the RFE cannot compete with other Asia-Pacific countries in attracting foreign investment in its manufacturing sector.42 Another group of researchers at IMEMO, ISKRAN, and CMC instead stressed that economic cooperation should not be limited to the joint development of natural resources, since this would give Russia a merely passive role. They urged that Russia should focus on developing industrial, scientific, and technical cooperation with its NEA neighbours, though the first stage for Russia’s integration could be predominantly based on natural resources, especially energy.43 Japan here was seen as Russia’s ideal partner. Japanese financial and scientific potential remained immense, while China was seen as mainly interested in the exploitation of Russia’s natural resources.44 Cooperation with ASEAN in high-technological and scientific fields was also seen as having high potential and emphasised by Russian economists.45 Official statements manifested a balanced position, citing Russia’s mutual economic complementarities with East Asia while acknowledging Russia’s need to further develop its scientific and technological capabilities and to cooperate with East Asia on innovation.46 Particular emphasis was on increasing the share of high-technological products in Russian exports to East Asian countries as opposed to raw materials.47 Russian officials also shared the analysts’ concern regarding the fate of the RFE. For example, Putin’s Far Eastern representative expressed desires for the region to become a base for the country’s future economic development, ‘but not a raw materials appendage’ to East Asia.48 However, he also proposed the use of Russia’s natural resource for integration.49 Despite the federal government’s concerns, policy remained both ill-conceived and not fully implemented. According to one economist, Moscow did not formulate an effective strategy for incorporating Russia and its RFE into the NEA integration process; Moscow built Russia’s relations with the APR, ‘not as its component part but as an external partner’.50 Russia’s low level of economic involvement in the APR was also perceived as a result of the government’s failure to define Russia’s position vis-à-vis relations with new regional establishments like ASEAN+3 and the Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM).51 IDVRAN specialists criticised the Putin administration’s continued refusal to consider the prospect


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of integration seriously, ‘wagering primarily on Europe . . . and viscerally fearing Chinese immigration and Japanese financial expansion into its Far Eastern territories’.52 They argued that an economic integration policy could ‘hardly be built on a base of nationalist ideology and protectionism’.53 Despite these criticisms, the Putin administration did acknowledge the need for RFE economic development and integration into the APR, as they were increasingly concerned with the threat of losing the RFE were it to continue being underdeveloped and underpopulated. 5.1.3 Integrating and developing Russia’s far east The Russian elite saw the development of the RFE and its integration into the Asia-Pacific economy as intertwined. The RFE was seen as the key to Russia’s successful integration into the APR. However, despite the RFE’s abundance of natural resources, the regional authorities and Moscow had never made full use of this advantage. As the Russian writer Aleksandr Griboedov acutely observed, ‘we Russians so easily win spaces and so worthlessly use them’.54 Although the RFE possessed the potential of being Russia’s ‘pacific gateway’, the region’s Cold War ‘frontier mentality’ ensured it remained an ‘economic island’ isolated from both Russia and East Asia in the 1990s.55 With the collapse of the Soviet Union and ending of subsidies from Moscow, the region’s economy persistently declined; its share of Russia’s industrial production in 1996 was about 5.3 per cent, dropping to 3.9 per cent in early 1998.56 By 2005 the figure had not improved, being estimated at 3.6 per cent.57 Due to dismal economic and social conditions, Russian Far Easterners increasingly migrated to Western Russia. Russia’s 2002 census showed that the RFE population had decreased by 15.9 per cent compared with data from the 1989 census (7.95 million).58 This section firstly examines whether official views espoused under both Yeltsin and Putin were translated into actual policy. It then looks at the difference in perceptions regarding RFE integration between the federal centre and the RFE, exacerbating centre–regional tension. 5.1.3.1 Government strategies: Failures and promises Recognising the threat of the RFE’s economic crisis and the spectre of separatist tendencies, the Yeltsin administration adopted in April 1996 the ‘Federal Programme on Economic and Social Development of the Far Eastern and Trans-Baikal Regions in 1996–2005’, which was drafted by the Interregional Association of Economic Cooperation of the Far East and Zabaikal’e, the Economics Ministry, and the Institute of Economic Research in Khabarovsk. The programme included measures for structurally adjusting the economy and preventing outward migration. It envisioned the region’s integration into the global economy through cooperation with East Asian countries. However, it failed to adequately explain where funding would be from, what incentives there were for the region to promote international economic


activity, and by whom the plan implemented.59 From the beginning, the programme suffered from a lack of financing with actual investment in its objectives, out of all funding sources, only around 20 per cent of the planned figure during 1996–2000.60 Indeed, as one Vladivostok analyst argued, the programme was adopted only to increase Yeltsin’s chances for garnering regional votes in his 1996 re-election; after which financing dried up.61 With lack of funds from Moscow, RFE development relied heavily on foreign direct investment (FDI). However, there were five main obstacles to large-scale FDI in the RFE: political instability, the absence of a rational legal system, government policies that make financial speculations far more profitable than investments in development of industry, a high level of criminality, and shakiness of Russia’s financial market. Although these conditions applied to Russia in general, it was particularly acute in the RFE during the 1990s. In 1997, for instance, the RFE only received 2.2 per cent out of the total FDI value in Russia.62 Major multilateral development programmes such as the Tumen River project between Russia, China, and North Korea collapsed as none of the sides were prepared to offer substantial financial support, while RFE authorities were uncooperative since they feared economic competition to Vladivostok and Nakhodka.63 Free Economic Zones in the region also failed to attract sufficient FDI due to lack of federal funding and infrastructure; the one remaining in Nakhodka transformed into a ‘flea market’.64 These failed projects testified to the failure of federal and regional authorities to initiate and implement a viable RFE development programme. In the view of IDVRAN researchers, the ‘Federal Programme’ had two main shortcomings, influenced by a ‘traditional approach’ to economic development. Firstly, it placed too much emphasis on attracting FDI to the regional export sector and on protecting domestic manufacturers. Questions of integration and cooperation between Russia and East Asia were not addressed. Secondly, the programme envisaged that Russia remain ‘behind its borders’, being an ‘external partner’ for Asia-Pacific countries.65 By 2000, it became clear that the programme was ineffective as the RFE economy in fact worsened. In 1995, the gap in rates of deterioration between the RFE and Russia as a whole was around 9 percentage points. In 2000, this increased up to 17 percentage points.66 In 2000–2, the original programme was adjusted primarily by researchers at the Economic Research Institute in Khabarovsk led by Pavel Minakir for the years up to 2010. The economists proposed that the government assume a greater initial role in creating the preconditions necessary for accelerated growth via structural reorganisation of the regional economy that would form the basis for future development from self-financing. This included exploiting the region’s resource base with the aim of enhancing the overall competitive position of the national economy and the formation of an open model of regional development, creating conditions for the free movement of capital, people, and technology between the RFE and foreign partners.67


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However, the Ministry for Economic Development and Trade made substantial changes to this proposed revised programme. Although the ratified programme in March 2002 agreed on the need for strong state support and planning, it focused more on industrial development and discarded plans for social development, which originally accounted for 3.5 per cent of the programme’s funding but came up to only 0.7 per cent after revision. Indeed, the majority of investment went to the TEK – 35 per cent more than outlined in the original programme. The Khabarovsk economists were critical of the government’s elimination of expenditures allocated for social development that were essential for attracting more Russian migrants to the region. They argued that the money saved would in fact have a negative impact on real regional growth anticipated for 2000–10.68 Nonetheless RFE analysts generally welcomed Moscow’s increased attention to regional development.69 The Khabarovsk economists, in particular, preferred a more centralised development strategy directed from the federal centre, seeing this as more effective.70 With Russia set to host the 2012 APEC summit in Vladivostok, the development of the RFE urgently demanded the federal government’s close attention even more. Putin, after criticising the government’s ‘feeble’ RFE development policy during a SB meeting, assigned then Prime Minister Fradkov to head a special commission on Far Eastern development and to work closely with regional governors.71 The government was ordered to formulate a new Federal Programme for the Economic and Social Development of the Far East and Trans-Baikal Regions up to 2013, which included an ambitious subprogramme focused on developing Vladivostok into a ‘centre for economic cooperation in the APR’. Most of the proposed funds will come from the federal budget with the remainder from regional budgets and private investors.72 In August 2007, the cabinet approved a spending package of around US$ 16.8 billion to stimulate economic growth in the RFE, with nearly US$ 6 billion expected for building APEC infrastructure as proposed in the programme.73 Putin expressed hope a number of times that the summit would help boost development of Primorskii krai and the entire RFE.74 Thus the fate of the RFE rested to a significant extent on the success of this new federal programme, in particular Vladivostok’s successful hosting of APEC 2012. But already senior officials like Kamil Iskhakov, deputy minister for Regional Development and former presidential envoy for the RFE, and Governor Darkin have criticised the delay in federal funds.75 Moreover, poor coordination between the relevant governmental agencies, delay in the approval of the general plan of Vladivostok to construct the summit facilities, differences of views between federal and regional authorities, and corruption investigations of Primorskii krai’s leaders serve to further hamper necessary preparations.76 Meanwhile, other regional administrations have criticised the Federal Programme of allocating funds to their regions much less than that needed.77 By September 2008, construction of the necessary


facilities and infrastructure had not yet begun, prompting concern from federal authorities.78 5.1.3.2 Centre–regional and intra-regional tensions Although both the federal and regional elite agreed on the need to integrate the RFE into the Asia-Pacific economy, they differed in their strategic framework. Regional authorities and some analysts tended to perceive the RFE as distinct from the Russian economy as a whole, due to the immense distance between the regions and Moscow compared to the proximity of East Asian capitals. In their view, the RFE should be given more autonomy in developing foreign economic relations, although the Federal government would remain an important source of funds.79 Moscow’s neglect of the RFE during the 1990s prompted Governor Ishaev to assert that the RFE was being marginalised from Russia’s economic system and that there was no alternative but to integrate the RFE, Russia’s ‘Pacific gateway’, into the APR.80 Federal authorities, on the other hand, perceived development of the RFE economy as part of Russia’s integration into the world economy and not just East Asia. RFE development thus required direction from Moscow. Nevertheless, Moscow appeared initially prepared to grant the regions some independence in conducting foreign economic relations.81 In 1996, Foreign Minister Primakov announced a ‘new approach’ in Moscow’s plans to allocate federal and regional funds for RFE economic development and external trade. He stated that while earlier the RFE had to conduct external relations via Moscow, the ‘ideology’ of such relations had changed.82 After Russia’s 1998 financial crisis, however, Moscow was determined to take a more centralised approach to the region’s development and reasserted its authority. In November 1998, Prime Minister Primakov declared in Khabarovsk that the state would intensify its regulation of the economy. He warned that ‘regional leaders, opposing a single economic space, opposed, in fact, Russia’s unity’.83 Although centre–regional tensions remained under Putin, his recentralisation of power meant that differences in views were not aired as vociferously as before. Under Yeltsin, RFE politicians were often governed autonomously, staking out positions and developing policies contradicting Moscow’s. Yeltsin essentially relied on ‘divide and rule’ tactics, giving special subsidies and privileges to particular regions. Putin, on the other hand, sought to restore order by entrusting his representative to remove troublesome governors, harmonise regional legislation with federal laws, and acquire greater oversight over regional budgets.84 Indeed, Putin’s appointment of Pulikovskii was seen as challenging Ishaev’s claim to RFE leadership, especially since Pulikovskii’s office was located in Khabarovsk.85 Governors of regions dependent on federal subsidies like Primorskii krai and Kamchatka oblast, however, had to cultivate viable relations with Pulikovskii in order to survive.86


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Despite Putin’s reassertion of control, Ishaev remained a vocal critic of federal policy, arguing that Moscow did not see the RFE as a high priority region. The revised programme, for instance, was only allocated 680 million roubles compared to 12 billion roubles allocated to the Tartar Republic. Moreover, what had been achieved in the RFE to date, he asserted, had absolutely nothing to do with the Federal Programme but was rather attributable to regional governors implementing the appropriate policies. Ishaev dismissed the programme’s paltry financing as a ‘joke’.87 Indeed, the 2002–10 programme actually provided for less federal funding – around US$ 3.6 billion annually – compared to the US$ 4.8 billion disbursed in 1999–2001.88 With RFE strategy being initiated by the federal government, which was far removed from the RFE and rarely listened to regional voices, regional policy analysts doubted that it could effectively address their problems.89 One example of federal policy hindering RFE development was the imposition of high tax levels, deterring FDI.90 At the same time, the regional elite themselves did not manage to formulate their own coordinated strategy to propose to Moscow. Indeed, regional leaders often held divergent visions regarding their development and integration.91 Coordination of common regional interests was virtually non-existent, due to the lack of shared economic interests. For instance, major international energy projects directly affected Sakhalin only, while Primorskii and Khabarovskii krais gained only indirect benefits. Moreover, attempts to create a united front through the Council of the Far East and Transbaikal Area Inter-regional Association for Economic Cooperation chaired by Ishaev also failed.92 The main intra-regional rivalry was between the two centres – Primorskii and Khabarovskii krais. Both had competing ambitions in promoting their territories as Russia’s and the region’s gateway to the APR but held divergent approaches to economic development and integration. While Ishaev championed a ‘state-centric’ developmental approach,93 Primorskii Governor Darkin advocated a more ‘market-oriented’ development strategy in international regional cooperation.94 These divergent views were founded on the different structure of industries and geographical location of each territory. Khabarovskii krai had most of the heavy and defence industries in the RFE, while Primorskii krai was geared towards service industries and seen by its elite as ‘at the front edge of Pacific Russia’ due to its location and access to the Pacific.95 This notion of ‘Pacific Russia’ encompassed both the RFE and Eastern Siberia, and implied policy focus not just on border trade but also on maritime trade with the APR.96 Khabarovsk was also traditionally more suspicious of foreign economic influence, especially Chinese, than Primor’e as reflected in the small amount of foreign investment in the krai – US$ 19.1 million in 2001 – compared to US$ 108.6 million in Primor’e.97 Nonetheless Ishaev did come to recognise the importance of foreign investment and Russia’s failings to attract them.98 By 2004, total foreign investment in Khabarovsk had picked up at US$ 96.2 million compared to Primor’e’s US$ 97.9 million.99 As noted


earlier, the IDVRAN was initially involved in the formulation of the Baikal Economic Forum’s (BEF) development strategy and their opinions were reflected in the Forum’s expressed objectives.100 IDVRAN analysts urged that the BEF be used to promote the importance of East Asian integration and become a venue for dialogue between Moscow and the Siberian and RFE elite at the political, bureaucratic, and business levels, and for foreign investors to gain better understanding of the region’s conditions and opportunities.101 However, the Forum’s influence on government policy was limited. Titarenko himself expressed dissatisfaction with the government’s bureaucratic reservations to the actual implementation of the Forum’s recommendations. For example, he long proposed to the federal government to create a high-level official post who would personally report to the president on realisation of development plans for Siberia and the RFE. The government, however, did not take this up.102 It was unclear too what lessons the federal government learnt or what recommendations it would be willing to accept. Indeed, it was questionable that the BEF served its declared role to be an ‘integrative’ event for all Far Eastern regions.103 As previously noted, RFE governors were less enthusiastic about attending than their Siberian counterparts, and Pulikovskii proposed establishing a ‘Far East Forum’ to be held in Khabarovsk between BEF sessions.104 Despite these centre–regional and inter-regional differences, there was an elite consensus on the need to develop and integrate the RFE into the Asia-Pacific economy in the 1990s in order to preserve Russia’s territorial integrity and its great-power status. As Primakov put it, ‘Russia cannot be great and will not remain a great power if we do not develop the Far East region’105 – Russia’s future depended on this.106 Khabarovsk economists agreed that RFE development could help Russia maintain and enhance its great-power status in the APR.107 Similarly, Trenin noted that Russia’s geopolitical destiny was likely to be tested by how Siberia and the RFE were dealt with. For the RFE to survive and for Russia to retain its precarious foothold in the Pacific, the RFE had to become more open for successful integration.108 Under Putin, this consensus view assumed an urgent character since persistent RFE underdevelopment increasingly threatened Russia’s territorial integrity and security, as then Kremlin Chief of Staff Dmitrii Medvedev pointed out.109 However, obstacles to greater RFE integration were not only structural but also psychological. Nowhere was this more apparent than in Russian elite perceptions regarding the demographic threat from Asia. 5.1.4 The ‘Yellow Peril’: Socio-psychological obstacles to integration Russian integration into the Asia-Pacific economy required an active state policy with the interrelated objectives of enhancing economic ties and RFE development. Continued RFE population decline meant that it was necessary to accept immigrants to ameliorate the demographic problem and facilitate regional development and integration. While the federal and regional authorities preferred emigrants from Russia’s other regions or CIS


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countries, this would be insufficient to compensate for outmigration losses from the region.110 Due to the large number of Chinese in regions bordering Russia, debate on Chinese demographic expansion, or ‘Sinification’ (kitaizatsiia) of the RFE, was most pervasive among the Russian elite. By 1999, the population of the RFE bordering China was around 5 million, whereas on the Chinese side it was 100 million.111 Economic conditions in both the RFE and Northeast China were mutually complementary. The RFE was in urgent need of manpower to develop its economy while neighbouring Chinese provinces suffered from an economic slump with a surplus of labour. However, Russians often held negative perceptions of the Chinese, informed by Cold War xenophobia influenced by the Sino–Soviet conflict. This section examines the following: (1) perceptions of the Chinese demographic threat among the Moscow and RFE elite; (2) official responses to such fears including the government’s handling of immigration; and (3) the more balanced views held by the academic community. 5.1.4.1 A Chinese demographic threat Perceptions of a Chinese demographic threat were often related to fears of ‘latent expansionism’ – of the Chinese claiming back historically disputed territories.112 Thus kitaizatsiia was seen as threatening Russia’s territorial integrity in East Asia and associated with border concerns. This view was shared by military analysts like Aleksandr Sharavin, who claimed that the RFE’s greater economic dependence on China posed a significant threat to Russia’s territorial integrity.113 Similarly alarmist statements were declared by the LDPR and nationalist communists. Such views were especially prominent in statements by RFE politicians during border demarcation negotiations, which were used to whip up public support in the regional elite’s conflict with the Kremlin.114 Khabarovsk Governor Ishaev, for instance, asserted that Beijing had a well-defined programme to settle its surplus population in the RFE and China’s economic policy was designed to flood the region with their ‘shoddy goods’ and to siphon valuable natural resources out of the region.115 The ‘China’ card was particularly easy to play as most Russian Far Easterners held a negative view of China. In Primorskii krai, for instance, 74 per cent of respondents in a September 2000 poll felt that the Chinese would annex regional territory in the future. Most (56 per cent) believed this would be through their routine economic activities.116 A RFE poll in 2006 found around half of respondents citing Chinese immigration as the greatest external threat to the region.117 Moreover, Chinese illegal immigration was often associated with rising crime; their presence was seen as fuelling criminal activity by Russian and Asian gangs involved in corruption, smuggling, and drugs.118 As a Khabarovsk mayor remarked, ‘it is precisely among these people (illegal immigrants) that you find many criminal elements’.119 The threat of diseases, for instance SARS, also negatively affected Russian perceptions of Chinese immigrants.120 A CMC survey of 1100 RFE


residents found a quarter of them expressing public health concerns from Chinese migrants, more than concerns over crime and economic competition.121 The exploitation of Russian natural resources, especially timber, by Chinese and Russian gangs raised further concerns over Chinese presence in the region.122 In late 2005, toxic chemicals from China that threatened to spill over into Khabarovsk’s water supply did not help endear the Chinese to their Russian neighbours.123 According to one RFE analyst, the most serious external threat to the RFE’s ecology is posed by China’s explosive economic growth and overpopulation.124 Nevertheless RFE views were not uniform. Rent-seeking opportunities could create economic incentives for a favourable view of Chinese workers among those best positioned to benefit from them.125 Moreover, attitudes may vary between regions according to their level of economic interaction with China and perceptions of job competition with Chinese migrants. For example, since Ussuriisk city, Amurskaia, and Chita oblasts were dependent on trade with China, there appeared less of a negative attitude towards Chinese than in other regions.126 Regional variations were further dependent on the intensity of contacts between Russians and Chinese. Negative media coverage of Chinese construction workers in Primorskii krai partly stemmed from their visibility in cities while more subdued coverage of Chinese agricultural workers in Khabarovsk was due to their living in remote settlements.127 Differences in development approaches also affected perceptions. While Governor Darkin allowed temporary North Korean workers in Vladivostok, Governor Ishaev was suspicious of foreign economic influence in Khabarovsk.128 Nonetheless Ishaev did concede the need for regulated Chinese workers for developing the region.129 Perceptions of Chinese immigrants were often influenced by alarmist press reports citing exaggerated figures, ranging from 20,000 to 2 million. While official statistics usually gave rather small figures, the most sober and realistic figures were produced by researchers. Sinologist Vilia Gel’bras established that the majority of the Chinese diaspora resided in Moscow and St. Petersburg rather than the RFE and that the total number of Chinese in Russia by the late 1990s was approximately 200,000 to 450,000. In Gel’bras’s opinion, this figure was too low to indicate any massive Chinese presence. Moreover, he stressed that they were mainly traders with no intention to permanently stay, given Russia’s unfavourable conditions.130 IDVRAN Deputy Director Portiakov further argued that the majority of Chinese migration to Russia was temporary and that Russia is not a primary target for Chinese global migration at present.131 RFE researchers often held more moderate views than their politicians. For instance, Viktor Larin, director of a Russian Academy of Sciences institute in Vladivostok, was demoted after criticising Governor Nazdratenko’s anti-Asian rhetoric. He was later reinstated under the new governor.132 Larin estimated that there were only 25–30,000 Chinese in the RFE in 2004, including 12,000 contract workers who were


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there temporarily.133 Nonetheless apprehensions remained among ordinary Russians and the elite. Even the mainstream press cited ‘authoritative’ forecasts that by 2010 the Chinese could become Russia’s second largest ethnic group with figures reaching 8–10 million. It sensationally warned that a ‘yellow wave’ had already flooded the RFE.134 A Public Opinion Fund poll in 2000 showed that 60 per cent of respondents were disturbed by the influx of Chinese migrants into Russia, while 57 per cent believed that the growing number might lead to loss of territory.135 Another poll conducted in 2005 found that only 4 per cent of respondents were hostile towards China in general, but when asked specifically about the increase of Chinese in Russia, 71 per cent were fearful of this.136 5.1.4.2

The official response

Although regional authorities understood the necessity of integrating into the Asia-Pacific economy, they were not ready to accept the social, economic, and political consequences of large-scale reliance on predominantly Chinese manpower to achieve this. Indeed, at the height of Russo–Chinese border trade in 1992–3, many RFE poll respondents preferred economic integration with Japan (48 per cent), South Korea (21 per cent), and the US (44 per cent), while China received 8 per cent of the votes.137 The Moscow political elite were also not ready to pursue an enlightened immigration policy based on management rather than control of Asian migrants. Although Moscow recognised the danger of RFE demographic and economic decline, both the Yeltsin and Putin administrations did not formulate an effective immigration policy to redress this. The Kremlin focused more on dampening fears rather than preparing and educating the public of a need for Asian workers. During centre–regional tensions, Yeltsin’s adviser, Emil Pain, criticised the regional authorities of ‘playing the Chinese card’ in their interests and acknowledged that a ‘civilised immigration policy’ was needed were the region to survive.138 Stating the official position, Defence Minister Ivanov declared that, ‘if a number of Chinese come to Russia, register, work, and pay taxes, there is nothing wrong with that’ since ‘we doubtless need some workforce to come in’.139 However, Putin himself used the spectre of a ‘yellow peril’ to underline the need to develop the RFE. In 2000, Putin named Russia’s demographic trends as one of the country’s main threats.140 While visiting Blagoveshchensk, he warned that ‘the very existence of this region [RFE] for Russia is questionable. If we don’t take concrete efforts, the future local population will speak Japanese, Chinese or Korean’.141 Pulikovskii similarly warned that 1.25 billion Chinese were ‘gazing longingly’ at the RFE.142 China’s pressure on Russia to lift migration limits on its nationals in exchange for supporting Russia’s WTO membership further provoked Moscow’s resentment.143 Institutional hostility towards a Chinese presence in the RFE was also often exhibited by the Federal Border Service (FPS), Federal Migration Service, and the Ministry of Interior.144


Since such concerns were pervasive throughout all levels of social strata, high-ranking officials often had to deny this threat to avoid undermining relations with China. Sergei Prikhod’ko, for instance, declared that there ‘were no grounds to speak about the Chinese government “inducing” its citizens to migrate to Russia, especially illegally’.145 Foreign Minister Ivanov and Chairman of the Duma International Relations Committee Kosachev similarly dismissed conjectures of a ‘Chinese expansion’, arguing that they merely served to ‘shift the blame’ for Russia’s own failures.146 Nonetheless policy under Yeltsin was restricted to relying on ethnic Russian migrants from CIS states and from limited immigration policies that allowed temporary Asian workers only.147 This remained the case under Putin since such measures were more acceptable to Russians than the alternative of having a more inclusive long-term policy akin to that in Australia and America. For instance, chairman of the Federation Council, Sergei Mironov, did not refer to Asian migrants as a remedy in resolving the RFE demographic crisis.148 Even Khabarovsk economists, who criticised restrictions on Chinese immigrants as detrimental to RFE development,149 did not refer to Asian immigrants in their revised Programme for RFE development, emphasising instead the creation of attractive conditions for Russian migrants from outside the region.150 Some sinologists also gave precedence to improving economic conditions to spur population growth rather than immigration.151 Indeed, a number of demographic experts wondered whether Russia would still be Russia were permanent Asian immigrants allowed in.152 Most revealingly of the Kremlin’s position was Putin’s remark that the CIS countries provided the most natural labour source for Russia since their people ‘are mentally close to us and can therefore easily adapt to Russian reality’.153 5.1.4.3 A balanced immigration policy Most politicians and analysts held a more balanced position, admitting the economic need to attract Chinese workers but also migrants from other countries and subject to regulatory control.154 For example, most of the participants, which included academics and legislators, at a December 2004 roundtable on migration held such a balanced position.155 The Foreign and Defence Policy Council (SVOP) admitted that ‘the threat of Chinese expansion objectively exists’, but there was also ‘objectively a need for Chinese immigration to Russia’. SVOP argued that the question should not be ‘how to prevent’ but rather ‘how to organise’ such immigration and assimilate them with the Russian population.156 Gel’bras similarly argued that a clear, consistent, and long-term migration policy was needed that also took into account immigrants from the ‘far abroad’.157 The Director of the Migration Department at the Institute of Economic Forecasting held a similar view on the need for foreign labour.158 Others like Dmitrii Trenin called for a rational immigration policy based on US, Canadian, and Australian experiences.159 Some IDVRAN researchers likewise urged the authorities to accept an


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‘internationalisation’ of the RFE, in which it ‘should become less Russian in its ethnic composition’, based on a clear immigration policy to redress the region’s problems. They saw RFE demographic decline as Russia’s own fault and not China’s.160 Vladivostok analysts accepted the need for Asian immigration for developing the RFE economy, but this was to be regulated by a quota system based on a rational appreciation of real needs.161 Despite these analysts’ proposals, a rational immigration policy remained unlikely to be formulated unless the government could ameliorate persistent fears of Chinese, and Asian, immigrants pervasive in all of Russia’s social strata by preparing them for the need to accept foreign labour to maintain economic growth. Russia’s successful integration into the Asia-Pacific economy depended on the development and integration of its RFE. However, Moscow not only failed to formulate a policy that sufficiently resolved the problems hindering RFE development and integration, but also imposed further obstacles to achieve these aims. Moreover, Moscow’s ill-conceived policies were not even fully implemented. As Lukin noted, the ‘myth about the Chinese threat combined with the ineffectiveness of regional and federal authorities seriously restrained the development of Siberia and the RFE’.162 Moscow’s strategic thinking about the RFE remained of a closed nature, moving away from globalisation and regionalism. Combine this with ongoing corruption and criminality in regional administrations then Vladivostok, as the ‘pivot’ of the RFE’s integration into the APR, appeared destined to remain a ‘Russian outpost’ rather than its ‘window on the East’.163 Nonetheless Moscow further focused on Russia’s two remaining economic assets – energy resources and arms – that were seen as tools for facilitating Russia’s integration into the Asia-Pacific economy and for enhancing its economic influence there.

5.2 Energy interdependence: The locomotive for Russia’s integration? This section firstly examines the potential for Russia playing an energy supplier role in East Asia. Secondly, it analyses the different views among elite actors regarding a NEA energy community and Russia’s role within it. It shows that Russia under Yeltsin failed to formulate a coherent strategy, while Putin focused more on political and strategic considerations rather than the necessary measures leading to greater economic integration. Moreover, Russia’s economic condition and factional rivalry between elite actors plagued the successful formulation and implementation of an energy strategy under both presidents. 5.2.1

Demand and supply

Both the Russian and East Asian elite saw the abundant energy resources in the RFE and Eastern Siberia and their geographical proximity as ideal for satisfying East Asia’s growing thirst for energy. According to the Oil and


Gas Geology Institute, Siberian Branch of the Russian Academy of Sciences, the initial extractable hydrocarbon resources in the land and water areas of Eastern Siberia and the RFE are approximately 85–90 billion tons (bt) of hydrocarbons – 20–2 bt of which is oil, 60–3 trillion cubic metres (tm3) of free and oil-well gas, and 3–5 bt of gas condensate. Annual oil and gas production is estimated to equal 67 million tons (mt) and 110.2 billion cubic metres (bm3) respectively by 2015. In 2015, annual exports of crude oil and gas from the two regions are estimated at 40 mt and 43.4 bm3 respectively, mainly to Asia-Pacific countries.164 Total primary energy demand for NEA was estimated at 920.6 million tons of oil equivalent (Mtoe) in 2010, a 13.3 per cent rise from 2002, while the 2010 figure for SEA was 575.4 Mtoe, a 41 per cent increase from 2002.165 Becoming a net oil importer in 1993, China was expected to be the most significant energy consumer. From being dependent for around 5 per cent of its oil needs in 1995, the figure in 2010 was expected to be around 40 per cent. In 1999, Japan’s dependence on import of primary energy was 79 per cent while the projected figure for 2010 was nearly 100 per cent.166 Some SEA countries were also expected to shift from being net energy exporters to net importers over the next decade. Due to increasing instability in the Middle East, East Asian countries began searching for alternative energy suppliers to reduce their overdependence on that region. Moreover, natural gas was likely to become the main energy resource used due to environmental concerns and their more stable prices compared to oil.167 Given Russia’s immense natural gas resources and geographical proximity, it thus appeared set to play a significant energy role in East Asia. Nevertheless serious obstacles impeded Russia’s expected role, namely the immense distances involved between resources and markets, an inhospitable climate for construction projects, and consequently the gigantic financial resources necessary to initiate these projects.168 Indeed, the lack of funds and support from Moscow and the difficult and expensive oil and gas transport to the RFE from European Russia ironically resulted in acute energy shortages and crises in the RFE. Economic reforms after the Soviet Union’s collapse also initially took its toll on the Russian TEK, reducing their extraction of energy resources.169 However, the sharp rouble devaluation after the 1998 crisis increased the profitability of energy exports and was a boost to the industry. Nonetheless foreign investment in the region’s energy development and extraction remained low due to the region’s continued unstable economic, political, and legal conditions. Despite these problems, a few significant multinational projects unfolded in the early 1990s. The two most important were the Sakhalin-1 and -2 projects initiated since Soviet times on the island’s northern coast, with the involvement of foreign firms and their Russian partners. Other proposed projects included Sakhalin-3 and a gas and condensate oil pipeline from the Kovykta fields in Eastern Siberia to China, South Korea, and possibly Japan. However,


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due to the significant lack of a transparent and stable legal framework for doing business in Yeltsin’s Russia, many projects were shelved from lack of funds. Although Yeltsin signed a decree in 1993 granting investors the right to negotiate production-sharing agreements (PSAs) that were important for attracting foreign investment, it took two years for the bill to be passed by the Communist-controlled Duma.170 It then remained inoperative because of its many inconsistencies with other pieces of legislation, during which a dozen major foreign-backed energy projects were effectively blocked. Such legislative problems particularly frustrated the RFE since their regions badly needed the foreign investment.171 The investment climate improved by January 1999, due to the efforts of Prime Minister Primakov, who was lobbied by regional politicians to pass the necessary amendments to the PSA legislation.172 However, the earlier financial crises had already undermined the expected positive effects from this legislation.173 In June 2003, in response to pressure from Russian firms, the Russian government amended the PSA legislation by making it more unfavourable for foreign companies. By late 2003, although the legislation remained in force, it was limited to a short list of fields and the PSA was effectively dead, subsequently confirmed by the annulment of the Sakhalin-3 licenses in early 2004.174 With a more economically confident Russia arising from increasing energy prices,175 Moscow viewed PSAs as unnecessary and has attempted to assert control over the development and extraction of energy resources in Russia, especially since PSAs such as the Sakhalin-2 project stipulated that the government would not receive revenues until the companies recover their costs. Moreover, a strategic-sectors bill which defines Russia’s strategic economic sectors and sets the rules for foreign investment was postponed until 2008 which further shook the foreign investment climate.176 5.2.2 Russian views of an energy community Russian perceptions of an energy community were largely confined to the NEA sub-region. While each NEA country had their own regional energy strategies, Russia’s energy resources and geographical proximity placed it in a unique position to promote its own vision of a Northeast Asian Energy Community (NEAEC).177 According to Aleksei Mastepanov, head of the Strategic Development Department of the then Ministry of Fuels and Energy, a NEAEC would be based on the construction of oil and gas trunk pipelines to connect supply in Russia to demand in NEA, with the additional hope of boosting RFE development. Moreover, the creation of such infrastructures would only be conceivable if the interests of energy producers and consumers were integrated and ‘fine-tuned’ to their specific national interests and needs.178 However, as the first section argues, a NEAEC strategy failed to materialise due to the factional nature of domestic politics and the reactive and ad hoc character of Far Eastern energy policy under Yeltsin. The second section argues that Putin tried to forge a more integrated energy strategy by


combining different projects. Putin also more actively highlighted Russia’s potential energy role for NEA. Nonetheless geopolitical concerns and internal rivalry remained, albeit to a lesser degree. The last section examines this domestic backdrop in which energy firms and regional leaders endorse competing projects. 5.2.2.1 Yeltsin’s ad hoc and reactive strategy Energy policy under Yeltsin was often ad hoc and reactive to bilateral deals and individual projects proposed by private interests.179 Policy was mainly a ‘composite product’ of both private and state actors, driven accordingly by their interests.180 The government appeared unwilling or unable to formulate a NEAEC strategy; its grandiose statements regarding Russia’s regional energy role remaining firmly on paper. As Blank noted, state weakness often allowed self-interested factionalism to prevail and prevented the adoption of policies benefiting the national interest.181 Within the TEK, there were tensions between private firms and between private and state enterprises – for instance, rivalry between Gazprom’s Western Siberia Yamal–China pipeline and the Sidanko–backed Kovykta project. Gazprom, at this early stage, did not express interest in projects aimed for the Far East.182 By 1999, the Kovykta project was stalled by the bankruptcy of Sidanko, prompting conflict between the two other major shareholders – Tiumen Oil Company (TNK) and British Petroleum (BP). Moreover, the federal government had little control over energy monoliths like Gazprom. Indeed, the then Ministry of Fuel and Energy, assigned with the authority to supervise Gazprom, practically exerted little influence on the company due to the government owing it large sums. The RFE elite were similarly disunited, competing for pipeline routes that went through their territory in order to benefit from transit fees. Moreover, they often, in connivance with energy firms, lobbied the federal government in favour of their preferred projects; for instance, over the Pacific pipeline (Chapter 7). Furthermore, Sakhalin leaders often clashed with Moscow over terms of revenue and profit sharing and often tried to wrest control from energy companies operating in their area.183 Yeltsin’s administration also emphasised bilateral deals rather than multilateral cooperation between NEA states. Energy cooperation with China was given particular importance due to close political relations, but tangible benefits were often not forthcoming. In 1999 the two countries signed an agreement on energy cooperation that envisaged the construction of gas pipelines from East Siberia (Kovykta fields) to China via Mongolia as well as to other Asia-Pacific countries. In principle, in 15 to 20 years time, additional resources of natural gas from Iakut-Sakha and Krasnoiarsk krai could be linked with this project, making it East Asia’s largest energy resources development. The Kovykta project was perceived as playing a pivotal role in Russo–Chinese relations and for Russia’s energy role in the APR. However, a high-ranking Russian energy official warned against placing excessive


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hopes on the willingness and capability of China to import large quantities of natural gas since China’s position was to avoid excessive dependency on gas – particularly from Russia.184 Beijing’s strategy was also to avoid overdependence on Russian oil, diversifying its suppliers through cooperation with Kazakhstan among others.185 In fact, China often proved to be a difficult negotiating partner, demanding low prices.186 Indeed, there was a possibility that Russia might lose the competition in the Chinese gas market to Turkmenistan, which still could supply ‘less-expensive gas’.187 However, a gas price agreement was reportedly reached by the two sides in November 2007.188 The danger of overdependence on China was long recognised by segments of the Russian elite. Moscow often looked to Japan and South Korea as alternative potential partners and investors. Although Japanese firms were involved in Sakhalin-1 and -2 projects, Japanese and Koreans were generally reluctant to invest in Russia due to unfavourable investment conditions. Nonetheless due to their need for energy security and to share the financial burden and risk, Tokyo and Seoul supported the idea of a NEAEC and the development of Russian energy reserves. South Korea, squeezed between two energy-consuming giants and conscious of its lesser economic influence for Russia than China and Japan, was particularly interested in cooperating with Russia in the creation of a NEAEC to ensure its energy needs.189 However, the Yeltsin administration was unable and unwilling to initiate a NEAEC strategy due to factional rivalry and emphasis on projects on a case-by-case basis. Though the administration did approve an Energy Strategy in 1995, it was the one approved by the Putin administration in August 2003 that carried legal status and seemed set to be implemented by the state.190 5.2.2.2 A more integrated strategy under Putin? The strategy, adopted by Putin, called for an active energy dialogue with NEA countries in order to secure the diversification of energy supply markets, to support projects with foreign investment in Russia, to develop new forms of international energy cooperation, and to create instruments of coordination of state policy regarding external trade regulation in the energy sector. Favourable predictions of Russia’s natural gas and oil production were respectively approximately 700 bm3 and 520 mt by 2020. Russia would thus be able to export 240 bm3 of gas and 140–310 mt of oil that year. The strategy envisaged a rise in the Asia-Pacific share of Russia’s oil and natural gas exports up to 30 per cent and to 15 per cent respectively by 2020.191 It proposed a unified programme of gas and oil resources development in Eastern Russia based on the construction of energy delivery infrastructures including a pipeline linking oil fields in Iakutia and Krasnoiarsk with the existing trunk oil pipeline running from Western Siberia to Angarsk, near Lake Baikal. A ‘mega-pipeline’ to the east was proposed to be built from Tynda along the TSR to Nakhodka. A smaller pipeline would turn south, crossing China’s


border to Daqing. This system, designed by the Energy Ministry, effectively combined two oil pipeline projects initiated earlier – Angarsk-Daqing and Angarsk-Nakhodka (see Chapter 7). The Energy Ministry and Gazprom also recommended building a gas pipeline parallel to the oil pipeline, connecting the Kovykta field with Russia’s Pacific Coast. They argued that this would help cut construction and service costs while facilitating regional development, including the exploration and extraction of gas reserves in Eastern Siberia. Despite this grandiose scheme, the strategy did not adequately provide an account for its funding, undermining its ability to act as an effective guideline. Moreover, it was not properly coordinated and failed to sufficiently address the predominant reliance of Japan and South Korea on Liquefied Natural Gas (LNG) that posed a barrier to most of Russia’s natural gas that could be supplied from Eastern Siberia only via pipelines.192 Due to Gazprom’s traditional pipeline-focused export strategy, strongly influenced by a powerful pipeline manufacturing lobby, Russia had not been involved in the global LNG market.193 The potential vast profits from supplying LNG to the Asian and American markets have since attracted Gazprom’s attention, underlying its moves towards acquiring Sakhalin-2. Sakhalin Governor Ivan Malakhov also supports the development of LNG to reap more tax benefits from such processed products.194 Compared to the Yeltsin period, the Putin administration was more active in highlighting Russia’s potential and will to become East Asia’s key energy supplier.195 Russia proposed using the APEC meetings for promoting the creation of an ‘Asia-Pacific energy configuration’.196 For example, at APEC 2003 Putin tried to attract foreign investment in the exploration of resources and infrastructure construction in Siberia and the RFE by maintaining that Russia’s energy resources would ensure economic growth and security in the APR.197 Putin also used energy to underpin Russia’s preparedness to participate in the East Asian Summit.198 Most of the political elite and specialists perceived a NEAEC as important for attracting development of Russia’s Far Eastern regions and a locomotive for Russia’s integration into the AsiaPacific economy, as the strategy outlined in the first BEF meeting made clear.199 Industry and Energy Minister Viktor Khristenko, evoking Russia’s prominent eighteenth century scholar Lomonosov’s saying that ‘Russia’s power will grow with Siberia’, stated that Russia’s move to the Asia-Pacific energy market was a strategic one and the development of Russia’s energy infrastructure was inextricably linked with the development of Russia’s eastern regions.200 In the 2002 amended version of the ‘Federal Programme’ for developing Russia’s Far Eastern regions, it was clear that the Putin administration placed high hopes on energy projects as the driving force for regional development since around 69.3 per cent of all investment was allocated to the TEK.201 Nonetheless a major problem remained the lack of finance, for both the development of energy resources and construction of infrastructure needed for their delivery. For Russia to successfully attract foreign


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funding, substantial reforms were required to stabilise tax systems, protect foreign investment and transfer of earnings, clarify arbitration procedures, and implement transparent energy policies, all of which posed challenges in the Russian context.202 Furthermore, except for the offshore resources in Sakhalin, the oil and gas deposits of the RFE and Siberia are located far inland, with neither a concentrated domestic market nor infrastructure. Lack of infrastructure and the immense distance to the East Asian markets coupled with the fact that the federal government would have to set aside a substantial portion of energy export to the regions, given joint federal and regional ownership of subsurface resources, made upfront investment on gas and oil pipelines larger than would be required by the export volumes alone.203 Moreover, despite official statements, the government and energy companies appeared reluctant to create and truly participate in a multilateral NEAEC, preferring instead to focus on bilateral deals for fear of pressures from consumer countries on import pricing and timing. There were again fears of overdependence on one market, China in particular. China’s moves into Russia’s energy sector were viewed with suspicion and fear. In December 2002, Russia’s Duma blocked Chinese oil company CNPC’s bid for 75 per cent of Slavneft’s stocks. As Western energy experts noted, ‘Russia is determined to become an Asian energy power yet minimise its vulnerability’. Moreover, while Asia might be on Moscow’s agenda, it still was not a priority.204 5.2.2.3 Competing claims and interests: The domestic backdrop The general nature of rivalry within the TEK and its relations to the state transformed from the Yeltsin to Putin period. Rivalry under Yeltsin was largely confined to competition for assets and investments, while the state was an object for lobbying in order to gain official approval for projects initiated by the private sector. Due to the state’s increased power under Putin, rivalry came to be between state-controlled and private-owned energy corporations over competing perceptions of Russia’s regional energy role as dictated by their own interests. State-controlled (Gazprom) and state-owned (Transneft) firms publicly advocated energy projects which were ostensibly based on wider national interests, for instance RFE development. But they were also driven by their own interests, for instance Transneft’s desire to preserve its export pipeline monopoly and Gazprom’s agenda of preserving its gas exports monopoly and acquiring greater control over Russia’s gas industry. Private firms like TNK-BP and Yukos, on the other hand, supported projects that were based on their own commercial interests. The Far East was also fertile ground for Putin to reassert state control over energy resources since the ‘oil oligarchs’ had not yet managed to entrench themselves deeply enough in the region. Thus national energy companies were conceived as proxies for the Kremlin to establish control over regional energy resources and to implement government energy policy and diplomacy towards East Asia. Gazprom,


for instance, was appointed as the operator for all Russo–Chinese projects in July 2001. It was also appointed by Presidential decree in July 2002 as coordinator for implementing the government’s eastern gas policy.205 Gazprom’s representative office in Beijing was transformed into a regional office for the APR.206 Rosneft has also emerged as the key state player in supplying China with oil. It will be the major supplier of the Pacific pipeline, mainly from its Vankor field in Eastern Siberia, and has opened offices in Beijing. It has also set up a joint venture – Vostok Energy – with China’s CNPC to explore for oil in Russia.207 Furthermore, the senior advisor to MID’s Economic Department urged the Russian government to explicitly support Russian energy companies to strengthen their international operations, thereby enhancing Russian prestige.208 A coalition was essentially formed between the federal government and state energy firms to rein in the ‘squabbling’ over natural resources by private firms of the 1990s and to implement Russia’s energy export policy. In 2004, Putin tellingly declared that the guidelines for passing the necessary decisions on development of energy resources should be the realisation of national tasks, and not the interests of individual companies.209 Putin’s aide, Igor Shuvalov, openly admitted that the Kremlin aimed to control Russia’s energy export sector with Gazprom as the primary vehicle to achieve this.210 Thus from 2003 onwards, private and foreign companies were gradually being displaced by Russian state-controlled energy firms, beginning with the Kremlin’s onslaught on Yukos.211 In 2004, Rosneft was instrumental in denying ExxonMobil and Chevron the right to work on Sakhalin-3 under PSA terms granted in 1993. Moscow’s attack on Sakhalin-2, a wholly foreign-owned project, ostensibly on environmental grounds, and Gazprom’s subsequent acquisition of majority control of the project in December 2006 was further evidence of the Kremlin’s reassertion of control over energy development and extraction.212 Gazprom’s moves prompted Japanese concerns that previous agreements of supplying Japan the bulk of Sakhalin-2’s gas would not be honoured.213 Gazprom’s deputy chairman, however, maintained that the delivery of LNG to Japan as well as the US and South Korea will begin in 2008.214 Gazprom has since set its eyes on Sakhalin-1, blocking the construction of a gas pipeline to China to divert gas to the domestic market instead. Gazprom’s deputy chairman tellingly emphasised that ‘we don’t want our state-owned resources to be developed with the participation of foreign companies’.215 Another good illustration of factional rivalry and competing interests was over the gas pipeline route from Kovykta to the Pacific. The field was particularly significant, because were it to become part of an integral gas supply system for Eastern Russia and NEA, it would greatly facilitate the development of a NEAEC and the realisation of Russia’s Energy Strategy.216 In 2002, TNK proposed constructing this pipeline from Kovykta to Nakhodka port, along the oil pipeline from Angarsk proposed by Transneft. This route was larger and seen as more profitable than the route to China


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as it would gain greater access to the Asia-Pacific markets. However, BP backed building it along the Angarsk–Daqing oil pipeline route proposed by Yukos as BP had considerable interests in China. Conflict was resolved when BP and TNK merged in 2003 to become the largest stakeholder in the Kovykta project. However, development remained uncertain due to unresolved issues over border gas price and the pipeline route, the latter due to Gazprom’s challenge to build a pipeline from the Chaiandinskoe field to China and the Korean peninsula. Even from Kovykta to China there were two alternative routes: the western route through Mongolia to Beijing and the longer, more expensive eastern route across Ulan Ude and Chita to Beijing. In January 2004, Gazprom chief, Aleksei Miller, declared that Gazprom would not permit the development of the Kovykta field outside its control as it was authorised with the role of coordinator of all gas exports to Asia. Instead of building export pipelines, he argued it was necessary to create gas and chemical facilities and to export final products to Asian markets as a means to develop the East Siberian economy. He made known that this was also the position of the federal and regional authorities.217 In effect, Gazprom blocked TNK-BP’s construction of a pipeline to China thereby restricting their production which is a breach of their licence. By June 2007, following government threats of revoking their licence, TNK-BP conceded its majority stake in the Kovytka project to Gazprom.218 The state energy firms themselves aspired to play a proactive role in Russia’s energy strategy. The heads of Gazprom and Rosneft sent a letter to Putin in February 2003 proposing to unite several East Siberian and Iakutiia fields into a joint complex with a single production and social infrastructure to ensure higher efficiency in the development of the region’s resources. They also proposed to develop oil and gas resources simultaneously, giving priority to the development of the gas industry to provide for regional needs and ensure deliveries to Asian countries. Putin approved the letter and forwarded it to the government for review and proposals.219 In January 2004, an ‘Eastern Consortium’ was created by Gazprom, Rosneft, and Surgutneftegas (a private firm that supported state policy) to combine forces in leading the development of new East Siberian energy fields and the construction of a single energy supply system under state control.220 But by spring 2004 a rift emerged when Surgutneftegas refused to share its newly acquired Talakan field. Rosneft and Gazprom also became rivals competing over Yukos assets. The consortium turned out to be unviable in the face of conflicting interests of its members. While a temporary truce between Rosneft and Gazprom was reportedly forced upon them by Putin since November 2006, their rivalry is likely to intensify as many tempting assets remain open for competition. Indeed, the rivalry reflects the broader struggle between different Kremlin factions – the economic liberals represented by Gazprom’s Dmitrii Medvedev and the siloviki under Rosneft’s Igor Sechin.221


Regional leaders were generally united in their desire to see Russia play a major energy role in NEA as this would facilitate their integration into the Asia-Pacific economy and help RFE development. Governor Ishaev was a leading advocate of this position. He stressed, however, that Russia’s energy strategy should not only be limited to projects related to export as it was important to first expand energy cooperation among the regions for developmental purposes. He also saw it necessary to include the regional TEK in interregional and international cooperation.222 Despite RFE unity regarding overall vision, there were fragmented views concerning particular projects, dictated by the interest of the associated region. For instance, in the late 1990s Khabarovsk supported the gas pipeline project from Sakhalin, while Primorskii preferred the LNG supply option, due to shorter waiting time.223 Governor Nazdratenko supported a gas pipeline to China, through the RFE, since if the gas was meant for export, then the Sakhalin consortiums would be more interested in financing the project. But since 2002, rivalry between the two regions died out.224 However, tensions between Moscow and Khabarovsk surfaced over the share of the project’s funding.225 Khabarovsk was also embroiled in a dispute with Sakhalin over the priority direction of gas supply – to the mainland (supported by Khabarovsk and the federal government) or to the south of Sakhalin.226 Regional specialists, on the other hand, decried the fact that Moscow neither provided the necessary funds for energy infrastructure construction nor listened to their proposals.227 Proposals put forward by experts at the Energy Systems Institute in Irkutsk, East Siberia, were rarely considered, let alone implemented by the federal government. For instance, the Kasianov government reportedly dismissed the ‘Siberian Development Strategy’ drawn up by the Irkutsk experts.228 Moreover, different research centres tended to advocate different priorities. Irkutsk experts placed priority on the Eastern Siberia–Mongolia–China energy link, while Vladivostok specialists believed that the connection between Eastern Siberia and the RFE should be strengthened first.229 Furthermore, Irkutsk experts advocated that priority be given to the gas pipeline from Sakhalin to the RFE and the Korean peninsula since construction time and expense would be lesser than the pipeline from Kovykta.230 Energy experts in Western Siberia, on the other hand, considered the Altai Gas Pipeline project, which would supply Western China with gas from Western Siberia, to be the most important.231 Despite the Putin administration’s emphasis on energy supplies as the ‘locomotive’ for Russia’s economic integration into the APR, an integrated energy policy has so far failed to be implemented fully. Despite the state’s reassertion of control over private energy firms and regional authorities, thereby ensuring that the state dictated energy policy, rivalry instead arose among different government agencies and state energy firms themselves, each advocating competing projects based on their commercial and bureaucratic interests. Moreover, it was uncertain whether these state behemoths


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would operate in an economically and socially efficient way. Pressure applied on international companies only served to underscore the instability of Russia’s investment environment when foreign technology, funds, and expertise were essential for the development of Russia’s eastern regions.232 Moscow’s attempts to play potential energy clients against each other, namely China and Japan, and of not honouring commitments undermined its attractiveness as a reliable alternative energy supplier (see Chapter 7).233 Within the overall Economic perspective, arms transfers posed to those advocating energy supplies a contending means by which Russia’s economic role in East Asia could increase. The arms transfers lobby competed with the energy lobby for the government’s and the Kremlin’s support, thereby affecting their priority in Russia’s economic policy in East Asia. Although the TEK and VPK had parallel interests in penetrating Asia-Pacific markets and developing relations with particular countries for commercial purposes, they perceived Russia’s economic priorities in East Asia differently. The TEK claimed that non-military cooperation with East Asia was more important for Russia’s long-term interests because it created a mechanism for interdependence, thereby strengthening regional stability. It was further asserted that it was more profitable than the arms trade since civilian projects tended to produce more offshoots. Moreover, the capacity of the Asia-Pacific’s non-military market was increasing while arms acquisition remained at the same level or was potentially declining.234 TEK advocates also argued that the economy would benefit more from investing in the TEK than the VPK. As Viktor Chernomyrdin, former prime minister with close ties to the TEK, noted, ‘the area where the Soviet Union was really strong is the VPK where we were not inferior and are not inferior today. But we do not need a VPK on that scale today.’235 The VPK, on the other hand, insisted that priority should be given to military–technical programmes as the defence sector was the pinnacle of Russian science and technology and would serve as the ‘locomotive’ to pull the Russian economy and integrate it into the APR. Furthermore, in a more nationalist vein, they argued that arms exports was the only way for Russia to regain its independence from the humiliation and lack of Western aid in the early 1990s and to preserve its great-power status.236 The VPK’s perceptions in Russia’s Economic perspective on East Asia would now be examined.

5.3 Arming East Asia: Russia’s economic gains or strategic liability? For Russia, arms transfers to East Asia had attractive commercial benefits, due to the region’s many potential and existing markets. However, it also posed both political and strategic opportunities and risks for Russia. While arms transfers could provide Moscow with leverage in its relations with East Asia, it could also destabilise the fragile regional balance of power. This section


examines these two frictional discourses within the Russian elite debate on arms transfers to East Asia. The economic discourse was initially the driving force behind arms sales under Yeltsin, pushed hardest by the VPK and its allies in government. The oft-repeated justification for Russia’s arms transfers in this context was hard currency earnings and the preservation of the ailing post-Soviet VPK, along with the associated employment and technological advancements. However, the economic benefits were cast into doubt as hard currency earnings were often siphoned off by corrupt management and state overseeing agencies, few ever reaching state coffers or reinvested in developing new weapon systems or in reforming the VPK.237 Moreover, some deals were based on barter exchange rather than hard currency. The politico-strategic discourse encompassed the benefits from affirming the strategic partnership with China and also the fears of arming a future threat. Arms sales were also increasingly seen as a foreign policy tool for projecting influence onto East Asia. As Blank observes, arms sales gained influence ‘for Moscow in foreign capitals, and a window, if not a handle, on foreign states’ military developments’.238 This section also illustrates that for most of the 1990s, there existed not an arms transfers policy directed from the government but rather policy dictated by factional interests. Under Putin, however, there was a greater attempt at policy control and coherence by coordinating and subsuming different groups associated with arms-transfers policymaking under government control.239 Putin gave the MO greater authority in defining objectives in the sphere of military development including those of the VPK. Then Defence Minister Ivanov was also Putin’s close friend.240 5.3.1

The economic debate

This debate focused mainly on four issues – the penetration of new markets; payment problems; the survival of the VPK, primarily through re-investment in R&D; and the saturation of the Chinese market.****** 5.3.1.1 Penetrating East Asian markets According to SIPRI, from 1996 to 2000 Russian arms exports amounted to nearly US$ 16 billion, most of which was accounted for by Asian countries.241 In East Asia, China was Russia’s major client. According to SIPRI estimates, China alone accounted for nearly 42 per cent of the total value of Russian arms sales from 1997 to 2007, and figures shot up after NATO’s 1999 Kosovo campaign.242 A 15-year Military Cooperation Plan was reportedly agreed upon by Beijing and Moscow in January 2000, which envisaged increased arms and licence transfers, and joint R&D.243 Russia also expressed intention of opening up new East Asian markets, especially those which were traditionally US-oriented. Russia succeeded in persuading South Korea to accept military goods as partial payment of Russian debts in 1996. As one Russian aviation executive noted, ‘the thrust of the marketing effort right now . . . is towards the new markets, for example in SEA, where the US has


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been entrenched . . . conveniently, from a strategic point of view, these countries can’t threaten Russian security’.244 In 2002 Rosoboroneksport estimated the SEA market to be worth US$ 20 billion over the next decade.245 Moreover, some previously US-oriented SEA countries started to look for alternative and cheaper sources of arms.246 For instance, Indonesia’s defence minister referred to a US$ 1 billion arms deal between Russia and Indonesia signed in September 2007 as reducing Indonesia’s dependency on the US.247 Furthermore, as Defence Minister Ivanov noted, ‘as a result of the Iraq war and accusations of illegal Russian arms deliveries to Baghdad, applications for Russian weapons systems have soared. . . . Thank you for the free advertisement’.248 In that year, Indonesia and Malaysia placed large orders for Russian fighters while Thailand expressed interest in Russian weaponry. Vietnam also ordered more Su-30MKKs to re-equip its armed forces. However, Russia did not achieve breakthrough in all new markets. The Thai government finally decided against purchasing Russian Su-30 fighters, preferring instead Swedish Gripen jets after lengthy deliberation.249 China was a particular focus for debate since it was Russia’s largest East Asian customer.250 Not surprisingly, the VPK was an influential supporter of military-technological cooperation (MTC) with China, and earlier had one of its members, Arkadii Volskii, as chairman of a Russo–Chinese committee on trade and business cooperation.251 Although the VPK as a whole was a supporter of arms transfers to East Asia, it did not necessarily act as one; inter-sectoral and intra-sectoral competition existed to the detriment of a cohesive policy. For instance, the aviation industry enjoyed a lead in exports to the region, much to the chagrin of its main competitor – the naval industry. Aviation armaments constituted 60–70 per cent of overall arms exports in 2001, of which most were Su-27s and Su-30s for China. Indeed, Sukhoi deliveries generated around half of the US$ 3.2 billion earned by the state monopoly Rosoboronexport that year.252 Examples of intrasectoral competition included that between Su-27 plants in Irkutsk and Komsomol’sk-na-Amure, Kilo-class submarine shipyards in St. Petersburg and Nizhniy Novgorod, and MiG-29 and Su-27 companies.253 Such competition undermined the extraction of maximum revenue possible as firms tried to undercut each others’ prices during the 1990s. With Putin’s creation of a state-controlled arms-export agency Rosoboroneksport in 2000, such competition declined. 5.3.1.2

Payment problems

By 1996, Russia successfully attracted Malaysian orders for 18 MiG-29s in the face of fierce competition from US F-18 producers, while Indonesia purchased 12 Su-30s after cancelling a deal to buy F-16s. Despite these successes, half of the Malaysian contract was paid for by 1 million tons of palm oil while Indonesian orders dried up in the face of economic recession.254 Barter payments remained the focus of Russian criticism as it harboured many


flaws. Russia’s Audit Chamber revealed in 2003 that most of the bartered goods were not delivered to Russia but instead resold to a third country in the course of transactions; the estimated loss to Russia’s VPK amounting to 10–50 per cent of the contracts’ value.255 Despite the Putin administration’s efforts to ensure hard currency payments for Russian arms, a partial barter system remained in place. China, for instance, had negotiated a compromise ‘currency A50’ deal stipulating that Russia had to use 50 per cent of the payments to import Chinese goods.256 Due to Russia’s desperation to penetrate new SEA markets, barter agreements continued under Putin.257 Thus competition among Russian arms exporters and persistent payment problems limited Russia’s expansion into the armament markets of SEA in the Yeltsin and early Putin years.258 By 2007, however, a more economically confident Russia meant that Putin was able to offer US$ 1 billion worth of loans to Indonesia to buy a range of weaponry, including two kilo-class submarines, over the next 15 years. Moreover, Indonesia had earlier agreed to buy six Sukhoi fighters worth US$ 355 million, though the requisite funds were then yet to be found.259 5.3.1.3 ‘Export or Die’ Arms exports were further perceived as important for ensuring the VPK’s survival, given declining government procurement orders and budget restrictions.260 Moreover, money earned could be used for investment in new research designs, essential for the viability of defence firms. By 2000, it was estimated that 70 per cent of military R&D in Russia was in support of export products.261 Government funding for R&D in the VPK was virtually zero for most of the 1990s, though Putin sought to redress this.262 For instance, in February 2003, Putin’s SB approved a rearmament programme that emphasised R&D of new generation weapons systems, including the fifth-generation tactical fighter.263 Defence industrialists thus lined up to advocate the importance of arms exports for maintaining Russia’s military– technological edge.264 But even by 2007, the state of R&D in Russia’s defence industry remained dismal.265 The VPK also had strong support from RFE politicians whose constituency included workers at defence firms located in their territory, for instance the Khabarovsk-based Sukhoi plant, which relied heavily on exports for survival.266 RFE firms also had strong connections with the regional armed forces, for instance the ties between the Pacific Fleet and the Dal’zavod and Zvezda shipyards in Primorskii krai.267 This regional troika of firms, authorities, and military units presented a significant lobby group for increased arms transfers to East Asia. Russian defence firms’ dependence on Chinese orders ensured their positive perception of China. For instance, Chinese contracts for the Moskit antiship missile quadrupled the Primorskii-based plant’s production, preserving much-needed jobs.268 According to the former head of Rosvooruzhenie, the largest part of arms exports revenues stemmed from China that helped


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finance more than 50 per cent of Russia’s military production.269 Defence Minister Ivanov emphasised this point, ‘Russia’s defence industry can be preserved only by supplying military equipment and arms to China’.270 However, due to vested corruption the economic benefits of arms export should not be overestimated.271 As Rosvooruzhenie General Director Anan’ev noted, arms exports accounted for only 4 per cent of the total of Russia’s foreign trade income in 1996–7,272 a figure that remained into the following century.273 Although arms exports might have played a role in keeping the VPK afloat to some extent, it was neither unable to resolve its financial problems nor significantly benefit the overall economy. For instance, in 2000, arms export revenue was US$ 3.7 billion, but the federal and regional budgets reportedly received only US$ 70 million.274 Instead, arms sales functioned as surrogates for much-needed defence sector reform; the VPK and MO having vested interest to sell more weapons to perpetuate the dysfunctional policies from which they benefit.275 Moreover, unlike energy potentially, arms exports did not play any significant role in Russian economic integration. If anything, they potentially undermined regional security. With Russia’s economic resurgence under Putin, however, the rationale for exporting arms to keep the VPK afloat was gradually replaced by the rationale of projecting influence and strengthening ties with recipient states. Buoyed by rising energy prices, Russia was able to fund from its own coffers a US$ 189 billion defence-spending plan for 2007–15, including the procurement of modern weaponry for its armed forces. The 2007 defence budget of US$ 31 billion was nearly four times that of the defence budget in 2001 – US$ 8 billion.276 5.3.1.4 Saturation of the Chinese market While China had been one of Russia’s largest arms customer for the past decade, large orders for Russian arms dried up towards the end of Putin’s second term.277 According to the SIPRI, 2007 saw a 63 per cent drop in Russian arms deliveries to China, the lowest level since 1998.278 Leading China analysts had earlier predicted in 2004 that Russia will lose its arms monopoly on the Chinese market within the next eight to ten years, but apparently this happened sooner.279 As Russian defence analyst Ruslan Pukhov observed, the two countries are in a ‘strategic pause’.280 A Rosoboroneksport spokesman explained that China now had a sufficient amount of Russian military equipment to absorb for the next ten years. After existing orders are filled, Russia would have to live on after-sales service and spare-parts deliveries.281 Indeed, one Russian missile engineer remarked that ‘we don’t do so much work with China now. They have everything they need’.282 First Deputy Premier Ivanov accepted that the share of India and China in Russian arms sales had declined, reflecting the need to diversify Russia’s market. Moscow is reportedly seriously concerned about losing the Chinese market but there is no consensus among military officials on what can be sold to China. While Beijing wants Moscow to sell China more advanced weaponry, and


launch joint production in order that China receives advanced technological know-how, many Russian security officials think that this would impair Russia’s defence capability in the RFE.283 Such views were constantly featured in the politico-strategic debate on China. 5.3.2

The politico-strategic debate

This debate mainly revolved around two issues that could threaten Russia’s security in East Asia: (1) the threat from arming China; and (2) the impact of arms sales on Sino-Taiwanese tensions and a SEA arms race. 5.3.2.1 Arming the dragon: Friend or foe? Russia’s military and political leaders consider that in the near term and foreseeable future, China will not present a military problem for Russia, because Chinese arms purchases and the whole structure of its armed forces are oriented towards other tasks – above all Taiwan and to a lesser degree towards Chinese–American relations. So they believe Russia can rest easy on this issue.284 The quote above encapsulated the official position on arming China, held by government and Kremlin officials. Supporters of this view also included the VPK, RFE elite, and some senior members of the Armed Forces. These actors advocated continued but controlled MTC with China for both economic and political benefits. Moreover, MTC with China was restricted to defensive capabilities and exempted advanced technology. Despite the large scale of arms transfers, MID officials repeatedly reassured that they did not violate any international obligations, neither would they threaten Russia’s security.285 According to arms expert Konstantin Makienko, rather than importing arms, Beijing increasingly preferred importing defence technology for self-production.286 Makienko did not think that China would pose a military threat, and proposed that Russia offer more technologically advanced arms to retain the Chinese market.287 Asia expert Evgenii Bazhanov best outlined the arguments for MTC with China shared by supporters in the government. Firstly, trade was profitable and even if Russia did stop, Western firms would quickly fill the vacuum. Secondly, tensions in relations might increase if Russia withheld deliveries at the US’s request. Thirdly, arms transfers would increase China’s material and psychological dependency on Russian technology and defence industry. Moreover, if military tensions did arise, then Russia would ‘feel easier knowing that the weapon in the opponent’s hands is familiar and thoroughly studied’. Lastly, Russia had no basis for fearing China in the foreseeable future since China was fraught with numerous socio-economic problems.288 Russian experts further argued that the kind of arms Beijing was buying was more appropriate for military actions in the South, towards Taiwan and the South China Sea, rather than towards Russia.289 Moreover, Chinese military technology


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remained too underdeveloped to pose a threat to Russia in the forseeable future.290 Russian communists, on the other hand, espoused a more extreme but marginal view urging large arms transfers as a ‘way of making China stronger, pressuring the US and its allies, and tying the Chinese military to Russia psychologically and materially’.291 Nonetheless there were warnings from military experts that although China might not plan to take military action against Russia in the foreseeable future, it would likely use its increasing military power as a political lever.292 Those who opposed arms transfers to China perceived it as a potential military threat. They included Westernisers such as former Deputy Foreign Minister Georgii Kunadze, and some liberal politicians, who were no longer influential in policymaking.293 Yeltsin’s former national security consultant, Sergei Kortunov, also warned that Russia must preserve technological superiority and proceed with caution in military deals with China.294 China’s strict secrecy on its growing arms purchases from Russia further heightened this group’s suspicion concerning its imports, capabilities, and intentions.295 Westernisers stressed the threat of China using Russian technology to arm dangerous states, while moderate liberals like Aleksei Arbatov were more concerned with China exporting Chinese versions of Russian weapon systems, thereby undercutting them in the global arms market. For instance, the 1996 Su-27 license-transfer deal raised concerns that China would free itself of the need to purchase aircraft from Moscow in the future and might even become a competitor by making minor modifications.296 Moreover, profits for the VPK would fall after India and China started producing Russian-designed aircrafts themselves and competed with Russia in the arms market.297 Indeed, in 2008, Russia protested against Chinese plans to export its J11B fighter, which is a copy of Russia’s Su-27, to other countries at a cheaper price. Moscow had earlier protested against the re-export of Russian engines used in Chinese-made aircrafts to a third country.298 Liberal politicians and academics shared the Westernisers’ apprehensions that increased Sino–Russian military rapprochement might damage relations with the US, which had expressed concerns over Russia’s missile and ‘dual use’ technology transfer to China. Their main concern, however, remained the prospect of arming a future military threat. Arbatov envisaged a future conflict in which Russia would have to rely on its nuclear deterrence capabilities.299 Following Russo–Chinese military exercises in 2005, Arbatov commented that Russia was moving further away from Europe and becoming China’s junior military partner. In his view, such exercises were obviously directed towards Taiwan, and in participating in them Russia was playing a risky and unjustified game.300 The Russian media also often criticised the government of helping China build a ‘war machine’, potentially directed against Russia with Russian defence institutes working for China at the expense of Russia’s military.301 Another military expert asserted that the Chinese threat was ‘ignored and denied by Russia’s leaders and nearly all of the political forces’.302


Like other elite actors, the Armed Forces were divided between those who saw arms transfers as arming a future threat and those who perceived it as a lucrative policy with positive strategic implications.303 Both views were influenced by the continued decline of the Russian military. Economic problems and increased decentralisation of control over nuclear facilities in the RFE raised fears in Moscow and the Armed Forces that these would be vulnerable to foreign influences, especially China’s.304 Nonetheless senior officers’ views of a China threat were routinely suppressed by the government (see Chapter 6). More overt dissatisfaction, however, could be detected among less senior officers over certain arms sales. For instance, Admiral Igor Kasatonov reportedly expressed dissatisfaction over the sale of two Sovremennyi-class destroyers to China in 1997, that should have been supplied to the Russian Navy instead.305 In 1999, the MO opposed selling Su-30MKKs to China, fighters which the Russian Air Force did not possess. They were nonetheless sold eventually.306 Indeed, some defence and security officials and military experts reportedly advocated that arms deliveries to China be balanced by creating a powerful general-purpose force along the Russo–Chinese border. They argued that Russia should sell China only weapons already in use in the Russian military.307 Although many Russian weapons designers were reportedly similarly concerned with China’s growing power, they acknowledged that Russia desperately needed these sales.308 Although the General Staff were initially unwilling to sell China its best platforms and weapons, by the late 1990s their position shifted to supporting arms sales after seeing China’s difficulties in assimilating and mastering Russian technologies. Senior General Staff officers like General Iurii Baluevskii considered China as incapable of posing a threat to Russia within the next 15 years and thus believed that Russian technology and advanced weaponry could be supplied to China without detriment to Russia’s security.309 Post-Kosovo, the military was even more supportive of intensifying MTC with China to counter US unilateralism. Some officers reportedly favoured extending the list of weapon licences Russia was prepared to sell to China.310 The First Deputy Chief of the General Staff Manilov, for instance, argued that Russia was ready to supply China with ‘everything’ required for its military needs.311 Moreover, some retired officers like Lieutenant General Anatolii Klimenko argued that China’s military doctrine did not indicate any hostile intentions towards Russia, being directed more towards China’s south and east.312 Therefore, Russian military officers who supported intensifying MTC with China rationalised this view based on three beliefs. Firstly, China’s military modernisation would take long enough for Russia to modernise its own armed forces. Secondly, China’s military capabilities and doctrine were currently focused towards the south. Thirdly, having China as a strategic ally gave Russia political weight vis-à-vis the US. Nevertheless suspicions lingered, exemplified by the General Staff’s refusal to sell Beijing advanced and offensive weaponry; for instance, the Tu-22M3


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‘Backfire’ supersonic tactical-strike bomber and Su-35 fighters.313 In January 2005, however, senior MO officials indicated that Tu-22M3 and Tu-95 bombers may be offered for sale to China, a move that worried Taiwan and Japan, though this did not materialise.314 The MO had earlier decided against sending a cutting-edge MiG-31 interceptor to a major Chinese military exposition.315 Reaffirming the official position, however, then Defence Minister Ivanov emphasised that Russia did not face a military threat from China and was not conducting MTC to its own disadvantage.316 Similarly, responding to media criticism over arms sales to China, General Baluevskii warned that were Russia to change its policy, it might face a neighbour that could ‘threaten us by virtue of its quantitative and qualitative potential. . . . I believe that today the most correct policy is to have a good neighbour, true friend, and strategic partner, and never an enemy’.317 5.3.2.2 Arming East Asia: Security preservation or disintegration? Russia’s arms transfers to East Asia raised two important regional concerns – possible Sino–Taiwanese conflict and a SEA arms race.318 A powerful charge levied against the VPK by the TEK was that arms transfers were creating regional instability and undermining Russia’s political and economic integration into the APR. However, the official position under Yeltsin and Putin was that arms transfers did not affect the regional military balance. Nonetheless there were some policy analysts and politicians who perceived arms sales as detrimental to Russia’s East Asia policy, its relations with the US, and regional security. Official statements issued by MID and MO declared that Russia only sold arms to China that were defensive and ‘insignificant’ enough to affect the Sino–Taiwanese and regional military balance.319 Defence Minister Ivanov stressed that in exporting to China, ‘we observe all international standards’.320 In response to growing US concerns, Rosoboronexport chief Belianinov maintained that Russia was acting within international law in its arms exports policy.321 However, it was unclear how well these limits were observed in practice since defensive arms, especially aircraft, could easily be modified for use as offensive weapons. Moreover, due to dismal economic conditions and rampant corruption, Russian defence firms and scientists could illegally sell their services or arms abroad. Divergences between official statements and actual practices were thus often evident. For instance, in September 1996 Russian spokesmen denied that they were selling Sovremennyi destroyers and Moskit anti-ship missiles, weapons seen as aimed at the US Seventh Fleet. In December, however, the sales of both were announced.322 Moreover, since 2001 Moscow had committed itself to provide China with a US$ 4 billion package of weapons over the following five years, which reportedly could include weapons systems such as the Granit – Russia’s newest anti-ship missile system – that could seriously undermine US regional naval supremacy. However, government spokesmen denied this, and military experts ruled out the possibility of this sale at that time.323


Contrary to the official position, arms experts like Makienko pointed out that China’s imported military hardware particularly increased its military capabilities in the South China Sea and Taiwan, but suggested additional wares for China to purchase.324 Imports like Sovremmenyi-class destroyers and kilo-class submarines reflected Beijing’s desire to possess a bluewater navy, while Russian Su-27s strengthened China’s ability to counter Taiwanese air defences.325 Nevertheless Makienko himself did not perceive such transfers as necessarily upsetting the regional military balance since other East Asian countries could also buy Russian arms to overcome their possible lag behind the Chinese armed forces.326 Indeed, a number of Russian Asia experts held a similar view that Russian arms sales were in fact restoring the regional balance, given US military predominance in East Asia.327 Taiwan naturally had a different opinion. Major General Fu, head of Taiwan’s Institute of Strategic Studies, expressed more concern over technology transfers than weapons sales, as the former was ‘where the Russians are making their biggest impact’.328 The head of the Japanese National Defence Agency similarly expressed concern over Russia’s arms deliveries to China affecting the regional balance of forces.329 Some commentators in Russia concurred, noting that arms transfers would inevitably shift the regional military balance in China’s favour with Russian fighters and anti-aircraft missiles used to create an effective Chinese antimissile defence system.330 Other experts noted that China’s armed forces, equipped with Russian arms, could soon present a serious challenge to its neighbours or the US. Russia was thus fuelling an arms race that could potentially backfire on itself, embroiling Russia in any Sino–Taiwanese conflict.331 One MID official believed that ASEAN states saw Russian MTC with China as increasing the likelihood of Chinese military action to seize the Spratley islands.332 Despite such concerns, Arbatov suggested that many Russian politicians cynically shared the VPK’s dangerous view that conflict would benefit Russia politically and economically as China’s demand for Russian arms would increase.333 As Voskressenskii noted, analysts who argue that arms sales to China upset the military balance in Asia are in a ‘clear minority’ and do not represent the mainstream views of the Russian academic community.334 Economic and political benefits were also the primary factors behind Russian statements that its arms transfers to SEA did not cause instability. Some commentators argued that the tense military and political situation in SEA raised their interests in Russian air-defence and fighter jets while others advocated Russia to play an active role in helping SEA states catch up with China.335 Indeed, the ‘China threat’ appeared to boost SEA demands for Russian arms.336 A few analysts, on the other hand, warned that Russia should be more careful in selling arms so as not to offend anyone; otherwise its Asia policy would be undermined.337 For instance, Moscow’s willingness to sell arms to ‘rogue’ states like North Korea, Iran, and Myanmar was a major source of concern for Western and Asian countries.338 Moscow, however, maintains that in


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doing so it has adhered to all its international obligations.339 Moscow’s penetration of Myanmar’s arms market was also reportedly engineered by its intelligence agencies and not the MO or MID, raising the possibility of covert competition for influence in Myanmar with China and India.340 Russia’s MiG-29 sales to Myanmar had already caused an arms build-up in neighbouring Thailand, as well as alarm regarding Russian help to build a nuclear reactor in Myanmar.341 Nonetheless official statements continued to deny Russian responsibility for any arms race, while acknowledging Russia’s increasing arms exporter role in the APR. For instance, a senior General Staff officer declared that Russian arms deliveries ‘do not whip up the arms race’ in the APR, but somewhat paradoxically ‘are intended to keep up the existing parity and stability in relations among the states there’.342 Some Russian Asia experts held a similarly paradoxical view.343 Another former General Staff officer reasoned that Russian arms sales did not affect an East Asian arms race since if Russia did not sell, others would anyway.344 While arms transfers policy under Putin increasingly became centralised and controlled rather than determined by the factional rivalry that had characterised the Yeltsin years, tension remained between economic benefits and considerations regarding both regional and Russian security – tension that could affect Russia’s successful economic integration into the APR. At the same time, MTC was increasingly seen and used as a foreign policy instrument to project Russia’s influence in East Asia.

5.4 Conclusion: The realisation of Russian influence and great-power ambitions The common wisdom regarding Putin’s foreign policy is that it was more ‘pragmatic’ and ‘economics-oriented’ than that under Yeltsin.345 This shift emerges from our examination of Russia’s economic vision and policy towards East Asia under Yeltsin and Putin. While competing actors, interests, and perceptions still existed, a more coherent foreign policy approach and perception of East Asia did emerge. Russia’s East Asian economic strategy and vision under Yeltsin was prone to conflicting statements issued from different actors, competing interests from various factions and interest groups, and a frequent divergence between official statements and policy actions. Yeltsin’s Russia was often unable to speak with one voice. Putin, on the other hand, recentralised and reasserted his control over foreign policy, reducing federal–regional tensions, bureaucratic infighting between government agencies, and rivalry between the VPK and TEK. This led to an Economic Perspective that was more cohesive, appearing to unite under a consensus of reasserting Russia’s great-power status. Competing visions and ‘voices’ remained, but the Kremlin continuously suppressed or subsumed them. For Russia to become a great power, the elite consensus that emerged highlighted the need for Russia to develop the RFE, fully integrate


into East Asia, and utilise its comparative advantages in energy resources and military–technological edge as foreign policy instruments for projecting economic and political influence. Indeed, both energy diplomacy and MTC were highlighted as important foreign policy tools in the Putinapproved Russian Foreign Policy Survey in March 2007, prepared by MID.346 Nonetheless policy did remain beset by tensions. Latent tensions remained between Moscow’s overall integrationist aims and the profit motive held by different elite actors. Policy tension was also reflected by the conflicting economic necessity of integrating the RFE into NEA with the more protectionist view regarding Asian immigration. In this respect, despite official proclamations, Russia’s economic integration into East Asia remained unsuccessful and not wholeheartedly pursued. Due to latent competing perceptions and interests of different actors, the overall Russian attitude towards the concept of integration was often too simplified and incoherent, informed by short-term gains at the expense of long-term benefits from full economic integration.

6 Multipolarity and the East Asian Balance of Power

We are in favour of the former bloc structure with its wish to impose its dictates on others being finally replaced by a new multipolar structure. Neither Russia nor China can accept attempts at domination from any centre or interference in their internal affairs. (Boris Yeltsin)1 Calls for the creation of a multipolar world, such as Yeltsin’s cited above, were a frequent feature in official statements during both the Yeltsin and Putin presidencies. Balance of power thinking informed much of the reasoning behind the Multipolarity perspective held by many of the Russian foreign policy elite. Their advocacy of a multipolar world reflected their aspirations to redress Russia’s declining power while constraining US power globally. It was also illustrative of the enduring legacy of Russia’s ‘great-power status’ embedded in the mindset of its foreign policy elite.2 While Russia recognised that it could not match the US’s power in the foreseeable future, given its internal problems, it nonetheless aspired for a great-power status that was, ideally, second only to the US. A multipolar world was thus perceived as the international structure that corresponded to Russia’s aim of restraining US power while relatively enhancing Russia’s. Multipolarity was arguably well reflected in East Asia’s changing strategic and political environment where a number of influential ‘poles’ reside. Indeed, East Asia remained, to a far greater degree than Europe, a region where Cold War mindsets and realist balance of power thinking still exerted much influence on the foreign policy of each regional power.3 The region had yet to construct a viable and effective security structure, while economic interdependence, though on the rise, could easily be susceptible to unresolved political conflicts and historical animosities. Although a military threat was seen as less likely than during the Cold War, the Russian elite remained wary of potential regional instability that might pose a direct threat to their RFE.4 East Asia was thus a receptive environment for Russia’s advocacy of multipolarity. However, the 101


implications for Russia of East Asian multipolarity differed from that at the global level. This chapter examines how the Russian elite perceived multipolarity in relation to East Asia and its implications for Russia. Their perceptions were informed by Russia’s two aims of constraining US power while preserving a stable East Asian environment for Russia’s own development and restoration of great-power status. How the Russian elite perceived the international system and their interpretations of multipolarity from Yeltsin to Putin would firstly be examined, including how this pertained to East Asia. The aspiration to balance US power globally meant that the elite perceived East Asia as multipolar where alternative poles of power like China could help Russia constrain the US. Secondly, the different nature of the East Asian balance of power, however, entailed that the Russian elite perceived multipolarity different from that globally. The aspiration to constrain US power while enhancing Russia’s had to be reconciled with China’s rising power, and also the US’s initial stabilising regional role through its system of alliances with Japan and South Korea. US–Japanese plans to develop TMD, however, were seen as threatening regional stability, needlessly provoking a Chinese nuclear arms build-up. Lastly, the chapter examines Russia’s approach towards regional security, arguing that a ‘Concert of Powers’ approach was proposed and favoured by the elite, not necessarily as a substitute for existing multilateral institutions but rather that such an approach better corresponded to Russia’s multipolar thinking, their need to preserve regional stability, and their aims of constraining US power while enhancing Russia’s own. The structure of negotiations over the North Korean nuclear issue was often proposed by Russian officials and policy analysts as a likely template for such an approach.

6.1 Multipolarity and Russian foreign policy This section firstly looks at the Russian debate on the international system. It then examines the differences in understandings of multipolarity and its implications for relations with East Asia under Yeltsin and Putin. 6.1.1 Russian discourse on the international system As one Russian diplomat noted, Russian political scientists did not share a uniform view of multipolarity, their differences essentially coming down to disagreements over foreign policy orientation.5 Similarly, while most agree on the desirability of a multipolar world, there was no consensus on what it should mean or entail.6 Moreover, there were no clear criteria for defining a ‘pole’ and the logic of the international system they espoused. The following discussion focuses on Russian thinking regarding the constituents of a ‘pole’ or centre of power and Russian understanding of the international system.

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As the objective criteria for determining a ‘pole’ remained inconclusive, whether the post-Cold War international system was unipolar, multipolar, or in transition from the former to the latter remained an issue of debate among Russian analysts.7 Most agreed that basic constituents of power like geography, territory size, terrain, and number of population had declined in importance in the post-Cold War world. Military and economic might were not seen as the sole defining characteristics since cultural, informational, and moral power had also increased in importance. Some analysts expressed scepticism on whether Russia could be considered a ‘pole’, given the state of its economy and socio-political problems, especially in the 1990s. Nevertheless there appeared to be a broad consensus among them that defined ‘pole’ as ‘a power centre with considerable potential: military, economic, political, and desire or will to regulate world processes’.8 This emphasis on potential indicated that while Russia’s claim to be a power centre might be contentious, its possession of a vast nuclear arsenal, military, technological, economic and human potential, and by virtue of its immense territorial size, lent weight to Russia’s great-power claim. On their understanding of the international system, three different views could be discerned among the Russian elite.9 The first was the prevalent view that a multipolar world was taking shape and would soon replace US unipolarity, which was seen as inherently unstable due to growing challenges to US power. Moreover, a multipolar world was perceived as best representing the interests of Russia and other countries and more accurately reflecting the rise of different power centres like China, Japan, India, and the EU. This was the predominant official view, shared by statist-centrist scholars like Evgenii Bazhanov, the KPRF, ‘Social Democrats’ based at the Gorbachev Foundation, military officials and analysts, and the RFE elite like Governor Ishaev.10 The desirability of a multipolar world became even more prevalent among the elite after the US invasion of Iraq in 2003 that prompted even liberal-centrist politicians like Vladimir Lukin to express preference for a multipolar world as a means to counterbalance US power.11 However, while agreeing that the world is becoming multipolar some analysts viewed the desirability of this outcome sceptically as potentially unstable.12 A second group viewed the world as unipolar. This group included some specialists based at ISKRAN and MGIMO, Western-oriented scholars at the CMC, and generally those who lost faith in Russia’s ability to become a power centre.13 They believed that Russia should accept reality and acknowledge the US’s power, seeking to work with the US in Russia’s interests. In their view, despite the rise of other powers, only the US possessed the whole range of power components – military, economy, and political. Thus this made the system of international relations variably ‘multipolar and unipolar at the same time’ or a transitory ‘asymmetric multipolarity’ or a ‘pluralistic unipolarity’.14 This group tended to perceive Russia’s position as being threatened more at the regional level than global, as the formation of a multipolar structure would


strengthen China’s power rather than Russia’s. Thus rather than pushing for multipolarity, the government should concentrate resources on resolving domestic problems such as the future of Siberia and the Far East, in relation to China’s growing regional influence.15 China’s rise prompted Aleksei Arbatov to further observe that the probability of an emerging US–China bipolar world was even higher than that of either a unipolar or multipolar system.16 The third and most marginal view was that of bipolarity, favoured by ‘left-wingers’ and some sinologists, the most prominent of which was Aleksandr Iakovlev. He asserted that the world community was divided into two global political poles – with the monolithic West as one pole and a more diffuse anti-Western pole including Russia, China, and India. In his view, there were two possible scenarios for future development: either the West would use its power potential to dominate the world unilaterally, or the non-Western ‘periphery’ would manage to unite and act cohesively in order to make itself heard, thereby prolonging bipolarity.17 Thus these different views were often distinguished by the elite’s subjectivity in defining the international structure. The three groups were united by their understanding of the power superiority of the US and their political and emotional attitude towards this. Some acknowledged US predominant strength, some ignored it, and others accepted what they saw as an objective reality, while searching for ways that could benefit Russia.18 Most foreign policy officials and experts, however, would agree that East Asia was objectively multipolar.19 But to a certain extent they disagreed on its implications for Russia. It is the Russian elite’s understanding of international and East Asian multipolarity from Yeltsin to Putin that we now turn to. 6.1.2 Primakov’s multipolarity (1996–9) Russian advocacy of a multipolar world was often associated with Primakov since it was during his time as foreign minister that multipolarity became a main foreign policy concept espoused in official statements. This ‘Primakov Doctrine’ pointed to the desirability of multipolarity based on the premise that this best reflected the evolving objective reality of the international system and took into account the interests of major states, including Russia’s, and would therefore lead to greater stability.20 Drawing inspiration from Prince Aleksandr Gorchakov, Russia’s foreign policy architect after its defeat in the Crimean War in 1856, Primakov perceived Russia’s challenges in the 1990s as similar to that of Gorchakov’s – international marginalisation and internal weaknesses. To ensure the necessary stable environment for domestic development, Russian foreign policy had to be balanced and had to avoid unnecessary confrontation. Like Gorchakov, Primakov believed that to achieve the resurrection of Russia’s great-power status required an active and diversified foreign policy, in which Russia not only relied on its own strength but could always exploit the resentment many small countries felt against larger ones.21 Thus Primakov’s interpretation of multipolarity at

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the global level was essentially Lo’s ‘revised bipolarity’.22 Indeed, former US Deputy Secretary of State Strobe Talbott saw Primakov’s view of US–Russian relations as ‘essentially’ and ‘eternally’ a ‘zero-sum game’.23 But this may be too simplistic. As Katz pointed out, Primakov did not want to revive the Cold War but rather to create a situation in which Washington would respect Russian interests, heed and respect Russian views, and treat it as an equal partner in world affairs.24 Indeed, to call Primakov a nationalist or great-power pragmatist or any other label is perhaps to simplify such an intellectually complex and politically evolving figure.25 The viability of Primakov’s vision in Asia was helped by the fact that it found a receptive audience there. As Chufrin opined, since the Sino-Soviet split, multipolarity was particularly effective in Asia as the region had been multipolar even during the Cold War and remained so after its end. Russia’s policy of multipolarity was not a reactive one, but thus addressed the objective realities of international relations in Asia and the APR.26 Foreign Minister Lavrov similarly declared that the process towards multipolarity is ‘vividly pronounced in the Asia-Pacific space’.27 Indeed, the multipolarity concept reportedly found support in some East Asian quarters since each new crisis (Bosnia, Iraq, and Kosovo) reminded them about the dangers of ‘military-political blackmail’ by the US.28 For Primakov, a multipolarity policy would better reflect regional reality due to the existence and potential rise of economic powers in East Asia like Japan and ASEAN.29 Asia’s economic growth prompted Moscow to consider this region as the birthplace of new power centres that might share Moscow’s interests in balancing US power.30 China was a prominent candidate in this respect. In April 1996, Russia and China signed a ‘strategic partnership’ joint statement that acknowledged the developing trend towards a multipolar world.31 A year later, both sides issued a ‘Joint Declaration on a Multipolar World and the Formation of a New International Order’, which declared that both countries would ‘strive to promote the multipolarisation of the world’ and made a thinly veiled criticism of the West’s interference in Russia’s and China’s internal affairs.32 Multipolarity was also promoted by MID officials as a system conducive to regional stability and ‘democracy’ since it did not divide East Asia into ‘blocs’.33 The US, however, viewed this differently. Moscow had to explicitly reassure that its ‘strategic partnership’ with Beijing was neither aimed at any third parties nor a military alliance.34 As one senior MID official explained, such allegations were not plausible given the threat of a Russo-Chinese strategic alliance undermining both countries’ good relations with the US – relations that were particularly important to their national interests.35 Moscow realised that multipolarity at the regional level was more complex than merely counterbalancing US power. Russia needed room to manoeuvre in the regional balance of power and could ill afford to antagonise the US. Moscow’s understanding of East Asian multipolarity was also perceived in the wider context of global multipolarity. Official statements


regarding East Asian multipolarity often referred to this as part of the process of establishing a multipolar world. As Karasin asserted, the fact that Russia, China, the US, and Japan were forging closer regional bilateral ties was leading to the creation of a ‘new, incipient, multipolar world’.36 As already indicated, it would be misleading and an oversimplification to interpret the application of Russia’s policy of multipolarity in East Asia as merely an attempt to exploit anti-US/Western feelings in the region. Indeed, Russian promotion of multipolarity also lent it the necessary foreign policy flexibility, given its weakened state. Multipolarity allowed Russia to avoid being tied to any one-sided political or ideological approaches and to pursue its national interests in a pragmatic manner.37 These considerations were especially evident in Putin’s policy. 6.1.3 Putin’s multipolarity (2000–8) Although the Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation approved by Putin in June 2000 insisted that ‘Russia shall seek to form a multipolar system of international relations’,38 there were indications that Putin’s view of a foreign policy based on multipolarity was different from that of Primakov’s and the Yeltsin administration’s. If Primakov’s notion of multipolarity was fundamentally based on constraining US power, then his policy failed two key tests regarding NATO enlargement and its bombing of Yugoslavia.39 Moreover, while it was fine to (re)establish relations with key non-Western states and emerging ‘power centres’ to counter US power, these relationships were unlikely to yield any benefits for Russia if Russia lacked the resources to render benefits in return. In other words, Primakov’s policy was overly ambitious, exceeding Russia’s real available resources and influence. As Karaganov, SVOP chairman, advised, Russia should first rebuild its country and strengthen its economy before even trying to challenge the West. Indeed, the SVOP was an influential critic of the Kremlin’s attempts to create multipolarity, viewing such attempts as uneconomic given Russia’s limited resources, and that it deprived Russia of its independence, drawing Russia into opposition with the US. Karaganov argued that multipolarity suited China’s interests more than Russia’s as China was in an economically better position to counter US power, while Russia’s advocacy of multipolarity was being used as ‘an instrument wielded by China’.40 Sergei Kortunov, chairman of the Foreign Policy Planning Committee, similarly warned that the strategy of multipolarity is ‘extremely dangerous for Russia’ since Russia in its current state is far from being a ‘pole’ and is in danger of being threatened by ‘more dynamic poles’.41 Former Foreign Minister Kozyrev also criticised the Kremlin’s attempt at establishing multipolarity as nothing more than an ‘anti-imperialist front’ composed of those states who resented US dominance.42 Similarly Yabloko member Vladimir Lukin criticised Primakov’s policy of establishing an anti-Western coalition as contrary to Russian interests.43 Dmitrii Trenin urged Russian policymakers

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to instead accept the reality of a US-dominant world and that Russia’s multipolar strategy was ‘unrealistic’ and ‘harmful’ since it was clear ‘antiAmericanism’.44 In light of these lessons and critiques, Putin realised that Russia could only encourage the establishment of a multipolar world when Russia itself was strong.45 Furthermore, Putin understood that Russia could ill afford to pursue a competitive or semi-confrontational form of multipolarity as advocated by Primakov, and that Russia had to act in a more cooperative manner with the West. During his early years, Putin often tried to distance himself from the term in his public statements. Instead, Putin moved to embrace ideas of cooperative balance similar to those embodied in the notion of a Concert of Powers, in which the raison d’etre was more flexible than in the case of ‘revised bipolarity’ or Primakovian multipolarity. The objective was not to constrain the US but rather to obtain a broader status quo in which more or less ‘equal players’ moderated one another and restrained the assertiveness of the regional superpower, whoever that might be.46 In other words, Putin moved towards a more general notion of a balance of power in his understanding of multipolarity as opposed to Primakov’s somewhat more specific balance against the US. Therefore, relations with Europe became a significant factor in Putin’s multipolarity perception as he understood that failure to develop a close equal partnership with Europe would leave Russia frustrated at US-led unipolarity while seeking strategic partnership in Asia that had so far proved to be of limited value.47 After September 11, Putin initially moved even more towards the West, despite strong internal opposition, allowing the US to establish bases in Central Asia for its operations in Afghanistan. In relation to East Asia and Asia, Putin tried to avoid overdependence on relations with one particular country, namely China, and attempted a more diversified and balanced policy than that under Primakov. According to then SB Secretary Sergei Ivanov, Putin’s East Asia policy in his first year of office was already a balanced one.48 As opposed to Primakov’s multipolarity, Putin’s was thus geared towards giving Russia the necessary flexibility in international affairs and to avoid excessive dependence on either the West or the East at the global level, and on China in East Asia. Nonetheless there was some continuity in Russia’s policy on fostering multipolarity at both the rhetorical and practical level under Putin. His first foreign minister, Igor Ivanov, who succeeded Primakov in 1998, continued to endorse multipolarity. Multipolarity remained central in official foreign policy statements. Like Primakov, Ivanov emphasised the role of the UN in resolving international crises. Regionalisation and regional institutions, in Europe and the APR, and the network of bilateral relationships between states were stressed as foundations for multipolarity. Furthermore, like Primakov, Ivanov stressed the ‘democratic’ nature of multipolarity and maintained that Russia and China were acting together to ensure a fair and


democratic new world order. Ivanov also identified similarities in Russia’s foreign policy challenges with that facing Gorchakov: creating the most favourable conditions possible for internal reform while not allowing the country’s international position to be weakened. Like Gorchakov, Ivanov emphasised the need to pursue a multi-vectored foreign policy towards other states like Japan and China.49 Primakov himself remained an influential foreign policy adviser for Putin and remained an ardent supporter of multipolarity.50 Putin’s early East Asia policy took a diversified approach, though China still retained priority. In his first year as president, Putin not only travelled to China but also North Korea and Japan. While Primakov attempted to similarly diversify his East Asia policy, perceived threats from the West led to excessive Sinocentrism to compensate for Russia’s weakness and marginalisation in Europe. Putin, on the other hand, actively engaged the West, cooperating with the US after September 11 to the dismay of much of the political and military elite. In other words, Russia’s East Asia policy during Putin’s early years became less tied to developments in the West and took on a more independent guise, having value in itself. However, the 2003 US-led war in Iraq in the face of Russian and Chinese opposition, the lack of substantial US concessions on strategic arms reduction, US abrogation of the ABM Treaty, US support for the so-called ‘colour revolutions’ in the post-Soviet space during 2003–5, and continued NATO eastwards expansion led Putin to steadily revise his previous Westernengagement strategy to a less cooperative one during his second term. Putin and Chinese president Hu Jintao soon re-emphasised the development of a ‘multipolar, just and democratic world order’ at a 2003 summit in Moscow.51 This was reaffirmed in a 2005 ‘Joint Statement on the International Order of the 21st Century’, which was also circulated within the UN.52 Ivanov’s successor, Sergei Lavrov, continued espousing the virtues of multipolarity as did other senior MID officials.53 Washington’s plan to install missile defence systems in Eastern Europe was seen as further evidence of US unilateralism prompting Lavrov to proclaim the issue as a non-negotiable ‘red line’.54 In February 2007, Putin made a speech at a Munich security conference condemning such unilateralist actions.55 The Putin-approved Russian Foreign Policy Survey similarly criticised unipolarity while advocating multipolarity.56 Thus as always, in the face of growing US unilateralism, Moscow looked to other centres of power in the East, and, initially under Putin, also to Europe, in an attempt to counterbalance the US. The US factor for Moscow, as for Beijing, retained foremost priority in Russian multipolarity perceptions and policy.

6.2 Managing a multipolar East Asia As previously indicated, Moscow perceived a multipolar East Asia as contributing to the formation of a multipolar world. But Russia’s multipolar calculations

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operated in East Asia differently from that globally. Moscow recognised that the lack of a unified regional entity in East Asia, unlike that in Europe, served to further complicate the Russian elite’s Multipolarity perspective at the regional level. Moscow viewed East Asian multipolarity as more complex than simply ‘revised bipolarity’57 since the US was recognised as a regional ‘stabiliser’ – restraining a militarising Japan, maintaining peace on the Korean peninsula, and balancing a rising China. This section examines Moscow’s aim to preserve the regional status quo in the face of regional complexities, namely the strengthening of the US–Japanese military alliance and TMD plans, China’s rise, and developments on the Korean peninsula, the latter of which will be addressed in Section 6.3. Moscow was well aware that these developments could upset the delicate balance of power to Russia’s disadvantage. 6.2.1 Preserving the status quo Moscow’s East Asia policy was essentially informed by two interrelated considerations: the balance of power and threat perceptions.58 Moscow saw the East Asian strategic environment as stable but precarious, fraught with both opportunities and challenges. Russia’s interests were seen as best served by preserving the status quo, and preventing destabilising processes. As one MID official argued, even in the absence of a specific threat in East Asia, ‘any abrupt change in the fragile balance may adversely affect the geopolitical environment of Russia’s eastern flank’. Ultimately, he asserted, Russia’s successful resurgence as an Asian power depended to a large extent on whether cooperation or competition and conflict would prevail in the region.59 In light of Russia’s relative weakness such considerations were especially vital. Thus unlike Russian perceptions of US policy elsewhere, Moscow saw the US presence in East Asia as a ‘necessary evil’ since it maintained the fragile regional balance of power. As some Russian analysts observed, the US’s regional role did not threaten Russian interests. US naval presence in the Pacific tempered Japanese military independence and China’s aspirations to regional leadership.60 But there were also fears regarding its potential to upset the regional balance. As Trenin noted, Russia would prefer the US remain militarily involved in Asia while not provoking the Chinese, since an armed conflict over Taiwan would place Moscow in an ‘impossible dilemma’.61 While maintaining the strategic balance was vital for Russian interests, Moscow also aimed to enhance its regional influence. Although a relatively weak regional player, Moscow believed that it still possessed ‘assets’ for exerting influence, especially in the context of ‘controlled’ regional tension where Russia’s smallest contribution could be of decisive importance.62 In other words, Moscow perceived itself as playing a ‘balancer’ role – a ‘variable force’ or ‘honest intermediary’ in the Korean crisis, the China–Japan–US strategic triangle, US–Chinese relations, and ASEAN’s response to China’s rise.63 Russia’s interrelated aims of playing an increased ‘balancer’ role to help preserve the regional status quo were advocated by several dipomats


and policy analysts.64 Not only did Russia believe that it could play a ‘balancer’ role, but also that it had to pursue a balanced policy towards the region. Indeed, specialists at the General Staff’s analytical centre suggested that Russia’s leverage in regional security would be enhanced if it could present itself as a legitimate partner to all leading regional players.65 Likewise, the 2007 Survey of Russian Foreign Policy declared that Russia’s ‘strategic aim is to form in-depth and balanced relations with countries of the region [APR], guaranteeing its long-term stability’.66 Russian relations with China were urged by analysts to be ‘better appended’ with more productive relations with Japan and South Korea.67 A December 2005 discussion among leading analysts and Asia experts similarly concluded that Russia should not orient itself to just one or two countries in Asia.68 Security experts like Yeltsin’s former security adviser Sergei Kortunov also warned against excessive reliance on a particular power. In his view, Russia must avoid being drawn into Beijing’s side in the event of a US–China conflict, and instead pursue a policy of ‘equal closeness’, developing relations with Japan, ASEAN, and India to balance China. Indeed, Russia’s network of relations and guarantor role of regional stability would preserve and enhance Russia’s position as a major regional power.69 In its annual contribution to the ARF security report, Russia maintained that the development of balanced relations with Asia-Pacific states as a guarantee of the region’s long-term stability was Russia’s foreign policy priority and strategic objective.70 Among the regional ‘centres of power’ with which Russia aimed to cultivate good relations to provide balance in the region and in Russia’s policy was ASEAN. Many Russian diplomats and analysts agreed that ASEAN was a potentially important power, although some specialists on SEA were more sceptical.71 At a 1996 ARF meeting, Primakov declared ASEAN as ‘one of the most important poles of our multipolar world’.72 This view was reiterated by Putin at the April 2000 Russia-ASEAN Business Forum.73 Within ASEAN, Sergei Ivanov claimed that Russia placed great significance on relations with its key members – Indonesia and Malaysia.74 Indonesia, by virtue of its geographical size, large population, and traditional regional power status, and Malaysia due to its being the most vocal ASEAN state against US unilateralism, especially under Prime Minister Mohamad. The fact that both are large Muslim states was also seen as important for improving Russia’s standing in the Muslim world and with its own Muslim population.75 ASEAN was also important for Russia as it had taken the lead in Asia-Pacific regionalism. Thus to ensure Russia’s place in this process required ASEAN endorsement.76 The primary factor, however, was that both Russia and ASEAN had mutual interests in seeing the other involved in the regional balance of power. For ASEAN, friendly relations with Moscow strengthened the military–political balance in their relations with China and Japan, while for Russia, the acquisition of ASEAN as a partner was similarly important for Russia’s relations with other powers.77 Feelings of prestige also informed Moscow’s

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perception of becoming an ASEAN dialogue partner in July 1996. As a senior MID official remarked, ASEAN’s decision was an act of recognition of the significance of Russia’s role in the APR, the usefulness of its presence in SEA, and the necessity of its participation in the regional political and economic structures and in SEA affairs more generally.78 However, Russia’s regional role was initially greeted with some scepticism. As one ASEAN diplomat observed: ‘if the Pacific Fleet can’t sail, and can’t project power . . . Russia can assert its right to sit at the regional negotiating table, but there is no real substance’.79 In response, Russian diplomat Aleksandr Panov asserted; ‘we don’t plan to have a projection of military power in the region. Our presence is important to the preservation of the balance of power’.80 Some ASEAN diplomats begged to differ, viewing Russia as an ‘absent power’ in the APR.81 A prominent sceptic was Singapore’s Lee Kuan Yew who predicted in 2000 that Russia will not be a major player in East Asia for at least another 20 years.82 Philippine President Ramos, on the other hand, consistently supported Russia’s place in the regional balance of power throughout the late 1990s.83 By 2005, however, Russia’s stature under Putin had grown to the extent that it was taken increasingly seriously by ASEAN.84 Putin was invited to attend the first ASEAN-Russian Summit in December 2005 held in Kuala Lumpur. However, problems remained. Singapore, as coordinator of the dialogue with Russia, rejected proposals to regularise these meetings until Russian relations with ASEAN became more substantial. Moreover, Russian aspirations to become a full member of the East Asian Summit were initially rejected, as Singapore, Indonesia, and Australia opposed membership due to lack of substantive relations and fears of diluted ASEAN significance.85 Moscow has since adopted the posture that substantive integration between Russia and East Asia takes precedence over Russia’s participation in the Summit.86 Despite these setbacks, then minister for Economic Development and Trade German Gref maintained that Russia and ASEAN remained mutually attracted due to their common views on multipolarity.87 Thus Russian perceptions of ASEAN were essentially conditioned by a desire to find balance in its East Asia policy and in the regional strategic environment. Arguably, no other East Asian development concerned and preoccupied Russia’s elite more than the growing power of China. China’s rise, and Russia’s relative weakness, stimulated Moscow to find a policy towards China that would best serve Russia’s interests. However, this policy was often conditioned by Russia’s strategic calculations towards the US and influenced by competing interests and views, resulting in a policy of engagement tempered by ambivalent perceptions of China. As Aleksei Bogutarov eloquently put it, for Russia, ‘China is a sea of potentials and an ocean of fears’.88 6.2.2 Engaging the rising dragon Russia’s China policy was essentially an extension of Gorbachev’s ‘New Thinking’, of creating a stable external environment conducive for Russia’s


domestic reforms, in which the normalisation of relations with China was deemed a priority. Russo–Chinese relations were conceptually based on shared concerns regarding US unipolarity and their mutual endorsement of a multipolar world. Moscow additionally saw relations with Beijing as one means to enhance its own dwindling influence; ‘as a force-multiplier for Russian interests in international affairs’.89 Optimistic prospects for economic cooperation also drove the relationship, though more specific interests like MTC and energy cooperation constituted much of the economic agenda. The stark contrast between Russia’s internal weaknesses and China’s unrelenting economic growth, military modernisation, and political confidence in world affairs informed much of the Russian elite’s diverse and ambivalent perceptions of China and policy towards it. 6.2.2.1 China as an ally Communists and derzhavniki (those who perceived Russia as a great power) advocated a creation of a political, if not military, alliance with China. They saw a strong China as a regional counterweight to the US and Japan, given Russia’s weakened position and semi-isolation from the processes of economic and political integration in East Asia.90 During 1995–9, the State Duma, due to its Communist majority, was a strong supporter of a political alliance with China. During this period, with Primakov in power, the view of a close alliance with China reportedly came close to official policy.91 Some IDVRAN sinologists were staunch supporters of this position. For example, Aleksandr Iakovlev argued that a Sino–Russian alliance was only natural due to historical friendship and permanent pressure against them exercised by the Western powers and Japan. As noted earlier, Iakovlev perceived the world as bipolar. His worldview was strongly influenced by communist ideology, hence his support for China as a symbol of success for communism.92 Iakovlev also criticised ‘Chinese threat’ theorists, dismissing their allegations as groundless.93 However, much of Russian pro-Chinese sentiments stemmed not from ideological grounds or a particular love of China, but from anti-US feelings. NATO expansion, US plans to abrogate the ABM Treaty and build a National Missile Defence System (NMD), and the US-led NATO bombing campaign in Kosovo all served to unite ‘Russians on all sides of the political spectrum in their dissatisfaction with the present state of relations with the West’.94 For example, in response to NATO enlargement, Viktor Ozerov, then chairman of the Federation Council’s Defence and Security Committee, called for closer ties with China.95 Former Duma speaker Gennadii Seleznev and chairman of the Duma Defence Committee Andrei Nikolaev urged greater cooperation with China against US NMD plans.96 NATO expansion and the US–Japanese military alliance prompted some commentators to speculate that a Sino–Russian alliance was in the making, both countries being pushed into becoming ‘each others’ strategic rear’.97 During the 1999 Kosovo bombings, elements within the Russian

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elite reportedly started to view the Russo–Chinese relationship as a possible military alliance against US encroachment.98 However, these views were marginal, bearing no real influence on policy. Within the military, support for closer relations with China came from hardliners who opposed US hegemony and military supremacy. This included Colonel Generals Leonid Ivashov and Valerii Manilov. However, as noted earlier, the military’s view of China was often ambivalent, having to balance perceptions of a US threat with a Chinese one. For instance, Manilov warned of real but concealed claims on Russia’s territory from its neighbours – a reference to China.99 Ivashov, while remaining anti-US, noted that China and the EU were ‘actively squeezing Russia from the post-Soviet expanse [sic]’, and that from continued Russian weakness in its far eastern territories will likely arise a Sino–US war over Russia’s abundant natural resources.100 President of the Academy of Military Sciences, General Makhmut Gareev, noted that while Russia and China shared concerns over US unilateralism, Russia cannot afford to be weak as China tends to expand its influence into vulnerable areas.101 A group of retired GRU China specialists (‘The Union of Military Sinologists’) propagated a similar view that while China’s rise did not pose a threat to Russia, China’s economic growth will drive its expansion into the RFE to search for resources. They urged Moscow to make clear to Beijing that Russia would protect its national interests and not tolerate such forays despite their close relations.102 Lieutenant General Klimenko, however, was a consistent supporter of a strategic partnership with China, and argued against a Chinese threat to Russia.103 Russian intelligence agencies were usually anti-US in disposition, influencing their positive perceptions of China. For instance, the first ever visit of the Chief of Military Intelligence (GRU) to Beijing in May 1999 was prompted by NATO’s Kosovo campaign and the US–UK Operation ‘Desert Fox’ in Iraq.104 The SVR also advocated multipolarity, pushing it into the forefront of national security and military doctrines. Former director Trubnikov asserted that one of the main threats to Russia was American attempts to achieve global domination, denying Russia its great-power status.105 But as Trenin pointed out, in the final account, Moscow strategists did not see China as Russia’s potential military ally, as the degree of trust between the two militaries was low despite substantial MTC, itself of a purely commercial and forced nature.106 Moreover, as Konstantin Kosachev of the State Duma International Affairs Committee noted, neither Russia nor China would likely be interested in an anti-US alliance since relations with the US retained priority for both.107 6.2.2.2 China as an overt threat As Chapter 5 showed, perceptions of a Chinese demographic and military threat were pervasive in all sections of Russia’s elite. Some groups further identified China as a strategic if not direct military threat. The first group were ‘Westernisers’ who saw China as a pariah state detrimental to Russia’s


interests. For instance, former premier Egor Gaidar perceived China as both a strategic and politico-cultural threat; a ‘totalitarian state’ that Russia had no reason to cooperate with.108 Former Foreign Minister Kozyrev and his former deputy, Georgii Kunadze, often criticised the Kremlin for allowing Beijing to play ‘the Russian card’ in its own exclusive interests.109 Similarly, while some moderate liberals approved the rapprochement with China, they saw China as a potential threat in the long run, given its undemocratic political structure and rapid military modernisation. Aleksei Arbatov, for example, argued that while China was not currently aggressive, there was nothing to prevent it from turning to Russia with its nuclear force.110 Other leading liberals more explicitly warned that China posed a real threat, militarily and with claims on Russian territory. They criticised Putin’s China policy as ‘capitulatory’ and Putin of being a ‘Chinese agent of influence’ given his 2004 territorial concessions and China’s military build-up.111 At the other end of the political spectrum were anti-West ultra-nationalists like Zhirinovskii who deemed China too Westernised and posed as one of Russia’s main threat. The more radical National-Bolshevik Party similarly viewed China and the West as geopolitical threats.112 Such extremist views, however, were rare among official government circles. Another group was the RFE elite. While the Kremlin heralded the benefits from the strategic partnership, RFE officials viewed China as Russia’s main short-term competitor and a potential threat in the long run. Although they admitted that cooperation was important, they preferred expanding cooperation with other Asia-Pacific countries. They tended to view only relative gains in Sino–Russian cooperation – China’s gains inevitably would be Russia’s loss. This contrasted with official views in Moscow where the absolute gains of the relationship tended to be emphasised.113 For instance, Governor Darkin claimed that Russia and the US would become strategic partners primarily in the economic sphere since China posed a threat to both.114 Nonetheless the RFE elite began to grudgingly accept the fact that China’s importance was unavoidable. As Governor Ishaev put it, ‘China is our neighbour. Unlike one’s wife, one cannot choose one’s neighbours’.115 The last group consisted of parts of the Russian Armed Forces who were particularly concerned with China’s growing military strength. However, such views aired by senior officers were routinely suppressed by the Kremlin. For instance, in December 1996 Defence Minister Igor Rodionov listed China as one of the potential military threats to Russia, to the surprise and dissatisfaction of the Kremlin and MID. MID hastened to diminish Rodionov’s statement while the Kremlin forced him to send a letter of self-criticism to all military commanders reminding them that China was Russia’s strategic partner. Subsequently, commanders could not speak out on China without gaining clearance from MID.116 Henceforth, Rodionov’s and his successors’ statements all lauded relations with China.117 According to Trenin, Rodionov’s China threat statement reflected the collective apprehensions of the General

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Staff.118 This, however, was rarely publicly expressed under Putin. Military analysts, based at the Institute of Political and Military Analysis, on the other hand, more explicitly named China as Russia’s ‘third threat’ or ‘fatal threat’, stemming from its economic growth and subsequent expansion into Russia and Central Asia.119 Others believed that China would become militarily superior to Russia to the extent that Russia’s conventional military power would be insufficient to deter China without resorting to total nuclear war.120 The director of the TsVSI GSh, the General Staff’s analytical unit, warned of Chinese expansion to resource-rich Siberia and the RFE and noted that longstanding concerns over a large-scale armed non-nuclear conflict between the two countries are ‘still very much alive.’ Russia should thus place emphasis on nuclear weapons and strategic cooperation with the West.121 6.2.2.3

A balanced policy

This view was the most influential and representative of the official position under both Yeltsin and Putin. Its supporters included MID, liberal-centrist parties like Yabloko and NDR, and many sinologists. They viewed China’s reforms as positive, albeit potentially unstable. Thus it was necessary to engage China in a balanced way.122 Some, like Titarenko, asserted that Russia could become a mediator between East and West due to its Eurasian identity (Chapter 4). MID officials often pointed to three characteristics of Sino–Russian relations that constituted the official position. Firstly, Russia’s China policy was not an attempt to create an anti-US alliance. Secondly, the relationship was based on equality, mutual trust and respect, and common interests. Thirdly, Russia’s China policy, and its East Asia policy in general, should not be seen as ‘zero sum’ in relation to the West.123 Under Putin, other government agencies publicly supported this approach.124 For instance, then first deputy chief of staff Baluevskii opined that Moscow’s best China policy was to befriend and engage Beijing constructively.125 Mikhail Margelov, chairman of the Federation Council International Relations Committee, likewise advocated a balanced policy towards China.126 Among policy analysts, Evgenii Bazhanov was a prominent supporter of this position. He criticised both those who favoured the restoration of a military–political alliance with China and those who were ‘clamouring against a mounting Chinese menace’.127 This view was supported by sinologists like Aleksandr Lukin,128 and centrist politicians such as Vladimir Lukin. The latter argued that relations with both China and the US were important for Russia, while the same was true for China. Therefore, a Sino–Russian alliance against the West was neither possible nor needed.129 IDVRAN-based sinologist Iakov Berger maintained that China’s peaceful rise is no threat to Russia and could be a boost to Russia’s development were Russia to take proper advantage.130 Sinologists Vil’ia Gelbras and Aleksei Voskresenskii were more cautious, acknowledging that problems between Russia and China existed that might lead to future tensions. They argued that it was important to positively engage China,


but Russia should complement this with good relations with other Asian powers.131 ISKRAN Director Sergei Rogov urged that while Russia should cooperate with China in balancing US influence in Central Asia, it should pursue overall ‘equal relations’ with the US and China.132 Trenin similarly warned that though Russia should engage China, Moscow needed to pursue a less Sino-centric policy by diversifying relations with other regional countries.133 SVOP chairman, Karaganov, in his urgings towards revising Russia’s economic and political priorities towards rising Asia, clarified that this did not mean establishing ‘phantom axes’ with China and India and does not imply a multipolar policy directed against the US.134 Putin in October 2000 did renew Primakov’s 1998 proposal of a strategic triangle between Russia, China, and India. However, while Primakov’s proposal was often seen as directed against the US, Putin’s had the additional aim of balancing Russia’s Asia policy, making it less Sino-centric by bringing India on board. Thus the strategic triangle partially reflected Russia’s weakness and fear vis-à-vis the US and, lesser so for now, China. While Russo– Chinese and Russo–Indian military exercises in 2005, and the SCO military exercise ‘Peace Mission 2007’, were claimed by Moscow as not directed at a third country, they not only served to showcase Russian arms but also to send a strong signal to the US.135 The strategic triangle gained much support from policy analysts and senior diplomats.136 Since 2002, there have been meetings between the three foreign ministers on the sidelines of UN General Assembly sessions, and ‘stand alone’ trilateral foreign ministers’ meetings were held in Vladivostok (June 2005), New Delhi (February 2007), and Harbin (October 2007). But recent meetings have only shown the limits of such cooperation and the divergent interests of the three parties.137 India itself is moving closer to the US – being interested in a regional strategic dialogue with the US, Australia, and Japan. Border politics, particularly between China and India, remains a contentious issue. Significantly, Russia sold India even more advanced arms than that to China, for instance the Su-30MKI, and signed agreements to jointly develop the BrahMos supersonic cruise missile and fifth-generation multirole fighter, much to China’s chagrin. Indeed, despite official proclamations of Russo–Chinese friendship, Moscow’s views were likely tempered by a pervasive but unspoken awareness of the ‘China problem’, which reportedly high-ranking officials unofficially admit will become Russia’s key concern in the future.138 Despite such latent fears, Moscow’s official position remained firm that the decision to engage China, according to Foreign Minister Ivanov, was the ‘best approach as opposed to building a big expensive military cordon’. Nonetheless he did indicate that relations were not ‘wonderful’.139 Indeed, while relations at the official level appeared close, people-to-people relations were low as Russian fears of Chinese migrants showed. As Yu Bin noted, Russo–Chinese relations were akin to a marriage without passion.140 Russian sinologists urged for better mutual understanding between the two peoples, inter alia through

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mutually beneficial economic cooperation.141 Moscow and Beijing, realising this, launched a Year of Russia in China and of China in Russia in 2006 and 2007 respectively to nurture better mutual respect and understanding between the two peoples.142 Whether this has succeeded remains to be seen. Despite close official ties, there remain tensions and disagreements ranging from Moscow’s indecision over the oil pipeline route (Chapter 7) and potential rivalry in Central Asia. Although Moscow considered such rivalry as secondary to the immediate mutual concern over US inroads in the region, there were certain reservations regarding Chinese influence in an area regarded as Russia’s traditional sphere of influence.143 There were also disagreements concerning the SCO. Moscow was more interested in expanding the organisation’s military and security functions because of its stronger military presence in Central Asia, while Beijing was more interested in exploring the SCO’s economic and non-security related potential, areas in which China potentially wields more influence. Moscow would also like India and Iran to become full SCO members to help counterbalance not only the US in Central Asia but also China in India’s case. Beijing, on the other hand, has no interest in the appearance of another strategic partner – India – in the SCO or in the SCO becoming overtly anti-American were Iran to be admitted. Given these diverse interests, the SCO can be seen at best an interface for Moscow and Beijing to adjust their respective interests in Central Asia.144 The explicit aim of forming a multipolar world was also conspicuously absent in their Joint Declarations in March 2006 and 2007, adopting a milder tone which, according to one Russian analyst, perhaps reflected China’s concern of aligning itself openly with Russia in the latter’s growing tensions with the US, for instance, over US ABM plans in Eastern Europe.145 Indeed, as one Western analyst puts it, the Russo–Chinese strategic partnership is more of an ‘axis of convenience’ borne out of tactical expediency rather than out of an often ‘illusory likemindedness’.146 6.2.3 Views of the US role in East Asia As earlier indicated, the Russian elite held a tacitly positive view of the US regional presence as the long-term guarantor of the regional status quo. Indeed, Russia had far fewer reasons to complain about US behaviour in East Asia than in Europe.147 Nonetheless complaints there were with views of the US role varying according to different actors and issues. The following examines disparate Russian views concerning two issues – the system of US alliances with Japan and South Korea and Washington’s plans to develop NMD, particularly Theatre Missile Defence (TMD) in the Pacific. 6.2.3.1 The US system of alliances Andrew Kuchins perceptively argued that there was a stark contrast between Russian attitudes towards NATO in Europe with that towards the US security alliances in East Asia in the 1990s. While NATO expansion prompted a


major Russian outcry from all elite sections, the US East Asia alliances were either ignored or treated somewhat sympathetically. Russia, as the ‘sick man of Asia’, had strong interest in preserving the regional status quo, and saw the US role as preventing Japanese remilitarisation and balancing Chinese power. Likewise, the US–South Korean alliance was viewed positively by Moscow.148 Since Yeltsin visited Tokyo and Seoul in November 1993, Moscow had formally praised the US alliances as positive guarantees of regional security. Defence Minister Rodionov declared during his first-ever official visit to Tokyo in 1997 that Russia was not worried by close US–Japanese security relations in the APR and recognised it as a stabilising factor in the region.149 Early in Putin’s first term, Putin stated that Russia viewed the presence of US troops on the Korean peninsula a significant guarantee of NEA security.150 Concerns over East Asian instability after potential US withdrawal informed much of Russia’s relatively positive perceptions of the US alliance system. In the view of some military officials and analysts, Japan’s economic power increased its ability to act independently in Asia and globally, and could be translated into military strength. Japan’s power combined with its territorial claims on Russia could destabilise the delicate regional balance of power to Russia’s disadvantage. Thus Moscow would prefer to see Tokyo well integrated into the US-based security system.151 Nonetheless the Japanese military in its current state was not seen as posing a direct threat to Russia since it had an obviously defensive character without serious possibilities for using force to solve its territorial dispute with Russia. Moscow did not see Japan as an independent actor, its dependence on the US would serve to restrain any remilitarising tendencies. Moreover, in the view of several Russian US experts and Japanologists, the Japanese and American shared concern over China’s rise could persuade Tokyo to be more flexible in its relations with Moscow.152 Indeed, one Japanese diplomat candidly admitted that Tokyo was interested in strengthening relations with Russia, inter alia, to balance China.153 Russo–Japanese ties did strengthen from the mid-1990s. Since 1996, security ties were developed, encompassing a broadening set of consultations, CSBMs, ship visits and ministerial exchanges.154 Japanese Prime Minister Hashimoto’s ‘Eurasian’ policy announced in 1997, which focused on strengthening economic relations with Russia, especially in the RFE and Siberia, further led to improved and more diversified relations.155 Despite these improvements, the unresolved territorial problem coupled with the vague wording of the 1996 US–Japanese Joint Declaration on Security provoked MID to express concern over the inclusion of the disputed South Kurils in the Declaration’s sphere of operation.156 Indeed, these disputed islands informed much of the hard line perceptions of the US–Japanese alliance held by the military in the 1990s. They regarded superior US and Japanese military forces around the Sea of Okhotsk as a threat to Russia’s ballistic missile carrying submarines.157 While criticism died down in the late 1990s, some military officers still held negative views. For

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example, Lieutenant General Klimenko argued that Russia should under no circumstances return the South Kurils as they were ‘Russia’s key to the APR’. Losing these islands would render the Pacific Fleet’s Vladivostok base useless as there would be no exit into the Pacific Ocean through Russian territorial waters. The strengthening of US–Japanese defence cooperation and Japan’s increased military role under the revised guidelines, and from possible constitutional amendment, reinforced such concerns. Klimenko believed that Russo–Chinese military cooperation should be expanded to counter these developments.158 Some of Klimenko’s colleagues at the IDVRAN similarly connected the South Kurils issue with a potential Japanese military threat. They also perceived the US military presence as a direct threat and urged Russian support for China and India against US domination.159 Similar strategic concerns over the South Kurils were held by some security analysts and legislators.160 Participants at a 2002 Parliamentary hearing on the islands stressed their important strategic role for Russia as their possession enabled Russia to control US and Japanese ships’ access to the Sea of Okhotsk.161 The Russian military were further concerned with Japanese–US cooperation leading to military–technological superiority over Russia.162 For some analysts and diplomats, on the other hand, the concern was Russia’s exclusion from the US system of alliances in East Asia. One Japanologist maintained that the US often ignored Russia’s role in regional security, engaging Russia only on a selective basis.163 One senior MID official for Asia-Pacific affairs admitted the US alliances’ past stabilising role, but opined that regional security cooperation should be open-ended.164 Such feelings of exclusion informed the negative official view that the US alliance system was an ‘anachronism’ of the Cold War and Russia was opposed to such ‘military blocs’.165 After NATO’s bombing of Kosovo in 1999, Moscow’s position hardened, seeing the alliance as a potential source of threat.166 While Moscow admitted that the US alliances played a ‘certain stabilising role in the past’, the revitalization of such structures was ‘fraught with reappearance of old and emergence of new “dividing lines” in the region’, potentially inflaming latent conflicts.167 For instance, diplomats and experts urged the US to withdraw its military presence in South Korea, since it undermined the atmosphere of inter-Korean reconciliation.168 SVOP expressed more optimistic views arguing that the growth of non-traditional threats will ‘modify’ the US system of alliances making them more open to cooperation with other countries of the region, namely China and Russia.169 Another important concern was over Chinese reactions to the strengthening of the US–Japanese alliance.170 Indeed, the implications of the September 1997 ‘Review of the Guidelines for US-Japanese Defence Cooperation’,171 which referred to joint actions in the areas surrounding Japan, implying the inclusion of Taiwan, were far more serious for China than for Russia.172 Japan’s December 2004 publication of its new military doctrine, in which China’s military build-up was deemed a major concern, and the February


2005 US-Japanese Joint Declaration, which for the first time referred to peaceful resolution of issues concerning the Taiwan Strait as a common strategic objective, further displeased Beijing.173 Russian diplomats were therefore concerned that such developments would unconstructively provoke China to accelerate its military modernisation to Russia’s strategic disadvantage.174 Russia had similar concerns regarding US–Japanese plans for missile defence. 6.2.3.2 Missile defence: Russian attitudes US plans to abrogate the 1972 ABM Treaty and to develop a NMD system were strongly criticised by Moscow under both Yeltsin and Putin. US–Japanese plans in August 1999 to develop a TMD system in the Pacific provoked further protests, not only from Moscow but also Beijing, Pyongyang, and Seoul.175 At the regional level, Russia was apprehensive of China’s reaction and a possible regional arms race. Moscow perceived TMD as potentially disrupting regional ‘strategic stability’ by prompting a massive Chinese military and nuclear capabilities build-up, leading to a shift in the regional power balance to Russia’s disadvantage. In light of Russia’s continued reduction of its nuclear arsenal due to budgetary constraints, such a build-up would allow Beijing to reach strategic parity with Moscow within the next 10–15 years.176 As one analyst notes, China’s conventional predominance vis-à-vis the RFE was balanced by Moscow’s superiority in nuclear weapons. However, with China’s nuclear build-up, this superiority might be considerably eroded, further weakening Russia’s strategic position in the Far East.177 Moscow, however, did not officially voice these concerns, instead emphasising the view that US TMD plans might jeopardise regional stability.178 While Moscow did not see TMD as posing a ‘direct’ threat – it posed a direct threat to China rather than Russia – Moscow was concerned with its closed nature, creating military ‘blocs’ in East Asia that would undermine regional stability.179 At the 2000 ARF meeting, Foreign Minister Ivanov attempted to rally support from Asian states against TMD, arguing that it would trigger an arms race and bring about unpredictable consequences for Asia-Pacific security.180 At the 2003 ARF meeting, he warned that attempts to build bilateral military alliances hindered the development towards regional ‘unification’.181 More recently, Foreign Minister Lavrov condemned the creation of missile defence systems as spurring an arms race regionally and globally.182 Beijing and Hanoi joined Moscow in condemning US TMD plans.183 Another concern was Japan’s possible nuclear build-up in response to the North Korean and Chinese threat. Analysts argued that Japan was in a better position than North Korea to develop nuclear capabilities since it possessed an advanced nuclear industry and sophisticated technologies along with the requisite finance.184 Given deep-rooted tensions between Japan and its neighbours, such a development could well occur, leading to regional nuclear arms build-up and threatening the RFE and its prospect for development.

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At the global level, however, Moscow was more concerned with the loss of strategic parity with the US. American missile defence plans were seen by those proponents of a multipolar world, like Primakov, as further evidence of US attempts to maintain its dominant position through, inter alia, technological breakthroughs in antimissile defence as a way to avoid dealing with the multipolar world that was taking shape.185 Then chairman of the Duma Defence Committee Andrei Nikolaev and First Deputy Chief of the General Staff Iurii Baluevskii argued that US missile defence plans were not justified by the threat of missile attacks from North Korea or other ‘rogue states’. Thus in their view, such an expensive project might be justified only if it was directed against the strategic potential of Russia and China and aimed at consolidating US global strategic dominance.186 Indeed, according to one analyst, the US did not even need to complete NMD construction since it was merely enough to provoke Russia and China to try to expensively compete.187 MID officials further denied that Pyongyang’s nuclear programme justified American plans as it was ‘peaceful in nature’.188 First Deputy Prime Minister Ivanov simply dismissed the North Korean missile threat to the US as ‘ridiculous’.189 Like Primakov, the Kremlin proposed that a collective development of antimissile systems be built instead to protect not just the US but also Europe and Asia from possible nuclear attacks to eliminate the suspicion that missile defence would be used in only one country’s interests.190 In 2002, Deputy Foreign Minister Losiukov proposed the construction of a regional anti-ballistic missile defence system encompassing Russia, China, the US and Japan, and potentially other countries.191 Foreign Minister Lavrov reiterated this position during his meeting with the Japanese foreign minister in April 2008.192 More hard line responses came from members of the military and communists. For instance, Colonel General Ivashov urged Russia to cooperate with China militarily in response to TMD.193 Following Washington’s decision to withdraw from the ABM treaty, Communist Duma speaker Seleznev similarly called for more active Russo–Chinese military relations.194 One MO official reportedly said that Moscow and Beijing may jointly develop a ‘regional missile shield’ as a ‘possible counter-measure’ to US TMD and NMD.195 Nonetheless concerns regarding China remained. For instance, military analysts reportedly argued that an ABM system may be developed jointly with Russian technology and Chinese finance. But they warned that Russia should not transfer vital technologies, otherwise Beijing would develop its own ABM system that could undermine Russia’s ability to hit China and to deter a Chinese attack only with nuclear forces.196 While Moscow’s strategy was to have a common diplomatic front with Beijing, this was somewhat undermined by their divergent interests and priorities. Moscow was more concerned with the notion of strategic parity with the US, which would be upset if Washington abrogated the ABM treaty and proceeded to create a NMD system. Beijing, meanwhile, was more worried


about TMD, which may include Taiwan, than strategic parity with the US or the ABM Treaty (China was not a signatory).197 These divergent priorities were expressed by Defence Minister Sergeev and his Chinese counterpart.198 Nonetheless Beijing was unhappy with the agreement reached between Washington and Moscow in May 2002 to reduce their strategic nuclear warheads to 1700 to 2200 apiece, nearly two-thirds below existing levels. Beijing was already displeased with Putin’s proposal, made before September 11, to build a TMD system in Europe as this could be developed and deployed in East Asia encompassing Taiwan. Russia had to allay Chinese concerns; though an honest clarification of Russian intentions by Russian diplomats was initially noticeably absent.199 Putin’s subdued response to US withdrawal from the ABM Treaty, as one Western diplomat bluntly put it, was Russia’s clear signal ‘on which side its bread was buttered . . . the friendship with Beijing was only a relationship of convenience and now it’s not convenient’.200 Nonetheless Russo–Chinese relations were far from irreparably damaged. Russian criticism heated up again in response to US plans to deploy ABM systems in Eastern Europe and closer US–Japanese cooperation on missile defence.

6.3 Russian views of an East Asian regional security system This section firstly examines elite perceptions of the security structure in East Asia, focusing on their proposals for a Concert of Powers arrangement. It then examines the North Korean nuclear crises that were seen by Moscow as a probable template for establishing this concert arrangement for regional security. 6.3.1 East Asian security and a ‘Concert of Powers’ Officially, Moscow viewed multilateral regional security organisations like the ARF and, much lesser so, the US system of bilateral alliances positively as helping to preserve East Asian security. Most importantly for Russia, however, was its inclusion in any such regional security arrangements. Russia resented being excluded, seeing this as undermining regional security and an affront to its great-power sensibilities. This view informed one senior MID official’s opinion that the role of the US system of bilateral alliances should only be secondary – supportive to multilateral institutions, and not vice versa.201 Defence Minister Sergeev similarly asserted in 1998 that while Asia-Pacific security problems could be resolved on the basis of existing bilateral and multilateral security arrangements, the transition should be from bilateral to multilateral arrangements, and eventually regional security agreements.202 Some policy analysts suggested that the basis of an international security regime in the APR might be an ‘optimum combination’ of existing bilateral military alliances and multilateral security mechanisms.203 Senior diplomats likewise proposed that Russia’s Asia-Pacific policy be based

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on the strengthening of bilateral ties coupled with active engagement in multilateral political and economic structures conducive to regional security.204 However, the bilateral ties that these foreign policy actors placed more emphasis on were that between Russia and China. Russia’s strategic partnership with China, both bilaterally and in the context of multilateral regional organisations like the ARF and SCO, was often heralded as a basis for preserving regional security.205 Indeed, Russia’s partnership with China was seen by some as one means by which Russia could increase its status in the region.206 Moscow also frequently heralded the SCO as a successful model for Asian and Asia-Pacific security.207 This attempt to use the SCO to link parts of a region that Russia perceives to be its traditional sphere of influence – Central Asia – with a region in which Russia’s influence is relatively marginal is indicative of Moscow’s aspirations to remain relevant for East Asia and to play a significant role there. Moscow championed the SCO, an organisation in which it holds authority, to partly compensate for its relative lack of influence in East Asian security structures, though it is China that is increasingly gaining ground within Central Asia and the SCO itself.208 Thus Russia officially recognised that bilateral and multilateral security arrangements were mutually complementing mechanisms for maintaining East Asian security, each of which ‘alone cannot ensure security in the region’.209 Such a combination should also be in a form conducive for creating multipolarity, ensuring that no one power dominates the region. As one diplomat noted, ‘an intensive search is underway to identify mechanisms and directions of ensuring security both on bilateral and multilateral levels’ that would transform international relations in the ‘direction of multipolarity’.210 It was concerns over regional dominance by one particular power and the preference for a multipolar regional structure that ultimately informed Russian thinking regarding regional security. From the perspective of some policymakers and analysts, a regional security arrangement based on the concept of a Concert of Powers, akin to that pursued in nineteenth century Europe, would best address those concerns.211 These actors believed that cooperation and consultation between the four East Asian powers – China, Japan, the US, and Russia – would regulate the regional balance of power and preserve the strategic status quo, and also ensure an enhanced role for Russia while constraining US power and that of other aspiring powers.212 The unwieldy nature of the ARF and the lack of a security arrangement in NEA further meant that a Concert of Powers could be adopted for this sub-region in particular since the primary interests of East Asia’s major powers meet here.213 Furthermore, Moscow’s view and policy towards multilateral institutions like the ARF were inherently pragmatic and did not represent a ‘true embrace of international organisations as an end in themselves’. Indeed, Russia’s relationships with multilateral organisations were ‘inherently hypocritical’ as it ‘wanted to use these institutions to further


its own means but refused to allow them to restrict Russia’s freedom of action’.214 Moscow often interpreted multilateralism in ways that furthers its multipolar interests, despite their distinctions. While multilateralism implied the democratisation of international affairs to a system in which all nation-states would have a voice, multipolarity was ‘plutocratic to the core’.215 In other words, while multilateralism implied an inclusive approach to a regional security structure, multipolarity held more exclusive connotations – only a few significant countries could be deemed a ‘pole of power’. Despite this distinction, Moscow often viewed multilateral institutions through a multipolar prism, as an arena for great-power dialogue, while promoting multipolarity as a ‘democratisation’ of international affairs. Thus Yeltsin proclaimed that Russia and China stood for building a ‘multipolar world’ as this was ‘the most democratic model of the world system’, in which nobody would have claims for exclusive rights.216 Former military officers similarly asserted that a multipolar world was desirable due to its ‘democratic’ nature.217 However, while multipolarity might entail a relatively more democratic world than bipolarity or unipolarity would, the inherent exclusivity implied by multipolarity meant that smaller countries could not have as much say as others, and is thus not truly ‘democratic’. But Russian statements often equated multipolarity with democratisation. For instance, Foreign Minister Lavrov stressed the democratisation of international affairs based on broad accord between the main global actors.218 Russian infusion of the two concepts was essentially dictated by its desire to be recognised as a great power, important enough to be included in any relevant multilateral arrangement, and to also be part of a select group, above other smaller countries. Russian membership in, for instance, APEC and the ARF was seen by the Russian elite as recognition and acceptance of Russia’s important status by East Asian countries (Chapter 7), but it also aspired to become part of a more exclusive club, such as a Concert of Powers. Through participation, Russia sought to gain itself a more prominent role in regional security management, which it alone could not achieve.219 Senior MID officials who proposed such a regional concert system emphasised that this should be a ‘concept’ for regulating relations between the major powers through cooperation, consultations, and information-sharing rather than a permanent institutionalised structure. They argued that an ‘East Asian Concert’ was desirable and an objective necessity since relations between Russia, China, the US, and Japan directly affected regional security and stability. It was believed that the ‘logic’ of the post-Cold War regional environment dictated that these regional powers increasingly discussed regional and global security issues, in which they had common interests, in both bilateral and multilateral formats.220 Other foreign policy actors also supported this concept of great-power consultations on regional security. During Primakov’s Tokyo visit in November 1997, he asserted that Russia, Japan, China, and the US were the countries on which Asia-Pacific

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stability and security depended.221 Vladimir Lopatin of the Duma Security Committee called for practical efforts to create a collective security system in East Asia with the participation of the four powers to replace the ‘ineffective’ US system of bilateral alliances.222 Defence Minister Rodionov advocated the creation of a ‘quadrangular system’, consisting of the regional powers, which would complement existing bilateral alliances if not replace them outright.223 In 1998, Tokyo likewise proposed a regional concert system to be established. This meeting of minds between Moscow and Tokyo coincided with improving Russo–Japanese relations following the ‘no-neckties’ summit at Krasnoyarsk (1997) and Kawana (1998). Tokyo was interested in balancing its relations with the Asia-Pacific powers and worried about being sidelined in a possible US–Chinese strategic condominium.224 Moscow was similarly interested in diversifying its relations in East Asia. As Rozman noted, Moscow’s and Tokyo’s concomitant desire to balance American unilateralism also encouraged cooperation between the two nations, while their desire to balance China’s power was ‘likely to encourage a diminution in Russo-Japanese tensions’.225 However, their persistent inability to conclude a peace treaty hampered their movement towards a more meaningful relationship. According to some Russian analysts, such a concert arrangement would further help constrain major powers like the US, preventing them from acting unilaterally.226 Given Russia’s relatively weak position, a concert arrangement for regional security would satisfy Russia’s great-power aspirations better than the alternatives of a US (or Chinese)-led regional security system, or even an inclusive multilateral system like the ARF, in which power becomes so diffused among the many participants that it is rendered virtually meaningless. 6.3.2 The Korean peninsula and the Concert of Powers The six-party talks on North Korea’s nuclear programme was seen by many in Moscow as the most probable template for such a concert arrangement of great-power consultations. This would help stabilise multipolar greatpower relations, within which Russia would benefit from a fluid balance of power.227 As one Korea expert in MID noted regarding the six-party talks, ‘an institutionalisation of the NEA security and cooperation mechanism … might play an important role in a changeover from contentions based on mutual deterrence to a system of cooperation/competition grounded in the balance of interests, i.e. in a “concert of power”’.228 6.3.2.1 The first Korean nuclear crisis: Russia marginalised Due to Moscow’s ‘unbalanced’ Korean policy in the early 1990s, during which it disengaged itself from Pyongyang and consequently abrogated its former influence, Russia became marginalised from Korean affairs despite its valid claims of having a direct interest in the issue. Moscow was completely left out of the US-negotiated Agreed Framework in October 1994,


in which Pyongyang agreed to freeze its graphite-moderated reactors and related facilities; allow monitoring from the International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA); and remain a party to the Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT), which it had earlier announced its withdrawal from. In return, the US agreed to organise an international consortium to finance and supply light-water reactors (LWRs) and heavy oil as an interim source of energy. This led to the Agreement on the Establishment of the Korean Peninsula Energy Development Organisation (KEDO), signed by the US, South Korea, and Japan in March 1995, under which Seoul was to provide standard LWRs to Pyongyang. Russia was again left out of the deal, despite its nuclear energy sector strongly lobbying to supply those reactors.229 One Russian diplomat believed that the US was deliberately ignoring Russia’s interests in order to ‘spread its influence’ on the Korean peninsula.230 Moscow had long proposed multilateral talks on North Korea with Russian participation since March 1994, but was largely ignored. Moscow’s earlier disengagement from North Korea for mainly economic reasons led to Russia’s declining clout in East Asia and on the Korean peninsula. Since the mid-1990s, Moscow tried to reassert its influence by moving towards a more balanced policy towards the Koreas and supporting inter-Korean dialogue.231 Russia supported South Korea’s ‘Sunshine Policy’ in May 1999 and saw an opening to play a larger part in the negotiations. Russian diplomats consistently argued for Russian participation in the Korean talks but to no avail.232 MID officials further proposed that an ‘East Asian Concert’ could become a forum for exchanging opinions on the crisis, supplementing the existing four-party talks.233 Seoul and Tokyo were receptive to such a complementary arrangement, but were met by opposition from Washington and Pyongyang.234 Beijing was also less keen on relinquishing its ‘more solid’ position in the inter-Korean dialogue, tending to respond ‘coldly’ to Moscow’s proposals for a wider international conference.235 By 2000, the notion of a wider six-party conference became increasingly promising. Russia stepped up its relations with Pyongyang; Putin became the first Kremlin leader to visit North Korea in July 2000. Earlier in February 2000, Moscow signed a new Friendship Treaty with Pyongyang that replaced the 1961 Friendship and Mutual Assistance Treaty, though the new treaty removed the previous treaty’s commitment of Russian military assistance in the case of military attack. Putin reiterated Russia’s desire to participate in the Korean talks along with Japan.236 Russian interest in the peaceful resolution of the Korean crisis had another important element. While the 2000 Russo–North Korean joint statement opposed the development of US missile defence, Putin also hoped to influence Pyongyang on ceasing its nuclear development project, thereby removing any US justification for building NMD and TMD systems.237 However, Putin’s personal diplomacy seemingly backfired when, after his visit to Pyongyang in 2000, he revealed that North Korean leader Kim Jong Il had considered halting his country’s

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missile programme if developed countries provided and funded launches of North Korea’s satellites, an offer which Kim later called a ‘joke’.238 Nonetheless Putin’s personal diplomacy and rapprochement with Kim did offer Russia a chance to be an active mediator, conveying Pyongyang’s messages to the West and Seoul, and adding Putin’s own appraisals of Kim’s intentions. Indeed, Moscow emphasised that the Japanese–North Korean summit in Pyongyang in September 2002 took place largely due to Russia’s mediation.239 Russia was clearly aiming at raising its regional profile by becoming the most valuable intermediary between the two Koreas, while simultaneously hoping to broker an accord in order to remove the North Korean threat and with it, the need for a significant US military presence in the region.240 6.3.2.2 The second Korean nuclear crisis: Moscow’s vacillating influence Russia’s North Korean engagement suffered another serious setback when the US confronted Pyongyang with evidence of their covert programme to enrich uranium for nuclear weapons in October 2002.241 Only two months earlier during a Russian-DPRK summit, Moscow had heralded Kim’s confirmed moratorium on ballistic missile tests to 2003 and the peaceful nature of its nuclear programme a diplomatic victory. Nonetheless the crisis did give Russia a chance to use its relatively increased influence on Pyongyang. In December 2002, Moscow and Beijing gave a joint statement urging Pyongyang to halt its nuclear programme and observe its NPT commitments.242 After Pyongyang announced its withdrawal from the NPT, Seoul asked Moscow to mediate in the crisis as Russia’s good relations with Pyongyang could help create a ‘channel for dialogue’.243 However, the extent to which Moscow had leverage over Pyongyang was questionable. As one Russian analyst admitted, Moscow had far lesser influence on Pyongyang than Beijing did, but wanted to take part in the negotiations to strengthen its position in East Asia.244 In January 2003, Moscow sent seasoned diplomat and ‘Asia hand’, Aleksandr Losiukov, to Pyongyang with a ‘package solution’ that called for achieving non-nuclear status for the peninsula, strict observance of the NPT, and the fulfilment of other international obligations including the 1994 Framework Agreement, in return for security guarantees for Pyongyang.245 However, Moscow could not achieve much since Pyongyang wanted security guarantees from Washington directly, which the latter refused. Despite recognition that the US-DPRK dialogue was the key to a successful resolution, Moscow continued to emphasise that all other interested parties should be involved in any final settlement.246 While China participated in the April 2003 trilateral talks with the US and North Korea, Russia was excluded yet again. Although Moscow officially welcomed the talks, Russian participation in wider multilateral talks was still insisted upon. 247 By August 2003, Moscow’s persistence paid off as Pyongyang insisted Moscow be brought into any US-proposed talks. As Korea expert


Aleksandr Vorontsov noted, Pyongyang was ‘afraid that without Russia they would be faced with an anti-Pyongyang coalition’.248 Moscow reoffered the ‘Losiukov proposal’ of providing multilateral security guarantees to North Korea. While Beijing expressed support, the response from other capitals was damningly muted.249 Although Russia under Putin achieved its participation in what was akin to a Concert-of-Powers consultation on North Korea, there was no breakthrough until February 2007 when Pyongyang agreed to shut down its Yongbyon reactor in exchange for fuel aid.250 But this breakthrough was mainly due to Washington’s willingness to make concessions. Russian diplomats again proposed that the six-party talks be evolved into a ‘regional organisation for security and cooperation in Northeast Asia’, in which China and South Korea also expressed interest.251 Thus Moscow continued to perceive Russia’s interests as best served by securing a place at the North Korean talks. This was due to a combination of pressing security interests in preventing an outbreak of nuclear war on its border; an interest in reaping economic gains from cooperation and integration with both Koreas; and a sense of historical mission and interest in the affairs on the peninsula, dating back to Tsarist times. Moscow felt it had legitimate interests in participating in negotiations and saw the institutionalisation of the talks into something similar to a Concert of Powers as consonant with Moscow’s multipolarity view and great-power ambitions. Moscow was also moved by great-power aspirations towards pursuing a balanced policy with both Koreas to preserve its leverage over developments on the peninsula. Balance of power thinking further informed Russian perceptions of future Korean unification. From Moscow’s perspective, a unified Korea, provided that it was neutral and without US military presence, might prove useful for balancing Japanese and Chinese power in East Asia, potentially lending diplomatic support to Moscow’s disputes with these countries.252 A unified Korea which was militarily and politically close to the US and Japan, however, would threaten Russian interests.253

6.4 Conclusion: Reasserting Russia’s derzhavnost’ Russian perceptions of East Asia’s strategic environment in relation to multipolarity led to a number of policy implications that were underlined by Russia’s great-power aspirations. First and foremost was Moscow’s understanding of multipolarity at the global level. For Primakov, East Asia was seen within the global context and in an instrumentalist and opportunistic light – as an area where Russia could forge strategic alliances and find common ground with states that shared a resentment of US dominance. Putin’s perception of East Asia, on the other hand, was more pragmatic, toning down Primakov’s anti-Americanism, and granting East Asia significance in its own right. Putin focused more on balancing and diversifying relations with other states in order to give Russia the needed

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diplomatic flexibility, not just in East Asia but also globally. Despite these different understandings, a broad consensus on the desirability of a multipolar world was formed among most of the Russian foreign policy elite and was likely to persist so long as the elite harboured dreams of recovering past greatness. However, the nature of East Asian multipolarity, with its complex and fluid balance of power, required a more nuanced strategy on Moscow’s part. While desires of reasserting Russian greatness still shaped foreign policy discourse, the necessity of preserving the stable but fragile status quo in the short term meant that Russian policymakers had to acknowledge the US’s stabilising regional presence. For Russia to successfully act in its coveted role as ‘mediator’ or ‘balancer’ required it to pursue diversified relations in order to establish the prerequisite diplomatic flexibility, assets, and influence that would lend Russia a more influential and enhanced regional role. Russia thus had to manoeuvre between the different regional players, trying not to ‘put all of its eggs in the Chinese basket’.254 The ‘China factor’ loomed large in Russian strategic calculations, and their perceptions of China remained ambivalent. In the short to medium term, Russia’s interests were seen by the Kremlin as best served by engaging China and creating a condition of economic and political interdependence that might render any future confrontation costly for Beijing. Moscow also attempted to diversify its relations, cultivating ties with the Koreas, ASEAN states, and most importantly, Japan. However, Russia’s restricted economic and political influence in the region, along with its inability to overcome key obstacles in relation to Japan, continued to restrict Moscow’s policy options and manoeuvrability. The vulnerability of the East Asian balance of power also compelled Moscow to find means to ensure regional security and the necessary external stability for Russia to accomplish its internal development. Moscow advocated a ‘Concert’ approach to regional security as this was more consonant with Russian views of multipolarity. For Russia, a concert system would not only ensure Asia-Pacific security but also enhance Russia’s status. The consultative nature of this approach would additionally constrain US and Chinese influence. Although the majority of the Russian elite shared the aspirations to reassert Russia’s great-power status, Russian policy under Yeltsin was characterised by great-power and multipolar rhetoric rather than actual steps taken to restore Russian power. Putin was better aware that for Russia to be taken seriously, words had to be transformed into deeds. The next chapter shows some of Russia’s attempts to forge a significant presence in East Asia.

7 Case Studies

This chapter examines four cases that could be considered policies taken by Moscow to restore its regional influence. Our case studies have the following aims: (1) to identify the contents of the particular policy discourse and the perceptions and interests of the actors involved; and (2) to ascertain how these policies relate to Russian great-power ambitions in East Asia.

7.1 The ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) This section firstly considers Russia’s rationales for joining the ARF, arguing that they were not merely based on the appreciation of multilateral institutions’ ability to provide Russia with the necessary security. The decision to join was rather based on the prestige factor – as a means to preserve or enhance Russian influence and great-power status in East Asia. Secondly, we examine Russian conduct in the ARF. While this was generally constructive for the workings of the ARF, Russia also used the forum instrumentally to advance its own interests and multipolar vision. Lastly, we assess how the Russian elite generally perceived the ARF. Moscow officially placed much importance on the ARF given that it is the only multilateral security institution in this region. But as previously argued, the ARF’s limited ability to resolve issues in NEA, which are more pertinent to Russia, prompted Russia to explore and espouse other security arrangements, namely a consultation of the major powers. 7.1.1

Rationales for joining

The ARF was established in July 1993 with the balance of power as a major consideration. ASEAN wanted to engage the US in the region while constraining China’s rise within a collective code of conduct. Moreover, other regional powers including Russia, Japan, and India were invited to join with the purpose of providing more balance within the forum.1 Russia joined the forum at its inception as it had been participating in the ASEAN Post-Ministerial Conferences (PMCs) since 1992, becoming a full dialogue 130

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partner in July 1996. Russia’s rationale for joining was a combination of genuine appreciation of the forum’s potential to maintain regional security and the desire to preserve its regional influence. Given Russia’s relative weakness, a stable regional environment was particularly important. The lack of any other East Asian security mechanism underlined the attractiveness of the ARF for Moscow. Prior to membership, Moscow frequently stressed its readiness to be a constructive participant in the ARF. In July 1992, at the ASEAN Annual Ministerial Meeting (AMM) in Manila, Foreign Minister Kozyrev proposed a series of CSBMs, namely the cessation of naval manoeuvres in international waters for navigation and fishing, and the creation of a multilateral regional dialogue for resolving crisis situations and averting military tensions.2 Vice-President Rutskoi further pledged Russia’s support for ASEAN’s proposed Zone of Peace, Freedom and Neutrality.3 Moscow positively appraised the ARF as a ‘good mechanism’ for the construction of a regional security system that corresponded to the region’s characteristic features and challenges.4 Despite these positive appraisals of the forum’s role, a major underlying rationale for membership, as discerned from Russian statements, was the ‘prestige’ factor – Russia as a great power was entitled to be represented in any Asia-Pacific forum. For instance, one senior diplomat declared that no regional security system would work without Russia’s participation.5 At the 26th AMM in July 1993, then Foreign Minister Kozyrev proposed that Russia assume the role of a guarantor of East Asian regional security.6 Analysts asserted that Russia’s status as a ‘Euro-Asian power’ unconditionally determined its right to participate in the ARF and other regional mechanisms.7 Membership was also perceived by Moscow as regional recognition of Russia’s great-power status. As Kozyrev noted upon Russian membership, Russia had succeeded in winning a place, ‘worthy of a great power’ in SEA.8 Furthermore, in Moscow’s view, ASEAN recognised Russia’s importance for regional security due to balance-of-power reasons.9 ASEAN concern over China was seen as a significant factor for supporting Russian participation, inter alia, in the forum.10 As one Russian diplomat noted, ASEAN considered Russia an ‘inalienable’ component of the Asia-Pacific balance of power and wanted to see this ‘great power’ counterbalance other regional powers.11 However, the extent to which various ASEAN members wanted to engage Russia varied as shown in Chapter 6. 7.1.2

Russian conduct

Even before the ARF was established, Russia made constructive proposals regarding regional security. In 1993, Moscow proposed a ‘Code of Arms Trade in the APR’ to monitor weapons sales that would be drawn up by a ‘conflict prevention centre’, comprised of regional states and proposed by Russia in 1992.12 Once the ARF was established, Moscow soon encouraged it to develop quickly into its stated second and third phases – the development


of preventive diplomacy mechanisms and of conflict-resolution mechanisms respectively. But Moscow became impatient when the ARF remained ‘stuck’ in the first phase of promoting CSBMs throughout the 1990s.13 During this period, Moscow made a number of initiatives towards building regional security. In 1996, Foreign Minister Primakov proposed extending to the APR the CSBMs established by Russia, China, and Central Asian states.14 In 1997, Primakov proposed the creation of CSBMs in areas of common borders of ARF states, a number of stabilising measures in the military sphere, and formation of an informal ‘friends of the Chairman’ working group to assist coordination during intersession periods.15 The Asian financial crisis prompted Moscow to place emphasis on economic security at the 1998 ARF meeting, proposing a ‘collective economic security system’ that would forecast crisis developments, develop methods of early warning, and make financial mechanisms more transparent.16 Russia also initiated the development of a Code of Conduct for Inter-State Relations in the AsiaPacific (‘Pacific Concord’) since 1995 and submitted drafts to participants of the ‘second-track’ conferences on security under ARF auspices in Moscow (1996) and Vladivostok (1998).17 A revised version formulated with ASEAN states was signed as a Russian-ASEAN joint declaration in June 2003.18 International terrorism was a security issue consistently espoused by Russia that found a more receptive audience after September 11, culminating with a series of declarations on cooperating in the fight against international terrorism.19 Russia also acceded to ASEAN’s ‘Treaty of Amity and Cooperation’, which acted as a regional code of conduct and was signed by ASEAN states in Bali in 1976, making Russia the second nuclear power and permanent UNSC member after China to do so.20 These constructive proposals and conducts notwithstanding, Russia also tended to use the forum instrumentally – to advance its multipolar vision and counter US unilateralism. For instance, Primakov often used the forum to promote a ‘multipolar world order’, seeking support from other ARF members.21 At the May 1997 ARF Senior Officials’ Meeting, the Russian and Chinese delegations circulated their April 1997 Joint Declaration on a Multipolar World as an official document, noting that its principles could be applicable to the ARF. At the July 1997 meeting, Primakov made a thinly veiled criticism of the US bilateral alliance system.22 He also criticised the US’s Middle East policy, hoping to score points with ASEAN’s Muslim states.23 Foreign Minister Ivanov continued to use the ARF to criticise US policies and to advertise Russia’s multipolarity vision.24 As Chapter 6 showed, the US bilateral alliance system and TMD plans were particularly singled out for criticism. Russia also tended to see the ARF through a great-power prism, stressing the exclusive role of the regional powers in preserving security. For instance, at one ARF summit, Primakov declared that Asia-Pacific security virtually depended on the relations and policy of Russia, the US, China, and Japan.25

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7.1.3 Russian perceptions of the ARF: An assessment Relative to China and the US, Russia’s weak ability to exert influence on Asia-Pacific multilateral organisations raised doubts about the extent to which Moscow perceived the ARF positively. As one analyst noted, the hypothetical transfer of responsibility for maintaining Asia-Pacific security to multilateral organisations was unlikely to serve Russia’s real interests given its current weakness.26 Small wonder that Moscow endeavoured to strengthen ties with Beijing, build up its own multilateral organisations like the SCO, and advocate a concert approach to regional security. Moscow was often frustrated about the ARF’s inability to address some issues. As one diplomat remarked, the ARF was not making any progress in achieving more practical diplomacy on the North Korean issue.27 Russian analysts tended to be more critical of the ARF, seeing it as an ineffective organisation that could not address Moscow’s concerns over North Korea. Moreover, it was seen as being slow to adopt conflict resolution measures, which severely limited its effectiveness.28 Moscow consistently argued for an increased ARF role in the inter-Korean dialogue and for North Korea’s admission to the ARF. Although the latter happened in 2000, the ARF’s slow and unwieldy diplomacy and unwillingness of some members to give the forum a role in resolving the Korean issue frustrated Moscow, reaffirming its belief in an alternative security arrangement for NEA.29 Nonetheless Moscow generally appraised the ARF positively. But this was conditioned by the fact that it was the only security forum in the region. As Colonel Aleksandr Gurvich of the General Staff noted, ‘the ARF is a unique phenomenon . . . the first Asian intergovernmental body intended to discuss ways to strengthen regional security’.30 MID officials asserted that the ARF was significant because it offered a unique possibility to exchange opinions on all Asia-Pacific problems and on key international matters.31 Apart from this fact, the ARF also accorded with Moscow’s conceptual vision of regional security – one based on a multilateral system of cooperative mutual relations, free from ‘bloc politics’ and ‘part of the process towards a multipolar world’.32 Moscow also agreed with ASEAN’s style of diplomacy and subsequently the style set in the ARF. As one senior MID official noted, the flexible style of ASEAN diplomacy combined with the important role of cultivating personal trust among the highest-ranking leaders became a valuable contribution to ARF activity. He further asserted that the ARF was an optimum structure for the APR, ‘under transition from the Cold War to a multipolar world’.33 The ARF’s consensus style was also seen by Russian diplomats and analysts as particularly suitable for the region. They stressed that unlike Europe, East Asia did not have a common identity; thus a rigid collective security system would be inappropriate.34 According to former ambassador to China Igor Rogachev, ASEAN also served as a model for the SCO.35


Thus Russian perceptions of the ARF were ambivalent. While Moscow recognised the ARF’s unique role in managing regional security, it also used the forum instrumentally to enhance Russia’s status and influence in East Asia and to advance its multipolar vision and constrain US power. Moscow positively perceived the ARF insofar as the values and principles it enshrined corresponded with Russia’s interests. Russian participation was also seen as affirmation of Russia’s great-power status. In areas of Russian concerns which the ARF could not adequately address, Moscow tended to propose alternative complementary structures. That the Russian elite perceived other regional multilateral organisations in this dualist manner is shown by the following case.

7.2 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) This section firstly examines the rationales behind Russia’s accession into APEC – economic benefits and the prestige factor. It shows that although Moscow hoped for the economic benefits associated with membership, a major underlying rationale was again prestige – participation signified Russia’s great-power presence in East Asia. The second part examines Russia’s conduct in APEC. It illustrates Russia’s political and economic agendas, both of which were pursued by Russia to increase its influence. The economic agenda increasingly gained ground under Putin, economic strength being seen as the means to enhance Russian power. 7.2.1

Rationales for accession

The Russian National Committee for Pacific Economic Cooperation (RNKTES), which played an important coordinating role in preparing for Russia’s APEC accession at the non-governmental level, outlined the expected economic advantages from accession as follows: (1) the formation of more favourable conditions for access of Russian goods to Asia-Pacific markets; (2) opening new possibilities for attracting foreign investment; (3) facilitation of the development of the Russian economy, especially in the RFE and Siberia.36 These were broad aims, however, and Moscow was initially unclear as to what the specific economic benefits would be and how to achieve them.37 As one former diplomat noted, unlike China, ‘Russia was unable to immediately come up with a clear list of priorities by which its work within APEC could be organised or linked with the nation’s economic reforms and needs’. Moreover, Russia’s bureaucrats were initially ill-prepared to operate within APEC’s working groups. Not until two years after accession did Russia formulate a ‘Concept of Russia’s Participation in APEC’. Even then, in his view, the document was ill-conceived; none of the document’s provisions correlated with the contents of the key documents of APEC itself.38 The Russian elite also perceived APEC membership as signifying Russia’s readiness to join the WTO. APEC membership would indicate

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Russia’s commitments to integration in the world economy. APEC’s Early Voluntary Sectoral Liberalisation programme and other aspects of trade liberalisation could provide useful experience for Russian participants in preparing for membership in WTO, without some of the constraints involved in multilateral negotiations in the WTO context.39 However, Moscow initially did not follow any kind of special programme inside APEC on preparations for WTO membership apart from lobbying for support from APEC countries. This was in stark contrast to China, which made preparations long in advance for using its APEC experience as a testing ground for future WTO membership.40 Another major economic rationale was that APEC membership would help develop the RFE and integrate it into the AsiaPacific economy. As then Minister of Trade Georgii Gabunia argued, Russia’s participation in APEC activity was motivated, above all, by the striving to promote the recovery of its economy, particularly in Siberia and the RFE, through attracting potential foreign investors in the implementation of the region’s development programmes.41 Indeed, APEC membership was seen as the most important national policy response that Moscow could make to the desire of the RFE and Siberia for greater participation and interaction in the APR.42 Nonetheless membership alone would not automatically guarantee the integration of Russia’s economy into the APR or increase the flow of foreign capital into Russia. As the US representative to APEC noted upon Russian accession, Russia had to also put in place a transparent legal system and clarify its tax rules.43 The need for reforms, especially in the RFE, was also voiced by Russia. For instance, Aleksandr Granberg, RNKTES chairman, admitted that the RFE and Siberia were not yet ready for ‘real integration’ into the APR, given the region’s weak conditions and lack of skilled specialists to participate effectively in the many APEC structures.44 One analyst argued that the Russian authorities’ high expectations of increased access to Asia-Pacific markets were unrealistic because APEC had ‘more to do with trade facilitation and not trade creation’. Russia should thus not expect immediate great benefits. Russia also must ‘work hard’ itself to reap the economic benefits of APEC membership rather than thinking this would be automatic as the authorities tended to do.45 Domestic economic and legal reforms to facilitate greater foreign investment were only pursued half-heartedly by the Yeltsin administration. Thus while Russia officially heralded the economic rationale for membership, they were ill-prepared to reap the full expected economic benefits from APEC, suggesting that their focus was instead on other rationales for participation. For many of the Russian foreign policy establishment, the value of Russia’s accession was not primarily economic but rather symbolic – of Russia taking its rightful place at the Asia-Pacific economic club. Indeed, APEC’s earlier deferral to admit Russia was seen by some as inequitable treatment by the major ‘Western’ members.46 Upon Russia’s admission into APEC, commentators portrayed this as recognition by members of an ‘elite club’ of Russia’s


importance for the APR.47 This emphasis on the ‘prestige factor’ reflected the elite’s continuing desire for Russia to be a great power. For example, officials of MID’s Economic Cooperation Department, which played the leading role in Russia’s accession, argued that membership would ‘enhance the role and influence of Russia on general politico-economic processes in the region’.48 Furthermore, membership added weight to Russia’s political authority in the region and perpetuated its role as a ‘component of a future multi-polar world’.49 The head of IDVRAN’s APEC Studies Group likewise asserted that membership confirmed Russia’s status as a ‘large Asian power’.50 This emphasis on Russia’s political prestige was often reiterated by senior diplomats.51 Indeed, the November 2000 Concept of Russia’s Participation in APEC emphasised that ‘Russia as a Eurasian power’ strived to execute its ‘Eurasian mission’ to develop balanced international cooperation in Europe and Asia under ‘new conditions of market development and a multipolar world’.52 Russia’s decision to seek entry into APEC was thus essentially a political one, based on considerations of prestige. Moscow was slow in formulating a detailed assessment of prospective benefits and how best to take advantage of membership.53 APEC’s decision to grant membership to Russia was also political, with China, the US, and Japan hoping to gain concessions from Russia in other political spheres.54 7.2.2 The political and economic agendas Despite its primarily economic brief, APEC was perceived by some officials and analysts in Moscow as a means to pursue an additional political agenda. Deputy Foreign Minister Grigorii Karasin remarked in 1997 that he saw ‘nothing objectionable’ in the major regional powers pursuing ‘flexible forms of cooperation aimed at resolving not only economic but also political questions’.55 Some analysts observed the trend of APEC summits discussing top-level regional and global political problems which can turn into a ‘regional security forum’.56 The use of APEC to address political and security problems like terrorism was often on Russia’s agenda since its first summit in 1998. The US shared Russia’s espousal of a political agenda, but the ASEAN states were opposed to this ‘politicising’ of APEC during the late 1990s.57 Since the September 11 attacks, terrorism inevitably became high on APEC’s agenda at subsequent summits.58 September 11 prompted former Deputy Foreign Minister Fedor Shelov-Kovediaev to surmise that subsequent summits would likely expand APEC’s agenda from economic issues to those of international security, which suited Russia’s interests.59 Russia, like other members, also perceived and used APEC as a vehicle for political dialogue and maneuverability vis-a-vis other major states – notably China and the US. At a conference on APEC hosted by MID in June 2000, analysts such as Titarenko and Igor Korkunov argued that Russo–Chinese coordination of action within APEC would help expand their strategic partnership.60 An official from MID’s International Organisations Department similarly urged

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Russia and China to cooperate due to their common interests within the APEC framework.61 Some RFE experts believed that bilateral relations for Moscow were still more important, with multilateral mechanisms playing only a ‘secondary role’. Though Moscow supported APEC activities, it did not perceive APEC the ‘primary driver of integration’ in the APR, believing that bilateral ties were more important for the time being.62 Russia’s economic agenda within APEC, on the other hand, appeared to be only words with little effective action. Despite being a member since November 1997, Russia’s involvement in the economic activity of the APR remained limited. Russia’s share in the foreign trade of APEC countries was around 1 per cent in 2003, while the share of APEC countries in Russia’s foreign trade was over 15 per cent. Given that economic benefits were seen as the major rationale for joining, this illustrates the extent to which Russia’s APEC policy had so far been ineffective. By 2003, it was apparent that Russia had yet to experience real integration.63 Nonetheless compared to the Yeltsin presidency, the Putin administration more actively tried to reap the economic rewards Moscow expected from APEC membership. One expert identified four objectives in Putin’s APEC policy: to increase Russia’s level of economic interaction with the APR to the level reached in Europe; to facilitate Russian participation at all levels of APEC activities; to achieve wider involvement by administrators and business actors from Russia’s eastern regions in APEC; to diversify and balance its external economic links, strengthen access to Asia-Pacific markets, and attract investments for development of the RFE and Siberia.64 As the Russian ambassador for APEC affairs claimed, Russian diplomacy sees APEC as the ‘locomotive’ for integration into the APR.65 From official statements, the Putin administration appeared determined to use APEC to enhance its economic influence and integration into the APR. At the 2003 APEC Business Summit, Putin stressed the importance of APEC for Russia’s economy, including the development of Siberia and the RFE.66 Putin’s foreign policy aide, Prikhod’ko, added that Russia wanted to expand its influence in APEC through its economic resources like energy.67 Under Putin, Moscow further highlighted its recognition of the potential advantages of APEC membership for WTO accession. At the 2003 Bangkok summit, Deputy Foreign Minister Andrei Denisov declared APEC as a ‘good testing ground’ for Russia’s WTO accession.68 The relevant Russian bodies had also become more prepared and experienced to participate effectively in APEC at various levels. Russia voluntarily submitted to a peer review of its Individual Action Plan in 2001 which was better prepared and more committed than its previous 1998 version. According to MID’s Economic Cooperation Department, the new plan more purposefully set out steps to reduce trade and investment barriers, open up Russia’s economy, encourage business competition, and secure transparency and predictability of the laws and regulations concerning the management of the economy.69 Political and business leaders from the RFE were also involved in various


meetings. Vladivostok hosted an APEC investment symposium and fair in September 2002 and is set to host the 2012 summit. However, despite these positive developments, criticism continued to emanate from senior diplomats and policy experts. Diplomats admit that despite Russian participation in many of APEC’s work, Russia’s influence on APEC and its processes remained weak due to the lack of specialists familiar with the specifics of APEC matters. Moreover, Russian ministries and agencies lack experience in cooperating with their forum partners.70 According to IMEMO analysts, the government and business elite continued to look mainly at the EU as their major partner. Russian businesses were also more cautious, given their paucity of information about APEC activities. Moreover, Russia had yet to work out any clear and consistent policy aimed at interaction with the APR in general. Additionally, apart from the federal government bureaucracy, there was no influential nationwide organisation that was capable of acting as a lobby group for encouraging the development of Russia’s Asia-Pacific ties. While the RFE authorities and local business groups did lobby the federal government in this respect, they were a fragmented group and had marginal influence.71 Some Russian businesses lamented the fact that they were excluded from the government’s decision-making process on APEC.72 RFE analysts were even more critical. Russia’s participation in APEC’s working groups was seen as ‘passive’, due to insufficient federal finance.73 Although Putin was seen as having a more structured APEC strategy than Yeltsin, this remained mostly on paper. Moreover, Russia’s foreign policy priorities remained ‘skewed towards Western Europe, and not towards the APR’. The role of the RFE political and business elite was seen as marginal and neglected by Moscow. For example, none of the three representatives on Russia’s consultative business council in APEC appointed by Putin came from Siberian or RFE businesses. Despite Governor Darkin accompanying Putin to recent APEC summits, he had only a ‘formal’ role and no real voice in Russia’s APEC strategy.74 Meanwhile, the regional authorities were left to bear the financial burden in projects such as the aforementioned Vladivostok investment fair. According to the city’s mayor, federal funds were not forthcoming despite numerous requests to the federal authorities.75 Nonetheless towards the end of Putin’s second term, there appeared to be improvements. In 2007, APEC countries’ share in Russia’s foreign trade increased to 19.2 per cent.76 During the 2006 Hanoi summit, the large Russian delegation also consisted of RFE businessmen from various industries. Russia also adopted a more nuanced agenda. According to the ambassador in charge of APEC affairs Russia’s priority would be establishing dialogue between cultures and religions as ‘there cannot be an economic community unless there’s mutual understanding and respect’.77 This intercivilisational dialogue agenda remained stressed by Putin at the 2007 Sydney summit.78 Vladivostok’s hosting of the 2012 summit will also

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draw significant federal attention and funding. Senior Russian diplomats expressed hope that Russia’s hosting of the summit would ‘overcome the inertia of Russian ministries and agencies’ involved in APEC affairs.79 Putin’s emphasis on building up Russia’s economic capabilities and influence meant that APEC would likely remain an important component for Russia’s AsiaPacific policy and that the economic agenda would become more important than it was under Yeltsin. Such emphasis on economic influence could also be seen in Putin’s landbridge initiative.

7.3 Russia as a Eurasian landbridge Russia’s landbridge policy could arguably be seen as the most pragmatic and tangible policy implication of Russia’s Eurasian identity. The policy reflects the elites’ Eurasianist perspective on East Asia, underlined by their aspiration to reassert Russia’s influence in that region. Economic rationales also came into play, and the policy was dependent on good bilateral relations with both Koreas. This section firstly outlines the general official thinking that was primarily based on restoring Russia’s significance in East Asia, and the potential economic benefits derived from this policy. It then assesses the rationales behind other actors involved, in which sectoral and strategic concerns further informed their perceptions. 7.3.1

Official thinking

The notion of using Russia’s Eurasian landmass as a means to connect the Far East and Europe was not a new one, being firmly embedded in Russian economic and strategic thinking: witness the birth of the Trans-Siberian Railway (TSR). Although the Yeltsin administration did express interest in developing a Eurasian railway project linking East Asia to Europe via the TSR, this remained mostly rhetoric.80 It was the Putin presidency that actively pursued this landbridge project (see Map 7.1). From official statements, the benefits of this landbridge policy were seen as being three-fold. Firstly, as a means to take advantage of Russia’s unique Eurasian position to integrate into the global and Asia-Pacific economy. Secondly, to utilise Russia’s unique position in order to derive economic benefits from transiting goods between Europe and Asia, since this was potentially cheaper and faster than the currently used sea-route. Thirdly, the landbridge would help develop the RFE.81 Putin himself argued that Russia’s full-scale economic involvement in the APR was ‘logical and inevitable’ since Russia was an ‘integration junction’, linking Asia, Europe, and America. He encouraged Asia-Pacific countries to use Russian transport routes as they were much shorter, faster, and ‘no less safe than the bypass sea routes’.82 A significant part of the landbridge project was the development and linking of the Trans-Korean Railway (TKR) with the TSR. This link was important since the relatively shallow waters of RFE ports were not ideal for


Map 7.1

The Trans-Siberian Land Bridge Network

Source: Hisako Tsuji, ‘The Curtain Rises on Act Two of the “Siberian Land Bridge”’, ERINA Report, vol. 78, November 2007, p. 38.

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handling much cargo. South Korea’s Pusan port was better in this respect and the TSR–TKR would enable the TSR to become more competitive against the sea routes.83 Early in Putin’s first term, this project held promise due to expressed interest from both Koreas and increased inter-Korean rapprochement. An inter-Korean agreement to reunite their severed railway link was reached in June 2000.84 North Korean leader Kim Jong Il’s trip on the TSR in the summer of 2001 and 2002 further gave Moscow high hopes for its TSR–TKR policy. Russia and North Korea agreed to link their railroads in August 2001, giving priority to the easternmost Tumangang-Khasan route, which was Russia’s preferred route since it traversed Russia’s Far East.85 Reconstruction work on the TKR started in September 2002, simultaneously on both the northern and southern sides of the De-Militarised Zone. Demining of the two corridors (in both the Eastern and Western sectors) was completed in December 2002.86 In June 2003, both North and South Korea finally linked their railways in both eastern and western routes. Despite these developments, such a grandiose project required equally gigantic funds to implement. The Putin administration expected to rely on financial contributions from Japan and South Korea as these countries were seen as the main countries to use the linked railroads. But funds were not forthcoming, especially from Japan which felt that Moscow had not made the necessary concessions in its Japan policy.87 Moreover, according to one former Russian diplomat, the biggest obstacle remained the lack of trust between the two Koreas.88 While both Koreas agreed to launch cross-border rail service from December 2007 with the hope of ultimately linking the TKR with the TSR, the more hard line stance taken by the new South Korean President in early 2008 caused concerns in Russia regarding the TSR–TKR’s fate.89 Nonetheless Putin’s Russia remained officially supportive of the TSR–TKR link.90 In April 2008, Russia and North Korea signed an agreement to rebuild a railway line from Khasan in the RFE to the North Korean Port of Rajin.91 Putin’s landbridge policy was promoted and supported by much of the Russian elite as a means to reassert Russia’s power. It also potentially benefited Russia economically.92 Economics Minister Gref urged the development of RFE infrastructure by reopening and modernising the ‘Trans-Siberian Container Bridge’ through the parallel reconstruction of the Trans-Siberian and Baikal-Amur Railways, sea ports, and arterial highways.93 Transport Minister Sergei Frank asserted that the realisation of this project would increase Russia’s supporting share in Europe–Asia trade and greatly contribute to Russia’s economic growth.94 A 2002 parliamentary hearing held by the State Duma’s Energy, Transport and Communications Committee noted that Russia’s transit potential between Europe and East Asia was being poorly used and recommended that the federal government develop Russia’s transport infrastructure in order to fully utilise this potential.95 There was also broad support for the landbridge policy among policy analysts. For instance, in addition to IDVRAN researchers like Titarenko and Mikheev,


others at ISKRAN argued that Russia needed to become a bridge between the EU and the APR, in order to become an economically advanced power.96 7.3.2 Sectoral and strategic interests The Railways Ministry was another firm supporter of the landbridge policy. Since the railways were suffering financially from debt servicing and inefficient rail operations, increased government interest in reviving Russia’s railways was welcomed. However, officials were initially sceptical regarding funding and investment, and whether such a large investment would be economically beneficial. Since the Soviet Union collapsed, the TSR’s cargo and passenger transportation plummeted by around 200 per cent. It needed to be seriously upgraded to become competitive. Another problem was that freight, forwarded from Russia to European destinations, needed to transfer to broad gauge rail at Belarus. Given these problems, then Railways Minister Nikolai Aksenenko expressed concerns that such landbridge plans were ‘economically non-viable’.97 Moreover, the sea route remained relatively cheaper,98 while an alternative route through Central Asia and supported by China – the Trans-China Railway (TCR) – was seen as a competitor to the TSR, with Japanese and South Korean cargo bound for Central Asia increasingly using this route.99 Aksenenko’s scepticism eventually gave way to full support for such landbridge projects, though this was allegedly part of his attempts to cover up his corruption activities. He was later removed from office in October 2001.100 His successor, Gennadii Fadeev, was initially even more sceptical. While Fadeev reiterated the official support for the TSR–TKR link, he warned that it posed a ‘huge political risk’, and required too much investment.101 Given Putin’s championing of this policy, however, Fadeev later became more supportive.102 With reforms initiated in 2001 and the establishment of Russian Railways, a wholly state-owned company, in 2003, railway operations turned a profit and saw cargo and passenger turnover rise. Railway development to stimulate economic growth in eastern Russia and to link with the Korean peninsula formed part of Strategy 2030 – Russian Railway’s ambitious plans to introduce railway lines to new territories.103 However, Russian Railway’s recent non-competitive pricing policies have affected the prospects of more goods being transported via the TSR between Europe and APR.104 Although the landbridge project was expected to help develop the RFE and integrate it into the Asia-Pacific economy, the reaction from the RFE was initially mixed. The TSR–TKR link, for instance, was opposed by shipping firms and ports in Primorskii krai since the connection would deprive them of maritime shipments from South Korea to Russia, along with the revenues and jobs they generate. Primorskii officials also initially opposed this project, claiming that only the Moscow-based Russian Railways would benefit. Moreover, they charged that federal policies that allocated special customs privileges to certain companies in Moscow and St. Petersburg, thereby

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creating a duty-free route, already diverted Asian shipping from RFE ports.105 Similarly, while Governor Ishaev agreed that Russia should develop its East– West transport infrastructure in order to promote RFE development,106 he argued against the ‘rail bridge’ project linking Sakhalin with the mainland since this was ‘unprofitable’ and would jeopardise the work and load of RFE ports in the region.107 Not surprisingly, Sakhalin Governor Farkhutdinov was fully supportive of this project due to the expected economic benefits to his island, and the fear that China would beat Russia in creating a Eurasian transport link.108 RFE policy analysts viewed the landbridge policy positively, but were sceptical of the prospects of it being implemented.109 The Putin administration tried to dampen down criticism against the landbridge policy from some regional politicians and businesses by reasserting control. For instance, Petr Fradkov, son of then Prime Minister Mikhail Fradkov, was appointed deputy director general of the Far Eastern Shipping Company (FESCO) – the biggest shipping company in the RFE. He was responsible for overseeing strategic projects with foreign partners, including Russkaia Troika, a joint venture between FESCO and Russian Railways established in March 2005 to facilitate greater and smoother container shipments from East Asia to Europe.110 Primorskii’s Chamber of Commerce was also supportive of the TSR–TKR project.111 Putin himself impressed upon the regional leaders in Vladivostok 2002 of the importance of the TSR–TKR railway link to cross the RFE, the Tumangang/Khasan route, instead of cutting across China and joining the TSR farther to the West: ‘if we don’t link it up here . . . it will still go ahead – but through the territory of our dearly loved neighbour China’.112 Indeed, the Vostochny Port director general acknowledged that while the TSR–TKR link would make the port lose cargo, the link was of ‘major geopolitical importance for the RFE’ as China was building a competing line, in which Russia would have no influence.113 Khabarovsk economist Pavel Minakir called China’s plan to build a competing transport corridor as amounting to ‘blackmail’.114 Therefore, strategic considerations further informed elite perceptions. As one analyst noted, the key security issue facing Russia was its ability to maintain its territorial integrity in the Far East and remain a Eurasian power.115 As in Tsarist times, Putin stressed that Russia needed a ‘single transportation backbone’, spanning both its European and Asian parts, for Russia to develop into a ‘unified, strong, and independent state’.116 Strategic considerations also informed the military’s support. As a MO document stated, ‘the inadequate development of the transport route between the RFE and European Russia may have a negative impact on the course of combat’ in the Far Eastern strategic sector.117 The TSR–TKR link was also presented by Moscow as an important security-building factor for the Korean peninsula. Putin declared that the project would greatly contribute to ‘inter-Korean dialogue and peace and Asia-Pacific security’.118 This position was reiterated by senior MID officials and some policy analysts.119 However, one prominent


expert, Vasilii Mikheev, expressed scepticism. He deemed the TSR–TKR project ‘far-fetched’ due to potential instability in North Korea. Moreover, Pyongyang was cautious towards multilateral projects in general. Lastly, it was unclear how and who would finance the project.120 Funding was particularly problematic. Japan, a key potential investor, remained doubtful of the project’s feasibility.121 Nonetheless the Kremlin continued to fully endorse this policy though progress was hampered by continuing tensions on the peninsula. Moscow placed much stock on this project, since it would render not only economic benefits for Russia but also political capital if it were to further inter-Korean reconciliation. Peace on the peninsula would provide Russia with the stable external environment necessary for developing its RFE, and subsequently the preservation of its territorial integrity. Moreover, it would reinforce Russia’s coveted desire to be an influential broker in Korean negotiations, enabling Russia to become a power that mattered in East Asian affairs.

7.4 Russia’s oil pipeline routes to East Asia As earlier showed, Putin’s Russia was more active in asserting Russia’s influence in East Asia by using energy as a foreign policy tool. The elite’s perceptions of, and rationales behind, the oil pipeline route to East Asia reflected the rising role of energy in Russia’s Economic perspective on East Asia. This section firstly examines the official position, demonstrating that not only were the expected economic benefits an important consideration, but so were political and strategic which reflected Moscow’s attempts to position itself as an East Asian power. Secondly, perceptions of the energy industry illustrate the conflicting interests between private and state-owned companies, and between the Kremlin and private oil companies. Thirdly, RFE perceptions illustrate regional economic interests and integrationist aims. This case study shows that while there were diverse perceptions of the oil pipeline route, the pipeline was primarily seen by policymakers as a means of enhancing Russia’s great-power status in East Asia. 7.4.1 Moscow’s vacillating position: The geoeconomic–geopolitical nexus Moscow’s official position on the pipeline route was initially informed by considerations of the Russo–Chinese strategic partnership. Since 1994, Moscow was supportive of constructing an oil pipeline from Angarsk, in East Siberia, to Daqing, in northwest China (hereafter, ‘China Route’), which Yukos was set to build. However, the Japanese proposal to provide finance for another proposed route from Angarsk to Nakhodka on the Pacific Ocean (hereafter, ‘Pacific Route’) affected Moscow’s subsequent indecision. Moscow’s indecisiveness was perhaps intentional, in order to extract the most benefits by playing China off against Japan. Rivalry between the two

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energy-thirsty powers presented Russia with a useful leverage in its relations with both.122 The notion of building an oil pipeline to serve East Asia’s markets corresponded with Russia’s Eurasianist and Economic perspectives. Oil pipelines formed part of Putin’s approach to Russia’s Eurasian identity, influenced by geoeconomics. The Putin administration aimed to use Russia’s territory and unique geography to serve Russia’s economic and political interests, enhancing its influence in East Asia.123 Russia’s economic interests were informed by its status as a leading energy exporter: in 2003, Russia became the world’s second largest producer of crude oil. China and Japan were ideal markets for Russia’s vast oil reserves in East Siberia and the RFE. China was a particularly attractive partner for Russia, given its political significance, growing energy demand and economic power, and proximity to Russia. Furthermore, the China Route was seen as more economically viable than the Pacific Route proposed by Transneft in July 2001, since it was cheaper (approximately US$ 2 billion compared to at least US$ 5 billion for the Pacific Route); shorter (2400 kilometres as opposed to nearly 4000 kilometres); and therefore logistically easier. Moreover, existing oil reserves found in East Siberia was sufficient for the China Route’s planned capacity but not the Pacific Route’s.124 There were initially many supporters of the China Route within the administration. For example, Prime Minister Kasianov who was inclined towards Russia’s business lobby, including Yukos.125 Igor Rogachev, Russia’s then long-serving ambassador to China was another keen supporter.126 MID and the Energy Ministry were also supportive and active in Sino–Russian negotiations, while early proponents of the Pacific Route, like the Ministry of Economic Development and Trade, were reportedly marginalised.127 However, Japanese Prime Minister Koizumi’s expressed interest in the Pacific Route during his January 2003 Moscow visit prompted the Kremlin to reconsider its options. Apart from potential Japanese finance, the Pacific Route would provide greater Russian access to Asia-Pacific markets.128 The prospect of Russo–Japanese cooperation also gave Moscow hope for a new breakthrough in relations with Japan. However, some officials warned that in exchange for finance, Tokyo might demand exclusive access to the oil.129 Indeed, the Kremlin later criticised such demands from Tokyo, and expressed favour for the China Route instead. But this was on the condition that the pipeline would be owned and managed by the state through Transneft, while Yukos would supply the oil.130 This indicated that reasons for the Kremlin’s indecisiveness included concern over the control of pipelines. A compromise was proposed by the Energy Ministry. The Ministry drafted the Russian Energy Strategy up to 2020 which outlined a large-scale integrated plan to build the Pacific Route while incorporating the China Route as a branch line. The trunk oil pipeline would be built in parallel with a trunk gas pipeline from Western Siberia to East Asia.131 The Kremlin


supported this compromise plan, and signed a communique with Beijing on the branch line to Daqing in May.132 From this point onwards, as one analyst noted, the question was which pipeline would be assigned priority with regard to the commencement of work.133 In June 2003, Japan sweetened its proposal, offering more soft loans and financial aid. The Kremlin’s position, however, remained ambivalent. Putin noted that the Pacific Route was ‘preferable’ since it allowed Russia access to the Asia-Pacific market, but it might not be ‘economically valid’ due to Russia’s limited explored oil resources to fill this route’s capacity.134 Nonetheless the Kremlin delayed construction on the China Route while reconsidering the Pacific Route, much to Beijing’s chagrin.135 Beijing applied pressure on Moscow by proposing to Kazakhstan Chinese finance for the construction of a second pipeline connecting China with Kazakh oil reserves.136 Meanwhile, the Energy Ministry stepped up its support for the Pacific Route, arguing that it would help develop East Siberia’s resources by justifying further explorations, and attracting Japanese finance.137 Russia remained noncommittal and politico-strategic concerns were evident throughout Russian deliberations. While Russia’s East Asia policy had primarily been Sino-centric, Putin attempted to balance this by seeking to pursue a more diversified policy. Thus Japanese lobbying came at an opportune moment. Moscow also calculated that they could use the Pacific Route and the ‘China card’ to extract concessions from Japan regarding the territorial issue. As one Russian diplomat observed, ‘it would not be advantageous for Japan were Russia to deal exclusively with China in the energy field’.138 This approach, however, did not bear fruit. Japan remained intransigent regarding the South Kurils, feeling that it had a strong bargaining position ensured by its belief that Russia would need massive Japanese funding to finance the Pacific Route.139 Many Japanese analysts and politicians in fact saw Japanese potential investment in the RFE as a powerful leverage to extract concessions from Moscow regarding the territorial issue. But an increasingly strong Russia no longer saw Japanese aid as essential. As the former ambassador to Japan Aleksandr Panov stated, Japanese economic aid, while welcomed, was not seen as ‘vitally necessary’.140 Moscow also foresaw that Russia would be dependent on China as the single buyer if it proceeded with solely the China Route. Given Moscow’s experience from Turkey exploiting its position as monopoly buyer in the Blue Stream gas pipeline, the Kremlin was reluctant to make the same mistake. Tokyo was also driven by geopolitical motivations to strategically deny China diversification of its energy supply and a strengthened relationship with Russia.141 Tokyo was playing on Russia’s insecurities in its RFE vis-à-vis China, as testified by Koizumi’s January 2003 visit to Khabarovsk to lobby for support for the Pacific Route.142 The Japanese ambassador to Russia further appealed to the Russian elite’s great-power aspirations by arguing that the Pacific Route would raise Russia’s status in the APR.143 Washington similarly stood to benefit economically from the Pacific Route from further access to

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Russian oil, and strategically from restricting Chinese access to alternative sources. However, Russo–Chinese strategic partnership remained important for Moscow, especially in light of US unilateralism. As one analyst opined, Russia’s China Route decision would be more than a commercial deal but rather a ‘strategic choice’.144 Despite such geopolitical considerations, Putin announced that economics was most important in choosing which route was optimal for Russia’s interests. He emphasised the necessity to develop the RFE and East Siberia.145 Russian diplomats similarly considered RFE development a crucial factor in Russia’s deliberations over the pipeline route.146 In February 2004, Transneft proposed a modified route from Taishet to the Pacific coast (Eastern SiberiaPacific Ocean Pipeline – ESPO) that would incorporate the Pacific Route, with a potential branch to Daqing and estimated to cost US$ 16 billion (see Map 7.2). This new route would be longer than the Pacific Route (approximately 4130 km) and would supply oil from reserves in West and East Siberia with the annual capacity of approximately 80 mt. On New Year’s Eve 2004, Prime Minister Fradkov signed a directive on the construction of the ESPO, but with no mention of the Daqing branch. Beijing saw the decision as geopolitically motivated; collaboration with Japan to counterbalance China.147 Russian officials denied this and left open the possibility of a branch line to Daqing from Skovorodino.148 In April 2005, the Ministry for Industry and Energy divided the ESPO into two phases: (1) construction of the Taishet–Skovorodino pipeline with annual capacity of 30 mt and of the terminal in Perevoznaia Bay (changed from Nakhodka) both to be completed by late 2008, which was later changed to late 2009; (2) construction of the Skovorodino–Perevoznaia Bay pipeline with annual capacity of 50 mt to link up with the Taishet–Skovorodino pipeline with total annual capacity of 80 mt. This phase would be in conjunction with development of oil fields in Eastern Russia.149 New Russian ambiguities emerged over the priorities of oil deliveries – either a branch Skovorodino–Daqing pipeline or railway oil deliveries to China would be prioritised over pipeline extension to the Pacific. But by February 2009, Russia appeared to have finally chosen in favour of China by agreeing to build a spur to Daqing to be commissioned in 2010. Under the agreement, Russia would supply China with 15 mt of oil every year over a period of 20 years while China would provide Rosneft with US$ 15 billion and Transneft with US$ 10 billion worth of low-interest loans.150 As regards the Japanese market, a cabinet meeting in July 2007 estimated that the second phase of building the Skovorodino– Kozmino (changed from Perevoznaia in February 2008) pipeline would remain on hold until at least 2015 to wait for development of East Siberian fields, though President Medvedev reportedly later ordered work to begin in December 2009.151 However, while Sino–Japanese competition was one factor for Russian procrastination, it was rather diverse interests inside Russia that were the true competitors.152


Map 7.2

East Siberia-Pacific Ocean (ESPO) Oil Pipeline Route (as of April 2007)

Source: http://www.erina.or.jp (accessed April 2008).

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7.4.2 Sectoral interests and the struggle for power The decision on the oil pipeline route was made amidst rivalry over pipeline control between state monopoly Transneft and private Russian oil companies. The companies were frustrated that their increasing excess oil capacity could not be exported fast enough due to the limited and slow expansion of pipelines controlled by Transneft.153 The private companies planned to take on the construction and control of oil pipelines themselves. While there were oil pipelines to Europe since Soviet times, there were none serving the AsiaPacific market. Since Yukos’s oil exports to China were restricted by the lowcapacity Russian railway system, Yukos proposed to build its own pipeline to Daqing. As Yukos chairman, Mikhail Khodorkovskii, reportedly stated in an Energy Ministry meeting, ‘if the state cannot afford to lay new pipelines, it should let private companies do the job’.154 Economic interests drove Yukos’s policy as illustrated by one executive’s remark that while Beijing had based its China route on regional development plans, this route was important for Yukos insofar as they received a reasonable sum for their oil.155 Meanwhile, other private and state energy firms had their own agenda that reflected intra-industrial struggle for influence in East Asia, which Yukos had so far dominated.156 For instance, state-owned oil firm Rosneft supported the Pacific Route since its higher capacity would allow Rosneft’s participation. Rosneft’s head, Sergei Bogdanchikov, argued that Japan could give strong financial backing for the Pacific Route, while oil through the China Route would be sold at the contract rather than the higher market price, given Moscow’s political obligations to Beijing.157 Other energy giants, such as Gazprom and TNK, also lobbied for the Pacific Route, seeing it as a wedge for promoting their interests in the Far East.158 However, Yukos did not entirely oppose the Pacific Route. Khodorkovskii indicated that Russia would be able to extend the pipeline further to the east once new fields were developed.159 Transneft backed its proposed Pacific Route and throughout 2002 intensively lobbied both Russian and Japanese governments.160 Vainshtok, Transneft’s president, stated that Russia was too oriented towards European markets. The Pacific Route would cover the ‘lucrative’ Asia-Pacific markets, but the China Route would be dependent on one market. Transneft also believed then that enough oil could be extracted to meet the Pacific Route’s high capacity.161 Vainshtok also stressed that pipelines should remain under state control, to provide equal access for all Russian producers.162 Transneft disliked the idea that Yukos would possess its own oil pipelines, breaking Transneft’s monopoly. Thus Transneft had a powerful ally in the Kremlin, who preferred to maintain state control over oil exports.163 Although Yukos intensified lobbying of the government against Transneft, Yukos’s position had become highly untenable as the Kremlin charged Yukos of tax evasion and fraud. Khodorkovskii’s arrest in October 2003 sealed the fate of Yukos control over the China Route. Once Transneft wrested control over the China Route from Yukos, Transneft supported it on commercial grounds.


Since the March 2003 terms stipulated that Beijing would fund the China Route on both sides of the border through a debt-swap agreement, this route became financially more attractive for Transneft. The Pacific Route came to be seen as too expensive; Transneft would have to provide most of the investment, and the oil reserves needed to fill pipeline capacity to be profitable remained uncertain.164 While Transneft proposed the longer ESPO route, it argued for the construction of the branch to Daqing first since this would be more economical than constructing the pipeline to the Pacific without the Chinese branch. The branch would guarantee that at least 30 mt of oil would be bought while the Pacific market remained open to question.165 When Putin made clear at the 2005 G8 Summit that rail oil deliveries to China would take precedence over pipeline construction to the Pacific, Transneft became embroiled in a dispute with Russian Railways over the share of oil to be delivered to China, given limited reserves.166 Government ministries also disputed over the source of finance. The Ministry of Natural Resources and Ministry of Economic Development and Trade preferred finance from the oil companies that intended to use the pipeline rather than the federal budget, but the Ministry of Industry and Energy feared that these companies might eventually claim ownership of the pipeline.167 The Ministry of Natural Resources also raised environmental concerns regarding the proposed route which ran within 800 metres from Lake Baikal. Putin backed the Ministry in November 2005, prompting Transneft to extend the route, passing 400 km away from the lake. 7.4.3 Regional development and survival The territories of East Siberia and the RFE, through which the Pacific Route would pass, supported this route. Construction was expected to create many local jobs, provide funds for regional budgets, and help develop regional infrastructure.168 These regions presented a vocal lobby group for the Pacific Route over the China Route, since the latter would go through Chita Oblast without reaching the RFE. Both Khabarovskii and Primorskii regions expected increased investment and jobs in their territories. Both also demanded that the government and Transneft construct local infrastructure and oil refineries as the minimum condition for use of their territories.169 These regions had also long urged for greater economic cooperation with Japan to keep in check Chinese influence in the RFE. Governor Ishaev declared support for the Pacific Route, with a possible branch to China, since the China Route alone would create the danger of ‘dictatorship of the exclusive buyer’.170 Ishaev’s deputy proposed that China ‘look beyond the confines of the pipeline project’ and instead view investment as the means of ‘swinging the balance in its own favour’, like Japan had done.171 Both Khabarovskii and Primorskii regions preferred Japanese investment rather than Chinese. The Pacific Route was thus perceived as an opportunity for them to engage Japan to counter Chinese regional influence. Indeed, Ishaev was quick to point out

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right after Koizumi’s 2003 visit that the construction of the Pacific Route would testify to the degree of trust between the two countries.172 Governor Darkin similarly lobbied the Japanese regarding the Pacific Route, claiming that this route would be ‘strategically correct for Russia’.173 There was also some inter-regional rivalry. While the terminus decided on is in Primorskii krai, Khabarovsk Governor Ishaev appealed to the federal government to designate a Khabarovsk port as the terminus instead.174 While internal intrasectoral, inter-agency, and inter-regional disputes resulted in a myriad of interests regarding the pipeline route, the decision ultimately lay with Putin and his interpretation of national interests. As Putin declared in May 2004, ‘the guidelines for passing the necessary decisions [on pipelines] should be the realisation of national tasks, and not the interests of individual companies’.175 Despite Sino–Japanese rivalry, Russia, as Putin made clear while visiting China in October 2004, would base its decision on ‘our own national interests’.176 Given that energy was increasingly used by the Kremlin to enhance Russian external influence, it was likely that the Kremlin’s procrastination reflected its desire to position Russia in an advantageous and influential position vis-à-vis China and Japan. These four case studies reflect the policy implications of our three perspectives on East Asia to varying degrees. They also illustrate Moscow’s attempts to reassert itself as a great power in East Asia both symbolically and in real terms, the latter increasingly so under Putin. While Moscow’s rationale for joining the ARF and APEC was informed significantly by the prestige factor, the landbridge and oil pipeline policies show Putin’s attempts to assert real Russian influence in East Asia by forging an indispensable economic and political role for Russia.

8 Conclusion

Our four main findings can be summarised as follows. Firstly, there existed an elite discourse on East Asia as a region, wherein opportunities lay for Russia to reassert itself as a great power. This belief was intertwined with the self-perception that Russia deserved to be a great power. Secondly, three major perspectives can be identified in this discourse – Eurasianist, Economic, and Multipolarity. These perspectives can best be interpreted as ‘causal beliefs’ which can realise the ‘principled belief’ in Russia’s great-power status. Thirdly, the initially disparate strands of Russia’s East Asia discourse under Yeltsin came together more under Putin as a result of his recentralisation of power and the marginalisation of dissenting voices. Under Putin, Russia’s great-power aim in East Asia became more clearly defined, and the Putin administration responded positively to those perspectives and policy implications that could contribute to this aim, especially in terms of building up economic strength. Fourthly, despite this convergence and emphasis by Putin on economic power, what kind of great power Russia would be and its precise role in the region remained unclear. While there was a natural elite consensus that Russia was or should once again become a great power, the means or policies to realise this aspiration remained contested among the elite, resulting in the continued lack of a coherent and well-defined East Asia strategy.

8.1 The beginnings of a Russian East Asia discourse From 1996 onwards, East Asia was increasingly perceived and discussed by Russia’s elite as a region rather than simply as the aggregate of its bilateral relations with particular states. Moreover, elite perceptions were often intertwined with their great-power aspirations. The elite perceived the region as presenting opportunities for reasserting Russia’s great-power status. While in some respects, for instance energy cooperation, the opportunities could be seen as similar to those presented in Europe, the diverse nature of East Asia and the weakness of regional solidarity and collective identity itself 152

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provided Russia with more opportunities to exploit the ‘niche’ economic and political demands of particular states. East Asia also posed unique challenges for Russia. Not only was the region undergoing a dynamic economic and political transformation but Russia had also never truly been a great power in East Asia, or indeed an integral political and economic part of it, despite its geographical presence. While Russia traditionally paid much attention to playing a great-power role in Europe and the Near Abroad, the Far Eastern neighbourhood was relatively neglected. With Russia’s declining influence in its traditional regions of interest the elite began to pay more attention to East Asia. Thus while the driving force behind Russia’s East Asia policy was perhaps similar to that behind its policy towards Europe and the CIS, both the opportunities and challenges in East Asia were (and are) arguably greater. Due to these unique opportunities and challenges, Russia’s policy in East Asia can be seen as an important test for Russia to achieve its great-power aim. How the elite viewed East Asia was often linked to their perceptions of China and the US. Russia’s East Asia discourse was often Sino-centric and US-centric.1 Elite perceptions of East Asia were often informed by US actions regionally and globally. The US simply could not be ignored given its predominance in international and East Asian politics. In East Asia, China’s rise similarly meant that it could not be ignored, given its size and proximity to Russia. The fact that China is Russia’s largest neighbouring country meant that Russia’s East Asia policy since the nineteenth century has always been Sino-centric and likely to remain so. Post-Soviet Russia’s Sino-centrism was also due to its diplomatic inflexibility in East Asia, stemming in part from its long-standing territorial dispute with Japan – the other regional power. While there were proposals in the early 1990s for a ‘Nippon-centric’ East Asia policy, the territorial issue restricted this possibility. Other attempts to diversify relations were made under Yeltsin in the latter half of the 1990s, with increased focus on ASEAN and the Koreas and regional multilateral institutions. This attempt at ‘strategic diversity’ intensified under Putin with the aim to not only enhance Russia’s regional presence by active diplomacy but also to reduce its overdependence on China.2 In wider Asia, Russia focused on India as a possible ‘balancer’ to its Sino-centrism, intensifying relations with India bilaterally, potentially within the SCO (India has observer status), and within the rubric of a Russia–India–China strategic triangle. This ‘strategic triangle’ can be seen as reconciling Russia’s desire to counterbalance China regionally and the US globally. Furthermore, Putin’s emphasis on a pragmatic foreign policy, based on garnering economic gains, prompted Russia to pursue relations with East Asian states based on common economic interests rather than merely political or symbolic ones, though the latter were not discarded. The fact that East Asian states became major energy and arms importers boded well for projecting Russian economic influence and this is likely


to continue. Putin understood that economic power can translate into political influence and thus strove to gain an economic foothold in this region. He also understood that for Russia to become a truly great power it had first to develop and strengthen itself internally in order to possess the necessary attributes to make it indispensable for the political, economic, and security development of its neighbouring regions.3

8.2 The perceptual components of the discourse The three perspectives on East Asia that constituted the elite discourse on East Asia – Eurasianist, Economic, and that of Multipolarity – are best understood as ‘causal beliefs’ for realising the ‘principled belief’ that Russia was, or deserved to be, a great power in East Asia. The ways in which the Eurasianist perspective acted as a causal belief differed from the others as this was based on Russian self-perceptions and identity. Russia’s Eurasian identity was essentially the legitimisation of the principled belief in Russia’s great-power status in three main ways with regard to East Asia. Firstly, Russia’s immense size and presence in Europe and Asia entitled it to have interests in both continents. This meant that Russia deserved a place in all multilateral institutions in East Asia and had legitimate interests in regional security issues. Secondly, by claiming its spetsifika, Russia could instrumentally employ its civilisational proximity to Asia in order to distinguish Russia from the Western powers, thereby increasing its importance and acceptance by Asian countries. Lastly, Russia presented itself as a ‘bridge’ linking West and East in both civilisational and tangible senses, the latter adopted and stressed by Putin; for instance, his landbridge policy. In all three ways, Russia’s Eurasian identity was employed to justify its existing and potential importance for the world and for East Asia, legitimising its claim to be a great power worthy of a commensurate role. The Economic perspective was understood by the elite as a tangible means for Russia to develop the capabilities of a great power in three ways. Firstly, greater Russian integration into the APR, especially of its RFE and Eastern Siberia, would enable Russia to reap the associated economic rewards, help develop its eastern regions, preserve territorial integrity, and ensure real Russian regional presence. Secondly, Russia could benefit from arms sales both commercially and politically. Arms sales serve as the saviour of Russia’s declining VPK and as a foreign policy instrument for projecting influence. Lastly, Russia’s immense energy reserves and position of energy supplier to East Asian consumers would be for Russia a vehicle for greater economic integration and provide leverage in its foreign relations. All functions provided for Russia the means to build up its influence, ensuring its indispensability for East Asia. The Multipolarity perspective was interpreted by the Russian elite as the key to understanding East Asia and how to respond to the opportunities and challenges for realising Russia’s great-power aspirations. The elite responded

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to East Asian multipolarity in three ways with Russia’s great-power aims in mind. Firstly, regional stability was perceived as essential for Russia’s internal development. Although the regional balance of power was precarious, Russia preferred the status quo to a potentially destabilising one and sought to maintain good and balanced relations with all regional actors. Secondly, Russia had to manage changes to the balance of power, especially China’s rise, which it viewed ambivalently. Russia had so far chosen to engage China rather than balance it because of Moscow’s assigned priority of balancing the US globally. Simultaneously, Russia had to deal with the US regional presence, which was seen as both a stabilising and potentially destabilising force. Lastly, Russia sought to maintain regional stability and constrain the US, and others, through multilateral institutions like the ARF and through great-power diplomacy, such as a regional Concert of Powers. Russian participation would enhance and ensure Russian influence at relatively little cost. Russia thus aspired to manage the regional balance in its favour and to become an important factor for regional security. These three ‘causal beliefs’ were therefore varyingly interpreted by the elite as ways of enhancing Russian influence and of ‘anchoring’ Russia in this region, making it an indispensable and inalienable part of East Asia.

8.3 The convergence of perceptions from Yeltsin to Putin It has become conventional wisdom that foreign policy making under Putin became more centralised. This was reflected in an apparently greater coherence in Russia’s East Asia policy. The nature of the discourse and the relationship between the three perspectives changed from Yeltsin to Putin. Foreign policy making under Yeltsin was a complex, competitive, and factious affair. The relative influence, real and assigned, of different foreign policy actors in policymaking was volatile and ill-defined. Yeltsin himself was prone to employ a ‘divide and rule’ attitude to policymaking, encouraging factional rivalry in order to maintain his supreme position. This meant that not only the East Asia discourse became incoherent and uncoordinated but actual policy also tended to be reactive, ad hoc, and often contradictory. The three perspectives were all part of the East Asia discourse but were disjointed, disparate, and conflicting. Yeltsin’s failure to control disparate foreign policy actors resulted in policy often being dictated from below rather than imposed from above. The disaggregated nature of the East Asia discourse and factional character of policymaking under Yeltsin prevented Russia’s great-power aim from either being clarified or a coherent strategy formulated to achieve it. Putin’s recentralisation of power in foreign policy making, on the other hand, led to a better coordinated and, to some extent, more predictable foreign policy. The East Asia discourse became more coherent, with less conflicting views being espoused by different elite actors. Putin’s aim of restoring Russia’s great-power status led to more clarity in


Russia’s goals in East Asia. The three causal beliefs that constituted the elite’s East Asia discourse were co-opted by Putin and he effectively ensured that they became mutually reinforcing, converging towards realising Russia’s great-power aspirations. East Asia policy under Putin became more coherent and active, reflecting the more centralised decision-making process and clearer stated aims and interests than that under Yeltsin.

8.4 Three perspectives in search of a great-power role The elite’s self-perception of Russia’s great-power status was a legacy of Russia’s imperial past – both tsarist and communist – that moulded the elite’s conception of nationhood, of being nothing less than a great power in world affairs.4 Indeed, this great-power perception was a rare area where there was general consensus among the Russian elite under Yeltsin and Putin.5 Another area of near consensus was that Russia’s great-power status was perceived as closely linked to its obligation to fulfil a global counterbalancing role against the US.6 While we have argued that the main thread interconnecting the three perceptual components of Russia’s East Asia discourse was the perception of Russia as a great power, it remained unclear what kind of great power Russia was or should become, not only in terms of characteristics but also in terms of the means to realise this aspiration. The Russian elite remained divided on this issue and there were various interpretations of Russia’s great-power role in East Asia. Those advocating Russia as a Eurasian power either emphasised the geopolitical dimension and implications (Neo-Eurasianists) or Russia’s intercivilisational role or mission (Intercivilisational Eurasianists). Others who represented the official position (Pragmatic Eurasianists) advocated the utilisation of Russia’s Eurasian identity, being an economic bridge between Europe and Asia, and the pursuit of a balanced foreign policy. Economic interest groups like the TEK and VPK advocated an economic role for Russia in East Asia that emphasised either energy supply/interdependence or arms exports as the principal means to enhance Russian power. Official advocacy of greater economic integration was often undermined by ineffective policies and a ‘fortress mentality’ – fears of Chinese demographic expansion into the sparsely populated RFE. Russian advocacy of a greater economic role was thus often characterised by considerations of relative power rather than mutual benefits. While there was broad consensus that Russia should play an increased and active role in a multipolar East Asia, there were differences over what kind of policy it should pursue – informed by different threat perceptions. China was viewed ambivalently, with latent perceptions of a Chinese threat in the long term pervasive in all elite strata. This, however, was overshadowed by the immediate concern of an American threat. Other ‘poles’ like Japan and ASEAN were often perceived as a balance to Chinese and US influence. Russia itself aspired to play a role of regional balancer to maintain its influence, including through a regional Concert of Powers.

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These differing perceptions meant that questions of means remained contested ones, though economic strength and thereby the Economic perspective was particularly emphasised by Putin. Although some of the political elite still harboured aspirations to restore the Soviet empire in Russia’s Near Abroad, it was clear to most that Russia was incapable of becoming a superpower again in the foreseeable future. At most Russia could become a great power among other powers. Putin realised this from the onset of his presidency and aimed at establishing Russia as a ‘normal’ great power – moving away from Soviet-style isolationism and turning Russia into a full-fledged member of the international community. Putin emphasised economic modernisation and development as the foundation for restoring Russia’s greatness. He identified Russia’s vast territory, large if declining population, economic potentialities, military strength in nuclear arms, and international political clout as attributes that made Russia’s claim to greatpower status all the more justifiable and a ‘necessary condition’ for Russia’s advanced engagement with the world.7 Indeed, Putin repeatedly stated his belief in Russia’s great-power status. In December 1999, he asserted that ‘Russia was and will remain a great power’.8 In March 2000, Putin declared that while Russia had ceased to be an empire it had not lost its great-power potential.9 In 2003, he declared that ‘our ultimate goal should be to return Russia to its place among the prosperous, developed, strong and respected nations’, which ‘will only be possible when Russia gains economic power’.10 Despite this emphasis on economic strength to underline Russia’s greatpower status, Russia’s 2008 dispute with Georgia over South Ossetia showed that Russia was also prepared to flaunt its military strength to protect its interests and influence in the former Soviet space, an area wherein Russia believes it possesses traditional influence, even at the risk of isolation from the international community. Thus it is unclear what kind of great power Russia aims to become and by playing what kind of role. With regards to East Asia, our analysis shows that Russia aspired to become a great power with a befitting regional role and influence. Russia aimed to avoid being marginalised in regional affairs and attempted to establish itself as an indispensable and inalienable part of the region, strengthening existing bilateral relations while forging new ones. Russia aspired to participate in all regional multilateral institutions, including new ones like the East Asia Summit, take part in all major regional developments, and have a major say in regional affairs. Russia certainly aimed to become an integral part of the Asia-Pacific economy and to develop its eastern part. This has been the aim of Putin’s East Asia policy thus far. It is highly doubtful that Putin’s great-power aim would be discontinued by the new president, Dmitrii Medvedev. Given that Medvedev is beholden to Putin, has long been deferential and loyal to him, and will have Putin as his prime minister, it appears certain that there will be some foreign-policy continuity and the Medvedev-approved Foreign Policy Concept in July 2008


indicates this to an extent.11 This should also hold true for Russia’s East Asia policy. China is likely to remain the country that demands Russia’s highest attention in the region, and was Medvedev’s second country that he visited as president after Kazakhstan. The RFE is likely to remain a central focus and key test for Moscow’s East Asia policy. During Medvedev’s visit to the RFE, he tellingly said that the RFE represented Russia’s geopolitical interests ‘in a concentrated form.12 Moreover, Medvedev’s Russia is likely to continue aspiring for a great-power role in East Asia, though this will be challenged significantly by the global financial crisis which has exposed the fragilities of Russia’s energy-dependent economy. Indeed, while there may have been a prima facie convergence or consensus regarding aspirations to become a great power in East Asia under Putin, this convergence remained fragile and highly susceptible to overall shifts in foreign policy making, particularly from a change in government. The danger remained that were factional rivalry over different perceptions and interests to re-emerge, Russia’s East Asia policy might once again become ad hoc, incoherent, and contradictory, and Russia’s great-power aspirations might ultimately be dashed.

Notes 1

Introduction

1. Robert Jervis, Perception and Misperception in International Politics (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1976), pp. 13–30; Jerel A. Rosati, ‘A Cognitive Approach to the Study of Foreign Policy’ in Laura Neack, Jeanne Hey, and Patrick Haney (eds) Foreign Policy Analysis: Continuity and Change in its Second Generation (New Jersey: Prentice Hall, 1995), p. 67. 2. Gary King, Robert O. Keohane, and Sidney Verba, Designing Social Inquiry (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994), p. 191. See also Judith Goldstein and Robert O. Keohane (eds) Ideas and Foreign Policy (New York: Cornell University Press, 1993); Yuen Foong Khong, Analogies at War (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1992); and Deborah Welch Larson, Origins of Containment: A Psychological Explanation (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1985). 3. Alexander Wendt, Social Theory of International Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), p. 135. 4. Goldstein and Keohane (eds) Ideas and Foreign Policy, pp. 3–4. 5. Jervis, Perception and Misperception, p. 28. 6. Ibid., p. 323. 7. Mark Webber and Michael Smith (eds) Foreign Policy in a Transformed World (Essex: Prentice Hall, 2002), pp. 33–46; and Christopher Hill, ‘What is to be done? Foreign Policy as a Site for Political Action’, International Affairs (London), vol. 79, no. 2, 2003, p. 254. 8. For example, Nathan Leites, The Operational Code of the Politburo (New York: McGraw-Hill RAND, 1951); Alexander George, ‘The “Operational Code”’, International Studies Quarterly, vol. 13, no. 2, 1969, pp. 190–222; Jeffrey Checkel, Ideas and International Political Change: Soviet/Russian Behaviour and the End of the Cold War (New York: Yale University Press, 1997); and Richard Herrmann, Perceptions and Behaviour in Soviet Foreign Policy (Pittsburgh: University of Pittsburgh Press, 1985). 9. For example, Ted Hopf, Social Construction of International Politics (Ithaca & London: Cornell University Press, 2002); and Julie Newton, Russia, France, and the Idea of Europe (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2003). 10. See Neil Malcolm, Alex Pravda, Roy Allison, and Margot Light (eds) Internal Factors in Russian Foreign Policy (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996); Margot Light, ‘In Search of Identity: Russian Foreign Policy and the End of Ideology’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics, vol. 19, no. 3, 2003, pp. 42–59; Alexei Arbatov, ‘Russia’s Foreign Policy Alternatives’, International Security, vol. 18, no. 2, 1993, pp. 5–43; Leszek Buszynski, ‘Russia and the West: Towards Renewed Geopolitical Rivalry?’, Survival, vol. 37, no. 3, 1995, pp. 104–25; Andrei Tsygankov, Russia’s Foreign Policy: Change and Continuity in National Identity (Oxford: Rowman & Littlefield, 2006); and Alexander Lukin, ‘Russia between East and West’, International Problems (Belgrade), vol. 55, no. 2, 2003, pp. 159–85. 11. For example, Margot Light, Stephen White, and John Lowenhardt, ‘A Wider Europe: The View from Moscow and Kyiv’, International Affairs (London), vol. 76, 159

160

12.

13.

14.

15.

16. 17.

18.

19.

Notes no. 1, 2000, pp. 77–88; Michael Williams and Iver Neumann, ‘From Alliance to Security Community: NATO, Russia, and the Power of Identity’, Millennium, vol. 29, no. 2, 2000, pp. 357–87; and Andrei Tsygankov, ‘The Final Triumph of the Pax Americana?’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 34, no. 2, 2001, pp. 133–56. Elite discourse is understood as a cultural or intellectual space in which different beliefs and ideas held by different elite actors interact, clash, and interweave, without being able to form an ultimate unity. Andrei Tsygankov, Whose World Order? Russia’s Perceptions of American Ideas after the Cold War (Indiana: University of Notre Dame Press, 2004), p. 15. For similar approaches see Tsuyoshi Hasegawa, ‘Japanese Perceptions of the Soviet Union: 1960–1985’, Acta Slavica Iaponica, vol. 5, 1987, pp. 37–70; David Shambaugh, Beautiful Imperialist: China Perceives America, 1972–1990 (Chichester: Princeton University Press, 1993); and David Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun: Russian Ideologies of Empire and the Path to War with Japan (DeKalb: Northern Illinois University Press, 2001). Hollis and Smith’s dichotomy between these two methodologies of explaining a state’s or actor’s behaviour ‘from outside’ at the level of the international system ‘top-down’, or by understanding that state’s or actor’s action ‘bottom-up’, or ‘from inside’, in terms of constitutive rules and intentions proves useful in highlighting this distinction, though not strictly so. See their Explaining and Understanding International Relations (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 2003), pp. 1–9. See also Christer Pursiainen, Russian Foreign Policy and International Relations Theory (Aldershot: Ashgate Publishers, 2000), pp. 83–9. Gilbert Rozman’s ‘Moscow’s China-Watchers in the Post-Mao Era’, China Quarterly, no. 94, 1983, pp. 215–41; ‘China’s Soviet Watchers in the 1980s: A New Era in Scholarship’, World Politics, vol. 37, no. 4, 1985, pp. 435–74; A Mirror for Socialism: Soviet Criticisms of China (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1985); The Chinese Debate about Soviet Socialism, 1978–1985 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1987); Japan’s Response to the Gorbachev Era, 1985–1991 (New Jersey: Princeton University Press, 1992); and ‘China’s Changing Images of Japan, 1989–2001’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, vol. 2, 2002, pp. 95–129. Rozman, Northeast Asia’s Stunted Regionalism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2004), pp. 12–13. Iver Neumann, Russia and the Idea of Europe (London: Routledge, 1996). See also Vladimir Baranovsky, ‘Russia: A Part of Europe or Apart from Europe?’, International Affairs (London), vol. 76, no. 3, 2000, pp. 443–58; and Roy Allison, Margot Light, and Stephen White, Putin’s Russia and the Enlarged Europe (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, Chatham House Papers, 2006). For example, Alexander Lukin, The Bear Watches the Dragon (London: M. E. Sharpe, 2003); Evgenii Bazhanov, ‘Russian Policy toward China’, in Peter Shearman (ed.) Russian Foreign Policy Since 1990 (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995), pp. 159–80; Alexei Voskressenski, ‘The Perceptions of China by Russia’s Foreign Policy Elite’, Issues and Studies, vol. 33, no. 3, 1997, pp. 1–20; Vladimir Shlapentokh, ‘China in the Russian Mind Today: Ambivalence and Defeatism’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol.59, no.1, pp. 1–21; and N. Dmitrievskaia (ed.) Rossiia i Iaponiia: Sosedi v Novom Tysiacheletii (Moscow: AIRO-XX, 2004). Oles Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region: Policies and Polemic’, in Stephen Blank and Alvin Rubinstein (eds) Imperial Decline: Russia’s Changing Role in Asia (London: Duke University Press, 1997), pp. 7–39. See also Andrew

Notes

20.

21.

22. 23. 24. 25.

26. 27.

28. 29.

30.

31.

32.

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Bouchkin, ‘Russia’s Far Eastern Policy in the 1990s’, in Adeed and Karen Dawisha (eds) The Making of Foreign Policy in Russia and the New States of Eurasia (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1995), pp. 66–83. Bobo Lo, ‘Evolution and Continuity of Russian Policy in East Asia’, Iadernyi Kontrol, vol. 6, Nov–Dec 2002, pp. 38–51; and ‘Pacific Russia and Asia – an Edgy Engagement’, CLSA Asian Geopolitics Special Report, September 2005, pp. 1–35. Gilbert Rozman, ‘Obzor rossiiskikh predstavlenii o Vostochnoi Azii, 1972–2003’, Neprikosnovennyi Zapas, vol. 29, no. 3, 2003, http://www.nz-online.ru/index. phtml?aid=5010307 (accessed August 2004). Gilbert Rozman, Kazuhiko Togo and Joseph Ferguson (eds), Russian Strategic Thought Toward Asia (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2006). Jervis, Perceptions and Misperceptions, p. 28. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. xvii. The ‘holistic’ concept of security is adopted here since the nature of Russian security in East Asia encompasses both military and non-military (e.g. economic, demographic, and ecological) concerns. David Capie and Paul Evans, The AsiaPacific Security Lexicon (Singapore: ISEAS, 2002), p. 64; and Barry Buzan, People, States and Fear (London: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1991), pp. 3–25. Goldstein and Keohane (eds) Ideas and Foreign Policy, pp. 3, 8–11. Russian perception of great-power status (derzhavnost’) is understood as both perceiving Russia as a great power and the aspirations towards (re)asserting this status. Baogang He, ‘East Asian Ideas of Regionalism: A Normative Critique’, Australian Journal of International Affairs, vol. 58, no. 1, 2004, pp. 121–2. For example, Charles Ziegler, ‘Russia in the Asia-Pacific: A Major Power or Minor Participant?’, Asian Survey, vol. 34, no. 6, 1994, pp. 529–43; Stephen Blank, ‘Why Russian Policy is Failing in Asia’, Strategic Studies Institute, 2 April 1997; Gennadii Chufrin (ed.) Russia and Asia-Pacific Security (New York: Oxford University Press, SIPRI, 1999); Koji Watanabe (ed.) Engaging Russia in Asia Pacific (Tokyo: JCIE, 1999); Rouben Azizian, ‘Russia in Asia: Unwelcome Intruder or Accommodative Player?’, Working Paper 16/00, Centre for Strategic Studies, Wellington, 2000; and Hiroshi Kimura (ed.) Russia’s Shift toward Asia (Tokyo: The Sasakawa Peace Foundation, 2007). There are two definitions of East Asia in English usage. One encompasses NEA countries while the other covers both NEA and SEA, the definition employed here. Ryuhei Hatsuse, ‘Regionalism in East Asia and the Asia-Pacific’ in Yoshinobu Yamamoto (ed.) Globalism, Regionalism, and Nationalism (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1999), pp. 106–7; and Takashi Terada, ‘Constructing an “East Asian” Concept and Growing Regional Identity: From EAEC to ASEAN+3’, The Pacific Review, vol. 16, no. 2, 2003, p. 257. For example, Peggy Meyer, ‘Russia’s Post-Cold War Security Policy in Northeast Asia’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 67, no. 4, 1994–5, pp. 495–512; Chikahito Harada, Russia and Northeast Asia, Adelphi Paper no. 310 (Oxford: Oxford University Press, IISS, 1997); Leszek Buszynski’s, ‘Russia and Northeast Asia: Aspirations and Reality’, The Pacific Review, vol. 12, no. 3, 2000, pp. 399–420 and ‘Russia and Northeast Asia: Facing a Rising China’, Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, Winter/Spring 2002, pp. 69–76; and Hong Wan Suk, Geostrategiia Rossii i SeveroVostochnaia Aziia (Moscow: Nauchnaia Kniga, 1998). For similar definitions see Mikhail Titarenko, ‘ATR v Zerkale Rossiiskoi Nauki’ in Vneshniaia Politika i Bezopasnost’ Sovremennoi Rossii, 1991–2002, v 4-x tomax,

162

33.

34.

35.

36.

37. 38. 39.

40.

41.

42. 43.

Notes vol. III (Moscow: ROSSPEN, MGIMO, 2002), p. 447; and Aleksei Voskresenskii, ‘Vostochnaia Aziia i ATR’ in Anatolii Torkunov, ed., Sovremennye mezhdunarodnye otnosheniia i mirovaia politika (Moscow: MGIMO, 2004), pp. 600–1. However, integration has arguably only occurred in East Asia and the APR does not yet exist as a political or economic entity. Oleg Arin, Strategicheskie Perspektivy Rossii v Vostochnoi Azii (Moscow: MGIMO, 1999), pp. 4–9. In April 1996 the heads of state of China, Russia, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, and Tajikistan signed an agreement in Shanghai on confidence-building measures along their borders. The ‘Shanghai Five’ developed into the Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) in June 2001 with the additional participation of Uzbekistan. In addition to regional cooperation between the member states in all spheres and the preservation of regional security, the SCO is directed at fighting terrorism, separatism, and extremism. Lo argues that such documents served less as a framework for concrete policy action than as a rationalising mechanism designed to reconcile the contradictions that dominated Russian foreign policy, especially under Yeltsin. However, as Light points out, these documents do provide a useful indicator of policy trends and shifts and the evolution of Russian thinking about the world and Russia’s place in it. Since this study focuses on foreign policy thinking and perceptions, these documents have utility in this respect. Bobo Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002), pp. 66–72, and Light, ‘In Search of Identity’, p. 43. Mostly Russian Asia experts and security analysts based at IDVRAN, IMEMO, IVRAN, MGIMO, Diplomatic Academy, Carnegie Moscow Centre, and institutes of the Far Eastern Branch of the Academy of Sciences and Far Eastern universities. Russian Foreign Ministry officials responsible for Asian and energy affairs, Russian diplomats based in Asia, and non-Russian experts on energy, Russia, and defence were also interviewed in Moscow, London, Bangkok, Sapporo, and Tokyo during 2005. King, Keohane, and Verba, Designing Social Inquiry, p. 55. Shambaugh, Beautiful Imperialist, fn. 4, p. 5. Even with such access to classified documents, there remains the possibility that these do not necessarily reflect the true beliefs or perceptions of the actor involved. Alexander George and Andrew Bennett, Case Studies and Theory Development in the Social Sciences (Massachusetts: MIT Press, 2005), pp. 99–104. Jennifer Milliken, ‘The Study of Discourse in International Relations’, European Journal of International Relations, vol. 5, no. 2, 1999, p. 234; and King, Keohane, and Verba, Designing Social Inquiry, p. 46. While the observable implications of each perspective were not necessarily mutually exclusive, organisation of the elite discourse within these three perspectives is attempted to provide analytical rigour. Jack Snyder, ‘Richness, Rigor, and Relevance in the Study of Soviet Foreign Policy’, International Security, vol. 9, no. 3, 1984–5, pp. 89–108. George and Bennett, Case Studies, p. 210.

2 Actors in Russia’s East Asia Policymaking 1. Mark Webber and Michael Smith, (eds),Foreign Policy in a Transformed World, (Essex: Prentice Hall, 2002), p. 39. 2. William Zimmerman, The Russian People and Foreign Policy (Oxford: Princeton University Press, 2002), p. 21.

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3. Pursiainen, Russian Foreign Policy and International Relations Theory, p. 204. 4. In administrative terms, the RFE formerly consisted of ten regions: Republic of Sakha (Iakutia); Primorskii Krai; Khabarovskii Krai; Amur Oblast; Kamchatka Oblast; Koryak Autonomous Okrug; Magadan Oblast; Sakhalin Oblast; Chukotka Autonomous Okrug; and Jewish Autonomous Oblast. In July 2007, Kamchatka Oblast and Koryak Autonomous Okrug merged to become Kamchatka Krai. This book focuses on the regions that share borders with East Asian states (see Map 2.1). East Siberian regions that border China are also examined; for example, Chita Oblast, which since March 2008 merged with Agin-Buryat Autonomous Okrug to become Zabaikalskii Krai. 5. Chapter 4, Article 80, http://president.kremlin.ru/articles/ConstOpt1.shtml (accessed September 2005). 6. The Council’s formal role is to be a consultative body that would make recommendations and proposals to the president on security matters and serves as the president’s principal private council where major foreign policy issues are discussed and decided upon. However, the influence and exact function of the Council ebbed and flowed depending on who was the secretary and how were his relations with the president. When Putin’s close friend, Sergei Ivanov, was Secretary (1999–2001), the SB was a major participant in security-related foreign policy issues. Once Ivanov became defence minister, the SB’s role as a major foreign policy player diminished under Vladimir Rushailo and Igor Ivanov. Leszek Buszynski, Russian Foreign Policy after the Cold War (Westport: Praeger, 1996), pp. 18–21; Bobo Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy (Oxford: Blackwell Publishing, RIIA, 2003), p. 36; Neil Malcolm, ‘Foreign Policy Making’ in Malcolm, et al., Internal Factors in Russian Foreign Policy (Oxford: OUP, 1996), pp. 110–17; and Dmitrii Trenin and Bobo Lo, The Landscape of Russian Foreign Policy Decision-Making (Moscow: CMC, 2005), p. 11. 7. Stephen Blank, ‘Why Russian Policy is Failing in Asia’, Strategic Studies Institute, 2 April 1997, pp. 5, 12–14. 8. As Dmitrii Trenin noted, ‘Primakov is not so much the prime minister but the interim president’. ‘Primakov earns broad support through unclear ideology’, Washington Post, 11 September 1998. 9. According to Kazuhiko Togo’s interview with Primakov cited in Togo, ‘Russian Strategic Thinking toward Asia, 1996–99’, in Rozman, et al., (eds) Russian Strategic Thought Toward Asia, p. 82. 10. Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, pp. 22–3. Voloshin was replaced by Dmitrii Medvedev, who is close to Putin, in October 2003. Medvedev later became first deputy prime minister in November 2005. Medvedev was later endorsed by Putin as presidential candidate and elected as the new president in March 2008. Ivanov was replaced by Sergei Lavrov and appointed SB Secretary in March 2004 until he resigned in July 2007. Defence Minister Sergei Ivanov, who is also close to Putin, became deputy prime minister in November 2005 and first deputy prime minister in February 2007, with Anatolii Serdiukov replacing him as defence minister. He was demoted to deputy prime minister under Prime Minister Putin in May 2008. 11. Allison, Light, and White, Putin’s Russia and the Enlarged Europe, pp. 41–2. On the ascendancy of the siloviki see Olga Kryshtanovskaia and Stephen White, ‘Putin’s Militocracy’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 19, no. 4, 2003, pp. 289–306; Pavel Baev, ‘The Evolution of Putin’s Regime: Inner Circles and Outer Walls’, Problems of PostCommunism, vol. 51, no. 6, 2004, pp. 3–13; Amy Knight, ‘The Enduring Legacy

164

12.

13.

14.

15.

16.

17. 18.

19.

20.

21. 22.

Notes of the KGB in Russian Politics’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 47, no. 4, 2000, pp. 3–15; and Bobo Lo, ‘The Securitisation of Russian Foreign Policy under Putin’, in Gabriel Gorodetsky (ed.) Russia between East and West (London: Frank Cass, 2003), pp. 12–27. On economic liberals see ‘Medvedev in St. Pete group’, Moscow Times, 12 December 2007. The PA’s influence stemmed from certain individuals rather than as an institutional body. ‘Russia: Towards a Presidential Foreign Policy’, September 2003, Oxford Analytica, http://www.riia.org/pdf/research/rep/PA_OA.pdf (accessed October 2004). Under Yeltsin, according to Prikhod’ko, the responsibility for formulating foreign policy rested with the foreign minister, who had unimpeded and regular access. Robert Donaldson and Joseph Nogee, The Foreign Policy of Russia (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 1998), p. 134. Under Putin, analysts noted that the PA ‘exerts the greatest influence on foreign policy’ relative to other actors. Gregory Feifer, ‘Putin’s Foreign Policy a Private Affair’, Moscow Times, 2 April 2002. Author’s interviews with academics and senior MID officials, Moscow, October– November 2005; and Trenin and Lo, The Landscape of Russian Foreign Policy Decision-Making, p. 10. Gordon Bennett, ‘The SVR: Russia’s Intelligence Service’, CSRC Occasional Paper, C103, March 2000, pp. 5–8. On SVR’s influence in the early 1990s see J. Michael Waller, ‘Who is Making Foreign Policy?’, Perspective, vol. 5, no. 3, 1995. There is some operational rivalry between the SVR and GRU, the latter under the MO. Carolina Vendil Pallin, ‘The Russian Power Ministries: Tool and Insurance of Power’, Journal of Slavic Military Studies, vol.20, no.1, 2007, p. 15. Victor Yasmann, ‘Whither Russian Foreign Intelligence?’, Asia Times, 6 June 2000; Donaldson and Nogee, The Foreign Policy of Russia, p. 148. For example, the SVR and MO posed as policy challengers to MID on the issue of NATO’s eastward expansion. Author’s interviews with policy analysts and MID officials, November 2005. Both Primakov and Trubnikov were orientalists, specialising in the Middle East and South Asia respectively. Tobias Dougherty, Russian Arms Transfers in the Post-Cold War Era, D. Phil thesis, (Oxford: University of Oxford, 2005), pp. 162–5, 170–2. Rosvooruzhenie was headed by former SVR officers in the late 1990s. The SVR and FSB also have good relations with the TEK. For instance, the FSB has a department charged with supporting the activities of Gazprom. Tor Bukkvoll, ‘Arming the Ayatollahs’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 49, no. 6, 2002, p. 33. Bennett, ‘The SVR’, p. 19; Trenin and Lo, The Landscape of Russian Foreign Policy Decision-Making, p. 12; ‘Direktor SVR Rossii Sergei Lebedev (interview)’, Kaliningradskaia Pravda, 21 November 2005; http://svr.gov.ru/smi/2005/ kalpr20051121.htm (accessed March 2006); and Vendil Pallin, ‘The Russian Power Ministries’, p. 14. Trubnikov’s successor, Sergei Lebedev, was not an orientalist but is close to Putin, having served together in East Germany. Lebedev was replaced by former premier Mikhail Fradkov in October 2007. MID had a central role in the formulation of Russia’s China policy ‘by default’, given the relative lack of attention and expertise of Yeltsin and the PA on China. Jeanne Wilson, Strategic Partners: Russian-Chinese Relations in the Post-Soviet Era (Armonk, NY: M. E. Sharpe, 2004), p. 7 Author’s interview, Moscow, November 2005. Buszynski, Russian Foreign Policy after the Cold War, p. 17; and Ivan Tiouline, ‘Russia: The Ministry of Foreign Affairs’, in Brian Hocking, (ed.) Foreign Ministries: Change and Adaptation (London: Macmillan, 1999), pp. 170–87.

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23. Malcolm, ‘Foreign Policy Making’, p. 119. 24. Author’s interviews with senior MID officials, October–November 2005. 25. The First Asia Department retained responsibility for NEA, while the Second Asia Department became responsible for South and Southwest Asia. 26. Holders of this post include: Aleksandr Panov (1994–6); Grigorii Karasin (1996– 2000); Aleksandr Losiukov (2000–4); Aleksandr Alekseev (2004–7); and Aleksandr Losiukov (2007–8). 27. Konstantin Kosachev, ‘Vneshnepoliticheskaia vertikal’, Rossiia v global’noi politike, vol. 2, no. 3, 2004, pp. 26–8. 28. Roy Allison, ‘Military Factors in Foreign Policy’, in Malcolm, et al., Internal Factors, pp. 230–85. 29. Lo, ‘Evolution and Continuity of Russian Policy’, pp. 41–7; and Baev, ‘The Evolution of Putin’s Regime’. 30. The General Staff, Supreme Soviet, and SB were adamantly opposed to any transfer of territory to Japan, influencing Yeltsin’s decision to postpone his visit to Japan in September 1992. Harry Gelman, Russo-Japanese Relations and the Future of the USJapanese Alliance (Santa Monica: RAND, 1993), pp. 63–8; and Natasha Kuhrt, Russian Policy towards China and Japan (London: Routledge, 2007), pp. 70–6. 31. According to one MID official responsible for SCO affairs, this is an ongoing internal governmental debate regarding the SCO’s future. Author’s interview, November 2005. 32. Author’s interviews with policy analysts and MID officials, October–November 2005. Lo describes this environment as institutional actors acting autonomously in the sense of having no interference from other ‘equals’, but having circumscribed autonomy by the need to refer all major decisions and actions back to Putin. Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, p. 48. 33. Foreign Minister Lavrov’s November 2004 proposal to return two of the smaller disputed islands (Habomai and Shikotan) to Japan was seen as a ‘trial balloon’ that would not have been possible without Putin’s approval, though whether this was initiated by MID or Putin himself was unclear. 34. The prime ministerial post entails primary responsibility in economic affairs. Although delegated with the authority, as the president’s official deputy, to participate in meetings with East Asian states chiefly on economic matters, its impact on overall East Asia policy making is likely to be modest, with the exception of Primakov (1998–9) and Putin (1999). Trenin and Lo, The Landscape of Russian Foreign Policy Decision-Making, p. 11. 35. Anna Shkuropat, ‘Assessing Russia’s Entry into APEC’, APEC Study Centre Conference, Auckland, 31 May–2 June 1999, p. 6; and Sergei Goncharenko, Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskii Region (Moscow: IMEMO, 1999), pp. 46–52. 36. The VPK consisted of five main sectors: manufacturers of military electronics, land-based weapons systems, aerospace, shipbuilding, and nuclear weapons. Of these, the aerospace sector achieved the most success in East Asia. It also includes those defence plants based in the RFE like the Sukhoi plant in Komsomolskna-Amure and the state arms export monopolies Rosvooruzhenie and Rosoboroneksport (from merger of Rosvooruzhenie and Promeksport in 2000). Alexander Sergounin and Sergei Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers to East Asia in the 1990s, SIPRI Research Report no. 15, (New York: OUP, 1999), pp. 20–3. 37. For example, Rosvooruzhenie reportedly colluded with the PA to sell China Su-27SKs despite opposition from the General Staff in the early 1990s. ‘Indiia ili Kitai: Rossiiskaia Vneshnepoliticheskaia Igra v Azii’, Voprosy Bezopasnosti, no. 19, 11 March 1999.

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Notes

38. MTC here refers to conventional arms transfers, license and technology transfers, and military exchanges and joint exercises. It excludes transfers of and cooperation in areas of nuclear technology and biological or chemical weapons. 39. On the shifting nature of policymaking, see Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers, pp. 44–69; Ian Anthony, (ed.) Russia and the Arms Trade (New York: SIPRI, OUP, 1998), pp. 107–23; and Dougherty, Chapter 3. 40. http://www.kremlin.ru/eng/articles/goverment_strukt.shtml (accessed March 2005). See also Robert Orttung and Boris Demidov, ‘Russian Business, the Arms Trade, and Regional Security’ in Andreas Wenger, et al., (eds) Russian Business Power (Routledge: London, 2006), pp. 157–74. 41. The TEK encompasses commercial enterprises dealing with the extraction, production, processing, conversion, and specialised transportation of fuel and power resources. It is also represented in the RFE by the energy enterprises there. Viktor Kalashnikov, ‘The Russian Far East and Northeast Asia’, in Takashi Murakami and Shinichiro Tabata, (eds) Russian Regions: Economic Growth and Environment (Sapporo: Slavic Research Centre – hereafter SRC, 2000), fn. 10, p. 313. 42. Valerii Zaitsev, et al., The Northeast Asia Energy and Environmental Cooperation, Research Output vol. 13, no. 1, (Tokyo: NIRA, 2000), p. 21. 43. World Bank estimates, ‘Russia Country Analysis Brief’, US Energy Information Administration, http://www.eia.doe.gov/cabs/Russia/Full.html (accessed March 2008). 44. Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers, pp. 24–5; and Harada, pp. 33–4. 45. Bukkvoll, ‘Arming the Ayatollahs’, pp. 32–3, 39. 46. Putin defended a kandidat dissertation on this theme at the St. Petersburg Mining University in 1997. Harley Balzer, ‘The Putin Thesis and Russian Energy Policy’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 21, no. 3, 2005, pp. 210–25. 47. Goichi Komori and Sanae Kurita, ‘Change in the Vertical Integration in the Russian Oil Industry’, IEEJ, November 2004. http://eneken-ieej.or.jp/en/data/ pdf/269.pdf (accessed February 2005), p. 8. 48. Transneft exclusively holds and operates major oil pipelines in Russia. It transports 93 per cent of the oil produced. Its network incorporates around 50,000 km of long-distance pipelines with 386 oil refilling stations and 833 storage reservoirs. The Russian government owns all of Transneft’s voting shares. Gazprom is Russia’s state-controlled natural gas monopoly. Its share of the world’s and Russia’s gas production is around 20 and 85 per cent respectively, and operates the country’s natural gas pipeline network. In June 2005, the government bought 10.7 per cent of Gazprom’s stock, increasing the government’s share to a controlling stake of 51 per cent. In October 2005, Gazprom diversified by acquiring Sibneft, thereby controlling over one-third of Russia’s oil output. Rosneft is wholly owned by the state. Its reserves total over 40 billion barrels of proved, probable, and possible oil and gas reserves. www.transneft.ru, www.gazprom.com, www.rosneft.com (accessed March 2008). 49. From 1992–3 the legislature known then as the Supreme Soviet repeatedly challenged the president’s authority over policymaking, including foreign policy. This led to armed conflict and the Supreme Soviet’s dissolution in September–October 1993. 50. The State Duma has five committees dealing in international affairs (Committees for International Affairs, Defence, Security, CIS Affairs, and Geopolitics – the latter no longer exists). The Federation Council has three (Committees for International Affairs, Security and Defence, and CIS Affairs). Malcolm et al., pp. 128, 210. 51. Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, p. 40. For instance, Konstantin Kosachev and Mikhail Margelov, heads of the International Affairs

Notes

52.

53.

54.

55.

56. 57.

58.

59.

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Committee in the State Duma and Federation Council respectively, were ‘Putin’s men’, generally supporting the Kremlin’s position. For example, Igor Rogachev, former ambassador to China and later member of the Federation Council’s International Affairs Committee, was seen as having some influence and access to Putin on China policy, and retained close contacts with MID. Author’s interviews with analysts and MID officials, November 2005. The Movement was approved by Putin in February 2006 and is supported by various legislators, regional heads, and academics. See Mikhail Nikolaev, ‘Eastern Dimension’, International Affairs, vol.52, no.5, 2006, pp. 138–45; and his interview in ‘“Vostochnoe Izmerenie” Rossii i stran ASEAN’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 3, 2007, pp. 48–50. Russia joined since the Forum’s inception in 1993. The agenda for the Moscow session very much reflected Russian interests in the APR, including support for a multipolar world. See Sergei Mironov’s ‘Kliuchi integratsii’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 18 January 2008; and ‘Rasshirenie sotrudnichestva so stranami ATR – eto osoznannyi vybor Rossii’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no.8, 2007, pp. 2–4. One example is Vladimir Lukin who, during Soviet times, worked at the Institute of the USA and Canada. He was the Russian ambassador to the US in 1992, was one of the leaders of the liberal party Yabloko, and chairman of the International Affairs Committee in the State Duma (1993–9). He became State Duma Deputy Speaker and was appointed Human Rights Ombudsman in 2004. Margot Light, ‘Foreign Policy Thinking’, in Malcolm et al., Internal Factors, pp. 41–2. During Soviet times, institutes concerned with foreign affairs under the USSR Academy of Sciences were often given the task to prepare background briefs; offer expert assessments on documents drafted by MID and other ministries; and were invited by these departments as experts or consultants to work abroad. During the early post-Soviet period, ties between scientific institutes and MID ‘fell into decay’ and the research community’s role in foreign policy became virtually non-existent. Nodari Simonia, ‘Priorities of Russia’s Foreign Policy and the Way it Works’, in Adeed and Karen Dawisha, (eds) The Making of Foreign Policy in Russia (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1995), pp. 26, 34–5; and Anastasiia Kornia, ‘The Sweet-Sounding Word “Advisor”’, Vremia MN, 7 December 2001, Johnson’s Russia List no.5595, 13 December 2001. On Soviet institutes see Oded Eran, The Mezhdunarodniki (Israel: Turtledove Publishing, 1979); and Checkel, Ideas and International Political Change. Lo argues that these ‘traditional’ institutions are now ‘irrelevant’ to policymaking, while some individuals in newly founded Western style think tanks have marginal influence as sources of predominantly Westernising advice. Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, p. 41. It nonetheless seems that these ‘traditional’ institutes do have some role in East Asia policy as they are sometimes asked by MID to analyse a particular policy issue and prepare reports for the legislature. Moreover, MID can sometimes test ideas and policies unofficially through them and bring them in consultation, for instance, in preparing the Survey of Russian Foreign Policy in March 2007. Author’s interviews with analysts at these institutes and Russian diplomats, Moscow, Tokyo, Bangkok, 2005. See also Katri Pynnoniemi, ‘Russian Foreign Policy Think Tanks in 2002’, UPI Working Papers, no. 38, 2003, p. 6; Werner Pascha and Frank Robaschik, ‘East Asian Studies in Russia’, ASIEN, vol. 88, no. S, pp. 51–62; and Titarenko, ‘ATR v Zerkale Rossiiskoi Nauki’. This was noted in most of the author’s interviews with Russian East Asia specialists, Japanese Russia-watchers, and senior MID officials, Moscow, Sapporo, 2005. Titarenko has close ties with the ‘conservative’ elements of the political elite, including the KPRF and some RFE governors, but not in the Kremlin directly.

168

60. 61. 62. 63. 64. 65.

66. 67. 68.

69.

70.

71.

Notes He is also a member of the Scientific Council for the SB and MID, adviser to the Federation Council, and Chair of the Russia-China Friendship Society. It seems that any influence he has, like the IDVRAN as a whole, mainly stems from professional expertise. Author’s interview, November 2005. At that time, there was no presidential adviser on Asia-Pacific affairs. Author’s interviews with policy analysts and MID officials, October–November 2005. Jeffrey Checkel, ‘Structure, Institutions, and Process’ in Dawisha and Dawisha, (eds), The Making of Foreign Policy, p. 49. Feifer ‘Putin’s foreign policy a private affair’. Pynnoniemi, p. 5. Vera Tolz and Irina Busygina, ‘Regional Governors and the Kremlin: The Ongoing Battle for Power’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 30, no. 4, 1997, pp. 401–26; Peter Kirkow, ‘Regional Warlordism in Russia’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 47, no. 6, 1995, pp. 923–48; Elizabeth Wishnick’s Mending Fences: The Evolution of Moscow’s China Policy (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001), and ‘One Asia Policy or Two? Moscow and the RFE Debate Russia’s Engagement in Asia’, NBR Analysis, vol. 13, no. 1, 2002, pp. 39–101. Brad Williams, ‘Federal-Regional Relations in Russia and the Northern Territories Dispute’, The Pacific Review, vol. 19, no. 3, 2006, pp. 263–85. Richard Wade, ‘The Russian Far East: Ten Years since the Vladivostok Speech (1986– 96)’, 1996, www.cerc.unimelb.edu.au/bulletin/bulsep.htm (accessed July 2004). RFE leaders called for a renunciation of the 1991 border demarcation treaty. In November 1997 a compromise was reached but two islands in the Ussuri river (Bolshoi Ussuriskii and Tarabarov) and one in the Argun (Bolshoi Ostrov) remained unresolved. In October 2004, Moscow and Beijing signed a supplementary agreement and a protocol was signed during Foreign Minister Lavrov’s visit to Beijing in July 2008 which finalised the demarcation of the Sino-Russian border. For a comprehensive study see Akihiro Iwashita, A 4,000 Kilometre Journey along the Sino-Russian Border (Sapporo: SRC, 2004). Putin issued a decree in 2000 to establish seven new Federal Districts (okrugs), each with a Presidential Representative. Nazdratenko was appointed ‘upwards’ as head of the State Committee on Fishing in February 2001. He became deputy chairman of the SB in May 2003. Author’s interview with analyst, Vladivostok, November 2004. Pulikovskii was replaced by Kamil’ Iskhakov in November 2005, who was replaced by Oleg Safonov in October 2007. Kryshtanovskaia and White, ‘Putin’s Militocracy’, p. 301; and O. Barabanov, ‘Polpredy Prezidenta i Mezhdunarodnye Sviazi’, in O. Kolobov, (ed.) Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniia v XXI veke (Moscow: MGIMO, 2001), pp. 20–3. Pulikovskii himself described his position’s main task as the realisation of control and of coordinating the actions of state authority in the regions. Konstantin Pulikovskii, Vostochnyi Ekspress: po Rossii c Kim Chen Irom (Moscow: Gorodets, 2002), p. 16.

3 Continuities and Evolution in Russian Perceptions of East Asia 1. Although Siberia was discovered in the late sixteenth century and the Pacific was reached in the eighteenth century, these were achieved by individual explorers.

Notes

2.

3.

4. 5. 6.

7. 8. 9.

10.

11.

12. 13. 14.

15. 16.

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The Russian government did not express significant interest towards its Eastern territories and East Asia until the second half of the nineteenth century. Stephen Kotkin, ‘Introduction’, in Stephen Kotkin and David Wolff, (eds) Rediscovering Russia in Asia (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1995), p. 3. See also R. Quested, The Expansion of Russia in East Asia 1857–60 (Kuala Lumpur: University of Malaya, 1968); G. Patrick March, Eastern Destiny (Westport: Praeger, 1996); and John Stephan, The Russian Far East (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1994). The major founders of ‘Eurasianism’ were ethnographer Nikolai Trubetskoi and geographer Petr Savitskii. Mark Bassin, ‘Russia between Europe and Asia’, Slavic Review, vol. 50, no. 1, 1991, pp. 9–17; and Iver Neumann, Russia and the Idea of Europe, pp. 111–16. See also Dmitrii Shlapentokh, ‘Eurasianism: Past and Present’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 30, no. 2, 1997, pp. 129–51. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, pp. 42–60. Ukhtomskii developed earlier thinking by Count Sergei Uvarov, Minister of Education under Nicholas I, who advocated Oriental studies and Russia’s civilising role in the Far East. Ukhtomskii’s views was part of the ‘Yellow Russia’ movement (Zheltorossiia) – itself a variant of the Asianists (vostochniki). Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 27–32; and Milan Hauner, What is Asia to Us? (Boston: Unwin Hyman, 1990), pp. 56–60. See also Prince Esper Ukhtomskii, Czarevitch Nicholas of Russia in Siam and Saigon (Bangkok: White Lotus Press, 1999). Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, p. 43. Rosamund Bartlett, ‘The Russo-Japanese War in Russian Cultural Consciousness’, conference paper, Birkbeck College, London, 27 March 2004 (author attended). See Yulia Mikhailova’s, ‘Japan’s Place in Russian and Soviet National Identity’, Japanese Slavic and East European Studies, vol. 23, 2002, pp. 3–5, and ‘Images of Enemy and Self: Russian “Popular Prints” of the Russo-Japanese War’, Acta Slavica Iaponica, vol. 16, 1998, pp. 30–53. On the war see Richard Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear (London: Cassell, 2003). Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, p. 4; and Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, p. 24. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 33–8; Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, pp. 49–52. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 57–61; Steven Marks, ‘Conquering the Great East’, in Kotkin and Wolff, (eds), Rediscovering Russia in Asia, pp. 26–7; and Stephan, The Russian Far East, pp. 79–80. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, pp. 90–102; Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 53–6; and Alex Marshall, The Russian General Staff and Asia, 1800–1917 (London: Routledge, 2006), pp. 95–107. Marlène Laruelle, ‘The Orient in Russian Thought at the Turn of the Century’ in Dmitry Shlapentokh (ed.) Russia between East and West: Scholarly Debates on Eurasianism (Leiden: Brill, 2007), p. 26. Andrei Amal’rik, Will the Soviet Union Survive until 1984? (Middlesex: Penguin Books, 1980). Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 139. Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, p. 59; and Marlène Laruelle, ‘“The White Tsar”: Romantic Imperialism in Russia’s Legitimizing of Conquering the Far East’, Acta Slavica Iaponica, vol. 25, 2008, pp. 113–34. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, p. 59. Asianists were also attracted to the autocratic system of government in East Asian states, a characteristic which Imperial Russia shared. Ibid., p. 58. See also Karl

170

17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28.

29. 30.

31. 32.

33. 34. 35.

36. 37. 38. 39.

40. 41.

Notes Wittfogel, ‘Russia and the East’, Slavic Review, vol. 22, no. 4, December 1963, pp. 627–43. One could draw parallels with post-Soviet communists who perceived China’s political and economic systems as an ideal model for Russia. Russia’s conquests in the Caucasus, Central Asia, and parts of the RFE were achieved after the Crimean War. Cited from Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, p. 44. Cited from E. Sarkisyanz, ‘Russian Attitudes Toward Asia’, Russian Review, vol. 13, no. 4, 1954, p. 248. Mark Bassin, ‘Inventing Siberia’, The American Historical Review, vol. 96, no. 3, June 1991, pp. 763–94. Sarkisyanz, ‘Russian Attitudes Toward Asia’, p. 247. Bassin, ‘Russia between Europe and Asia’, p. 14. David Kerr, ‘The New Eurasianism: The Rise of Geopolitics in Russia’s Foreign Policy’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 47, no. 6, 1995, p. 980. Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, p. 71. Bassin, ‘Russia between Europe and Asia’, fn. 69, p. 15. Cited in Suk, Geostrategiia Rossii, pp. 89–90. See also Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 75–7. Sarkisyanz, ‘Russian Attitudes Toward Asia’, p. 253. Asahi shimbun, 28 April 1941, cited in John Stephan, ‘Asia in the Soviet Conception’, in Donald S. Zagoria (ed.) Soviet Policy in East Asia (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1982), p. 36. Cited in Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, pp. 10–11. Even during the Cold War when the Soviet Union shared a common ideology with some East Asian communist states, most of these regimes and indigenous communist movements tended to follow the Chinese model than the Soviet’s. In Vietnam’s case, geopolitical considerations were more important than ideology in its relations with both the Soviet Union and China. Gerald Segal, The Soviet Union and the Pacific (London: RIIA, Unwin Hyman, 1990), pp. 31–71. Kotkin, ‘Introduction’, p. 6. Early proponents of Eurasianism included then State Counsellor Sergei Stankevich and academics at former Soviet Asian studies institutes like IDVRAN and IVRAN. Oles Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, in Blank and Rubinstein (eds) Imperial Decline, pp. 7–11. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, p. 18. On differences in post-Soviet Eurasianism see Andrei Tsygankov, ‘Mastering Space in Eurasia’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 36, 2003, pp. 101–27. See Kozyrev’s comments in Kamchatka, Komsomol’skaia Pravda, 21 July 1992, FBIS-SOV-92/141 (Foreign Broadcast Information Service); and Andrei Krivtsov, ‘Russia and the Far East’, International Affairs (Moscow), hereafter International Affairs, January 1993, p. 77. Kerr, ‘The New Eurasianism’, pp. 981–4; and Aleksei Bogaturov, ‘The Eurasian Support of World Stability’, International Affairs, February 1993, p. 41. ‘Derzhava v poiskakh sebia’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 28 March 1992. Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, pp. 11–12. Vladimir Fedotov, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, International Affairs, no. 10, 1992, pp. 50–1; ‘Russian vice president speaks about new foreign policy’, Xinhua, 2 March 1993. Cited from Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, p. 18. Aleksandr Panov, ‘Zasedanie Soveta po vneshnei politike pri MID RF’, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 23–24, December, 1994, pp. 32–5.

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42. Cited from Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, pp. 26–7. 43. Moskovskie Novosti, no. 67, 1–8 October 1995, FBIS-SOV-95/217. 44. Igor Podberezsky, ‘Between Europe and Asia: the Search for Russia’s Civilisational Identity’, in Gennady Chufrin (ed.) Russia and Asia (New York: SIPRI, OUP, 1999), p. 46. 45. Kuhrt, Russian Policy towards China and Japan, p. 1. Since Japan was considered by the Russian foreign policy community as part of the West and not of Asia, the anti-Western elements of the Eurasianists were particularly hostile to it. Robert Miller, ‘Russian Policy Toward Japan’, in Peter Shearman, (ed.) Russian Foreign Policy Since 1990 (Boulder: Westview Press, 1995), p. 141. However, this distinction between Japan and China for the Russian elite became less marked in the late 1990s as the Westernisers’ influence dwindled. 46. For instance, see Karen Brutents, ‘Russia and the East’, International Affairs, no. 1–2, 1994, pp. 40–2. 47. Mark Bassin, ‘Expansion and Colonialism on the Eastern frontier’, Journal of Historical Geography, vol. 14, no. 1, 1988, pp. 7–10. 48. Sarah Paine, Imperial Rivals: China, Russia, and their Disputed Frontier, 1858–1924 (Armonk, NY: M.E. Sharpe, 1996), pp. 49–97; R. Quested, Sino-Russian Relations (Sydney: George Allen & Unwin, 1984), pp. 71–7; and Alexei Voskressenski, The Difficult Border (New York: Nova Science, 1996), pp. 48, 77–80. 49. See Steven Marks, The Road to Power (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1991). 50. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, pp. 71–5. 51. Cited in ibid., p. 74. 52. Ibid., pp. 74–5. 53. Ibid., p. 80. 54. Robert Horn, ‘Soviet Policy in Southeast Asia in the Gorbachev Era’ in Pushpa Thambipillai and Daniel Matuszewski, (eds) The Soviet Union and the APR (London: Praeger Westport, 1989), pp. 60–6. 55. Iurii Kirshin, ‘Conventional Arms Transfers during the Soviet Period’ in Anthony, (ed.) Russia and the Arms Trade, pp. 39–40. 56. Ibid., pp. 63–4. 57. After the conclusion of a Japanese-Soviet trade agreement in December 1957. By 1978, Japan became the Soviet Union’s largest trading partner in Asia accounting for more than half its total trade with the region, though this constituted only 3.3 per cent of total Soviet trade. Kazuyuki Kinbara, ‘The Economic Dimension of Soviet Policy’ in Gerald Segal, (ed.) The Soviet Union in East Asia (London: RIIA, Heinemann & Westview Press, 1983), p. 103. 58. Ed Hewett and Herbert Levine, ‘The Soviet Union’s Economic Relations in Asia’, in Zagoria, (ed.) Soviet Policy in East Asia, pp. 202–10. 59. Mikhail Gorbachev, Perestroika (London: Collins, 1987), pp. 180–3. See also Seweryn Bialer, ‘“New Thinking” and Soviet Foreign Policy’, Survival, vol. 30, no. 4, 1988, pp. 291–309. 60. Segal, The Soviet Union in East Asia, p. 184. 61. Charles Ziegler, Foreign Policy and East Asia (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), p. 28. 62. At least until 1989, when the Tiananmen massacre briefly stalled Chinese reforms. Alexander Lukin, ‘The Initial Soviet Reactions to the Events in China in 1989’, China Quarterly, no. 125, 1991, pp. 119–36. 63. Cited from Ziegler, Foreign Policy and East Asia, p. 86. 64. Lawrence Woods, ‘Delicate Diplomatic Debuts: Chinese and Soviet Participation in the Pacific Economic Cooperation Conference’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 63, no. 2, 1990, p. 218.

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Notes

65. Vladimir Kulagin, ‘The Eastern Sector of Russia’s Foreign Policy’, International Affairs, no. 7, 1995, p. 34; and Fedotov, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, p. 52. 66. Valerii Denisov, ‘Russia in the APR’, International Affairs, no. 4–5, 1995, pp. 69–70. 67. Kulagin, ‘The Eastern Sector of Russia’s Foreign Policy’, pp. 36–9. 68. For instance, in January 1992, licenses from the Ministry of Foreign Economic Relations were required for the regions to export ‘strategic commodities’, including natural resources. Mark Valencia, ‘Playing Roulette with Russia’s Far East’, in Derek da Cunha, (ed.) The Evolving Pacific Power Structure (Singapore: ISEAS, 1996), p. 213. 69. Tsuneo Akaha, Pavel A. Minakir, and Kunio Okada, ‘Economic Challenge in the RFE’, in Tsuneo Akaha, (ed.) Politics and Economics in the Russian Far East (London: Routledge, 1997), pp. 64–7; and Rozman, Northeast Asia’s Stunted Regionalism, pp. 107–11. See also Anatoli Adamishin, ‘The Russian Federation, its Constituent Parts, and International Relations’ and Nikolai Solov’ev, ‘Siberia and the APR’, International Affairs, no. 4, 1993, p. 25 and pp. 28–9 respectively. 70. Harada, Russia and Northeast Asia, pp. 28–9. 71. Valentin Moiseev, ‘Russia and Korean Peninsula’, International Affairs, vol. 42, no. 1, 1996, p. 108. 72. Tsuneaki Sato, ‘Economic Relations between Russia and the Asia-Pacific countries’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia-Pacific Security, p. 106. Moreover, up to 80 per cent of Russia’s trade turnover with China in the early 1990s was accounted for by border trade. Jennifer Anderson, The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership, Adelphi Paper no. 315, (Oxford: IISS, Oxford University Press, 1997), p. 32. 73. Sato, ‘Economic Relations Relations between Russia and the Asia-Pacific countries’, pp. 106–7. 74. China was Russia’s main customer in East Asia. Russian arms transfers to China from 1992 to 1996 had a total value of around US$ 4.5 billion. Mitsuo Mii, ‘Russian-Chinese Relations and Arms Exports’ in Chufrin (ed.) Russia and AsiaPacific Security, p. 126. Although Russian arms sales to China continued to rise during the Putin presidency, the Chinese market became saturated towards the end of his second term (see Chapter 5). 75. Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers, pp. 15–6. 76. All cited from ibid., pp. 16–18. 77. The government was then obliged to accept the deal for fear of upsetting China. Stephen Blank, ‘The Dynamics of Russian Weapon Sales to China’, Strategic Studies Institute, 1997, www.fas.org/nuke/guide/china/doctrine/ruswep.pdf (accessed March 2002), p. 5. 78. Pavel Felgengauer, ‘An Uneasy Partnership’ in Andrew Pierre and Dmitrii Trenin, (eds) Russia in the World Arms Trade (Washington DC: Carnegie Endowment for Peace, 1997), pp. 98–9. 79. Cited from Bates Gill and Taeho Kim, China’s Arms Acquisitions from Abroad (New York: Oxford University Press, 1995), p. 48. 80. Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers, p. 23. 81. Dougherty, Russian Arms Transfers, pp. 188–220. 82. Blank, ‘Why Russian Policy is failing in Asia’, p. 15. 83. MID and MO played more of a ‘limiting role’ due to their ‘operational interests’ regarding the political and security implications of arms sales. However, they did support sales when no such negative implications were perceived. Dougherty,

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Russian Arms Transfers, pp. 161–8; and Pavel Felgengauer, ‘Russia’s Arms Sales Lobbies’, Perspective, vol. 5, no. 1, 1994. 84. Denisov, ‘Russia in the APR’, p. 76. 85. See Suisheng Zhao, Power Competition in East Asia (London: Macmillan Press, 1997). 86. Odd Arne Westad, (ed.) Brothers in Arms (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1998). 87. Douglas Stuart and William Tow, A US Strategy for the Asia-Pacific, Adelphi Paper no. 299, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, IISS, 1995), p. 4; and Robert Ross, (ed.) China, the US and the Soviet Union (New York: M. E. Sharpe, 1993). 88. Robert Legvold, ‘Russia and the Strategic Quadrangle’ in Michael Mandelbaum, (ed.) The Strategic Quadrangle (New York: Council on Foreign Relations Press, 1995), pp. 16–62. 89. Margot Light, The Soviet Theory of International Relations (Brighton: Wheatsheaf, 1988), pp. 280–4. 90. Malcolm Mackintosh, ‘Soviet Attitudes towards East Asia’, in Segal (ed.) The Soviet Union in East Asia, p. 14. 91. Segal, The Soviet Union, pp. 183–4. 92. Inis Claude, ‘The Balance of Power Revisited’, Review of International Studies, vol. 15, 1989, p. 77. 93. Hans Morgenthau, Politics among Nations (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1955), p. 173. 94. Some Western analysts have argued that East Asia is multipolar. Aaron Friedberg’s, ‘Ripe for Rivalry’, International Security, vol. 18, no. 3, 1993–4, pp. 5–33; ‘Will Europe’s Past be Asia’s Future?’, Survival, vol. 42, no. 3, 2000, pp. 147–59; and Kenneth Waltz, ‘Structural Realism after the Cold War’, International Security, vol. 25, no. 1, 2000, p. 32. Others have argued that it is bipolar – the US and China. Robert Ross, ‘The Geography of the Peace’, International Security, vol. 23, no. 4, 1999, pp. 81–118. Asian analysts, on the other hand, tend to see East Asia as multipolar. Tan See Seng, ‘Great Power Politics in East Asia’, IDSS Singapore, Working Paper no. 27, July 2002; and Kishore Mahbubani, ‘The Pacific Way’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 74, no. 1, 1995, pp. 100–11. For Russian views see Chapter 6. 95. Hedley Bull, The Anarchical Society (London: Macmillan, 1995), p. 98. 96. Carl von Clausewitz, On War (Hertfordshire: Wordsworth Classics, 1997), p. 22. 97. See Connaughton, Rising Sun and Tumbling Bear; Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun; and Tsuyoshi Hasegawa, Racing the Enemy (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2005). 98. On how the war affected the great powers’ perceptions of the NEA balance of power see Sarah Paine, The Sino-Japanese War of 1894–1895 (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2005). 99. Schimmelpenninck van der Oye, Toward the Rising Sun, pp. 125–8. 100. Segal, The Soviet Union and the Pacific, p. 23. The complexity of the interwar regional balance of power is illustrated by Felix Patrikeeff, Russian Politics in Exile (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2002); and Jonathan Haslam, The Soviet Union and the Threat from the East, 1933–41 (London: Macmillan Press, 1992). 101. David Youtz and Paul Midford, A Northeast Asia Security Regime, Institute for East-West Studies, Public Policy Paper no. 5, (New York: Westview Press, 1992); and Stephen Blank, ‘Soviet Perspectives on Asian Security’, Asian Survey, vol. 31, no. 7, 1991, pp. 646–61.

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102. Sergei Solodovnik, ‘Stability in Asia: A Priority for Russia’, International Affairs, no. 2, 1992, pp. 67–8. 103. Cited in Kuhrt, Russian Policy towards China and Japan, p. 101. This was recognised since late Soviet times but took greater time to filter down through the Armed Forces. See Glaubitz, Between Tokyo and Moscow (Honolulu: University of Hawaii Press, 1995), pp. 179–81; and William Odom, The Collapse of the Soviet Military (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2000), p. 155. For an overview of the alliance see Viacheslav Bunin, Iapono-Amerikanskii Soiuz Bezopasnosti (Moscow: IDV, 2000). 104. See Sergei Blagovolin’s remarks at a 1994 MID foreign policy council session, cited in Peggy Meyer, ‘From Cold War to Cold Peace?’, in Stephen Blank, (ed.) Russian Security Policy in the APR: Two Views, Strategic Studies Institute, 1996, p. 9. 105. Valerii Kistanov, ‘The Japanese-US Alliance and Russia’, International Affairs, no. 9, 1992, pp. 18–19; and Fedotov, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’, pp. 58–9. 106. ‘A Transformed Russia in a New World’, International Affairs, no. 4–5, 1992, p. 92. 107. Suk, Geostrategiia Rossii i Severo-Vostochnaia Aziia, p. 152. 108. One Japanologist, Igor Latyshev, charged the Kozyrev-Kunadze group as a ‘fifth column of agents of Japanese influence’. Cited from Kuhrt, Russian Policy towards China and Japan, p. 87. 109. Roger Kanet and Susanne Birgerson, ‘The Domestic-Foreign Policy Linkage in Russian Politics’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 30, no. 4, 1997, p. 341. 110. ‘A Transformed Russia in a New World’, p. 95; and Kozyrev, ‘Rossiia i SShA: Partnerstvo ne prezhdevremenno, a zapasdyvaet’, Izvestiia, 11 March 1994. 111. Andrei Kozyrev, ‘A Strategy for Partnership’, International Affairs, no. 8, 1994, p. 7. 112. Cited from Tsuneo Akaha, ‘Russia in Asia in 1994’, Asian Survey, vol. 35, no. 1, 1995, p. 100. 113. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, p. 108. 114. For early discussions on ASEAN as a ‘pole’ see Simpozium ‘Rossiia i ASEAN’, Proekt: Sud’by Rossii i Budushchee ATR, (Moscow: Gorbachev-Fond, 1995). 115. Gennadii Chufrin, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’ in Mohiaddin Mesbahi, (ed.) Russia and the Third World in the Post-Soviet Era (Gainesville: University Press of Florida, 1994), pp. 260–1; and Nikolai Maletin, SSSR/RF-ASEAN (1967–2002) (Moscow: MGIMO, 2003), p. 22. 116. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, p. 109. 117. Ibid., pp. 111–14. 118. Kozyrev, ‘A Strategy for Partnership’, p. 6. 119. ‘A Transformed Russia in a New World’, p. 96.

4 The Many Faces of Eurasianism 1. ‘Rossiia: novye vostochnye perspektivy’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 14 November 2000. 2. As James Billington argues, ‘for most Russians, (post-Soviet) Eurasianism did not express any growing fondness for – let alone understanding of – Asia. It represented rather a form of protest against their perceived humiliation by something they still vaguely called the “West”’, Russia in Search of Itself (Washington DC: John Hopkins University Press, 2004), p. 73.

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3. In Russian, the different nuances of the meaning of Eurasianism can be reflected in the word itself. Official language tends to use the term ‘Evroaziatskaia’ to describe Russia, while ‘Evraziiskaia’ is employed by other actors discussed here. In English, the former can be translated as ‘Euro-Asian’, but this is not as widely used as ‘Eurasian’, which will be employed here. Arguably, the ‘Pragmatic Eurasianist’ interpretation reflects the nuanced meaning of ‘Evroaziatskaia’ that is used officially. The author is indebted to Aleksei Bogaturov and Vasilii Mikheev for making this point. Interviews, Moscow, October–November 2005. 4. Titarenko’s views on Eurasianism did not necessarily reflect that of all IDVRAN members’. Many East Asia experts generally regarded Russia as a Eurasian country not just geographically but also culturally and historically, though their emphasis may differ somewhat. Author’s interviews, Moscow, October– November 2005. 5. Geoeconomics is defined as ‘the ascendancy of trade, investment, and finance as factors in shaping the calculus of national strategy and regional and global priorities’. Robert Manning, ‘The RFE and NEA Security Cooperation and Regional Integration’, in Tsuneo Akaha (ed.) Politics and Economics in the Russian Far East (London: Routledge, 1997), p. 208. 6. As Margot Light notes, Eurasianism in official parlance is used to define Russia’s geopolitical location rather than to define any unique Russian role, ‘Russian Foreign Policy Thinking’ (26 April 2004), Russian and Eurasian Studies Centre Seminar Series, St. Antony’s College, University of Oxford (author attended). 7. Evgenii Primakov, Russian Crossroads (London: Yale University Press, 2004), p. 37. 8. ‘Primakov wants “great” Russia but calms West’, Reuters, 12 January 1996. 9. ‘Kontseptsiia natsionalnoi bezopasnosti rossiiskoi federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 2, February 1998, p. 4. 10. Vsevolod Ovchinnikov, ‘Primakov tour of “strategic importance”’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 23 November 1996, FBIS-SOV 96/230; and Vasilii Safronchuk, ‘China visit “most successful” for Primakov’, Sovetskaia Rossiia, 21 November 1996, FBIS-SOV 96/228. 11. ‘Primakov: Foreign policy now turned towards the East’, ITAR-TASS, 8 January 1997. 12. ITAR-TASS, 21 November 1996, FBIS-SOV 96/227. Primakov himself reiterated that the diversification of Russia’s international ties, notably with China and India, must not damage its relations with the US, Russian Crossroads, p. 37 13. Vasilii Saplin, ‘Russia and Japan Meet at Kawana’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 4, 1998, p. 16. 14. Author’s meeting, November 2007. 15. ‘Two-headed eagle’s gaze to the West and the East’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 19 December 1996, (emphasis added). 16. ‘At the Eastern Gate: Interview with Grigorii Karasin’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 5, 1998, p. 31. 17. ‘Primakov denies absence of “Eastern Policy”’, Interfax, 26 May 1997. 18. ‘Russia’s Asia-Pacific policy viewed’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 9 December 1997, FBIS-SOV97-343. 19. ‘Article of Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov on the ARF’, 28 July 2005, Information and Press Department of Russia’s Foreign Ministry which can be accessed at http://www.mid.ru (hereafter IPD-MID). See also Lavrov’s ‘The Rise of Asia, and the Eastern Vector of Russia’s Foreign Policy’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 4, no. 3, 2006, pp. 69–70. 20. Andrei Grachev, ‘A New Dawn is blazing in the East’, Moskovskie Novosti, 7 August 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-219.

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21. ITAR-TASS, 8 May 1999, FBIS-SOV-1999-0508. 22. ITAR-TASS, 21 April 1999, FBIS-SOV-1999-0421; and Greg Austin and Alexey Muraviev, The Armed Forces of Russia in Asia (London: I. B. Tauris, 2000), p. 72. On the influence of the TsSVI GSh see S. J. Main, ‘The “Brain” of the Russian Army’, CSRC Occasional Paper, no. C101, 2000, pp. 1–14. 23. This view was also held by some analysts. For instance, Marina Trigubenko, Vostochnoaziatskii Vektor Vneshnei Politiki Rossii v kontse 90-x godov (Moscow: AOZT ‘Epikon’, 2000). 24. Dmitrii Trenin, The End of Eurasia (Moscow: CMC, 2001), p. 284. 25. Author’s interviews, Moscow, November 2005. 26. Alex Pravda, ‘Putin’s Foreign Policy after 11 September’, in Gorodetsky, (ed.) Russia between East and West, pp. 47–8. 27. ‘Kontseptsiia vneshnei politiki rossiiskoi federatsii’, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 8, August 2000, p. 5. 28. Cited from ‘Interview of Russian Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksandr Losiukov’, Diplomat, no. 4, April 2001, IPD-MID. 29. Igor Ivanov, The New Russian Diplomacy (Washington DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2002), pp. 119–20. 30. Igor Ivanov, ‘Russia in Asia and Asia in Russia’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 1, January 2004, IPD-MID. 31. Mikhail Margelov, ‘Russia as a Bridge between West and East’, International Affairs, vol. 53, no. 1, 2007, p. 19. 32. A World Challenged: Fighting Terrorism in the 21st Century (Washington DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2004), p. 131. 33. ‘Remarks by H. E. Evgenii Ostrovenko, at the Sasin Alumni Association’, Bangkok, 6 July 2003, http://www.sasin.chula.ac.th/alumni/news/article/135, (accessed January 2004); and Aleksei Podtserob, ‘Konflikt dvukh tsivilizatsi ili ikh vzaimodeistvie?’, Mezhdunarodnaia Zhizn’, vol. 44, no. 3, 1998, p. 74. However, not all East Asian experts in MID necessarily agreed with this. While they accepted Russia’s Eurasian identity geographically, some considered Russia’s civilisation closer to European than Asian, but simultaneously a unique civilisation in itself. One disliked the idea of Russia being a bridge since this implied being trampled on. Author’s interviews, October–November 2005. 34. Lavrov, ‘The Rise of Asia, and the Eastern Vector of Russia’s Foreign Policy’ p. 71. 35. Cited in Stephen White, Alex Pravda, & Zvi Gitelman, (eds) Developments in Russian Politics 5 (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2001), p. 284. 36. ‘Text of the TV interview given by President Putin to Renmin ribao newspaper and Xinhua news agency and Russia’s RTR television’, Moscow, 12 July 2000, IPD-MID. 37. ‘Russia must prepare new “Eastern” policy’, Pravda (online), 21 October 2003. 38. E. Fomicheva, ‘Tailand v 2003 gody: nekotorye aspekty vnutrennei i vneshnei politiki’, in Nikolai Maletin, (ed.) Iugo-vostochnaia Aziia v 2003 g. (Moscow: IVRAN, 2004), pp. 211–12. 39. Vsevolod Ovchinnikov, ‘Uspeem li my na dal’nevostochnyi ekspress?’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 13 January 1998. See also Nikolai Maletin, SSSR/RF-ASEAN, p. 26. 40. Author’s interviews, Tokyo and Bangkok, March–April 2005. 41. For instance, Smolansky, ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region’ in Blank and Rubinstein, (eds) Imperial Decline; Billington, Russia in Search of Itself; and Charles Clover, ‘Dreams of the Eurasian Heartland’, Foreign Affairs, vol. 78, no. 2, 1999, pp. 9–13.

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42. Igor Podberezsky, ‘Between Europe and Asia: The Search for Russia’s Civilisational Identity’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia, p. 41. 43. Lacha Tchantouridze, Awakening of Spirits, PhD thesis (Ontario: Queen’s University Kingston, 2001), pp. 156–7, 166–7. See also Mark Smith, ‘Russian Nationalist Movements and Geopolitical Thinking’, CSRC Occasional Paper, no. 05/40, September 2005. 44. Billington, Russia in Search of Itself, pp. 71–2. 45. Tchantouridze, Awakening of Spirits, pp. 145–7. See also Eduard Solovyev, Geopolitics in Russia – Science or Vocation?, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 37, 2004, pp. 85–96 and A. Gregor, ‘Fascism and the New Russian Nationalism’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 31, no. 1, 1998, pp. 1–15. 46. Gennadii Ziuganov, Geografiia pobedy (Moscow: 1997), pp. 168–71. 47. Alfred T. Mahan (1840–1914) was an American admiral who understood Russia’s geostrategic dilemma of being a Eurasian state threatened with the difficulty of waging war simultaneously at both extremities of her territory. Halford J. Mackinder (1861–1947) was a British geographer who first developed the dichotomy between sea and land power, claiming against prevalent opinion that land power was superior in the long run to sea power. Hauner, What is Asia to Us?, pp. 135–9. 48. He was deputy chairman of the State Duma Committee on Foreign Affairs (1993–5) and the Geopolitics Committee (1995–9). 49. Cited from Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 225–7. 50. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 248. 51. Alexander Sergounin, ‘Post-Communist Russia and Asia-Pacific’, Russia and EuroAsian Bulletin (Melbourne), vol. 7, no. 10, 1998. 52. In the 1970s till early 1990s, Dugin flirted with fascism and contributed to the right-wing newspaper Den’. In 1994 he joined the National Bolshevik Party but left in the late 1990s to develop his original interest in Eurasianism. During 1998–2001, Dugin and his followers began to shift from an ultra-right stance to one more compatible with Russia’s political mainstream with the goal of propagating their views among the ruling elite. In 1998, he became an adviser to then communist State Duma speaker Gennadii Seleznev and founded the Eurasia movement and political party in 2000 that expressed full support for Putin. Victor Yasmann ‘Aleksandr Dugin Eurasia Party founder and chief ideologue of the Russian geopolitical school’, 2003, www.rferl.org/specials/russianelection/ bio/dugin.asp., (accessed May 2004). 53. Aleksandr Dugin, Osnovy Geopolitiki (Moscow: Arktogeia-Tsentr, 2000), pp. 11–9; and ‘Programma i ustav politicheskoi partii “Evraziia”’, Johnson’s Russia List, no.6535, 6 November 2002. 54. Dugin, Osnovy Geopolitiki, pp. 214–49. 55. Ibid., pp. 360, 781–2. 56. Ibid., pp. 360–3; and Dugin, ‘Evraziiskii proekt’, Zavtra, 22 August 1996. 57. Dugin, ‘Rossii vygoden “brosok” kitaia na iug’, Izvestiia, 2 July 2003. 58. Dugin, Osnovy Geopolitiki, pp. 779–80. 59. Ibid., pp. 232–8. 60. ‘Dugin: Interv’iu dlia Ekho Moskvy-Krasnoiarsk’, 25 July 2001, http://arctogaia. krasu.ru/eurasia/dugin_int_1.shtm (accessed December 2005). 61. Dugin himself identified Primakov’s policy as Eurasianist policy, including Primakov’s Russia-India-China strategic triangle and mutipolar world proposals. ‘Evraziiskaia platforma’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 15 November 2000.

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62. For instance, Colonel-General Ivashov was consultant for Dugin’s Osnovy Geopolitiki. The book is a standard reference in a course on geopolitics taught in Russian military academies. Tsygankov, ‘Mastering Space in Eurasia’, fn. 19, p. 109. 63. Billington, Russia in Search of Itself, p. 79. 64. For instance, Putin’s ‘Introductory speech at SB meeting’, 30 September 2003, and ‘State of the nation address to the Federal Assembly’, IPD-MID, 16 May 2003. Dugin himself noted that since Putin came to power the government became more receptive to these Neo-Eurasianist proposals. ‘Evraziistvo: ot filosofii k politike’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 30 May 2001; ‘Evraziiskii milliard’, Krasnaia Zvezda, 29 May 2001; and ‘Putin prorubaet okno v aziiu’, Izvestiia, 13 December 2005. 65. On Dugin’s views bearing some influence see Gordon Hahn, ‘The Rebirth of Eurasianism’, The Russia Journal, no. 14, 12–18 July 2002; and Victor Yasmann, ‘The Rise of the Eurasians’, RFE/RL Security Watch, 30 April 2001. For an opposing view, see Matthew Schmidt, ‘Is Putin Pursuing a Policy of Eurasianism?’, Demokratizatsiia, vol. 13, no. 1, 2005. For a balanced perspective, see John Dunlop, ‘Aleksandr Dugin’s Foundations of Geopolitics’, Demokratizatsiia, vol. 12, no. 1, 2004; and Alan Ingram, ‘Alexander Dugin’, Political Geography, vol. 20, 2001, pp. 1029–51. 66. Robert Stowe, ‘Foreign Policy Preferences of the New Russian Business Elite’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 48, no. 3, 2001, p. 54. 67. Beijing Xinhua, 16 July 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0716. 68. Tuomas Forsberg, et al., ‘Foreign Policy of the Communists’, Russia beyond 2000 Report, FIIA, 1999, p. 20. 69. Dugin, ‘Evraziiskii proekt’. 70. Clover, ‘Dreams of the Eurasian Heartland’. 71. Igor Torbakov, ‘Russia in search of a new paradigm: Eurasianism revisited’, Eurasia Insight, 24 March 2000, www.eurasianet.org (accessed May 2004). 72. The group also included academician Boris Kulik, Mikhail Kapitsa, who became Deputy Foreign Minister in 1982, and academician and diplomat Sergei Tikhvinskii. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 144. 73. On the 1980s Soviet China debate see ibid., pp. 143–53; and Gilbert Rozman, ‘Moscow’s China-Watchers in the Post-Mao Era’, pp. 215–41. 74. However, other prominent sinologists not based at IDVRAN like Vilia Gel’bras, Evgenii Bazhanov, and Aleksei Voskresenskii held a more sceptical view of the success of Chinese reforms and its appropriateness for Russia. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 214–9. See for example, Gel’bras, ‘Why it makes no sense for Russia to follow the experience of China’, Russian Expert Review, no. 5, November 2003, pp. 22–6. 75. Mikhail Titarenko, Kitai, Tsivilizatsiia i Reformy (Moscow: Respublika, 1999), p. 13. 76. Ibid., p. 133. 77. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 212; and Lukin, ‘The Chinese Question’, Moscow Times, 19 January 2005. 78. Mikhail Titarenko, Rossiia Litsom k Azii (Moscow: Respublika, 1998), p. 27. 79. Mikhail Titarenko, Rossiia: Bezopasnosti Cherez Sotrudnichestvo. Vostochno-Aziatskii Vektor (Moscow: Pamiartniki Istoricheskoi Myl’sli, 2003), p. 58. 80. Mikhail Titarenko, ‘Eurasianism: Russian-Japanese and Russian-Chinese Relations’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2002, p. 8. See also Titarenko’s Rossiia Litsom k Azii, p. 75. 81. Titarenko, Kitai, Tsivilizatsiia i Reformy, p. 176.

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82. Mikhail Titarenko, ‘Russia in Asia’, International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 2, 2000, p. 131. 83. Mikhail Titarenko, Kitai, Tsivilizatsiia i Reformy, p. 181. For similar views, see IDVRAN researchers V. Balakin’s and B. Kulik’s chapters in Kitai, Rossiia, Strany ATR i Perspektivy Mezhtsivilizatsionnykh Otnoshenii v XXI veke, (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2001), pp. 18–20, 34–8. 84. Ibid., p. 142. See also Titarenko, Rossiia: Bezopasnosti Cherez Sotrudnichestvo, pp. 69–70. 85. Mikhail Titarenko, Kitai, Tsivilizatsiia i Reformy, p. 193. 86. Lukin ‘The Chinese Question’, and author’s interview, October 2005. 87. Brutents, ‘Rossiia i Aziia: Moskia nyzhdaetsia v cbalansirovannyx napravleniiax svoei vneshnei politiki’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 22 June 1999. 88. Vladimir Petrovskii,‘The East Asian Vector’, International Affairs, vol. 50, no. 6, 2004, pp. 154–5. 89. Mikhail Titarenko and Vasilii Mikheev, ‘The Asia-Pacific Region and Russia’, International Affairs, vol. 47, no. 3, 2001, pp. 56–7. 90. BEF is participated by senior figures from the Federation Council, MID, Ministry of Trade and Development, Chamber of Commerce and Industry, and RUIE, and representatives from the RFE and Siberia. It is given supported by the government and PA. The first BEF meeting was chaired by Egor Stroev, chairman of the Federation Council. 91. Strategiia Razvitiia Rossii v ATR v XXI Veke, Federation Council Report, (Moscow: Sovet Federatsii RF, 2000), p. 42. A summarised version can be viewed at http:// forum.baikal.ru/about/strateg.htm (accessed January 2006). 92. Titarenko and Mikheev, ‘The Asia-Pacific Region and Russia’, p. 68. 93. http://forum.baikal.ru/forum3/target_e.htm (accessed June 2004). The IDVRAN directly contributed to the drafting of this document. Note the similarity with ibid., p. 58. 94. Author’s interview with analyst, Moscow, November 2005. The Far Eastern Forum is under the aegis of the State Duma, the Unified Russia Party, the interregional associations for the RFE and Siberia, and the Khabarovsk government. Like the BEF, it examines the development and integration of Russia’s eastern regions, particularly the RFE. Unlike the BEF, intellectual input is said to be provided by Khabarovsk economists such as Pavel Minakir. Sergei Luzianin, Vostochnaia politika Vladimira Putina (Moscow: AST, Vostok-Zapad, 2007), p. 35. Minakir himself noted that the BEF’s focus had lost its relevance for the RFE, Economic Cooperation between the Russian Far East and Asia-Pacific Countries (Khabarovsk: RIOTIP, 2007), p. 168. 95. Titarenko and Mikheev, ‘The Asia-Pacific Region and Russia’, p. 64. 96. Vladimir Lukin, ‘Russia-China Strategic Partnership: A Predictable Reality?’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 1997, pp. 64–5. 97. Vladimir Lukin, ‘New Century, Greater Concerns’, International Affairs, vol. 48, no. 2, 2002, p. 49. 98. Boris Nemtsov and Vladimir Milov, Putin – The Bottom Line (Moscow: Novaia Gazeta, 2008), pp. 28, 31 http://russophobe.blogspot.com/2008/03/boris-nemtsovs-white-paper-in-full.html (accessed April 2008). 99. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 243–4; Alexei Arbatov, ‘Moscow and Munich’, CMC Working Papers, no. 3, 2007, pp. 20–2. 100. Trenin, The End of Eurasia, pp. 336, 208. 101. Trenin rejected the intercivilisational interpretation of Eurasianism since the dominant feature of the Russian empire and USSR was the Russification (or Europeanisation) of its non-Russian peoples. Author’s interview, November 2005.

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102. Dmitrii Trenin, ‘Evro-Tikhookeanskaia Derzhava’, Rossiia v Global’noi Politike, vol. 1, no. 1, 2003, pp. 30–4. 103. Dmitrii Trenin, Integratsiia i identichnost (Moscow: Evropa, CMC, 2006). 104. Vilia G. Gel’bras, ‘O Vostochnoi Politike Rossii’, Pro et Contra, vol. 3, no. 1, 1998, p. 76. 105. Author’s interviews, Vladivostok, November 2004. 106. Viktor Larin, ‘Tikhookeanskaia politika Rossii v nachale XXI veka’, Svobodnaia Mysl’, no. 2, 2007, p. 154. 107. ‘Transcript of Interview’, Financial Times, 18 April 2007.

5 Economic Integrationist Aim and Projecting Influence 1. ‘Russia in Asia and Asia in Russia’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 1, January 2004, IPD-MID. 2. For instance, ‘Kontseptsiia vneshnei politiki rossiiskoi federatsii (1993)’, in Vneshnaia Politika i Bezopasnost’ Sovremennoi Rossii v 4-x tomax, 1991–2002, vol. 4, (Moscow: MGIMO, 2002), p. 38; ‘Kontseptsiia vneshnei politiki rossiiskoi federatsii (2000)’; and Minister of Foreign Economic Relations Oleg Davydov’s ‘Osvaivaia Novye Mirovye Rynki: Rossiia i ATR’, Mezhdunarodnaia Zhizn’, no. 2, 1996, pp. 13–22. 3. Goncharenko, Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskii Region, p. 52. 4. Viktor Supian and Mikhail Nosov, ‘Reintegration of an Abandoned Fortress’ in Gilbert Rozman, et al., (eds), Russia and East Asia (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1999), p. 79. 5. Figures calculated from ‘Russian Federation: Selected Issues and Statistical Appendix’, IMF Country Report, no. 02/75, April 2002, http://www.imf.org/ external/pubs (accessed February 2005). 6. Elena Devaeva, ‘Economic Cooperation between the Russian Far East and Northeast Asia’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2004, p. 77. 7. ‘Russia in the Far East’, International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 6, 2000, p. 121. 8. Amado Mendoza, Jr., ‘ASEAN’s Role in Integrating Russia into Asia-Pacific Economy’, in Koji Watanabe, (ed.) Engaging Russia in Asia-Pacific (Tokyo: JCIE, 1999), p. 133. 9. Victor Sumsky, ‘Russia and ASEAN’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia, p. 411. 10. Ibid., p. 415; author’s interview with Russian SEA experts, October 2005; and Vladimir Danilov, ‘Trade and Economic Cooperation between Russia and ASEAN’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2001, p. 45. 11. Mark Smith, ‘Russo-Japanese Relations’, CSRC Occasional Paper, no. F84, 2003, p. 9. 12. At the Yeltsin-Hashimoto summit in Krasnoiarsk in July 1997, both sides agreed to conclude a peace treaty by 2000. This was an unrealistic target and a peace treaty continued to be elusive. 13. Chufrin, ‘Russia’s Economic Interests in NEA’, Russian Expert Review, no. 5, 2003, p. 18. 14. Tsuneaki Sato, ‘Economic Relations between Russia and the Asia-Pacific Countries’, in Gennady Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia-Pacific Security (New York: OUP, SIPRI, 1999), p. 112. 15. Ibid., p. 109; and Mendoza, ‘ASEAN’s Role’, p. 126. 16. Anderson, The Limits of Sino-Russian Strategic Partnership, p. 36. 17. ‘Atomstroieksport proigral kitaiskii tender SshA’, Kommersant, 19 December 2006. Although Russia was later given a contract to build two nuclear reactors in China. ‘Russia, China seal power agreements’, Moscow Times, 7 November 2007.

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18. Yuri Tsyganov, ‘Russia and China’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia-Pacific Security, p. 142. See also Viktor Larin, ‘Russia and China’, in Sergei Sevast’ianov, (ed.) Dal’nii Vostok Rossii i Severo-Vostochnaia Aziia (Vladivostok: VGUES, 2001), pp. 9–10. 19. Datuk Yahya Baba, ‘Great Potential of Cooperation with Russia’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 1, 1998, p. 74; and Rodolfo Severino, ‘ASEAN Engages Russia’ in Gennady Chufrin et al., (eds) ASEAN-Russia Relations (Singapore: ISEASIMEMO, 2006), p. 5. 20. ‘Russia and the Asia-Pacific Region: High Time to Change Orientation’, Military Parade, January–February, 1997. 21. Evgenii Afanasiev, ‘Asia-Pacific Region: A Russian Perspective’, Pacific Symposium, US Pacific Command, Hawaii, March 1999. 22. Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, pp. 52–3. See also Alexandre Mansourov, ‘Mercantilism and Neo-Imperialism in Russian Foreign Policy during Putin’s 2nd Term’, Korean Journal of Defence Analysis, vol. 17, no. 1, 2005, pp. 151–84. 23. Prime Minister Kasianov remarked that Russian military presence there had become an outdated method of achieving strategic goals. Gennady Chufrin, ‘Russian Perspectives on ASEAN’ in Chufrin et al. (eds) ASEAN-Russia Relations (Singapore: ISEAS-IMEMO, 2006), p. 9. 24. See for instance Primakov’s ‘Russia is Restoring its Great Power Status’, International Affairs, vol. 53, no. 2, 2007, pp. 63–9. The dirigists also included the siloviki; for instance, Putin’s deputy chief of staff, Igor Sechin. Stanislav Tkachenko, ‘The Study of International Political Economy in Russia’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 37, 2004, pp. 114–15. ‘Liberal institutionalists’ under Putin included then Economics Minister German Gref, Finance Minister Aleksei Kudrin, and Putin’s economic adviser Andrei Illarionov, who resigned in December 2005. 25. Russia experienced an average 7 per cent growth since 1998, initially driven by high oil prices and a relatively cheap rouble. From 2003, consumer demand, investment, and sound macroeconomic management increasingly played a significant role. Russian Federation: 2007 Article IV Consultation, IMF Country Report, October 2007, http://www.imf.org/external/pubs/ft/scr/2007/cr07351.pdf (accessed March 2008). 26. The first Russian-North Korean bilateral summit was held in Pyongyang in July 2000. Putin became the first Russian president to officially visit Thailand in October 2003, and the first Kremlin leader to visit Vietnam in February–March 2001. 27. Russia’s share of ASEAN total trade from http://www.aseansec.org/18137.htm (accessed March 2008). 28. ‘Kontseptsiia vneshnei politiki rossiiskoi federatsii (2000)’, p. 9. 29. ‘Remarks by Deputy Russian Foreign Minister Ivan Ivanov at Conference on the Problems of Russia’s Participation in APEC’, Mezhdunarodnaia Zhizn’, no. 10, 2000, IPD-MID. See also remarks by Deputy Foreign Minister Aleksandr Losiukov in ‘Moscow Policy’, Diplomat, no. 4, 2001. 30. Ivanov, The New Russian Diplomacy, p. 127. 31. Smith, ‘Russo-Japanese Relations’, p. 10. 32. Author’s interview, Moscow, November 2005. 33. ‘Toyota sets plans to build first Japanese car plant in Russia’, Japan Times, 27 April 2007; ‘Suzuki will build $115 m St. Petersburg Plant’, Moscow Times, 9 June 2007.

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34. ‘Hyundai picks St. Pete for $400 m plant’, Moscow Times, 18 December 2007; ‘Singapore invests in Moscow region’, Moscow Times, 22 January 2008. 35. ‘Russia and China make investment promises’, Kommersant, 11 November 2006; ‘Chechnya finds first foreign investor: China’, Moscow Times, 20 October 2006. 36. Elena Devaeva, ‘Foreign Trade Flow Structure of the RFE’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2006, pp. 93–4. 37. Sergei Kulikov, ‘God Kitaia v Rossii perestaet byt’ tomnym’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 4 July 2007. 38. According to one IMEMO researcher, this approximated to being the consensus view, electronic correspondence, January 2006. 39. See Mikheev’s ‘Integration Motivation’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2002, p. 23; North East Asia Globalisation (Moscow: Pamiatniki Istoricheskoi Mysli, 2003), pp. 54–5; and author’s interview, Moscow, November 2005. IDVRAN director Titarenko took a similar position. Titarenko, ‘Siberia and the Far East as the Strategic Base for Russia’s Integration into the APR’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2002, p. 41. 40. Boris Kuzyk and Mikhail Titarenko, Kitai-Rossiia 2050 (Moscow: IDV, 2006), pp. 586–7. 41. Viktor Kalashnikov, ‘The Russian Far East and Northeast Asia’, in Murakami and Shinichiro, (eds) Russian Regions (Sapporo: SRC, 2000), pp. 311–12; Pavel Minakir and Nadezhda Mikheeva, ‘The Development Outlook for the Far East and Transbaikalia’, Studies on Russian Economic Development (Moscow), vol. 13, no. 3, 2002, pp. 259–60. 42. Minakir, (ed.) Economic Cooperation between the Russian Far East and Asia-Pacific Countries, pp. 165–6. 43. Chufrin, ‘Russia’s Economic Interests in NEA’, p. 6, and ‘Russia’s National Interests and East Asian Regional Economic Integration’, in Gennady Chufrin, (ed.) East Asia between Regionalism and Globalism (Singapore: ISEAS, 2006), pp. 104–6; Supian and Nosov, ‘Reintegration’, p. 96; and Nodari Simoniia’s interview in ‘The Path that Russia should Take’, ERINA Report, vol. 60, November 2004, p. 7. 44. Trenin, ‘Evro-Tikhookeanskaia Derzhava’, p. 30. 45. B. A. Kheifets, ‘Prioritety v razvitii ekonomicheskikh otnoshenii Rossii so stranami ASEAN’, Vostok Oriens, no. 1, 2008, pp. 106–7. 46. ‘Remarks by Deputy Russian Foreign Minister Ivan Ivanov’; and Sergei Mironov, ‘Kliuchi integratsii: Na sessii ATPF Rossiia predlozhit rezoliutsii po kliuchevym problemam regiona’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 18 January 2008. 47. See MID officials’ comments in Vasilii Saplin, ‘Russia-Japan’, International Affairs, vol. 53, no. 4, 2007, p. 100; and Konstantin Vnukov, ‘Moscow-Beijing’, International Affairs, vol. 52, no. 3, 2006, p. 42. 48. ‘Presidential Envoy talks vision of Far East’, Vladivostok News, 15 December 2004. 49. Zolotoi Rog, no. 96, 10 December 2002. 50. Aleksandr Bykov, ‘Russia and Eurasian Integration under Globalisation’, Studies on Russian Economic Development (Moscow), vol. 15, no. 4, 2004, p. 431. 51. Vladimir Iakubovskii at the ‘Annual Conference of the Russian Centre for APEC Studies’, CMC, 17 June 2004. 52. Vasilii Mikheev, ‘The Economy of Northeast Asia’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2003, p. 52. 53. Mikheev, ‘Aziatskii Regionalizm i Rossiia’, Pro et Contra, vol. 7, no. 2, 2002, p. 109; and Titarenko, ‘Siberia and the Far East as the Strategic Base for Russia’s Integration into the APR’, pp. 43–4.

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54. Cited from Supian and Nosov, ‘Reintegration’, p. 69. 55. Pavel Minakir, ‘The Economic Situation in the Russian Far East’, in Michael Bradshaw, (ed.) The RFE and Pacific Asia (Surrey: Curzon Press, 2001), p. 33. See also Judith Thornton and Charles Ziegler, (eds) Russia’s Far East (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2002). 56. Supian and Nosov, ‘Reintegration’, p. 72. 57. Minakir (ed.), Economic Cooperation between the Russian Far East and Asia-Pacific Countries, p. 16. 58. See http://www.gks.ru/PEREPIS/osn_itog.htm (accessed February 2005). 59. Michael Bradshaw, The Russian Far East (London: RIIA, 1999), p. 31; Pavel Minakir, ‘Russian Far East Economy’, paper presented at 6th NEA Economic Forum, Hawaii, 18–20 January 1996. 60. Minakir and Mikheeva, ‘The Development Outlook for the Far East and Transbaikalia’, p. 256. See also Sergei Goncharenko, Rossiia v AziatskoTikhookeanskom Regione v Seredine 90-x godov (Moscow: IMEMO, 1997), p. 37. 61. Tamara Troyakova, ‘A View from the RFE’, in Sherman Garnett, (ed.) Rapprochement or Rivarly? (Washington DC: Brookings Institution Press, 2000), p. 205. 62. Supian and Nosov, ‘Reintegration’, p. 77. See also Peggy Meyer, ‘The Russian Far East’s Economic Integration with Northeast Asia’, Pacific Affairs, vol. 72, no. 2, 1999, pp. 209–24. 63. David Kerr, ‘Opening and Closing the Sino-Russian Border’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 48, no. 6, 1996, p. 945. 64. Richard Wade, ‘The Russian Far East’, p. 4. 65. Titarenko, ‘Siberia and the Far East as the Strategic Base for Russia’s Integration into the APR’, p. 44; and Mikheev ‘Aziatskii Regionalizm i Rossiia’, p. 109. For a similar criticism see Larin, ‘Tikhookeanskaia politika Rossii v nachale XXI veka’, p. 150. 66. Pavel Minakir, ‘The Far East and Zabaikalye’, Russian Expert Review, no. 5, 2003, p. 27. 67. Ibid., pp. 28–9. For the proposed programme see Pavel Minakir, (ed.) Dal’nii Vostok i Zabaikal’e-2010 (Moscow: Ekonomika, 2002). 68. Minakir, ‘The Far East and Zabaikalye’, pp. 34–5. See the program at http://www. programs-gov.ru/cgi-bin/index.cgi?prg=136&year=2005 (accessed March 2005). 69. Author’s interviews, November 2004; and ‘German Gref snial raznoglasiia’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 24 October 2001. 70. Pavel Minakir and Ol’ga Prokapalo, ‘Dal’nii Vostok’, Vestnik DVO RAN, No. 5, 2007, pp. 13–21. 71. ‘Putin frets over Far East’, Vladivostok News, 21 December 2006. 72. The programme can be accessed at http://www.assoc.fareast.ru/fe.nsf/pages/ program.htm (accessed March 2008). 73. ‘$17 billion for Far East approved’, Moscow Times, 3 August 2007. 74. See http://www.kremlin.ru/eng/speeches/2007/01/27/1419_type82913_117410. shtml (accessed March 2008); ‘APEC forum to boost development of RFE – Putin’, RIAN, 27 January 2007; ‘Big presidential promises for Far East’, Vladivostok News, 19 February 2008. 75. ‘Iskhakov rebukes money delays for Vladivostok’, Vladivostok News, 29 February 2008. 76. Irina Drobysheva, ‘Kogda v chinovnikakh soglas’ia net’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 1 April 2008; Tat’iana Dvoinova’s ‘Sammit ATES: das ist fantastisch!’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 8 April 2008; and ‘Primorskii infarkt’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 16 May 2008.

184

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77. Igor’ Naumov, ‘Iskhodnyi rubezh’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 17 December 2007. 78. Anatoly Medetsky, ‘Putin touts economic ties with Asia’, Moscow Times, 2 September 2008. 79. Pavel Minakir, ‘Integratsiia Rossiiskogo Dal’nego Vostoka v ATR i SVA’, in Galina Vitkovskaia and Dmitrii Trenin, (eds) Perspektivy Dal’nevostochnogo Regiona (Moscow: Gendal’f, 1999), pp. 18–21; and Minakir (ed.) Economic Cooperation between the Russian Far East and Asia-Pacific Countries, pp. 166–7. 80. Sergei Blagov, ‘Neglected by Moscow, Russia’s East Turn to Asia’, Asia Times, 3 April 1999; ‘Interv’iu: Khabarovskii Gubernator Viktor Ishaev’, Tikhookeanskaia Zvezda, no. 24, 5 February 1998; and Viktor Ishaev, ‘Long-term prospects for Cooperation in NEA’, ERINA, Niigata, 2000, www.erina.or.jp/En/Ef/opinion-f5.htm (accessed February 2004), p. 6. 81. The Russian constitution guarantees the rights of the regions to conduct foreign economic activity. However, the concrete measures to pursue this, particularly in the form of a legally enforceable division of rights and responsibilities between regions and federal authorities do not exist. David Kerr, ‘Problems in Sino-Russian Economic Relations’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 50, no. 7, 1998, p. 1147. 82. ‘Russia plans special economic zones in Far East’, AFP, 24 July 1996. 83. ITAR-TASS, 19 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-324. 84. Tamara Troyakova and Elizabeth Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, in Nobuo Arai, (ed.) The Russian Far East Today, Occasional Papers no. 1, (Sapporo: SRC, 2003), pp. 32–3. 85. Mark Smith, ‘The Russian Far East’, CSRC Occasional Paper, no. E112, 2003, p. 6. 86. Troyakova and Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, p. 33. 87. ‘About the Russian Far East and Northeast Asian Economic Cooperation’, ERINA Report, vol. 50, February 2003, pp. 8–9. 88. Troyakova and Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, p. 6. 89. See Aleksandr Latkin, ‘Organizatsionno-Ekonomicheskie Usloviia Integratsii Rossiiskogo Dal’nego Vostoka so Stranami ATR’, ATR (Vladivostok), no. 1, 2004, pp. 8–17. 90. Smith, ‘The Russian Far East’, p. 15. 91. Author’s interviews with experts in Vladivostok and Moscow, November 2004 and October 2005. 92. Bradshaw, The Russian Far East, p. 15; Tamara Troyakova, ‘The Russian Far East’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 54, no. 2, 2007, p. 66. 93. See Viktor Ishaev’s ‘Kontseptsiia Razvitiia Dal’nego Vostoka Rossii’, http:// www.assoc.fareast.ru/fe.nsf/pages/concept.htm (accessed January 2006), ‘Federal Macroeconomic Policy and the Regions’, Studies on Russian Economic Development (Moscow), vol. 12, no. 5, 2001, pp. 467–70; and ‘Strategy for the Development of the State to the Year 2010’, unpublished document presented to the State Council, chaired by Putin on 22 November 2000. Excerpts accessible at Johnson’s Russia List, no. 5117, 25 February 2001. 94. See vol. 1 one of the eight-volume Darkin-commissioned ‘Strategiia Sotsial’noekonomicheskogo Razvitiia Primorskogo kraia na 2004–2010 gg.’, Vladivostok 2004, http://primorsky.ru/primorye/strategy/?s=85 (accessed January 2006). 95. Artyom Lukin, ‘Russia and Multilateral Cooperation in the APR’, unpublished manuscript, Vladivostok, 2004, pp. 10–11, (the author is grateful to Artyom Lukin for his paper). 96. Anna Shkuropat, ‘Round Table on Russia as an Economic Power in the Pacific’, Economics of Transition, January 1995, p. 4. 97. Troyakova and Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, p. 15.

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98. ‘China investors wary of Russian environment rules, crime, red tape’, RIAN, 13 November 2006. 99. Russian Federation Chapter in APEC Economic Outlook 2005 (Singapore: APEC Secretariat, 2005), p. 280. 100. ‘Summary of the Report of the Russian Federation Council “A Development Strategy for Russia in the APR in the 21st century” (based on the results of the First BEF)’, 2 October 2001, IPD-MID. 101. Mikheev, ‘The Economy of Northeast Asia’, p. 52; Titarenko’s interviews in ‘The Scholar’s Opinion’, FORUM International, no. 2, 8 June 2004, and ‘Baikal Forum: School of Economics’, FORUM International, no. 3, 10 September 2004. http:// www.bmatch.ru/showart (accessed February 2005). 102. See ‘Baikal Forum: School of Economics’. 103. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘The Baikal Economic Forum in Irkutsk’, ERINA Report, vol. 37, October 2000, pp. 52–3. 104. Tatiana Chukhnova, ‘BEF: Time for Reappraisals’, FORUM International, no. 1, 4 September 2003, http://bmatch.ru/issuemenu (accessed February 2005). 105. ITAR-TASS, 19 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-324. 106. Evgenii Primakov, Russian Crossroads, p. 39. 107. Minakir, ‘The Far East and Zabaikalye’, p. 27. 108. Trenin, The End of Eurasia, pp. 208, 320; and Trenin, ‘Aziatskii vektor v strategii moskvy’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 27 October 2003. 109. ‘Kremlin fears a break up’, St. Petersburg Times, 5 April 2005. 110. In the early 1990s, approximately 30 per cent of out-migration losses were recovered by ethnic Russian immigrants from other CIS countries. Galina Vitovskaia, Zhanna Zayonchkovskaia and Kathleen Newland, ‘Chinese Migration into Russia’, in Garnett, (ed.) Rapprochement or Rivalry?, p. 352. See also Vladimir Kontorovich, ‘Can Russia Resettle the Far East?’, Post-Communist Economies, vol. 12, no. 3, 2000, pp. 365–84. 111. Galina Vitkovskaia, ‘Does Chinese Migration Endanger Russian Security?’, Carnegie Moscow Centre Briefing Papers, no. 8, 1999, p. 2. 112. Former IDVRAN deputy director Vladimir Miasnikov was an influential proponent of this view in the 1990s. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 238–9. Despite this, Miasnikov generally supported the Russo-Chinese strategic partnership. See his ‘Rossiia i Kitai. Perspektivy Partnerstva v ATR: XXI Vek’, Nash Sovremennik, no. 2, 2000, pp. 191–204, and ‘My i Kitai. Perspektivy Strategicheskogo Partnerstva’, Svobodnaia Mysl’-XXI, no. 1, 2001, pp. 37–46. 113. Taipei Central News Agency, 30 August 2001, FBIS-EAS-2001-0830. 114. Playing the ‘China card’ was a common feature of Moscow-RFE relations. Rajan Menon and Charles Ziegler, ‘The Balance of Power and US Foreign Policy Interests in the Russian Far East’, NBR Analysis, vol. 11, no. 5, pp. 19–20. 115. Sergei Blagov, ‘RFE faces its own “red peril”’, Asia Times, 11 October 1999. 116. Mikhail Alexseev, ‘The Chinese are Coming’, PONARS Policy Memo, no. 184, 2001. See also the 2003 poll conducted by RFE researchers in Viktor Larin, ‘China Factor in Mindsets of Russians Living in Border Areas’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2004, pp. 22–44, and trends of RFE perceptions of Chinese in Liliia Larina, ‘Kitaitsy na Dal’nem Vostoke Rossii’, in Akihiro Iwashita and Dmitrii Krivtsov, (eds) Vzgliad vne Ramok Starykh Problem, Occasional Papers No. 6, (Sapporo: SRC, 2005), pp. 15–25. 117. Leonid Kozlov, ‘Public Opinion’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2007, p. 80. 118. See Vitkovskaia, ‘Does Chinese Migration Endanger Russian Security?’, p. 3; ‘Russian Far East’, Far Eastern Economic Review (hereafter, FEER), 30 May 2002; ‘Expert Interviewed on RFE Rising Crime Rate’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 27 November

186

119. 120. 121. 122.

123. 124. 125.

126.

127. 128. 129. 130.

131. 132.

133.

Notes 2001, FBIS-SOV-2001-1128; and Vladimir Ovchinsky ‘The 21st Century Mafia’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 5, no. 1, 2007, pp. 90–6. M. Shakirov, ‘Taking the Slow boat between Russia and China’, Moscow Times, 29 November 1997. Anatolii Medetskii, ‘SARS infuses fear of Chinese’, Vladivostok News, 29 May 2003. Vitkovskaia et al., ‘Chinese Migration into Russia’, pp. 361–2. Author’s interview with analyst, Moscow, November 2005. See also Galina Vitkovskaia, ‘Lawlessness, Environmental Damage, and other New Threats in the RFE’, in Rozman, et al., (eds) Russia and East Asia, pp. 179–99; Igor’ Naumov, ‘Kitaiskaia zasada v russkom lesu’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 30 January 2008. Elizabeth Wishnick, ‘Russia and the CIS in 2006’, Asian Survey, vol. 47, no. 1, 2007, p. 65. Artyom Lukin, ‘Environmental Security of NEA’, Asian Affairs, vol. 34, no. 1, 2007, p. 31. Mikhail Alexseev’s ‘Ugrozhaet li Rossii Kitaiskaia Migratsiia?’, MEiMO, no. 12, 2000, pp. 42–50 and ‘Economic Valuations and Interethnic Fears’, Journal of Peace Research, vol. 40, no. 1, 2003, pp. 85–102. Akihiro Iwashita, ‘The Influence of Local Russian Initiatives on Relations with China’, Acta Slavica Iaponica, vol. 19, 2002, pp. 14–16; Mikhail Alexseev, ‘Chinese Migration into Primorskii krai’ in Tabata Shinichiro and Akihiro Iwashita, (eds) Slavic Eurasia’s Integration into the World Economy and Community (Sapporo: SRC, 2004), p. 339; Elizabeth Wishnick, ‘Russia in Asia and Asians in Russia’, SAIS Review, vol. 20, no. 1, 2000, p. 93; and Aleksandr Tarasov, ‘The Chinese in the Transbaikal’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2004, p. 111. Elizabeth Wishnick, Mending Fences (Seattle: University of Washington Press, 2001), p. 167. Author’s interviews with analysts, Vladivostok, November 2004. ‘About the Russian Far East’, ERINA Report, vol. 50, February 2003, p. 7. See Gel’bras’s Kitaiskaia Real’nost’ Rossii (Moscow: Muravei, 2001), pp. 36–40, ‘Chinese Migration to the Russian Far East’, in Tsuneo Akaha, (ed.) Human Flows Across National Borders in NEA, Conference Papers, UN University, Tokyo, 2002, p. 140, and interviews in ‘Sibir’ prirastaet migrantami’, Vremia MN, 19 October 2001, and ‘Nado li Rossii Opasat’sia Kitaia?’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 3 March 2000. His follow-up poll in 2002 did indicate a rise in Chinese migrants who wanted to permanently stay in Russia, though the figure was not large enough to warrant concern. Rossiia v Usloviiakh Global’noi Kitaiskoi Migratsii (Moscow: Muravei, 2004), p. 29, and ‘Chinese Migration in Russia’, Russia in Global Affairs, no. 2, 2005. Vladimir Portiakov, ‘Russian Vector in the Global Chinese Migration’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2006, pp. 48–9. Andrew Jack, ‘Russia’s wary Far East begins to open up to outsiders’, Vladivostok News, http://vn.vladnews.ru/pages/inform_asian.html (accessed May 2005). For Larin’s more balanced views see his ‘Rossiia i Kitai na Poroge Tret’ego Tysiacheletiia’, Problemy Dal’nego Vostoka, no. 1, 1997, pp. 15–26, ‘Kitai i Dal’nii Vostok Rossii v 1990-e gody’, in Vitkovskaia and Trenin, (eds) Perspektivy Dal’nevostochnogo Regiona, pp. 74–9, and ‘V “Novuiu Eru” so Starymi Problemami’, in Iwashita and Krivtsov, (eds) Vzgliad vne Ramok, pp. 1–13. Larin, ‘Chinese Migration in the Far East’, in A. Viatkin, (ed.) A Bridge Across the Amur River, (Moscow: Natalis, Rosa Luxemburg Foundation, 2004), p. 318.

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134. Andrei Vaganov, ‘Da! Aziaty my . . . K 2010 gody kitaitsy stanut vtoroi . . .’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 6 August 2002. 135. ITAR-TASS, 17 November 2000, FBIS-CHI-2000-1117. 136. Vladimir Shlapentokh, ‘China in the Russian mind today’, p. 6. 137. Alexander Lukin, ‘The Image of China in Russian Border Regions’, Asian Survey, vol. 38, no. 9, 1998, p. 829. See also Lilia Larina, ‘Obraz Kitaia i kitaitsev v predstavlenii dal’nevostochnikov’, CMC Working Paper, no. 2, June 1999, p. 95. 138. ‘Problema: “nelegaly” na beregakh Amura’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 6 May 1997. 139. Interfax, August 2002, FBIS-SOV-2002-0826. 140. ‘Annual Address to the Federal Assembly’, 8 July 2000, http://president.kremlin.ru (accessed February 2006). 141. RFE/RL Reports, vol. 1, no. 2, 31 July 2000. 142. See interview in Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 15 July 2000. 143. RFE/RL Reports, vol. 3, no. 29, 27 August 2002. 144. Jeanne Wilson, Strategic Partners (Armonk: M. E. Sharpe, 2004), p. 123. For instance, see FPS’s views in ‘Rossiiu trevozhit problema nezakonnoi kitaiskoi migratsii’ Krasnaia Zvezda, 17 July 1996. The FPS also conducted ‘Operation Foreigner’ in the RFE during 1996–9, expelling 16,758 Chinese. 145. Sergei Prikhod’ko, ‘My ne dolzhny boiat’sia kitaia’, Izvestiia, 23 March 2004. See also his article ‘An Invaluable Relationship’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 2, no. 2, 2004, p. 120. 146. Ivanov, ‘Russia in Asia and Asia in Russia’, p. 2; and Kosachev’s remarks in ‘New Geopolitics for Russia’, International Affairs, vol. 51, no. 2, 2005, p. 78. 147. Won Bae Kim, ‘Sino-Russian Relations and Chinese Workers in the Russian Far East’, Asian Survey, vol. 34, no. 12, 1994, p. 1076. 148. ITAR-TASS, August 2002, FBIS-SOV-2002-0812. 149. Pavel Minakir, ‘Chinese Immigration in the Russian Far East’, in Jeremy R. Azrael and Emil A. Payin, (eds) Cooperation and Conflict in the Former Soviet Union (Santa Monica: RAND, 1996), pp. 85–97; and Ekaterina Motrich, ‘Demographic Potential and Chinese Presence in the RFE’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2002, pp. 67–78. 150. Minakir, (ed.) Dal’nii Vostok i Zabaikal’e-2010, pp. 127–30. 151. Aleksandr Larin, Kitaitsy v Rossii vchera i segodnia, (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2003), pp. 182–5. 152. ‘Russian population decline spells trouble’, Christian Science Monitor, 18 April 2002. 153. ‘Russia Welcomes Guest Workers’, RIAN, 2 April 2004. 154. A. Larin, ‘“Kitaiskaia ekspansiia”’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 3, 2006, p. 7. Aleksandr Lukin, (ed.) ‘Demograficheskaia situatsiia i migratsionnaia politika na Rossiiskom Dal’nem Vostoke’, Analiticheskie Doklady (MGIMO), no. 2, 2005. 155. Lukin, (ed.) ‘Demograficheskaia situatsiia i migratsionnaia politika na Rossiiskom Dal’nem Vostoke’. 156. Sergei Karaganov, (ed.) Strategii dlia Rossii (Moscow: SVOP, 2000), www.svop. ru/yuka/891.shtml (accessed February 2003). 157. ‘Sibir’ prirastaet migrantami’, and Gel’bras, Rossiia v Usloviiakh, pp. 170–2. 158. Zhanna Zaionchkovskaia, ‘Pered litsom immigratsii’, Pro et Contra, vol. 9, no. 3, 2005, pp. 72–87 159. Dmitrii Trenin, Russia’s China Problem (Moscow: CMC, 1999), p. 49. 160. Vladimir Portiakov’s ‘Are the Chinese Coming?’, International Affairs, vol. 42, no. 1, 1996, p. 139, and ‘New Chinese Migrants in Russia’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2004, p. 18; and author’s interview, November 2005.

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161. Author’s interviews, November 2004; and German Dudchenko, ‘Migratsiia na Dal’nem Vostoke Rossii v Kontse XX v.’, Rossiia i ATR, no. 3, 2004, pp. 91–2. 162. Aleksandr Lukin, ‘Kitai: opasnyi sosed ili vygodnyi partner?’, Pro et Contra, vol. 11, no. 6, 2007, p. 87. 163. Gilbert Rozman, ‘Strategic Thinking about the RFE’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 55, no. 1, 2008, pp. 47–8. 164. Oil from these regions is also of higher quality than the Russian Urals export standard since they have lower sulphur contents. Andrei Korzhubaev, ‘Oil and Gas Production Prospects in Eastern Siberia and the RFE’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2006, pp. 94–109. 165. Figures from ‘APEC Energy Demand and Supply Outlook 2006: vol. II’, Asia Pacific Energy Research Centre, http://ns.ieej.or.jp/aperc/outlook2006.html (accessed March 2008). 166. Figures from Iurii Khromov, ‘Energy Supply and Demand Trends-Regional Implications’, Russian Expert Review, no. 5, 2003, p. 37; and Kalashnikov, ‘The RFE and NEA’, pp. 306–9. 167. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Energy Diplomacy in NEA’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and AsiaPacific Security, p. 117. 168. Leslie Dienes, ‘Observations on the Problematic Potential of Russian Oil and the Complexities of Siberia’, Eurasian Geography and Economics, vol. 45, no. 5, 2004, pp. 319–45. 169. Michael Bradshaw and Peter Kirkow, ‘The Energy Crisis in the RFE: Origins and Possible Solutions’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 50, no. 6, 1998, pp. 1043–63. 170. Under PSA law, investors were exempted from customs duties, excise tax, and value added tax. 171. See Sakhalin Governor Farkhutdinov’s comments in ‘Sakhalin waiting for oil but patience is running out’, RFE/RL, 20 October 1998. 172. ‘Sakhalin II PSA success attests to local leaders’ commitment’, Oil & Gas Journal, vol. 98, no. 10, 2000, p. 30. 173. Eugene Khartukov, ‘Russia’, in Paul Stares, (ed.) Rethinking Energy Security in East Asia (Tokyo: JCIE, 2000), pp. 163–4. 174. Michael Bradshaw, ‘Russian and Transnational Energy Companies’ in Wenger, et al., (eds) Russian Business Power, p. 150. 175. According to Russia’s Central Bank, Russia’s foreign currency reserves alone was US$ 354.6 billion by 30 November 2007. http://www.cbr.ru/eng/statistics/credit_ statistics/print.asp?file=inter_res_07_e.htm (accessed March 2008). 176. ‘Strategic Sectors Bill off until 2008’, Moscow Times, 9 November 2007. See also Catherine Locatelli, ‘The Russian oil industry between public and private governance’, Energy Policy, vol. 34, 2006, pp. 1075–85. 177. On each country’s strategies see Vasilli Mikheev, Vladimir Iakubovskii, Iakov Berger, Galina Belokurova, Severo-Vostochnaia Aziia, Working Paper, no. 6, (Moscow: CMC, 2004). 178. Aleksei Mastepanov, ‘Eastern Neighbours and Russia’s Energy Policy’, ERINA Report, vol. 35, August 2000, pp. 8–9. 179. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Russian Oil for Northeast Asia’, ERINA Report, vol. 51, April 2003, p. 14. 180. Michael Fredholm, ‘The Russian Energy Strategy and Energy Policy’, CSRC Occasional Papers, 05/41, September 2005, p. 8. 181. Stephen Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, Orbis, vol. 47, no. 4, 2003, p. 573. 182. Nodari Simonia, ‘Russian Energy Policy in East Siberia and the Far East’, conference paper, Rice University, October 2004, p. 6. See also Eugene Khartukov,

Notes

183.

184. 185.

186.

187.

188. 189. 190.

191.

192.

193. 194. 195.

196. 197.

198. 199.

189

‘Incomplete Privatisation Mixes Ownership of Russia’s Oil Industry’, Oil & Gas Journal, vol. 95, no. 33, 1997, pp. 39–40. Valerii Zaitsev, (ed.), The Northeast Asia Energy and Environmental Cooperation, pp. 34–7; Kalashnikov, ‘The Russian Far East and Northeast Asia’, p. 319; and author’s interview with Vladivostok-based analysts, November 2004. Zaitsev (ed.), The Northeast Asia Energy and Environmental Cooperation, p. 48; Troyakova and Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, p. 22. Sergei Troush, ‘China’s Changing Oil Strategy and its Foreign Policy implications’, CNAPS Working Paper, 1999, pp. 7–8; and Iakov Berger, ‘China’s Energy Strategy’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2004, pp. 58–9. Simonia, ‘Russian Energy Policy in East Siberia and the Far East’, p. 9; Vladimir Milov, ‘Neo-Con Plans and the Sober Reality’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 4, no. 4, 2006, pp. 126–7; and Keun-Wook Paik, ‘Geopolitics of Pipeline Development in Northeast Asia’, presentation at COE Summer International Symposium, SRC, Sapporo, 14–17 July 2004 (The author is indebted to Dr. Paik for his paper). In April 2006, Turkmenistan agreed to supply China with 30 bm3 of gas per year from 2009. Masumi Motomura, ‘The Russian Energy Outlook and its Influence on East Asia’, Acta Slavica Iaponica, vol. 25, 2008, pp. 83–7. ‘China, Russia reach gas price agreement’, The St. Petersburg Times, 22 November 2007. M. Steklov, ‘Rossiisko-Iuzhnokoreiskoe sotrudnichestvo v energeticheskoi sfere’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 12, 2007, pp. 32–3. The strategy was initially approved by the government in November 2000, but due to administrative, legislative, and economic reforms, including that of the TEK, it was revised into the 2003 version. The strategy can be viewed at http:// www.minprom.gov.ru/docs/strateg/1 (accessed February 2006). See Energeticheskaia Strategiia; and Armen Safarian, ‘International Cooperation in the APR’, IEEJ, Japan, 2004, http://eneken.ieej.or.jp/en/seminar/aef2004/ft_ safaryan.pdf (accessed February 2005). Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Russian Energy Strategy 2020’, ERINA Report, vol. 53, August 2003, pp. 15–18; Igor Kozin, ‘Energy Cooperation in Asia-Pacific Region’, Symposium on Pacific Energy Cooperation, IEEJ, Japan, 12 February 2003. Author’s interview with an energy expert, London, June 2005. Vladimir Milov et al., ‘Russia’s Energy Policy, 1992–2005’, Eurasian Geography and Economics, vol. 47, no. 3, 2006, p. 299. Malakhov, ‘Russia’s Eastern Outpost’, Oil of Russia, no. 1, 2007. See ‘Speech by President Putin at the APEC Business Summit, Shanghai, October 2001’, IPD-MID; and Vladimir Putin, ‘APEC is Russia’s option in Asia-Pacific’, Bangkok Post, 17 November 2006. Aleksandr Losiukov, ‘The Shanghai Summit’, International Affairs, vol. 47, no. 6, 2001, p. 17. ‘Speech by President Putin at the APEC Business Summit, Bangkok, 19 October 2003’, IPD-MID; and ‘Putin: Russia not to be milk cow’, The Russia Journal, 20 October 2003. See Putin’s speech at the inaugural East Asia Summit, Kuala Lumpur, IPD-MID, 14 December 2005. ‘Summary of the Report of the Federation Council (based on results of 1st BEF), IPD-MID, 27 September 2001; and ‘An Important and Beneficial Event: Interview with German Gref’, FORUM International, no. 3, 10 September 2004, http:// bmatch.ru/issuemenu (accessed February 2005).

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200. Khristenko, ‘Energeticheskaia strategiia Rossii: proryv na Vostok’, Vedomosti, 6 February 2006. 201. Minakir, ‘The Far East and Zabaikalye’, p. 34. 202. Shkuropat, ‘New Dynamics in Northeast Asia, p. 16. 203. Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, p. 573. 204. Glada Lahn and Keun-Wook Paik, ‘Russia’s Oil and Gas Exports to NEA’, RIIA Report, April 2005, p. 6; and author’s interview with Keun-Wook Paik, London, June 2005. 205. Simonia, ‘Russian Energy Policy in East Siberia and the Far East’, pp. 28–9. See also ‘Interview with Gazprom deputy chairman Aleksandr Ananenkov’, Expert, no. 18 (373), 19 May 2003; and Petr Rodionov, ‘Gazprom in Shaping Russia’s Energy Strategy’, International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 2, 2000, pp. 29–34. 206. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Energy Security for a New NEA’, ERINA Report, vol. 59, September 2004, p. 31; and author’s interview with Russian energy analyst, Moscow, October 2005. 207. Rosneft apparently has a special relationship with China since Chinese banks provided US$ 6 billion for Rosneft’s Yuganskneftegaz acquisition in 2004 to be repaid by future oil deliveries to China. Rosneft committed to supply 48.8 mt of oil to China by 2010. China also bought Rosneft shares valued around US$ 500 million. Nina Poussenkova, ‘The Wild, Wild East, East Siberia and the Far East’, CMC Working Papers, no. 4, 2007, p. 40. 208. Stanislav Zhiznin, ‘Specific Features of Energy Diplomacy’, Oil of Russia, no. 3, 2005. 209. ‘Address to the Russian Federal Assembly’, 26 May 2004, http://www.kremlin.ru/ (accessed February 2005). 210. ‘Interv’iu: Igor’ Shuvalov’, Vedomosti, 16 February 2005. 211. By 2007, most of Yukos’s assets had been sold off to Rosneft. With the acquisition of Yuganskneftegas in 2004, Rosneft became the second largest oil company in Russia. 212. ‘Gazprom takes control of Sakhalin-2’, Moscow Times, 22 December 2006. 213. Eric Watkins, ‘Japan voices gas concerns’, Oil & Gas Journal, vol. 105, no. 9, 2007, p. 32. In February 2009, Russia’s first LNG plant was launched on Sakhalin Island, marking Russia’s foray into the Asian LNG market. ‘Medvedev opens LNG plant in Sakhalin’, Moscow Times, 18 February 2009. 214. Aleksandr Medvedev, ‘Russian Gas Export: Present and Future’, International Affairs, vol. 53, no. 6, 2007, p. 103. 215. ‘Gazprom against foreign concerns developing Russia deposits’, RIAN, 26 December 2007. 216. Aleksei Mastepanov, ‘Energy Mega-Projects for the 21st Century’, in Vladimir Ivanov and Eleanor Goldsmith, (eds) The Niigata Energy Forum, ERINA Booklet, vol. 3, 2004, p. 22; and author’s interview with energy expert, London, June 2005 217. Simonia, ‘Russian Energy Policy in East Siberia and the Far East’, pp. 11–14. 218. ‘Gazprom gets Kovykta on the cheap’, Moscow Times, 25 June 2007. The deal, however, did not go through until a final agreement was reached in October 2008. ‘Price agreed for Kovykta deal’, St. Petersburg Times, 10 October 2008. 219. Keun-Wook Paik, ‘Pipeline Gas Introduction to the Korean Peninsula’, Report Submission to Korea Foundation, RIIA, 2005, p. 14. 220. Simonia, ‘Russian Energy Policy in East Siberia and the Far East’, pp. 30–1; and Paik ‘Geopolitics of Pipeline Development in Northeast Asia’. 221. Poussenkova, ‘The Wild, Wild East, East Siberia and the Far East’, pp. 41–2.

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222. Viktor Ishaev’s ‘Emerging Northeast Asia’, ERINA Report, vol. 39, April 2001, p. 26, ‘Long-term prospects for Cooperation in NEA’, p. 18, and ‘Far East Energy Projects’, FORUM International, no. 2, 8 June 2004, http://www.bmatch.ru/ showart (accessed February 2005). 223. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Russian Natural Gas Resources and Northeast Asia’, ERINA Report, vol. 30, October 1999, p. 31. 224. Author’s interview with Japanese expert, Sapporo, February 2005. 225. ‘Khabarovsk Administration Press Release’, 14 July 2003, http://www.adm.khv. ru (accessed February 2005). 226. Bradshaw, The Russian Far East, pp. 11, 16. 227. See discussion in ‘Infrastrukturnyi Segment Integratsii Rossii v ATR’, Vestnik DVO RAN (Vladivostok), no. 6, 2004, pp. 3–8. 228. Iuri Trigubovich, ‘Vedomstvo Grefa ne lubit Sibir’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 6 February 2002. On the Institute’s view see Boris Saneev, ‘Russia’s Energy Policies and NEA’, NIRA Review, vol. 8, no. 1, 2001, pp. 22–6. 229. Zaitsev, (ed.), The Northeast Asia Energy and Environmental Cooperation, p. 58. 230. Boris Saneev, ‘Prospects for the Proposed Projects’, in Ivanov and Goldsmith, (eds) The Niigata Energy Forum, p. 77. 231. This route came about from Putin’s March 2006 visit to Beijing, during which Gazprom and CNPC signed a Protocol on Russian Natural Gas Deliveries to China. The route is prioritised due to the closeness of Western Siberian fields to existing gas infrastructure, which will enable the launching of gas deliveries within a shorter period. Nikolai Dobretsov et al., ‘The “Altai” Trunk Gas Pipeline and Prospects of Russia’s Outlet to the Fuel-and-Energy Market of the APR’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2007, pp. 81–5. 232. Poussenkova, ‘The Wild, Wild East, East Siberia and the Far East’, p. 44. 233. For reasons why China’s and Japan’s need for Russian oil should not be taken for granted see Shoichi Itoh, ‘Russia’s Energy Diplomacy toward the Asia-Pacific’, in Shinichiro Tabata, (ed.) Energy and Environment in Slavic Eurasia, Slavic Eurasian Studies No. 19, (Sapporo: SRC, 2008). 234. Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers to East Asia in the 1990s, pp. 22–3. 235. Iurii Fedorov, ‘Economic “Interest Groups” and Russia’s Foreign Policy’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 6, 1998, p. 179. 236. Ibid., p. 176; Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers to East Asia in the 1990s, pp. 22–3; and Irina Troekurova, ‘The Russian Far East’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2005, pp. 40–2. For an example of VPK views see Viktor Merkulov, RossiiaATR (Moscow: Akademicheskii proekt, 2005), pp. 372–93. Merkulov was director general of the Sukhoi plant in Komsomol’sk-na-Amure. 237. Russian defence commentator, Pavel Felgenhauer, maintained that virtually nothing from arms sales made it into the budget as money was stolen on a massive scale. G. Feifer, ‘Russia: Analysts saying burgeoning arms sales pose security threat’, CDI Russia Weekly, no. 244, February 2003. 238. Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, p. 584. 239. Aleksandr Kislov and Aleksandr Frolov, ‘Russia in the World Arms Market, International Affairs, vol. 49, no. 4, 2003, p. 150. 240. Iurii Golotiuk, ‘Kreml’ i generaly protiv VPK’, Vremia Novostei, 21 March 2002, p. 2. 241. China and India accounted for around 70 per cent of this figure. Robert Donaldson, ‘The Arms Trade in Russian-Chinese Relations’, Conference paper, Hong Kong, 26–28 July 2001, p. 8. In 2006, they accounted for 62 per cent. The Military Balance 2008, (London: Routledge, IISS, 2008), p. 210.

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242. SIPRI Arms Transfers Database, http://www.sipri.org/contents/armstrad/ output_examples.html#rus (accessed May 2008). 243. Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, p. 584. 244. John Helmer, ‘Russia stresses regional role’, Bangkok Post, 17 August 1996. See also remarks by a Rosvooruzhenie spokesman in Charles Bickers, ‘Bear Market: Russia wants to be the top arms supplier to Asia’, FEER, 4 September 1997. 245. ‘Russia woos Southeast Asia with weapons, technology’, Johnson’s Russia List, no. 6159, 27 March 2002. 246. M. Brooke, ‘Helping Thailand shoot for the stars’, Bangkok Post, 1 April 1997; Aleksandr Mozgovoi, ‘Russian Naval Equipment Evokes Strong Interest in Singapore’, Military Parade, no. 34, 1999; Viktor Evteev, et al., ‘SEA: Export Prospects for Naval Equipment’, Military Parade, September, 2002; and Maletin, SSSR/RF-ASEAN, p. 88. 247. Indonesia had been a major US arms customer but sought alternative suppliers once Washington cut military ties in 1999 over human rights concerns. Although the ban was lifted in 2005, Jakarta continued to look elsewhere. ‘Putin signs Indonesia arms deal’, Guardian, 6 September 2007. 248. Alan Boyd, ‘Russia eyes East Asian arms market’, Asia Times, 18 April 2003. 249. Gareth Jennings, ‘Thailand agrees deal to acquire JAS 39 Gripens’, Janes Defence Weekly (hereafter JDW), vol. 44, no. 43, 2007, p. 14. 250. See Robert and John Donaldson, ‘The Arms Trade in Russian-Chinese Relations’, International Studies Quarterly, vol. 47, 2003, pp. 709–32; and Paradorn Rangsimaporn, ‘Russia’s Debate on Military-Technological Cooperation with China: From Yeltsin to Putin’, Asian Survey, vol. 46, no. 3, 2006, pp. 477–95. 251. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 302. 252. Konstantin Makienko, ‘Preliminary Estimates of Russian Performance in MTC with Foreign States in 2000 and 2001’, Eksport Vooruzheniy Journal, CAST, January–February and November–December, 2001. 253. Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers to East Asia in the 1990s, p. 23. 254. Ibid., pp. 97–8, 102–3. 255. Mikhail Khodarenok, ‘Malaiziia. Samolet. Pal’movoe Maslo’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 20 May 2003. 256. Sergei Blagov, ‘Ukraine peddles its arms in China’, Asia Times, 26 November 2002. 257. Khodarenok, ‘Malaiziia’; and Mongkol Bangprapa, ‘PM: Chicken barter deal for arms possible’, Bangkok Post, 1 September 2004. 258. Sergei Kandaurov, ‘Condition and Prospects of Arms Markets in East and SEA (Parts 1–2)’, Eksport Vooruzheniy Journal, CAST, May–June/July–August, 2000. 259. ‘Putin inks $1 billion Jakarta arms deal’, Moscow Times, 7 September 2007; Jon Grevatt, ‘Indonesia lacks funds for agreed Sukhoi buy’, JDW, vol. 44, no. 36, 2007, p. 23. 260. According to MO figures, by 1999 government procurement was only one-tenth of the 1991 level. Cited from Austin and Muraviev, The Armed Forces of Russia in Asia, p. 288. 261. Ruslan Pukhov and Mikhail Barabanov, ‘Challenges to the Reform of Defence R&D in Russia’, Moscow Defence Brief, vol. 7, no. 1, 2007. 262. The Military Balance 2002/2003 (Oxford: OUP, IISS, 2002), pp. 273–5. 263. The Military Balance 2003/2004 (Oxford: OUP, IISS, 2003), p. 269. 264. See defence industrialists’ comments in John Helmer, ‘Russian arms sales draw rapid fire’, Bangkok Post, 9 February 1997; and RIAN, 18 July 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-0718.

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265. ‘Russian industry hits high-tech low’, JDW, vol. 45, no. 3, 2008, p. 21. 266. Martin Nicholson, Towards a Russia of the Regions, Adelphi Paper no. 330, (Oxford: Oxford University Press, IISS, 1999), p. 65. 267. Sergey Sevastyanov, ‘Russian Reforms: Implications for Security Policy and the Status of the Military in the RFE’, NBR Analysis, vol. 11, no. 4, December 2000, pp. 8, 12. 268. ‘Na “Progresse” rasplodilis’ “Moskity”’, Zolotoi Rog, 30 May 2000. 269. Lukin, The Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 302. 270. D. Lague and S. V. Lawrence, ‘In Guns We Trust’, FEER, 12 December 2002. 271. Rosvooruzhenie often took for itself a higher share of the sales commission than it was legally entitled to. Sales proceeds were also siphoned off by members of Yeltsin’s inner circle to finance his 1996 re-election campaign. See Sergounin and Subbotin, Russian Arms Transfers to East Asia in the 1990s, pp. 66–7; and Robert Donaldson, ‘Domestic Influences on Russian Arms Sales Policy’, Conference Paper, March 2002, http://www.isanet.org/noarchive/donaldson.html#_ftnref26 (accessed July 2006). 272. Fedorov, ‘Economic “Interest Groups” and Russia’s Foreign Policy’, pp. 178–9. 273. The Military Balance 2002/2003, p. 275. 274. Pavel Felgengauer, ‘Arms Exports & the Russian Military’, Perspective, vol. 12, no. 4, 2002. 275. Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, p. 584. 276. Simon Saradzhyan, ‘Military to get $189 Bln overhaul’, Moscow Times, 8 February 2007, p. 1; and The Military Balance 2008, pp. 209–10. 277. No major arms deals were signed during the Chinese president’s visit to Moscow to sign US$ 4.3 billion worth of deals, March 2007. 278. Paul Holtom, ‘The beginning of the end for deliveries of Russian major conventional weapons to China’, RIAN, 31 March 2008. 279. ‘China Today: Challenge or Opportunity?’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 2, no. 2, 2004, p. 132. 280. Cited from David Lague, ‘Russia and China rethink arms deals’, International Herald Tribune, 2 March 2008. 281. ‘Finding new ways to sell arms to China’, St. Petersburg Times, 1 December 2006. 282. Robert Hewson, ‘Chinese airpower reaps benefits of long road to self-sufficiency’, Jane’s International Defence Review, vol. 40, October 2007, p. 57. 283. Nikita Petrov, ‘Problems in Russian-Chinese military-technical cooperation’, RIAN, 25 September 2007; and Viktor Litovkin, ‘Voenno-eksportnyi tupik’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 29 January 2008. 284. Dmitrii Trenin, cited from J. Bransten, ‘China-Russia summit: Giants strengthen ties’, Asia Times, 28 May 2003. 285. ITAR-TASS, 6 February 1996, FBIS-SOV-96-026, and ‘Rossii nuzhen sil’nyi kitai (Interview with G. Karasin)’, Rossiia, no. 3, March 1997. 286. Interfax, 20 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-324. 287. ‘The Russian-Chinese Arms Trade’, Moscow Defence Brief, no. 2, 2004. 288. ‘Brothers in Arms – Brothers Forever: Should We Sell Military Equipment to China?’, Obshchaia Gazeta, no. 31, August 7–13, 1997, FBIS-TAC-97-224. 289. Interfax, November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-324; Felgengauer, ‘An Uneasy Partnership’, p. 101; and Aleksandr Shlyndov, ‘Military and Technological Collaboration between Russia and China’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2005, pp. 14–5. 290. Aleksandr Lukin, ‘Rossiia-Kitai: druz’ia ili soperniki?’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 3 August 2001; and Aleksandr Mazin, ‘“Chetvertaia Modernizatsiia” v Kitae i Rossiiskii VPK’, MEiMO, no. 12, 1996, pp. 119–26.

194

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291. Evgenii Bazhanov, ‘Russian Perspectives on China’s Foreign Policy and Military Development’, in Jonathan Pollack and Richard Yang, (eds) In China’s Shadow (Santa Monica: RAND, 1998), p. 73. 292. Dmitrii Afinogenov and Viktor Esin, ‘V pleny ustarevshikh stereotipov’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 14, 26 April 2002. 293. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 245; and Bazhanov, ‘Russian Perspectives on China’s Foreign Policy and Military Development’, p. 71. 294. Sergei Kortunov, ‘Russia in Search of Allies’, International Affairs, vol. 42, no. 3, 1996, p. 151. 295. Blank, ‘What is Russia to Asia?’, p. 583. In 2002, Moscow agreed to Beijing’s request to classify as secret all information on Russian arms exports to China. 296. Donaldson, ‘The Arms Trade in Russian-Chinese Relations’, p. 9. By 2004, after around 95 out of the 200 agreed Su-27 ‘kits’ were supplied by Russia, China ended the deal as it had learnt all it needed from building this basic variant. Hewson, ‘Chinese airpower reaps benefits of long road to self-sufficiency’, p. 56. 297. Feifer, ‘Russia’; and Il’ia Kedrov, ‘Kitaiskoe–znachit otlichnoe?’, VoennoPromyshlennyi Kur’er, no. 45, 22–28 November 2006. 298. Viktor Miasnikov, ‘Russkie “sushki” po-kitaiski’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 22 April 2008. 299. Trenin, Russia’s China Problem, p. 31; and Alexei Arbatov, ‘Military Reform in Russia’, International Security, vol. 22, no. 4, 1998, pp. 91–2. 300. ‘Arbatov: Rossiia stanovitsia mladshim voennym partnerom Kitaia’, 24 August 2005, www.globalaffairs.ru/news/4526.html (accessed January 2007). 301. Mikhail Urusov, ‘Destroyers in exchange for canned meat’, Moskovskie Novosti, 6 November 1997, FBIS-UMA-97-310; E. Rumiantsev, ‘Military Cooperation: Arming the Dragon’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 4 April 2001, Defence & Security, DSE-No.41; and Sergei Orlov, ‘Opiat’ zabyvaem o natsional’nykh interesakh’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 15 February 2002. 302. Aleksandr Sharavin, ‘Tret’ia Ugroza’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 28, 28 September 2001 303. Pre-1996, then Defence Minister Pavel Grachev fit in this second group, while his successors held more ambivalent views. Stephen Blank, ‘Russo-Chinese Military Relations and Asian Security’, Issues and Studies, vol. 33, no. 11, 1997, pp. 58–94. 304. James Moltz, ‘Russian Nuclear Regionalism’, NBR Analysis, vol. 11, no. 4, 2000, pp. 35–57. 305. Russia Reform Monitor, no. 259, 29 April 1997. 306. Aleksei Tikhonov, ‘Sdelaem kitaiskuiu aviatsiiu luchshei v mire’, Novye Izvestiia, 20 July 2001. 307. D. Koptev, ‘Interes s Ogliadkoi: Kitaiu prodadut ne vse rossiiskoe oruzhie’, Izvestiia, 8 December 2000; V. Tsygichko and A. Piontkovskii, ‘Russia’s National Security in the Early 21st Century’, Military Thought, no. 2, 2001, pp. 63–70; and Aleksei Khazbiev, ‘China’s Military Sacrilege’, 24 May 2004, www.expert.ru (accessed June 2004). 308. Ekaterina Grigor’eva and Dmitrii Safonov, ‘Druzhba s ogliadkoi: Chto dumaiut v Rossii, prodavaia oruzhie v kitai’, Izvestiia, 16 June 2001. 309. Stephen Blank, ‘The Strategic Context of Russo-Chinese Relations’, CSRC Occasional Paper, no. F68, 1999, p. 7; Interfax, 19 April 1997, FBIS-UMA-97-109. Baluevskii’s view from ITAR-TASS, 4 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-308. 310. China Reform Monitor, no. 283, 6 March 2000. In the view of one adviser to Rosvooruzhenie, Kosovo increased the demand for Russian arms. A. Kotelkin interview in Eksport Vooruzheniy, no. 6, 1999.

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311. ITAR-TASS, 18 November 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-1118. 312. Author’s interview, November 2005; and Klimenko’s ‘Military Doctrines of AsiaPacific Countries’, Military Thought, no. 1, 2002, pp. 4–16, ‘On the Evolution of China’s Military Policy and Strategy’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2004, pp. 30–42, and ‘The Evolution of China’s Military Policy and Military Doctrine’, Military Thought, vol. 14, no. 2, 2005. 313. David Lague, ‘China keeps Russia, Israel up in the arms stake’, FEER, 24 January 2002; and Mingyen Tsai, ‘China’s Acquisitions of Russian SU Fighters’, American Journal of Chinese Studies, vol. 8, no. 1, 2001, pp. 1–5. 314. Lyuba Pronina, ‘Air Force to offer strategic bombers to China’, Moscow Times, 14 January 2005; and author’s interview with Japanese defence analyst, Tokyo, March 2005. 315. K. Platt and M. Liu, ‘Beijing has turned to an old strategic rival – Russia – to help modernise its military’, Newsweek International, 18 December 2000. 316. I. Cherniak, ‘Besedka: Ministr oborony Sergei Ivanov’, Komsomol’skaia Pravda, 5 June 2002. 317. Cited from Rouben Azizian, ‘The Optimists have the Lead, for Now: Russia’s China Debate’, in Asia’s China Debate (Hawaii: Asia-Pacific Centre for Security Studies, 2003), p. 7. 318. Bin Yu, ‘Sino-Russian Military Relations’, Asian Survey, vol. 33, no. 3, 1993, pp. 302–16; and Taeho Kim, ‘The Dynamics of Sino-Russian Military Relations’, CAPS Papers, no. 6, Taipei, 1994. 319. Interfax, January 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-003; and Interfax, 19 April 1997, FBIS-UMA97-109. 320. Cherniak, ‘Besedka’. 321. L. Pronina, ‘Arming China makes US nervous’, Moscow Times, 28 August 2002. 322. Stephen Blank, ‘Which Way for Sino-Russian Relations?’, Orbis, vol. 42, no. 3, 1998, p. 359. 323. John Helmer, ‘Implications of Russia-China Deal’, Russia Journal, 10–16 August 2001. 324. Interfax, 18 April 1997, FBIS-UMA-97-108; and Makienko, ‘The Chinese Syndrome in Russian Export’, November 2004, www.cast.ru (accessed January 2006). 325. Richard Fisher, ‘China’s Purchase of Russian Fighters: A Challenge to the US’, Asian Studies Centre Backgrounder, no. 142, 1996; and David Lague, ‘China airs ambitions to beef up naval power’, International Herald Tribune, 28 December 2006. 326. Interfax, 20 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-324; and A. Nikolskii, ‘MTC: Russia continues arming China’, Defence & Security, 8 February 2002, DSE-No.088. 327. Author’s interviews, Moscow, October–November 2005 328. John Pomfret, ‘Russians help China modernise its arsenal’, Washington Post, 10 February 2000. 329. Igor’ Korotchenko, ‘Gen. Nakatani: Ia nadeius’ na otkrovennyi dialog s Moskvoi’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 6 August 2002. 330. Urusov, ‘Destroyers’. 331. ‘Budding Allies: Russia and China’, Christian Science Monitor, 4 June 2003; Sergei Trush, ‘Prodazha rossiiskogo oruzhiia pekinu: rezony i opaseniia’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, 4 April 1996; and A. Yanov, ‘War over Taiwan – not a fantasy’, Vremia MN, 18 July 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0718. 332. Vladimir Marchukov, ‘Ostrova Spratli i Problemy Obespecheniia Bezopasnosti v Iugo-vostochnoi Azii’, in Anatolii Boliatko, (ed.) Rossiia i ATR (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2002), p. 122.

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333. A. Golts, ‘A Taste of the Cold War’, CDI Russia Weekly, no.150, 20 April 2001. 334. Aleksei Voskressenskii, ‘The Rise of China and Russo-Chinese Relations in the New Global Politics of Eastern Asia’, in Akihiro Iwashita, (ed.) Eager Eyes fixed on Eurasia, Slavic Eurasian Studies No. 16–2, (Sapporo: SRC, 2007), p. 40. 335. Kandaurov, ‘Condition and Prospects’; and Nikolai Novichkov, ‘Export Prospects of Russian Combat Aircraft to the APR’, Military Parade, January–February 1997. 336. Dmitrii Vasil’ev, ‘Russian Arms Trade with SEA and ROK’, Moscow Defence Brief, no. 1, 2005. 337. A. Timofeev, ‘Enforced Friendship’, Vremia MN, 24 August 1999, Defence & Security, DSE-No.100. 338. Stephen Blank, ‘Russia: Proliferation Personified’, Asia Times, 8 January 2003. 339. ‘Putin says Russia won’t be dictated to over arms exports’, RIAN, 31 October 2007. 340. Iurii Golotiuk, ‘Lubianka otkryla novuiu stranu: Dlia rossiiskogo oruzhiia’, Vremia Novostei, 9 August 2001. 341. Washington approved the sale of eight AIM-30 advanced medium-range airto-air missiles to Bangkok once the Russian deal became known. Bertil Lintner, ‘MiGs spell trouble’, FEER, 2 August 2001; Richard Ehrlich, ‘Thailand joins the missile game’, Asia Times, 6 November 2003; and ‘Myanmar drops a nuclear bombshell’, Asia Times, 24 May 2007. Myanmar’s decision to purchase the MiGs was in turn reportedly prompted by Thailand’s purchase of F-16s in 1999 and Malaysia’s acquisition of MiG-29s in 1995. A. Simoniia, ‘Rossiiskii Voennyi Eksport v Strany Iugo-Vostochnoi Azii’, in Nikolai Maletin, et al., (eds) IugoVostochnaia Aziia (Moscow: IVRAN, 2005), pp. 209–10. 342. ‘Russia disturbed by arms race in APR’, ITAR-TASS, 29 October 1996. 343. Author’s interviews, Moscow, October 2005; and Vladimir Petrovskii, ‘Mezhdunarodnye Rezhimy Bezopasnosti v ATR’, Problemy Dal’nego Vostoka, no. 5, 1997, p. 28. 344. Author’s interview, Moscow, November 2005. 345. For instance, Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy; Sakwa, Putin (London: Routledge, 2004); and Samuel Charap, ‘The Petersburg Experience: Putin’s Political Career and Russian Foreign Policy’, Problems of PostCommunism, vol. 51, no. 1, 2004, pp. 55–62. 346. The document can be accessed at http://www.ln.mid.ru/brp_4.nsf/sps/ 3647DA97748A106BC32572AB002AC4DD (accessed April 2008).

6 Multipolarity and the East Asian balance of Power 1. ‘President Yeltsin’s speech during his Beijing visit’, ITAR-TASS, 25 April 1996, FBIS-CHI-96-082. 2. This velikoderzhavnost’ (commitment to great-power status) was ‘at the heart of the culture and psyche of Russia’. Cited from Tatiana Shakleyina and Aleksei Bogaturov, ‘The Russian Realist School of International Relations’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 37, 2004, p. 49. 3. The term ‘realist’ used here refers to behaviour which is often attributed to states operating within the confines of a Realist theory of international relations such as balance of power and zero-sum politics. Thus ‘realist’ here refers to behaviour or manner of thought, but not as reference to the explanatory impact of Realism on state behaviour. See Jeffrey Legro and Andrew Moravcsik, ‘Is Anybody Still a Realist?’, International Security, vol. 24, no. 2, 1999, pp. 5–55. 4. The 1997 National Security Concept noted that the main threats to Russia’s security would not be military, but internal problems. ‘Kontseptsiia Natsional’noi Bezopasnosti Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, pp. 3–18.

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5. Lev Klepatskii, ‘The New Russia and the New World Order’, in Gorodetsky, (ed.) Russia between East and West, pp. 3–4. 6. The author thanks Andrei Tsygankov for pointing this out. Author’s e-mail correspondence, May 2005. 7. The following is based on the discussion among leading Russian academicians in ‘Is the World Becoming Multipolar?’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 1, 1998, pp. 1–20. 8. Shakleyina and Bogaturov, ‘The Russian Realist School of International Relations’, p. 38, fn 2. (emphasis added) 9. Oleg Arin, XXI Veka: Mir Bez Rossii (Moscow: Algoritm, 2002), p. 276–7. 10. For example see ‘Is the World Becoming Multipolar?’; Evgenii Bazhanov, ‘A Multipolar World is Inevitable’, International Affairs, vol. 49, no. 5, 2003, pp. 20–2; Forsberg, et al., ‘Foreign Policy of the Communists’, p. 23; Alexander Sergounin, ‘Discussions of International Relations in Post-Communism Russia’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 37, 2004, pp. 29–30; ‘About the Russian Far East and Northeast Asian Economic Cooperation’, p. 7; Anatolii Klimenko, ‘Globalizatsiia i ee vliianie na voennuiu politiku i voennuiu strategiiu’, Voennaia Mysl’, no. 5, 2002, pp. 14–15; Dmitrii Zhirnov, ‘Rossiia, Kitai, Mnogopoliarnost’’, Svobodnaia Mysl’-XXI, no. 5, 2001, pp. 34–48; and Chief of Staff of the Armed Forces Anatolii Kvashnin’s comments in Interfax, 18 January 2003, FBIS-SOV2003-0118. 11. ‘Prishla pora igrat’ v komandnuiu igru’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 24 March 2003. 12. See, for example, Fedor Lukianov, ‘The transition from bipolar to multipolar’, Moscow Times, 23 January 2008. 13. Arin, XXI Veka, p. 276. 14. Sergei Rogov, ‘Equal Proximity to Power Centres a Priority’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 1, Johnson’s Russia List, no. 5034, 18 January 2001; Anatolii Torkunov, ‘International Relations after the Kosovo Crisis’, in Andrei Melville & Tatiana Shakleina (eds) Russian Foreign Policy in Transition (Budapest: CEU Press, 2005), p. 287; and Aleksei Bogaturov, Velikie Derzhavy v Tikhom Okeane (Moscow: Konvert-MONF, 1997), p. 49. 15. For example, Aleksei Bogaturov, Sovremennye Teorii Stabil’nosti i Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniia Rossii v Vostochnoi Azii v 1970-90-e gg. (Moscow: ISKRAN, 1996), pp. 191–207. 16. Aleksei Arbatov, ‘Natsional’naia bezopasnost’ Rossii v mnogopolianom mire’, MEiMO, no. 10, 2000, pp. 21–8. 17. Aleksandr Iakovlev’s, ‘I vse zhe na gorizonte dvukhpoliusnii mir’, Problemy Dal’nego Vostoka, no. 4, 2000, p. 40, and ‘Rossiia i Kitai v stroitel’stve novogo mirovogo poriadka’, Problemy Dal’nego Vostoka, no. 6, 1998, p. 6. See also Iakovlev’s and V. Andrianov’s chapters in Kitai, Rossiia, Strany ATR i Perspektivy Mezhtsivilizatsionnykh Otnoshenii v XXI veke (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2001), pp. 7–15. 18. Shakleyina and Bogaturov, ‘The Russian Realist School of International Relations’, p. 41. 19. From author’s discussions, Moscow, October–November 2005. However, a few at MGIMO and ISKRAN saw it as US-dominated but transitory, while some others at the IDVRAN saw it as becoming US–China bipolarity. See also Bogaturov, Sovremennye Teorii, pp. 134–81; Vladimir Fedotov, ‘O vozmozhnykh modeliakh regional’noi bezopasnosti v ATR’ and Aleksandr Zarubin, ‘Mnogopoliarnaia geopoliticheskaia konfiguratsiia v ATR i bezopasnost’ RF’, both in Evgenii Bazhanov, Vladimir Li, and Vladimir Fedotov, (eds) Problemy obespecheniia bezopasnosti v ATR, (Moscow: Nauchnaia Kniga, 1999), pp. 14, 80.

198

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20. Evgenii Primakov’s ‘The World on the Eve of the 21st Century’, International Affairs, vol. 42, no. 5/6, 1996, pp. 2–14, and ‘Multipolar World and the UN’, International Affairs, vol. 43, no. 10, 1997, p. 4. 21. Evgenii Primakov, ‘Rossiia v Mirovoi Politike’, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 7, July 1998, pp. 78–9. See also Flemming Splidsboel-Hansen, ‘Past and Future Meet’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 54, no. 3, 2002, pp. 377–96. 22. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, p. 108. 23. Strobe Talbott, The Russia Hand (New York: Random House, 2002), p. 296. 24. Mark Katz, ‘Primakov Redux? Putin’s Pursuit of “Multipolarism” in Asia’, Demokratizatsiya, vol. 14, no. 1, 2006, pp. 145–6. 25. See Marian Leighton, ‘From KGB to MFA’, Post Soviet Prospects, vol. 4, no. 2, 1996, p. 5. 26. Gennadii Chufrin, ‘Asia in Russia’s International Posture’, in Chufrin (ed.) Russia and Asia, p. 485. 27. ‘Article of Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov on the ARF’. 28. Vsevolod Ovchinnikov, ‘Postscript after visit: Not to put cart before the horse’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 20 October 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-293. 29. ‘Primakov: Foreign Policy now turned towards East’, ITAR-TASS, 8 January 1997; ‘Russia gives much attention to relations with Japan’, ITAR-TASS, 13 September 1996; Interfax, 26 May 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-146. 30. Evgenii Afanasiev, ‘Asia-Pacific Region’. 31. ‘Text of Statement’, Xinhua, 25 April 1996, FBIS-CHI-96-081. 32. ‘Text of Statement’, Xinhua, 23 April 1997, FBIS-CHI-97-079. 33. Grigorii Karasin, ‘Two-headed Eagle’s Gaze to the West and the East’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 19 December 1996; and Afanasiev, ‘APR: A Russian Perspective’. 34. Interfax, January 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-003. 35. Grigorii Karasin, ‘Russia and China’, International Affairs, vol. 43, no. 3, 1997, p. 28. 36. ‘Russia’s Asia-Pacific Policy Viewed’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 9 December 1997, FBIS-SOV97-343. 37. Chufrin, ‘Asia in Russia’s International Posture’, pp. 483–4. 38. ‘Kontseptsiia vneshnei politiki rossiiskoi federatsii (2000)’, p. 5. The 2000 National Security Concept similarly declared that ‘Russia will facilitate the formation of a multipolar world’. See http://www.scrf.gov.ru/Documents/Decree/2000/ 24-1.html (accessed May 2005). 39. Petr Kratochvil ‘Multipolarity: American Theory and Russian Practice’, Annual CEEISA Convention, Moscow, 2002, www.iir.cz/ (date accessed May 2005), p. 10. 40. Sergei Karaganov, (ed.), Strategii dlia Rossii; and Karaganov’s interview with Segodnia in RFE/RL Newsline, 5 April 2000. 41. Sergei Kortunov, ‘Invigorating Russia’s Foreign Policy’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol.3, no.4, 2005, p. 29. 42. Cited in Kratochvil, ‘Multipolarity’, p. 9. 43. See his remarks on 30 May 2002 at http://www.eng.yabloko.ru/Press/2002/5/ 300502-01.html (accessed April 2008). 44. Trenin’s ‘Through Russian Eyes and Minds’, and ‘Press Conference on Russia-NATO Relations’, http://www.carnegie.ru/en/include/56232-articles.htm (accessed May 2005). 45. Eitvydas Bajarunas, ‘Putin’s Russia?’, CSRC Occasional Paper, F76, 2002, p. 3. 46. Lo, Vladimir Putin, pp. 77–80. 47. Mark Smith, ‘Russia and the Far Abroad 2000’, CSRC Occasional Paper, F72, 2003, p. 28. 48. ITAR-TASS, 20 April 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-0420. 49. Igor Ivanov, The New Russian Diplomacy, pp. 27, 34, 47–9, 122.

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50. Author’s interviews with MID officials and policy analysts, Moscow, October– November 2005; Primakov, Russian Crossroads, pp. 1–13, 315–7; and Primakov A World Challenged, p. 95–7. 51. ‘Joint Declaration of the RF and PRC’, 27 May 2003, http://www.mid.ru/Brp_ 4.nsf/arh/04D18AF963804B7643256D3600290B22?OpenDocument (accessed March 2008). 52. Konstantin Vnukov, ‘Russians, Chinese – Brothers Forever?’, International Affairs, vol. 52, no. 2, 2006, p. 133. See Statement at http://www.politicalaffairs.net/ article/view/1455/1/108 (accessed March 2008). 53. Sergei Lavrov’s ‘Russia’s foreign policy independence – implicit imperative’, RIAN, 22 January 2007 and ‘The Present and the Future of Global Politics’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 5, no. 2, 2007, pp. 8–14; and Aleksandr Kramarenko, ‘Russia’s foreign policy is not the problem’, Moscow Times, 11 January 2008. 54. ‘Russia marks “red lines” in foreign policy issues’, St. Petersburg Times, 4 September 2007. 55. Putin’s ‘Speech at the Munich Conference on Security Policy’, 10 February 2007, http://www.kremlin.ru/eng/speeches/2007/02/10/0138_type82912type82914typ e82917type84779_118123.shtml (accessed March 2008). 56. Obzor Vneshnei Politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii, 27 March 2007, http://www.ln.mid.ru/ brp_4.nsf/sps/3647DA97748A106BC32572AB002AC4DD (accessed March 2008). 57. See M. Krupianko and L. Areshidze, ‘Perspektivy razvitiia strategicheskoi situatsii v vostochnoi azii’, Vostok, Afro-Aziatskie Obshchestva: Istoriia i Sovremennost’, no. 2, 2002, p. 193; and Anatolii Torkunov, (ed.) Sovremennye Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniia (Moscow: MGIMO, 1999), p. 341. 58. Lo, ‘Evolution and Continuity of Russian Policy in East Asia’, p. 41. 59. Afanasiev, ‘Asia-Pacific Region’, p. 3. 60. Eduard Grebenshchikov, ‘ATR-Kontury Rossiiskogo Podkhoda’, MEiMO, no. 1, 2001, p. 47; and Mikhail Nosov, Challenges to the Strategic Balance in East Asia on eve of the 21st Century (Virginia: Centre for Naval Analyses, 1997). 61. Dmitrii Trenin, ‘Less is More’, The Washington Quarterly, vol. 24, no. 3, 2001, p. 143. 62. One such ‘asset’ was Moscow’s historical ties with Pyongyang, the early 1990s lull notwithstanding (see section 6.3.2). 63. Lo, ‘Evolution and Continuity of Russian Policy in East Asia’, pp. 42–3. 64. Aleksandr Losiukov, ‘O Strukturakh Dialoga i Sotrudnichestva v ATR’, in Gosudarstva Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskogo Regiona (Moscow: Nauchnaia Kniga, 2002), p. 14; Anatolii Boliatko, Dal’nii Vostok (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2003), p. 42; Iurii Tsyganov, et al., Russia and Northeast Asia, Research Output, vol. 11, no. 2, (Tokyo: NIRA, 1998), p. 3; Gleb Ivashentsov, ‘Russia-South Korea’, International Affairs, vol. 52, no. 1, 2006, pp. 114–5; Vladimir Petrovskii, Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskie Rezhimy Bezopasnosti Posle “Kholodnoi Voiny” (Moscow: Pamiatniki Istoricheskoi Mysli, 1998), p. 193; and Aleksei Voskressenskii, ‘“Sterzhen’” Aziatskogo Azimuta Vneshnei Politiki Rossii’, Pro et Contra, vol. 6, no. 4, 2001, pp. 74–93. 65. Anatolii Klimenko, ‘Mezhdunarodnaia bezopasnost’ i kharakter voennykh konfliktov budushchego’, Voennaia Mysl’, no. 1, 1997, p. 8. 66. Obzor Vneshnei Politiki Rossiiskoi Federatsii. 67. Tsyganov, et al., Russia and Northeast Asia, p. 9. 68. ‘Asia’s Future and Russia’s Policy’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 4, no. 3, 2006, p. 63. 69. Sergei Kortunov, ‘Russia in Search of Allies’, pp. 148–61. 70. ‘Russian Federation’ in ARF Annual Security Outlook 2007, Manila, Philippines, p. 83, http://www.aseanregionalforum.org/PublicLibrary/Publications/tabid/90/ Default.aspx (accessed March 2008).

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71. Author’s interviews, Bangkok and Moscow, April, October–November 2005. 72. ‘Opening Statement by Evgenii Primakov’, 29th AMM/PMC, 24–25 July 1996, Jakarta, www.aseansec.org/4793.htm (accessed November 2003). 73. ‘Russia’s Putin hails ASEAN Business Forum’, ITAR-TASS, 11 April 2000. 74. ‘Russia ready for expanded cooperation with ASEAN’, ITAR-TASS, 20 April 2000. 75. Which particular SEA country was seen as most important for Russia varied among SEA experts in both MID and academia. Author’s interviews, Moscow, October–November 2005; Maletin, SSSR/RF-ASEAN, pp. 78–9; V. Belokrenitskii and A. Voskresenskii, ‘Vneshniaia politika Rossii na Aziatskom napravlenii’, in Anatolii Torkunov, (ed.) Sovremennye Mezhdunarodnye Otnosheniia (Moscow: MGIMO, 2004), pp. 880–1; and ‘Indonesia is great regional power, Russian air force chief says’, Antara News, 3 December 2007. 76. Leszek Buszynski, ‘Russia and Southeast Asia: A New Relationship’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, vol.28, no.2, 2006, p. 285. 77. Rafis Abazov, ‘Dialogue between Russia and ASEAN’, International Affairs, vol. 45, no. 5–6, 1996, pp. 88–90; Viktor Sumskii, ‘ISEAS-IMEMO: Vozobnovlenie Dialoga?’, MEiMO, no. 10, 2005, p. 65; Vsevolod Ovchinnikov, ‘Aziia tozhe ne za gorami’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 29 July 1998; and Boliatko, Dal’nii Vostok, p. 80. ASEAN can be seen as adopting an ‘omni-enmeshment strategy’, of engaging all the major powers. See Evelyn Goh, ‘Great Powers and Southeast Asian Regional Security Strategies’, IDSS Working Paper, Singapore, no. 84, July 2005. 78. Iu. Raikov, ‘Rossiia-ASEAN: Pervyi opyt sotrudnichestva’, in I. Ivanov & M. Titarenko, (eds) Rossiia v ATES i v ATR, (Moscow: MID & IDVRAN, 2001), p. 136. 79. Cited from John Helmer, ‘Russia stresses regional role’, Bangkok Post, 17 August 1996. 80. Ibid. 81. Mark Hong, ‘Asia-Pacific Perspectives on Russia’, Conference paper, ISEAS, Singapore, June 2003. 82. ‘Need for a Balancer on East Asia’s Way to World Eminence’, International Herald Tribune, 23 November 2000. 83. Interfax, 11 September 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-254; and Fidel Ramos, ‘Russia and the Philippines’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 1, 1998, p. 62. 84. See, for instance, the ASEAN Secretary General’s remarks in ‘ASEAN-Russia: Partnership for Peace and Prosperity in Asia Pacific’ at an international economic conference on Russia and the APR, 9 October 2006, http://www.rus-atr.ru/eng/ appearances/yong.shtml (accessed March 2008). 85. Buszynski, ‘Russia and Southeast Asia’, pp. 290–1. 86. Rodolfo Severino, ‘Russia, ASEAN and East Asia’, in Gennadii Chufrin & Mark Hong (eds) Russia-ASEAN Relations: New Directions (Singapore: ISEAS-IMEMO, 2007), p. 4. 87. Gref, ‘Russia and Southeast Asia: Commitment to Cooperation’, RIAN, 23 May 2007. 88. ‘New Geopolitics for Russia’, p. 77. 89. E. Wayne Merry, ‘Moscow’s Retreat and Beijing’s Rise as Regional Great Power’, Problems of Post-Communism, vol. 50, no. 3, 2003, p. 21. 90. Sergounin, ‘Post-Communist Russia and Asia-Pacific’, p. 4. 91. ITAR-TASS, June 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-173. 92. Iakovlev, ‘Confidential Partnership aimed at Strategic Interaction’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 1997; and Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 219–21. 93. Iakovlev’s ‘Aberratsiia zreniia: Ne stoit lovit’ chernuiu koshku “voennoi ugrozy” tam, gde ee net’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 30 November 2001, and ‘“The Third

Notes

94. 95. 96. 97.

98.

99. 100.

101. 102.

103.

104.

105. 106. 107. 108. 109. 110.

111. 112. 113.

201

Threat”: China as Russia’s No.1 Enemy?’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2002, pp. 26–41. Wishnick, Mending Fences, p. 152. Interview in Parlamentskaia Gazeta, 5 September 2001, CDI Russia Weekly, no. 170, 7 September 2001. Interfax, 10 May 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0510; and Interfax, 13 December 2001, FBIS-SOV-2001-1213. E. Dezhin, ‘A Strategic Partnership between Russia and China may become a counterbalance to ties with NATO’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 13, 9–15 April 1999, CDI Russia Weekly, no. 47, 7 May 1999; and Vselevod Ovchinnikov, ‘Ne nado boiat’sia kitaiskogo tigra’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 19 September 2000. Iurii Golotiuk, ‘Moscow and Beijing: Brothers Forever – Part II’, Izvestiia, 9 June 1999, Defence & Security, DSE-No.067; and Iurii Tsyganov, ‘The Kosovo War’, Russia and Euro-Asian Bulletin, vol. 8, no. 5, 1999, pp. 1–14. Valerii Manilov, ‘Russia’s New Military Doctrine’, International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 4, 2000, p. 108. Leonid Ivashov’s ‘Russia’s Geopolitical Horizons’, International Affairs, vol. 53, no. 4, 2007, p. 80, and ‘Voina mezhdu SshA i Kitaem vyzrevaet v Rossii’, Russkii Zhurnal, Nov–Dec 2007, http://www.ivashov.ru/Arhive/26.html (accessed April 2008). Ivashov is currently president of the Academy of Geopolitical Problems, a think tank close to the military establishment. ‘Rossiia dolzhna snova stat’ velikoi derzhavoi’, Voenno-Promyshlennyi Kur’er, no. 2, 16–22 January 2008. They were military attaches posted in China during the 1960–70s. According to one sinologist, this group often propagated their views to receptive legislators. Author’s interview, November 2005. See Andrei Deviatov’s ‘Pod devizom “Velichie i dostoinstvo”’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 39, 15 October 2004; Kitaiskii Put’ dlia Rossii? (Moscow: Eksmo, 2004); and ‘Vstrechaia god zheltoi krysy’, Voenno-Promyshlennyi Kur’er, no. 5, 6–12 February 2008. See Klimenko and Lutovinov’s ‘We May Endanger Russia’s Military Security by Misrepresenting Real Threats’, Military Thought, no. 4, 2001, pp. 69–72, and ‘Nadumannaia, virtual’naia ugroza’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 2 November 2001. Alexander Nemets, ‘Cooperation of Chinese and Russian Special Services’, 28 February 2002, http://www.newsmax.com/archives/articles/2002/2/28/125407. shtml (accessed September 2004). Interview with V. Trubnikov, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 26, 17–23 July 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-209. Dmitrii Trenin, Russia’s China Problem, p. 38. Cited from Aleksandr Larin, ‘Russia’s Chinese Policy under President Vladimir Putin’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2001, p. 13. Gaidar, ‘Rossiia 21 veka: Ne mirovoi zhandarm, a forpost demokratii v Evrazii’, Izvestiia, 18 May 1995. Alexander Lukin, ‘Russia’s Image of China and Russian-Chinese Relations’, CNAPS Working Paper, 2001, p. 9. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, p. 243; and Arbatov’s comments in ‘Is the World Becoming Multipolar?’, pp. 10–11, and ‘Russia’s Place in the World after September 11’, International Affairs, vol. 48, no. 2, 2002, p. 88. Nemtsov and Milov, Putin – The Bottom Line, pp. 30–1. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 248–9. Elizabeth Wishnick, ‘One Asia Policy or Two?’, NBR Analysis, vol. 13, no. 1, 2002, pp. 47–8.

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114. ‘Primorskii mechtatel’: Gubernator Dar’kin reshil otmenit’ v krae zimu’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 28 June 2001. 115. ‘About the Russian Far East and Northeast Asian Economic Cooperation’, p. 7. 116. Blank, ‘The Dynamics of Russian Weapon Sales to China’, pp. 15–16; and Iurii Galenovich, Moskva-Pekin: Moskva-Taibei (Moscow: Izografus, 2002), p. 398. 117. See Rodionov’s April 1997 speech to the Chinese Academy of Military Science, Military News Bulletin, May 1997, MNB-No.005; and Igor Sergeev’s speech in October 1998, ‘Russia’s Military Doctrine and APR Security’, Military News Bulletin, November 1998, MNB-No.011. 118. Trenin, Russia’s China Problem, p. 38. 119. The first two threats being Chechnia and NATO respectively. Aleksandr Sharavin’s ‘Tret’ia Ugroza’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, no. 28, 28 September 2001 and ‘Storona Treugol’nika – pole Bor’by’, Izvestiia, 14 July 2001; and also Aleksandr Khramchikhin’s ‘Vyzov “Podnebesnoi”’, Svobodnaia Mysl’, no. 9, 2007, pp. 66–79 and ‘Ugroza, kotoraia sama po sebe “ne rassosetsia”’, Nezavisimoe Voennoe Obozrenie, 22 February 2008. 120. Tsygichko and Piontkovskii, ‘Russia’s National Security in the Early 21st Century’, pp. 69–70. 121. Lt. Gen. V. I. Ostankov, ‘Geopolitical Problems and Possible Solutions in the Context of RF Security’, Military Thought, vol. 14, no. 1, 2005, pp. 28–9. 122. Lukin, Bear Watches the Dragon, pp. 228–36. Among sinologists there were some concerns over China’s internal socio-economic and political problems that may spill over to affect Russia. ‘Roundtable on China: Risks, Threats and Challenges’, MGIMO, 25 October 2005, (author attended). 123. See AFP, 14 July 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0714; Grigorii Karasin, ‘Russia and China: Winging toward 21st century partnership’, Rossiiskie Vesti, 26 December 1996; Leonid Moiseev, ‘Russia and China make a New Beginning’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 5, 2000, pp. 3–12; Aleksandr Losiukov, ‘Big Treaty, Big Prospects’, International Affairs, vol. 47, no. 5, 2001, pp. 16–22; Igor Rogachev, ‘RussianChinese Relations’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 5, 2001, pp. 1–5; and Konstantin Vnukov, ‘Russia-China’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2004, pp. 53–6. 124. Ekaterina Grigorieva, ‘Kislo-Sladkaia Karosha: Vladimir Rushailo otpravilsia v Kitai’, Izvestiia, 16 July 2002. 125. RFE/RL Security and Terrorism Watch, vol. 3, no. 45, 24 December 2002. 126. Margelov, ‘Russian-Chinese Relations’, International Affairs, vol. 49, no. 6, 2003, pp. 90–1. 127. Cited from Lukin, ‘Russia’s Image of China and Russian-Chinese Relations’, p. 5. 128. See Lukin’s ‘Rossiia-Kitai: druz’ia ili soperniki?’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 3 August 2001; ‘China: Advancing Bilateral Cooperation’, International Affairs, vol. 48, no. 1, 2002, pp. 141–52; and ‘Facing China: Russians can’t stop looking down on their neighbour’, Kommersant, 9 November 2006. Also, author’s interview, October 2005. 129. Lukin, ‘Russia-China Strategic Partnership’, pp. 58–65. 130. Iakov Berger, ‘China’s Rise to Eminence’, International Affairs, vol.51, no.6, 2005, pp. 30–1. 131. N. Airapetova, ‘Nado li Rossii opasat’sia Kitaia? (Interview with Gelbras)’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 3 March 2000; Voskresenskii’s ‘Vneshniaia politika Rossii’, p. 881, and ‘Vneshniaia Politika Rossii v Severo-Vostochnoi i Tsentral’noi Azii’, in Aleksei Voskresenskii, (ed.) Severo-Vostochnaia i Tsentral’naia Aziia (Moscow: MGIMO, 2004), pp. 4–13.

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132. ‘Rogov: Rossiia i kitai dolzhny balansirovat’ amerikanskoe vliianie, a ne protivostoiat’ emu’, 29 November 2002, www.strana.ru (accessed May 2005). 133. Trenin’s ‘China Concentrates the Mind’, CMC Briefing Papers, no. 5, 2001, and ‘Rossiia mezhdu Kitaem i Amerikoi’, Pro et Contra, vol. 9, no. 3, 2005, p. 51. Also, author’s interview, November 2005. 134. Sergei Karaganov, ‘New Contours of the World Order’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 3, no. 4, 2005, pp. 18, 22. 135. Ivan Safronov and Andrei Ivanov, ‘Internatsional’nyi dolg. Naemniki dobroi voli’, Kommersant, 18 August 2005; and Ivan Safranchuk, ‘Misconceptions about the SCO’, Moscow Times, 21 August 2007. 136. In a government survey of 210 Russian foreign policy experts, two-thirds supported alliance with India and China against the US. Vladimir Shlapentokh, ‘Is the “Greatness Syndrome” Eroding?’, The Washington Quarterly, vol. 25, no. 1, 2002, p. 136. For example, Sergei Luzianin, ‘Perspektivy Politicheskog “Treugol’nika”’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 21 November 2001; Mikhail Titarenko, ‘Russian-Chinese-Indian Cooperation in the Face of Globalisation Challenges’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 6, 2001, pp. 25–31; and Viacheslav Trubnikov, ‘Troika Rossiia-Indiia-Kitai kak faktor globalizatsii’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 19 March 2007. 137. M. K. Bhadrakumar, ‘A velvet divorce in China’, Asia Times, 31 October 2007. 138. S. Babaeva & D. Safonov, ‘My ne khotim vooruzhat’ kitaitsev’, Izvestiia, 31 May 2002. 139. S. Babaeva, ‘Igor’ Ivanov (interview)’, Izvestiia, 10 July 2002. 140. Yu Bin, ‘Hu’s trip to Russia: Without love, but . . .’, Asia Times, 28 March 2007. 141. Viktor Larin, ‘Rossiiskii vektor politiki kitaia: novye veianiia i starye problemy’, Rossiia i ATR, no. 3, 2005, pp. 92–9; Iurii Galenovich, ‘K dukhovnomy vzaimoponimaniiu’, Svobodnaia Mysl’, no. 5, 2006, pp. 45–56; and Kuzyk and Titarenko, Kitai-Rossiia 2050, pp. 561–2. 142. Peter Ferdinand, ‘Sunset, Sunrise’, International Affairs (London), vol. 83, no. 5, 2007, p. 850; and Sergei Livishin, ‘2006: The Year of Russia in China’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2006, p. 1. 143. Author’s interviews with MID officials and policy analysts, October–November, 2005. 144. Yu Bin, ‘In Search for a Normal Relationship’, The China and Eurasia Forum Quarterly, vol. 5, no. 4, 2007, pp. 71–2; Aleksei Maslov, ‘ShOS o dvykh golobakh’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 24 September 2007; and Bobo Lo, Axis of Convenience (London: Chatham House, 2008), pp. 109–12. 145. Vladimir Portiakov, ‘Certain Aspects of Improving Russian-Chinese Strategic Partnership’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2007, p. 7. 146. Lo, Axis of Convenience, p. 3. 147. Trenin, ‘Less is More’, p. 143. 148. Kuchins, ‘Russia and Great-Power Security in Asia’, in Chufrin, (ed.) Russia and Asia, pp. 433–6. See also Andrew Kuchins and Alexei Zagorsky, ‘When Realism and Liberalism Coincide’, working paper, Stanford University, July 1999. 149. ‘MID i MO Rossii nachinaiut deistvovat’ soglasovanno’, Segodnia, 19 May 1997. 150. ‘Diplomatic Panaroma for 17 July 2000’, Interfax, FBIS-SOV-2000-0717. See also Dmitrii Volodin, ‘Evoliutsiia Amerikano-Iuzhnokoreiskogo Voennogo Al’iansa’, SShA Kanada, vol. 7, no. 403, 2003, p. 31. 151. Valerii Manilov, ‘Ugrozy Natsional’noi Bezopasnosti Rossii’, Voennaia Mysl’, no. 1, 1996, pp. 9–10; I. Latyshev, ‘Amerikano-Iaponskoe Voennoe Sotrudnichestvo v ATR i Pozitsiia Rossii’, in A. Khazanov, et al., (eds) Problemy Bezopasnosti v Azii

204

152.

153. 154. 155.

156. 157. 158.

159.

160.

161. 162. 163.

164.

165.

166. 167.

Notes (Moscow: IVRAN, 2001), pp. 166–8; and Aleksei Bogaturov, ‘Russian Security Policy in Northeast Asia’, in Tae-Hwan Kwak and Edward Olsen, (eds) The Major Powers of NEA (London: Lynne Rienner, 1996), p. 99. Mikhail Nosov, ‘Rossiia i SShA v ATR’, in Vneshnaia Politika i Bezopasnost’ Sovremennoi Rossii, vol. 3 (Moscow: ROSSPEN, 2002), pp. 333–9; A. Shlyndov, ‘Rossiiskaia Kontseptsiia Sistemy Bezopasnosti v ATR’, in V. Pavliatenko and I. Tsvetova (eds) Aktual’nye Problemy Sovremennoi Iaponii (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2001), pp. 52–3; Viktor Pavliatenko and N. Dmitrievskaia (eds) Iaponiia (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2003), pp. 178–9; Konstantin Sarkisov, ‘The Northern Territories Issue after Yeltsin’s Re-election’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 30, no. 4, 1997, p. 361; and author’s interviews with a Japanologist and a senior MID official, Moscow, November 2005. Remarks at Conference on Japanese foreign policy, 21 April 2004, St. Antony’s College, Oxford (author attended). Harada, Russia and Northeast Asia, pp. 57–8. ‘Text on Statement of Yeltsin-Hashimoto Plan’, ITAR-TASS, 12 November 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-316; and ‘Hashimoto declares 3 basic policies toward Russia’, Japan Weekly (Kyodo), 1 August 1997. Afanasiev, ‘Asia-Pacific Region: A Russian Perspective’. See the Declaration at http:// www.mofa.go.jp/region/n-america/us/security/security.html (accessed February 2004). Peggy Meyer, ‘Russia’s Post-Cold War Security Policy in NEA’, p. 497. Anatolii Klimenko’s ‘O roli kuril v obespechenii bezopasnosti Rossii’, Voennaia Mysl’, no. 4, 2002, p. 70, and ‘Evoliutsiia Voennogo Faktora i ego Vliianie na Sistemy Mezhdunarodno-Politicheskikh Otnoshenii v Vostochnoi Azii’, Voennaia Mysl’, no. 4, 2004, pp. 59–62. Anatolii Boliatko’s Dal’nii Vostok, pp. 50–2; ‘Threats and Challenges to Russia in the APR’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2000, pp. 7–9; and also Vyzovy i ugrozy: natsional’noi bezopasnosti Rossii v ATR (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2001), pp. 53–4, 121, 142, 207–10. Natalia Narochnitskaia, ‘Russians Want Back What Was Taken From Them’, International Affairs, vol. 51, no. 3, 2005, p. 180; and G. Agafonov, et al., Situatsiia v ATR i Morskaia Politika Rossii na Tikhookeanskom Napravlenii (Moscow: IDV, 2005), pp. 52–5. ‘On the Parliamentary Hearings on South Kurils’, 19 March 2002, IPD-MID, 22 March 2002. Tsyganov, et al., Russia and Northeast Asia, pp. 25–6. Viktor Pavliatenko’s ‘Russian security in the APR’, in Gilbert Rozman, et al., (eds) Russia and East Asia (London: M. E. Sharpe, 1999), p. 18, ‘US Policy in East Asia’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2002, p. 7; and author’s interview, November 2005. Aleksandr Ignatov, ‘Russia in the Asia-Pacific’, in Rouben Azizian and Boris Reznik (eds) Russia, America, and Security in the Asia Pacific (Honolulu: APCSS & FENU, 2007), p. 9. ‘Opening Statement by H. E. Primakov’ 30th AMM/PMC, 28–29 July 1997, Malaysia, www.aseansec.org/4883.htm (accessed November 2003); and Afanasiev, ‘APR: A Russian Perspective’. Aleksandr Shlyndov, ‘Certain Aspects of Russian-Chinese Collaboration in the International Arena’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2006, p. 74. See official Russian contributions to ARF Annual Security Outlook 2004, p. 61; and ARF Annual Security Outlook 2005, p. 85 http://www.aseanregionalforum. org/PublicLibrary/Publications/tabid/90/Default.aspx (accessed March 2008).

Notes

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168. Valerii Denisov, ‘Korean Reconciliation and Russia’s Interests’, International Affairs, vol. 48, no. 2, 2002, pp. 42–3; Vadim Tkachenko, ‘A Russian View on Korean Security after the North-South Korea Summit’, Korean Journal of Defence Analysis, vol. 12, no. 2, 2000 pp. 27–9; Aleksandr Zhebin, ‘Inter-Korean Relations: The View from Moscow’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2003, p. 39; and author’s interview with a Russian Korea expert, Moscow, November 2005. 169. Sergei Karaganov (ed.) Mir vokrug Rossii (Moscow: Kul’turnaia revoliutsiia, 2007), p. 91. 170. Larisa Garusova, ‘Tikhookeanskaia Politika SShA v 80-90-e gody XX v.’, Rossiia i ATR, vol. 4, no. 34, 2001, p. 72. 171. http://www.mofa.go.jp/region/n-america/us/security/guideline2.html (accessed September 2004). 172. R. Abazov, ‘Politika Rossii v ATR’, MeiMO, no. 2, 1997, pp. 23–34; and Mikhail Nosov, ‘Russian-US relations in Asia-Pacific’, in Chufrin (ed.) Russia and Asia, p. 366. 173. Dmitrii Volodin, ‘SShA, Kitai i novoe voenno-strategicheskoe upravnenie v ATR’, MeiMO, no. 2, 2006, p. 78. Documents can be accessed at http://www.mod.go.jp/ e/d_policy/index.html (accessed April 2008). 174. Author’s interviews with Russian diplomats, Tokyo, Moscow, March, November 2005; and Aleksei Bogaturov, ‘Russia’s Priorities in Northeast Asia’, in Richard Bush, et al., (eds) Brookings Northeast Asia Survey, 2003–2004 (Washington DC: CNAPS, 2004), p. 89. 175. For an overview see Viktor Pavliatenko, ‘Japan and America’s Plans to Build a Theatre Missile Defence System in Northeast Asia’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2001, pp. 35–52. 176. Trenin, ‘Less is More’, p. 143. See also A. Shlyndov, ‘Iapono-Kitaiskikh Otnosheniia v Politiko-Diplomaticheskoi i Voenno-Strategicheskoi Sferakh’, in V. Pavliatenko and I.Tsvetova (eds) Aktual’nye Problemy Sovremennoi Iaponii (Moscow: IDV, 2005), pp. 137–9; and Latyshev, ‘Amerikano-Iaponskoe’, p. 163. 177. Aleksandr Pikaev, ‘East Asia and Missile Defences’, Second Collaborative Workshop on East Asia Regional Security Futures, Shanghai, 3–4 March 2001. 178. Aleksandr Timofeev, ‘Enforced Friendship’, Defence & Security, 27 August 1999, DSE-No.100. 179. Author’s interview with MID officials and analysts, Moscow, November 2005. 180. Interfax, 27 July 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-0727. Russian criticism against NMD and TMD were regular features in Russian contribution to the ARF Annual Security Outlook at http://www.aseanregionalforum.org/PublicLibrary/Publications/ tabid/90/Default.aspx (accessed March 2008). 181. ‘Interfax diplomatic panorama for 18 June 2003’, FBIS-SOV-2003-0618. 182. ‘Russia concerned by Japanese-US missile shield – Lavrov’, RIAN, 13 October 2007. 183. ‘Sino-Russian Joint Statement on Anti-Missile Defence’, 18 July 2000, http://www. nuclearfiles.org/redocuments/2000/0718russiachinabmdstate.html (accessed September 2004); and ITAR-TASS, 1 March 2001, FBIS-SOV-2001-0301. 184. Andrei Kokoshin, ‘V iadernom kol’tse’, Argumenty i fakty, 12 March 2003; and Gennadii Chufrin, ‘Nuclear Free Zone on the Korean Peninsula’, 22 July 1999, www.nautilus.org/papers/security (accessed January 2004), p. 14. 185. Primakov, A World Challenged, p. 100. 186. Interfax, 10 May 2001, FBIS-CHI-2001-0510; and ‘Creation of TMD in Far East is unjustified’, ITAR-TASS, 18 December 2002.

206

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187. Aleksandr Larin, ‘The American Factor in Russian-Chinese Strategic Partnership’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 6, 2000, p. 26. 188. ‘Interview with Aleksandr Ivanov’, People’s Korea, 9 August 2000, http://210.145.168.243/pk/ (accessed May 2005). 189. ‘Transcript of interview with Sergei Ivanov’, Financial Times, 18 April 2007. 190. Primakov, A World Challenged, p. 108. 191. ITAR-TASS, 20 May 2002, FBIS-SOV-2002-0520. 192. ‘Japan reassures Russia over missile cooperation with US’, RIAN, 14 April 2008. 193. ITAR-TASS, 18 October 2000, FBIS-CHI-2000-1018. 194. Interfax, 13 December 2001, FBIS-SOV-2001-1213. 195. ‘Russia, China consider joint missile defence’, Moscow Times, 20 January 2000. 196. Ibid. 197. Frank Umbach, ‘The Wounded Bear and the Rising Dragon’, Asia Europe Journal, no. 2, 2004, pp. 59–60; and Shlyndov, ‘Certain Aspects of Russian-Chinese Collaboration in the International Arena’, pp. 75–6. 198. Beijing Xinhua, 17 January 2000, FBIS-CHI-2000-0117. On Chinese views see Kori Urayama, ‘China Debates Missile Defence’, Survival, vol. 46, no. 2, 2004, pp. 123–42. 199. RIAN, 12 June 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-0612; and Vasilii Mikheev, ‘The Russia-USChina Triangle after September 11’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2002, p. 23. 200. ‘China, Russia sign Friendship Treaty’, Reuters, 28 February 2002. 201. Author’s interview, Moscow, November 2005. 202. ‘Russia’s Military Doctrine and Asia-Pacific Security’, Military News Bulletin, November 1998, MNB-No.011. See also Defence Minister Rodionov’s statement in ‘Russo-Chinese Partnership is a major security and stability factor in the APR’, Military News Bulletin, May 1997, MNB-No.005. 203. Petrovskii, ‘Mezhdunarodnye Rezhimy Bezopasnosti v ATR’, p. 27; and Shlyndov, ‘Rossiiskaia Kontseptsiia Kontseptsiia Sistemy Bezopasnosti v ATR i Mesto Iaponii v nei’, p. 59. 204. ‘Opening Statement by Igor Ivanov at 7th session of ARF, Bangkok’, 27 July 2000, www.mid.ru (accessed November 2003); and Losiukov, ‘Moscow Policy’. 205. Author’s interviews with MID officials, October–November 2005; Igor Rogachev, ‘Uchastie Kitaia v Aziatskikh Regional’nykh Strukturakh i Interesy Rossii’, in his Rossiisko-Kitaiskie Otnosheniia (Moscow: Izvestiia, IDVRAN, 2005), pp. 93–6; Dmitrii Zhirnov, Rossiia i Kitai (Moscow: MGIMO, 2002), pp. 205–40; and Petrovskii, Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskie Rezhimy Bezopasnosti Posle “Kholodnoi Voiny”, pp. 182–6. 206. Zhirnov’s Rossiia i Kitai, p. 230 and ‘Vneshnepoliticheskoe Sotrudnichestvo Rossii i Kitaia’, in Voskresenskii (ed.) Severo-Vostochnaia i Tsentral’naia Aziia, pp. 285–6; and Mikhail Panchenko, Rossiisko-Kitaiskie Otnosheniia (Moscow: Diplomaticheskii Akademii, 2005), pp. 66, 182. 207. See Igor Ivanov’s ‘Opening Statement’ at the 8th ARF session (2001) and at the 10th ARF session (2003), IPD-MID; Ivanov, ‘Russia in Asia and Asia and Russia’; Anatolii Klimenko, ‘Integration Processes in Asia and their Impact on Regional Security’, Military Thought, no. 2, 2003, pp. 34–44; and Russian contribution to ARF Annual Security Outlook 2005, p. 81, http://www.aseanregionalforum.org/ PublicLibrary/Publications/tabid/90/Default.aspx (accessed March 2008). 208. Boris Rumer, ‘The Powers in Central Asia’, Survival, vol. 44, no. 3, 2002, pp. 57–68; and Russell Ong, ‘China’s Security Interests in Central Asia’, Central Asian Survey, vol. 24, no. 4, 2005, pp. 425–39.

Notes

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209. Aleksandr Ivanov, ‘The Large Asian Quartet’, International Affairs, vol. 44, no. 6, 1998, p. 197. 210. Evgenii Afanasiev, ‘Vladimir Putin’s New Foreign Policy and Russian Views of the Situation on the Korean Peninsula’, Korean Journal of Defence Analysis, vol. 12, no. 2, 2000, p. 10. 211. For non-Russian views on a Concert of Powers in Asia see Amitav Acharya, ‘A Concert of Asia?’, Survival, vol. 41, no. 3, 1999, pp. 84–101; Susan Shirk, ‘AsiaPacific Regional Security’ in David Lake and Patrick Morgan, (eds) Regional Orders (PA: Pennsylvania University Press, 1997), pp. 245–70; and Nicholas Khoo and Michael Smith, ‘A Concert of Asia?’, Policy Review, no. 108, August 2001. 212. Lo, ‘Pacific Russia and Asia’, p. 23. 213. According to some policy analysts. Author’s interviews, Moscow, November 2005. 214. Thomas Ambrosio, Challenging America’s Global Preeminence (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2005), p. 101. 215. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy, p. 92. 216. ITAR-TASS, 7 November 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-311. 217. Klimenko, ‘Integration Processes in Asia and their Impact on Regional Security’, p. 38. 218. Lavrov, ‘Demokratiia, Mezhdunarodnoe Upravlenie i Budushchee Miroustroistvo,’ Rossiia v Global’noi Politike, vol. 2, no. 6, 2004, pp. 8–16 (emphasis added). 219. On balance, Russia’s role in Asia-Pacific multilateral security has so far been generally a constructive one. See Alexander Sergounin, ‘Russia and the Prospects for Building a Multilateral Security System in the Asia-Pacific’, Pacifica Review, vol. 12, no. 2, 2000, pp. 167–88. 220. Ivanov, ‘The Large Asian Quartet’, pp. 192–3; Leonid Moiseev, ‘The Kremlin’s Eastern Policy’, International Affairs, vol. 43, no. 6, 1997, p. 32; Vladimir Fedotov, ‘K Formirovaniiu Dialogovogo Mekhanizma v ATR’, in Gosudarstva Aziatsko-Tikhookeanskogo Regiona, p. 119; Viktor Samoilenko, ‘Mnogostoronniaia diplomatiia v ATR v oblasti obespecheniia bezopasnosti i uchastie v nei Rossii’, in Bazhanov, et al., (eds) Problemy obespecheniia Bezopasnosti v ATR, p. 106; and author’s interviews with MID officials, November 2005. 221. ITAR-TASS, 29 January 1998, FBIS-UMA-98-029. 222. ITAR-TASS, 30 November 1997, FBIS-UMA-97-334. 223. Interfax, 15 April 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-105. 224. Acharya, ‘A Concert of Asia?’, pp. 85, 96. 225. Remarks at CMC seminar on ‘Japanese-Russian relations and NEA security’, 16 January 2003. 226. Anatolii Boliatko’s ‘Russian National Security Strategy and its Implications for East Asian Security’, in Stephen Blank, (ed.) Russian Security Policy in the APR, US Army War College, 1996, p. 21, and Dal’nii Vostok, p. 172. 227. Gilbert Rozman, ‘Russian Strategic Thinking on Asian Regionalism’, in Rozman, et al, (eds) Russian Strategic Thought Toward Asia, p. 238. 228. Georgii Toloraia, ‘Russia’s East Asian Strategy’, Russia in Global Affairs, vol. 6, no. 1, 2008, p. 183. 229. Valerii Denisov, ‘Viewpoint’, The Nonproliferation Review, Spring–Summer, 1996, pp. 77–8. 230. Cited from Alexander Zhebin, ‘Russia and North Korea’, Asian Survey, vol. 35, no. 8, 1995, p. 739. 231. Moiseev, ‘Russia and Korean Peninsula’, p. 106.

208

Notes

232. Valentin Moiseev, ‘On the Korean Settlement’, International Affairs, vol. 43, no. 3, 1997, pp. 69–72, Georgii Toloraia and Pavel Iakovlev, ‘How to undo the “Korean Knot”?’, International Affairs, vol. 45, no. 3, 1999, pp. 93–4. 233. Ivanov, ‘The Large Asian Quartet’, p. 194. 234. Jae-Nam Ko, ‘The Rising Role of Russia in Settling Peace on the Korean Peninsula’, East Asian Review (Seoul), vol. 11, no. 2, 1999; and Aleksandr Vorontsov, ‘Russia and the Korean Peninsula’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 3, 2002, pp. 51–2. 235. Vladimir Li, Rossiia i Koreia v Geopolitike Evraziiskogo Vostoka (Moscow: Nauchnaia Kniga, 2000), pp. 275–81. 236. ‘Interview granted by Putin to Japanese Newspaper Asahi’, IPD-MID, 1 September 2000. 237. ‘Written interview by President Putin with the Japanese Newspaper Iomiuri and Kyodo Tsushin News Agency’, IPD-MID, 18 July 2000. 238. Although Moscow vehemently denied this, stating that Kim was in fact serious. See Afanasiev, ‘Vladimir Putin’s New Foreign Policy and Russian Views of the Situation on the Korean Peninsula’, pp. 14–15; and Georgii Toloraia, ‘A Newfound Old Partner in the Far East’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 5, 2000, p. 21. 239. Yoshinori Takeda, ‘Putin’s Foreign Policy toward North Korea’, International Relations of the Asia-Pacific, vol. 6, no. 2, 2006, p. 200; and Aleksandr Vorontsov, ‘Current Russia-North Korea Relations’, CNAPS Working Paper, February 2007, p. 17. 240. Evgenii Bazhanov, ‘Korea in Russia’s Post Cold War Regional Political Context’, A CEAS Working Paper, MIIS, 2003, pp. 15–16. 241. In November 2002, the KEDO members decided to stop oil shipments to North Korea. A month later, Pyongyang resumed its plutonium programme at Yongbyon and expelled the IAEA inspectors. 242. ‘Old allies turn on North Korea’, The Economist, 2 December 2002. 243. ‘Japan, Russia summit to focus on North Korea’, Japan Times, 30 December 2002. 244. Gevorg Mirzaian, ‘SShA i Severokoreiskaia iadernaia programma’, SShA Kanada Ekonomika Politika Kul’tura, no. 6, 2007, p. 47. 245. See Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 2, 2003, pp. 44–50; and ‘Is Russia the new peacemaker?’, CDI Russia Weekly, no. 241, 23 January 2003. 246. Georgii Toloraia, ‘Korean Peninsula and Russia’, International Affairs, vol. 49, no. 1, 2003, p. 33. 247. ‘Aleksandr Losiukov interview granted to Kyodo Tsushin News Agency, 17 April 2003’, http://www.rus.co.nz (accessed March 2004); and ‘Interfax Diplomatic Panorama’, 18 June 2003, FBIS-SOV-2003-0618. 248. ‘Russia, friendly face for N. Korea at nuclear talks’, Johnson’s Russia List, no. 1, 25 August 2003. 249. ‘China supports Russian proposal on N. Korea nuclear issue’, Kyodo News, 12 August 2003; and O. Kir’ianov, ‘Iadernaia Programma KNDR’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 6, 2004, pp. 19–25. 250. While Pyongyang did close its Yongbyon reactor in July 2007, it for a while failed to honour its October commitment to disclose all its nuclear activities by the year’s end. It finally produced a declaration of its nuclear programme in June 2008, although this still omitted the extent of its nuclear proliferation activities worldwide and its efforts to enrich uranium. Pyongyang later started to reassemble its Yongbyon plant in September 2008 after the six-party talks stalled on proposed verification mechanisms.

Notes

209

251. Georgii Toloraia, ‘Koreiskii Poluostrov v poiskakh puti k stabil’nosti’, MEiMO, no. 1, 2008, p. 53. 252. Author’s interviews with Russian Korea experts, Moscow, November 2005; Evgenii Bazhanov, ‘Multilateral Collaboration in Korea: A View from Russia’, A CEAS Working Paper, Monterey, MIIS, 2003, p. 6; Zhebin, ‘Inter-Korean Relations’, p. 43; and Alexander Lukin, ‘No interest in Kim Jong-Il’, Moscow Times, 17 October 2006. 253. Igor’ Tolstokulakov, ‘Osnovnye vektory Rossiiskoi politiki na koreiskom polyuostrove’, Rossiia i ATR, no. 3, 2006, pp. 95–6. 254. Oleg Arin, Strategicheskie Kontury Vostochnoi Azii v XXI veke, Rossiia (Moscow: Al’ians, 2001), p. 18.

7

Case Studies

1. Ralf Emmers, ‘The Influence of the Balance of Power Factor within the ARF’, Contemporary Southeast Asia, vol. 23, no. 2, 2001, pp. 275–91. 2. ITAR-TASS, 22 July 1992, FBIS-SOV, 92/141. 3. ‘Russia stresses support for a nuclear-free SEA’, AFP, 3 March 1993. 4. ‘ARF: Kozyrev praises “growing” ASEAN role’, ITAR-TASS, 30 July 1995, FBIS, 95/147. 5. ‘First APR Security forum may become permanent mechanism’, ITAR-TASS, 24 June 1994. 6. Eunsook Chung, ‘Explaining Russia’s Interest in Building Security Mechanisms in East Asia’, in Ted Hopf (ed.) Understandings of Russian Foreign Policy, p. 262. 7. Nikolai Maletin, ‘K 10-letiiu Uchastiia Rossii v ARF’, in Maletin (ed.) Iugovostochnaia Aziia v 2003 g., p. 229; G. Agafonov, ‘Sotrudnichestvo Aziatskikh Stran Krepnet’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 4, 2004, p. 46; and Boliatko, Dal’nii Vostok, p. 168. 8. ITAR-TASS, 23 July 1994, FBIS-SOV, 94/142. 9. ‘ASEAN is for Russia’s Participation in talks on security’, ITAR-TASS, 18 May 1993. 10. ‘ASEAN Forum-the Russian view’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 6 August 1994, FBIS-SOV, 94/152. 11. Iu. Raikov, ‘Rossiia-ASEAN: Partnerstvo v Interesakh Bezopasnosti i Razvitiia’, in Evgenii Bazhanov, et al. (eds) Rossiia i ASEAN (Moscow: Nauchnaia Kniga, 2004), p. 14. 12. ‘Kozyrev’s proposals in Singapore’, Straits Times, 25 July 1993, FBIS-EAS, 93/144. 13. Sergounin, ‘Russia and the Prospects for Building a Multilateral Security System in the Asia-Pacific’, p. 183; Mikhail Konarovskii and Oleg Pryzhkov, ‘Preventivnaia diplomatiia’, in Anatolii Boliatko (ed.) Rossiia i ATR (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2001), pp.11–24; Fedotov, ‘O vozmozhnykh modeliakh’ in Bazhanov et al. (eds) Problemy obespecheniia, p. 21; and ‘The ARF: A Concept Paper’ (1995), http://www.aseansec. org/3635.htm (accessed November 2003). 14. Russia persistently proposed that the SCO be linked with the ARF and other AsiaPacific organisations. A memorandum of understanding was signed between the SCO and ASEAN establishing official contacts on 21 April 2005. 15. ‘Opening Statement by H. E. Primakov’, 4th ARF, 27 July 1997, Subang Jaya, http://russia.shaps.hawaii.edu/security/arf/primakov-arf-9707.html (accessed November 2003). 16. ‘Opening Statement by H. E. Primakov’, 5th ARF, 27 July 1998, Manila, http:// russia.shaps.hawaii.edu/security/arf/arf31osr.html (accessed November 2003).

210

Notes

17. Grigorii Logvinov, ‘Russia in APR’, conference paper, National Defence University, Washington DC, 26–8 March 2001. 18. ‘Sovmestnaia Deklaratsiia o Partnerstve v Dele Mira i Bezopasnosti, a takzhe Protsvetaniia i Razvitiia v ATR’, Diplomaticheskii Vestnik, no. 7, July 2003, pp. 50–1; and ‘Remarks by Igor Ivanov at signing ceremony of Russian-ASEAN Joint Declaration, Phnom Penh, June 19, 2003’, IPD-MID. 19. For example, ‘ASEAN-Russia Joint Declaration for Cooperation to Combat International Terrorism’, 37th AMM/PMC, 11th ARF, 29 June–2 July, 2004, www. aseansec.org/16229.htm (accessed May 2005). 20. ‘Instrument of Accession to TAC in SEA’, 29 November 2004, Vientiane, www. aseansec.org/16638.htm (accessed May 2005). 21. Primakov’s Opening Statements at 1996 and 1997 ARF summits. 22. Primakov’s Opening Statement (1997). 23. ‘Primakov’s “Brilliant Manoeuvre” at ASEAN Forum hailed’, Obschchaia Gazeta, 5 August 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-217. 24. See Ivanov’s Opening Statements at ARF summits from 2000 to 2003, IPD-MID. Lavrov’s criticisms, however, were more toned down. See ‘Summary of Statement by Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov at 14th Session of the ARF’, Manila, IPD-MID, 2 August 2007. 25. ITAR-TASS, 29 July 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-210. 26. Artyom Lukin, ‘Russia and Multilateral Cooperation in the APR’, p. 6. 27. ‘Towards the First Step in a New Relationship between Japan and Russia (interview with Aleksandr Losiukov)’, ERINA Report, vol. 58, July 2004, p. 8. 28. Author’s interviews with analysts, Moscow, November 2005; and Evgenii Kanaev, ‘ASEAN’s Leading Role in East Asian Multilateral Dialogue on Security Matters’, in Chufrin and Hong (eds) Russia-ASEAN Relations, pp. 89–94. 29. For instance, Pyongyang blocked an ASEAN proposal for a meeting of all direct participants in the ARF context. ‘Transcript of Aleksandr Losiukov’s remarks on visit of Igor Ivanov to Pakistan, India, and ARF’, IPD-MID, June 2003. 30. ‘Russia disturbed by arms race in APR’, ITAR-TASS, 29 October 1996. 31. Interfax, 15 July 1998, FBIS-SOV-98-196; V. Fedotov, ‘ARF i Rossiia’, in Bazhanov, et al. (eds) Rossiia i ASEAN, p. 38; ‘Interview of Deputy Foreign Minister Alexander Alexeyev with ITAR-TASS on the issues of enhancing Russian ties with ASEAN’, IPD-MID, 29 July 2005; and author’s interviews with senior Russian diplomats, Bangkok and Moscow, April and November 2005. 32. ‘Aleksandr Iakovenko interview to RIA Novosti regarding ASEAN events in Brunei’, IPD-MID, 29 July 2002; ‘Opening Statement by Igor Ivanov at 8th ARF session’, IPD-MID, 25 July 2001; and L. Vasil’ev, ‘Rossiia-ASEAN’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 11, 2004, p. 70. 33. V. Samoilenko, ‘Mnogostoronniaia diplomatiia v ATR’, in Bazhanov et al. (eds) Problemy obespecheniia, pp. 102–6. See also ‘Remarks by Igor Ivanov at signing ceremony of Russian-ASEAN Joint Declaration, Phnom Penh, June 19, 2003’; and Aleksandr Ivanov, ‘The Integration Nucleus in the APR’, International Affairs, vol. 49, no. 2, 2003, pp. 60–70. 34. Author’s interviews, Moscow, November 2005; and M. Konarovskii and I. Morgulov, ‘Regional’naia bezopasnost’: ispytanie na prochnost’’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 2, 2000, pp. 32–3. 35. ‘Russia’s parliament applies its experience in Europe to Asian integration’, RIAN, 21 December 2007. 36. Pavel Smirnov, Rossiiskaia Federatsiia i Forum ATES, Analytical Report, no. 1, (Moscow: RNKTES, 1997), p. 42.

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37. Shkuropat, ‘Assessing Russia’s Entry into APEC’, p. 2. 38. Vladimir Fedotov, ‘Russia and APEC’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 2, 2004, p. 22. 39. Shkuropat, ‘Assessing Russia’s Entry into APEC’, p. 4; and Goncharenko, AziatskoTikhookeanskii Region, p. 53. 40. Fedotov, ‘Russia and APEC’, pp. 21–2. 41. ITAR-TASS, 26 April 1999, FBIS-SOV-1999-0426. 42. Shkuropat, ‘Assessing Russia’s Entry into APEC’, p. 7. 43. ‘APEC Coordinator John Wolf Moscow Press Roundtable’, Spaso House, Moscow, 15 April 1998, http://usinfo.state.gov/regional/ea/apec/wolf415.htm (accessed January 2004). 44. Cited in Nikolai Tsvetkov, ‘APEC seen as EU Alternative for Russia’, Rabochaia Tribuna, 2 December 1997, FBIS-SOV-97-336. See also Aleksandr Granberg, ‘Rossiia v Tikhookeanskom Ekonomicheskom Soobshchestve: Rol’ RNKTES’, Problemy Dal’nego Vostoka, no. 5, 1997, pp. 3–15. 45. Author’s interview, Vladivostok, November 2004. 46. Aleksei Baliev, ‘The Wind from the East’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 15 February 1997. 47. Tsvetkov, ‘APEC seen as EU Alternative for Russia’. 48. Oleg Ivanov, ‘Russia-APEC’, International Affairs, vol. 43, no. 4, 1997, p. 173. 49. Oleg Ivanov, ‘Russia’s Debut at APEC’, International Affairs, vol. 45, no. 3, 1999, p. 88. 50. Vladimir Iakubovskii, ‘Russia and APEC’, Russian Expert Review, no. 5, 2003, p. 5. 51. See Losiukov, ‘The Shanghai Summit’, p. 11. 52. ‘Kontseptsiia uchastiia Rossii v forume “ATES”’, http://www.atr.ru/2002/concep2. php (accessed September 2005). 53. Anna Shkuropat, ‘Russia in Asia and the Pacific’, Centre for Trade Policy and Law Occasional Papers, no. 51, June 1999, p. 4. 54. Mihoko Kato, ‘Russia’s Multilateral Diplomacy in the Process of Asia-Pacific Regional Integration’, in Akihiro Iwashita, (ed.) Eager Eyes fixed on Eurasia: Russia and its Eastern Edge, Slavic Eurasian Studies No. 16–2, (Sapporo: SRC, 2007), pp. 142–4. 55. Cited from Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, fn 5, p. 144. 56. Iakubovskii, ‘Russia and APEC’, p. 6. 57. Oleg Ivanov, ‘Russia-APEC’, p. 171; and Vsevolod Ovchinnikov, ‘Without US, APEC is not APEC’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 14 November 2000, FBIS-SOV-2000-1114. 58. APEC issued an anti-terrorist declaration at the 2003 Bangkok Summit, whereby each member had to prepare a Plan of Action on the fight against terrorism. ‘Russia APEC to coordinate anti-terrorist activities’, Gazeta, 17 October 2003. 59. ‘Russia prepares for historic APEC summit’, Russia Journal, 19 October 2001. 60. ‘Russia in the Far East’, International Affairs, vol. 46, no. 6, 2000, pp. 109, 119–20. 61. Maxim Potapov, ‘China’s Experience as a Member of APEC’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2001, p. 48. 62. Author’s interview, Vladivostok, November 2004. 63. Iakubovskii, ‘Russia and APEC’, p. 7. 64. Shkuropat, ‘New Dynamics in Northeast Asia’, p. 19. 65. Interview with Vasilii Dobrovol’skii, ‘ATES i Rossiia’, Aziia i Afrika Segodnia, no. 1, 2008, p. 61. 66. ‘Speech by President Putin at the APEC Business Summit, Bangkok, 19 October 2003’, IPD-MID; and Sergei Blagov, ‘Putin pushes his case at APEC’, Asia Times, 18 October 2003.

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67. ITAR-TASS, 18 October 2003, FBIS-SOV-2003-1018. 68. Cited from Fedotov, ‘Russia and APEC’, p. 23. 69. S. Vasil’ev, ‘Globalizatsiia, ATES i Rossiia’, in Ivanov and Titarenko (eds) Rossiia v ATES i v ATR, p. 99. 70. Aleksandr Ignatov and Sergei Shipilov, ‘Russia and APEC’, International Affairs, vol. 54, no. 1, 2008, p. 51. 71. Author’s interview, Moscow, October 2005; Viacheslav Amirov, ‘Russia and East Asia’, Russia and Euro-Asian Bulletin, vol. 10, no. 2, 2001, pp. 6–7; and Sergei Goncharenko, ‘APEC Summit in Auckland’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 1, 2000, p. 16. 72. See V. Khoniakov’s remarks (vice-chairman of Siberian Aluminium Group) in I. Ivanov and M. Titarenko (eds) Rossiia v ATES (Moscow: IDV, 2000), pp. 127–9. 73. Sergei Sevast’ianov, ‘Rossiiskie Podkhody k Razvitiiu Mnogostoronnego Ekonomicheskogo Sotrudnichestva v SVA’, in Sevast’ianov (ed.) Dal’nii Vostok Rossii i Severo-Vostochnaia Aziia, p. 212. 74. Author’s interview with analyst, Vladivostok, November 2004. 75. Iurii Kopylov, ‘Forum ATES i Rossiia’, Vladivostok, 2003, www.vladcity.ru/center/ ru/publications/kopilov_APEC/contents.htm (accessed January 2004). 76. Figures from Russian Federation Customs Service, www.customs.ru/ru/stats/arhivstats-new/popup.php?id286=364 (accessed March 2008). 77. ‘The APEC forum: A different integration model’, RIAN, 9 November 2006. 78. Putin, ‘Rossiia and ATES: K ustoichivomu i stabil’nomu razvitiiu ATR’, Rossiiskaia Gazeta, 8 September 2007. 79. Ignatov and Shipilov, ‘Russia and APEC’, p. 52. 80. See Primakov’s statements in ‘Russia plans special economic zones in Far East’, AFP, 24 July 1996; and John Helmer, ‘Russia stresses regional role’, Bangkok Post, 17 August 1996. 81. For example, Losiukov, ‘The Shanghai Summit’, p. 18. 82. Vladimir Putin, ‘Rossiia: novye vostochnye perspektivy’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 14 November 2000. See also Putin’s APEC Business Summit speeches at Shanghai, October 2001, and at Bangkok, October 2003, IPD-MID. 83. Jae-Young Lee, ‘Iron Silkroad’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 20, no. 1, 2004, p. 90. 84. Jae-Young Lee, ‘The Trans-Siberian Bridge’, Studies on Russian Economic Development, vol. 12, no. 6, 2001, p. 645. 85. The other possible routes went through China, linking up with the TSR further to the West. Hisako Tsuji, ‘Perspectives on Linking the Trans-Siberian and TransKorean Railways’, ERINA Report, vol. 56, 2004, p. 38. 86. Markku Heiskanen, ‘Eurasian Railways – key to the Korean Deadlock?’, Research Paper, Berkeley, 10 April 2003. 87. Hiroshi Kimura, ‘Putin’s Policy Toward the Korean Peninsula: Why is Russia Losing its Influence?’ in Kimura (ed.) Russia’s Shift toward Asia, pp. 163–4. 88. Valerii Denisov, ‘Moscow-Seoul’, International Affairs, vol. 51, no. 3, 2005, p. 133. 89. Igor’ Naumov, ‘Transkoreiskii tupik RZhD’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 27 February 2008. 90. ‘Putin reiterates readiness to assist Korean projects’, RIAN, 9 October 2007. 91. ‘Yakunin signs North Korea Rail Link Deal’, Moscow Times, 25 April 2008. 92. See Alla Startseva, ‘Russia: Korean Rail link a potential watershed’, Moscow Times, 10 June 2003; and Georgii Toloraia, ‘Russia and the Two Koreas’, NEA Economic Forum, Changchun, 27–9 April 2001. 93. ‘An Important and Beneficial Event: Interview with German Gref’, FORUM International, no. 3, 10 September 2004, http://bmatch.ru/issuemenu (accessed February 2005).

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94. ‘Transportation Corridors as a factor of Russia’s economic growth’, Business Match, 16 September 2002, http://bmatch.ru/showart (accessed February 2005). 95. ‘On State of, and Prospects for Russian Europe-Asia Transport Corridors’, IPDMID, 23 April 2002. See also member of Duma Defence Committee Valerii Dorogin’s ‘Nekotorye Voprosy Strategii Gosudarstvennoi Deiatel’nosti Rossii na Sovremennom Etape’, in Anatolii Boliatko (ed.) Rossiia i ATR (Moscow: IDVRAN, 2003), pp. 124–35. 96. Sergei Rogov, Evraziiskaia Strategiia dlia Rossii (Moscow: ISKRAN, 1998); ‘Problemy dorog i durakov reshat diplomaty (interview with Rogov)’, Vek, no. 14, 7 April 2000; Mikhail Nosov, ‘Russia between Europe and Asia’, in Gorodetsky (ed.) Russia between East and West, p. 173; and Irina Troekurova, ‘Russia’s TransSiberian Railroad’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2004, pp. 87–103. 97. Sergei Blagov, ‘The End of the Line’, Asia Times, 10 August 2000; and Lee, ‘Iron Silkroad’, pp. 86–91. 98. Although Russia introduced a number of measures to cut tariffs and transport time, and increase cargo security in the late 1990s, the TSR remained less competitive than the sea route. Vladimir Ivanov and Dmitrii Sergachev, ‘TransSiberian Landbridge’, in Vladimir Ivanov and Karla Smith (eds) Japan and Russia in Northeast Asia (Westport: Praeger, 1999), pp. 276–8. 99. Hisako Tsuji’s, ‘The Booming Russian Economy Leads the Way in International Use of the TSR’, ERINA Report, vol. 58, 2004, p. 37, and ‘International Container Transport on the TSR Continued to Increase in 2004’, ERINA Report, vol. 63, 2005, p. 10. 100. ‘Rossiia khochet soedinit’ Evropy i Aziiu’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 13 September 2000; Alla Startseva, ‘Railways reform off the tracks’, Moscow Times, 21 December 2001; and Mikheev, North East Asia Globalisation, p. 205. 101. Sergei Blagov ‘Moscow’s ties with Pyongyang back on track’, Asia Times, 5 April 2002. 102. Blagov, ‘North Korean, Russian ties firmly on track’ Asia Times, 27 August 2002. 103. ‘Yakunin tells how he’ll reinvent the railroad’, Moscow Times, 4 October 2007; ‘Trains to reach new rail territories’, Vladivostok News, 20 November 2007; and Hisako Tsuji and Dmitry Sergachev, ‘An Overview of Russian Railways’, ERINA Report, vol. 62, 2005, pp. 25–7. The Strategy can be viewed at http://www.rzd. ru/wps/portal/rzd?STRUCTURE_ID=5042 (accessed March 2008). 104. Hisako Tsuji, ‘International Container Transport on the TSR in 2005–2006’, ERINA Report, vol. 73, 2007, pp. 20–30. 105. Tsuji, ‘Perspectives on Linking the Trans-Siberian and Trans-Korean Railways’, p. 40; and Troyakova and Wishnick, ‘Integration or Disintegration’, in Arai (ed.) The Russian Far East Today, pp. 23–4. 106. Ishaev, ‘Long-term prospects for Cooperation in NEA’, p. 18. 107. ‘Khabarovsk Governor against laying railway bridge to Sakhalin’, Pravda, 20 July 2001. 108. Interview, 23 November 2001, http://www.neftegaz.ru/english/interview/intersae.php (accessed June 2004). 109. Andrei Fisenko, ‘RNPTK i Problemy Transportnoi Integratsii Dal’nego Vostoka so Stranami ATR’, Rossiia i ATR, no. 1, 2004, pp. 17–23; Il’ia Kondratiuk, ‘Integratsiia Transportnogo Sektora Rossiiskogo Dal’nego Vostoka v Ekonomiku Stran ATR’, Rossiia i ATR, no. 2, 2002, pp. 53–6; and author’s interviews, Vladivostok, November 2004.

214

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110. Artyom Lukin, ‘Russia and Multilateral Cooperation’, p. 9; ‘FESCO hires Fradkov’s son’, Vladivostok News, 27 July 2004; and Tsuji, ‘International Container Transport on the TSR in 2005–2006’, p. 29. 111. See Iurii Kovalenko, ‘Transport System of Primorskii Region’, in Sergey Sevast’ianov (ed.) International Cooperation in Economics, Trade and Education in Northeast Asia (Vladivostok, VGUES, 2003), pp. 78–80. 112. Larisa Sayenko, ‘Putin Presses North Korea on Rail Link’, St. Petersburg Times, 27 August 2002. For a similar view see Margelov, ‘Russian-Chinese Relations’, p. 88. However, both routes proceeded with the assumption that the western route through China would handle mostly South Korea’s trade with China, while the eastern route would carry Korean and international transit shipments from Asia to Europe. Anna Bardal, ‘The Trans-Korean Railroad’, Far Eastern Affairs, no. 4, 2007, p. 85. 113. Anton Doroshev, ‘Koreiskii Tranzit’, Zolotoi Rog, no. 56, 22 July 2003. 114. Pavel Minakir, ‘Strategies of Regional Development: the Far East and Transbaikalia’, Russian Expert Review, no. 7, 2004, p. 36. 115. Andrei Piontkovsky, ‘10 Miles of Iron Silk Road’, Russia Journal, 25 January 2002. 116. Cited from Stephen Blank, ‘Infrastructural Policy and National Strategies in Central Asia’, Central Asian Survey, vol. 23, no. 3–4, 2004, p. 234. 117. Aktual’nye zadachi razvitiia vooruzhennykh sil Rossiiskoi Federatsii, Ministerstvo Oborony, 2 October 2003, http://www.mil.ru/articles/article5005.shtml (accessed May 2005), p. 52. 118. ‘DPRK proposes railway talks with Russia’, JoongAng Ilbo, 19 September 2002. 119. ‘Russia-ROK’, International Affairs, vol. 47, no. 6, 2001, p. 125; and Bakhtiyar Mirkasymov, ‘Russia’s Foreign Policy and Security Concerns in the Light of Security in NEA’, Russia’s Institute for Strategic Studies, www.riss.ru/library/ China-04-1.pdf (accessed October 2004). 120. Author’s interview, November 2005; and Mikheev’s ‘Integration Motivation’, p. 12, and North East Asia Globalisation, pp. 193, 205–6. 121. Japanese experts viewed Russia’s TSR-TKR project as ‘romantic’, ‘unrealistic’, and economically non-viable compared with the western route through China. Author’s interviews, Sapporo and Tokyo, February–March, 2005. 122. Mark Katz, ‘Exploiting Rivalries for Prestige and Profit’, Problems of PostCommunism, vol. 52, no. 3, 2005, pp. 31–2. 123. Putin, ‘Rossiia: novye vostochnye perspektivy’. 124. Yukos planned to pump 25 mt of oil per year to China from 2006–7, increasing this to 30 mt from 2010–30. The Pacific route was planned to deliver approximately 50 mt per year. 125. ‘Russia, China to discuss cooperation’, Russia Journal, 21 August 2002. 126. ‘China to get oil before Japan: Russian envoy’, Japan Times, 20 May 2005. 127. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘Russian Oil for Northeast Asia’, p. 13. 128. Japan reportedly offered US$ 5 billion for pipeline construction, US$ 1 billion for developing Russian cities along the route, and US$ 7.5 billion for oil exploration in East Siberia. Yu Bin, ‘The Russian-Chinese Oil Politik’, Comparative Connections, vol. 5, no. 3, 2003, p. 139; and ‘Russia and Japan set to back $5 bn pipeline deal’, Financial Times, 9 January 2003. 129. John Helmer, ‘Tokyo outbids China in Kremlin oil link’, Asia Times, 11 January 2003; and ‘Pipeline politics goes into round two’, Russia Journal, 17 January 2003.

Notes

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130. John Helmer, ‘Kremlin decides China pipeline on new terms’, Asia Times, 4 March 2003. 131. Ivanov, ‘Russian Energy Strategy 2020’, pp. 13–19. 132. Michael Lelyveld, ‘Moscow clears way for pipeline to China’, Asia Times, 3 May 2003. 133. Shoichi Itoh, ‘The Pacific Pipeline at a Crossroads’, ERINA Report, vol. 73, 2007, p. 43. 134. Cited from John Helmer, ‘Japan intensified lobbying for Russian oil’, Asia Times, 3 July 2003. 135. Aleksandr Lukin, ‘Nefteprovod v nikuda’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 15 September 2003. 136. Anna Skorniakova, ‘Nazarbaev vytecniaet moskvu iz kitaiskoi truby’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 14 October 2003. 137. Anna Skorniakova, ‘Iaponiia povyshaet stavku do 7 mlrd. dollarov’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 15 October 2003. 138. ‘Towards the First Step in a New Relationship between Japan and Russia’, p. 7. 139. Leszek Buszynski, ‘Oil and Territory in Putin’s Relations with China and Japan’, Pacific Review, vol. 19, no. 3, 2006, p. 299. See also Lyle Goldstein and Vitaly Kozyrev, ‘China, Japan and the Scramble for Siberia’, Survival, vol. 48, no. 1, 2006, pp. 163–77. 140. Aleksandr Panov, Rossiia i Iaponiia (Moscow: Izvestiia, 2007), p. 151. 141. Edward Chow, ‘Russian Pipelines’, Georgetown Journal of International Affairs, Winter/Spring 2004, pp. 30–1. 142. James Brooke, ‘Koizumi visits energy-rich Russian region, seeking oil’, New York Times, 13 January 2003. 143. Skorniakova, ‘Iaponiia povyshaet stavku’. 144. Sergei Luzianin cited from ‘Budding allies: Russia and China’, Christian Science Monitor, 4 June 2003. 145. ‘Putin Interview for Star-TV’, 19 October 2003, www.kremlin.ru (accessed March 2004). While Putin himself reportedly preferred the Pacific Route, stating so at a SB session in November 2002, he never publicly committed himself to one route in 2003. FBIS Report, 8 December 2003, FBIS-CHI-2003-1208. 146. ‘Rech’ ne o tom, kogo Rossiia predpochtet – Iaponiiu ili Kitai’, Vremia Novostei, 24 July 2003. 147. Gilbert Rozman, ‘Sino-Japanese Competition over the Russian Far East’, in Akihiro Iwashita (ed.) Siberia and the RFE in the 21st Century (Sapporo: SRC, 2005), pp. 11-2. 148. ‘Vedemosti interview with Energy Minister Khristenko’, 24 January 2005, www. transneft.ru/press/ (accessed June 2005). 149. Directive No. 91, 26 April 2005, http://www.minprom.gov.ru/activity/auto/ docs/law_mpe/1/ (accessed March 2007). 150. ‘China offers $20Bln oil loan’, Moscow Times, 18 February 2009. 151. ‘Pacific Pipeline delayed until 2015’, Moscow Times, 20 July 2007; and ‘Second phase of Russian pipeline to start in 2009’, Japan Times, 18 June 2008. 152. Vladimir Ivanov, ‘A Subregional Energy Community’, ERINA Report, vol. 60, 2004, pp. 19–20. 153. Russia produces around 7 million barrels a day, but Transneft’s network allows for export 4 million barrels only. The rest has to be shipped by rail and river routes. ‘Russia Country Analysis Brief’, US Department of Energy, www.eia.doe. gov/emeu/cabs/russia.html (accessed February 2005).

216

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154. Mikhail Klasson, ‘Oil Majors Craving for more Export’, Moscow News, 9 September 2003. 155. ‘Yukos President, Iurii Beilin, talks about his company’s strategy’, http://yukos. ru/119.shtml (accessed June 2005). 156. In 2003, Yukos dominated Russia’s oil supply to China, exporting 5.25 mt – 5.8 per cent of China’s total. Michael Richardson, ‘Will Russia’s oil help fuel Asia’s economies?’, Straits Times, 28 August 2004. 157. Iurii Aleksandrov, ‘Puti nefti iz Angarska: Reshenie priniato’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 28 March 2003. 158. Gazprom and Rosneft proposed that parallel gas and oil pipelines be built along the Pacific Route. Peter Rutland, ‘Pipeline pirouette in NEA’, Jamestown Foundation Eurasia Daily Monitor, vol. 1, no. 53, 16 July 2004; and Paik, ‘Geopolitics of Pipeline Development in Northeast Asia’. 159. Mikhail Khodorkovskii, ‘Daqing outweighs Nakhodka’, Gazeta, 29 May 2003. 160. Itoh, ‘The Pacific Pipeline at a Crossroads’, p. 43. Putin approved Transneft to draft a feasibility study report on the Route in July 2001. In January 2002, the Ministry for Economic Development and Trade approved the proposal and organised presentation of the project with participation of the Energy Ministry and oil companies. Ivanov, ‘Russian Oil for Northeast Asia’, p. 12. 161. Peter Trafalgar and Vladimir Kozlov, ‘Producers pin hopes on new oil pipelines’, Russia Journal, 16 November 2001. 162. Dmitrii Zhdannikov, ‘Transneft mulls oil pipe to Pacific’, Russia Journal, 7 September 2001. 163. Helmer, ‘Kremlin decides China pipeline on new terms’. 164. Ibid.; and ‘Sino-Russian pipeline compromise reached’, Asia Times, 29 March 2003. 165. ‘Interview with Sergei Grigoriev’, 15 December 2004, www.transneft.ru/press (accessed June 2005). 166. ‘Vladimir Iakunin vydvinul “kitaiskii ul’timatum”’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 17 March 2006. 167. Lahn and Paik, ‘Russia’s Oil and Gas Exports to NEA’, p. 8. 168. Dmitrii Trenin and Vasilii Mikheev, Russia and Japan as a Resource for Mutual Development (Moscow: CMC, 2005), p. 10. 169. ‘Transneft’ prosiat izmenit’ marshrut’, Kommersant, 15 March 2005; Viktor Gorchakov, ‘The Fuel and Energy Complex of Primorskii Region’, in Vladimir Ivanov and Eleanor Goldsmith (eds) The Niigata Energy Forum 2004, ERINA Booklet, vol. 3, pp. 78–9; and ‘One more oil pipeline will appear in the territory of Khabarovsk krai’, 2 August 2002, www.adm.khv.ru/invest2.nsf (accessed February 2005). 170. ‘The Khabarovsk governor delivered a report at the 5th international investment forum’, 16 September 2003, www.adm.khv.ru/invest2.nsf (accessed February 2005). 171. Aleksandr Levintal, cited from ‘Daqing pipeline still most feasible’, 11 March 2004, www.china.org.cn/ (accessed February 2005). 172. ‘Koizumi visits energy-rich Russian region’. 173. ITAR-TASS, 19 October 2003, in FBIS Report, 8 December 2003. 174. Itoh, ‘The Pacific Pipeline at a Crossroads’, p. 51. 175. ‘Putin’s Address to the Federal Assembly’, 26 May 2004, www.kremlin.ru (accessed February 2005). 176. ‘Interview of President Putin granted to Chinese media’, IPD-MID, 13 October 2004.

Notes

8

217

Conclusion

1. Putin during his eight years of presidency tellingly visited the US six times and China seven – visiting each nearly every year. ‘Globe-Trotting Putin landed in 64 countries’, Moscow Times, 22 January 2008. 2. Bobo Lo, ‘The Long Sunset of Strategic Partnership’, International Affairs (London), vol. 80, no. 2, 2004, p. 302. 3. This has variably been termed the ‘New Realism’ in, or the ‘economisation’ of, Putin’s foreign policy. Richard Sakwa, Putin (London: Routledge, 2004) pp. 210–15; and Lo, Vladimir Putin and the Evolution of Russian Foreign Policy, pp. 52–3. 4. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, pp. 19–21. On this great-power theme see Roger E. Kanet (ed.) Russia (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2007); and Jakob Hedenskog et al. (eds) Russia as a Great Power (Abingdon: Routledge, 2005). 5. Light, ‘In Search of Identity’, p. 46; and Li, Rossiia i Koreia v Geopolitike Evraziiskogo Vostoka, p. 283. With some notable exceptions, for instance, see Sergei Karaganov, ‘New Foreign Policy’, Moscow News, 8 March 2000. 6. Lo, Russian Foreign Policy in the Post-Soviet Era, p. 19. 7. Andrei Tsygankov, ‘Vladimir Putin’s Vision of Russia as a Normal Great Power’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 21, no. 2, 2005, pp. 133–4. 8. ‘Rossiia na rubezhe tysiacheletii’, Nezavisimaia Gazeta, 30 December 1999. 9. ‘Otkrytoe pis’mo Vladimira Putina k Rossiiskim izbirateliam’, Komsomol’skaia Pravda, 25 February 2000. 10. ‘Annual Address to the Federal Assembly’, 16 May 2003, http://president.kremlin. ru/eng/text/speeches/2003/05/16/0000_type70029_44692.shtml (accessed May 2005). 11. ‘The Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation’, 12 July 2008, www. kremlin.ru/eng/text/docs/2008/07/204750.shtml (accessed August 2008). The concept also indicates Prime Minister Putin playing a greater foreign policy role. 12. ‘Medvedev’s Cure for the Far East’, Moscow Times, 30 September 2008.

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Index Africa 20 Aksenenko, Nikolai 142 Alekseev, Aleksandr 165 n26, Altai Gas Pipeline project 88 Amal’rik, Andrei 24 Angarsk 83, 86–7, 144 Arbatov, Aleksei 57, 95, 98, 104, 114 arms transfers/sales 5, 10, 15, 18, 30, 33–4, 47, 50, 60–1, 89–100, 116, 153–54 Asia-Europe Meeting (ASEM) 49, 68 Asia-Pacific Economic Cooperation (APEC) energy, 84 Russia host (2012) 71, 138–9 Russian accession/participation 9, 17, 32, 60, 124, 134–39, 151 Russian perceptions 39, 136–39 Asia-Pacific Parliamentary Forum 19 Asia-Pacific Region (APR) Asia as Russia’s ‘other’ 4 definition 6 dynamic region 29 responsible departments in MID 16 Asian Development Bank 32 Asianism/Asianists 24–7, 29–30, 52 Asian Monetary Fund 66 Association of Southeast Asian Nations (ASEAN) see under Russia-ASEAN relations ASEAN+3 6, 68 ASEAN Regional Forum (ARF) 9, 39, 110, 120, 122–25, 130–34, 151, 155 Australia 6, 32, 78, 111, 116

Baluevskii, Iurii 96–7, 115, 121 Bazhanov, Evgenii 20, 94, 103, 115, 178 n74 beliefs (‘causal’ and ‘principled’) 5, 10, 152, 154–56 Berger, Iakov 115 Billington, James H. 50, 174 n2 bipolarity/‘revised bipolarity’/bipolar world 35, 39, 104–5, 107, 109, 112 Blagovolin, Sergei 174 n104 Blank, Stephen 14, 82, 90 Bogaturov, Aleksei 111, 175 n3 Bogdanchikov, Sergei 149 Brezhnev, Leonid 37 Brutents, Karen 55 Bull, Hedley 36

Baikal, Lake 83, 150 Baikal Economic Forum (BEF) 56, 74, 84 balance of power global balance 38 in East Asia 10, 36–9, 89, 101–2, 109, 123, 129–30, 155 thinking 2, 35–7, 101, 130

Cam Ranh Bay 65 Canada 32 Carnegie Moscow Centre (CMC) 12, 57, 68, 75, 103, 162 n36 causality/causal linkages between perceptions and policies 4, 8 Centre for Strategic Research 21 Central Asia 6–7, 17, 25, 47, 107, 115–7, 123, 132, 142 Chamber of Commerce and Industry (of Russia) 48, 65, 179 n90 Chechnya 67, 202 n119 Chemezov, Sergei 18 Chernomyrdin, Viktor 14, 18, 34, 89 Chevron 86 China Communism/authoritarianism 52, 170 n30 demographic threat/expansion 17, 21–2, 24, 38, 47, 50–1, 74–9, 112–6, 156 economic model/reforms 52–4 energy dependence 80 military threat 16, 24, 47, 51, 57, 95–7, 112–5, 120

250

Index nuclear arms/military buildup 102, 114, 120 pole of power 102–4 relations with Russia see under RussiaChina relations responsible MID department 16 revisionist 37–8 rise in power 10, 38, 102–4, 109, 111, 113, 115, 119, 153 strategic threat 90, 95, 98, 113–5, 156 totalitarian state 114 ‘Westernised’ 51, 114 Chinese Eastern Railway 30 Chinese National Petroleum Company (CNPC) 85–6 Chita oblast 76, 150 Chufrin, Gennadii 63, 105 Cold War 4, 6, 16, 101, 105, 119 Collective Security Initiative (1969) 37 Commonwealth of Independent States (CIS) 27, 74, 78, 153 Communists/Communist Party of Russia (KPRF) 19, 27–8, 44–5, 47, 49–50, 52, 54, 75, 81, 94–5, 103, 112, 121 Concert of Powers 10, 102, 107, 122–9, 133, 155–56 Conference on Security and Cooperation in Asia 37 Constitution of Russia 12, 13, 19, 184 n81 Council for Foreign and Defence Policy see under SVOP Crimean War 25, 104 Daqing 84, 87, 144, 146–47, 150 Darkin, Sergei 71, 73, 76, 114, 138, 151 data and methodology 7–9 defence industry see under MilitaryIndustrial Complex (VPK) Denisov, Andrei 137 derzhavniki 112 Diplomatic Academy 20, 162 n36 Dostoevskii, Fedor 25 DPRK see under North Korea Dugin, Aleksandr 51–4 East Asia arms transfers from Russia 89–100 Concert of Powers see under Concert of Powers

251

definition 6, 161 n30 dynamic region 60 economic model 52, 54 energy cooperation with Russia 79–89 financial crisis (1997) 54, 63, 66 multipolarity/multipolar region 2, 10, 35–6, 39, 101–29, 155–56 regional security system 122–34 regionalism 6–7 ‘strategic quadrangle’ 35, 37, 123–24 Summit (EAS) 6, 84, 111, 157 threat perceptions 109 ‘tigers’ 52 trade with Russia 62–7, 79–100 ‘Eastern Dimension’ movement 19 Eastern Europe 51 Eastern Siberia-Pacific Ocean Pipeline route (ESPO) 147–50 Economics/Energy ministries 17–18, 61, 69, 71, 81–2, 84, 135, 141, 145–47, 149–50 Economic perspective 1–2, 5, 9, 29–35, 60–100, 144–45, 152, 154, 157 elite discourse 4, 160 n12 energy interdependence/network 5, 10, 34, 43, 61, 79–89 energy resources/exports/transfers 18, 60, 79–89, 145–51, 153–54 Energy Strategy (of Russia) 83, 86, 145 Eurasian Economic Community 52 Eurasian Energy Community 52 Eurasian Landbridge policy see under Russia - as a Eurasian landbridge Eurasianism 4, 23–30, 42–4, Geopolitical 10, 49–53 Intercivilisational 10, 43, 53–6, 156 Neo-Eurasianism 10, 19, 43–4 nuance/meaning 175 n3, n6 Pragmatic 10, 43–7, 53, 156 Eurasianists/Neo-Eurasianists 3, 25–6, 46, 49–54, 156 Eurasianist perspective 1–2, 5, 9, 23–9, 42–59, 139, 145, 152, 154 Europe 4, 6, 21, 27–8, 40, 57, 60, 95, 101, 107–9, 117, 121, 133, 139, 141–42, 153–54 European Union (EU) 39, 49, 57, 103, 113, 138, 142 EU-Russia Summit 48 ExxonMobil 86

252

Index

Fadeev, Gennadii 142 Far Eastern Forum 56, 74 Far Eastern Shipping Company (FESCO) 143 Farkhutdinov, Igor 21, 143 Federal Border Guards Services (FPS) 16, 77 ‘Federal Programme on Economic and Social Development of the Far Eastern and Trans-Baikal Regions in 1996–2005’ (revised to 2010) 69–71, 73, 78, 84 ‘Federal Programme for the Economic and Social Development of the Far East and Trans-Baikal Regions up to 2013’ 71 Federation Council 19–21, 48, 78, 112, 115, 179 n90 Fedorov, Valentin 21 Foreign Direct Investment (FDI) in Russia see under Russian economy – Foreign Direct Investment foreign policy analysis 2–5 Foreign Policy Concept (of Russia) 7, 66, 106, 157 Foreign Policy Council (of Russia) 16 Foreign Policy Survey (of Russia) 100, 108, 110 Fradkov, Mikhail 143, 147, 164 n19 Fradkov, Petr 143 Frank, Sergei 141 FSB (Federal Security Services or Federal’naia sluzhba bezopasnosti) 12, 15–16 Fuel and Energy Complex (TEK) 12, 18, 29, 34–5, 61, 71, 80, 82–9, 97, 99, 144, 156 Fundamentalist Nationalists 3 G8 20, 150 Gabunia, Georgii 135 Gaidar, Egor 114 Gareev, Makhmut 113 Gazprom 18–19, 82, 84–7, 149 Gel’bras, Vilia 57, 76, 78, 115, 178 n74 geoeconomics 43, 59, 64–5 geopolitics 26, 28, 40, 46–53, 65 Germany 51 Glaziev, Sergei 33 Goldstein, Judith, and Keohane, Robert O. 2, 5

Gorbachev, Mikhail 26, 31–2, 35, 37, 44, 59, 103, 111 Gorchakov, Prince Aleksandr 25, 104, 108 Grachev, Pavel 46 Granberg, Aleksandr 135 Gref, German 52, 111, 141 Griboedov, Aleksandr 69 GRU (Main Intelligence Directorate or Glavnoe razvedyvatel’noe upravlenie) 12, 113 Gurvich, Aleksandr 133 Hashimoto, Ryutaro 118 Hu Jintao 108 Iakovlev, Aleksandr 104, 112 ideas in foreign policy 2, 5 IDVRAN (Institute for Far Eastern Studies) 12, 20, 38, 43, 54, 56, 67–8, 70, 74, 76, 78, 112, 115, 119, 136, 141, 162 n36, 170 n32, 175 n4 IMEMO (Institute for World Economy and International Relations) 12, 20, 54, 68, 138, 162 n36 IMF (International Monetary Fund) 32 India 6, 28, 39, 45, 47, 51, 93, 95, 99, 103–4, 110, 116–8, 130, 153 Individual Action Plan (APEC) 17 Indonesia see under Russia-Indonesia relations Inner Mongolia 51 Institute of Political and Military Analysis 115 International Atomic Energy Agency (IAEA) 126 Interregional Association of Economic Cooperation of the Far East and Zabaikal’e 69, 73 Iran 47, 98, 117 Irkutsk 88 Ishaev, Viktor 21, 72–3, 75–6, 88, 103, 114, 143, 150–51 Iskhakov, Kamil 71 ISKRAN (Institute of the USA and Canada) 28, 68, 103, 116, 142, 167 n55 Ivanov, Igor 14, 48, 60, 66, 78, 107–8, 116, 120, 132, 163 n6, n10 Ivanov, Ivan 66

Index

253

Ivanov, Sergei 14, 18, 58, 77, 90–1, 93, 97, 107, 110, 121, 163 n6, n10 Ivashov, Leonid 46, 64, 113, 121, 178 n62 IVRAN (Oriental Institute) 12, 20, 162 n36, 170 n32

Kuchins, Andrew 117 Kunadze, Georgii 38, 95, 114 Kurils 38, 51, 118–9, 146 Kuropatkin, Aleksei 24 Kyrgyzstan 162 n34

Japan ARF 130 dynamic country 29, 31 energy dependence 80 India 116 responsible MID department 16 relations with Japan see under RussiaJapan relations remilitarisation 38, 109, 118 rise in power 35, 37, 103, 105, 118 Jervis, Robert 3, 5

landbridge policy see under Russia – as a Eurasian landbridge Larin, Viktor 76 Latin America 6 Latyshev, Igor 174 n108 Lavrov, Sergei 46, 48, 105, 108, 120– 21, 124, 163 n10, 165 n33 Lebedev, Sergei 164 n19 Lee Kuan Yew 111 Lenin, Vladimir 26 Liberal Democratic Party of Russia (LDPR) 19, 28, 49–50, 75 liberals (Russian) 14, 47, 56–7, 95, 114–5 Light, Margot 162 n35, 175 n6 light-water reactors (LWRs) 126 Lo, Bobo 5, 65, 105, 162 n35 Lobov, Oleg 17 Lomonosov, Mikhail 84, Lopatin, Vladimir 125 Losiukov, Aleksandr 121, 127–28, 165 n26 Lukin, Aleksandr 5, 10, 54–5, 79, 115 Lukin, Vladimir 38, 56–7, 103, 106, 115, 167 n55

Karaganov, Sergei 21, 106, 116 Karasin, Grigorii 45–6, 136 Kasatonov, Igor 96 Kasianov, Mikhail 88, 145 Katz, Mark 105 Kazakhstan 83, 146, 158, 162 n34 Keidanren 67 Khabarovskii krai 21, 56, 68–9, 72–6, 78, 88, 92, 146, 150–51, 163 n4, 179 n94 Khodorkovskii, Mikhail 19, 149 Khristenko, Viktor 84 Kilo-class submarines 91, 98 Kim Jong Il 126–7, 141 Klimenko, Anatolii 47, 96, 113, 119 Koizumi, Junichiro 145–46, 151 Kokoshin, Andrei 17 Korean peninsula crisis 16, 109, 125–29, 143–44 Korean Peninsula Energy Development Organisation (KEDO) 126 Korkunov, Igor 136 Kortunov, Sergei 95, 106, 110 Korzhakov, Aleksandr 34 Kosachev, Konstantin 78, 113, 166 n51 Kosovo see under NATO - 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia/Kosovo campaign Kovykta 80, 82, 84, 86–8 Kozyrev, Andrei 27–8, 38–40, 45, 106, 114, 131 Krasnoiarsk speech 31–2 Kremlin 17–21, 34, 51–2, 77–8, 85, 89, 99, 114, 121, 144–46, 149

Mackinder, Halford J. 50 Mahan, Alfred T. 50 Makienko, Konstantin 94, 98 Malakhov, Ivan 84 Malaysia see under Russia-Malaysia relations Manchuria 51 Manilov, Valerii 46, 96, 113 Margelov, Mikhail 48, 115, 166 n51 Martens, Fedor 24 Marxism-Leninism 25–6, 50 Mastepanov, Aleksei 81 Medvedev, Dmitrii 14, 19, 74, 87, 147, 157–58, 163 n10 MGIMO (Moscow State Institute of International Relations) 12, 20, 54, 103 Miasnikov, Vladimir 185 n112 MID (Ministerstvo inostrannykh del) see under Russian Foreign Ministry

254

Index

Middle East 44–5, 51, 57, 80 MiG-29/MiG-31 91, 97 Mikheev, Vasilii 56, 67, 141, 144, 175 n3 Military-Industrial Complex (VPK) 12, 15, 17–18, 29, 33–4, 47, 61, 89–95, 97–9, 154, 156 Military-Technological Cooperation (MTC) see under arms transfers/ sales Miller, Aleksei 18–19, 87 Milov, Vladimir 57 Minakir, Pavel 70, 143, 179 n94 Mironov, Sergei 19, 78 Mitrofanov, Aleksei 50 MO (Ministerstvo oborony) see under Russian Armed Forces/Russian Defence Ministry Mohammad, Mahathir 6, 110 Mongol invasion of Russia 24, 58 Mongolia 6, 45, 65, 82, 87–8 multilateralism/multilateral institutions 37, 39, 123–24, 130–39, 154 multipolarity/multipolar world 2, 35–40, 101–30, 132 Multipolarity perspective 2, 5, 25, 35–40, 101–29, 152, 154 multivectored foreign policy 27 Muslim 28, 53, 110, 132 Myanmar see under Russia-Myanmar relations Nakhodka 33, 70, 83, 86, 144 National Bolshevik Party 50, 114, 177 n52 National Security Concept (of Russia) 7, 45, 196 n4 Nationalists/Pragmatic Nationalists 3, 44–5, 47, 49–50, (ultra-) 114 NATO 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia/Kosovo campaign 17, 46–7, 96, 105–6, 112–3, 119 eastwards expansion 46–7, 106, 108, 112, 117, 164 n15 Russian participation 57 threat 202 n119 natural gas/gas pipelines/LNG 80, 82–9 Natural Resources Ministry 150

Nazdratenko, Evgenii 21, 76, 88 ‘Near Abroad’ 21, 153, 157 Nemtsov, Boris 57 Neumann, Iver 4 New Zealand 6 newly industrialised countries (NICs) 31, 36 Nikolaev, Andrei 112, 121 Nikolaev, Mikhail 19 Nixon, Richard (‘triangular diplomacy’) 35 Northeast Asia (NEA) 6 economic integration process 68 energy community 79, 81–9 energy demand 80 regional security 118, 125, 128, 130, 133 North Korea (DPRK) nuclear negotiations/six-party talks 16, 40, 102, 125–29 nuclear programme/threat 120–22, 126–27, 133 relations with Russia see under RussiaNorth Korea relations Trans-Korean Railway 141–44 Nuclear Non-Proliferation Treaty (NPT) 126–27 oil pipelines 9, 17, 82–9, 117, 144–51 Organisation of Islamic Conference (OIC) 48 ‘Our Home is Russia’ party (NDR) 18, 115 Ozerov, Viktor 112 Pacific Economic Cooperation Conference/Pacific Basin Economic Council 32 Pain, Emil 77 Panov, Aleksandr 111, 146, 165 n26 ‘penetration pacifique’ 29–30 perceptions ‘articulated perceptions’ 8–9 definition of 2, 5 in foreign policy making 2–5 perestroika/‘new political thinking’ 31–2 perspective (definition of) 5 Petrovskii, Vladimir 55 Philippines 35, 111 Pitertsy 14

Index Portiakov, Vladimir 76 presidential powers 12–19 Presidential Administration (PA) 12, 14–16, 19 Prikhod’ko, Sergei 14, 21, 78, 164 n12 Primakov, Evgenii 14, 21, 38–9, 44–6, 64–5, 72, 74, 81, 110, 112, 116, 121, 124, 128, 132, 177 n61 Primakov’s multipolarity/‘Primakov Doctrine’ 104–8 Primorskii krai 21, 71–3, 75, 88, 92, 142–43, 150–51, 163 n4 Production-sharing agreements (PSAs) 81, 86 ‘profit motive’ 29, 31, 33–5, 61, 65 Pukhov, Ruslan 93 Pulikovskii, Konstantin 21, 68, 72, 74, 77 Putin, Vladimir APEC 71, 137–39 arms trade 90, 92, 97, 99 ASEAN 110 balanced foreign policy 46, 107, 116 China 114–6 economic development/ integration 60, 64–9, 99–100 energy policy/oil pipelines 61, 81–9, 144–51 Eurasianism/Eurasian identity 44, 48–9, 145 great-power aim/status 2, 10, 43, 59, 129, 151–52, 157 immigration policy 77–8 landbridge policy 139–43 missile defence 120 multipolarity 101–2, 106–8 Munich security conference 108 Neo-Eurasianism 51–2 policymaking 14–22, 152, 155–56 pragmatic policy (with stress on economic power) 99, 106, 154, 157 prime minister 157 RFE development/integration 65–7, 72–3, 147 Russia as a Eurasian country 42 second term 1 strategic diversity 153 strategic triangle 116 US in East Asia 118 visits to East Asia 108, 126

255

Railways Ministry 142 Rakhmanin, Oleg 53 Ramos, Fidel 111 Rodionov, Igor 114, 125 Rogachev, Igor 33, 118, 133, 145, 167 n52 Rogov, Sergei 116 Rosneft 19, 86–7, 149 Rosoboroneksport 18, 91, 93, 97 Rostekhnologii 18 Rosvooruzhenie 14, 33, 92–3 Rozman, Gilbert 4–5, 125 Rutskoi, Aleksandr 131 Rushailo, Vladimir 163 n6 Russia as a ‘balancer’ in East Asia 109–10, 129, 156 as a bridge between East and West/ Europe and Asia 48, 54, 56–7, 154, 176 n33 as a Eurasian country/power 1, 10, 19, 23–9, 32, 42–59, 115, 136, 139, 156 as a Eurasian landbridge 9, 43, 56, 139–44, 151, 154, 156 as a European country 48, 55, 57–8 as a great power 40, 42–3, 45, 50, 58–9, 74, 101–2, 113, 122, 131, 134, 136, 152, 156–57 as the ‘NewWest’ 57 as a ‘raw materials appendage’ 33, 63–4, 67–9 observer in EAS 6 post-Soviet identity 3 Russia-ASEAN relations 6 ARF 130–34 arms trade 98 as a pole/significant player 36–7, 39, 105, 110, 156 ASEM, 49 ‘Eastern Dimension’ 19 maintaining regional balance of power 39, 109–11, 131 responsible department in MID 16 strengthening ties 36–7, 45, 110–11, 129 Summit 111 trade/investment 63–5, 68, 110 Russia-China-India strategic triangle/ axis 50, 116–7, 153, 177 n61

256

Index

Russia-China relations alliance 47, 105, 112–13, 115, 121 arms transfers/military-technological cooperation 17, 47, 90–8, 112–3, 116, 119 balanced policy 115–7 balancing China 110 border demarcation/territorial issues 12, 16, 21, 44, 50, 75, 113–4 Central Asia 7, 115–7, 123 cooperation within APEC 136–37 demographic threat see under China demographic threat/expansion energy cooperation 80, 82–3, 85–9, 112, 144–51 military threat see under China – military threat missile defence 120–22 people-to-people relations 116–7 ‘strategic partnership’/close ties 14, 39, 44–6, 51, 56, 105, 112, 115–7, 123, 144, 147 strategic threat see under China – strategic threat trade/investment 33, 62, 64–8, 70, 73, 76–7 Russia-Indonesia relations arms sales 91 key player 110 opposition to Russian EAS membership 111 Russia-Japan relations alliance/partnership 51, 57 balancing China 110 concerns over Russian arms sales 98 energy cooperation 80, 83, 86, 89, 144–51 Russo-Japanese War (1904–5) 24, 37 Soviet-Japanese relations 31–2 strengthening ties 45, 110, 118, 125, 129 territorial issue see also Kurils 15–16, 21, 38, 44, 51, 118–9, 146, 153 trade/investment 33, 62–3, 65–8, 118 Russia-Malaysia relations arms sales 91 Organisation of Islamic Conference 48 strengthening ties 110 trade 62, 66

Russia-Myanmar relations arms sales 98–9 strengthening ties 65 trade 62, 66 Russia-North Korea relations, arms sales 98 disengagement 125–26 economic relations 62, 66, 70 nuclear programme/crisis 125–29 reinvigorated relations 65–6, 126–7 Russia-Singapore relations trade/investment 62, 66–7 view of Russia 111 Russia-South Korea relations, arms transfers 38, 90 energy cooperation 80, 83, 86 general 110, 129 ‘Sunshine Policy’ 126 trade/investment 33, 62–3, 66–7 Russia-Thailand relations arms sales 91, 99 strengthening ties 65 Russia-US relations anti-US policy 50–1 arms sales 95, 97 Central Asia 17, 47, 107 constraining/balancing US power 101–3, 105–7, 116, 132, 134, 155–56 energy cooperation 86 general 16, 21, 39–40, 45, 47, 55, 105 Kosovo see under NATO - 1999 bombing of Yugoslavia/Kosovo campaign strategic arms reduction 108 Russia-Vietnam relations arms sales 91 Cam Ranh Bay 65 Russian Armed Forces/Russian Defence Ministry (MO) ARF 133 arms trade 90–1, 93–4, 96–7 as a policymaking actor 12, 14, 16, 18, 34 China 113–5 Committee on Export Control 34 East Asian status quo 110 landbridge policy 143 missile defence 121 NATO expansion 46

Index US-Japanese/South Korean alliance 118–9 Russian economy economic development 10, 18, 56, 59–100, 115, 137, 154 economic integration 5, 10, 17, 29, 32–5, 56, 60–100, 137, 139, 154 financial crisis (1998) 72, 80 Foreign Direct Investment 18, 63–4, 67–8, 70, 73, 83 trade with East Asia/APEC 61–70, 79–99, 137–38 Russian elite actors see under Russian foreign policy actors debate about foreign policy 3–4, 28 perceptions/discourse/debate about China 74–9, 93–9, 111–17, 129 perceptions/discourse/debate about East Asia 4–5, 8, 10, 19, 40–1, 55–6, 61–9, 79–100, 122–29, 152–58 perceptions/discourse/debate about the international system 102–8 self-perceptions/debate about Russia’s identity 4, 40 views of multilateralism/multilateral organisations 123–24 Russian Far East (RFE) administrative areas 13, 163 n4 development of 1, 10, 22, 25, 31–3, 43, 55–6, 60, 67–79, 85–8, 104, 118, 135, 137, 139, 143–44, 154, 158 elite 12, 21–2, 29, 31–2, 47, 72–7, 92, 94, 103, 114, 138, 142–44 150–51 energy resources 79–81, 83–5, 145–51 environmental problems 76 integration into East Asian economy 1, 10, 19, 22, 31–2, 55– 6, 60, 67–79, 135, 137, 154, 158 Russian Foreign Ministry (MID) APEC 136–38 ARF 131–33 arms trade 34, 94, 97–8 as a policymaking actor 12, 14–17 balanced foreign policy 45 Baikal Economic Forum 179 n90 East Asian Concert of Powers 124–26 East Asian status quo 109 economic relations with East Asia 64, 67

257

energy cooperation 86, 145–46 Korean peninsula 126 missile defence 121 multipolarity 105, 108 relations with ASEAN 111 relations with China 94, 105, 114–5 relations with Japan 67, 118 Six-Party Talks 125 US-Japanese/South Korean alliances 119–20, 122 Russian foreign policy anti-Western/-US 3, 43, 45, 49, 106, 112–3 balanced 43–6, 56, 104, 110, 156 case studies 9–10 foreign policy making 3–5, 14–22, 29, 152, 155–56, 158, 162 n35 great-power aims/aspirations 2, 5, 8–10, 16, 18, 42, 58–9, 65, 101–4, 128–31, 134–36, 144, 151–58, 196 n2 Nippon-centric 153 pragmatic approach 2, 32, 52, 59, 64–6, 106, 157 pro-Western 3, 23, 27–8, 45, 56–7, Sino-centric 108, 116, 146, 153 ‘status quo’ in East Asia 109–11, 118, 155 US-centric 153 Russian foreign policy actors central actors 12–17 definition and characterisation of 7, 9, 11–12 political elite 12, 19–20, 49 Russian Far East elite see under Russian Far East – elite sectoral actors 12, 17–19 specialists/experts 12, 20–2 Russian General Staff 24, 46, 96, 99, 114–5, 121, 133, 165 n30 Russian Institute for Strategic Studies 21 Russian military see under Russian Armed Forces/Russian Defence Ministry (MO) Russian national census 69 Russian Railways 142–43, 150 Sakha Republic 19, 163 n4 Sakhalin 21, 33, 73, 82–5, 88, 143, 163 n4

258

Index

Sakhalin energy projects 80–1, 84–6 ‘San Francisco System’ 35 Sarkisov, Konstantin 28 Savitskii, Petr 169 n2 SB (Sovet bezopasnosti) see under Security Council Sechin, Igor 19, 87 security 5, 161 n25 Security Council (SB) 12–13, 17, 20, 38, 71, 92, 107, 163 n6, n10 Seleznev, Gennadii 112, 121, 177 n52 September 11 (2001) 17, 47, 107–8, 136 Serdiukov, Anatolii 163 n10 Sergeev, Igor 122 Shanghai Cooperation Organisation (SCO) 6, 17, 51, 116–7, 123, 133, 153, 162 n34, 209 n14 Sharavin, Aleksandr 75 Shelov-Kovediaev, Fedor 136 Shokin, Aleksandr 34 Shuvalov, Igor 86 Siberia 19, 55, 63, 66, 74, 79–80, 83–4, 86, 88, 104, 118, 135, 137, 145– 47, 150, 154, 168 n1 Sidanko 82 siloviki 14, 87 Simoniia, Nodari 20, 54 Singapore see under Russia-Singapore relations Sino-Japanese War (1894–5) 36 Sino-Soviet relations tensions/split 24, 30, 35, 105 normalisation 31 Skokov, Iurii 17 Skovorodino 147 Slavneft 85 Slavophile/Slavophilism 23, 27 Solzhenitsyn, Aleksandr 24 South China Sea 94, 98 South Korea dynamic country 29, 31 relations with Russia see under RussiaSouth Korea relations Trans-Korea Railway 141–44 South Ossetia (2008 Russia-Georgia conflict) 157 South Pacific 6, 16 Southeast Asia (SEA) 6 ARF 131 arms race 97–9 China’s southward move 51

energy demand 80 Russia as a balancing power for SEA states 110–11 Russian arms sales 90–2, 97–9 Soviet Union (USSR) 1, 3, 9, 11, 23–7, 30–2, 35, 37, 44, 69, 80, 89 Sovremennyi-class destroyers 96–8 Stalin, Josef 26 Stankevich, Sergei 28, 170 n32 State Duma 19, 28, 45, 78, 81, 85, 112–3, 121, 125, 141, 179 n94 Stroev, Egor 179 n90 Sukhoi/Su-27/Su-30MKI/Su-30MKK 34, 91–2, 95–8, 116 Supreme Soviet 28, 38, 165 n30, 166 n49 Surgutneftegas 87 SVOP (Sovet po vneshnei i oboronnoi politike) 12, 21, 78, 106, 116, 119 SVR (Foreign Intelligence Service or Sluzhba vneshnei razvedki) 12, 15, 47, 113 Taiwan 6, 34, 38, 94–5, 97–8, 109, 119–20, 122 Tajikistan 162 n34 Talbott, Strobe 105 TEK (Toplivno-Energeticheskii Kompleks) see under Fuel and Energy Complex terrorism 136 Thailand see under Russia-Thailand relations Third World 36 Three Gorges Dam 64 Tiananmen massacre 171 n62 Tibet 51 Titarenko, Mikhail 20, 43, 53–6, 68, 74, 115, 136, 141 TNK/TNK-BP 82, 85–7, 149 Tokarev, Nikolai 19 Trans-China Railway (TCR) 142 Trans-Korean Railway (TKR)/TransSiberian Railway (TSR) 9, 26, 30, 32, 56, 83, 139–44 transliteration 10 Transneft 19, 85–6, 145, 147, 149–50 Trenin, Dmitrii 57, 74, 78, 106, 109, 113–4, 116 Trubetskoi, Nikolai 169 n2 Trubnikov, Viacheslav 15, 47, 113 Tsar/Tsarevich Nicholas II 24, 46

Index Tsarist East Asian policy 24–6, 29–30, 36, 46, 128, 143 TsSVI GSh (Centre for Military-Strategic Research of the General Staff of the Armed Forces 47, 110, 115 Tsygankov, Andrei 197 n6 Tu-22M3/Tu-95 bombers 96–7 Tumen River Project 33, 70 Turkey 50, 146 Turkmenistan 83 Ukhtomskii, Prince Esper 24–5 ‘unequal treaties’ (1858 Treaty of Aigun and 1860 Treaty of Peking) 30 Unified Russia (Edinaia Rossiia) 19, 179 n94 unipolarity/unipolar world 39, 103–4 United Kingdom (UK)/Great Britain 36, 50–1, 113 United Nations (UN) 107–8, 116 United States (US) Anti-Ballistic Missile Treaty (ABM Treaty) 47, 108, 112, 120–22 Afghanistan 107 arms sales 91 dominance/hegemonism/ unilateralism/unipolarity 36, 38, 46–7, 50, 96, 103, 108, 110, 112, 121, 153 in APR/East Asia 6, 37–9, 117–22, 153 India 116 invasion of Iraq 47, 91, 103, 105, 108, 113 missile defence systems (in Europe) 108, 117, 122 National Missile Defence (NMD) 112, 117, 120–22, 126 oil pipelines 146–7 regional stabiliser in East Asia 109, 117, 129, 155 relations with Russia see under RussiaUS relations Soviet-US relations 35 support for ‘colour revolutions’ 108 Theatre Missile Defence (TMD) 102, 109, 117, 120–22, 126, 132, US-China relations 104, 106, 109–10, 116–8, 125 US-Japanese/South Korean alliances 38, 102, 109, 112, 117–20, 122, 125, 132

259

Uvarov, Count Sergei 169 n3 Uzbekistan 162 n34 Vainshtok, Semen 149 Vasil’ev, Vasilii 24 Vietnam Communism 170 n30 relations with Russia see under RussiaVietnam relations Vladislavlev, Aleksandr 52 Vladivostok APEC Summit (2012) 71, 138–39 ARF conference 132 city 27, 33, 116 Pacific Fleet base 119 speech 26, 31 Voloshin, Aleksandr 14, 163 n10 Volskii, Arkadii 52, 91 Vorontsov, Aleksandr 128 Voskresenskii, Aleksei 98, 115, 178 n74 Vostok Energy 86 VPK (Voenno-Promyshlennyi Kompleks) see under Military-Industrial Complex Wendt, Alexander 2 Westernisers/Westernism 3–4, 27–8, 43, 56–7, 95, 113–4, 171 n45 Witte, Sergei 30 World Bank 32 World Trade Organisation (WTO) 134– 35, 137 Xinjiang

51

Yabloko 56–7, 106, 115, 167 n55 ‘yellow peril’ 22, 24, 51, 74–9, see also China – demographic threat/ expansion Yeltsin, Boris APEC policy 137–39 arms trade 33, 90, 92, 97, 99 economic development/ integration 59–64, 99 energy policy 81–3, 85 Eurasianism 44 great-power aim 2, 129 immigration policy 77–8 landbridge policy 139 missile defence 120 multipolarity 101, 106, 124

260

Index

Yeltsin, Boris (Continued) policymaking 14–22, 152, 155–56, 162 n35 RFE development/integration 69–70, 72 second term 1 visits to East Asia 28, 38, 118

Yu Bin 116 Yukos 19, 85–7, 144–45, 149 Zhirinovskii, Vladimir 19, 50–1, 114 Ziuganov, Gennadii 19, 50, 52–4

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