Donbas: the post-Soviet conflict that changed Europe

ABSTRACT

Without negating geopolitics, the developments in the breakaway entities of Donbas post-cessation of active war; and the fate of the dominant policy options for resolving the conflict need to be understood to explain the missing piece in the puzzle of Russia's choice for war in 2022. These territories were unable to evolve into viable socio-economic and political entities. The conflict never ended, and was spiralling by 2021; corruption was rampant; while professionalising the ‘self-defence forces' was an uphill task. Deindustrialising trends and food insecurity prompted population flight and left the areas dependant on Russian support. Ukrainian government continued with military hostilities and an economic blockade, denuding support for Ukrainian unity. These factors together with COVID movement restrictions pushed the population along an irredentist pathway: seeking integration with Russia. In the light of these changes, the dominant policy options that had previously been conceived as potential solutions fared differently. The idea that Donbas would become the viable example of Russian World failed. The option of re-joining a ‘reformed Ukraine’ failed because Ukraine moved in different direction, also pursuing security agenda considered hostile by Russia. Eventually, recognition and incorporation into Russia appeared as the only prospect left, and triggered a policy pivot.

KEYWORDS:

• Conflict in Donbas
• Ukraine
• Russia
• war
• Minsk Agreements
• breakaway entities

Introduction

The armed conflict in South-eastern Ukraine has been the largest among the post-Soviet ethno-political conflicts.¹ Yet, research on Donbas is scarce compared to other post-Soviet conflicts where literature is extensive (De Waal, 2013; Lynch, 2004). Little is known about the developments in these territories, how they related to Russia and how Russia’s policy related to them since they broke away in 2014 and before the Russian intervention in February 2022. This article aims to fill this gap by examining the political, economic, security and social processes that went on in the Non-Government Controlled Areas (NGCAs) in 2016–2021 when they existed in limbo – detached from the rest of Ukraine, but not joined with Russia (Matveeva, 2017). It explores the key changes that occurred during the ‘no war, no peace’ period, believing that this research will be valuable for understanding the current military conflict between Russia and Ukraine and for future studies of post-Soviet conflicts.

The origins of the conflict are multidimensional and there is no agreement among scholars on its causes and the course. Tobias Saether identifies three strains of literature offering explanations for the origins of the 2014 war: Russia’s ‘hybrid war’ interpretations, accounts that emphasise domestic issues within Ukraine, and ‘internationalised civil war’ perspectives (2022, personal correspondence with the author). The first strain is the predominant narrative, centres on Russia as an interpretive framework and led to the formation of Western policy over Ukraine. It conceptualises the Donbas conflict as Russia’s imperialism, its desire to destabilise Ukraine, deny its independence, prevent it from joining NATO and make it follow its own geopolitical designs (Wilson, 2014). For Wilson, while Euromaidan was a genuine popular movement, the protests in Donbas opposing it were not, and all the key triggers that produced all-out war were provided by Russia (2016). Similarly, Yekelchyk in The Conflict in Ukraine: what everyone needs to know bases his argument on the premise that the external dimension was decisive (Yekelchyk, 2015).

Russia’s hybrid warfare in eastern Ukraine is believed to have had a coherent and premediated strategy behind it (Chivvis, 2017; Rácz, 2015). Robinson suggests some nuance to this theory, noting the initial process was chaotic, and only later directed and managed by Moscow to achieve its military objectives (Robinson, 2016). Galeotti argues that the primary Russian aim in Donbas was instrumental – to hinder Ukraine from drifting towards the West by supporting an insurgency and influence Ukrainian politics more generally (2015).

Domestic crisis explanations emphasise significance of historical factors in how modern Ukraine came about and of different historical legacies that caused the existential rift within it (Kolstø, 2019). Combination of political events that exacerbated identity cleavages, elite actions and political economy considerations form a Ukraine-centred interpretative framework (Kudelia, 2014; Malyarenko, 2015; Sotiriou, 2016). Kaihko discusses the influence of culture and norms in escalatory dynamics and use of force in the conflict (Käihkö, 2021). Identity issues feature prominently as a way of explanation, starting from previous studies on Ukraine (Kuzio, 2001). Explaining the 2014 conflict, Petro argued that Donbas was the most serious fault-line in Ukrainian identity politics and that ‘the peremptory removal of President Yanukovych violated the delicate balance of interests forged between Galicia and Donbas. It was thus seen as a direct threat to the core interest of Russophone Ukrainians’ (2015).

Zhukov offers a political economy perspective arguing for a causal relationship between the prospects for Donbas machine-building industry and gestation of the rebellion, because that industry had more to lose from the potential disruption of economic relations with Russia (2016). Giuliano also sees an economic side to the conflict, such as the material interest of industrial workers in preserving ties to Russia, but also points to contextual identity factors, such as nostalgia for the Soviet Union strengthened by developments which emphasised an exclusivist Ukrainian national identity, and gave voice to the ultranationalists in politics (2015). Another perspective is rooted in intra-Ukrainian elite competition that went wrong (Prosvirnin, cited in Matveeva, 2017).

Lastly, ‘internationalised civil war perspectives’ bring the role of the West into the triangle (Mearsheimer, 2014). For Richard Sakwa, post-Maidan governments caused the crisis by escalating the fault lines within Ukraine by emphasising one vision over the other that provided the basis for an internationalisation (2015). Ivan Katchanovski argued that the EU and the US must take a fair share of the responsibility for the escalation of conflict into violence in Ukraine and for letting Ukrainian nationalism to escalate out of proportion (2016). Oliver Boyd-Barrett explores the subject of contemporary propaganda and the role played in it by mainstream Western news media in relation to the 2014 crisis in Ukraine leading to escalation of tensions between the US and the EU on the one hand, and Russia on the other. The study aims at understanding the relationship between the centres of power in the West and the Western media in what amounted to imperial politics and continuation of hegemony, by analysing the case of Ukraine (2017).

While most studies have focussed on the 2014 conflict origins that are important, few looked beyond them into ‘post-fighting’ developments when indigenous actors had to abandon their ‘revolutionary’ goals in exchange for Russia’s support (Matsuzato, 2017; Matveeva, 2016). Sasse and Lackner explore the fluid and communicative issue of identity and how it was affected by the conflict in both government-controlled territory and in the NGCAs (2018), while the International Crisis Group provides rare and useful insights into the plight of civilians (ICG, 2020). This study does not engage with the debate on the issues that led to the 2014 crisis as my aim is more restricted. The paper is distinct in its temporal scope as it concentrates on the ‘post-fighting’ phase, arguing that the overlooked developments during that period were crucial in the region’s eventual sliding to war. An in-depth analysis of the internal situation and a better understanding of all the contradictions of the Donbas case is needed, because without realising these complexities, it would be impossible to work out a peaceful solution for Ukraine and Russia in future.

The study explores characteristics of a ‘limbo state’ that constantly battles insecurity but has to ensure that life goes on. It traces how insurgencies evolve when they have to ‘build on sand’ – i.e. when they achieve de facto territorial control, but political goals are not realised and the direction of movement is unclear. The paper argues that the Donbas conflict was not a ‘separatist’ one and the term ‘pro-Russian separatists’ in relation to the NGCAs is misplaced. Unlike Chechens, Abkhaz or Kosovo Albanians who sought to establish their own rule, the people of Donbas did not aspire for an independent entity. The political goals were to either join Russia or re-join a ‘different Ukraine’ where they would feel comfortable. The paper regards them, albeit imperfectly, as an irredentist movement aimed at reunion of a politically and ethnically displaced territory, with a population having the same national identity. Donbas can be compared to the Northern Serbs in Kosovo (Matveeva & Paes, 2003) who do not accept the new Kosovo state and believe that they should belong to Serbia, from which they got detached by an accident of history. As Kornprobst notes, the defining motive of irredentism is reaching congruence between the borders of the nation and the state and defines irredentism as occurring between the states (2008), while other scholars see irredentism as the attempt of an ethnic minority to be incorporated into the neighbouring ‘homeland’ (Gutmann, 1991; Reichman & Golan, 1991; Saidemann & Ayres, 2000). According to Kornprobst, irredentism has been a highly destructive force in world politics since the mid-nineteenth century and ‘irredentist disputes proved to be more war-prone and much more difficult to resolve than other forms of territorial conflicts,’ as the Donbas case illustrates.

The Donbas conflict arguably presents a delayed after-effect of the dissolution of the USSR and the Russian Empire, which fell apart seemingly peacefully until policies of building independent statehoods defining themselves against the empire’s legacy took root in the new states. As Landau observes, ‘overt aspirations for a change in frontiers – to be accomplished, if necessary, by military force – inevitably clash with the status quo which most states wish to maintain’ (Landau, 1995, p. 189). This is where the process eventually led Russia and Ukraine to, but this article concentrates on those who were caught in the interim.

Research for this study is based on empirical material such as interview data with respondents from Russia and the NGCAs, as well as international practitioners,² and is supplemented by open sources. The paper seeks to expose the processes and views that were held in the NGCAs as their population became ever more beleaguered. It proceeds to discuss thinking of the Russian policy-influencing circles on how strategy towards the conflict should evolve. The paper adheres to UN terminology and uses the terms of ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ where essential which does not imply recognition of the legitimacy of these entities.

Background

The NGCAs – the urbanised parts of the Donetska and Luhanska provinces of Donbas region – comprise a vast territory with a pre-war population of just under 5 million. In 2021, the resident population was estimated at 3.66 million by the de facto authorities.³ Violence never stopped for eight years, and Donbas remained an active war zone in Europe with heavy weaponry and deadly casualties.

The conflict has to be understood by paying attention to the complex terrain of identities and past struggles in the region. The Maidan events of 2013–2014 served as a catalyst for an explosion of the deep societal rifts that had been growing over years. They resulted in fierce confrontation in Donbas, the country’s industrial region located on the border with Russia. It was caused by the reaction to Euromaidan, which, according to a Research & Branding poll of December 2013, 81 per cent of population in Donbas did not support,⁴ and the violent counter-reaction by the government in Kyiv to the nascent revolt.

I argue in my book (Matveeva, 2017) that Ukraine could have remained stable on the basis of acceptance of pluralism and identity differences as an essential nature of the state. However, the attitude of intolerance and polarisation that followed Maidan, posed a threat to the equilibrium characteristic of the past, and was detrimental in the country with diverse political cultures and orientations. If differences could not be accommodated politically, they were bound to come out by other means. Thus, an attempt at re-definition of the country’s identity which was shared by a significant segment of society was likely to encounter resistance. While no political project of irredentism existed under President Yanukovych, this did not continue when the circumstances changed. Many among population were prepared to live in an imperfect, but pluralistic and largely tolerant Ukraine of Yanukovych, but were reluctant to follow the new ‘European Choice’ trajectory which was taking them elsewhere.

The events that led to violence unfolded as follows. The 2014 Euromaidan unleashed strong fears in the region that nationalists would move to stamp out the Donbas way of life and punish its people for being ‘Yanukovych stooges,’ because the deposed president originated from Donetsk. A wave of pro- and anti-Maidan rallies opposing each other swept through the region, in which nationalist forces from outside Donbas participated. Lines deepened, and people started to confront identity choices they had not been previously conscious of. The situation went out of control in March 2014 when violent clashes between pro- and anti-Maidan groups took place in Donetsk, and the first death occurred.

The issues of conflict included language, identity and culture, fear of assimilation, threat posed by nationalist forces, future political evolution of the state, and the relations with Russia that many in Donbas wished to preserve. Inspired by the Crimea example and in a mistaken belief that Russia had similar plans for Donbas, many voted in local referenda on 7 April 2014 to establish the ‘Donetsk People’s Republic’ (‘DNR’) and ‘Lugansk People’s Republic’ (‘LNR’). Anti-government uprisings erupted, Sloviansk fell into the hands of the rebels who were declared ‘terrorists’ by Kyiv, and on 13 April 2014, the Anti-Terrorist Operation (ATO) was launched by the Ukrainian government. Kyiv sent troops, and local skirmishes transformed into a fully-fledge war.

Violent suppression of anti-Maidan and Russia-oriented constituency inspired a solidarity movement that called itself the Russkaya Vesna (Russian Spring) in an analogy with the Arab Spring. It symbolised a collective awakening and acquired a mobilising power in Russia, among disaffected Ukrainians, and in the post-Soviet states where some felt a responsibility to protect their ‘imagined community’ that was existentially threatened. The Russian Spring was a statement that people could act, and their actions could change the course of history. The movement generated its leaders and heroes, that made reputations on the battlefield, and the key figures entered politics of the new ‘republics.’ The meaning of the Russian Spring was not only to fend off Kyiv’s advances, but to create an order based on Russian civilizational notions and social justice principles. Unlike the Russian World civilizational and statist concept, the Russian Spring reflected a sense of dynamism: the Spring was needed for the World to wake up (Matveeva, 2017, chapter 5).

Direction of travel rather than an end picture influenced the evolution of the movement. This direction became ‘Novorossiya,’ a political ideal of a land they were fighting for. The term refers to an administrative unit of the eighteenth-century Russian Empire that comprised the lands stretching from eastern Ukraine along the Black Sea coast and ending at the Dnestr (Nistru) river in the west. As a political project, ‘Novorossiya’ emerged during the dissolution of the USSR. The idea did not presume joining Russia, but was a place of a separate identity within Ukraine with a connection to Russia. ‘Novorossiya’ concept comprised a larger area than Donbas, but the rebellion established it in the territories under their control which joined into a ‘Novorossiya Confederation.’ The ‘Novorossiya’ ideology had anti-corruption and anti-oligarchic aspiration, and an idealistic demand for the voice of ordinary people in politics to be heard. It conveyed a sense of belonging to a larger historic, political and cultural community, bringing its followers to the imagined roots of the pre-revolutionary Russia. Christian Orthodox faith, traditional values such as family, Russian language, and an image of the treacherous West were the main pillars of this socially conservative ideology (Matveeva, 2017, chapter 5).

As the war progressed, the Ukrainian government lost control over the border sections with Russia after intense fighting in summer 2014. Eventually, a 30-kilometre ‘neutral zone’ was established to separate the warring parties along the 472-km long contact line. The Minsk Agreements⁵ outlined measures on de-escalation of the conflict and political settlement, and were endorsed by the UN Security Council Resolution 2202 of 17 February 2015. The peace process was facilitated by the Normandy Four Group that brought together the leadership of France, Germany, Russia and Ukraine, and by the OSCE Trilateral Contact Group (TCG) while the OSCE Special Monitoring Mission (SMM) supported the cessation of hostilities and the ground-level contacts. The UN Office of High Commissioner on Human Rights (OHCHR) monitored observance of human rights. The UN and multiple aid agencies provided humanitarian and recovery assistance, mostly on the government-controlled territory. This international infrastructure helped to stabilise the situation, but was unable to stop the hostilities.

The ‘republics’: surviving, but going nowhere

Military and security developments

The main process that followed the period of active insurgency was an establishment of regular armed formations that replaced the rebel forces manned by non-state combatants. The 1st and 2nd ‘DNR’ & ‘LNR’ Corps became the only institution that emerged out of the war, when combat-ready units acquired a structure and organisation. The rebels’ ‘ministries of defence’ were disbanded in 2018, and previously existing military detachments and spetznaz squads at civilian ministries and at the department of railways were abolished. The Corps were formed on a contract basis and numbered between 32,000 and 35,000 troops. The primary reason for enlisting was unemployment, while security sector jobs offered a guaranteed pay and benefits, with a rank-and-file soldier getting £200 a month which was reasonable pay by the local standards.

In 2021, the Corps were reported as battle-worthy, but a war fatigue, a deficit of infantry at frontlines and an overblown rear also characterised them. Some detachments were only equipped at a 60 per cent level and with old vehicles and weapons, decommissioned in Russia or seized in Crimea. The de facto authorities periodically called up reserves,⁶ but not all the summoned turn up. Introduction of mandatory conscription was rumoured and a few half-hearted attempts to enlist ‘patriotic youth’ were made, largely for PR purposes. However, conscription was considered risky as it could prompt an exodus of eligible men to Russia.

The tactical assets remained the same: the ability to move troops quickly around the war theatres and to deploy artillery fire at critical points. The military sources at the Corps’ reported that the fortification lines were maintained, training was conducted, and different units achieved interoperability.⁷ The veracity of these claims, as well as the troops’ morale was hard to assess given that the Corps were a contract army that provided jobs amidst unemployment.

Russian military experts estimated a likelihood of relapse into major hostilities as unlikely and ruled against a blitzkrieg scenario of a rapid offensive by the Armed Forces of Ukraine (AFU) akin to that by the Azerbaijani troops in Nagorno Karabakh conflict in 2020. The Corps were expected to be able to withstand an initial offensive and were geared towards hit-and-run attacks and artillery fire exchanges rather than major ground operations. Moreover, ground operations would entail heavy casualties for the government as the AFU would require a proportion of four-to-one offense-to-defence troops.⁸ Windows of opportunity for a ground offensive were limited by geography and weather: the steppe landscape allows conducting operations only in summertime or in mid-winter due to mud conditions which arise when snow starts to melt, but the ground is not dry yet. In such physical conditions, military vehicles can get stuck in mud, their ability to move quickly can be jeopardised and they can become targets for enemy fire.

Early 2018 was the last time when significant fighting took place before 2022. Otherwise, battlefield positions remained stagnant, but the sides exchanged fire. The logic was to increase the cost of war by putting pressure on populated areas. Civilians were frequent victims. Roughly 600,000 residents remained within 5 km of the contact line in the NGCAs and 200,000 – on the government-controlled side. The vast majority – roughly 80 per cent – of live-fire civilian casualties occurred in NGCAs because these places are more urban and populous (ICG, n.d.). Between 1 February and 31 July 2021, 77 per cent of civilian casualties that resulted from active hostilities were recorded in NGCAs, while the total civilian death toll has reached at least 3390 (OHCHR, 2021a). According to the ‘LNR’ ‘premier’ Leonid Pasechnik, 9000 persons from the NGCAs died in the course of the conflict out of 14,000 overall casualties.⁹

Over 20 ceasefires were agreed since 2016, but usually did not last long. Earlier violations could be explained by the inability to enforce them, given the presence of irregulars on both sides, or by reactions to key events such as assassinations or political failings. Novaya Gazeta analysis based on the OSCE SMM data showed that military hostilities had been scaling down consistently and concentrated in several hotspots. The landmark ceasefire of August 2020 broke the pattern and lasted until February 2021. International Crisis Group observed that ‘ceasefires work – until they crack under the weight of deadlocked negotiations,’ and ‘civilian casualties from live fire correlate with intense combat in urban and suburban areas, falling to almost nil when ceasefires are in place’ (ICG, n.d.). Diminished level of hostilities showed that when the politicians agreed, the militaries followed and achieving a ‘negative peace’ was, in principle, a realistic possibility.

In 2021, the situation deteriorated, and Donbas was moving away from peace. The ‘silence regime’ was violated 6.5 times more often than in 2020. In February – July period, the number of the OSCE SMM-recorded violations was 369 per cent higher than during the preceding six months. The frontline witnessed sniper fire, mine-laying and operations of reconnaissance – subversive groups, while artillery and mortars periodically ‘talked,’ and since February 2021, ‘talked’ louder. The hotspots have not changed since 2015 – Horlivka, suburbs of Mariupol and Donetsk city, as well as a former elite district of Peski near Donetsk. The new trend was intensification of electronic warfare.¹⁰

Feelings of insecurity were rising among the residents since a string of incidents in late 2021. Use of a Bayraktar TB-2 armed drone from Turkey triggered an escalation spiral and steps to re-profile air defence systems to repel potential drone attacks.¹¹ A discourse intensified in Donbas that the war could re-ignite, – more by default than design, – caused by a series of accidents and a loss of control. Residents started to pack their grab bags again.¹²

At the same time, internal security and public safety within the territories improved and violent crime became the thing of the past. High-profile murders of commanders stopped after the assassination of the ‘DNR premier’ Alexander Zakharchenko in 2018. Several well-known figures who embezzled public money and enriched themselves, were expelled or eliminated if they rejected the warning signals. However, as criminal elements to some extent merged with the local authorities, crime became institutionalised and no longer needed to resort to violent methods. Transparent policing and judicial system, oversight mechanisms and legal defences were all lacking. Domination of the executive bred lawlessness, in which the powerholders ruled with little reference to law and could alter it when expedient. Local secret services were omnipresent and always at work. Criticism and dissent were suppressed in a political system only accountable to those that ran it.¹³

Building ‘statehood’ on sand

The anarchic phase characterised by pre-eminence of non-state armed actors who made and remade the conflict, gave way to quasi-state structures with own bureaucracies, routines and institutions that created new circles of nepotism and corruption. After seven years of ‘statebuilding’, the ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ entities survived and strengthened, formed political systems and new elites, and took the course for long-term survival.¹⁴ Since their emergence, they embarked on establishment of governance institutions based on the inherited structures, including civilian administration and police that had not changed much from the pre-2014 period. Moscow disbursed financial assistance to them, but oversight over how the money was spent was difficult, and its audits have been rebuffed. The locals joked that the ‘main war secret is the budget of the ‘republics.’¹⁵ Governance was no longer ‘revolutionary’ but became dominated by bureaucratic routine and the influence of security agencies, with strong interests of the Russian GRU and the FSB¹⁶ behind them. Some former Russian Spring leaders managed to stay on. Closeness to certain Russian curators¹⁷ played a role in the distribution of assets and access to resources. Still, the local political and military leaderships appeared disjointed, with the former reportedly more hawkish, and not recognised as the authority for the military that followed own line.

Infamous assassination of Zakharchenko altered the quality of the ‘DNR’ leadership and it did not enjoy great popularity.¹⁸ As put by one interlocutor, ‘it is a managerial, not a ruling elite who are the forefront now.’¹⁹ Coming to power of a soft-spoken Denis Pushilin as the ‘DNR premier’ signified qualities more suited for peace times than for war, though such leaders did not have the same legitimacy as charismatic commanders with battle-worn reputations.²⁰

Pushilin and Leonid Pasechnik, the ‘LNR premier’ were elected in 2018 with no real competition, with many believing that their victory was orchestrated, though consensus existed that since they were ‘Moscow men’, they should stay in their places. Moscow was said to understand that legitimacy was a problem.²¹ Political managers from Russia have been few, though elite integration already started: Vladimir Pashkov, the ‘DNR’ head of government, was a former deputy governor of Irkutsk whereas several representatives of Donbas entered the Russian administrative cadre.

Political life was rather passive and turnout at the local elections was low (34 per cent).²² As the ‘republics’ were meant to return to Ukraine, continuity with the pre-war Ukrainian polity was preserved. For that, party lists were populated by candidates with background in pre-2014 Ukrainian politics: the ‘LNR People’s Soviet’ was headed by Denis Miroshnichenko, a former Party of Regions activist, and the ‘DNR’ Soviet – by Vladimir Bidyovka, a former MP from the Communist Party of Ukraine. Only approved parties were allowed to run for the local ‘parliaments.’ Internal democracy was tightly controlled, though dissent came from the veterans of the original rebellion; even if the authorities were preventing their political projects from taking shape. Telegram-channels were the only platform of uncensored views. In summer 2020, the authorities blocked the Russian Spring site for its coverage of the miners’ strikes.²³

The ‘republics’ were loyal to the Kremlin in all external matters; however, they had a will and a mind of their own when it came to internal affairs. Internal struggles for the positions other that the top ones were a local game. One example was that the ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ merger did not occur, despite Moscow’s preference for them to do so or at least put their defence forces under a single command. Instead, the ‘republics’ set up ridiculous ‘borders’ between them, introduced taxes and custom controls, and treated the ‘border’ as an income-generating opportunity, from which the local fiefs collected fees. Residents found it difficult and sometimes impossible to cross the ‘border.’ Luhansk residents suffered more as they tried to access more developed services in Donetsk. Only in October 2021, was this artificial ‘border’ dismantled. This move had been interpreted as a step towards unification, but the ‘LNR premier’ Pasechnik denounced the idea soon after.²⁴ Luhansk apprehension was understandable: the territory established its own bureaucracy which would have faced job cuts in case of a merger, with professionals from Donetsk having better chances to keep their positions.

Further ‘statebuilding’ initiatives were envisaged at the ‘DNR,’ modelled on Abkhazia’s strategies to cut ties with Georgia, though they remained of declaratory nature. They included a Citizenship Law which was to ban citizens without the ‘DNR’ passports from property sales and purchases, prohibit engagement in business and restrict free movement within the NGCAs. Prospective Border Law envisaged exit permits for crossing into the government-controlled territory and migration cards for entering the NGCAs. On 28 April 2021, a ‘DNR’ regulation was adopted that allowed for the expropriation of immovable property that was abandoned by civilians, but no confiscations were known.

The main problem was that the ‘republics’ were going nowhere. Their emergence was never the rebellion’s goal, but an interim step towards transition, in which they got stuck. The Minsk Agreements, while positive in many respects, nevertheless served as a big constraint on Donbas’ ambitions of integration into Russia. The publics could see that the ‘republics’ were not a success story, could not be self-sufficient and were on a verge of descending into ‘governance hell.’²⁵ Retaining professional cadre and securing resources became huge problems. Growth capacity was limited by the human factor. Allocation of the Russian passports to the ‘citizens’ of the ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ in 2019 became pivotal development, that lifted spirits amidst depressive moods, but made the ‘republics’ more vulnerable to migration and demographic pressures. Covid-19 pandemic demonstrated that the quality of the healthcare system was low as many qualified medical professionals had left.²⁶

The change came in 2021 when de facto integration into Russian domestic system accelerated. Russian curators began to closely watch how defence and civilian structures were administered. Legislation was harmonised to match the Russian law. Russian Labour Code was adopted, and social security numbers (SNILS) and medical insurance were introduced. The population was actively joining Russia’s economic and social space. By August 2021, 148,000 out of 300,000 Russian passport-holders in Donetsk NGCA applied to obtain SNILS and 158,000 in Luhansk, according to the local ‘ministry of communications.’ Switching to the Russian education and healthcare system got underway. Higher education degrees became accepted on par with their Russian equivalents.²⁷ Local mobile providers switched to the Russian country code. Covid also reinforced integration, and the vaccines and medical supplies came from Russia.

Integration intensified but in an incredibly bureaucratic way. Russian state institutions did not operate in Donbas and documentation had to be processed on the Russian side. Rostov and Krasnodar provinces became a hub for servicing Donbas and saw Donbas residents as a burden as they queued en masse at civil documentation offices and claimed Russian benefits. The Southern Federal University that was to confirm Donbas higher education degrees, got so overwhelmed that it stopped responding. The newer trend was an integration with the North Caucasus, with whom economic and academic ties were developing. Conflict zones seem to understand each other better – having undergone own conflict, North Caucasians were said to be more sympathetic towards the plight of Donbas. Economic and academic ties were developing with them.²⁸

To sum up, the NGCAs were ‘survival’ but not ‘developmental’ entities: they could defend themselves if challenged, but were not inspiring places to live. Russian Spring aspirations of building a fair and humane society did not come true.

Economic depression

Economic development in the NGCAs can be categorised in three periods: the first (2015–2017), when the economy was recovering from conflict and was primarily connected to Ukraine, the second period (2017–2021) which was dominated by an economic blockade imposed by Kyiv and when Donbas became managed by Russia-friendly Ukrainian oligarchs and the third period when supervision by Russian business class was introduced in 2021.

Donbas was still a large region with major industrial works that kept production up, though it was difficult. It used to be Ukraine’s powerhouse, but the ‘republics’ assets were leftovers from the former glory. NGCAs presented a heavily urbanised territory as the rural areas of Donetska and Luhanska provinces stayed on the Kyiv-controlled side, and they were unable to achieve food security. The industry worked on the inherited resource which was near exhaustion. Factories and enterprises periodically suspended operations or closed down because workforce migrated. The region required modernisation and high-quality education to build new skills, but it was not attractive for legitimate business that might provide investment and re-development. Lack of asset security and volatility also hampered performance.²⁹ As a result, Donbas faced the prospect of de-industrialisation, especially its Luhansk part.

Living conditions in the NGCAs were harder than in the rest of Ukraine, and harder in ‘LNR’ with salaries 20–25 per cent lower than in ‘DNR.’ Downturn resulted from the disrupted economic ties, deficit of qualified cadre, closed borders, customs fees and the need to bribe border personnel to move goods through, which made them more expensive. A number of single-industry cities lost their lead enterprises, particularly in Luhanska NGCA which was turning agricultural.³⁰ An average monthly salary was £160 which was just enough to live.³¹ In 2021, public utility prices went 20 per cent up, though they were still lower than on the government-controlled territory and in Russia, signalling the ‘republics’ ‘people-oriented’ nature. However, enterprising segment was depressed: no real banks existed, available loans were tiny and business credit was at a nascent stage. Infrastructure periodically sustained war damage when the Ukrainian fire hit water and electricity facilities, and the flooding of abandoned mines affected water levels.³²

In 2015–17, the economy was growing. The NGCAs traded freely with the rest of Ukraine, security conditions permitting. In January 2017, war veterans and members of patriotic groups, supported by some MPs, laid a blockade on cargo access to the NGCAs. On 15 March, President Poroshenko announced the cessation of all cross-line shipments as well as mass transit, with exceptions only for humanitarian aid. Since then, cross-line industrial trade was criminalised and business actors accused of it were prosecuted. This move severed the ties and diminished the government’s leverage over the NGCAs. Coal lay at the crux of the problem as it no longer could be legally shipped to the government-controlled territory which had to switch its supply to imported coal and was also deprived of all of its anthracite mines. The NGCAs, in their turn, lost markets for their produce (ICG, 2020). The blockade led to an infrastructural breakup after Kyiv took steps to cut off supply chains and previously mutually-beneficial economic ties came to a halt.

The next period witnessed detachment of the NGCAs from the rest of Ukraine and re-orientation of economic flows towards Russia. Metals and coal were the region’s main export commodities, and three out of four Donbas metallurgic plants remained in the NGCAs. The produce was moved via different clandestine avenues; one, for example, transported coal to Rostov where it merged with the local coal and then exported via Novorossiisk. Interests of several business groups were involved, including reportedly from the government-controlled territory. The same scheme worked for metal production.³³

After Donbas got cut off from the Ukrainian economy, Moscow’s line was that its assets should be managed by the Kremlin-friendly Ukrainian businessmen. Enterprises belonging to Ukrainian oligarch Rinat Akhmetov, who stayed in Kyiv, were put into external administration, and an alternative grouping of Ukrainian oligarchs was allowed access to them. Formally, Akhmetov’s assets belonged to him, but he was unable to exploit or earn income from them. Management was handed over to the exiled oligarch Serhiy Kurchenko, whose Vneshtorgservice and Gazalliance (registered in South Ossetia) controlled most exports from the NGCAs.³⁴ Kurchenko and Victor Medvedchuk, a Ukrainian MP and a prominent businessman, became significant players, and Ihor Andreev and Dmytro Yegurnov, second-echelon Ukrainian oligarchs, who were able to capitalise on connections to local politicians.³⁵ This ‘system’ got the economy into a dismal state and asset management – into need of cardinal reform.

Corruption served as a further development-constraining factor, though its scale signified that Donbas still had considerable resources. Kurchenko was reportedly immersed in corruption, paying bribes to the local officials and Russian curators. Meanwhile, the situation at the enterprises deteriorated, triggering strikes at the Alchevsk Metal Works when workers demanded their overdue wages. They appealed to President Putin directly, causing a scandal in Moscow’s corridors of power. The strikers were successful not only in getting their salaries paid, but also prompted other enterprises to cover the wage arrears.³⁶ In 2021, Vneshtorgservice began returning the assets back to the ‘republics.’ Donetsk Metal Works and Yenakiyevo coke chemical plant were handed over to the ‘DNR’ authorities. Finally, Kurchenko was removed on 15 June 2021, and a Russian businessman Yevgeniy Yurchenko replaced him as a new ‘investor.’ Economic activity rejuvenated with Yurchenko’s arrival who made up for wages arrears, and overdue salaries were finally paid.³⁷

The change of investor strengthened Russia’s control over the NGCAs’ economy. This was welcomed by Donbas enterprises because it gave them at least minimal safeguards, while the elites were expected to rotate to give space to the new management appointees. Yurchenko’s function was to serve as a frontman for more established Russian businesses which did not wish to operate in Donbass overtly. On 15 November, Putin signed a degree allowing the companies from NGCAs to take part in Russian public procurement tenders on par with their Russian counterparts.³⁸ This shift marked the end of a grey era when an alternative project in Donbas on the backs of the Yanukovych-era Ukrainian elites was attempted and failed.

Aspirations and popular moods

The Donbas rebellion was characterised by a strong ideological content, but it ran out of steam when movement seemed to stall. ‘Novorossiya idea was important and powerful, but is no longer: it evaporated, was pulled apart by petty machinations, power struggles and narrow interests.’³⁹ Russian World and Novorossiya ideas that emerged spontaneously were replaced by a top-down ‘Russian Donbass’ doctrine. A forum was held in January 2021 that presented the new narrative of Donbas’ historical claims to self-determination as ‘Russian nation-states.’ It asserted that ‘LNR’ and ‘DNR’ should become a rallying point for the Russian-speaking regions of Ukraine and an ‘experimental platform of the Russian future.’⁴⁰ The doctrine which emphasised ‘Russian ethnicity,’ did not find rapport with the public, because ‘ethnicity’ was never a resonant category in multicultural Donbas.⁴¹

Society, in fact, did not need any ‘ideology’ to guide it. The values and beliefs that bound it were fairly straightforward: people lived in their land, did not want outsiders to change it, and were determined to preserve their way of life.⁴² Beyond that, a vacuum existed as the definitive vision of future was absent amidst uncertainty over whether the territories were to re-integrate into Ukraine, join Russia or continue building their ‘statehood.’ Society was thoroughly confused hearing all of these options articulated and left to guess which of them was real.⁴³ Druey et al. identified two opposing narratives on how the conflict should be resolved – ‘status first’ (prevailing in NGCAs) and ‘border first’ (shared mostly in central Ukraine). Within the ‘status first’ pole, several options existed – independence, unification with Russia, transitional autonomy and soft independence (2020), but they remained hypothetical options.

In an absence of public polls, all assessments of popular moods were estimates. According to closed polls,⁴⁴ the population preferred to join Russia.⁴⁵ The residents may not have felt enthusiastic towards ‘DNR/ LNR’ authorities and their semi-fictional ‘statehood’, but they looked up to Russia. The predominant sentiment is captured in these quotations: ‘vision is for joining Russia. Everyone wants it, and also the end to war.’⁴⁶ ‘The aspiration of many is to be with Russia as a way of belonging to a greater entity. The older generation was always with Russia.’ A fear of ‘Russia after Putin’ was powerful because a different Russia might change course. ‘If a new president succeeds [Vladimir] Putin, he may push us into Ukraine for the sake of the West. In such case, Russia will be considered a ‘traitor.’⁴⁷

The reason for unwillingness to return to Ukraine were security fears. Security remained a major preoccupation: over 50 per cent of respondents replied ‘Yes’ to a question which asked whether they personally encountered a risk to life.⁴⁸ Those with jobs in ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ structures, and their family members were afraid to cross into the government-controlled territory because a number had been detained at Ukrainian checkpoints. The argument was made that recrimination and prosecution would follow if the Ukrainian government re-took control, especially towards those who participated in hostilities: ‘nobody promises amnesty for Donbass. People are afraid that they will be suppressed by the Ukrainian authorities.⁴⁹

Overall, the population was tired of the war and of waiting for a resolution, which made it resentful towards all sides: to Ukraine – for shelling and bombardments, to Russia – for ‘betrayal,’ raised expectations and false promises: an interview respondent said in November 2021, that ‘there used to be hope that after five years, the situation would be resolved, but now the feeling is that it would not be resolved in 30 years.’⁵⁰ ‘Ukraine’ did not lose the population entirely as some among the ordinary people were willing to re-integrate if Ukraine transformed into a more balanced country, as long as they were not threatened.⁵¹ People with a pro-Ukrainian political position existed, but they were few – some left for other parts of Ukraine, some got disappointed with the developments there and others gave up their loyalty under the weight of pragmatic considerations. Some IDPs returned to their homes in Donetsk partly because they no longer could afford to rent elsewhere, and because they were unable to integrate into Ukrainian society.⁵²

Passport intake served as an indication: by the end of 2020, 600,000 individuals acquired ‘DNR’ passports out of 2.2 million Donetska NGCA inhabitants and 500,000 took ‘LNR’ passports out of 1.4 million living there. Most kept their Ukrainian passports,⁵³ whose attraction was a visa-free regime with the EU, which allowed residents to seek employment in Eastern Europe. The question was whether possession of a passport should be equated with a feeling of citizenship, loyalty and belonging, or whether it was a matter of convenience. The latter appeared to be the case for many, who were driven by pragmatic considerations and had three passports, milking the Ukrainian and Russian cows, while paying low utility prices in the ‘republics.’

Still, psychological distance from Ukraine was getting greater as social realities changed. Even without conscious measures to drive a wedge, the government and non-government-controlled territories were moving apart, and previously strong connectors weakened: ‘we are drifting further away from Ukraine, as islands drift from each other. We need to talk about what unites us. In the [Tri-lateral] Contact Group, they talk about what divides us, but we need to pay attention to connectors. One is family ties: while at first society and families got split along the lines of division, many have rebuilt bridges since.’⁵⁴

The image of ‘Life in Ukraine’ was fading in collective memory, Ukraine itself transformed since Donbas was cut off, and it became harder for people to imagine what their lives would be like in a re-united Ukraine. Behavioural changes were noticeable; for example, people were exchanging Ukrainian driving licenses for Russian ones. Ukrainian channels could only be viewed on satellite TV accessible for the wealthy, while the standard 12-channel free package offered Russian TV and a single local channel. Linguistic milieu altered, and the population lost a habit of Ukrainian speech. Children did not really know ‘Ukraine.’ The young generation was formed in the conditions of disconnected existence and was said to be ‘special as it was burnt by the war and matured early. They know that death exists and value life.’⁵⁵ However, young people did not know life without a curfew and had their opportunities clipped. Many were leaving, especially the brightest ones. Majority was moving to Russia which offered them employment and housing mortgages which did not exist in the NGCAs. Fewer young people took Ukrainian passports.

According to polls, the population believed that the situation would get better when the status was determined and security stabilises. Attitudes towards the other side were complex: while many negative feelings existed, such as a sense of loss, bitterness and desire for revenge, but also were sympathy, tolerance and understanding towards Ukrainians on the government side.⁵⁶ The perception of a civil war – that ‘we are warring with our own people,’ – added bitterness and regret. While volunteer battalions were universally resented, the Ukrainian conscript army was perceived as the same people as in Donbas – it was just the circumstances that pitted them against each other. As put by a NGCA respondent, ‘society went through different stages of dealing with conflict. It started with anger, – and the present stage is that of acceptance.’⁵⁷ Still, existence of problems did not mean that people were prepared to abandon their cause.⁵⁸ Social fatigue and disappointment were felt, but defiance was also strong. It was reflected, for example, in the stubbornness of the front-line residents unwilling to move away from the line of fire. They believed that ‘my home is here, and I am not going to move because somebody makes me to.’⁵⁹

Despite the war, Donetsk was said to remain a vibrant city. Theatres, music venues were open. At night, restaurants and nightclubs were full, and clubs sold tickets with a hotel bed to get around the curfew. Street crime was low and public safety was said to good. Empty properties whose owners left remained intact and did not suffer from squatting. At the same time, Donetsk lost its status as the principal Donbas hub. The city witnessed an exodus of middle-class residents accompanied by an in-migration of people displaced from the towns destroyed by the war. It had to absorb newcomers from lower social strata, who replaced the more upwardly mobile urbanites who had left. Higher-end consumption withered, and the businesses that serviced it, disappeared. The stable income options left, were to work for the administration, public services or be a pensioner. The remaining occupations left were more precarious.⁶⁰

Ties with the rest of Ukraine

Developments in Ukrainian politics disappointed Donbas residents. Initially, the public had been enthused by Volodymyr Zelensky’s electoral campaign. His ‘Servant of the People’ series was popular and ‘the population would have voted for him with both hands in 2019 if they were allowed to.’⁶¹ However, in August 2021, Zelensky said in his televised address that those with a pro-Russia identity should leave for Russia because there would be ‘no happiness for these people here.’⁶² Zelensky spoke in Russian to ensure that his message was heard. The explanation may lay in the President’s dwindling popularity: when his approval ratings had fallen to only 22 per cent as shown by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology February 2021 poll,⁶³ Zelensky resorted to draw support from nationalist forces, despite his different electoral promise (Baysha, 2022).

Population was also disappointed in the institution of parliament, in the MPs elected on a Russia-friendly ticket, and a lack of progress in legislation on re-integration, amnesty and provisions for overcoming the conflict. However, Ukrainian politics still had resonance in Donbas. Society took interest in the 2020 local elections in the government-controlled territory, although the NGCAs residents were unable to vote after a 2019 Electoral Code was adopted, which made voting for them practically impossible.

Connections between the two sides in the conflict became progressively attenuated. Only reconnaissance teams and criminal elements managed to move freely across the lines. The JCCC that was to maintain dialogue between the militaries, had stopped functioning as a joint structure since 2017.⁶⁴ The sides set up parallel committees instead, because the government side was against the inclusion of the ‘LDNR’ officers, though they were tacitly accepted when essential. Several agreements since 2017 were reached through interaction between parallel committees, but the efforts to organise further meetings did not come to fruition.⁶⁵ The OSCE SMM acted as a go-betweener instead.

Disruption of ties and detachment from the rest of Ukraine through the efforts of Ukraine, Russia, local elites and Covid-related restrictions created new realities on the ground. Installations were erected to make up for an absence of natural land barriers because the contact line separating the sides did not adhere to geographical boundaries. Multi-echelon defences were built, and the line shaped as an inter-state border. It was reported that physical infrastructure was completed in 2018. At one Luhansk section, the separation of forces was accomplished under the OSCE supervision, but at others, the sides merely set up border defences. Open sections still existed but were festered with mines, and crossing illicitly could be done at a great personal risk.⁶⁶ Formation of the ‘border’ undermined communication, completed the region’s isolation and fostered its re-orientation towards Russia.⁶⁷ Interlocutors reported that placement of the border infrastructure was initiated by the Kyiv side. In the view of an [international] interlocutor, this may not have been the best move: ‘if this is Ukrainian territory, then why should they build a border?’ Institutionalisation of the ‘border’ also meant that illegality prospered around it, including trafficking and smuggling that capitalised on the price differentiation.⁶⁸ Moreover, Donbas was believed to act as a hub for long-distance contraband through Ukraine to and from Europe.⁶⁹

Few economic interests connected the territories with the rest of Ukraine after eight years. Infrastructural interdependency, especially in water supply, remained, because ending it was unfeasible given the configuration of water flows and the location of facilities. Their maintenance entailed a careful political balancing: for example, Luhanska NGCA consumed water from Popasna pumping station in the government-controlled territory, for which it had to pay a charge. The Popasna water board could not receive the payment directly as it stood to be accused of ‘terrorism financing’. In these circumstances, the OSCE SMM carried cash between the sides to mitigate the effects of disruption.⁷⁰ Both sides were supposed to provide security guarantees for service companies to operate in the neutral zone, but they were not always kept.⁷¹

Five crossing points functioned until 2020, and social interaction between the NGCAs and Eastern Ukraine was robust, with 1.1 million crossings on average per month (OHCHR, 2021a). Students went to universities elsewhere in Ukraine while their parents stayed in the NGCAs. Travellers were mostly people receiving their pensions and benefits, those obtaining civil documentation in the government-controlled territory, and shuttle traders. Crossings took were an ordeal. The journeys, mostly undertaken by pensioners, made them more resentful towards ‘Ukraine’ as they had to cover related expenses.

On 7 March 2020, Covid restrictions were imposed by Kyiv, and ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ retaliated eight months later. The restrictions resulted in a 95 per cent reduction in crossings, compared to 2019 (OHCHR, 2021a). Rare crossings that happened were a bureaucratic and security nightmare. What was left from social ties were family reunions and meagre business ties. As the New Humanitarian concluded, ‘the virus was turned into a political weapon, and millions of people fell victims to it, locked inside rebel-held territories – or unable to enter them. It’s hard to see much potential for this border to reopen’ (Sopova & Taylor-Lind, 2021). Social interaction was almost but lost, and social and cultural relations were replaced by ties with the Russian regions.

‘Ukraine’ still had a constituency in Donbas prepared to keep both options open, especially for their children. Children from ‘pro-European families’ studied in Donbas and in parallel – at universities in the government-controlled territory, or passed virtual exams and obtained Ukrainian school certificates to qualify for entering Ukrainian universities. Adoption of the Language Law in Ukraine ended higher education in Russian and required prospective students to have full proficiency in written Ukrainian to sit entrance exams. To ensure this, families hired private tutors to teach their children Ukrainian, which became only an optional subject at NGCAs’ primary schools from 2021. Parents acted pragmatically, hoping that certificates from both sides would improve their children’s life chances.

All in all, interaction between the sides got confined to ceasefire agreements, maintenance of infrastructure facilities and social ties through family reunions. Covid-19 restrictions put the last nail in the coffin of strong connectors which initially withstood the war effects. For many citizens, what emanated out of Kyiv had only one message for them: they were no longer welcome.

Russia’s policy approach to Donbas

President Putin stated at the Valdai Forum in October 2021 that he did not see a solution to the Ukraine problem: ‘this is a dead end. I do not understand at all how one can get out of it.’⁷² With hindsight, this seemed to say that the previous approach led nowhere, and a pivot was to come. This section examines the Russian efforts to resolve the Donbas stalemate before the outbreak of the 2022 war.

In 2015–2021, the Russian government supervised the developments in Donbas at an arms’ length. The logic was that the territories were not meant to stay as Russia’s satellites for long. The Kremlin’s line was that they should integrate into Ukraine on the conditions acceptable to them and guaranteed by Russia. Given such expectation, substantive investments into their reconstruction and development were not Russia’s business, which explained the light footprint approach pursued as an interim measure while political negotiations went on. Russia’s role was to guarantee their survival through opening of its labour market, provision of social benefits and public sector salaries, and basic support to economic and social functions to avoid the territories falling too far backwards. Moscow also sought to ensure that ‘DNR’ & ‘LNR’ elites followed its line on implementation of the Minsk Agreements, which also entailed reining in figures considered too independent.⁷³

Russian institutional infrastructure for dealing with Donbas was fairly diffused. The First Deputy Head of the Presidential Administration, – for a long time, Vladislav Surkov, – was traditionally in charge of political affairs and served as a chief negotiator with Ukraine.⁷⁴ His vision was to reformat Ukraine along less anti-Russian lines, using the region as a springboard. His agenda was ‘not to return Donbas to Ukraine, but to return ‘Ukraine’ to Donbas. Only that could be considered as true success.’⁷⁵ The Russian Ministry of Defence and the FSB were responsible for defence and security matters. Russia pursued extensive intelligence-gathering in Ukraine, though Russian analysts believed that it was utterly ineffective.⁷⁶ Surkov oversaw the personnel appointments, but had no authority over the military and security agencies who followed their own line and often did not see eye–to-eye with the political level. FSB tried to leverage ‘DNR’ & ‘LNR’ internal politics, and Surkov could not always get an upper hand. In 2020, Dmitrii Kozak took over Surkov’s duties, but the transition was a difference in style than in substance as they were both there to implement the will of the same man – the Russian President.

Vice-premier Kozak, before his promotion, was in charge of economic policy, and the deputy minister of economic development Sergei Nazarov curated the Donbas industries. Focal points were appointed at the Russian line ministries, responsible for policy delivery. The ‘republics’ budgets were coded ‘T1’ and ‘T2,’ which meant they were for earmarked for subsidies from the Russian state budget. Business contacts between Russian and Ukrainian businessmen were used to facilitate economic cooperation.⁷⁷ These main actors were supplemented by a second tier: Russian regional administrations, State Duma MPs and other dignitaries, official media and the Union of Donbass Veterans. Russian research expertise in Ukraine was only developing and was mostly based among experts from Ukraine who had relocated to Russia after the power change in Kyiv.

Policies on the ground

Although the Minsk Agreements did not provide explicit security guarantees, Russian officials repeatedly stated that their country would defend Donbas militarily, if it came under an existential threat.⁷⁸ Since 2014, Russia supplied weapons and ammunition, – although it denied direct involvement, – justifying its aid by the need to maintain parity with the AFU which received training and equipment from the West. It also provided military curators to supervise and mentor the Corps’ command: mostly retired officers, and some serving ones too. Their function was to ensure that the defence system was well-maintained and capable of withstanding a sudden Ukrainian offensive. The military was mindful of the lesson of 2020 Karabakh war when Azerbaijani troops were able to march through poorly-kept fortifications. Another function was to supervise procurement of weapons and materiel and provide intelligence support and training.

The impetus to integrate Donbas into Russian political space accelerated as negotiations with Kyiv stalled. Already in July 2020, 14,000 of its residents had voted in the constitutional referendum in Russia. In 2021, Donbas was given a vote in the parliamentary elections, and Russian political parties cultivated Donbas voters.⁷⁹ Politically-minded class got interested in the electoral campaign as it opened a chance of participation in a greater polity at the time when the Ukrainian national scene closed down for them. The region’s vote did not make much difference in terms of the electoral results, but it was symbolically important, especially since the population’s preferences largely lay on the Russian leadership side. People became motivated, read party programmes, even if their quest for participation was only partially satisfied. Still, Donbas acquired its representative in the Russian parliament to vouch for its interests when Alexander Borodai, the first ‘DNR premier’ and the chair of the Donbass Veterans’ Union, got elected to the State Duma on a United Russia ticket. Borodai’s election not only legitimised his political status, but made him a ‘DNR’/ ‘LNR’ representative within the ruling United Russia party. However, Luhansk could not find its space in the political process and its outcome, as Borodai was essentially a ‘Donetsk man.’

One unnoticed consequence was that Russia gained a new population arising from the crisis in Ukraine which remained a large source of immigration. As birth rates were decreasing in Russia, attracting suitable migrants who could easily integrate became important. Population from Ukraine was accepted by Russian society, despite its anti-immigration attitudes. In 2021, the only positive demographic dynamics in Russia were arrivals from Ukraine, who amounted to 53,000 compared to 65,100 in 2020.⁸⁰ Citizens of Ukraine led in acquiring Russian citizenship and totalled 375,989 individuals in 2021 (excluding those from the NGCAs).⁸¹ The Russian authorities were happy to encourage this trend as a culturally and ethnically close country, where the wages were significantly lower than in Russia. Ukraine had a high level of emigration readiness. The April 2020 survey by the Kyiv International Institute of Sociology showed that if granted a Russian citizenship, 15 per cent of respondents from Ukraine’s south (Odesa, Kherson, Mykolayiv), 8 per cent of respondents from the east (Kharkiv, Zaporizhye and Dnipro) and 17 per cent of residents from the government-controlled Donbas would move to Russia to live and work.⁸²

Issuing Russian internal passports was one of the conflict’s landmark developments, but it only gradually picked up. The ‘simplified’ procedure signed by the Russian president in 2019 was bureaucratic and required documents which in a war-like situation were hard to obtain. It was open only for ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ ‘citizens,’ and residents needed to obtain the ‘republics’ passports first. Not all were willing to do so – some considered these structures illegitimate while others were apprehensive that possessing such ‘passports’ would cause them problems within Ukraine. The initial intake was slow, but the situation changed in 2020, after the crossing points with the government-controlled territory got closed. The residents, trapped inside, lost access to pensions, social benefits, education and shuttle trade. Nor could they have Ukrainian passports issued. Access to Russia and benefits that the Russian government paid were all that they were left with. The uptake of Russian passports grew. By 15 February 2022, 860,000 received them.⁸³ It became a condition for working in civil bureaucracy and security structures, and all ‘DNR’/ ‘LNR’ ‘officials’ had them.

Russian passports entitled their holders to free access to the labour market, education opportunities and a freedom to settle anywhere in Russia. The effect of ‘passportisation’ was economic migration. People were making individual choices and leaving for Russia where living standards were higher as they saw no future in the NGCAs.⁸⁴ It was clear that allocation of passports without development and security would lead to the gradual emptying of the territories – which was hardly the effect that Moscow intended.

Negotiations’ deadlock

The main stumbling blocks in the Minsk Agreements were a constitutionally-guaranteed Special Status for Donbas and a return of control over the Russian – Ukrainian border to Kyiv.⁸⁵ The other provisions included cessation of hostilities, exchange of all prisoners, a binding agreement on the distribution of powers between the centre and the ‘Special Status regions’ (NGCAs) with a permission for them to maintain their own police force in exchange for the centre’s prerogative to appoint judges and prosecutors. The other issue was organisation of a local election monitored by the OSCE and recognised by the international community, but the contention existed over which law should be used as the legal basis and the extent to which Ukrainian nationalists from outside the region would be able to disrupt the campaign, as the de facto authorities feared. Constitutional guarantees of the country’s non-accession to rival blocs, such as NATO, presented one of the NGCAs’ demands.⁸⁶ Out of these measures, only prisoners’ exchange was partially implemented.

Special Status Law had weak advocates and strong opponents because it was to recognise Donbas as having more rights than others. Under the Special Status, the region’s legislatures could have more say in the adoption of new national laws if they affected their interests, such as on language and education. Moreover, the Special Status law would have had no legal force unless the Constitution was amended accordingly. However, the political class in Ukraine was not in the mood for decisive compromises, and the sense of national honour was so strong that it was blocking a substantive discussion on the Special Status bill under both Poroshenko and Zelensky’s presidencies.

Sequencing served as a bone of contention, and an adoption of ‘Steinmeier’s Formula’ initiated by the-then German Foreign Minister Frank-Walter Steinmeier, offered a stage-by-stage approach to address it. According to the original agreements, transfer of the border control was the final step after other provisions were implemented, but Kyiv during Poroshenko’s presidency began to argue differently. Moscow resisted the revision of the Agreement in substance, such as the attempts to change sequencing or to reduce the phased implementation to a single package. Its bottom line was that it would not hand over the control over the border to Kyiv before all other issues were settled.

The political gulf was huge: Kyiv wished for a unitary state, facing away from Russia. The NGCAs sought the opposite at the least. No internal grounds were set in motion to enable society in the government-controlled Ukraine to accept a peace solution. Minsk Agreements inspired conflictual attitudes: while some viewed it as a greater compromise than the country should accept, others did not wish re-integration with the people they felt nothing in common with. In a poll by Razumkov Centre in December 2015, 35 per cent of respondents negatively assessed the progress of the Minsk process, 56.4 per cent did not support the Special Status provision, while 23.8 per cent were in favour.⁸⁷

From the Russian viewpoint, political dialogue with the Ukrainian authorities was considered the primary means for resolving the conflict. The Russian negotiation tactics envisaged that the presidents talked first and agreed on the fundamentals, then chief negotiators worked out the follow-up steps to translate commitments into processes. The West would then be invited to fine-tune the deal. The quality of dialogue depended on how the Kremlin viewed their counterparts in Kyiv. Initially, hopes had been put on the president Poroshenko, but since 2017, Moscow stopped regarding him as a negotiation partner.

The ascension of Volodymyr Zelensky to power in 2019 raised expectations that the Minsk process would receive a new impetus. Russian and Ukrainian presidents talked by phone every week. Vladislav Surkov was active in behind-the-scenes contacts with the new Ukrainian president and reportedly promised significant Russian political and economic concessions in exchange for progress on the Minsk Agreements. Moscow, in its turn, was to persuade ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ to agree to the ‘special status’ which was not what they aspired to. Zelensky allegedly pledged to state his commitment to a breakthrough on Minsk at the Normandy Four summit in December 2019; however, when the moment came, to Surkov’s utter dismay, his stance was the opposite. Putin felt let down, angry and misled, and in February 2020, Surkov was dismissed. Victor Mironenko concluded that ‘a tight Gordian knot was tied up, which the new president does not want to cut through and is unable to untie’ (2020).

After summit-level talks failed, continuing the dialogue was delegated to chief negotiators. Kozak (born in Ukraine) replaced Vladislav Surkov, to satisfaction of the Ukrainian side. The TCG turned out to be a useful conflict management platform and was able to reach agreement on specific issues. That way, Andriy Yermak, the head of Ukraine President’s Office, and Kozak agreed on ‘Measures on Strengthening the Ceasefire Regime,’ and on 23 July 2020, Yermak accepted that fire could only be returned on the direct orders of the supreme command of the AFU and the ‘LDNR’ Corps. The agreement was published by the OSCE as signed by both parties, but was then watered down in Kyiv which faced domestic political pressures. Kyiv did not formally break out of the agreement, but began interpreting it loosely and it became less binding. These events showed that while international infrastructure could be useful when sides sought a solution in earnest, it was not suited to dealing with political pressures at home.

Another example of domestic pressure acting against the spirit of Minsk came in March 2020 when an attempt to establish a Consultative Council under the auspices of the TCG political working group failed. The Council was to provide a platform for the representatives from Kyiv and NGCAs to discuss political and legal arrangements for resolving the conflict. At first, Yermak was an ardent supporter, but when the nationalist opposition accused the President and his Head of Office of treason, Yermak recalled his signature from the document (Soloviev, 2021). Frustrated Kozak even proposed to his Normandy counterparts to make the talks’ records public, so that everyone could see what was agreed upon.⁸⁸ In the end, Russian disillusionment with Volodymyr Zelensky came faster than with Petro Poroshenko.

As far as Moscow was concerned, the Minsk Agreements were the best peace offer the Kremlin was prepared to make, and any other proposal would be worse. However, by 2021, the Russian leadership, after a series of unsuccessful negotiations, decided that talking to Kyiv further was unproductive as long as previous commitments remained unfulfilled and re-integrating Donbas on the basis of the Minsk Agreements was unlikely. The Ukrainian leadership was reluctant to implement the Agreements which required painful concessions that it sought to elude, but, as Minsk served as the basis for continuation of the Western sanctions on Russia, Kyiv did not wish to formally break out of them. ⁸⁹ Kyiv meanwhile hoped that the West would be able to persuade Russia into a better deal and did not envisage that the continuation of the stalemate could entail adverse consequences.

Moscow came to believe that the situation in Donbas could not continue indefinitely and had to be addressed. By 2021, Moscow policy circles discussed that allowing the territories to fall further behind was not a winning strategy for the Russian cause, and the situation needed to alter. A policy pivot was envisaged to foster their closer integration into the Russian domestic space, accompanied by investment and managerial supervision, and Kozak with his economic background was to lead that change. The allocation of more Russian passports, the modernisation of productive industries, investment into infrastructure and new construction, and raising social and economic conditions were expected to achieve this. The integration process was facilitated by the already broken ties with the rest of Ukraine and an ongoing re-orientation towards Russia.⁹⁰

The policy aim was to turn Donbas into a demonstration platform for the Russian World and an alternative to Ukraine’s ‘European choice,’ which after eight years it became anything but. The proponents of this line argued that Russia must do everything to incorporate it into its mould, except for legal accession to Russia, – put systematic efforts, pull together intellectual resources and create alternative ideological concepts.⁹¹ It was getting clear that Moscow needed to invest in the region, if wished to transform Donbas into a ‘showcase.’ Planning for longer-term support was required and legal, managerial and operational grounds had to be installed in order for Donbas to be able to absorb Russian aid. In the same vein as the West assisted Ukraine with a reform package, Russia needed to mirror the approach, and develop well-functioning institutions and an effective administrative apparatus.

Bilateral relations: widened gap

Russia gained little during the post-Maidan years in and over Ukraine. Western sectoral sanctions imposed in 2014 hurt and constrained economic development. The Eurasian continent lost a crucial integration partner, which could have been benefitted the whole Eurasian economic space.⁹² Non-military means of influencing Ukraine proved ineffective, and bilateral relations reached their lowest point by 2021.

Politically, Russia was on a losing ticket. Pro-Russia forces in Ukraine were not shaped in a way that they could act. Ukrainian elections were an unwinnable game for pro-Russian candidates, and no charismatic leader emerged from that field. The Ukrainian MP Victor Medvedchuk⁹³ distracted huge Russian resources, but brought no gain and in 2021 was fighting a criminal case for trading with the NGCAs. The case was believed to be politically motivated, but Moscow was unable to rescue its ally, or prevent banning the ‘112 Ukraine’, ‘ZIK’ and ‘NewsOne’ TV channels that were balanced towards Russia. Leadership transfer from Victor Medvedchuk to politician Yevgeniy Murayev to represent a constituency of ‘pro-Russian Ukraine’ was not successful.⁹⁴ Moscow concluded that Russian-friendly forces had no electoral chance to win power legitimately and the political ‘Project Ukraine’ took shape as ‘anti-Russian.’

Russia found itself faced with a diminishing ability to influence events in Ukrainian political space, lost much of the cultural and identity terrain, and was left with no agents of influence. People with a pro-Russia identity were too afraid to express their political positions openly. The situation with regard to free speech and expression was so grave that the UN OHCHR issued a special report on ‘Civic Space and Fundamental Freedoms in Ukraine, 2021’ (OHCHR, 2021b).

At the same time, dialogue did not completely come to a halt after bilateral negotiations failed. Moscow continued to deal with Zelensky’s team through the auspices of certain Ukrainian oligarchs, and Andriy Yermak continued to be engaged in behind-the-scenes negotiations.⁹⁵ The Russian leadership stressed the many incentives for cooperation and the benefits that would follow for neighbourly relations, should ties be restored. This dialogue did not bear fruit. It did however provoke a deeper reflection on Moscow’s part on what to do with Ukraine. Four schools of thought were identified by this research. The fifth option of a ‘status transition’ modelled on the Kosovo process legitimised by the UN and deployment of international peacekeepers had been discussed, but was later abandoned.⁹⁶

The first was continuation of ‘strategic patience’ – waiting for a different political leadership to come to power in Ukraine and for Western financial support to scale down. Such leadership, it was hoped, would regard the Donbas conflict as a tragedy of a divided nation, would work together with Moscow and be a more reliable partner than Volodymyr Zelensky.⁹⁷ This school of thought believed that positive change could be driven by financial – industrial elites and the military – political circles, – policy elites who were not satisfied with the course the country had adopted and wished for more independence from the West.⁹⁸ Eventually, the Ukrainian society would rebel against the Euromaidan order, and this would be the moment for Russia to enter the scene. In the interim, active policy initiatives towards Ukraine should be abandoned while a conundrum in Donbas helped to maintain the necessary degree of tension. Russia should respond only if the next move came from Kyiv, but be prudent in committing to serious talks. Preservation of the status quo could include working-level contacts with the Ukrainian counterparts, gas concessions, low-key economic ties and imports of labour force. The policy thrust would be to preserve a ‘pro-Russian Ukraine’ identity and facilitate transformation of political order in the country.⁹⁹

The criticism of ‘strategic patience’ option was that Russia might wait forever for a change that never comes. The expectation that Ukraine would implode under the burden of internal contradictions that might trigger an upheaval appeared implausible. Ukraine’s geopolitical significance was too great for the West in its contestation with Russia to be derailed. ‘Strategic patience’ amounted to no policy that allowed moving out of the impasse. The hope that Donbas, having returned to the Ukrainian state, would reformat along less anti-Russian lines, was entirely misplaced.

As ‘strategic patience’ was not leading to obvious results, the second school of talking to the master emerged, according to which the West alone could make the Ukrainian leadership compromise. This line was articulated by the deputy head of the Russian Security Council Dmitrii Medvedev in his October 2021 Kommersant article: ‘Ukrainian leaders of the current generation are absolutely dependent people. The country is under direct foreign control. It is pointless for us to deal with them. Business should only be conducted with a suzerain.’¹⁰⁰ The criticism of Medvedev’s approach was that deploring the opponent was not a strategy, and talking was better than no talking, though policy adjustments were certainly needed. However, the article had an effect as it gave boost to hawkish attitudes and laid the grounds for the subsequent attempts on the part of the Russian leadership to talk to the West over Ukraine in December 2021, with an expectation that they would put pressure on Kyiv.

The third policy option can be badged as Paradigm shift: according to which, Russia should recognise the new realities and part with a myth of a ‘triune people’ (Russians, Ukrainians and Belarussians). It should abandon the sentiment of historical and cultural closeness, and acknowledge that Ukraine was a foreign country with an anti-Russian regime that did not mean it any good. It could potentially inflict harm, so Russia needed to deal with Ukraine as a hostile country on its borders and prepare accordingly, reinforce defence and intelligence-gathering capabilities, and enhance expertise. The existing Russia-oriented constituency was not politically relevant in Ukraine. It could be supported on an individual basis but not as a part of a pan-Russian World; immigration to Russia could be facilitated. Dmitry Trenin articulated this line of argument:

The premise of unification of the Russian people, allegedly split by the Russian – Ukrainian border, is a trap. Ukraine is a neighbour, who will never again become a ‘brotherly republic’. The idea of integration should be confined to history and replaced by thinking on how to maintain neighbourhood relations. Russia does not need Ukraine, and the significance of Ukraine for Russia is vastly exaggerated. However, the ability of Kyiv to carry out hostile actions against Moscow should not be underestimated. (Trenin, 2021)

The paradigm shift implied a ‘Russia first’ approach to Ukraine that would make Russia more prepared for dealing with potential threats instead of regarding the neighbour as a prodigal son longing to return to the family. It did not envision a military occupation or any offensive operations, but rather parting with the notions based on the past.

Strategy shift constitutes the fourth policy option. From this perspective, the Russian goals in Ukraine were valid, but existing methods of achieving results were wrong. The strategy shift acknowledged that any unitary notion of the ‘Ukrainian people’ was flawed. Different groups carried distinct views and socio-cultural characteristics. This mistake of the past was to pursue a Ukraine policy through big business and key politicians; a class that carried significant weight in Ukraine. This method had allowed deals to be done quickly, but working with Ukrainian society had been overlooked, and this weakness backfired. Russia failed to apply soft power effectively and did not reach out to a Russia-oriented constituency in the right way.¹⁰¹ The conclusion that followed was that ‘we should speak directly to the Ukrainian people, but not its leadership.’ The new strategy should be about offering the forces in society that were friendly towards Russia an attractive forward-looking alternative.

All of these options were progressively running into dead ends. Talking to the master did not bear fruit, and on 15 February, the State Duma voted for a Communist proposal to formally recognise the ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ despite opposition from the Ministry of Foreign Affairs, United Russia and domestic policy figures. On 21 February, President Putin signed decrees recognising the sovereignty of the ‘people’s republics.’ The important outcome for them were Russian security guarantees, which made the population feel protected.¹⁰² On 24 February, a Russian invasion of Ukraine began.

Thus, non-implementation of the Minsk Agreements became one of the reasons for the decision for war. Certainly, the Donbas conflict was only one factor that led to it, but it was intimately connected to the Russia – West relations over European security and the perspective on Ukraine as a battleground in the West’s geopolitical competition with Russia. Deputy head of the CIS Institute Vladimir Jarikhin explained in our interview in October 2021:

It became clear that our partners, – Ukraine especially, – were not going to fulfil the Minsk Agreements. What we wanted to achieve was a ‘ground zero’ in Ukraine for it to become a federative country with different poles that would counterbalance each other and not allow Ukraine to move too close to the East by joining the EEU [Eurasian Economic Union] and CSTO [Collective Treaty Security Organisation], or to the West, by joining NATO and the EU. That could mean a ‘neutral status’ for Ukraine. This notion was rejected under the US pressure and the negotiation process came to a dead end.¹⁰³

International security grounds that led to the war are well-publicised. Russia’s demand of Ukraine not to join NATO against the West’s insistence on the Alliance’s ‘open-door’ policy, security deployments in Eastern Europe and increasing armament of Ukraine, the failure to approve the North-Stream II gas pipeline to Europe that Russia built at a huge expense, and Russia’s general ambition to challenge the one-polar world order were important drivers that came together at a pivotal moment. Threat perception sharpened, as John Mearsheimer explains: ‘for Russia’s leaders, what happens in Ukraine has little to do with their imperial ambitions being thwarted; it is about dealing with what they regard as a direct threat to Russia’s future’ (Mearsheimer, 2022). The ‘strategy shift’ prevailed, with ramifications beyond anything imaginable.

Conclusions

Rather than focussing on geopolitics, which is at the centre stage of the debate on Russia and Ukraine, this paper has emphasised the importance of factoring in the local situation and its role in helping shape the background to the conflict. To understand the unprecedented Russian policy pivot and the choice for war, one has to understand, firstly, what happened to the breakaway entities post-cessation of active conflict; secondly, what happened to the dominant policy options for solving the conflict. Their fate and the subsequent policy pivot must be interpreted in the light of this changing material reality. The conflict went through the stages of an active war (2014–2015), a limbo state between Ukraine and Russia (2016–2021), and in 2021, entered the phase of integration into Russian space in everything but name. Though in the limbo phase options appeared open, – re-integration into Ukraine, war recurrence or incorporation into Russia’s orbit, – the developments charted in this paper suggest that there was a clear and definitive direction to the changes that took place in the region which delimited the options available.

In effect, the NGCAs were unable to develop as viable socio-economic and political entities. They existed as ‘limbo states’ that were ‘going nowhere’ and descending into a ‘governance hell’; corruption was rampant and attempts to put the two ‘republics’ under a common political umbrella failed. The conflict never ended, and was spiralling by 2021, while professionalising the ‘self-defence forces’ was an uphill task. Given the urban nature of the area and absence of agrarian land, food security was impossible to guarantee; which, together with deindustrialising trends coupled with population flight, left the areas largely dependent on outside Russian support and intervention. Not that economic intervention by Russia made the situation better. Ukrainian government’s animosity evident both in continued military hostilities coupled with an economic blockade, meanwhile denuded support for Ukrainian unity. These factors together with COVID restrictions and the normalisation of the Line of Contact as a ‘border’ pushed the beleaguered population ever further along an irredentist pathway: seeking integration with Russia.

In the light of these changes, the dominant policy options that had previously been conceived as potential political solutions, fared very differently. The idea that the NGCAs would become viable examples of Russian World failed. The Russian Spring became a long Russian winter. The option of re-joining a ‘reformed Ukraine’ failed because Ukraine did not make concessions in that direction, whilst also pursuing security agenda considered ever more hostile by Russia. Nor was Russia able to press for the reforms it wanted to see either. The Ukrainian political elite became a hostage to its ultra nationalist elements that could not be reasoned with, but became veto players in peace negotiations.

In these circumstances, the preconditions that would enable Ukraine to re-incorporate a region whose loyalty was completely turned to its neighbour disappeared, making reintegration with the rest of Ukraine untenable. By default, the recognition and de facto union with Russia became the only real prospect left. While the West, which was considered by many within the Kremlin to be the real puppet masters running the events, refused to bring its ally to comply with the Agreements it entered in 2014–2015, but looked determined to pursue their Eastern NATO expansion at Russia’s expense. Eventually, the Russian leadership abandoned hope in reasoning further with both and chose its own course of action, coercively remoulding Ukraine into compliance with Russia’s demands, with unpredictable outcomes and high cost to itself.

Donbas case can be considered within the continuum of post-Soviet, – and global, – conflicts which either face a war recurrence, reach a stage of ‘uneasy peace’ which allows a transition out of war (Matveeva, 2021) or stagnate. Stagnation has a limited life span: it offers a window of opportunity, but if not taken, the opportunity closes down. Yet options for peace had been possible, even if imperfect. Other post-Soviet experiences that could have allowed for the creation of ‘special status’ models, might have offered some examples of alternatives to war. One was Transnistria in Moldova where a de facto ‘special status’ was not recognised de jure, and the other was Chechnya, which had an autonomy status in the Russian Federation, but its powers in reality went much further than those constitutionally-defined.

While peace could not emerge when all options hung in the air, there was a trajectory and direction to the Donbas conflict that became clearer. The irredentist movement was largely achieving its goals, – short of joining Russia, the ‘republics’ got de facto incorporated into the kin state, and the security guarantees they sought were conceded to them. In analysing Russia’s choice for war, it is not sufficient to concentrate on international security dimension only, because Donbas is the missing piece in this puzzle. Understanding the complexities of this case is indispensable for those, whose efforts should be cumulated for working out a peaceful resolution to the major war in Europe.

Disclosure statement

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Notes

1 The author would like to thank Norwegian Defence University College for support and Dr. Tom Roth, and Profs. Richard Sakwa and Simon Hallsworth for their comments in preparation of the article.

2 Sixteen interviews were conducted in October–November 2021, face-to-face or on Zoom. The respondents were educated elite members. Two interviewees were based in NGCAs, four originated from the territories but were interviewed in Moscow, two were international interlocutors and the rest were Russian political analysists, scholars and journalists. Two out of sixteen respondents were female.

3 Cited in ‘Demografii͡a Novorossii: skolʹko li͡udeĭ zhivët v L/DNR i chto ozhidatʹ dalʹshe’ [Novorossiya’s Demography: how many people live in L/DNR and what to expect next], 6 August 2021, E-News, https://e-news.su/v-novorossii/391711-demografija-novorossii-skolko-ljudej-zhivet-v-l-dnr-i-chto-ozhidat-dalshe.html. In reality less as it is not possible to deduct those registered in the territories who are in migration in Russia or work elsewhere in Ukraine.

4 Research & Branding Group polling December 2013, 12 February 2014. http://reporter-ua.com/2014/02/12/81-zhiteley-vostoka-ukrainy-ne-podderzhivaet-sobytiya-na-maydane-i-zahvat.

5 ‘Minsk agreements’ are three documents from September 2014 (the Minsk Protocol and the Minsk Memorandum) and February 2015 (the Package of Measures on the Implementation of the Minsk Agreements), signed by Russia, Ukraine and representatives of the NGCAs, under the auspices of the four heads of state or government of the ‘Normandy Format’ (Germany, France, Russia and Ukraine). The agreements serve as the basis for talks within the OSCE TCG and its four thematic working groups.

6 Ilya Topchiy, ‘Donbass protiv Ukrainy: kto pobedit?’ [Donbas versus Ukraine: who will win?], Expert Magazine, no. 39, July 2021, https://expert.ru/expert/2021/39/donbass-protiv-ukrainy-kto-pobedit/ https://expert.ru/expert/2021/39/donbass-protiv-ukrainy-kto-pobedit/, July 2021.

7 Topchiy, Expert Magazine.

8 Topchiy, Expert Magazine.

9 Anton Demidov. ‘V LNR nazvali chislo zhertv konflikta v Donbasse’ [LNR unveiled casualty figures in Donbas]. 12 October 2021, Gazeta.ru, https://www.gazeta.ru/army/news/2021/10/12/16674763.shtml. Total casualty figures for 14 April 2014–31 December 2021 see at ‘Conflict-related civilian casualties in Ukraine’, UN OHCHR, January 2022, https://ukraine.un.org/sites/default/files/2022-02/Conflict-related%20civilian%20casualties%20as%20of%2031%20December%202021%20%28rev%2027%20January%202022%29%20corr%20EN_0.pdf.

10 Dmitrii Durnev, Valerii Shiryaev, ‘«Tochki-U» i drugie zveri. Ni Kiev, ni Donet͡sk ne khoti͡at vozvrashchenii͡a voĭny, no propagandisty delai͡ut ee pochti neizbezhnoĭ’ [“Tochki-U” and other beasts. Neither Kyiv, nor Donetsk want a return to war, but propagandists make it almost inevitable]. Novaya Gazeta, no. 33, 29 March 2021, https://novayagazeta.ru/articles/2021/03/27/tochki-u-i-drugie-zveri.

11 Kirill Krivosheev, Vladimir Soloviev, ‘Donbass stanovitsi͡a bespilotnoĭ zonoĭ. Ukraina udarno prodemonstrirovala plody voennoĭ druzhby s Turt͡sieĭ’ [Donbas becomes a pilotless zone. Ukraine strikingly demonstrated fruits of military friendship with Turkey], Kommersant, 27 October 2021, https://www.kommersant.ru/doc/5051898.

12 Author’s interview with a Luhansk resident, November 2021 (via Zoom).

13 Author’s interview with Pavel Kanygin, Novaya Gazeta correspondent, October 2021.

14 Author’s interview with Alexei Tokarev, researcher, Moscow, October 2021.

15 Author’s interview with DD, Moscow, October 2021.

16 ‘GRU’ stands for the Main Intelligence Department of the Russian Ministry of Defence and ‘FSB’ – for the Federal Security Service.

17 Kuratory (curators) were supervisors and mentors that were sent from Russia to the NGCAs to oversee the operations of offices and departments, supervise implementation of policies, offer technical advice and monitor financial expenditure.

18 DD interview, Moscow, 2021.

19 Author’s interview with Yevgenii Kopat’ko, sociologist, Moscow, October 2021.

20 Author’s interview with Alexander Chalenko, journalist, Moscow, October 2021.

21 Tokarev interview.

22 The trend in the rest of Ukraine was the same: turnout at local elections in 2020 was 36 per cent, with the lowest turnout in eastern and southern Ukraine – in Donetsk region, 31.67 per cent, Mykolayiv (32.02 per cent), Kharkiv (32.33 per cent) and Kherson (32.39 per cent) regions, in ‘Central Election Commission reports voter turnout at 2020 local elections’, 26 October 2020, https://112.international/politics/central-election-commission-reports-voter-turnout-at-2020-local-elections-55914.html.

23 Konstantin Skorkin, ‘Ob’edini͡aĭ i vlastvuĭ. Kak ustroeny i kuda dvizhutsi͡a rezhimy DNR i LNR’ [Unite and rule. How DNR and LNR are organised and where they are going], Carnegie Moscow Center, March 2021, https://carnegie.ru/commentary/84020.

24 Anton Demidov, ‘Glava LNR ob’i͡asnil otkaz ot idei ob’edinenii͡a respubliki s DNR’ [Head of LNR explained rejection of an idea of merger of the republic with DNR], Izvestiya interview, October 2021.

25 Author’s interview with an international practitioner, November 2021.

26 DD interview.

27 Kopat’ko, Chalenko interviews.

28 Luhansk respondent interview.

29 Author’s interview with AR, from Donetsk, October 2021, by Zoom.

30 Luhansk respondent interview.

31 DD interview.

32 Luhansk respondent interview.

33 Author’s interview with a Moscow political scientist, October 2021.

34 Konstantin Skorkin, ‘Vzi͡atye na balans. Zachem Moskva smenila khozi͡aina predprii͡atiĭ Donbassa’ [Taken on balance. Why Moscow changed master of Donbas enterprises], Carnegie Commentary, 24 June 2021, https://carnegie.ru/commentary/84806.

35 ‘Zolotye ORDLO’ [Golden NGCAs], Novosti Donbassa, 30 June 2021, https://novosti.dn.ua/article/7821-za-7-let-pri-dnr-poyavilis-svoi-oligarhi-rasskazyvaem-kto-oni#.

36 Skorkin, ‘Taken on Balance’.

37 Kopat’ko interview.

38 ‘Russian Presidential Decree on Humanitarian Assistance to the NGCAs residents’, 15 November 2021, http://publication.pravo.gov.ru/Document/View/0001202111150030.

39 AR interview 2021.

40 Lenta.ru, 28 January 2021, https://lenta.ru/news/2021/01/28/rus/.

41 DD interview, Moscow, 2021. Reportedly, one of Pushilin’s aides wrote a book ten years ago, in which he developed this doctrine, and later advised Pushilin to apply it.

42 Kopat’ko interview.

43 AR, Yevgenii Kopat’ko interviews, October 2021.

44 The author interviewed two Ukrainian sociologists originally from Donbas who conducted opinion polls in the NGCAs. The author was familiar with their previous work and considered it reliable; however, the actual poll figures were not shared and only mentioned in face-to-face interviews, Moscow, October 2021.

45 Interview with a sociologist involved in surveys in NGCAs, October 2021.

46 Chalenko interview.

47 Cumulative quotes, Donetsk and Luhansk interview respondents.

48 Kopat’ko interview.

49 Kopat’ko interview.

50 Luhansk respondent interview.

51 Author’s interview with international respondent, November 2021 (via Zoom).

52 AR interview.

53 Cited by Skorkin in ‘Unite and Rule.’

54 AR interview.

55 AR interview.

56 Kopat’ko interview.

57 AR interview.

58 Tokarev interview.

59 Chalenko interview.

60 Kanygin interview.

61 Luhansk respondent interview.

62 Interview of Volodymyr Zelensky to Dom TV channel, 5 August 2021, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_v3cLAL48d0.

63 ‘Zelensky's presidential electoral rating slides to 22.1% – poll’, Interfax, 3 February 2021, https://interfax.com/newsroom/top-stories/70990/.

64 https://www.reuters.com/article/us-ukraine-crisis-conflict-jccc-idUSKBN1EE1X2. Interlocutors explained that the Ukrainian side requested all members to submit their biometric data. Since the Russian law prohibited its military officers to do so, they withdrew.

65 DD interview, Moscow, 2021.

66 International respondent interview.

67 Kanygin interview.

68 DD interview.

69 Author’s interview with Moscow political scientist.

70 Katya Bonch-Osmolovskaya, Artyom Schennikov, Antonina Asanova, ‘“Muzhiki chutʹ vypili — i davaĭ babakhnem” Kto i kak upravli͡aet voĭnoĭ v Donbasse semʹ let spusti͡a’ [Guys got a bit to drink – and off they go shooting.’ Who and how manages the war in Donbas seven year after’]. Novaya Gazeta, no. 96, 30 August 2021, https://novayagazeta.ru/articles/2021/08/24/muzhiki-chut-vypili-i-davai-babakhnem.

71 Author’s interview with international respondent.

72 Vladimir Putin took part in a plenary session of XVIII meeting of Valdai Discussion Club, Russia’s President website, 21 October 2021, http://kremlin.ru/events/president/news/66975.

73 Ilya Shapovalov, interview with Alexander Khodakovsky ‘Rossii nuzhna vsi͡a Ukraina’ [Russia needs all of Ukraine] Literaturnaya Gazeta, 5 May 2021, https://lgz.ru/article/18-6783-05-05-2021/aleksandr-khodakovskiy-rossii-nuzhna-vsya-ukraina; ‘Khodakovsky declared himself as opposing the DNR leadership’ Novaya Gazeta, 19 February 2016, https://novayagazeta.ru/news/2016/02/19/118868-hodakovskiy-ob-yavil-o-perehode-v-oppozitsiyu-glave-dnr; Dmitrii Kirillov, ‘V DNR ischezai͡ut starozhily “russkoĭ vesny”’ [Veterans of the Russian Spring disappear in Donbas], Gazeta.ru, 17 April 2016, https://www.gazeta.ru/politics/2016/04/17_a_8179493.shtml, Darya Kozlova, ‘Patrioty deli͡at Donbass’ [Patriots divide Donbas], Novaya Gazeta, 28 May 2021, https://novayagazeta.ru/articles/2021/05/28/patrioty-deliat-donbass.

74 Vladislav Surkov was a Russian politician of considerable influence. He served as the First Deputy Head of the Russian Presidential Executive Office from 1999 to 2011, was viewed as the main official ideologist, was later appointed as the Russian Deputy Prime Minister and since 2013 was the Presidential Aide responsible for the relations with Ukraine. On the roles and responsibility during ‘Surkov period’, see Alexei Chesnakov, ‘Nelʹzi͡a igratʹ s Ukrainoĭ v poddavki’ [No losing game with Ukraine], Current Affairs Commentary by Centre for Current Politics, 21 August 2019, https://actualcomment.ru/chesnakov-nelzya-igrat-s-ukrainoy-v-poddavki-1908210956.html.

75 Chesnakov, ‘No losing game’.

76 Author’s interview with Moscow political scientist, 2021.

77 Vladimir Dergachoff, Andrey Pertsev, ‘Proizvedenie Pelevina v avtorskoĭ traktovke Surkova. Vladislav Surkov ukhodit iz politiki. Pochemu ego rabota v Donbasse provalilasʹ?’ [Pelevin’s masterpiece in Surkov’s creative interpretation. Vladislav Surkov leaves politics. Why did his work fail?], Meduza, 25 January 2020 https://meduza.io/feature/2020/01/25/proizvedenie-pelevina-v-avtorskoy-traktovke-surkova.

78 Dmitrii Kozak announced that the events that Moscow will interpret as a Srebrenica equivalent, could be used as an excuse for a military intervention, in ‘Kozak zai͡avil o gotovnosti Rossii vstatʹ na zashchitu zhiteleĭ Donbassa’ [Kozak announced Russia’s resolve to stand up to defence of Donbas inhabitants], Vedomosti, 8 April 2021, https://www.vedomosti.ru/society/news/2021/04/08/865169-kozak-zayavil-o-gotovnosti-rossii-vstat-na-zaschitu-zhitelei-donbassa.

79 Konstantin Skorkin, ‘Golos Donbassa. K chemu privedet uchastie DNR-LNR v rossiĭskikh vyborakh’ [What would be the consequences of DNR and LNR participation in Russian elections], Carnegie Commentary, 23 August 2021, https://carnegie.ru/commentary/85183.

80 Е.М. Scherbakova, ‘Migrat͡sii͡a v Rossii, predvaritelʹnye itogi 2021 goda’ [Migration in Russia, preliminary results of 2021], Demoskop Weekly, no. 895–896, 2022, http://demoscope.ru/weekly/2021/0895/barom01.php.

81 Statistics by the Russian Ministry of Interior, 7 February 2022, cited by SNEG, https://sntat.ru/news/migraciya-za-2021-god-vyxodcy-iz-kakix-stran-polucili-grazdanstvo-rf-i-razreseniya-na-rabotu-5834518.

82 Ivan Rozinsky, ‘Kak prini͡atʹ bolʹshe migrantov s Ukrainy. Borʹba za li͡udeĭ vmesto borʹby za geopoliticheskui͡u orientat͡sii͡u Ukrainy’ [How to receive more migrants from Ukraine. Struggle for people instead of a struggle for geopolitical orientation of Ukraine], Vedomosti, 27 September 2020, https://www.vedomosti.ru/opinion/articles/2020/09/27/841321-bolshe-migrantov.

83 The figure was unveiled by MP Vodolatsky at the State Duma hearing on ‘DNR’ and ‘LNR’ recognition, in ‘V Gosdume nazvali kolichestvo zhiteleĭ DNR i LNR s rossiĭskimi pasportami’ [State Duma stated the totals of DNR and LNR residents with Russian passports], RIA Novosti, 15 December 2021.

84 Chalenko interview, Moscow.

85 For examination of Minsk process from the Russian perspective see ‘Beskonechnyĭ Tupik. Sostoi͡anie I Perspektivy Prot͡sessa Politicheskogo Uregulirovanii͡a Konflikta Mezhdu Ukrainoĭ I Respublikami Donbassa. K Pervoĭ Godovshchine Minskikh Soglasheniĭ’ [An Endless Dead End. The State and Prospects of the Process of Political Settlement of the Conflict between Ukraine and the Republics of Donbass. On the First Anniversary of the Minsk Agreements]. (2016). Analytical Report. Moscow: Centre for Current Politics, 11 February.

86 Ilya Barabanov, ‘Avtory popravok, ochevidno, stavili pered soboĭ t͡selʹ sostavitʹ dokument maksimalʹno priemlemyĭ dli͡a Kieva’ [The authors of the amendments, obviously, set themselves the goal of drawing up a document as acceptable as possible for Kiev]. Kommersant, 9 June 2015, http://www.kommersant.ru/doc/2744603.

87 Razumkov Centre Sociological Service, December 2015, poll conducted among 2000 respondents in Ukraine apart from Crimea and NGCAs.

88 Yelisaveta Antonova, ‘Chto Proiskhodit V Donbasse Seĭchas. V Donbasse — obostrenie, a Ukraina govorit, chto bolʹshe ne khochet vesti peregovory v Minske. Ėto eshche odin priznak budushchego konflikta?’ [What happens today in Donbas. In Donbas – tensions rise, while Ukraine says that it does not want to conduct negotiations in Minsk. Is it yet another sign of impeding conflict?], Meduza, 7 April 2021, https://meduza.io/feature/2021/04/07/v-donbasse-obostrenie-a-ukraina-govorit-chto-bolshe-ne-hochet-vesti-peregovory-v-minske-eto-esche-odin-priznak-buduschego-konflikta

89 Tikhon Goncharov, ‘Ne sdatʹ Donbass, no vernutʹ Ukrainu’ [Not give away Donbas, but return Ukraine], Russian Institute of Strategic Studies, 21 July 2020, https://riss.ru/article/5136/.

90 Skorkin, ‘Unite and Rule’.

91 Goncharov in ‘Not give away’ cites Petr Akopov who develops this argument.

92 Author’s interview with Alexander Guschin, expert, Moscow, November 2021.

93 Viktor Medvedchuk was a Ukrainian politician, lawyer and businessman. Between 2002 and 2005, Medvedchuk served as chief of staff of Ukrainian President Leonid Kuchma. He was a member of political council of the Opposition Platform — For Life party which stood for closer relations with Russia and was elected as a Member of Ukrainian Parliament in 2019.

94 In November 2021, only 6.4 per cen respondents were prepared to vote for him, according to the Rating sociological poll, reported in ‘Zelenskiĭ za osenʹ poteri͡al okolo desi͡ati prot͡sentov reĭtinga’ [Zelensky lost about 10% of his ratings in autumn], RIA Novosti, 11 November 2021, https://ria.ru/20211111/zelenskiy-1758593061.html.

95 Author’s interview with Moscow political expert, October 2021.

96 Author’s interview with an international practitioner, 2021.

97 Tokarev interview.

98 Author’s interview with Vladimir Jarikhin, deputy director of CIS Institute, October 2021.

99 Dmitrii Trenin, Mikhail Pogrebinsky, ‘Sosedstvo ili bratstvo. Pogrebinskiĭ i Trenin o pereot͡senke blizosti Rossii i Ukrainy’ [Neighbourhood or Fraternity. Pogrebinsky and Trenin on closeness between Russia and Ukraine], Carnegie Commentary, 5 October 2021, https://carnegie.ru/commentary/85479.

100 Dmitrii Medvedev, ‘Pochemu bessmyslenny kontakty s nyneshnim ukrainskim rukovodstvom. Pi͡atʹ korotkikh polemicheskikh tezisov’ [Why contacts with the current Ukrainian leadership do not make sense. Five short polemic theses], Kommersant. 11 October 2021, https://www.kommersant.ru/doc/5028300#id2123757.

101 DD interview.

102 Alexander Chernykh, ‘My zashchishcheny teperʹ Rossieĭ, vot i vse itogi’ [We are now protected by Russia, these are the end results], Kommersant, 23 February 2022, https://www.kommersant.ru/doc/5229355.

103 Vladimir Jarikhin, author’s interview, 25 October 2021.