Once again, war is at our gates! Actual war, complete with bombs, shooting, the injured, the dead, the anguish, the displacements. And the capital cities of the free world, condemning, denouncing, punishing, but leaving the Ukrainian soldiers on their own: with no brothers or sisters in arms from elsewhere in reinforcement.
War and Peace: these two faces of the history of humanity provide the title of one of the greatest novels ever published. It took its author five years to write. It matters little, today, that it describes a historical context for which the backdrop was the battle of Austerlitz and the Russian withdrawal. In this fresco of twists and turns, we can pick out the profound absurdity of the butchery of war under extreme conditions, and clear pessimism about human nature and the terrible fate reserved for individual destinies. Peace, restored by the defeat of the Napoleonic Empire, gives way, in the book, to a calling into question of another empire, the Empire of the Tsars, in the name of humanism – already.
This great writer was not just Russian, he was an aristocrat to boot. A soldier first, he fought in the Caucasus and Crimea. He then travelled the whole of Europe, from Germany to England via Switzerland, Rome, Paris and Brussels. His reading introduced him to Western authors, enriching his historical and philosophical understanding.
It was when he had resettled in his Russian property that he produced most of his output. Later in life, he became anti-slavery, giving his lands to the serfs, anti-clerical on behalf of a non-violent radical and philanthropic Christianity: he enormously influenced Gandhi, with whom he corresponded. When described as an anarchist, he responded: “my opposition to administrative power has been interpreted into opposition to all government. This, however, is not true. I oppose only violence and the view that might makes right”.
A dedicated internationalist, he was a supporter of Esperanto. He described patriotism as “a backwards, inopportune and harmful idea”, “a senseless doctrine” fostered by governors holding their people in subjection. He died alone in 1910, having witnessed without sympathy the first stages of the decline of the empire of which he was a child. His name was Leo Tolstoy.
Tolstoy’s ideas are as searingly relevant today as they ever were and man’s progress comes across like the negative image of the mediocre tyrant who thinks he is a new tsar, sowing death and destruction to restore the territorial integrity of the old Empire and its system of values. But to this day, there are Russian citizens who are closer to Tolstoy than they are to Putin; on the day of the invasion, they began to protest in their masses: at least 1800 have been arrested to date. This immediate repression was condemned by the UN, but is by no means over.
In 1992, following the dissolution of the USSR, the Treaty of Maastricht instituted a common foreign and security policy, one of the aims of which was to maintain peace and reinforce international security. It referred to a “common foreign and security policy including the eventual framing of a common defence policy, which might in time lead to a common defence” (article J.4(1)).
Thirty years have passed and this has apparently not been enough time. No doubt the tyrant of the Kremlin should be held accountable for his crimes, but history will also hold the European leaders to account for their failure to abide by this treaty, indirectly contributing to the conditions which have allowed the possibility of a war of destruction against a democratic state that is both neighbour and friend, even though it is linked to the European Union by a substantial association agreement.
Admittedly, the EU has pulled off the tour de force of making war between its own members impossible. However, it did not anticipate the exploitation, by the survivors of the former USSR, of a considerable degree of bitterness and frustration towards the West. The Treaty of Versailles humiliated Germany: twenty years later, a dangerous madman offered it revenge. The democracies underestimated him and were unprepared. They believed in democracy.
The European Union is an economic success story. Its basic premise, even though it invests in areas such as education and culture, remains guided by the economy and competitiveness. And the punishments for those who step out of line consist of hitting them – hard – in the wallet. Similarly, what it uses to bring to heel a regime that is trampling over the values of law, freedom and democracy is invariably ready-made economic and financial sanctions. But how can you negotiate with a despot who isn’t interested in the economy or values, but just the art of war? How do you reason with somebody who is evidently rational in his methodology, but verges on madness in his plans and arguments, as shown by his last two public speeches? Democratic Europe is way out of its comfort zone.
And this is where tragedy comes back in: a long period of peace at home does not guarantee that it will continue forever. It will have unfortunately brought about something that another great Russian, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, accurately predicted: the decline of courage (Harvard speech, 1978). This decline is particularly dangerous when dealing with an opponent who respects only force, however predictable he may be. It is particularly shocking in view of the courage shown by Ukrainian soldiers and those fighting for democracy in Russia and Belarus.
Renaud Denuit