PETER THE GREAT AND PUTIN THE PETTY

If, for the West, the fall of the USSR was a geopolitical event, for the captive nations of the socialist bloc, it was a historic miracle—comparable only to the disappearance of the medieval plague.

Russia, that vast geographical colossus sprawling across half the planet, has always excelled at one thing: the suffering of its own people. An empire built on a toxic mix of messianic ambitions and a profound disregard for human life, where rulers—be they tsars, general secretaries, or presidents for life—have always found new ways to torment their subjects. While other nations measured progress in prosperity, innovation, and hard-won freedoms, Russia measured its "greatness" in hectares of annexed land and millions of sacrificed lives. From medieval serfdom to the forced labor camps of Siberia—where Solzhenitsyn’s literary talent was nearly buried beneath layers of ice and propaganda—Russia has never lacked methods of oppression. When it wasn’t busy starving its own citizens (see: the Ukrainian Holodomor), it made sure to generously export its "blessings" to other nations. The Soviet tank always arrived, bringing with it a lethal mix of poverty, fear, and grotesque Lenin statues.

The statue of Lenin in the park in front of the House of the Spark in Bucharest, August 1989.

A Nation Fascinated by Its Own Failures

And yet, paradoxically, Russia remains captivated by its own failures. Instead of asking why, in the 21st century, it still lacks decent highways or hospitals without buckets in place of toilets, it builds new missiles and dreams of vanished empires. Any criticism is met with the eternal refrain: “Yes, but the Americans…” Perhaps, instead of constantly measuring itself against others, Russia should take a closer look at its own past. The collapse of the Soviet Union was arguably the best thing that happened to Eastern Europe in the 20th century—and it came 45 years too late. After decades of so-called “brotherhood among peoples,” the Soviets had turned half of Europe into a museum of poverty and fear. Hungary in 1956 and Czechoslovakia in 1968 learned the hard way that “sovereignty” was nothing more than a grim joke—one swiftly corrected by the tracks of Russian tanks. The walls weren’t built to keep “imperialists” out, but to prevent their own citizens from fleeing the “workers' paradise.” Once the Soviet Union collapsed, Eastern European states celebrated not just their liberation from Moscow, but the chance to rejoin the ranks of normal nations. Meanwhile, Russia remained trapped in resentment and imperial nostalgia, seething that its former “colonies” no longer wished to live in darkness alongside it. Ultimately, the fall of the USSR was more than just a historical event—it was an experiment with an unmistakable conclusion: wherever Russia withdraws, life flourishes.

Brutal Despotism and Megalomaniacal Obsessions

Russia has a unique talent for producing leaders who oscillate between brutal despotism and megalomaniacal obsessions. Peter the Great was a classic example—an tsar who sought to drag Russia toward modernity through force, blood, and suffering. Three centuries later, Russia produced its grotesque opposite: Putin the Petty, a leader who dreams of past empires but is incapable of building anything other than repressive regimes and corrupt oligarchies. While Peter looked to the West with envy and a desire to learn, Putin looks to the West with resentment and paranoia. Peter the Great opened windows to the world, while Putin bricked them up and drew the curtains. In the end, Peter the Great was a despot who pushed Russia forward, even if on a road paved with suffering. Putin the Petty, on the other hand, pulls it backward, nostalgic for a past that will never return.

Peter the Great.

Power Without Prosperity, Empire Without Stability

Russia seems cursed to repeat the same centuries-old mistakes, regardless of who holds power. From tsars to the modern autocrat at the Kremlin, Russia has always been ensnared in the same paradox: it seeks to be a great power, yet refuses to create a prosperous society. Its history is a long string of catastrophic political experiments, each culminating in national suffering and collapse. The tsars kept the people in poverty and ignorance, fearing that education might make them harder to control. When tsarism fell, the Bolsheviks came with grand promises, only to replace the Romanov autocracy with an even fiercer dictatorship. Soviet communism inherited the tradition of repression but added total control over the minds and lives of its people. Post-Soviet Russia, instead of learning from the mistakes of the past, eagerly returned to what it knows best: authoritarianism, censorship, and expansionism.

The Russian Paradox

The greatest paradox? A country with vast resources and an enormous territory remains economically and socially behind states much smaller and poorer in raw materials. Russia has gas and oil, but no decent roads. It has a glorious past in science and literature, yet treats its intellectuals as enemies of the state. It claims the status of a superpower, but its people live at standards closer to the Third World. If there is a lesson in all this history, it is that Russia seems incapable of escaping this vicious circle. Every leader comes with promises of national salvation, only to repeat the mistakes of their predecessors. Perhaps the true tragedy of Russia is not that it is always ruled by autocrats, but that its people have become so accustomed to the yoke that they can no longer conceive of an alternative.