Why Russia Went to War Against Ukraine

Since Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, one explanation among many unconvincing claims has repeatedly surfaced in Western debate. NATO enlargement is said to have pushed Russia into war. The argument is often presented as pragmatic and realist. Yet it rests on a selective reading of history and ignores Russia’s own long-term behavior. Russia’s aggression against Ukraine is not an anomaly produced by recent security arrangements. It reflects a much longer historical pattern rooted in imperial ambition and the persistent refusal to accept the sovereignty of neighboring societies.

Long before NATO existed, Ukraine was subjected to systematic repression by Russia through Soviet institutions and, earlier, through Russian imperial rule in the 18th and 19th centuries. Ukrainian political elites were eliminated, cultural autonomy was curtailed, and economic policies imposed by Russia produced mass suffering and death. These actions were not responses to external military threats. They were instruments of imperial governance designed to prevent Ukraine from developing as an independent political and economic entity. The persistence of such policies in the complete absence of NATO undermines the claim that today’s war is primarily a reaction to Western alliances.

Russia’s conduct toward other neighboring countries follows the same logic. The use of military force in Hungary in 1956, Czechoslovakia in 1968, Afghanistan in 1979, Chechnya in 1994 and 1999, and Georgia in 2008 occurred without any credible NATO expansion trigger. In each case, Russia justified intervention in the language of security and order while acting to preserve dominance and limit sovereignty. The continuity across these cases indicates that the central issue is not NATO but Russia’s enduring imperial approach to its neighborhood.

The experience of other European states reinforces this conclusion. The Baltic states joined NATO in 2004, and Sweden and Finland more recently, not to threaten Russia but because Russia’s behavior convinced them that neutrality was insufficient for their security. NATO enlargement in these cases was a consequence of Russian actions rather than their cause.

The timing of Russia’s actions further weakens the NATO-centered explanation. In 2014, when Russia annexed Crimea and initiated the war in the east of Ukraine, NATO membership for Ukraine was distant and uncertain. Several NATO members opposed it openly. The situation was little different before the 2022 invasion. If NATO enlargement were the primary driver, escalation at moments when enlargement was effectively stalled is difficult to explain.

From this perspective, NATO enlargement functions less as an explanation of the war than as a narrative that shifts responsibility away from Russia’s own choices. Accepting this narrative carries clear risks. It implies that stability can be restored by limiting Ukraine’s sovereignty or by granting Russia a privileged role in determining the future of its neighbors.

Ukraine occupies a particularly central place in Russia’s worldview. For decades, Russian political discourse has questioned Ukraine’s legitimacy as a sovereign state, portraying it as a temporary deviation from an assumed historical unity. These claims were not marginal. They circulated widely and eventually became part of the official justification for war. The denial of Ukrainian statehood did not emerge in response to NATO decisions. It preceded them and shaped how Russia interpreted every subsequent development.

Russia’s hostility toward Ukraine is best explained by the radically different political trajectories of Ukrainian and Russian societies. In Ukraine, repeated waves of popular mobilization, most notably the Orange Revolution and the Revolution of Dignity, emerged from within society itself. These movements were driven by demands for accountability, limits on power, and a rejection of corruption and arbitrary rule. They entrenched a political culture in which authority is questioned and legitimacy must be earned rather than imposed.

Russia represents the opposite trajectory. Russian society has long been shaped by chauvinism, imperial entitlement, and the absence of durable democratic traditions. Power is not merely centralized, but culturally normalized. Strong rulers are not only tolerated but admired, and the more brutal the ruler, the stronger the reverence. The enduring popular fascination with figures such as Stalin is not an anomaly but a reflection of a deeper historical pattern. Unlike Ukraine, Russia has not developed a societal expectation that power should be constrained or accountable. Expansion, domination, and subjugation have repeatedly been accepted as natural expressions of state strength.

This contrast helps explain both Russia’s aggression and the persistent myth that resistance to Russian power is futile. Ukrainians have shattered this claim. Since 2014, Ukrainian society has demonstrated that even a militarized and repressive system can be resisted through collective action, organization, and sacrifice. The idea that the Russian regime is simply too strong to be challenged is not a law of politics but an excuse repeated inside Russia and echoed in parts of the West. Ukraine’s experience proves that submission is a choice, not an inevitability. It is precisely this refusal to submit that Russia seeks to crush.

This same logic extends beyond Ukraine. Russia’s approach to the post-Soviet space follows a consistent pattern shaped by the same assumptions about power and hierarchy. Former Soviet republics are not treated as equal political communities but as territories whose sovereignty exists only as long as it does not conflict with Russian dominance. Where independence is asserted too forcefully, Russia responds with coercion, intervention, and war. The aggression against Ukraine is therefore not exceptional. It is the clearest and most violent expression of a worldview that has guided Russian behavior for decades.

Chechnya illustrates this pattern clearly. After the first Chechen War, Russia signed a peace agreement in 1996 that acknowledged Chechen self-rule. That agreement did not lead to lasting peace. Only a few years later, Russia launched a second invasion that destroyed the settlement and reimposed control through overwhelming force. This sequence reveals a consistent approach. Agreements that constrain Russia’s dominance are treated as temporary arrangements rather than binding commitments.

This history is especially relevant today, as Ukraine faces growing pressure to accept Russian demands as part of a negotiated settlement. Russia’s past actions demonstrate that peace agreements are respected only as long as they align with Russia’s strategic objectives. When they do not, they are abandoned.

For Europe, the implications are straightforward. Security cannot be built by misdiagnosing the causes of war as NATO enlargement, by accommodating imperial claims, or by assuming that treaties with Russia can substitute for credible deterrence. Ukraine is not a buffer zone between great powers. It is a sovereign country resisting an invasion aimed at reversing its independence. Supporting Ukraine militarily, economically, and politically is therefore not escalation. It is a necessary response to aggression and a defense of the principles on which European security depends.

A durable peace requires an honest diagnosis. Russia’s war against Ukraine did not begin with NATO. It is the product of imperial ambition, rejection of Ukrainian sovereignty, divergent societal trajectories, and a demonstrated disregard for binding agreements. Ignoring these realities risks repeating the mistakes that made the war possible.

The views expressed in this article are solely those of the author and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post or the author’s affiliated institutions.