In the 1850s, Britain and Russia, at the time two giant imperial powers, collided like sparring titans during the Crimean War.
The two Empires then tussled in Afghanistan, Tibet and Persia.
The two were "at war" again during the Cold War more recently.
The two countries are at "war" again, but this time it's different....
Bagehot
In the red corner
Jan 24th 2008
From The Economist print edition
A hidden compliment, and a big question, in Britain's fall-out with Russia
Illustration by Steve O'Brien
RED is the colour of “From Russia”, a raucous new exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. The dress worn by a Russian peasant woman, the roofs in a futuristic Moscow, the quizzical horse ridden by a lean Russian youth and Chagall's “Red Jew” all blaze red. The colour encapsulates many of the exhibition's themes: red is for Orthodox iconography and Soviet power, and for blood. The main theme, however, is Russia's perpetual, complex dance of envy and emulation with the West. The show chronicles Russian avant-garde painters' eccentric reactions to France, but the exhibition itself is part of Russia's angry yet enamoured tango with another country: Britain.
By post-cold-war standards, Anglo-Russian relations are noxious—so bad that for a while it seemed that “From Russia” might be cancelled. Though the show went on, British diplomats worry that the relationship might break down altogether, were Russia's byzantine internal politics to make that useful.
Beneath the iciness, however, lies a kind of compliment—and a question about Britain's place in the world.
Snow on their Manolo Blahniks
In December the Russian government ordered the British Council, which promotes British culture and education abroad, to close its offices in St Petersburg and Yekaterinburg. This month, when the British refused, the Russian authorities accused the head of the St Petersburg office of driving offences, and subjected the council's Russian staff to security-service interviews and nocturnal visits from the tax police. Though alleged irregularities are sometimes cited, Russian officials have also linked their bullying to the expulsion of Russian diplomats from London in July 2007—itself an after-effect of the murder of Alexander Litvinenko by radioactive poisoning in London in 2006.
What the friction says about Russia's disregard for international niceties is plain. But what does it say about Britain? Though other countries have fallen out with Russia in its oil-fuelled, Putin-era pomp, the Kremlin has been particularly rough with Britain. Even before Litvinenko, the estimable British ambassador was harassed by a Kremlin-backed youth group and the BBC obstructed. In early 2006 the FSB, successor to the KGB, bizarrely used a television programme to accuse several British diplomats of espionage. The hostility stems partly from the political asylum Britain gave a renegade Russian oligarch and a Chechen separatist, who followed pre-revolutionary radicals and post-revolutionary Whites by seeking sanctuary in London. But the explanation is deeper and more complicated than that.
From the Crimean war through tussles in Persia, Afghanistan and Tibet, the British Empire was the old Russian Empire's main rival. Britain's navy has been admired in Russia since Peter the Great learned shipbuilding in London in 1698 (and trashed the house he stayed in). British spies are distrusted but respected by their Russian counterparts (witness the head of the FSB's recent wild claims about British plans to dismember Russia). Britain's political institutions, meanwhile, have always been revered by Russian liberals. Though France and Germany invaded, and America is the hyperpower, emotionally Britain is still the natural power for muscle-flexing, neo-Soviet Russians to confront—even if Britain's imperial grandeur is as outdated as the pea-soup fogs that, according to Russian textbooks, still engulf London.
It isn't only politics. Russia's artists turned to France for inspiration, but its 19th-century aristocrats took their idea of ease and independence from Britain and its country houses. Their post-Soviet equivalents have opted to buy the originals: the new Russian rich throng London's poshest postcodes, restaurants and art galleries. Their children (including those of nationalistic ministers and apparatchiks) attend Britain's best-known schools and universities. Friendly tax rates, reliable banks and courts, and the London Stock Exchange—on which many Russian firms have floated—are part of the appeal too, of course. The Russians have exposed an old truth: a middling amount of money seems vulgar, but a large amount of money opens almost all doors. There are hundreds of thousands of ordinary Russians in Britain too: applications for British visas are rising by 20% a year. The flamboyance of its expats, and cultural exports such as “From Russia” and the sensational soprano Anna Netrebko (wowing audiences at the Royal Opera House), have given the country an unprecedented, and mostly positive, profile in Britain.
So the tension seems odd. But there may be a link between the Kremlin's anathemisation of Britain and that country's popularity. What seems to have angered Russians particularly about the Litvinenko imbroglio is the tightening of the visa regime for official visitors that resulted; loosen it, they now say, and we can talk. Some people may be punishing Britain, in other words, precisely because they are fond of it. One way or another this contradictory Russian attitude—in equal parts resentment and esteem—is a testimony to Britain's openness and dynamism, and to a historical renown that is still an important asset.
So much for the compliment: the question is whether and how modern Britain can respond to the menace that also comes “From Russia”, and indeed to other big threats. David Miliband, then a brand-new foreign secretary, was refreshingly robust over the Litvinenko affair last year. This time he confined himself to denouncing Russia's “blatant intimidation” as “not worthy of a great country”. That has managed to irk the Russians (“neo-colonial”, they say) without influencing them. The truth is that—for all its repute in Russia and beyond—Britain by itself can do little to sway the Kremlin. Its European partners have spoken up a bit; but the lesson for Gordon Brown especially may be that if Britain is to punch above its weight—and resist the punches that come back—it needs to show less cold shoulder and more collegial respect to the countries who really are its friends.
economist.com
The two Empires then tussled in Afghanistan, Tibet and Persia.
The two were "at war" again during the Cold War more recently.
The two countries are at "war" again, but this time it's different....
Bagehot
In the red corner
Jan 24th 2008
From The Economist print edition
A hidden compliment, and a big question, in Britain's fall-out with Russia
Illustration by Steve O'Brien
RED is the colour of “From Russia”, a raucous new exhibition at the Royal Academy of Arts. The dress worn by a Russian peasant woman, the roofs in a futuristic Moscow, the quizzical horse ridden by a lean Russian youth and Chagall's “Red Jew” all blaze red. The colour encapsulates many of the exhibition's themes: red is for Orthodox iconography and Soviet power, and for blood. The main theme, however, is Russia's perpetual, complex dance of envy and emulation with the West. The show chronicles Russian avant-garde painters' eccentric reactions to France, but the exhibition itself is part of Russia's angry yet enamoured tango with another country: Britain.
By post-cold-war standards, Anglo-Russian relations are noxious—so bad that for a while it seemed that “From Russia” might be cancelled. Though the show went on, British diplomats worry that the relationship might break down altogether, were Russia's byzantine internal politics to make that useful.
Beneath the iciness, however, lies a kind of compliment—and a question about Britain's place in the world.
Snow on their Manolo Blahniks
In December the Russian government ordered the British Council, which promotes British culture and education abroad, to close its offices in St Petersburg and Yekaterinburg. This month, when the British refused, the Russian authorities accused the head of the St Petersburg office of driving offences, and subjected the council's Russian staff to security-service interviews and nocturnal visits from the tax police. Though alleged irregularities are sometimes cited, Russian officials have also linked their bullying to the expulsion of Russian diplomats from London in July 2007—itself an after-effect of the murder of Alexander Litvinenko by radioactive poisoning in London in 2006.
What the friction says about Russia's disregard for international niceties is plain. But what does it say about Britain? Though other countries have fallen out with Russia in its oil-fuelled, Putin-era pomp, the Kremlin has been particularly rough with Britain. Even before Litvinenko, the estimable British ambassador was harassed by a Kremlin-backed youth group and the BBC obstructed. In early 2006 the FSB, successor to the KGB, bizarrely used a television programme to accuse several British diplomats of espionage. The hostility stems partly from the political asylum Britain gave a renegade Russian oligarch and a Chechen separatist, who followed pre-revolutionary radicals and post-revolutionary Whites by seeking sanctuary in London. But the explanation is deeper and more complicated than that.
From the Crimean war through tussles in Persia, Afghanistan and Tibet, the British Empire was the old Russian Empire's main rival. Britain's navy has been admired in Russia since Peter the Great learned shipbuilding in London in 1698 (and trashed the house he stayed in). British spies are distrusted but respected by their Russian counterparts (witness the head of the FSB's recent wild claims about British plans to dismember Russia). Britain's political institutions, meanwhile, have always been revered by Russian liberals. Though France and Germany invaded, and America is the hyperpower, emotionally Britain is still the natural power for muscle-flexing, neo-Soviet Russians to confront—even if Britain's imperial grandeur is as outdated as the pea-soup fogs that, according to Russian textbooks, still engulf London.
It isn't only politics. Russia's artists turned to France for inspiration, but its 19th-century aristocrats took their idea of ease and independence from Britain and its country houses. Their post-Soviet equivalents have opted to buy the originals: the new Russian rich throng London's poshest postcodes, restaurants and art galleries. Their children (including those of nationalistic ministers and apparatchiks) attend Britain's best-known schools and universities. Friendly tax rates, reliable banks and courts, and the London Stock Exchange—on which many Russian firms have floated—are part of the appeal too, of course. The Russians have exposed an old truth: a middling amount of money seems vulgar, but a large amount of money opens almost all doors. There are hundreds of thousands of ordinary Russians in Britain too: applications for British visas are rising by 20% a year. The flamboyance of its expats, and cultural exports such as “From Russia” and the sensational soprano Anna Netrebko (wowing audiences at the Royal Opera House), have given the country an unprecedented, and mostly positive, profile in Britain.
So the tension seems odd. But there may be a link between the Kremlin's anathemisation of Britain and that country's popularity. What seems to have angered Russians particularly about the Litvinenko imbroglio is the tightening of the visa regime for official visitors that resulted; loosen it, they now say, and we can talk. Some people may be punishing Britain, in other words, precisely because they are fond of it. One way or another this contradictory Russian attitude—in equal parts resentment and esteem—is a testimony to Britain's openness and dynamism, and to a historical renown that is still an important asset.
So much for the compliment: the question is whether and how modern Britain can respond to the menace that also comes “From Russia”, and indeed to other big threats. David Miliband, then a brand-new foreign secretary, was refreshingly robust over the Litvinenko affair last year. This time he confined himself to denouncing Russia's “blatant intimidation” as “not worthy of a great country”. That has managed to irk the Russians (“neo-colonial”, they say) without influencing them. The truth is that—for all its repute in Russia and beyond—Britain by itself can do little to sway the Kremlin. Its European partners have spoken up a bit; but the lesson for Gordon Brown especially may be that if Britain is to punch above its weight—and resist the punches that come back—it needs to show less cold shoulder and more collegial respect to the countries who really are its friends.
economist.com
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