You can tell a lot about a person from the company they keep. And in the great schoolyard of geopolitics, Russia is the school bully who promises you protection when you face a serious threat.
He gives you a pat on the back, clenches his fist, and assures you that he will stand between you and trouble. You feel safe, almost powerful, when you lean on him. However, once the fight commences, the bully—your “protector”—suddenly vanishes, gazing off into the clouds or tying his shoelaces, seemingly uninterested in the entire situation. At best, he throws you something like, “Hang in there, you’re doing great! I’m here.” Of course, you come out of this fight puffed up like a beekeeper’s apprentice, without all your teeth.
Bashar al-Assad—yes, this “steadfast” leader of Syria who thought he was invincible under Russian protection—has learned the hard way what happens when you put too much faith in an ally who looks powerful on paper but is as reliable as wet toilet paper.
The fall of the Assad regime, followed by his disgraceful escape to a dark corner of exile in Moscow, is less shocking than tragicomic. The protagonist? Putin, of course—a Russian “statesman” who is clearly better at regulating the climate in the Kremlin than protecting allies. Assad believed he had a solid partnership with Russia, one of those “brotherly” alliances cemented in fire and war.
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But while Assad left Syria with the speed of a man running from a burning house, Russia stood by, contentedly plundering what it needed: military bases in the Mediterranean and access to the remaining natural resources.
Promises? Oh, there were promises—grandiose assurances, declarations of eternal support, all delivered with that Russian dramatic and primitive aesthetic. I imagine a small orchestra in the background while Lavrov nods solemnly and Putin delivers his “We will defend Syria” tirade—truly Shakespearean, though more like Shakespeare where everyone gets stabbed in the end.
But that is not all. Assad, for all his flaws—autocratic charm, talent for turning cities into dusty ruins, and general failure as a statesman—was at least loyal to Moscow. On the other hand, Armenia is a country that expected real help in the war against Azerbaijan over Nagorno-Karabakh. It’s like calling your “best friend” to a bar fight only to discover that he’s gone out for gyros. When Azerbaijani drones flew over Armenian positions, Russia sat quietly, shrugging its shoulders and adjusting its military cap with a deep sense of indifference. Indeed, followed by a few harsh press releases.
And this, let me remind you, comes from the country that heads the CSTO—the Collective Security Treaty Organization—a “mutual defense alliance” in which Russia plays the role of an older brother. It’s just that the Russian version of “defense” is to show up late, watch Armenia get screwed, and then offer comforting words like “Well, it’ll be better next time.” It would be better if you relied on Mister Bean to organize the defense strategy—he’s at least enjoyable to watch when it all goes wrong.
And perhaps the most accurate analogy for Russian foreign policy is that it works like a poorly designed energy drink ad: lots of hype, lots of promises of “superior strength” and “unstoppable energy,” but when you open it, you realize you’ve just got an overpriced can of sweet water. The difference is that there is no sugar in Moscow, only empty packaging.
And if you still have illusions about Russian power, look at what is happening on their own soil. The Ukrainian forces—the same ones that Putin so “wisely” underestimated—have managed to take parts of the Kursk region. Kursk! Russian territory, “Mother Russia”,” the pride and heart of the Kremlin! But there are the Ukrainians, happily planting flags in Russian fields, while the Kremlin shakes its head in bewilderment, unable to explain what has happened to them. If Putin is unable to defend his Kursk, what can his “allies,” such as Assad or Armenia, expect?
Basically, the Russian alliances are as stable as a tripod. The fall of Bashar al-Assad should not be seen as an isolated incident but as part of a pattern. Russia likes to pretend it is a great power—as it floats on stage in its Soviet boots, for example—but in reality, its alliance carries about as much weight as the script of Monty Python’s Flying Circus. Think of the Black Knight from the Holy Grail shouting, “It’s nothing, just a scratch!” as his limbs are slowly hacked off. This is Russian foreign policy: courage without opportunity, loyalty without substance.
And what is the lesson? Simple, but essential. To all leaders around the world who are gazing dreamily at Moscow and dreaming of Putin’s embrace: don’t do it! Do not rely on Russia as an ally. Don’t believe the promises of support, military or otherwise. In times of crisis, when drones hover over your army or your cities collapse, Russia will not be present.
It will be busy counting the dollars (i.e., not the worthless rubles) it has earned from selling (probably defective) weapons, extracting resources from your country, and setting up your territory as a temporary chessboard before abandoning you altogether. An alliance with Russia is like building a house on sand. It seems stable, but when the tide comes in, your hopes will float away.
What is the ultimate takeaway from Bashar al-Assad? If Russia says they’ve got your back, double-check, because by then they’ll be halfway to the exit, muttering something about “strategic interests” as they take your family silver.
So, the next time you hear a seductive Russian voice promising you a “heavy hand” and “uncompromising support,” remember these unfortunate examples, dear leaders and dictators around the world. And if you still believe that Russia has your back, don’t forget that many before you have ended up like Assad—humiliated, betrayed, and thrown out of their own country as a guest at someone else’s party.
The views expressed in this opinion article are the author’s and not necessarily those of Kyiv Post.
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