S.M. Hali
A recent post on X by Chinese-American commentator Chen Jun drew attention to a provocative address by economist Jeffrey Sachs before the European Parliament. In a speech that has resonated far beyond Brussels, Sachs challenged conventional Western narratives about Russia and argued that today’s geopolitical tensions cannot be understood merely through the prism of Ukraine or Vladimir Putin. Rather, he traced them to a centuries-old tradition of strategic mistrust that originated in imperial Britain and later became embedded in American geopolitical thinking.
Whether one agrees with Sachs’ conclusions or not, the questions he raises deserve serious consideration. At a time when global politics is increasingly defined by renewed great-power competition, understanding the historical roots of geopolitical behaviour has become more important than ever.
At the heart of Sachs’ thesis lies a provocative proposition: Russia’s principal “offence” has never been its ideology, political system, or leadership, but its geography. Spanning roughly 17 million square kilometres across Europe and Asia, Russia remains the largest country on earth. For centuries, its sheer size, strategic depth, and geographic position have made it a pivotal factor in the calculations of rival powers.
Sachs argues that nineteenth-century Britain increasingly viewed Russia’s territorial reach as a potential challenge to the security of the British Empire, particularly its prized possession, India. Drawing on the work of historian John H. Gleason, he notes that Britain and Russia emerged as allies following Napoleon’s defeat in 1815, only to become strategic rivals within a generation.
The resulting contest, famously termed the “Great Game,” centred on influence in Central Asia and fears of Russian expansion towards the Indian subcontinent. Historians continue to debate whether Russia ever intended to threaten India directly. Yet in international politics, perceptions often shape policy more profoundly than intentions. Once British policymakers concluded that Russia represented a potential threat, rivalry became inevitable.
Sachs views the Crimean War of 1853-56 as one of the earliest manifestations of this strategic logic. While conventional interpretations emphasise disputes surrounding the Ottoman Empire, access to strategic waterways, and the European balance of power, Sachs highlights a broader geopolitical objective: preventing Russia from emerging as the dominant power across Eurasia.
His argument becomes even more compelling when extended into the twentieth century. Sachs contends that after the Second World War, the United States inherited not only Britain’s position as the leading global power but also many of its geopolitical assumptions. The objective remained essentially the same: preventing any single power from dominating the Eurasian landmass and thereby challenging the existing international order.
From this perspective, the end of the Cold War represented a historic opportunity that was ultimately missed. The collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 appeared to open the door for a cooperative European security architecture that included Russia. Instead, Sachs argues, the logic of containment survived the collapse of communism itself.
This interpretation inevitably focuses attention on NATO’s eastward expansion. Supporters of enlargement maintain that membership was freely sought by countries emerging from Soviet domination and that the alliance’s growth strengthened European stability and security. Sachs and other critics counter that NATO’s expansion reinforced Russian perceptions of encirclement and strategic exclusion.
The disagreement is not merely about policy; it reflects two fundamentally different understandings of post-Cold War history. For one side, NATO enlargement represented the spread of security and democratic values. For the other, it constituted the steady movement of a military alliance towards Russia’s borders. Both perspectives continue to shape contemporary geopolitics.
The same divergence of views underpins competing interpretations of the war in Ukraine. Sachs argues that the conflict cannot be understood simply as the product of Russian aggression. In his assessment, it reflects decades of accumulated mistrust, strategic rivalry, and unresolved security concerns between Russia and the West. This interpretation, however, stands in sharp contrast to the dominant Western narrative, which rightly emphasises Russia’s responsibility for violating Ukraine’s sovereignty and territorial integrity.
Yet history rarely offers simple explanations. Critics of Sachs correctly point out that countries such as Poland, Estonia, Latvia, and Lithuania actively pursued NATO membership because of their own historical experiences under Russian and Soviet rule. For them, the alliance represented not a tool of containment but a guarantee of independence and security.
Similarly, many analysts argue that Russia’s own actions have substantially contributed to regional insecurity. Events in Georgia in 2008, Crimea in 2014, and Ukraine since 2022 have reinforced concerns among neighbouring states regarding Moscow’s intentions. Any comprehensive assessment must therefore acknowledge that security fears exist on all sides and are rooted in different historical experiences.
The discussion acquires another dimension when viewed from China. Despite the strategic partnership that currently links Moscow and Beijing, historical memory remains complex. During the nineteenth century, Imperial Russia acquired extensive territories from Qing China through a series of unequal treaties imposed during a period of Chinese weakness. While contemporary interests have brought both powers closer together, these memories remind us that geopolitics is rarely free from the influence of history.
This is perhaps the most important contribution of Sachs’ argument. Its value lies not in providing a definitive explanation of every contemporary conflict, but in reminding us that historical memory remains one of the most powerful forces in international relations. Nations, like individuals, are shaped by their experiences. They remember victories and humiliations, threats and betrayals. Those memories often outlast the circumstances that created them.
Whether one accepts Sachs’ conclusions or rejects them, his central point is difficult to ignore: great powers seldom view the world through the lens of current events alone. They carry the weight of history into every strategic calculation. Policies are shaped not only by military capabilities and economic interests but also by inherited assumptions, national narratives, and deeply rooted perceptions of threat.
As the world enters an era of renewed geopolitical competition, the greatest danger may not be disagreement itself but the inability to understand how others perceive their place in history. Strategic stability requires more than military deterrence; it requires historical awareness and diplomatic imagination.
The British historian A.J.P. Taylor once observed, “History does not repeat itself, but historians repeat one another.” The lesson for today’s policymakers is clear. If nations continue to interpret every contemporary challenge through inherited fears and entrenched assumptions, they risk perpetuating the very conflicts they seek to avoid. The task of statesmanship in the twenty-first century is not to become a prisoner of history, but to learn from it. Only then can old rivalries give way to a more stable and cooperative international order.
The writer is a retired Group Captain of PAF. He is a columnist, analyst and TV talk show host, who has authored six books on current affairs, including ten on China.He can be reached at sultanm.hali@gmail.com
