Russian Imperialism: A Question of Leadership or People?

The question of whether the present phase of Russian imperialism is principally the consequence of one man’s leadership, or whether it is rooted in the will and temperament of the Russian people more broadly, is amongst the most delicate in contemporary political analysis. To approach it requires caution, because sweeping judgements about entire nations can collapse into prejudice; yet ignoring the deeper cultural and historical context may obscure truths about how societies enable or resist authoritarian projects.

The Burden of Leadership

It is tempting to locate responsibility squarely upon Vladimir Putin. His twenty-five years in power have been marked by a consistent expansionist trajectory: the wars in Chechnya, the invasion of Georgia in 2008, the annexation of Crimea in 2014, and the full-scale assault on Ukraine from 2022 onwards. Putin’s personal style of rule—centralised, secretive, and reliant upon a narrow circle of loyal security elites—has been indispensable in shaping Russia’s foreign policy. He has revived the imagery of empire and drawn heavily upon Russian Orthodoxy, nostalgia for Soviet power, and a cult of wartime sacrifice to justify his choices. His control over media, courts and political competition has suffocated domestic dissent, reinforcing the sense that the belligerence is primarily his.

In this reading, Russia’s imperial aspirations are not inevitable, but a contingent product of one man’s ambition, opportunism, and authoritarian consolidation. If this is true, then change at the top—whether through removal, retirement, or natural succession—could open the door to a reorientation of Russia’s relations with her neighbours.

Historical Parallels of Autocracy and Expansion

To understand whether the present moment is unique or cyclical, it is useful to look backwards at earlier phases of Russian history, each of which raised similar questions about whether imperial aggression stemmed from rulers or from deeper societal roots.

Nicholas I (1825–1855). His reign epitomised militarised autocracy. Nicholas presented himself as the guardian of Orthodoxy and autocracy, and he intervened ruthlessly to suppress uprisings in Poland, Hungary and elsewhere. Many contemporaries, particularly in the West, saw his imperial assertiveness as his personal project. Yet his actions resonated with sections of Russian society that had long been taught to see Russia as the defender of Slavic and Orthodox peoples.

Joseph Stalin (1928–1953). Stalin’s rule represented imperialism in another form: not so much the export of Russian ethnicity as the imposition of Soviet ideology. His conquest of Eastern Europe at the end of the Second World War, and the subsequent establishment of communist satellite states, extended Moscow’s reach farther than at any point in history. While Stalin’s methods were uniquely brutal, he operated within a society already conditioned by decades of centralised rule, suspicion of the West, and acceptance of sacrifice in the name of greatness.

Leonid Brezhnev (1964–1982). Brezhnev’s era was less dramatic but equally imperial in outlook. The Brezhnev Doctrine justified Soviet intervention in Hungary, Czechoslovakia and Afghanistan on the grounds that no socialist state could deviate from Moscow’s orbit. Again, while Brezhnev was the figurehead, he reflected and entrenched a broader Soviet consensus: that Russia’s status as a superpower depended upon controlling her neighbours.

These three case studies illustrate a pattern: Russia’s imperial projects are often driven by strong leaders, yet they are sustained by widespread societal acceptance, even when accompanied by hardship. Leaders may set the pace and direction, but they rarely act in isolation from the cultural and historical expectations of their people.

Comparisons with Other Empires

Russia’s cycle of imperialism, oscillating between autocratic initiative and societal complicity, is not entirely unique. History offers other examples where leaders and peoples acted together in pursuing conquest.

Napoleonic France. Napoleon Bonaparte’s campaigns might appear to have been the work of one man’s extraordinary ambition. Yet his rise was inseparable from the social and ideological forces unleashed by the French Revolution: mass conscription, nationalism, and a belief in France’s mission to export revolutionary ideals. Napoleon’s genius gave direction and speed to these forces, but he could not have pursued such vast conquests without the support—or at least acquiescence—of a French society that had grown accustomed to war and glory.

The Ottoman Empire. At its height under rulers such as Suleiman the Magnificent, Ottoman expansion was driven by both the Sultan’s ambitions and a wider societal acceptance of conquest as a religious and economic necessity. The ghazi tradition of holy war, the expectation of spoils, and the bureaucratic systems of administering conquered lands meant that the empire’s people were not passive recipients of autocracy but active participants in its imperial structure.

The British Empire. Although governed under a constitutional monarchy rather than an autocracy, Britain’s imperial expansion in the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries illustrates a similar duality. Leaders—politicians, admirals, colonial administrators—pushed imperial projects, but public opinion also sustained them. Popular enthusiasm for naval victories, missionary zeal and economic appetite for colonial trade created a feedback loop between elite direction and societal consent.

These comparisons show that the dynamic of leader and people combining to drive imperial expansion is not peculiar to Russia. What may be distinctive is Russia’s repeated return to this cycle even after defeats, economic collapse or regime change. Other empires often shifted away from expansion after catastrophic wars—Napoleonic France after Waterloo, Britain after Suez—whereas Russia has demonstrated a remarkable capacity to reconstitute her imperial ambitions in new ideological forms.

The Role of Society Today

The same ambiguity persists in contemporary Russia. Putin has acted as the architect of neo-imperialism, but his blueprints rest upon cultural foundations that long pre-date him. Opinion surveys, despite the distortions of state manipulation, indicate that large portions of the Russian public accept narratives of national greatness, victimhood at the hands of the West, and entitlement to control Ukraine and other neighbours. These attitudes have been reinforced by state propaganda, but propaganda works best when it echoes pre-existing sentiments rather than inventing them whole.

The Russian people are not monolithic. There are courageous dissidents, conscientious objectors and exiles who resist. Yet the majority, through conviction, fear or resignation, have allowed imperial aggression to be pursued. As in earlier centuries, society provides the soil in which autocratic leadership can flourish.

Implications for Western Policy

This debate is not merely academic. It bears directly upon how Western governments and institutions should engage with Russia in the present crisis and beyond.

If Russian imperialism is understood as the project of one man, then policy should focus upon containment until Putin is gone, with the expectation that his successors might adopt a more moderate course. This view encourages sanctions targeted at elites, diplomatic isolation of the Kremlin, and efforts to weaken Putin’s hold over his inner circle.

If, however, imperialism is rooted more deeply in Russian society, then the problem is longer-term and more structural. In this case, Western policy must assume that hostility may persist regardless of who sits in the Kremlin. This view calls for strengthening deterrence through NATO, supporting Ukraine indefinitely, and reducing Europe’s vulnerabilities to Russian pressure in energy, trade and the information space.

A balanced approach accepts elements of both perspectives. Russia may one day change, but change is unlikely to be rapid. In the meantime, Western policy must be firm in deterring aggression, while keeping open cultural and informational channels to those Russians willing to imagine a different future. Support for exiled media, educational exchanges and humanitarian contacts can plant seeds for generational change, even while hard power remains the main shield against immediate threats.

The strategic challenge, then, is to deter and defend against Russia as she is today, without foreclosing the possibility that she may yet become something different tomorrow. That requires patience, unity, and a refusal to confuse hope with policy.

A Diplomatic Conclusion

To assign blame exclusively to either the Kremlin or to the Russian nation risks distortion. It is more accurate, and more just, to observe that Russia’s contemporary aggression is the product of a symbiosis: a leader who has deliberately reawakened imperial myths, and a society that, through a mixture of belief, habit and fear, has permitted those myths to harden into policy. The parallels with Nicholas I, Stalin and Brezhnev suggest that Putin is not an anomaly but the latest in a recurring cycle. The broader historical comparisons show that such cycles are not uniquely Russian but part of the wider phenomenon of empire, in which rulers and peoples together pursue expansion.

For diplomacy, the lesson is sobering. The end of Putin may not mean the end of Russian expansionism. Yet history also offers grounds for cautious hope: societies change, sometimes under the weight of defeat, hardship or generational renewal. With time and the right incentives, Russia may come to seek pride in forms other than conquest. That possibility remains distant, but it should not be dismissed. The task for Western policy is to prepare for the worst while leaving open the chance of better.