A study of Putin’s leadership style demonstrates a personality driven by a strong desire to show authority and stay in control. His methodical style of developing strategy is matched by his readiness to employ deliberate assertiveness when he perceives the need to do so. Those who have negotiated with him in diplomatic contexts frequently refer to his application of psychological pressure—extending leaders’ waiting times or building suspense with military displays that leave observers uncertain about what he will do next. For Putin, NATO’s expansion to the east is more than a military move; it is a direct contradiction of what he perceives as Russia’s fundamental security interests and thus confirms a worldview which interprets international relations principally in the vocabulary of power rather than cooperative engagement.

The tale of NATO’s expansion can be traced to a great historic event—the fall of the Berlin Wall in 1989, which occurred quite by chance due to a verbal mistake by an East German government official during a press conference. Amid the tumultuous negotiations that ensued following the reunification of Germany, American Secretary of State James Baker provided assurances to the Soviet leadership that NATO would not advance “one inch eastward” past East Germany. What was apparently obvious then has turned into a durable point of contention. Russia views the subsequent enlargement of the alliance as a profound betrayal of trust, whereas Western representatives assert no definitive agreement had ever been concluded. This persisting dispute about obligations still undermines relations even decades afterwards.

One of the more contentious aspects of the war concerns the AZOV Brigade, which was established in 2014, during Ukraine’s initial conflict with Russian-supported separatists. The history of this force is undoubtedly troubling; it started with very definite far-right, neo-Nazi tendencies that its leadership has since attempted to renounce. Though the group itself insists it has left its extremist beginnings behind, Russia still uses AZOV’s history as a pretext for its campaign, calling its efforts “denazification” measures. Even if the brigade itself has evolved, its legacy still serves to further inflame international discourse around the wider war.

The human dimension of this crisis is revealed in an exploration of conflicting loyalties and interests at stake. Most of those who inhabit eastern Ukraine, especially in the Donbas and Luhansk areas, still have strong cultural and linguistic bonds to Russia that make them feel ever more disconnected from Ukraine’s westward direction. This is a matter not just of politics, but of identity and allegiance. Meanwhile, economic interests are colossal. The Donbas region is atop immense mineral wealth, valued at more than fifteen trillion dollars, with enormous deposits of coal, natural gas, and other metals. But the interests of Russia would seem to extend beyond the mere acquisition of resources, since it already possesses immense natural resources within its own territory. In Moscow’s situation, the war does not appear to be motivated by economic need so much as security and cultural influence.