The Russians in Our Textbooks

Back in 2014, I wrote a term paper on the Russian annexation of Crimea—smug in the assumption that my research was sound. I ransacked academic journals, cited big-name publishers, and congratulated myself on being a diligent student. After all, if Oxford University Press gave its stamp of approval, who was I to doubt it? But looking back, I realize my wide-eyed innocence was weaponized by a force I grossly underestimated: Russian propaganda, creeping into the corridors of Western academia.

I cringe at the memory of my concluding remarks:

“It is therefore unsurprising that Ukrainians in the east, sharing a deep historical and cultural connection to Russia, would identify as Russian and welcome its reunion with Moscow.”

What a crock of shit from 2014 me. It is a wonder I even earned a B+. I practically penned an open invitation for half the world to ignore the violations being committed against Ukrainian sovereignty. You’d think I’d have known better. But I was misled—we were misled—by some of the very scholars touted as authoritative voices on Russian and European politics.

Let’s talk about Dr. Richard Sakwa—Professor of Russian and European Politics at the University of Kent, and Honorary Professor at Moscow State University. His credentials sparkle like a chandelier at a grand ball. Academic stardom, right? Yet over time, his commentary has consistently leaned pro-Russian, downplaying or deflecting criticisms of Moscow’s actions. In some circles, this earns him reverence; in others, suspicion. For me, it was a pipeline of misinformation that I swallowed whole. Worse still, he penned Frontline Ukraine in 2015—hailed as “balanced” by certain reviewers, including Dr. Robinson of the University of Ottawa. I took that endorsement at face value, never suspecting that the lens through which it was written might be tinted with a shade of red courtesy of the Kremlin.

A fair academic criticism would note that Sakwa is thorough: he references key historical contexts, grapples with the complexities of Eastern Ukrainian identity, and draws from first-hand experiences in the region. But peel back the veneer, and there’s a disturbing undertow: an overemphasis on NATO “provocations,” a sympathetic spin on Russia’s “security concerns,” and a baffling reluctance to recognize how forcibly annexing territory violates international law. The result? A work that, while replete with academic footnotes, nonetheless glosses over the grim realities of occupation and the fundamental right of Ukrainians to choose their own fate.

When I read his book at the time, I was enthralled by its calm tone and seeming expertise. After all, if a scholar of Sakwa’s stature was presenting this narrative, it must be legitimate. But hindsight is a vicious teacher. The cloak of respectability can hide all manner of vested interests, and let’s not forget the Russian government’s proven track record of courting Western academics—providing them with privileged access or cozy positions, slowly shaping their perspectives until they parrot half-truths with a veneer of “objectivity.”

Let’s call this what it is: Russian propaganda creeping into the footnotes of scholarly work. It’s brazen enough to appear in the halls of Oxford, the University of Kent, or even the University of Ottawa. And if academia—ostensibly the fortress of critical thinking—can be so easily infiltrated, what does that say for the average news consumer who glances at headlines in passing?

You might wonder if I’m being hyperbolic. But how else do you explain the carefully curated Wikipedia pages still being edited by suspicious Russian IP addresses? How else do we account for men like Sakwa (and he’s hardly alone) painting the war in Ukraine as a mere outcome of “Western antagonism,” leaving Russia’s own imperial ambitions almost comically unexamined?

This realization tears me up because I let my guard down, inadvertently endorsing a viewpoint that caused real harm to Ukrainian brothers and sisters, who deserved better than to be labeled as “welcoming” an invasion. Looking back at my 2014 words, I can hardly breathe for the shame. Is it any wonder Ukrainians feel betrayed when they see Western professors legitimizing, however subtly, the dismantling of their homeland?

So here’s my plea: Cross-examine your sources. If the last decade has taught us anything, it’s that being published or having a university chair does not grant immunity from propaganda’s pull. Even those with polished credentials can harbor biases or be seduced by hidden agendas. If Russian disinformation can infiltrate scholarly circles, it can certainly shape public opinion across the board.

I don’t say this lightly; I say it as someone who once wrote an essay riddled with the seeds of a narrative I now recognize as disingenuous. If you find yourself encountering similarly “expert” opinions—perhaps from other high-profile academics with euroskeptical leanings—don’t just swallow it whole. Look deeper. Ask who benefits from their point of view. Seek out multiple perspectives, including those from Ukrainians themselves, who’ve lived this nightmare firsthand.

In the end, we owe it to the people directly affected by this conflict. 

We owe it to the mothers who’ve lost their sons, the civilians who’ve sheltered under relentless bombardment, the families torn apart by a war that’s as real as it is brutal. As for me, I’ll keep revisiting my old essays as a sobering reminder. I’ll keep striving to right the wrongs of that 2014 version of myself—because that naive kid has a lot to answer for. And in a world where truth itself is under siege, the least we can do is stand vigilant, refusing to allow propaganda—academic or otherwise—to slip past our defenses again.