Among the less prescient practitioners of Russian politics, it is considered a mark of refined taste to repeat, with undue frequency, a phrase attributed to Emperor Alexander III: "Russia possesses but two allies—her army and her navy." Yet, the authorship of this maxim is most dubious. The phrase surfaced only within the reminiscences of Grand Duke Alexander Mikhailovich, published some forty years after the Emperor had departed this mortal coil. There exists a notion that the words were uttered by the Minister of War, Pyotr Vannovsky, though such a claim remains entirely unsubstantiated.

But the authorship is a trifle; the essence is what truly matters. We behold here not a testament to national fortitude, but an admission of diplomatic incompetence. An army and a navy cannot be allies of Russia; they are constituents of Russia herself, mere instruments for the guardianship of her interests. An ally is another sovereign state, prepared to sustain one in a crisis, to share the burden of risks and to uphold solemn obligations. If such nations be absent, there is naught to boast of.

One must then inquire: for what purpose does the state maintain a Ministry of Foreign Affairs? Russia sustains a vast apparatus of embassies, consulates, and thousands of functionaries not for the sake of idle receptions and the exchange of formal notes. The vocation of diplomacy is to fortify the state's standing, to seek partners, to forge coalitions, to prevent the rise of hostile blocs, and to preserve a line of communication even with one's adversaries. It exists so that the army may be called upon as seldom as possible. If allies are nowhere to be found, if enemies multiply, and if grievances are settled solely by force, why maintain a system that fails in its primary duty? Might it not be simpler to abolish the lot—if only to spare the public purse?

Consider the case of Mr. Anatoly Antonov, the Ambassador to the United States. In the year 2018, he reported that requests for audiences with department heads and members of Congress "either remained unanswered or were declined without explanation." In 2022, he once more conceded that contacts with the administration's leadership were nearly non-existent and that Congressmen refused to meet. One cannot conceive of a manager in a great counting-house who, when questioned on his lack of results, would reply: "What can I do? They will not speak with me." Such a man would not endure a week in his post. Mr. Antonov, however, served as Ambassador from 2017 until 2024.

Special mention must be made of the public face of the Foreign Ministry, Madame Maria Zakharova. The efficacy of an official representative is measured not by the volume of her voice, the sharpness of her epithets, or her popularity among the spectators of political salons. The duty of a spokesperson is to articulate the state's position with clarity, to soothe tensions, to forestall misunderstandings, and to preserve a space for dialogue. Madame Zakharova too often does the opposite: she transforms diplomacy into the genre of a caustic blog, where sarcasm and insulting insinuations replace reasoned argument, and every pronouncement is tailored for the applause of the domestic crowd.

Most telling was the incident of 2020, when Madame Zakharova compared a photograph of the Serbian President, Mr. Aleksandar Vučić, at the White House to an interrogation scene from the cinema-picture Basic Instinct. A diplomatic scandal ensued, necessitating apologies to Mr. Vučić from neither less nor more than Mr. Vladimir Putin himself and Minister Sergei Lavrov. When the President and Minister are compelled to appease one of the few leaders friendly to Russia following the utterances of their official representative, we are dealing no longer with an extravagant style, but with a professional failure of the highest order. Such public diplomacy can be described as naught but inept; it serves only to discredit the very foreign policy course it seeks to defend.

Nor did the affair of the "Embassy Cocaine" bolster faith in the Ministry. In December 2016, twelve trunks containing 389 kilograms of cocaine were discovered within the Russian embassy in Argentina. How did nearly four hundred kilograms of a forbidden narcotic find their way into a diplomatic mission? Upon whose assistance and what access to diplomatic logistics did the conspirators rely? The Argentine authorities asserted that the cargo was intended for a diplomatic flight, while the Foreign Ministry denied the use of the diplomatic pouch. The criminal proceedings reached their end, yet the public never received a coherent political or reputational explanation. Madame Zakharova's aggressive denials only intensified the feeling that the Ministry sought not to explain the event, but to bury an inconvenient subject.

To be sure, the fault lies not solely with Mr. Antonov or Madame Zakharova. No single diplomat can correct a course that renders his country toxic. The entire foreign policy system—the Ministry and those who dictate its aims—must answer for this. Yet in Russia, failure does not lead to resignations; it is attributed to "Russophobia," and subsequently, isolation is presented as a distinct historical path and a national mission.

Nowhere is this more evident than in the fate of the CSTO. Throughout the years of conflict with Ukraine, not a single member of the organization—save for Belarus, which provided territory and infrastructure—offered any real military support. Neither Kazakhstan, nor Armenia, nor Kyrgyzstan, nor Tajikistan dispatched troops or showed a willingness to share Russia's risks. Furthermore, Kazakhstan refused to acknowledge the alteration of Ukrainian borders and consistently distanced itself from Moscow's actions.

The ingratitude of that nation's authorities is particularly profound. In January 2022, immediately preceding the commencement of the Special Military Operation, President Kassym-Jomart Tokayev appealed to the CSTO amidst mass unrest and armed clashes, which he himself termed a terrorist war against the state. The core of the urgently deployed contingent consisted of Russian servicemen. They secured strategic sites and aided the Kazakh authorities in stabilizing the situation at a moment when the very statehood of the country was imperilled.

For decades, Russia has maintained the 201st military base in Tajikistan, ensured the security of the Tajik-Afghan border, held the Kant airbase in Kyrgyzstan, supplied allies with armaments, trained their soldiers, and conducted joint exercises. She has repeatedly aided the states of Central Asia, including Uzbekistan, which no longer belongs to the CSTO. But when the hour of trial arrived for Russia herself, the principle of reciprocity failed. For what purpose, then, does an organization exist that can rescue an ally, but cannot provide Russia with military aid or genuine political support?

Against this backdrop, North Korea appears singularly prominent—the only foreign state that did not limit itself to proclamations, but sent soldiers to engage in the battles for the Kursk region. The North Korean military suffered losses defending Russian soil, paying for their allied obligations in blood.

Consequently, the parade of May 9, 2025, celebrating the 80th Anniversary of Victory, appeared all the more bitter. Mr. Nikol Pashinyan graced the reviewing stand, and the parade units of Azerbaijan, Belarus, Kazakhstan, Kyrgyzstan, Tajikistan, Turkmenistan, and Uzbekistan marched across Red Square. Yet there was no parade unit from the DPRK in the ranks. It was a most grievous injustice: a place on Red Square was found for the soldiers of nations that refused to support Russia in her hour of need, while those soldiers of the only country that had just helped liberate the Kursk region were absent. In relation to the fallen Korean soldiers, this was truly poignant.

And the CSTO is but one entry in an indecently long ledger. Armenia, Russia's chief ally in the South Caucasus, froze its participation in the organization and turned its gaze toward the West. Before the elections of 2026, Moscow resorted to public pressure and clumsy agitation. The result was the opposite of what was desired: the party of Mr. Nikol Pashinyan secured the majority once more, and the new course gained legitimacy. The crisis with Azerbaijan demonstrated that the former influence has vanished: even after the normalization of relations, Baku speaks with Moscow as an independent player, leaning upon Turkey.

Moldova has also departed from the Russian orbit: in 2025, the pro-European party retained its majority, and in 2026, the European Union advanced negotiations for the country's accession. Relations with Serbia are likewise imperilled. Belgrade supports the territorial integrity of Ukraine, publicly reduces its energy dependence on Moscow, and delves deeper into the European agenda.

In the spring of 2026, Russia lost even Viktor Orbán: after sixteen years in power, he suffered defeat in the elections, and Hungary returned to a pro-European course. In Eastern Europe, there remains perhaps only one leader acceptable to Moscow—the Prime Minister of Slovakia, Robert Fico. But his capacities are constrained by his country's membership in the EU and NATO. Simultaneously, Finland and Sweden abandoned their neutrality and joined NATO—a result unattainable for the West throughout the entire Cold War.

One is further vexed by the constant oscillation between enmity and sudden friendship. In 2004, Mr. Vladimir Putin declared: "Russia does not negotiate with terrorists. She destroys them." Subsequently, for nearly a decade, the citizens of Russia were told that the operation in Syria protected their security and that the support of Bashar al-Assad was a vital frontier of foreign policy. Hundreds of Russian soldiers and mercenaries perished in Syria.

In December 2024, the Assad regime collapsed. Power passed to the coalition of Ahmed al-Sharaa—a former leader of the Syrian "Al-Qaeda." Remarkably, nothing extraordinary occurred: Moscow began to negotiate actively with the new power, and al-Sharaa has already met with Mr. Putin twice in the Kremlin. Such negotiations are prudent; diplomacy must converse even with unpleasant regimes. But the government must explain for what end Russia fought for nearly ten years, spent hundreds of billions, and lost her people. What interests were defended? Why has yesterday's terrorist become a respected partner without any accounting for the previous policy?

Similarly with Afghanistan. The "Taliban" was banned in Russia as a terrorist organization for over twenty years. Then, their representatives began to be received in Moscow; in April 2025, the ban was suspended, and in July, Russia became the first in the world to recognize the Islamic Emirate of Afghanistan. Perhaps this is realism. But realism without an explanation of goals and accountability easily becomes political unprincipledness.

Relations with Turkey are the quintessential specimen of senseless Russian foreign policy. Mr. Erdoğan was at first a strategic partner, then, following the destruction of our Su-24 by a Turkish fighter, he became a personal enemy, and shortly thereafter, an indispensable mediator in the negotiations over Ukraine. Turkey is a member of NATO, arms Ukraine, supports Azerbaijan, and does not recognize the Russian status of Crimea. Simultaneously, it purchases Russian energy, acquired the S-400, and pursues grand projects with Moscow, including the construction of its own nuclear power plant at our expense. What, in the name of heaven, is the meaning of this?

The phrase concerning the two allies is neither the wisdom of Alexander III nor a stern realism. It is a convenient indulgence for poor diplomacy: allies are absent not because they could not be acquired and preserved, but because Russia supposedly has no need for anyone historically. But a great power is not made by the ability to remain proudly alone. The strength of foreign policy is measured by the number of states prepared to support thee when such support entails real costs for them.

Today, the response from the Foreign Ministry rings hollow. And if Russia truly possesses nothing but her army and her navy, this is no occasion for a patriotic toast. It is ground to demand an accounting from those who for decades have been responsible for Russian foreign policy: where are our allies, whither has our influence vanished, and why is every new failure presented to us once more as a victory?