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Part 1. The Broken Oath and How the Mongols Deceived the Rus’ Princes

(Sound of galloping horses fades slightly into the background, replaced by a more narrative, almost hushed tone)

Imagine the vast, open grassland steppe. For centuries, the scattered principalities of Rus’ fought their own small wars. But a new threat was emerging from the East, a storm on horseback: the Mongols.

At first, these nomadic warriors were a distant rumor. But in 1223, they arrived in force. The Rus’ princes, for once united by a common enemy, gathered their armies. Among them were Mstislav the Bold and other proud princes with their own ambitions.

After initial skirmishes, as the Rus’ and their Cuman allies faced the seemingly relentless Mongol advance, a message arrived. It was from the Mongol generals, a promise of safe passage if the princes would lay down their arms. They swore on their honor that no harm would come to those who surrendered.

(A slight pause for dramatic effect)

Mstislav the Bold, trusting in this oath, perhaps foolishly, perhaps desperately seeking to avoid further bloodshed, convinced some of the other princes. They agreed. They laid down their swords, believing the conflict was over, that a truce had been secured.

But the Mongol word, it turned out, was as brittle as dry steppe grass in winter.

(Sound of a sudden, sharp, metallic clang)

The moment the Rus’ princes and their men were vulnerable, disarmed and unsuspecting, the Mongols fell upon them. It became a slaughter, not a battle. The ground ran red with the blood of the betrayed. Some princes were brutally executed; legend says the Mongols crushed the remaining princes under a platform where the victors celebrated their gruesome triumph.

(Tone becomes slightly lower, more somber)

This wasn’t just a military defeat; it was a betrayal that echoed through Rus’ for generations, deepening distrust and revealing the invaders’ ruthlessness. Though Rus’ stayed connected to Europe, Mongol rule pushed trade and politics eastward. Harsh penalties, executions, and torture grew common. Scholars still debate the human cost: estimates run from single‑digit population losses to claims approaching one‑half.

Kalka became a stark warning that promises can vanish like steppe wind. This initial, devastating betrayal paved the way for the Mongol Yoke, centuries of subjugation that forever shaped Russian history.

…

The betrayal at the Kalka River is the first key piece to understand when negotiating with Russians. For Russia, betrayal isn’t theory; it’s memory.

Napoleon and Tsar Alexander I of Russia signed the Treaty of Tilsit in 1807, forging an alliance. Napoleon then invaded Russia in 1812.

In 1939, Hitler and Stalin signed a non-aggression pact. Two years later, Nazi tanks crossed the Russian border.

Russia claims that Western leaders gave informal assurances in the early 1990s that NATO wouldn’t expand eastward. Declassified memcons show James Baker told Mikhail Gorbachev in 1990 that NATO would move ‘not one inch eastward.’ When NATO expanded anyway, Russians logged it as another broken promise.

Put plainly, Russians assume promises are conditional and alliances are temporary. America views international relations through the lens of the Rational Actor Model, or the idea that leaders make decisions like rational calculators. We view logical entities as pursuing self-interest. We assume to generally uphold agreements because they serve our long-term interests.

As the first key piece to understand, this truth is also the biggest limitation. Russia assumes we will double-cross them.

That assumption changes how we should orient ourselves. Negotiation, to Moscow, is zero‑sum. Anything they concede feels like a loss they’ll pay for later.

This is a legacy of Kalka, Napoleon, Hitler, and NATO.

Should we be Russian apologists? No. But we should treat our adversary with dignity and respect.

When negotiating with Russians, understanding this environment of deep-seated suspicion is critical. And it’s important to recognize its self-fulfilling potential. Russia’s expectation of betrayal provokes actions that make trust impossible.

This isn’t to say that negotiation is impossible. But it does fundamentally alter the landscape. We need strategies that accept mistrust as the starting point.

Next, let’s think about why orienting talks solely from a Western lens falls short. When we think about negotiations, we need to consider how the Russians approach negotiating. We fast-forward to 1962 and a moment when misunderstanding nearly ended civilization, the Cuban Missile Crisis.

Part 2. The Cuban Missile Crisis

(Sound of a ticking clock begins—steady, deliberate—fades slightly under narration)

October 1962. The Cold War reached its most dangerous peak.

American U-2 reconnaissance flights over Cuba captured photographic evidence that the Soviets were emplacing medium- and intermediate-range ballistic missiles just ninety miles from the coast of Florida.

An American early warning radar designed to watch for incoming missile strikes became operational in Thule, Greenland, in 1959. Another in Clear, Alaska, came online in 1961. Both looked north, towards the North Pole and the direction of ballistic missiles from the Soviet Union.

We were blind to the south.

To President John F. Kennedy, the missiles in Cuba were an intolerable threat. With missiles only minutes away, our radars would give no advance notice, leaving the United States no time to respond.

For Soviet leadership, particularly Nikita Khrushchev, the move was not sudden. It was strategic and rooted in a long-standing perception: that the United States had already encircled the Soviets.

In 1961, the US had Jupiter nuclear missiles in Turkey, a NATO ally and direct neighbor to the Soviet Union. These missiles could strike major Soviet cities with very little warning. To Moscow, they were a daily reminder that the US held a gun to their head. The US refused to remove them.

Until Cuba.

In early 1962, Khrushchev approved Operation Anadyr, the secret plan to deploy Soviet nuclear missiles, troops, and equipment to Cuba. Officially, this was framed as a defensive act, meant to protect a fellow socialist state from US aggression. Unofficially, it intended to correct a strategic imbalance. If the United States could threaten the USSR from Turkey, the USSR would threaten the United States from Cuba.

Simply put, Khrushchev matched threat for threat because he believed it was the only way the US would listen. To negotiate on equal footing, the Soviets needed a threat of equal measure.

And so, Soviet missile forces began shipping warheads and launch equipment to Cuba. When the U‑2s spotted them, most sites were nearly ready.

What followed was thirteen days of unprecedented tension. The Kennedy administration weighed air strikes, invasion, and ultimately settled on a naval blockade. American military forces were placed on DEFCON 2, meaning war was imminent.

Meanwhile, Soviet field commanders in Cuba continued to complete missile deployment, unaware of the full extent of the geopolitical negotiations underway. And both sides knew how close they were to catastrophic escalation.

Then, backchannel diplomacy broke the deadlock.

On October 26, a Soviet message proposed to remove the missiles from Cuba in exchange for a US guarantee not to invade the island. American intelligence questioned the authenticity of the message. On October 27, a more formal message insisted any deal include removing US Jupiters from Turkey.

(Sound of a ticking clock grows slightly louder, then recedes)

The Kennedy administration was divided. Publicly agreeing to remove the missiles could make the US appear weak. But ignoring the second message threatened progress in negotiations.

So they did both.

Publicly, the US accepted the first offer: the Soviets would remove their missiles, and the US would pledge not to invade Cuba.

Privately, through Robert Kennedy’s backchannel meeting with Soviet Ambassador Anatoly Dobrynin, the US agreed to dismantle the Jupiter missiles in Turkey, and we would do so within a few months, quietly, without any public linkage to the crisis.

…

Russians win concessions by making America lose something tangible.

Understanding Russian logic means recognizing negotiation is zero‑sum. Leverage and pressure, not goodwill, drive results, though Moscow accepts deals when symmetry and verification are airtight.

As an interim summary, let’s remember:

First, Russia expects betrayal.

Second, negotiation is pressure, not compromise.

There’s at least a third piece that demonstrates Russia’s approach to negotiation. Russia negotiates to, and beyond, the brink of conflict. Brinkmanship means the US must back diplomacy with credible, non‑symbolic military power.

There are many ways to exert military influence. A great example of military influence that potentially averted conflict was the Berlin Airlift.

Part 3. The Berlin Airlift

June 24, 1948 to May 12, 1949

By the summer of 1948, the postwar alliance between the Soviet Union and the Western powers had unraveled. Germany, divided among the victors, became the front line of a new kind of war. The Soviet Union controlled East Germany and the eastern half of Berlin, while the US, Britain, and France administered the west. West Berlin was 100 miles deep in the Soviet zone of Germany.

When the Western allies announced plans to introduce a new currency, the Deutsche Mark, in their zones, including West Berlin, Stalin saw it as a direct threat to Soviet influence. The day after the Western Allies announced the Deutsche Mark, the Soviets cut off all ground access to West Berlin. No roads, no trains, no barges. Nothing and no one could enter the city by land or water. The aim was to starve West Berlin into submission and force the Allies out without a shot fired.

Roughly two million Berliners depended on outside supplies for survival. The city had food for just over a month.

The Soviet calculation was that the US and its allies wouldn’t risk war over a remote, encircled city. They expected we would withdraw quietly and allow East Germany and the Soviets to take over. But Washington and our allies chose a different path.

On June 26, just two days after the blockade began, the Western Allies launched the Berlin Airlift. US Air Force C-47s and C-54s began flying continuous missions into the city’s airports, landing supplies around the clock. The British joined almost immediately, followed by other allies.

At the height of the airlift, a plane landed every 45 seconds. Over the course of 11 months, Allied aircraft made 277,000 flights, delivering more than 2.3 million tons of supplies, including food, medicine, fuel, clothing, and coal. Crews even dropped candy with miniature parachutes to the children of Berlin, an effort led by US pilot Gail Halvorsen that became known as Operation Little Vittles.

These weren’t just missions of mercy. They were statements of resolve. The Soviets disputed the Western Allies’ currency and opened negotiations, intending for us to change our position. They had used military influence to exert pressure, and we would need to use ours to overcome that pressure.

The operation required incredible coordination. Crews flew through narrow air corridors set in post‑war agreements that the Soviets could not legally block. Any accidental deviation could have been used as a pretext for military escalation. US and British crews flew in all conditions, including fog, snow, and darkness, risking mechanical failure, Soviet harassment, or fatal crashes.

And yet, they kept flying.

Meanwhile, the Soviets intensified pressure. East German newspapers mocked the airlift, calling it doomed. Soviet planes buzzed Allied aircraft. Propaganda tried to portray the West as abandoning the people of Berlin.

The Soviets pushed Berlin to the brink because they expected America to back down diplomatically rather than risk conflict.

The effort continued, and the gamble failed. Public opinion in West Berlin solidified around the Allies, not the Soviets. The West had not only refused to back down, it had demonstrated both logistical superiority and moral clarity.

On May 12, 1949, after 322 days, the Soviets lifted the blockade. They had lost the battle for Berlin without firing a shot. In the months that followed, West Germany became a democratic state, and the NATO alliance soon took shape.

The Berlin Airlift remains one of the clearest examples of what works when confronting Russian brinkmanship.

Knowing we prefer to avoid conflict, the Russians provoke it, hoping we’ll back down.

To clarify, the Berlin Airlift wasn’t an act of war. It was an act of resolve. Military influence can be forceful without being aggressive.

In sum, we must respond to Russian brinkmanship by combining diplomacy with direct action.

When negotiating with Russia on the world stage, credible willingness to act militarily is essential to successful outcomes.

So…What Have We Learned?

First: Russia expects betrayal. That mindset is centuries deep.

Second: They negotiate through pressure, not compromise. To them, negotiation is zero-sum.

Third: They push to the brink and expect us to pull back.

So negotiating with Russia means pairing diplomatic finesse with credible resolve, an approach grounded in their centuries‑deep suspicion, zero‑sum mindset, and brinkmanship.

To achieve our goals, the US must fully understand how Russia plays the game and be ready to respond to Russian brinkmanship by combining diplomacy with direct action.

May God bless the United States of America.

Further Reading / Source Material

* Airbridge to Berlin by D.M. Giangreco

* CIA Declassified Document: Soviet Harassment of Allied Aircraft during the Berlin Airlift

* The Berlin Candy Bomber by Gail Halvorsen

* Essence of Decision by Graham Allison (for theoretical backdrop)

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