Russia, explained.
Azov serviceman and tank crew commander, Oleksandr, takes a break in fighting at a position in the direction of Toretsk, eastern Donetsk region, Ukraine, 31 January 2025 (Roman Pilipey/AFP via Getty Images)
With realpolitik back on the menu, there are serious implications for the Indo-Pacific.
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Did we learn anything from the war in Ukraine?Did we learn anything from the war in Ukraine?
Three years into Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the world is still grappling with the war’s implications. While the conflict has upended long-held Western assumptions about the post-Cold War order, some have yet to fully grasp the fact that realpolitik is not merely back in fashion – it never truly left the scene.
Europe was forced to confront this sobering reality the hard way. Will the Indo-Pacific do better? Much will depend on the conclusions regional powers draw from Ukraine’s experience. The war may have offered a wealth of insights, but their interpretations remain highly contested. If misread – whether due to perceived regional differences, a lingering belief in the resilience of the liberal order, or misplaced faith in China’s pragmatism – the region risks echoing the strategic missteps that proved disastrous for Europe. To avoid such pitfalls, the Indo-Pacific must critically reassess and internalise the war’s most vital lessons.
First, Ukraine serves as a stark reminder that competition and conflict remain the norm in international relations, a reality largely obscured by the brief liberal moment that followed the end of the Cold War. The assumption that economic interdependence can deter aggression has once again failed – demonstrating that the lessons of the First World War have been all but forgotten. If anything, interdependence has made critical supply chains more vulnerable and wars more costly, but it has certainly not ensured lasting peace. Despite its evidently flawed premise, the idea continues to dominate political debates. Its most dangerous projection is perhaps the common claim that “China is not Russia” – as if Beijing’s deeper integration into the global economy fundamentally alters its long-term strategic objectives. China may act more cautiously, but that does not mean it would refrain from pursuing its geopolitical ambitions if presented with the opportunity. It is worth remembering that few believed Russia would dare attack Ukraine, even though by 2022, Moscow had already demonstrated a clear pattern of assertive behaviour in Georgia, Crimea, Donbas, and Syria.
Second, states caught in a buffer position are bound to be entangled in conflict, often regardless of their foreign policy choices. Throughout the war, the blame for Russian aggression was frequently placed on Ukraine’s leadership, suggesting that Kyiv could have avoided the turmoil by pursuing a more balanced strategy. It is rarely mentioned, however, that Ukraine removed the neutrality clause from its constitution and replaced it with a commitment to NATO only after Russia annexed Crimea and intervened in Donbas. Broader historical studies provide further evidence that the survival of buffer states rarely depends on their external behaviour, as anything from neutrality and strategic manoeuvring to alliance-building can be easily perceived as hostile or unacceptable by at least one of the competing powers. What truly enhances a buffer state’s survival chances is not balancing but a combination of military strength and robust international support. Ukraine’s experience clearly underscores these realities. This lesson carries serious implications for South Korea. While Seoul has long been praised for its sophisticated balancing between the United States and China, this strategy is likely to prove futile should US–China competition escalate into open conflict. In the absence of its own nuclear capabilities, which could both deter aggression and constrain US pressure, South Korea risks finding itself at the centre of the battlefield – just as happened during the First Sino-Japanese War, when Seoul pursued an alliance, and the Russo-Japanese War, when it attempted to manoeuvre.
Authoritarian states have once again demonstrated that they are better equipped to mobilise for war.
Third, modern conflicts, especially those involving great-power rivalries, are likely to be protracted. Ukraine has proven that prolonged resistance, external intervention, and logistical constraints can quickly turn an anticipated blitzkrieg into a drawn-out war of attrition. This lesson is particularly relevant to the Taiwan Strait, where a potential Chinese invasion would likely face similar hurdles. Unlike Ukraine, however, a war over Taiwan could immediately draw in the United States and regional allies, further extending the conflict. This means that any future war of conquest would likely be long, costly, and unpredictable.
Fourth, authoritarian states have once again demonstrated that they are better equipped to mobilise for war. With state-controlled economies and minimal political constraints, they can rapidly scale up weapons production and adjust to battlefield demands. In contrast, Western defence industries remain slow, bureaucratic, and built around peacetime efficiency rather than wartime urgency. The war in Ukraine has exposed severe shortages of artillery, missiles, and drones, highlighting the West’s struggle to sustain high-intensity warfare. A prolonged conflict in the Indo-Pacific would only amplify these vulnerabilities. Unless democracies adapt, they risk being outpaced in wars that test industrial and logistical endurance.
Fifth, despite Western sanctions, the war has been far less expensive for Russia than for Ukraine. Since the full-scale invasion began in 2022, Russia has spent over $200 billion, while Ukraine's war costs have exceeded $320 billion. A key factor behind this disparity is the cost of defence production. For instance, Ukraine purchased 152mm artillery shells from Poland for around $3000 per round, while Russia bought similar 152mm shells from Iran for no more than $1190 each. Likewise, 122mm shells cost Ukraine $1140 per unit, whereas Russia secured them for just $726. The cost gap is even wider for 122mm unguided rockets. Ukraine procured them at $5434 per rocket. Russia sourced comparable rockets for just $1860 each. The war has demonstrated that sophisticated weapons alone do not win wars of attrition. In prolonged conflicts, cheap, mass-produced munitions often prove more effective than high-cost precision systems. For the United States and its allies, this raises an urgent question of whether they should reconsider their manufacturing strategies to adequately prepare for future large-scale conflicts.
Sixth, the war in Ukraine demonstrated how deterrence can collapse when it lacks credibility. Strategic ambiguity towards Ukraine’s NATO aspirations neither deterred Russia nor reassured Kyiv, creating a grey zone that Moscow exploited. Weak responses to Russia’s 2008 invasion of Georgia and 2014 annexation of Crimea further emboldened the Kremlin, reinforcing the perception that a larger invasion would face limited consequences. By the time serious countermeasures were imposed, the war was well underway. This has clear implications for the Indo-Pacific. China’s militarisation of artificial islands in the South China Sea mirrors Russia’s gradual land grabs. Just as Moscow saw inaction as a green light for greater aggression, Beijing may conclude that its creeping expansion will not provoke a decisive response. The case of Ukraine is a reminder that deterrence will only work if the costs of aggression are made clear in advance – not after conflict begins.
The war in Ukraine has laid bare the costs of complacency and strategic miscalculation. The Indo-Pacific cannot afford to repeat the same mistakes. The question is not if great-power conflict will return to the region, but whether states will be ready when it does.
About the author
Olena Guseinova
Olena Guseinova is a Lecturer at the Graduate School of International and Area Studies, Hankuk University of Foreign Studies (HUFS), Seoul, Korea.
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