Russia Wanted a New World Order. Not This One.

The tanks were supposed to be home by March.

When Vladimir Putin ordered the full-scale invasion of Ukraine on February 24, 2022, the Kremlin's internal timeline reportedly measured the campaign in days, not years. Kyiv would fall. Volodymyr Zelensky would flee or be replaced. The West would protest loudly and then, as it had after Crimea in 2014, quietly adapt. Russia would reassert itself as an indispensable pole in a new, multipolar world order.

Four years later, the war grinds on. And the world order that has emerged looks nothing like what Moscow envisioned.

The Three Miscalculations

Putin's strategic logic rested on three assumptions, each of which collapsed in the opening weeks of the invasion.

The first was Ukrainian fragility. Russian planners reportedly believed that Ukrainian national identity was thin—a Soviet-era construct that would dissolve under military pressure. Instead, resistance stiffened. The battle for Kyiv became a symbol. Ukraine's military, trained and equipped with increasing Western support, held and then pushed back.

The second assumption was Western disunity. NATO had spent years arguing about burden-sharing, and Donald Trump's first term had raised serious doubts about American commitment to the alliance. Putin likely calculated that Europe would fracture under the economic pressure of sanctions and energy disruption. It didn't—at least not immediately. The alliance rallied with a speed and cohesion that surprised even some of its own members.

The third miscalculation was the most consequential: that NATO expansion could be stopped by force. Instead, Finland and Sweden—nations that had maintained neutrality for decades, through the Cold War and beyond—joined NATO. The invasion accelerated the very outcome it was designed to prevent.

A Multipolar World, Just Not Russia's

Here is the central irony of the past four years: the war has accelerated a shift away from the post-Cold War unipolar moment. But the emerging multipolar world doesn't have Russia at its center. It has China.

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As Western sanctions cut Russia off from European markets, Moscow pivoted east. Energy exports that once flowed to Germany and Poland now flow to Beijing and New Delhi. Trade in yuan has surged. Russian military doctrine has grown increasingly dependent on Chinese components and economic lifelines. The country that set out to prove its great-power independence has become, in the eyes of many analysts, a junior partner to the country it hoped to stand alongside as an equal.

China has played this carefully. Beijing has offered diplomatic cover and economic support without formally backing the invasion—maintaining plausible deniability with Western trading partners while consolidating leverage over Moscow. For Xi Jinping, the war has been a strategic windfall: it has pinned down Western attention and resources, deepened Russian dependency, and demonstrated the limits of American power to audiences in the Global South.

That Global South response deserves attention. A significant number of countries in Africa, the Middle East, and Southeast Asia declined to join Western sanctions or condemn Russia in UN votes. This wasn't necessarily pro-Russia sentiment—it was a statement about a world order that many nations feel was never truly designed with them in mind. The war has given voice to long-standing grievances about selective application of international rules.

The Negotiation Landscape

By early 2026, the contours of a negotiated settlement—however distant or unsatisfying—have begun to take shape as a topic of serious discussion. President Trump, returning to office in January 2025, made quick peace a signature pledge. His administration has signaled reduced appetite for open-ended military support for Ukraine, pushing European allies to confront a question they'd deferred for years: can Europe defend itself without the United States?

The answer, for now, is probably not—but the question itself has triggered the most significant European defense debate in a generation. Germany, France, and others are increasing defense spending. The EU is exploring joint procurement mechanisms. Whether this represents a genuine strategic shift or a temporary panic response remains to be seen.

For Ukraine, any negotiated settlement almost certainly involves painful territorial concessions. Russia holds Crimea and significant parts of the Donbas. Zelensky has consistently ruled out recognizing Russian sovereignty over occupied territories, but the arithmetic of a war of attrition is unforgiving. What counts as a just peace versus a pragmatic end to killing? That question has no clean answer, and different stakeholders—Ukrainian soldiers, displaced civilians, European governments, American taxpayers—would answer it differently.

For Russia, the picture is also complicated. Putin can claim territorial gains. He cannot easily claim victory. Hundreds of thousands of casualties, a shattered economy increasingly dependent on wartime spending (military expenditure has climbed to over 6-7% of GDP), and a generation of educated Russians who have emigrated—these are not the fruits of a successful gamble.

What This Means Beyond Europe

The war's implications extend well beyond the Ukrainian steppe. Policymakers in Taipei, Seoul, and Singapore have been watching closely, because the central question this conflict poses—whether military force can successfully revise borders in the 21st century—is not unique to Europe.

The answer so far is ambiguous. Russia has paid a steep price but retains occupied territory. The West has supported Ukraine but shown limits to that support. For any government contemplating a similar gamble—or any government trying to deter one—the signal from Ukraine is mixed.

North Korea's involvement adds another layer. Pyongyang has reportedly supplied artillery shells and troops to Russia, receiving in return economic relief and potentially military technology transfers. What exactly has changed hands remains opaque, but the partnership has deepened ties between two of the world's most sanctioned states—and raised questions about what capabilities North Korea may be developing with Russian assistance.

For defense industries, the war has been clarifying. The scale of ammunition consumption has exposed the hollowness of post-Cold War stockpile reductions across NATO. Defense spending is rising across Europe, South Korea, Japan, and Australia. The industrial base question—can democracies produce weapons fast enough to sustain a peer conflict?—has moved from think-tank papers to cabinet rooms.