"Russia remains an enigma. We have no easy answer to the problems that arise when a great nation turns its back on Western civilisation."
Greenwich, the home of Standpoint, is haunted by the ghost of Peter the Great. It was here that he decided to transform Russia into a Western country — by force, if necessary. Mussorgsky’s great unfinished opera Kovanshchina tells the story of how the young Tsar crushed all opposition to his enlightened despotism: boyars butchered, princes banished, Old Believers burned alive. At this year’s Prom performance, gloriously re-created under the baton of Semyon Bychkov, the power struggles between traditionalists and modernisers ignore the God-fearing people of Moscow. Likewise, Rachmaninov’s All-Night Vigil, performed before a rapt late-night Prom audience by the unaccompanied Latvian Radio Choir, transported the grave magnificence of the Russian Orthodox monastic liturgy to London. In Muscovy, heir to Byzantium, the church was dominated by the state, leaving no interstices of liberty for the individual. Yet a deep reservoir of mysticism has always provided a refuge for the devout. In the last century, no European nation has witnessed greater upheavals, but the Russian predicament is impervious to change.
Perhaps this is the underlying reason why no contemporary leader of a great power has lasted as long as Vladimir Putin. Anne Applebaum’s superb Red Famine: Stalin’s War on Ukraine (Allen Lane, £25) is more than a magisterial new history of the Ukrainian “Holodomor”, bringing Robert Conquest’s Harvest of Sorrow up to date. Its title hints at the connection between Stalin’s attempt in the early 1930s to annihilate Ukrainian nationhood under the cloak of collectivisation, which cost up to four million lives, and Putin’s “dirty wars”: his annexation of Crimea and infiltration of eastern Ukraine. In Russia there has been no attempt to reassess culpability for the Ukrainian famine, just as there is no real opposition to a president who has been so corrupted by absolute power that he is credibly accused of embezzling $200 billion. Orthodoxy’s historic reluctance to confront the secular power, along with popular fatalism, play into Putin’s hands. Yet Stalin’s failure to destroy Ukraine, its subsequent independence and Westernisation, beg the question: why not Russia too?
Russia remains an enigma. We have no easy answer to the problems that arise when a great nation turns its back on Western civilisation. The Anglosphere is confident enough to go its own way, sheltering where necessary under the American nuclear umbrella and giving reliable support to the US in return. But our European neighbours have a different history and are far less ready to stand up to threats or to resist bribery. Not since Nato was created in 1949 has the Kremlin come so close to its aim of dividing the West. Donald Trump’s Russian entanglements and his handling of the Korean crisis have shaken Europe’s trust in America as a strategic ally. The danger of a Sino-American confrontation on the Korean peninsula is real, due less to the Trump administration than to the failure of past predecessors to deal firmly with Pyongyang.
But the longer-term peril is that the Western alliance will wither away. Hence, Britain must make the case for preventing the Continental drift away from the United States. Europe’s security architecture, especially on its vulnerable southern and eastern borders, must be adapted to meet new threats, while still proclaiming the open society and rule of law that our civilisation embodies. As the oldest and most philoprogenitive pioneer of both, Britain has a particular duty to save the West from its own fissiparous tendencies. Just as Russia’s survival in wartime was too important to be left to the Russians — hence the Arctic convoys and the strategic bombing of Germany — so Europe’s survival is too important to be left to the Europeans now. Our EU partners may not yet be not listening to London, but the negotiations give Theresa May an opportunity to engage with a wider public, on both sides of the Channel and the Atlantic.
So: what should be her post-Brexit vision of Europe and the West? First and foremost, Mrs May should reaffirm the great British love of liberty: freedom under the law and freedom of the press, free institutions and free individuals, a free country trading freely in free markets. Second, she should speak unashamedly, as she has done before, about the Judaeo-Christian values without which there would be no Western civilisation. Third, she should remind us that supranational organisations, such as the EU, are inherently undemocratic.
Here she could correct an important omission from President Trump’s memorable Warsaw speech last July. He rightly warned that the West was in danger; he spoke of freedom, faith and the family; but he failed to specifically mention democracy. This rankled after the hideous scenes in Charlottesville, when Mr Trump equivocated over the white supremacists who had staged a rally there that turned into a riot. Their hostility to democracy was unequivocal. Blaming the far-Left for the rise of American Nazis does not come well from a President who likes to echo Charles Lindbergh’s “America First” rhetoric. Democracy is in retreat in many parts of the world. If the United States, the arsenal of democracy, is neglecting to defend it, then Mrs May must.
She needs a significant bastion of Western civilisation from which to make her call to arms. Why should she not give her speech in Canterbury, where as an active Anglican she would surely be made welcome by Archbishop Welby? This was the place where St Augustine of Canterbury came to convert the English. Thomas Becket’s murder in the cathedral made it a place of pilgrimage; Geoffrey Chaucer’s Canterbury Tales made it the birthplace of English literature. Canterbury is already steeped in history, but if the Prime Minister were to speak from the heart to the world, offering a vindication of Western civilisation, her speech would make history.