Amid the ongoing Russian invasion of Ukraine, the Czech Republic—Ukraine's major ally in the EU—may reduce its military assistance to Kyiv under the new government forming around presumptive Prime Minister Andrej Babiš, according to Politico.

Czechia may shift from arms to aid

In his first international interview, Filip Turek — a former MEP from the far-right Motorists party and likely to become the next foreign minister — said Prague will maintain its NATO commitments and respect for international law. But he emphasized that the government will "prioritize diplomatic efforts to end the war in Ukraine" and "mitigate risks of conflict in Europe, shifting from military aid funded by the national budget to humanitarian support and focusing on Czech security needs."

He presented this as a shift away from direct involvement, stating the goal was to avoid escalation that might threaten Czechia’s energy supply or "economic stability."  

Turek did not announce immediate changes in Czechia’s stance on Russia, but pointed to a broader focus on sovereignty and non-intervention. He said this signaled a so-called “cautious, interest-based approach,” echoing the position of Hungarian authorities, who have expressed hope that Prague will become an ally in resisting EU efforts to maintain strong military backing for Ukraine.

Controversy follows Turek’s appointment

Politico noted that Turek’s expected appointment has already sparked domestic controversy. He has faced criticism for allegedly posting racist, sexist, and homophobic messages on Facebook. Turek denies the accusations and is pursuing legal action. Another figure from the Motorists party, Petr Macinka, tapped for the post of environment minister, has also drawn scrutiny. Macinka previously called human-caused climate change “pure propaganda.”

Prague, which supplied Ukraine with 850,000 large-caliber shells in 2025 under the so-called “Czech Initiative,” has sharply changed its position on aid to Kyiv following the election victory of the right-wing populist ANO movement led by Andrej Babiš, Politico reports.

Throughout his campaign, Babiš criticized Western military assistance to Ukraine and emphasized the need for neutrality, effectively arguing that Kyiv should be left to face Russian aggression on its own.

The end of the pro-Ukraine consensus

Filip Turek, an ultranationalist politician expected to become the next Czech foreign minister, stated that his government will uphold the country’s NATO commitments and international law but will “prioritize diplomatic efforts” to end the war and shift from military to humanitarian aid, focusing instead on “Czech security needs.”

Prague seeks “neutrality” over backing Kyiv

Turek insists that Prague’s official stance on Russia “will not change,” yet the new government plans to emphasize sovereignty and non-interference, aiming to “avoid escalation that could threaten the Czech Republic’s energy security or economic stability.”

This marks a potential pivot from Prague’s active leadership in European support for Ukraine to that of a neutral observer, or even a restraining voice within the EU.

Turek’s rhetoric echoes that of Hungary’s Viktor Orbán, whose government systematically blocks EU aid initiatives for Ukraine. Brussels officials are already referring to Prague as a potential new ally for Orbán, one that may advocate for a ceasefire rather than supporting Ukraine's victory.

China now blocks NATO allies from supplying Ukraine with drone components, closing workarounds Kyiv used to sustain its drone warfare against Russia, according to German news outlet ntv.

The country’s drone industry depends on Chinese engines, batteries, and flight controllers for roughly 60% of components—and Beijing just cut off the Baltic and Polish supply routes that provided them.

Yurii Lomikovskyi, co-founder of the defense industry network Iron, told ntv on 28 October that Beijing began prohibiting sales to Baltic states and Poland after determining these countries funnel components to Ukraine.

Ukrainian forces use these drones to hit Russian logistics hubs and ammunition depots hundreds of kilometers inside Russian territory—operations that place Moscow “under pressure not only militarily, but above all socially, economically and politically,” according to military analyst Hendrik Remmel from the German Institute for Defence and Strategic Studies.

Chinese contradictions

The restrictions align with Beijing’s strategic calculus, which it revealed to EU foreign policy chief Kaja Kallas in July. Chinese Foreign Minister Wang Yi told her then that China could not afford a Russian defeat because the United States would then shift its full attention to Beijing.

In August alone, Russia received 328,000 miles of fiber-optic cable from China while Ukraine received just 72 miles, The Washington Post reported in October.

By early 2025, 80% of electronics in Russian drones came from Chinese sources, according to NATO’s assessment. Austrian military analyst Markus Reisner identified Chinese Telefly turbojet engines in Russia’s new glide bombs, which can strike targets from 200 kilometers away.

Lomikovskyi sees the solution in accelerated European investment in local production capacity. “Why do we source so much from China? Because China can deliver at scale—and cheaper than anything we produce locally or can buy from our Western partners,” he said.

Hungary is seeking to create a Ukraine-skeptic alliance within the EU, aligning with political forces in Czechia and Slovakia. Pro-Russian Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orbán’s inner circle is pushing to reshape regional cooperation in a way that could stall Brussels’ support for Ukraine, Politico reports.

Hungary aims to form anti-Ukraine alliance with Czechia and Slovakia

Orbán is working to form a political bloc inside the EU with Czechia and Slovakia, according to his political director Balázs Orbán. The plan involves cooperation with Czech populist leader Andrej Babiš and Slovak Prime Minister Robert Fico, both of whom have expressed skepticism over continued European aid to Ukraine.

The political director told Politico the group would aim to coordinate ahead of EU Council summits and potentially act as a joint force to shape the bloc’s position. While the alliance remains informal for now, Hungary hopes it will grow stronger over time.

Echoes of the past: from the Visegrád 4 to a new V3

This would not be the first time such an alliance emerged in Central Europe. During the 2015 migration crisis, Hungary, Czechia, Slovakia, and Poland formed the so-called Visegrád 4 (V4), opposing mandatory relocation of migrants and promoting hardline border policies. At the time, the alliance was led by then-Polish Prime Minister Mateusz Morawiecki and coordinated closely on social and migration issues.

But after Russia launched its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the group fractured. Poland became a key backer of Ukraine, while Hungary took the opposite stance. The potential new formation would exclude Poland, whose current Prime Minister Donald Tusk strongly supports Ukraine.

Instead, Hungary is looking to Fico and Babiš, who have both called for negotiations with Moscow and questioned sanctions against Russia. Still, concrete steps remain limited. Fico, re-elected in 2023, has not formally joined Orbán on any shared policies, and Babiš has yet to form a government after his recent election win.

Orbán’s ambitions reach beyond the Council

Balázs Orbán said Budapest aims to grow its influence in the European Parliament. Hungary’s ruling Fidesz party, part of the far-right Patriots for Europe group, is looking to build ties with other conservative or populist factions, including the European Conservatives and Reformists and the Europe of Sovereign Nations group. He also mentioned interest in “some leftist groups.”

Earlier this week, as the Iranian defense minister headed to Qingdao for a Shanghai Cooperation Organization summit, Donald Trump was basking in the spotlight at a NATO gathering in the Netherlands, claiming credit for brokering a Middle East truce. But beneath the headlines, one untold story was about who gets to shape the new world order, and how Russia, once a regional kingmaker, is now struggling to define its place.

As old alliances crack, Russia is scrambling to shape a new global order. Its answer: an unexpected bold imperial narrative that promises stability but reveals deep anxieties about Moscow’s place in a world where legitimacy, history, and power are all being contested.

The Iranian defense minister’s trip to Qingdao - his first foreign visit since the ceasefire with Israel - was meant to signal solidarity within the Shanghai Cooperation Organization, a block that includes Russia, India, and Pakistan. But the SCO, despite its ambitions, could only muster a joint statement of “serious concern” over Middle East tensions when Iran was being bombed by Israel - a statement India refused to sign. This exposed the stark limits of alternative alliances and the growing difficulty of presenting a united front against the West. In Qingdao, Andrei Belousov, the Russian defense minister, warned of “worsening geopolitical tensions” and “signs of further deterioration,” a statement that’s hard to argue with.  

Meanwhile, in the Netherlands, Trump relished his role as global peacemaker, claiming credit for an uneasy Israel-Iran truce - a truce that Russia welcomed while being careful to credit Qatar for its diplomatic efforts. Russia itself reportedly played a supporting role alongside Oman and Egypt. But the real diplomatic heavy lifting was done by others - and Russia’s own leverage  was exposed as limited. 

Once the region’s indispensable power broker, Moscow found itself on the sidelines. Its influence with Tehran diminished, and its air defense systems in Iran—meant to deter Israeli and later American strikes—were exposed as ineffective. With Bashar al-Assad’s rule in Syria collapsed, the Kremlin is acutely aware it cannot afford to lose another major ally in the region. As long as the Iranian government stands, Russia can still claim to have a role to play, but its ability to project power in the Middle East is now more symbolic than real. The 12-day war put Russia in an awkward position. Iran, a key supplier of drones for Russia’s war in Ukraine, was unimpressed by Moscow’s lack of support during the crisis. Even after signing a 20-year pact in January, Russia offered little more than “grave concern” when the bombs started falling. Similarly to the SCO, BRICS, supposedly the alternative to Western alliances, could only issue a joint statement, revealing just how thin multipolarity is in practice.

Enter the new narrative spin

For years, Vladimir Putin has argued that the West’s “rules-based order” is little more than a tool for maintaining Western dominance and justifying double standards. His vision of multipolarity is not just anti-American rhetoric—it’s a deliberate strategy to appeal to countries disillusioned by Western interventions, broken promises, and the arrogance of those who claimed victory in the Cold War. Russia has worked to turn Western failures—from Iraq to Afghanistan, from Libya to the global financial crisis—into recruitment tools for its own vision of “civilizational diversity.” Multipolarity, in the Kremlin’s telling, is about giving every culture, every nation, a seat at the table, while quietly reserving the right to redraw the map and rewrite the rules when it suits Moscow’s interests.

For a time, this approach was paying off. Russia’s anti-colonial and multipolar rhetoric resonated well beyond its borders, particularly in the Global South and among those frustrated by Western hypocrisy. 

But across the periphery of Russia’s historical empire, from Central Asia to the Baltics, from the Caucasus to Ukraine and Georgia, Russia’s multipolar message is seen not as liberation but as yet another chapter in a centuries-long cycle of conquest, repression and forced assimilation - a reality that continues to define the struggle for self-determination across Russia’s former empire.  Here, Russia’s message of “sameness” has long served as a colonial tool, erasing languages, cultures, and identities in the name of imperial unity. 

The recent conflict in the Middle East has forced Moscow to adapt its “multipolarity” messaging yet again. As its limitations as a regional power became impossible to ignore, Russian state media and officials began to reframe the conversation—no longer just championing multipolarity, but openly embracing the language of empire. In this new narrative, ‘empire’ is recast not as a relic of oppression, but as a stabilizing force uniquely capable of imposing order on an unruly world. The pivot is as much about masking diminished leverage as it is about projecting confidence: if Moscow can no longer dictate outcomes, it can still claim the mantle of indispensable power by rewriting the very terms of global legitimacy.

As we peered into the abyss of World War III, Russian state media pivoted: suddenly, ‘empire’—long a slur—was rebranded as a stabilizing force in a chaotic world.

This rhetorical shift has been swift and striking. Where once the Kremlin denounced imperialism as a Western vice, Russian commentators now argue that empires are not only inevitable but necessary for stability. “Empires could return to world politics not only as dark shadows of the past. Empire may soon become a buzzword for discussing the direction in which the world’s political organization is heading,” wrote one Russian analyst. The message is clear: in an age of chaos and fractured alliances, only a strong imperial center—preferably Moscow—can guarantee order. But beneath the surface, this embrace of empire reveals as much uncertainty as ambition, exposing deep anxieties about Russia’s place in a world it can no longer control as it once did.

Inside Russia, this new imperial rhetoric is both a rallying cry and a reflection of unease. In recent weeks, influential analysts have argued that Iran’s restraint—its so-called “peacefulness”—only invited aggression, a warning that resonates with those who fear Russia could be next. Enter Alexander Dugin, the far-right philosopher often described as “Putin’s brain,” whose apocalyptic worldview has shaped much of the Kremlin’s confrontational posture. Dugin warns that if the U.S. and Israel can strike Tehran with impunity, nothing would stop them from finding a pretext to strike Moscow. This siege mentality, echoed by senior officials, is now being used to justify a strategy of escalation and deterrence at any cost.

Dugin’s views were echoed by Konstantin Kosachev, chair of the Russian parliamentary foreign affairs committee: “If you don’t want to be bombed by the West, arm yourself. Build deterrence. Go all the way—even to the point of developing weapons of mass destruction.”

But for all the talk of “victory,” by all sides post the 12-day war,  the outcomes remain ambiguous. Iran insists its nuclear ambitions are undimmed. While Israel and Trump’s team says Iran is further from a bomb than ever before – still, the facts are murky and the region is no closer to peace. As one Russian analyst remarked, the normalization of “phoney war” logic means that everyone is arming up, alliances are transactional, and the rules are made up as we go along.

If the only lesson of the 12-day war is that everyone must arm themselves to the teeth, we’re not just reliving the Cold War—we’re entering a new era of empire-building, where deterrence is everything and the lines between friend and foe are as blurred as ever.

In a world where old alliances crumble and new narratives emerge, the true battle, it seems, is not just over territory or military might, but over the stories that define power itself. Russia’s pivot to an imperial narrative reveals both its ambitions and its anxieties, highlighting a global order in flux where legitimacy is contested and the rules are rewritten in real time. Understanding this evolving empire game is essential to grasping the future of international relations and the fragile balance that holds the world together.

A version of this story was published in this week’s Coda Currents newsletter. Sign up here.

Research and additional reporting by Masho Lomashvili.

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