National Interest

by Eric Shiraev and Holger Mölder

How can Western analysts forecast what Russian president Vladimir Putin intends to do with the Baltic states

    Since the early 2000s, Russia has increasingly acted and been perceived as an aggressive and revisionist force on the global stage. The Kremlin’s military intervention in Georgia in 2008, the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the invasion of Ukraine have all raised serious concerns about where Moscow’s ambitions might extend next. Among the most frequently mentioned potential targets are the Baltic states—Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania. Once forcibly annexed by the Soviet Union, these countries reasserted their independence and quickly integrated into the Western security, economic and political order, joining both NATO and the European Union in 2004.

    Yet their geographic proximity and historical ties to Russia make them especially vulnerable—not only to conventional military threats, but also to the more insidious tactics of information warfare. The Kremlin has consistently challenged the historical narratives surrounding Baltic sovereignty and sought to exploit internal divisions, effectively keeping the question of their legitimacy alive in Russian discourse.

While these tactics fall short of direct military aggression, they reflect a broader strategy rooted in destabilization and coercion rather than diplomacy. For policymakers in the region and beyond, the key question is not whether Russia will act—but how. What old and new tools might Putin employ and how can the Baltic states and their Western allies respond to them

    To address these questions, we employ strategic imagination—a forecasting method that we utilize in our analysis and teaching, which extends beyond traditional risk assessments by creatively anticipating plausible scenarios, including those that may seem unlikely from a conventional standpoint. Drawing on expertise in political science, history and political psychology, we integrate historical analogies, behavioral models and psychological profiling to shed deeper light on the unique risks confronting Estonia and its Baltic neighbors in the shadow of Moscow.

    To predict what Putin—or other authoritarian leaders—might do next, experts often rely on three main approaches, depending on their training and views: examining historical cases for patterns, treating leaders as rational decision-makers, or analyzing their psychological motivations. Each method offers a different way to understand how these rulers think and act, especially since their governments tend to be secretive and tightly controlled.

    Historical analogy draws parallels between past and present leaders, conflicts, or strategic choices. Today, it can reveal enduring patterns, such as Russia’s persistent drive to expand its influence or its strategic fixation on lost imperial stature, no matter the cost. Yet historical analogies can mislead as easily as they enlighten: the geopolitical arena of the 2020s is a far cry from that of the 1940s and other periods.

    The cost-benefit approach views leaders as rational and strategic actors—deliberate decision-makers who weigh potential risks against anticipated gains to achieve their objectives. However, the limitation of this approach lies in its assumptions: we often lack access to the full range of information that leaders themselves use. As a result, the model misjudges opaque or authoritarian systems where decisions are made behind closed doors.

    To complement these two approaches, psychological profiling focuses on the internal and subjective dimensions of leadership—factors often overlooked in strategic models. These include emotional drivers, cognitive biases, deeply held beliefs, or personal quirks. In this psychological landscape, decisions may be shaped not only by rational calculation but also by personal stubbornness, fear of decline, or a deep-seated need to maintain control.

    Rather than privileging one framework, we advocate for a synthesis that considers the known and the unknown, the rational and the emotional and the historical and the emergent. This approach enables policymakers to prepare not only for likely scenarios but also for disruptive ones that may catch conventional analysts off guard.

    History often shapes the future in familiar patterns. After Tsar Peter I conquered present-day Estonia and Latvia during the Great Northern War (1700–1721), these territories were absorbed into the Russian Empire, but the center allowed a degree of autonomy under the so-called Baltic Special Order—a system that preserved the privileges of the Baltic German nobility, maintained Lutheranism as the dominant religion and upheld German as the language of administration. Lithuania entered the empire later, in 1795, as part of the Third Partition of Poland.

    This imperial legacy is essential to understanding Russia’s contemporary rhetoric and behavior. The Baltic states declared independence in 1918 following the collapse of the Russian Empire, a sovereignty later recognized by Soviet Russia. The Molotov-Ribbentrop Pact of 1939 led to the Soviet annexation of Estonia, Latvia and Lithuania in 1940. Although independence was again restored and recognized in 1991, Moscow’s relationship with the region has remained fraught.

    In a widely publicized 2020 article in The National Interest, President Vladimir Putin asserted that the Baltic states’ incorporation into the USSR was both legal and voluntary—a narrative sharply at odds with the scholarly consensus and may suggest a potential intellectual template for justifying future claims. While the Russian Federation has not formally disputed Baltic sovereignty, its persistent framing of history implies that it does not consider the Baltic states as sovereign equals, but as wayward provinces lost to the West.

    These analogies are more than academic: they offer a glimpse into how Moscow might rationalize future actions under the guise of historical continuity, legal reinterpretation, or “restorative justice.” Drawing on this historical context, the contemporary strategies of Putin’s administration reflect similar expansionist tendencies. In particular, the annexation of Crimea in 2014 and the invasion of Ukraine in 2022 suggest that Putin may still view the Baltic states as part of Russia’s sphere of influence, which should return to it.

    To understand Putin’s behavior today, we must begin with the past. Putin’s worldview is anchored in the Cold War. During his formative years in the 1960s and 70s, he was deeply influenced by the inflexible, zero-sum thinking characteristic of Marxist-Leninist political doctrine, which framed global affairs as a clash between socialism and capitalism, virtue and vice, the Soviet bloc and the West. Consequently, Putin views the West as decadent, duplicitous and corrosive to Russia’s social cohesion. In his worldview, chaos demands control and pluralism must be answered with power.

    The West’s triumphalism coincided with Russia’s internal collapse in the 1990s. The Baltic states’ swift pivot to liberal democracy and full integration into NATO and the EU was perceived by many in Russia not merely as a political divergence but as a betrayal and humiliation. Baltic societies’ adherence to liberal democracy—open, pluralistic, efficient—offends the Kremlin’s ideology and unsettles its sense of order. This was not idle frustration. It marked the beginning of an ideological doctrine—one that regards liberalism as a threat to Russia’s security.

    These Cold War instincts—mistrust, secrecy, ideological confrontation—still shape how Putin perceives the world. Although some initially viewed Putin as a pragmatic modernizer, his actions were driven more by grievance than vision—a tendency laid bare in his infamous 2007 Munich address. In a 2025 interview, Putin revealed that he wrote the speech himself, on the plane, propelled by an emotional impulse. At the time, many observers dismissed his remarks as mere posturing, assuming he simply wanted to appear tough. In retrospect, the speech now reads more like a declaration of intent than a moment of rhetorical bravado.

    When we approach Putin as a rational political actor, we must assume he understands the enormous costs of initiating any military action against the Baltic states. Hypothetically, should he consider such aggression, it would demand extensive financial resources, major military mobilization and the political risk of a direct confrontation with NATO by invoking Article 5 of its founding Treaty.

    Moreover, its strategic position on the Gulf of Finland, just across from St. Petersburg, makes it a high-risk, high-consequence target—one that Putin would likely think twice about engaging militarily. In rational terms, a conventional attack on the Baltics could provoke a swift and devastating NATO response, potentially undermining Russia’s own security and stability.

    Leaders are often expected to be stubborn, which can be their greatest asset. However, rigidity can also be a liability. Putin’s ideological rigidity is reinforced by psychological traits that have hardened over time. As a trained intelligence officer, he learned to view politics not as a dialogue but as a battlefield. Deception, manipulation and disruption were not ancillary tools; they were the essence of strategy. His managerial reflexes were further tempered in his forties as mayor of St. Petersburg amid the turbulent 1990s—a decade defined by rampant crime, corruption and assassinations. There, he assumed the role of a godfather, brokering peace between rival clans.

    His rise to the pinnacle of power was astonishingly swift: when he was appointed president, he had never once held elective office. Over the next quarter-century, he grew ever more insulated from criticism and cocooned by loyalists. Insiders claim that he is becoming increasingly self-centered, focused on his legacy and disenchanted with the day-to-day responsibilities of running the government.

    Crucially, Putin’s ideological brand is not a throwback to Soviet communism, but rather a fusion of imperial nostalgia, social conservatism and national pride. Regressive tendencies like homophobia, misogyny, antisemitism and conspiracy theorizing have become more pronounced in the post-Soviet era. Instead of embracing Western modernity, the Putin regime has rebranded these tendencies as “traditional values” and weaponized them in both domestic and foreign policy.

    Though rarely emphasized, Putin’s age is a relevant factor in assessing risk. Aging autocrats often grow more rigid, less open to dissent and increasingly reliant on old habits and ideological convictions. For someone shaped by Soviet-era dogma, this rigidity may intensify his resistance to compromise and preference for confrontational strategies.

    This mindset occasionally surfaces in public statements referring to various doomsday scenarios and statements like, “We will go to heaven as martyrs, while they [the United States] will simply croak, because they won’t even have time to repent,” made in 2018 during an international meeting. Such thinking, if left unchecked, overrides traditional cost-benefit analysis and leads to catastrophic decisions rooted in emotion rather than strategy. The risk of miscalculation remains real, especially if paranoia, a concern for legacy, or a warped sense of historical destiny drives the decisionmaking process.

    These insights illuminate Russia’s strategic posture toward the Baltic states, which it regards as a “vulnerable part of the West” ripe for manipulation through sustained psychological operations—what we term “global knowledge warfare” (GKW), the deliberate use and management of information to secure a competitive advantage over foreign adversaries. Estonia’s transparent institutions, efficient e-governance and NATO membership symbolize everything Putin’s Russia is not (and cannot be) under his rule. By undermining a successful counter-model on his doorstep, Putin seeks to reinforce the legitimacy of his own authoritarian rule.

    Destabilization—not domination—is the keyword in understanding Russia’s anti-Western grand strategy. Lacking an appealing ideology to rival Western liberal democracy, Moscow instead seeks to undermine the legitimacy and stability of its neighbors through psychological warfare, disinformation and provocation. Estonia, fully integrated into NATO and the EU since 2004, has found itself on the front lines of this campaign.

    From cyberattacks to orchestrated controversies—such as the 2007 Bronze Soldier riots—Russia has consistently tested Estonia’s societal cohesion and political resolve. These efforts are not isolated incidents but part of a broader revisionist strategy to preserve Russian influence in the post-Soviet space. A particularly sensitive flashpoint is the unresolved border agreement between Estonia and Russia—an early warning of Russia’s intent to deepen its status conflict with the West.

    Since the end of the Cold War, Russia has fostered territorial and ethnic disputes in former Soviet regions (frozen conflicts)—Nagorno-Karabakh, Abkhazia and South Ossetia, Transnistria, Crimea and the Donbass—hindering peaceful resolution, stoking tensions and enabling ongoing interference to sustain its sway. In sum, this policy amounts to maintaining influence through destabilization. Had Estonia applied strategic imagination in 2005, it might have anticipated Russia’s true objectives and reduced Moscow’s ability to turn Estonian public opinion against the border agreement.

    Russia’s influence operations in Estonia have triggered the growth of “culture of strategic fear”—a climate in which historical grievances and unresolved legal debates are amplified to stir domestic dissent and paralyze political decision-making. Moscow’s disinformation campaigns are related to history and legitimacy—almost exactly in the same form that such claims circulated in Russia after the invasion of Crimea and before the 2022 war in Ukraine. One of the goals of such claims is to create internal division between the Russian-speaking diaspora, other Estonians and those who prefer a settlement with Russia on its terms in exchange for stability.

    At the heart of this contestation is the long-delayed finalization of the Estonian-Russian border treaty, which has been signed twice (in 2005 and 2014), but never ratified. Seven recurring concerns—rooted in both historical memory and modern geopolitical anxieties—have shaped Estonia’s strategic debate since 2005 and several patterns may indicate Russia’s influence operation in provoking this debate to keep the border issue unsolved. However, the unresolved border issue can easily be used for hybrid provocations, from the kidnapping of police officers to the removal of buoys marking the border on the Narva River or aircraft violating Estonian airspace.

•     1) The Tartu Treaty is not Estonia’s “Birth Certificate”

    The treaty between Soviet Russia and the Republic of Estonia is often portrayed in nationalist discourse as Estonia’s founding legal document. President Lennart Meri once described it as the country’s “birth certificate.” However, Estonia’s actual Declaration of Independence was proclaimed earlier: on February 24, 1918, two years prior to the signing of the treaty. The Manifesto to the Peoples of Estonia represents the true founding document of Estonian statehood. While the Tartu Treaty was a milestone in gaining international recognition, Estonia’s legitimacy as a sovereign nation does not depend on this treaty alone.

    By encouraging nationalist reverence for the Tartu Treaty, Russia amplifies internal divisions in Estonia. When some groups claim the treaty is essential to Estonia’s legal identity, any deviation—such as signing a new border treaty—can be framed as treasonous. Russia exploits this historical literalism to stall normalization efforts and keep the border status ambiguous. That ambiguity becomes a permanent soft target for diplomatic pressure, disinformation and legal manipulation.

• 2) Fear of Renouncing Sovereignty via the New Border Treaty

    Some Estonian critics argue that signing a new border treaty with Russia would constitute a voluntary renunciation of sovereignty and nullify the Tartu Treaty. This narrative undermines public support for Western integration and trust in Estonia’s foreign policy leadership. It also casts Estonia as eternally dependent on historical treaties, instead of a sovereign actor with agency. Yet this fear misinterprets how international law treats treaties. Agreements must be understood in their entirety: if one insists that the Tartu Treaty is still valid in full, then Estonia would, by the same logic, be bound by its clause on neutrality—thereby invalidating its NATO membership.

• 3) Loss of Legal Continuity

    A related concern is that ratifying a new treaty undermines Estonia’s legal continuity as a republic. But this continuity was already confirmed in 1991 when Estonia restored its pre-Soviet legal identity. Importantly, the Russian Federation also recognized Estonia’s independence and legal continuity—as distinct from Soviet legal succession. Estonia’s right to negotiate and sign new treaties stems directly from its status as a sovereign, continuous legal entity.

    Conflating treaty revisions with a loss of continuity misunderstands both domestic constitutional practice and international recognition. By questioning Estonia’s legal continuity, Russia revives Soviet-era justifications for regional domination. Kremlin-backed voices may imply that Estonia is a recreated” or “illegitimate” state—mirroring arguments used to deny Ukraine’s independence. Even raising doubts about continuity can weaken Estonia’s legal standing in global forums.

• 4) Permanent Territorial Loss

    The post-World War II loss of approximately 5 percent of Estonia’s pre-1940 territory to the Russian SFSR in 1944 remains a source of unresolved grievance. However, Estonia has no de facto control over these regions today and their return is not considered feasible under current geopolitical conditions. Continuing to treat them as recoverable territory only entrenches political deadlock and distracts from urgent security and economic concerns.

    Finalizing the border could help normalize bilateral relations and remove a long-standing vulnerability to Russian pressure. Russia benefits from Estonia’s inability to resolve border issues. By dragging out historical grievances, it can use unresolved territory as a bargaining chip or pretext for provocative actions.

• 5) Betrayal of the Setos

    The Setos, a small Finno-Ugric ethnic group on both sides of the Estonia-Russia border, hold symbolic significance in Estonian identity debates. Critics argue that a finalized border would abandon Seto communities in Russia. But formalizing the border could improve opportunities for cultural preservation and cross-border support, rather than hinder them. Estonia already provides educational and cultural support to Seto communities and legal clarity could facilitate more structured assistance.

    Romanticizing a vague or contested border may be emotionally resonant, but it is unlikely to benefit the Setos in tangible ways. Seto cultural grievances can be magnified to portray Estonia as indifferent to ethnic minorities, while Russia presents itself as their “protector.” This mirrors how Moscow has used the “Russian World” narrative in Ukraine, Georgia and Moldova. Even a small group like the Setos can serve as symbolic leverage in the global knowledge war.

• 6) Following Japan’s Example on Border Disputes

    Some argue that Estonia should emulate Japan’s stance toward Russia—refusing to sign a border treaty due to unresolved territorial claims (ie, the Kuril Islands). But this comparison is misleading. The historical and legal basis of Japan’s claim differs significantly from Estonia’s situation. The territories in question were part of the Russian Empire for centuries and were only briefly part of Estonia after the Treaty of Tartu.

    Furthermore, Estonia’s strategic context is fundamentally different: as a member of NATO and the EU, Estonia operates within a cooperative security architecture that encourages negotiated resolution, not indefinite stalemate. Encouraging Estonia to emulate Japan’s prolonged stalemate with Russia over the Kurils plays directly into Putin’s freeze-and-control doctrine. If Estonia refuses to settle, Russia can justify keeping the border undefined, giving it room to pressure Estonia diplomatically, militarily (via exercises near the border), or through information warfare.

• 7) Loss of Maritime Territory

    There is concern that Estonia may permanently lose approximately 1,000 square kilometers of maritime territory through a finalized border agreement. However, there has never been a legally ratified maritime boundary between Estonia and Russia. The Tartu Treaty dealt only with land borders and did not anticipate the complexity of modern maritime law. In the absence of a formal agreement, maritime boundaries remain a source of dispute and strategic ambiguity.

    Clarifying them through diplomacy and international legal mechanisms would offer greater predictability and security than maintaining the current state of uncertainty. An undefined maritime boundary gives Russia strategic ambiguity—particularly in the Baltic Sea, a sensitive NATO frontier. This leaves Estonia vulnerable to grey-zone tactics, such as naval intimidation, cyberattacks on coastal infrastructure, or legal challenges in international waters.

    Each of these points feeds into Russia’s broader revisionist ambitions: not necessarily to conquer Estonia by military means, but to weaken it from within, isolate it from its Western allies and reassert Moscow’s influence across the post-Soviet space. Disagreements over history, identity and international law are not incidental; they are carefully cultivated fault lines in a global knowledge warfare campaign that deliberately blurs the boundaries between war and peace, internal and external threats.

    Vladimir Putin’s worldview, forged in the rigid, zero-sum logic of Soviet-era geopolitics, is central to this strategy. His obsession with the loss of Russia’s great power status—and his personal sense of grievance about the collapse of the USSR—fuels a determination to reimpose Moscow’s dominance by whatever means fall short of open conflict.

    As an aging leader increasingly insulated from dissent and alternative views, Putin clings to a vision of historical redemption that grows more brittle over time. If Estonia remains trapped in unresolved historical narratives or tempted into reactive posturing, it risks becoming strategically paralyzed—precisely the psychological and political condition Putin aims to induce and exploit.