“Pridnestrovie for Peace”: Accounting for Transnistrian Divergence from the Russian Position vis-à-vis the Russo-Ukrainian War

Abstract

Despite historical and ongoing reliance on Russia and an enduring pro-Russian stance, the official narrative of the Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic (Transnistria) regarding the Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 has been surprisingly neutral. This article seeks to establish a typology of the various reasons for this divergence, looking at geographical, demographic, socio-cultural, historical, economic and military factors, as well as the extenuating influence of the preexisting conflict with Moldova. These factors combine to incline the Transnistrian population and leadership toward peace and thus demotivate an overtly negative media treatment of Ukraine in the context of the War. Given limited scholarship on the topic and the opacity of Transnistrian governance, video reports from the state-affiliated channel TSV are employed as primary sources to evidence and exemplify the various factors determining the Transnistrian position on the Russo-Ukrainian War. The article concludes by challenging the view of Transnistria as a passive Russian puppet, and proposes that the region’s unusual status and location, while limiting, also lend it a certain flexibility in its media narratives and foreign policy.

INTRODUCTION

The Pridnestrovian Moldavian Republic, better known as Transnistria, is a separatist region, internationally considered part of Moldova, occupying a narrow strip of territory sandwiched between Ukraine and Moldova proper. It has, since a bloody war fought with Moldova in the early 1990s over ethno-linguistic, economic and political differences, survived in frozen conflict with its western neighbor as a de facto state, thanks in no small part to the continued support of the Russian Federation. Transnistria is, on the whole, highly Russified and pro-Russian (O’Loughlin et al. 2013). It is regularly characterized as a Russian “enclave” (Solovyov 2022, Mandraud 2022), underlining the region’s similarity to, and dependence on, the Russian state, though even Russia does not recognize Transnistria. While results of plebiscites in autocracies, particularly unrecognized ones, should not necessarily be taken at face value, the 2006 referendum on Transnistria’s future status – suggesting 98% would support accession to the Russian Federation (Kosienkowski 2019) – is revealing of political affiliations. Officials regularly call for annexation by Russia (BBC 2014), however unrealistic the prospect may be. Transnistrians holding Russian passports vote in Russian elections at local polling stations (Dulgher 2021). The 1,500 Russian soldiers present in Transnistria are seen as the republic’s security guarantor (Potter 2022). Economically, Transnistria’s survival as a “successful failed state” (Cojocaru 2006) ultimately depends on Russian aid, subsidies, and free natural gas (Beyer and Wolff 2016). Culturally-speaking, over 95% of Transnistrians consider their region part of the russkii mir (O’Loughlin et al. 2016). Since 2017, the Russian tricolor is flown alongside its Transnistrian counterpart in official contexts (Vlas 2017). And, as in Russia, the media is nearly exclusively state-affiliated (Zveagintsev 2018), and narratives expressed generally anti-Western and pro-Kremlin.

Nonetheless, shortly after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, a video report appeared on TSV – the channel owned by the monopoly Sheriff and thus associated with its “political wing” Renewal, the party of President Vadim Krasnoselsky with an overwhelming parliamentary majority (Idem 2018) – calling Vladimir Putin’s campaign not a “Special Military Operation” as in Russian media, but voina, a “war” (TSV 2022a). Since then, Transnistria’s position on the conflict has been decidedly neutral. Meanwhile, the Kremlin’s response to this neutrality has, at least publicly, been muted. The reasons behind Transnistria’s deviation from the stance of its economic, military, political and cultural patron are not immediately clear.

This article seeks to explain Transnistrian narratives on the Russo-Ukrainian War, with exemplification from TSV, since it is the station most closely aligned with the current leadership. A summary of the Transnistrian position on the War is followed by a discussion of the geographical, socio-cultural, economic, historical and military factors, as well as the role of Moldova, that differentiate Transnistria from Russia, and thus motivate the leadership’s relatively conciliatory stance. While Transnistria continues to rely on Russia for survival and is securely a part of the russkii mir, the region’s historic, cultural and ethnic ties to its eastern neighbor imply greater sympathies for Ukraine than in Russia. The more recent memory of war in the de facto state and the lingering conflict with Moldova further problematize a potential pro-Russian stance on the War. The geographical reality means Transnistria is economically reliant on, and militarily vulnerable to, its eastern neighbor. Moreover, in recent years, rapid economic reorientation toward the West is arguably loosening Transnistria’s connections to its historic patron. The article thus concludes that the pro-Russian statelet is constrained, and liberated, by its unique status and positioning, pushing it to pursue an independent line vis-à-vis the Russo-Ukrainian War.

SUMMARY OF THE TRANSNISTRIAN POSITION

Transnistrian media neutrality corresponds to President Krasnoselsky’s balanced response the day after Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine (Pridnestrovie 2022), continued assertions of Transnistria’s neutral stance, and his labeling the war a “personal tragedy” (Novosti Pridnestrovya 2022). Transnistria has taken in thousands of Ukrainian refugees (OHCHR 2022), whose presence is reported on in an unambiguously positive light. Regarding the course of the war itself, neutrality usually amounts to silence with, at most, euphemistic allusion to “events in Ukraine”, or “the War”, though never a “Special Operation”. The idea that Transnistria is “for peace” is often repeated; Transnistrian-Ukrainian relations and historic ties are regularly invoked. Perhaps also surprisingly, criticism of the West is reserved, and areas of cooperation foregrounded. Condemnation of Ukrainian or Western actions is channeled through censure of Moldova, the only country unabashedly represented negatively in Transnistrian media.

The exception to neutrality on Ukraine has been President Krasnoselsky’s attributing a series of minor terrorist attacks in April 2022 to rogue Ukrainian militants (Baumgardner 2022), and attempted attacks on Krasnoselsky and an OSCE delegation in March 2023 on the Security Service of Ukraine (TSV 2023h). Most have analyzed these events as a struggle between factions within Transnistria (Erizanu 2022), specifically the Sheriff-backed government and Russia-backed military, and a Russian attempt to pull Transnistria into the War (Baumgardner 2022). In following through with this accusation, officials and the media are either “paying lip service” (Remler 2022, n.p.) to Putin, or else have themselves been duped by a Russian framing of the SSU. Even then, softening his accusations, Krasnoselsky blamed “not the whole Ukrainian government”, but “Ukraine’s party of war trying to pull Transnistria into armed conflict” (EA Daily 2023, n.p.).

Transnistria’s position, then, varies from Russia’s; is this merely a result of the republic’s supposed peace-loving nature, which the leadership and media are always keen to mention? The ongoing conflict with Moldova and the media’s confrontational approach to its western neighbor suggest otherwise. Rather, the de facto state’s position appears to be constrained by a range of underlying interests and needs (Modus Operandi 2011) differing from those of its patron state – some ideational, most, however, purely pragmatic.

REASONS FOR TRANSNISTRIAN DIVERGENCE

Geography

Transnistria’s geographical position, bordering only two states, and being dwarfed by Ukraine, means it is dependent on, and potentially threatened by Solovyov (2022), Ukraine in a way Russia is not. Nowhere in Transnistria is over 20 km from the Ukrainian border, bringing war closer to Transnistria than to Russia: in the first weeks of war, shelling near Odesa was heard in Tiraspol (Uspenskaya 2022). A TSV report captured the relevance of geography in this regard: “When fighting began in our neighboring country, it was clear to everyone in Transnistria that this would, one way or another, affect us too” (TSV 2022a, 0:00). The risk of conflict spilling over into Transnistria is thus far more acute than for most Russian territory and citizens, reducing popular enthusiasm for the war.

The de facto state’s diminutive, landlocked nature means cross-border travel, to both Moldova and Ukraine, is commonplace, to take advantage of price differentials or services unavailable within Transnistria, or for leisure. Greater personal experience of Ukraine and Ukrainians naturally limits the effectiveness of certain lines of Russian propaganda. Despite strong censorship and almost all media outlets being state-affiliated or Russian (Zveagintsev 2018), Ukrainian radio stations and TV channels are available within Transnistria (Mayfield 2022), and Transnistrians are not subject to the Kremlin’s “sovereign internet” (Epifanova 2020). Even if few take advantage, Transnistrians have easier access to alternative narratives than most Russians. Naturally, geography furthermore influences all other factors explaining Transnistria’s divergent position.

Demography

Transnistria’s population consists of almost equal thirds ethnic Russians, Moldovans and Ukrainians; Krasnoselsky himself is part-Ukrainian (Harrington 2022); meanwhile, Russia’s population is 3% ethnically Ukrainian (Shkolnikov 2012). As Blakkisrud and Kolstø (2011, 196) assert, in Transnistria “Moldovans, Russians, and Ukrainians all have their ‘ethnic home-lands,’ states with which they may feel a strong ethnic affinity”. Around 100,000 Transnistrian citizens also hold Ukrainian citizenship. Many have friends and family across the border (Harrington 2022), and therefore have access to stories, narratives and experiences unavailable to most Russians, and an interest in their loved ones’ safety. As Saideman (1997, 727) writes, “Politicians care about the ethnic composition of their supporters, because this may determine who might exit and over which issues”. Thus, even in an authoritarian and broadly pro-Russian polity like Transnistria, the ethnic and civic ties of the populace and leadership have perhaps tempered the Ukraine narrative and driven the open refugee policy.

More specifically, “Ethnic politics does not always inhibit foreign policy but serves as a critical dynamic compelling some politicians to support secession elsewhere while constraining others” (Idem, 725). A reinterpretation of this idea may help explain Tiraspol’s recognition of Abkhazia and South Ossetia – seceding from Georgia in 2008 (Kosienkowski 2019) – but its non-recognition of Donetsk and Luhansk – seceding from Ukraine – after Russia’s recognition of these Ukrainian “republics” in February 2022 (Harrington 2022). The effect of ethnic affiliation in Transnistria might appear limited, looking at the republic’s consistent anti-Moldovan rhetoric; however, this is consistently qualified by reminders that Moldovan citizens are not their government, in reports such as “Moldovans against war” or “2.4% of Moldova’s population considers resolving the Transnistria question a priority” (TSV 2023c, 2023a). Therefore, it appears that ethnic considerations in Transnistria may nuance the approach to certain international issues, including the Russo-Ukrainian War.

Society and Culture

The demographic factor is reinforced by, and indeed helped to constitute, the multiethnic idea of the Transnistrian state. Unlike most secessionist movements, the Transnistria conflict cannot be understood in purely ethnic terms (O’Loughlin et al. 2013), and indeed was originally a reaction to the nationalism of the emerging Moldovan state (Cojocaru 2006). The Transnistrian polity is founded on the principle of equality of its ethnic groups, a hangover of Soviet internationalism; Transnistrian identity is strictly civic, like the Soviet identity before it (Munteanu and Munteanu 2007). Moldovan, Russian and Ukrainian are official languages, and every schoolchild must learn at least two of them (Blakkisrud and Kolstø 2011). Ukrainian Independence Day is celebrated across the republic, and reported on positively (TSV 2021). Despite Russian cultural hegemony, in true Soviet-style, folk culture is presented as integral to Transnistria’s identity: at annual “Republic Day” celebrations, entertainment features traditional Russian, Moldovan and Ukrainian (and Bulgarian, Gagauz and Roma) dances (Novosti Pridnestrovya 2021), reflecting Transnistria’s ethnic composition. There is therefore greater familiarity with Ukraine, and in general more cross-cultural understanding, than in Russia.

Thus, although linguo-cultural difference in Transnistria is depoliticized, it is still, at least superficially, foregrounded and celebrated. Aspects of Putin’s justification for the War – that Ukrainians are not a separate people, their history, culture and language subordinate to Russia’s, their statehood artificial (Perrigo 2022) – may therefore struggle to find purchase in constitutionally tri-ethnic Transnistria. Indeed, claims that Ukrainians and Russians are one people echo Moldovan-Romanian irredentism, something Transnistria has fought against by promoting “Moldovenism” – a conception of Moldovan identity distinct from Romania, cultivated within the Moldavian SSR (Blakkisrud and Kolstø 2011). This idea is reflected, for example, in official use of the preposition v before Ukrayine, meaning “in Ukraine” (TSV 2022a); in Russia na, which usually applies to geographical regions, not political entities, is favored (TASS 2023). Despite longstanding conflict with Moldova, Transnistria similarly prefers the Romanian-language name “Moldova”, while Russian media employs the Soviet-era “Moldavia” (RIA Novosti n.d.). Such linguistic recognitions of statehood moreover appear linked to Transnistria’s own independence drive. An engagement with aspects of Russia’s Ukraine narrative is thus constrained by Transnistria’s particular brand of multiculturalism.

Economy

Life in Transnistria is dominated by the holding company Sheriff, which controls roughly 60% of the regional economy, and possesses assets as varied as supermarkets, a brandy factory, a telecommunications company, and the Tiraspol soccer team. Founded in 1993 and owned to this day by Victor Gushan, who has an arguably unrivaled influence in politics, the company is closely affiliated with the ruling party Renewal (Baumgardner 2022; Wesolowsky 2021). Sheriff’s economic and political monopoly means economic interests arguably play the most decisive role in Transnistria’s foreign policy. One of the principal factors in Transnistria’s professed neutrality is related to the so-called “liberal peace” – put simply, trade reduces violent conflict (Hegre et al. 2010); particularly because of its restricted geographical position, much of Transnistria’s trade is with Ukraine. In January-August 2018, Ukraine’s share in Transnistrian exports was 21.81%, over double Russia’s (10.2%) and second only to Moldova’s (28.26%) (Kosienkowski 2019). Meanwhile, Ukraine’s pre-conflict share in Russia’s exports was only 2.89% (WITS 2013). Moreover, due in no small part to its unrecognized status, “Transnistria is […] economically reliant on Ukraine for providing access to certain foreign markets” (Harrington 2022, n.p.). Given this dependence, anti-Ukrainian policies could leave Transnistrians short of food or other vital products, while further damaging Sheriff’s business. Thus, not only economic interests, but also needs, have an influence on the republic’s position on the conflict (Modus Operandi 2011). This reliance is made explicit in local media, as in a report on the war’s impact on Transnistria: “Ukraine is a neighbor, a trading partner, the country from where the majority of our goods and food products arrive” (TSV 2022a, 0:07). However, since Ukraine’s closure of its Transnistria border in February 2022, access to products like wheat has been restricted anyway, and the relevance of Ukrainian economic relations lessened. Nonetheless, Baumgardner (2022, n.p.) suggests Sheriff is looking to create conditions for the reopening of the eastern border, since the company is “unlikely to accept permanent reliance on Moldova to remain economically solvent”.

More significant perhaps is trade with the European Union. It is often said Sheriff benefits from the unrecognized status quo: given the difficulty of trading in Transnistria, it has little competition, and has access to the Single Market while receiving Russian subsidies and free natural gas (Potter 2022). The economic balance has shifted westward recently, following Transnistria’s eventual agreeing to be included in Moldova’s Deep and Comprehensive Free Trade Agreement with the EU, effective from 2018 (Kosienkowski 2019); Transnistria’s exports to the EU are now at least four times higher than to Russia (Remler 2022). This development, along with Sheriff’s political monopoly following the election of Vadim Krasnoselsky in 2016 and Renewal’s decisive parliamentary control (Deen and Zweers 2022) may explain a narrative shift, as one company’s business came to determine the politics. For example, Transnistria supported Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea, but not the 2022 annexation of four Ukrainian regions; asked who “owned” Crimea in 2017, Krasnoselsky responded that it was a “difficult situation, as both Ukraine and Russia thought it belonged to them” (Harrington 2022, n.p.). This conciliatory position is thus likely intended to avoid riling the West, on whose trade Transnistria increasingly relies, and direct sanctions like those which have damaged Russia’s economy. As Hegre et al. (2010, 771) assert, “trade increases the prospects for peace [provided] the beneficiaries of commerce are rational and able to influence national policy.” It is thus a universal truth that economic interests are a constraint to conflict; in a state where a single economic actor has an unusual amount of political power – and moreover where such a large proportion of trade has long been dependent on the relevant party to the conflict and its allies – this truth is all the more decisive.

History

Transnistria’s particular history contributes to the leadership’s reluctance to support the Russian invasion. War is not only spatially closer to Transnistrians, it is also temporally closer. If the Great Patriotic War holds similar prominence in Transnistrian as in Russian cultural memory, this has perhaps been surpassed by the far more recent memory of the Transnistrian War, which “was and remains a major source of inspiration for the collective Transnistrian civic identity” (Blakkisrud and Kolstø 2011, 196). Memorials to the 1990-1992 conflict are ubiquitous; amputees are a common sight on the streets of Tiraspol. Emphasis on Transnistria’s peace-loving nature is thus a frequent theme in the media. As Krasnoselsky put it: “The people of Transnistria know perfectly well what war means. What blood means, what loss means. And they don’t want that.” (TSV 2022c, 0:11). As Wagoner and Brescó (2016) contend, memory can have countervailing effects, being the cause of conflict, and impeding reconciliation, while also teaching important lessons and acting as a tool to help avoid future conflict. The same memories of war that keep tensions with Moldova high reduce the likelihood of violent conflict in Transnistria. Both personally and culturally, the war memory is more vivid in Transnistria, regardless of political differences, and peace taken less for granted than in most of Russia.

Ukraine’s historic role in the Transnistria conflict may also increase the unwillingness for conflict with their neighbors. During the 1990-92 war, many Ukrainian citizens fought on the side of Transnistria, and the separatists had the Kyiv government’s tacit support (Harrington 2022). Given this legacy, Transnistria may be unwilling to take sides against a former ally. The importance of Ukraine’s historic assistance is explicitly linked to the current conflict in a December 2022 TSV report: “Normal people welcome Ukrainians into their own homes, because they remember 1992, when everything was the other way around: during the conflict with Moldova, Ukraine took in around 100,000 of our citizens” (TSV 2022b, 1:57). Thus, the essentiality of history within the russkii mir arguably plays against a pro-Russian narrative in the case of Transnistria.

Military

A more conciliatory position toward Ukraine decreases the chances of military confrontation; this is likely a pragmatic consideration from the leadership or indeed the security forces, as they know Transnistria’s impact would be minimal (Remler 2022). Firstly, there is the physical reality: “a nation’s size indicates both opportunity and willingness to use force” (Hegre et al. 2010, 764). Even when including the so-called Russian “peacekeeping” force, Transnistria’s army is small, poorly equipped, and has little combat experience, compared to Ukraine’s armed forces (Deen and Zweers 2022; Solovyov 2022). Moreover, Transnistria’s non-contiguity makes getting enforcements in from Russia practically impossible.

Secondly, there is the question of loyalties. In the context of the split between a local political elite and Russia-controlled security elite, the Russian army, composed primarily of native Transnistrians, would almost certainly be faithful to local, rather than Russian strategic interests (Baumgardner 2022). Moreover, Solovyov (2022) contends that Transnistrian soldiers serve more for reasons of salary than identity. Facing a confrontation with Ukrainian forces, many Transnistrian soldiers would likely flee to Moldova instead of staying to fight (Deen and Zweers 2022). This fear appears to manifest itself in official narratives; the media and politicians, like Foreign Minister Ignatev, regularly assert that “Transnistria is not a threat to Moldova or to Ukraine” (TSV 2023f). As Hegre et al. (2010, 765) write, “an imbalance of national capabilities is more likely to preserve the peace.” Thus, even if the leadership were inclined to support Russia militarily, Transnistria’s neutrality is also a practical choice based on its relative weakness.

Conflict with Moldova

The Moldovan factor has further explanatory potential regarding Transnistria’s treatment of the War. Transnistrian separatism emerged as an “anti-secessionist” movement (Blakkisrud and Kolstø 2011) against Moldovan “aggressors” (Kolstø et al. 1993). Thus, the constitutive “Other” of the Transnistrian nation (Murphy 2002) is clearly Moldova. In the media, problems affecting Transnistria are blamed on its western neighbor. Discursively and pragmatically, Transnistria cannot have enemies on both sides. Accordingly, a deflecting effect toward Chişinau is apparent in narratives on both the West and Ukraine. Contrasting Russia’s consistent stream of anti-Western rhetoric, language describing events in, for example, the US, is generally neutral, leading the audience to form their own opinions. Reports like “Krasnoselsky received the American ambassador [to the OSCE]” (TSV 2023b) adopt a positive, cooperative tone, in stark contrast to overtly biased, inflammatory analysis of reports like “Does Moldova want to bring back conflict?” or “Sandu [the Moldovan President] thanks those who attacked Transnistria” (TSV 2023e, 2023g). Potter (2022, 174) asserts Transnistria perceives Moldova, Romania and the West as “one big conspiring group of aggressors”. However, the media highlights cleavages and directs criticism at Moldova, stressing for example that although Moldova wants to increase the US and EU’s role in the Transnistria negotiations, this was never discussed in the West (TSV 2023d).

In February 2022, when Ukraine closed its Transnistria border, through which almost all medical supplies reached the republic (Dermenzhi 2022), rather than blame Ukraine for the shortage as might be expected, the media was quick to condemn a Moldovan “blockade” leaving Transnistria without supplies (Pervyi Pridnestrovskii 2022). Thus, Moldova’s existential role as Transnistria’s formative “Other” and scapegoat means anti-Moldovan rhetoric takes precedence over all else. A continuing frozen conflict and information war against Moldova disinclines Transnistria from vilifying Ukraine and the West in the same way.

Given similar proximity to, ties with, and dependence on Moldova, we might ask why Transnistria’s Moldova narratives are not more neutral. It would appear the answer is not purely historical and identitarian, but also to do with leverage: while Moldova, and Russia, need Transnistria; Ukraine does not. Moldova claims Transnistria, and the separatist leaders know that however anti-Moldovan their rhetoric is, Chişinau cannot be seen to abandon what it considers its citizens and territory. Russia depends upon Transnistria for influence within Moldova and for its discursive power (Kosienkowski 2019). While Transnistria’s pro-Russian population limits criticism, Tiraspol has previously shown surprising autonomy, even dissent, vis-à-vis Moscow – including pursuing anti-Russian narratives for leverage when it suited them (Devyatkov 2012) – knowing Russia cannot afford to neglect its “compatriots” (Rogstad 2018). Under the first President Igor Smirnov, the Transnistrian leadership regularly hinted at cooperating with, and even potentially joining, Ukraine, or else played on Russian public opinion, to regain Russian assistance whenever it waned. As recently as 2017, following Russia’s withdrawal of financial support, Krasnoselsky put forward the idea that Transnistria represented a zone where Western and Russian interests could coexist. Such displays have always elicited Russia’s compliance (Kosienkowski 2019). With Ukraine on the other hand, the relationship is one-sided: Transnistria holds little value for, or leverage over, its eastern neighbor. While Kosienkowski (2019) wrote before that Ukraine would not close the Transnistrian border for fear of increasing tensions with Moscow, the full-scale invasion removed this limitation, as Kyiv now has nothing to lose. Hence, decisions like border closure can be taken unilaterally without repercussions for Ukraine.

CONCLUSION

Transnistria’s neutral position on the Russo-Ukrainian War is attributable to a number of overlapping factors, partly ideational, though mostly pragmatic. While realist concerns relating to trade with the EU and Ukraine are perhaps the most decisive, the narrative is further constrained by Ukraine’s proximity, geographically-, ethnically-, socially- and culturally-speaking, but also by the Transnistrian war memory, the military threat of Ukraine, the republic’s own struggle for self-determination, and the existence of the primary “enemy” across the republic’s only other border.

Transnistrian elites want to avoid war, and perhaps the best way to do this is by calling the conflict a “war”. The media keeps the threat of conflict present but not overwhelming, alternately highlighting that the risk is very real and then producing reassuring messages and underlining that normal people on all sides want peace. Such balancing seems intended to keep the conflict with Moldova alive and ensure the obeisance of Transnistrian citizens, while avoiding destabilization in the territory itself. This scaremongering is reflected for example in the deliberately ambiguous video title “Pridnestrovie for peace! One year close to war” (TSV 2022c). This is not accompanied, however, by coverage of military actions themselves; Transnistria cannot describe events and remain neutral, since Russian and Ukrainian narratives differ not only in their interpretation, but in their factual content. The neutrality adopted by local media avoids the risks of choosing a side, and represents a continuation of Transnistria’s erstwhile policy of balancing between different actors.

Thus, while Transnistria’s unrecognized status and geographical positioning in relation to Russia deal it significant constraints because of different needs, they also provide the opportunity to pursue an independent position, including on the Russo-Ukrainian War, in order to further its own (primarily economic) interests. Such instrumentalization of non-recognition calls into question not only the view of Transnistria as an obedient Russian “enclave”, but even the extent to which Transnistria’s professed desire to join Russia is genuine.

DISCLOSURE STATEMENT

No potential conflict of interest was reported by the author(s).

Additional information

Notes on contributors

Shaun D. Foster

Shaun D. Foster is a recent graduate from the MA in Geopolitics, Resources and Territory at King’s College, London, with an interest in issues of territory, particularly border studies, language, and the politics of the post-Soviet space. His Master’s dissertation was on the Geopolitical Roles of Wartime Linguistic Innovations in the Context of the Russia-Ukraine War. He also holds a BA(Hons) in Modern and Medieval Languages (French, Russian and Ukrainian) from King’s College, Cambridge, for which his integrated Year Abroad was spent living and working as an English teacher in France, Ukraine and Transnistria. E-mail: [email protected]