The Soviet toxin lives

What do the Austrian Freedom Party (FPÖ), the German Sahra Wagenknecht Alliance (BSW) and Alternative for Germany (AfD), the Bulgarian Vazrazhdane, the French National Rally, the Communist Party of Greece (KKE), the Communist Party of Bohemia and Moravia (KSČM), and the Spanish National Democracy or the Communist Party of the Peoples of Spain (PCPE) have in common? Some are far-right and others are far-left, but they share certain unequivocal attitudes: they are openly pro-Russian, and some have been funded with little dissimulation by the Kremlin. Some defend Putin's traditional/conservative values regarding the family, while others consider him the best ally against the United States. Of course, all of them oppose NATO, which is to say, they are in favor of unilateral disarmament like the one preached by the last dinosaurs of the USSR.The so-called “hybrid war” that Russia exerts against its Polish or Romanian neighbors—minimalist attacks, controlled explosions without casualties, targeted sabotage—responds to a logic perfectly coherent with the Kremlin's strategic tradition. These are not military operations in the classic sense, but rather a form of psychological and political erosion intended to fracture European cohesion by means of, among other mechanisms, formations like those I mentioned before. The goal is clear and simple—division—but its realization proves tortuous: in a Europe that, sooner or later, will have to rearm itself to guarantee its own security, any ambiguous episode can fuel internal dissent and hinder, or even prevent, decision-making.The model is by no means new. From the final years of Tsarism, those of the Rasputin era, to the USSR or the current Russian Federation, Moscow has successfully cultivated a specialty: poisoning, both informational and literal (they say Rasputin ended up being immune to cyanide; Litvinenko was not so lucky). The disinformation of the Soviet era—those campaigns of rumor-mongering and blatant infiltration into leftist Western media—was a weapon of attrition that sought to sow doubt about the reliability of democratic institutions.

In Putin's era, the mechanism is the same, but successfully adapted to the digital ecosystem: bots, opaque portals, conspiratorial narratives aimed at the usual suckers, etc. Above all, however, what exists is a true surgical exploitation of European cultural and political fissures. The goal is always the same: to make Europe doubt Europe and, in turn, for an immense country but with a paltry GDP (the same as Italy's and half that of Germany's) to make its citizens believe that it holds a high position on the world stage. In parallel, literal poisoning, from the Litvinenko case to the use of nerve agents like Novichok, has functioned as an implicit message: Russia can act invisibly, unpredictably, and with impunity. Micro-attacks against Polish, Romanian, or German infrastructure, apparently anecdotal, are part of this grammar of discreet but effective terror. They do not seek to cause victims, but rather to create confusion and generate the sensation that the front is diffuse and that, therefore, there is a danger floating in the air.Europe, meanwhile, finds itself trapped in a dilemma. Rearmament currently seems like a strategic necessity (Macron is perhaps the one who is clearest about this) but also an ideological battlefield. There are countries that perceive this rearmament as an inevitable decision in the face of the Russian threat, and others that fear that reinforcing defense implies renouncing the pacifist identity of the European project. Russia knows this and takes advantage of every millimeter of the fissure: a minor sabotage can fuel the discourse of those who demand a forceful response, but this offensive ambiguity can also reinforce those who denounce the militarization of the debate. If Europe sees itself as an insecure, weak space incapable of reacting in a coordinated manner, Russia will have already won a part of the war. The Kremlin's strength does not lie in its military power—a limited strength, as is being seen in Ukraine—but in its ability to turn every incident into a catalyst for European division. Whether media-based or radioactive, intoxication is the continuation of the same doctrine: making the European Union question itself, with the invaluable help of local lovers of high-proof ideological emotions and of informative dinners for a hard coin, or a ruble, that are cooked in the oiliest folds of the internet.