What is Russophobia?

Last week, while researching a pro-Kremlin video game that put the player in the shoes of Russian forces invading Ukraine, I came across it once more. Like a shadowy harbinger of something terrible, or maybe, more accurately, the shabby piece of home decor that you're so used to you hardly see it anymore, but that you really should throw out, there it was: the word "Russophobia."

In the context of the article, the powers in Moscow attributed the game's delayed international launch to "Russophobia." In doing so, they implied that Western audiences and platforms were loath to sell the game not because of its sensitive subject matter or borderline-plagiaristic similarity to other games, but because of an irrational fear and instinctual revulsion to all things Russian.

And this is typically how the term is deployed. It's a rhetorical checkmate. Concerned about war crimes in Ukraine? You're just Russophobic. Think kids being exposed to pro-war propaganda at school is a little wacky? Russophobic. Troubled by the conflation of Christianity with militant patriotism? Pure Russophobia.

It's a little like debating someone who, short of a compelling argument, compares their opponent to Hitler. And, just like that tactic, it's usually effective. Now you not only have to make your case; you also have to prove you aren't history's greatest baddie. At the same time, though, it's a little tiresome. The word is used and eyes roll. Ugh, fine, I'm Russopobic, but still, please explain how state employees paying for the luxurious lifestyles of harems of young women with taxpayer money is okay.

Seen in this light, the idea of "Russophobia" is ridiculous. It's a hand-wave to dismiss any criticism, legitimate or not, made against Russia, its culture, and its people.

But then again, Russophobia in some other sense is alive and well. After all, we at Russian Life are Russophiles — we're explicitly and deeply interested in Russia, for one reason or another. That doesn't mean we wholeheartedly support what the Kremlin stands for; far from it. But it does mean Russia has some kind of hold on our hearts and we hold it more dearly than others might.

And there are plenty of negative stereotypes about Russia that could be legitimately considered Russophobic. Recently I told a coworker a self-deprecating story about how I did an escape room in Moscow in 2015, before they'd become big in the U.S. and before I'd learned enough Russian to hold a decent conversation, let alone navigate riddles. Their joking response was, "Well, if you failed, did you get sent to the gulag?" I smiled through gritted teeth and tried to suppress my urge to say, "Um, actually..."

Similarly, when researching that article last week, some of the game reviews asserted that it was a project devoid of value from a culture devoid of value. People who write reviews on Steam are rarely thought leaders, but I noticed they lined up with something I'd read recently in Sergei Medvedev's "A War Made in Russia." According to Medvedev, the hallmarks of Russian culture are merely caricatures brought from elsewhere: matryoshka dolls are adapted from Japan, vodka from Poland, and ear-flap hats from Finland. Per Medvedev, Russian "culture" is just a cheap, clumsily aped imitation of things brought from elsewhere. As the war in Ukraine drags on, it's easy to take a cheap shot and dismiss anything Russian as inherently bad.

But does Russophobia constitute an existential threat to Russia? Absolutely not. Here nuance and clarity is needed. We can dismiss offhand Kremlin claims of "Russophobia" that paint Moscow as the victim of a global, millennia-old conspiracy; that's ridiculous. Yet we can also be wary and see through popular distortions that sidestep the value of Russia, focusing on the comic mystery left over from the Cold War.

In short: Is Russophobia real? Probably. Does it matter to Putin? It probably shouldn't. The Kremlin's use of the term is more often than not merely a cover, a tricky strategy to paint the Russian state as a victim when it could use more scrutiny.