There exists in the muddled discourse surrounding Russia’s brutal war against Ukraine a certain insidious argument that bears more than a passing resemblance to a particular strain of historical revisionism. This argument, ostensibly put forward by those seeking “context” or “nuance,” suggests that Russia was not the aggressor in this conflict but rather a wounded bear, backed into a corner by the West’s supposed provocations. One is immediately reminded of the more subtle, insidious form of Holocaust denialism—not the crackpot fantasy that the event never happened, but the morally inverted argument that the victims somehow had it coming.
The apologists of Russian aggression present us with a narrative wherein NATO’s expansion, Ukraine’s flirtations with Western alliances, and a myriad of historical grievances somehow transform a naked act of invasion into an understandable, if regrettable, reaction. This argument is not merely wrong—it is grotesque. It suggests that Ukraine’s sovereign right to self-determination, enshrined by international law, is void if it offends the geopolitical preferences of its larger, autocratic neighbor.
This line of reasoning should not only be rejected but ridiculed. Imagine, if you will, the absurdity of applying this logic elsewhere: if Canada were to join a defensive pact with the European Union, would that justify a preemptive American bombing of Toronto? Should Mexico’s trade agreements with China permit an invasion of Tijuana? The suggestion is ludicrous, yet it is precisely this type of barbaric rationalization that is being peddled in earnest by those who hold to the fiction that Russia is the aggrieved party.
In truth, the only provocation to which Vladimir Putin and his Kremlin cronies have responded is the prospect of a free and prosperous Ukraine—a nation whose success would stand as a glaring indictment of Russia’s own failures. The horror of a democratic and economically vibrant state on its border is not a military threat to Russia, but a political one. It threatens the legitimacy of Putin’s regime by offering an alternative to the autocratic misery he so meticulously curates.
And so, we arrive at the nauseating moral equivalence that infects much of the discourse: that Russia’s desire to reassert imperial control is somehow on par with Ukraine’s desire to remain free. This is akin to suggesting that the Gestapo’s terror in occupied Europe was a reasonable response to French resistance fighters. It is a rhetorical crime, a shameful exercise in apologetics that abuses history to exonerate present-day atrocities.
To be clear, NATO is a defensive alliance. It is not in the business of conquest or subjugation. Its raison d’être is to deter aggression, not provoke it. Ukraine’s interest in joining NATO is not a provocation but a reaction—a plea for protection from precisely the kind of aggression that Russia has now inflicted. To blame Ukraine for wanting to join NATO is to blame a homeowner for installing locks after their neighbor publicly announces their intent to break in.
This brings us to the crux of the issue: the denial of moral responsibility. It is not enough for the apologists to acknowledge that Russia invaded Ukraine. They must twist the narrative to imply that, somehow, the invaded share the blame. It is a profoundly cowardly position, one that seeks to soothe the conscience by pretending that the world is a chessboard and that the pieces themselves are to blame for being knocked over.
We must be clear-eyed about this conflict. Russia is the aggressor, Ukraine is the victim, and any attempt to muddle this truth with talk of “provocation” is not a quest for nuance but a transparent attempt to obscure the moral clarity of the situation. The world has seen this play before, and we know how it ends if left unchecked. The only response to such aggression is not to accommodate the aggressor but to ensure that aggression is met with the fullest measure of resistance.
Anything less is not just wrong—it is complicity.
