Mourning call: people gather to remember pro-Russian militants killed in Odessa, southern Ukraine, 10 May. Photo: Getty
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Ukraine: as the death toll rises, a collective psychosis is taking hold

David Patrikarakos reports from Odessa, scene of the bloodiest incident of the Russia-Ukraine conflict so far. 

On 2 May, a fire in the historic city of Odessa in southern Ukraine killed dozens of pro-Russian separatists, increasing fears of an all-out war. At dusk, as pro-Ukraine activists stormed a trade union office occupied by separatists in the city centre, the building was set alight.

It was the bloodiest incident of this conflict so far. People choked to death on smoke or died jumping from windows as they tried to escape the flames. Russian TV aired graphic footage of the fire and its aftermath – charred bodies in pools of blood, including a woman who was reportedly pregnant – relentlessly over the weekend. Many fear that this could give Vladimir Putin, who already claims that Russia might be “forced to act” to “protect” Ukraine’s Russian-speaking population, the pretext he needs to begin an invasion. Others argue that he doesn’t need a pretext; if he wants to invade, he will.

The tragedy came amid mounting violence in the east as the Kyiv government launched its latest counterterrorism operation, the first that has seriously tried to clear pro-Russian separatists from their strongholds. Over the past weeks, the Ukrainian army has advanced steadily towards the occupied cities and fighting between the two sides has intensified.

In the small industrial town of Sloviansk, the centre of the east’s continuing crisis, Ukraine special forces engaged local separatists in hours of heavy gunfire on its northern outskirts on 5 May. Four Ukrainian soldiers and at least 20 separatists were killed. The defence ministry also reported that one of its helicopters had been shot down during the assault – the third to be downed by separatists in a matter of days.

The counterterrorism operation remains confused. Soldiers alternate between intense bouts of violence and long periods of inaction as the Kyiv government alternates between the need to restore order in what is still – barely – a sovereign state and the desire to avoid giving the Kremlin any excuse for further invasion. The army, underfunded and underequipped, also faces the problem of the local population, sections of which form human shields by mingling with the armed militia or gathering around occupied buildings, making it harder for the army to attack.

Back in Kyiv’s Maidan Nezalezhnosti (“Independence Square”), the scene of the February revolution that overthrew the then president, Viktor Yanukovych, the atmosphere has darkened. Maidan is still filled with members of the militia left over from the uprising who have refused to leave until the presidential elections on 25 May. Dressed in camouflage and carrying bats and sticks, they loaf on the streets by day and spend their nights in the tents around the square. Maidan remains cosmetically militarised – ringed by barricades of tyres and sandbags – but it has become little more than a tourist trap, selling souvenirs of the revolution to the trickle of foreigners who still visit.

Now the barricades are being reinforced and expanded. On 5 May, access into the square via a neighbouring street was controlled by a blonde militia girl of no more than 17, who manned a makeshift gate allowing vehicles access in and out. The armoured personnel carrier parked incongruously in the middle of the street – which some of the more enterprising militiamen had been charging people 50 hryvnias a turn to sit in and have their photo taken – was being cleaned and tested.

Both sides are adopting a war mentality, the most obvious – and ominous – aspect of which is the dehumanisation of the enemy. Pro-Russians describe the Odessa fire as “inhumanity . . . last seen by the Nazis in the Second World War”, while the more extreme pro-Ukrainian elements post memes that mock those who died.

A collective psychosis, born of machismo and paranoia and fuelled by rumour, is taking hold. The latest story gaining traction in the capital is that thousands of Russians – solitary males of military age – have begun to appear in Kyiv, renting rooms and just waiting. “Let them come,” says Maksym, my wiry and intense landlord. “I’ve got body armour and I’m cleaning all my guns.”

It is a phenomenon I have seen repeatedly: in Lebanon, in Congo, in Israel. Men sit in the cafés and bars of Kyiv vowing to smash “Putin”. Machine-gun-wielding sep­aratists tell me they will “cleanse” Ukraine of the “fascist junta” in Kyiv. “If the Russians come, I’ll be up there with my Kalashnikov,” an ex-soldier friend tells me, pointing to the gaudily lit roof terrace of my local sushi restaurant.

Many members of the camouflaged militia are unemployed young men from small towns, who have a new purpose and sense of belonging. It’s hard to imagine them willingly returning to their previous lives now.

Whether or not the two sides will face each other in the coming weeks remains to be seen. What is clear is that the further destabilisation of Ukraine is Moscow’s goal, at least in the short term.

Central to Russian propaganda and the arguments of the separatists is that the Kyiv government is an “unelected junta”. By democratically electing a new president, some legitimacy would be restored, which is what Putin fears. One of his spokesmen recently said that it would be “absurd” to proceed with the polls.

Even if the elections do go ahead, the winner is likely to have only a slim mandate. Pro-Russian sympathisers in the east will boycott the elections on principle and it is difficult to see the militants who control the occupied cities allowing the citizens there to vote unmolested.

The two sides are now divided by un­mitigated hate. It is difficult to envisage a future for Ukraine free from further chaos and violence.

This article first appeared in the 08 May 2014 issue of the New Statesman, India's worst nightmare?

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Tony Blair might be a toxic figure - but his influence endures

Politicians at home and abroad are borrowing from the former prime minister's playbook. 

On 24 May at Methodist Central Hall, Westminster, a short distance from where he once governed, Tony Blair resurfaced for a public discussion. Having arrived on an overnight flight, he looked drawn and puffy-eyed but soon warmed to his theme: a robust defence of liberal globalisation. He admitted, however, to bafflement at recent events in the world. "I thought I was pretty good at politics. But I look at politics today and I’m not sure I understand it."

Blair lost power in the summer of 2007. In the ensuing nine years, he lost reputation. His business ventures and alliances with autocrats have made him a pariah among both the public and his party. A YouGov poll published last year found that 61 per cent of voters regarded Blair as an electoral liability, while just 14 per cent viewed him as an asset. In contrast, John Major, whom he defeated by a landslide in 1997, had a neutral net rating of zero. It is ever harder to recall that Blair won not one general election (he is the only living Labour leader to have done so) but three.

His standing is likely to diminish further when the Iraq inquiry report is published on 6 July. Advance leaks to the Sunday Times suggest that he will be censured for allegedly guaranteeing British military support to the US a year before the invasion. Few minds on either side will be changed by the 2.6 million-word document. Yet its publication will help enshrine Iraq as the defining feature of a legacy that also includes the minimum wage, tax credits, Sure Start, devolution and civil partnerships.

Former leaders can ordinarily rely on their parties to act as a last line of defence. In Blair’s case, however, much of the greatest opprobrium comes from his own side. Jeremy Corbyn inclines to the view that Iraq was not merely a blunder but a crime. In last year’s Labour leadership election, Liz Kendall, the most Blair-esque candidate, was rewarded with 4.5 per cent of the vote. The former prime minister’s imprimatur has become the political equivalent of the black spot.

Yet outside of the Labour leadership, Blairism endures in notable and often surprising forms. Sadiq Khan won the party’s London mayoral selection by running to the left of Tessa Jowell, one of Tony Blair’s closest allies. But his successful campaign against Zac Goldsmith drew lessons from Blair’s election triumphs. Khan relentlessly presented himself as “pro-business” and reached out beyond Labour’s core vote. After his victory, he was liberated to use the B-word, contrasting what “Tony Blair did [in opposition]” with Corbyn’s approach.

In their defence of the UK’s EU membership, David Cameron and George Osborne have deployed arguments once advanced by New Labour. The strategically minded Chancellor has forged an unlikely friendship with his former nemesis Peter Mandelson. In the domestic sphere, through equal marriage, the National Living Wage and the 0.7 per cent overseas aid target, the Conservatives have built on, rather than dismantled, significant Labour achievements."They just swallowed the entire manual," Mandelson declared at a recent King’s College seminar. "They didn’t just read the executive summary, they are following the whole thing to the letter."

Among SNP supporters, "Blairite" is the pejorative of choice. But the parallels between their party and New Labour are more suggestive than they would wish. Like Blair, Alex Salmond and Nicola Sturgeon have avoided income tax rises in order to retain the support of middle-class Scottish conservatives. In a speech last August on education, Sturgeon echoed the Blairite mantra that "what matters is what works".

Beyond British shores, political leaders are similarly inspired by Blair – and less reticent about acknowledging as much. Matteo Renzi, the 41-year-old centre-left Italian prime minister, is a long-standing admirer. "I adore one of his sayings,” he remarked in 2013. “I love all the traditions of my party, except one: that of losing elections."

In France, the reform-minded prime minister, Manuel Valls, and the minister of economy, Emmanuel Macron, are also self-described Blairites. Macron, who in April launched his own political movement, En Marche!, will shortly decide whether to challenge for the presidency next year. When he was compared to Blair by the TV presenter Andrew Marr, his response reflected the former prime minister’s diminished domestic reputation: “I don’t know if, in your mouth, that is a promise or a threat.”

The continuing attraction of Blair’s “third way” to European politicians reflects the failure of the project’s social-democratic critics to construct an alternative. Those who have sought to do so have struggled both in office (François Hollande) and out of it (Ed Miliband). The left is increasingly polarised between reformers and radicals (Corbyn, Syriza, Podemos), with those in between straining for relevance.

Despite his long absences from Britain, Blair’s friends say that he remains immersed in the intricacies of Labour politics. He has privately warned MPs that any attempt to keep Corbyn off the ballot in the event of a leadership challenge would be overruled by the National Executive Committee. At Methodist Central Hall, he said of Corbyn’s supporters: “It’s clear they can take over a political party. What’s not clear to me is whether they can take over a country.”

It was Blair’s insufficient devotion to the former task that enabled the revival of the left. As Alastair Campbell recently acknowledged: “We failed to develop talent, failed to cement organisational and cultural change in the party and failed to secure our legacy.” Rather than effecting a permanent realignment, as the right of the party hoped and the left feared, New Labour failed to outlive its creators.

It instead endures in a fragmented form as politicians at home and abroad co-opt its defining features: its pro-business pragmatism, its big-tent electoralism, its presentational nous. Some of Corbyn’s ­allies privately fear that Labour will one day re-embrace Blairism. But its new adherents would never dare to use that name.

George Eaton is political editor of the New Statesman.

This article first appeared in the 26 May 2016 issue of the New Statesman, The Brexit odd squad