How Russia turned terrorism into a tool of power

Russia’s use of counterterrorism narratives has become one of the central features of its domestic and foreign policy. Since the Chechen wars, the Kremlin has repeatedly presented terrorism not simply as a security problem, but as an existential threat to the Russian state, Russian society, and the wider international order. This framing has allowed the state to justify exceptional measures at home, expand its influence across the post-Soviet space, legitimize military intervention abroad, and present itself as a necessary global security actor. Counterterrorism has become a corner stone of Russian policymaking.

Russia’s contemporary counterterrorism narrative emerged from the trauma and instability of the 1990s. The collapse of the Soviet Union produced a deep political, social and geopolitical crisis. Russia lost territory, influence, allies and status. Its economy was weak, its state institutions were fragile, and its military capacity was exposed as limited. At home, the transition to democracy and capitalism was associated by many Russians not with freedom and prosperity, but with crime, corruption, inequality, inflation and uncertainty. Internationally, Russia felt marginalized and humiliated. Western triumphalism after the Cold War, NATO enlargement, and the limited benefits of western financial assistance all fed a wider sense of grievance.

Starting point

This context is important because it created an audience ready to accept a politics focused on order. By the end of the 1990s, the promise of liberal democracy had lost much of its appeal for many Russians. Stability, sovereignty and state strength became politically attractive. Vladimir Putin was able to present himself as the force that would restore order after a decade of weakness. Terrorism became central to this restoration narrative. It allowed the state to claim that Russia was not merely facing political opposition or regional separatism, but a violent threat to its survival.

Chechnya was the starting point of this security state. The first and second Chechen wars were initially rooted in questions of territorial control, sovereignty, and Moscow’s authority over a rebellious region. However, over time, the conflict was reframed. What began as a war over separatism became increasingly represented as a war against terrorism, radical Islam, foreign fighters, suicide bombers, and international extremist networks. This shift was politically significant. A territorial dispute could raise questions about federalism, self-determination, human rights, or state violence. Instead, a counterterrorism campaign allowed the Kremlin to present the conflict in simpler moral terms: the Russian state was defending innocent citizens against terrorists. Major terrorist attacks helped consolidate this narrative. The Moscow theatre hostage crisis in 2002 and the Beslan school siege in 2004 became defining moments in Russia’s political development. These events left Russia deeply traumatized. They also gave the Kremlin powerful evidence for its claim that terrorism represented an existential danger. The presence of suicide bombers, hostage-taking, and attacks on civilians, especially children, made it easier for the state to argue that Russia faced an enemy beyond negotiation. The terrorist was constructed not as a political actor with demands, but as an absolute threat to life, society and statehood.

The domestic consequences were profound. Counterterrorism became a justification for centralizing power. The Kremlin strengthened the authority of the presidency, weakened regional autonomy, increased the role of the security services, and narrowed the space for political opposition. The argument was that a fragmented state could not defend itself. Unity, discipline and loyalty became security requirements. The more terrorism was framed as a national survival issue, the easier it became to portray pluralism, criticism and civil society activism as potential vulnerabilities.

Legal change was one of the main mechanisms through which this political reorientation towards security took institutional form. Laws introduced in the language of security and counterterrorism increasingly restricted civil society, public association, media activity, and foreign links. The foreign agents law of 2012 targeted non-commercial organizations and civil society groups receiving foreign support. The undesirable organizations law of 2015 widened the scope of control to include organizations seen as capable of harming Russia. Later amendments extended similar logic to media organizations. These measures were not always explicitly about terrorism in a narrow sense, but they belonged to the broader security logic that counterterrorism had helped normalize. The state claimed the right to restrict freedoms in order to defend constitutional order, national security, and state sovereignty.

Zone of influence

This is one of the most important features of Russia’s counterterrorism narrative: it expands. Once the state has established that exceptional measures are justified against terrorists, the category of threat can be widened. Terrorists, extremists, foreign agents, undesirable organizations, radicals, separatists, western-backed activists, and political opponents can be placed on the same security spectrum. The distinction between violent threat and peaceful dissent becomes blurred. This does not mean that every critic is formally called a terrorist. Rather, the political effect is to make criticism appear dangerous, disloyal, or externally manipulated. The public is encouraged to see security and loyalty as linked.

This security logic also shaped Russia’s regional policy. Russia’s “near abroad” occupies a central place in its strategic imagination. The former Soviet space is not treated as simply foreign territory, but as a historical zone of influence. The language of Eurasianism, the Russian World, shared history, and common security allow Moscow to claim a special role in the region. Counterterrorism has been one of the tools through which that role has been justified. Russia presents itself as a state with hard-earned expertise in fighting terrorism, especially after Chechnya. It claims to understand the dangers of radicalization, instability, and foreign-backed disorder better than others.

In the post-Soviet space, the terrorist threat has often been less direct than in Russia itself, but it has still been useful. The Kremlin has pointed to the danger of militant Islam, instability from Afghanistan, the spread of Islamic State influence, and the vulnerability of Central Asian states. This regional use of counterterrorism also helps Russia maintain influence without relying only on ideology. Unlike the Soviet Union, contemporary Russia does not offer a universal political project. Its appeal is more pragmatic. It promises order, sovereignty, regime protection, and resistance to western interference. For authoritarian or illiberal governments, this can be attractive. Russia’s counterterrorism narrative supports a model in which state stability is valued over liberal rights, and in which opposition movements can be treated with suspicion if they appear linked to foreign actors or radical politics. In this sense, counterterrorism becomes a shared elite language.

Syria marked a further development in Russia’s use of counterterrorism narratives. Russia’s military intervention in Syria was presented as a campaign against Islamic State and other radical groups. Moscow argued that Russia’s involvement had been invited by the legitimate Syrian government and was therefore acting in accordance with international law. This was an important distinction: while western interventions were often portrayed by Moscow as destabilizing and illegitimate, Russia framed its own intervention as lawful and necessary.

The Syrian campaign allowed Russia to link domestic, regional and international audiences. Domestically, the Kremlin argued that fighting terrorists in Syria helped protect Russia itself. The claim was that extremists could move from Syria into Central Asia and then threaten Russia and its allies. Regionally, this message reassured friendly governments that Russia was willing to act against threats before they reached former Soviet countries. Internationally, Russia presented itself as a responsible great power capable of decisive action when the West had failed. Counterterrorism became the language through which Russia returned to the Middle East as a major military and diplomatic actor.

The Syrian intervention also served important symbolic purposes. It allowed Russia to display military capabilities, test weapons, project power, and present its armed forces as modern and effective. Domestically, the campaign was portrayed as successful, controlled and relatively low-cost. Casualties were managed carefully, and media coverage was targeted to different audiences. Syria helped strengthen the image of Russia as a security provider. Counterterrorism made this ambition appear legitimate. Russia was not simply seeking influence; it was fighting a threat to statehood and international stability.

War in Ukraine

Russia’s war against Ukraine demonstrates how far this security language can stretch. Russia’s actions have not been justified only through counterterrorism, but counterterrorism-related language forms part of the wider security narrative. After the Euromaidan protests and the annexation of Crimea in 2014, Russia framed its actions as defensive. It claimed that political instability in Ukraine was dangerous, externally encouraged, and threatening to Russian speakers and Russian interests. Over the years, the Kremlin blurred distinctions between nationalist groups, radicals, fascists, terrorists and political opposition. This made it easier to present Ukrainian sovereignty and western support for Ukraine as part of a security threat to Russia.

The language of anti-fascism is especially important here. Russia’s victory in the Second World War remains central to national identity. By presenting Ukraine as influenced by fascism or neo-Nazism, the Kremlin draws on one of the most emotionally powerful memories in Russian society. The war against Nazi Germany is remembered not simply as a historical event, but as a sacred national achievement. When the Kremlin describes contemporary enemies through the language of fascism, it connects present policy to a heroic past. This allows aggression to be framed as defence, and expansion to be framed as historical justice.

In the 2022 full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Russia again relied on a security logic that framed Ukraine not as a sovereign neighbouring state with its own political agency, but as a danger. NATO expansion, western influence, alleged extremism, threats to Russian speakers, and claims about Ukrainian statehood were woven together. The result was a narrative in which Russia supposedly had no choice. The invasion was represented as defensive and necessary. This is a familiar pattern in Russian foreign policy: the Kremlin presents its own use of force as reluctant but unavoidable, while portraying the other side as the true source of danger.

The practical failures of the early invasion revealed limits in Russia’s military power. The expectation that Kyiv could be taken quickly was not met. As the war became longer, more costly, and more damaging, the Kremlin continued to frame it as a struggle for Russia’s survival against the West. Sanctions, military support for Ukraine, criticism at the United Nations, and domestic dissent could all be folded into the same narrative of encirclement. The war was no longer only about Ukraine; it became a test of Russia’s identity and place in the world.

This also explains why almost any violent or disruptive event can be incorporated into Russian security rhetoric. The Crocus City Hall attack in 2024 is an example of how terrorism can be used within a wider political frame. Even when the responsibility for an attack may not fit the Kremlin’s preferred geopolitical story, the event can still be used to reinforce claims about hostile forces, western indifference, Ukrainian danger, or the need for stronger state control. Terrorism remains politically useful because it produces fear, grief and anger. These emotions can be directed towards support for state authority.

Attractive alternative

Russia’s counterterrorism narratives also shape its engagement with international organizations. At the United Nations, Russia continues to rely on its Security Council veto and its status as a permanent member. Even when isolated by many western states, it treats the UN as a platform through which it can assert legitimacy and expose divisions in the international system. The language of multipolarity strengthens this position. Russia presents itself as part of a wider struggle against western dominance. Counterterrorism fits neatly into this argument because Moscow can claim that western interventions created instability, while Russia defends sovereignty and order. In relations with BRICS and other non-western groups, Russia’s message is not always ideological in a traditional sense. It is often based on pragmatism: respect for regime sovereignty, rejection of western moral pressure, security cooperation, and access to markets. This makes Russia attractive to some governments that resent western criticism or fear domestic opposition.

In Africa and the Middle East, similar patterns appear. Russia often presents itself as a flexible partner that does not impose liberal political conditions. The Wagner Group and related security arrangements have extended Russian influence in parts of Africa through the language of counterterrorism, regime protection, and anti-western partnership. In the Middle East, Russia has balanced relations with Iran, Israel, Syria, Turkey and Gulf states by prioritizing strategic flexibility over ideological consistency. Counterterrorism language allows Russia to speak to multiple audiences: it can oppose jihadist groups, defend sovereignty, criticise western intervention, and maintain relations with rival regional powers.

At home, however, the effectiveness of these narratives is not unlimited. Russian society has often supported the idea of a strong state and a powerful Russia, but support for specific policies can decrease when costs become visible. The war in Ukraine has brought casualties, sanctions, shortages, travel restrictions, banking problems, and limits on everyday freedoms. Signs of war fatigue and declining enthusiasm are making it more difficult for the Kremlin’s security narratives to justify these hardships.

Overall, Russia’s use of counterterrorism narratives has followed a clear pattern. First, the Kremlin identifies a threat and presents it as existential. Second, it links the threat to memories of disorder, foreign interference, national humiliation, or historical trauma. Third, it claims that exceptional measures are necessary. Fourth, it seeks audience acceptance: from domestic society, regional elites, international partners, or all three. Finally, it uses that acceptance to justify political change, military action, legal restriction, or expanded influence.

The cases of Chechnya, Central Asia, Syria and Ukraine show the development of this pattern. In Chechnya, counterterrorism helped build the domestic security state. In Central Asia, it supported Russia’s claim to regional leadership. In Syria, it legitimized military intervention and restored Russia’s image as a global actor. In Ukraine, terrorism-related language became part of a wider narrative of anti-fascism, anti-Western resistance, and defensive war. Across these cases, the language of security has allowed the Kremlin to present aggressive or repressive policies as protective.

Power

The most important point is that Russia’s counterterrorism narratives are not only about terrorism – they are about power. They provide a framework through which the state defines enemies, restricts politics, manages society, expands influence, and seeks international recognition. Terrorism is effective as a political narrative because it evokes fear and urgency. Once attached to broader categories such as extremism, foreign influence, separatism, fascism, or western interference, it becomes a flexible instrument of governance.

This does not mean the terrorist threat has been invented out of nothing. Russia has experienced real terrorist violence, and its citizens have suffered grievously in attacks such as Moscow,Beslan, and the Crocus City Hall. The political issue is not whether terrorism exists, but how the state uses it. The Kremlin has taken genuine insecurity and turned it into a durable governing logic. In doing so, it has made emergency politics part of normal politics.

Russia’s counterterrorism narratives therefore help explain both domestic authoritarianism and foreign policy ambition. They show how a state can use the language of protection to centralize power, how it can use the memory of trauma to demand loyalty, and how it can use the promise of security to justify intervention beyond its borders. These narratives also show why Russia continues to seek recognition as a great power even under conditions of war, sanctions, and international criticism. For the Kremlin, security language is not a temporary response to crisis. It is one of the main ways Russia explains itself to its people, its neighbours, and the world.

 

Anastassiya Mahon is a political scientist exploring how (in)security shapes politics, particularly in authoritarian and illiberal regimes. She has a PhD in political science from the University of Canterbury in New Zealand.