Over the past six months, I have been finishing a book that tells a story about terrorism in Russia. Not one about extremist groups or bomb plots, but about how the Kremlin turned terrorism into a tool – used the idea of terrorism – its language, its imagery, its fear factor – to reshape politics at home and expand its influence abroad.
The book, Terrorism, Security, and Power in Russia (this is a working title), traces how the Kremlin has made terrorism into a catch-all justification for nearly everything: cracking down on dissent, centralising power, intervening in other countries, and positioning Russia as a global power. This didn’t happen overnight. It started with the Chechen wars in the 1990s and has grown steadily ever since.
It began with domestic politics. When apartment buildings were bombed in 1999, it helped launch Vladimir Putin’s rise. Framed as a fight against terrorism, the Second Chechen War became a turning point. The Kremlin used it to build public support, tighten laws, silence the press, and concentrate power in the presidency. Events like the Moscow theatre siege in 2002 and the Beslan school crisis in 2004 added fuel to the narrative that Russia was under siege from terrorists, so extraordinary measures were needed.
But it did not stop there. Russia then started exporting this fear to its neighbours. In Central Asia and the Caucasus, the Kremlin warned that Islamist extremism would spread unless Russia stepped in. This helped Moscow expand its military presence and tighten its grip on countries that were once part of the Soviet Union. The message was simple: side with Russia, let Russia “protect” you, or else.
The real international breakthrough came with Syria. Russia entered the war claiming it was fighting the Islamic State. But this was not just about stopping terrorists. It was about showing the world that Russia could act, intervene, and win. Moscow linked the Syrian campaign to its experience in Chechnya, portraying itself as a counterterrorism expert and reliable global partner.
Then came Ukraine. From 2014 onwards, Russian officials started using words like “extremist,” “terrorist,” and even “Nazi” to describe the Ukrainian government and protest movements. These terms were not just provocations or insults, they were part of a broader effort to build public support for war and to cast Russia as the victim in a dangerous world. By the time of the full-scale invasion in 2022, this language had taken over Russian media, education, and foreign policy. Fighting Ukraine was presented not as an invasion but as a necessary decision to protect Russia’s future.
What the book shows is that this is not just propaganda in the usual sense. It is a long-term strategy. The Kremlin has spent more than two decades using terrorism as a political tool: a way to justify emergency powers, suppress opposition, and present military aggression as defensive. This framing has become deeply woven into how Russian politics works.
You do not need to be a Russia expert to see how dangerous this is. When the definition of “terrorist” is so broad that it can mean a separatist, a protester, a foreign journalist, or even an entire government, there is no limit to the powers the state can claim in response. And when this narrative becomes part of foreign policy, it helps explain everything from Russia’s presence in Syria to its war in Ukraine.
This project is not about rehashing well-known headlines or offering yet another profile of Putin. It is about understanding how the idea of terrorism has been used not just to scare, but to rule. If we want to make sense of how Russia has changed over the past two decades, and why it has taken the path it has, we have to understand the politics of fear behind it.
That’s the story I’m trying to tell.