Donetsk and Luhansk: Putin's Puppet States

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Video originally published on April 9, 2024.

This analysis examines Donetsk and Luhansk: Putin's Puppet States in historical and strategic context. It traces how the core developments unfolded, which institutions and actors shaped outcomes, and what those decisions changed on the ground. Rather than repeating headline-level claims, it focuses on concrete mechanisms, constraints, and tradeoffs that explain the trajectory of events. The discussion moves from Key Developments through Strategic Implications to Risk and Uncertainty, then evaluates wider consequences. The goal is to clarify not only what happened, but why these developments still matter for current planning, risk assessment, and policy decisions.

Key Takeaways

Meet Donetsk and Luhansk. The modern-day territories called Donetsk and Luhansk are the two halves of an area historically, and currently, known as the Donbas.
But when we attempt to characterize the modern-day Donbas in any meaningful way, we've immediately got a decision to make: Do we call it Ukrainian, or do we call it Russian?
With a history that traces back to pro-Russian, anti-Ukrainian demonstrations immediately after Russia annexed the Ukrainian isthmus of Crimea, the Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics—or, as we'll refer to them.
Between the time that ceasefire was signed, and the start of the wider war in Ukraine, the DPR and the LPR would host a low-grade, continual conflict between themselves and the Ukrainian military.
In 2020, Freedom House gave the Eastern Donbas a score of six points out of sixty for civil liberty, and negative-one points out of forty for political rights when assessing both republics together.

Key Developments

Meet Donetsk and Luhansk. The modern-day territories called Donetsk and Luhansk are the two halves of an area historically, and currently, known as the Donbas. Taking its name from a shortened blend of “Donets Coal Basin”, the Donbas is exactly what that term makes it sound like: Coal country. Highly industrialized since the late 1800s, the Donbas has produced massive amounts of coal across many decades, and historically, it formed a border between two powerful Cossack states, the Zaporizhian Sich and the Don Cossack Host. But when we attempt to characterize the modern-day Donbas in any meaningful way, we've immediately got a decision to make: Do we call it Ukrainian, or do we call it Russian? Geographically, the answer is pretty clear. Since the conclusion of the Russian Civil War in 1922, exactly one hundred years prior to the modern Russian invasion of Ukraine, the Donbas was classified as part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, or SSR. The following years would see the Donbas region rocked by famine, the violent process of de-Cossackization, occupation and forced-labor deportations under the Nazis, and decade after decade of Russification—a broad demographic shift that we'll absolutely be talking about more, and that saw the Donbas accept more and more ethnic Russians over the course of Soviet history. After the Soviet Union ceased to exist, Donetsk and Luhansk were incorporated into the sovereign nation of Ukraine, but with a modern culture, and a cultural and linguistic history, that were fundamentally different than most of their fellow Ukrainians. So, why wouldn't Donetsk and Luhansk being part of Ukraine, be enough for the entire world to agree /that they are part of Ukraine?/ Well, that would be because of the self-declared Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics, two separatist governments backed by Russia that have exerted a controlling influence inside the two provinces since 2014. With a history that traces back to pro-Russian, anti-Ukrainian demonstrations immediately after Russia annexed the Ukrainian isthmus of Crimea, the Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics—or, as we'll refer to them throughout this video, the DPR and the LPR—spent nearly a decade as the ruling authority in the Donbas prior to the Russian invasion. Now, where the DPR and the LPR are concerned, we've got to first correct one common misconception: despite Vladimir Putin and the rest of Russia very eagerly supporting them through most of their history, they were not a part of Russia's plan initially. In fact, the Russian annexation of Crimea awoke a broader popular discontent with Ukrainian leadership in the Donbas, kicking off protests that were, by all accounts, genuine expressions by a part of the Donbas population. Of course, Russia seized on that part of the Donbas real quick, and before long, Russia was backing an armed separatist uprising that most locals appeared not to support. The violence, so far contained mostly to Donetsk, spilled over into Luhansk, where the insurgency picked up steam rapidly. And just as Ukrainian troops began to arrive in force with the intent of restoring order, a much larger Russian force had shown up, proper uniforms and all, just over the Russian border with the Donbas. The message from Russia was clear: if Ukraine attempted to quash the insurgency, it would find itself fighting not just suspiciously Russian insurgents, but the full might of the Russian military. From there, things only got worse. Granted powers as the leader of the Donbas People's Militia after a successful Donetsk referendum, Igor Girkin declared himself Donetsk's so-called Supreme Commander, and took what was most likely the next choreographed step in Russia's charade: he petitioned Russia directly to send military support, in order to protect against a claimed genocide and a NATO threat of intervention.

Strategic Implications

But when we attempt to characterize the modern-day Donbas in any meaningful way, we've immediately got a decision to make: Do we call it Ukrainian, or do we call it Russian? Geographically, the answer is pretty clear. Since the conclusion of the Russian Civil War in 1922, exactly one hundred years prior to the modern Russian invasion of Ukraine, the Donbas was classified as part of the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic, or SSR. The following years would see the Donbas region rocked by famine, the violent process of de-Cossackization, occupation and forced-labor deportations under the Nazis, and decade after decade of Russification—a broad demographic shift that we'll absolutely be talking about more, and that saw the Donbas accept more and more ethnic Russians over the course of Soviet history. After the Soviet Union ceased to exist, Donetsk and Luhansk were incorporated into the sovereign nation of Ukraine, but with a modern culture, and a cultural and linguistic history, that were fundamentally different than most of their fellow Ukrainians. So, why wouldn't Donetsk and Luhansk being part of Ukraine, be enough for the entire world to agree /that they are part of Ukraine?/ Well, that would be because of the self-declared Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics, two separatist governments backed by Russia that have exerted a controlling influence inside the two provinces since 2014. But by then, it was already too late; when a Ukrainian counterinsurgency pushed back the separatist rebels to small sections of Donetsk and Luhansk, Russia swooped in with greater force and basically invaded the Donbas. Before long, Ukraine agreed to a ceasefire that would contain the rebels to the Donbas, although they would also yield back a lot of the territory they had captured in their prior counterinsurgency. Between the time that ceasefire was signed, and the start of the wider war in Ukraine, the DPR and the LPR would host a low-grade, continual conflict between themselves and the Ukrainian military. But while we'll return to the conflict in the Donbas in due time, we'll first highlight the mass exodus that took place during and after 2014. About 1.6 million people, according to Ukraine's government, were internally displaced from the Donbas and found their way to other parts of the country. Another million headed in the opposite direction, mostly to Russia. With a few exceptions, this largely reflected the ideological leanings of the Donbas expats themselves: those who were pro-Ukraine went to Ukraine, and those who were pro-Russia went to Russia. The people who chose to stay, according to 2019 estimates, would include about a million and a half people in Luhansk, and a bit over two million in Donetsk. For those who didn't try and get out, there could be no illusions about what they were signing up for; the DPR and the LPR were, by then, puppet states that knew full well that they could only exist with the backing of the Russian government.

Risk and Uncertainty

With a history that traces back to pro-Russian, anti-Ukrainian demonstrations immediately after Russia annexed the Ukrainian isthmus of Crimea, the Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics—or, as we'll refer to them throughout this video, the DPR and the LPR—spent nearly a decade as the ruling authority in the Donbas prior to the Russian invasion. Now, where the DPR and the LPR are concerned, we've got to first correct one common misconception: despite Vladimir Putin and the rest of Russia very eagerly supporting them through most of their history, they were not a part of Russia's plan initially. In fact, the Russian annexation of Crimea awoke a broader popular discontent with Ukrainian leadership in the Donbas, kicking off protests that were, by all accounts, genuine expressions by a part of the Donbas population. Of course, Russia seized on that part of the Donbas real quick, and before long, Russia was backing an armed separatist uprising that most locals appeared not to support. But by then, it was already too late; when a Ukrainian counterinsurgency pushed back the separatist rebels to small sections of Donetsk and Luhansk, Russia swooped in with greater force and basically invaded the Donbas. Before long, Ukraine agreed to a ceasefire that would contain the rebels to the Donbas, although they would also yield back a lot of the territory they had captured in their prior counterinsurgency. And with that Russian backing, came a massive wave of Russian propaganda designed both to keep the people of Donetsk and Luhansk loyal, and try to convince the rest of the world that Russia was taking a benevolent action in supporting the breakaway republics. The crux of that argument, then as now, was Russia's twofold claim: that Ukrainian forces were perpetrating a genocide against Russian-speaking civilians in the Donbas, and that Ukraine had been infiltrated by Nazis. Now, we're not going to bother equivocating about those thoroughly debunked claims, although we will emphasize that Russia has never even attempted to present evidence for its claims of genocide, and after a wide range of international experts have debunked the claim, Ukraine has recently taken the extra step to have the International Court of Justice investigate and debunk the accusation too. And while Ukraine's military and its far-right political scene do have neo-Nazi elements, especially in volunteer military battalions, their presence is not anywhere near so powerful to justify Putin's claims that Ukraine itself is a nation controlled by Nazis. But under the protective umbrella of that forceful Russian propaganda, the DPR and the LPR have had time to develop their own way of life, their own political systems, and their own strange reality, even before the Russian invasion of Ukraine kicked off. As for how that reality works…well, in many ways, the DPR and LPR have become caricatures of the same Russian-nationalist ideology that guides Vladimir Putin's Russia.

Outlook

Between the time that ceasefire was signed, and the start of the wider war in Ukraine, the DPR and the LPR would host a low-grade, continual conflict between themselves and the Ukrainian military. But while we'll return to the conflict in the Donbas in due time, we'll first highlight the mass exodus that took place during and after 2014. About 1.6 million people, according to Ukraine's government, were internally displaced from the Donbas and found their way to other parts of the country. Another million headed in the opposite direction, mostly to Russia. With a few exceptions, this largely reflected the ideological leanings of the Donbas expats themselves: those who were pro-Ukraine went to Ukraine, and those who were pro-Russia went to Russia. The people who chose to stay, according to 2019 estimates, would include about a million and a half people in Luhansk, and a bit over two million in Donetsk. The DPR and the LPR are strongly ethnonationalist in their political ideology: that the ethnic Russian diaspora around the world, and especially in the territories closest to Russia, belong as part of a unified ethno-state. Guiding that hypothetical nation are the principles and teachings of Russian Orthodox Christian fundamentalism, as well as the historical example of the Russian Empire, both as it existed before World War I, and in the form of the Soviet Union. The breakaway republics are both led by a People's Council, with the DPR's current leader being one Denis Pushilin, and the LPR's being a guy named Leonid Pasechnik. As for what life has been like in the Donbas, in those years between the DPR and LPR's independence declarations and the Russian full-scale invasion of Ukraine…the picture is bleak. On the one hand, there are the everyday concerns that people there face: economic opportunity is limited, food is expensive and sometimes scarce, quality education is hard to come by, and people with connections in the rest of Ukraine have been severely limited in their ability to contact family and friends living on the other side of the conflict. Prices went high, wages went low, a lot of people left, and a crush of sanctions sharply limited people's ability to access their bank accounts or do business. Nearly half of those who did remain, were age sixty-five and older; most people still in the Donbas are at least in their forties, and most people with anything above a local education have long since left. Those who did stay, have since reported to Western outlets that most of them chose to do so not because of any love for the DPR or the LPR, but because they had no money or prospects to go elsewhere. But the other side of their reality is far darker. According to a wide range of observer bodies, including the UN, human rights abuses have run rampant in both breakaway republics, where the ruling regime has little to fear from anyone except a disinterested Vladimir Putin.

The Donbas Region: Historical Context and Background

In 2020, Freedom House gave the Eastern Donbas a score of six points out of sixty for civil liberty, and negative-one points out of forty for political rights when assessing both republics together. Arbitrary detention and torture are reportedly common among the local security services, who are little more than bands of thugs armed with rifles and legal impunity. Executions and extrajudicial killings have been reported on many occasions, corruption runs rampant, and independent media, private bloggers, anonymous journalists, and even anti-regime social media have been extinguished. Politically, the DPR and LPR are functionally totalitarian extensions of Russia's will inside the Donbas, and political opposition are prime targets for state enforcers, while just about every institution, be it education, media, or business, is under the firm control of loyalists to the separatist leadership. Ukrainian in Fact, Russian in Spirit? Now, with such a bleak, even totalitarian veil over the Donbas, it's easy to dismiss the LPR and the DPR as puppet states and nothing more, cruel inventions of Vladimir Putin meant to keep order in an occupied territory at all costs. But simply decrying the Donetsk and Luhansk People's Republics as sham governments, misses a good deal of what's at play under the surface. Donetsk and Luhansk are internationally recognized parts of Ukraine, they have been annexed into Russia in a way that's illegal under international law, and also, they're parts of Eastern Europe that haven't considered themselves to be truly Ukrainian for quite a while. Sitting in a sort of grey territorial region between Ukraine and Russia, the Donbas has long been home to both ethnic Russians and ethnic Ukrainians, and to people who would prefer to show allegiance to Russia rather than Ukraine. Those numbers were increased drastically after waves of Russian workers flooded into the Donbas in the aftermath of World War II, building lives there and settling down into their communities. A package of Soviet-era education reforms, in which Ukrainian-language schooling in the Donbas was put aside for a generation in favor of Russian-language schooling, only widened the growing divide. By 1989, nearly half of the Donbas self-reported Russian ethnic identity, and after a brief honeymoon period with the idea of post-Soviet independence under Ukraine, Donetsk and Luhansk were rocked by wave after wave of economic malaise. Chafing under centralized Ukrainian authority and questionable management in Kyiv, the people of the Donbas would vote overwhelmingly to adopt Russian as the administrative language in Donetsk and Luhansk, to make Russian a state language in Ukraine, and for Ukraine to operate more closely with the Russian-led Commonwealth of Independent States. All this, not in 2014, but in 1994, just barely after the Soviet Union's demise. Certainly, the portion of the Donbas population that had previously been pro-Ukraine has been all but pushed out, and just as important, Donbas residents who might have wanted to, and been able to move to Russia, have largely done so. Forced evacuations of the civilian population, and forced conscriptions of fighting-age men in the Donbas, have cleared out the territory even further. The region's 2023 elections would have been a silly affair, if they weren't so bleak, with Russian officials going door-to-door insisting that residents go vote, only to be watched by armed Russian police as they checked the very few, government-approved boxes presented to them. International sources who attempt to gauge public opinion among the people who remain, have largely been ineffective; on the one hand, those who are pro-Russian are unlikely to engage with Western investigators, and on the other, those who are pro-Ukrainian have only survived this long because they've learned the value of self-censorship. So, that's the internal element to Donetsk and Luhansk, but the Donbas region has had a parallel story to tell since 2014: that of its long-running, low-grade insurgency, and its far more recent transition into a forward operating area and, at times, a battlefield in Russia's ongoing invasion of Ukraine. The violence really got out of hand on the sixth of April, 2014, when hundreds of masked assailants stormed a facility belonging to the Security Service of Ukraine, or SBU, in the city of Donetsk.

The Spark of Separatism: Pro-Russian Protests in 2014

None of those demands would be heard by the Ukrainian government, and although some of the region's pain was relieved with economic aid from Kyiv, the local frustration with Ukraine wouldn't go away. During the 2004 Orange Revolution, Luhansk and Donetsk would spearhead a short-lived effort to create an autonomous bloc of eastern Ukrainian regions comprising nearly half the country's territory. In the following years, the region would catch heavy criticism from the rest of Ukraine as a backwater land of thugs and degenerates, and while calls for separatism calmed down a fair bit, Donetsk and Luhansk's strained relationships with Ukraine were clear decades prior to 2014, for those few Western observers who'd even thought to look. An attempted change to Ukrainian national language law didn't help during 2014's Crimean crisis, which would have made Ukrainian the nation's sole state language across the country—causing problems, and, in the eyes of many, erasing the Russian-language cultures of the Donbas, where it had previously been permissible to use Russian as a jurisdictional language. When a Ukrainian survey assessed attitudes in the Donbas in early 2014, as protests were just starting up, it found that nearly two thirds of Donbas residents wanted autonomous status for their region, while nearly all of the remaining voters were in favor of full separation from Ukraine. This is why it's important to emphasize the degree to which the Donbas' anti-Ukraine protests in 2014 were self-motivated. Whether or not any Westerners would agree, now or then, with the perceptions of the local population, those perceptions were that Crimea, freshly annexed into Russia, had been the beneficiaries of a positive or even a benevolent effort from Russia. At this time, Ukraine was still reeling from the downfall of former pro-Russian president Viktor Yanukovych, and the Donbas' ethnic Russian population was skeptical of how Ukraine's new administration would seek closer ties with the European Union and change the status quo in their region. Fearing major change, the idea of annexation by Russia seemed like a favorable alternative for many people. Now, the scope of support for separatism was almost certainly way below the ninety-plus-percent of Donbas residents who allegedly voted in favor of DPR and LPR independence from Ukraine, in elections that were roundly condemned just about everywhere but Russia as being entirely illegitimate. But Russia didn't just make up the idea that many people inside Donetsk and Luhansk were open to the idea of sovereignty or even Russian annexation. That sentiment was there before Russia started in on its plan to support the local separatist movements. Now, though, it's almost impossible to tell what the remaining residents of the Donbas feel, or whether they'd consider themselves more loyal to Russia, Ukraine, or nobody at all. Gathering weapons, they captured the regional administration building shortly afterward, demanded that the regional council call for a referendum on joining Russia within a day's time, and when that demand wasn't met, the insurgency in Donetsk declared itself the independent Donetsk People's Republic. A similar sequence of events went down in Ukraine, and after a few days of fruitless attempts at de-escalation by the Ukrainian government, the separatists turned outward and started capturing towns. Among their number were so-called volunteers who just happened to be part of the Russian military, but showed up with no insignia, coming north from Crimea under the command of one Colonel Igor Girkin. By Girkin's own telling after the fact, it was Girkin's troops' capture of one particular town, Sloviansk, that really kicked off the insurgency, and from there, combat began. Within days, Ukraine had its own counterinsurgency underway, although with hardly any time to mobilize forces or pivot units across the country, local Ukrainian troops were caught off-guard and, at times, forced to surrender. It's at around this same time that the war crimes began, on the insurgent side, including summary executions and torture of local figures in the Donbas. They launched mass attacks on weapons depots and armories, gathering heavy weapons, artillery, and even tanks, captured radio and television stations, and started inflicting real casualties on the Ukrainian side.

Frequently Asked Questions

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Jackson Reed

Jackson Reed creates and presents analysis focused on military doctrine, strategic competition, and conflict dynamics.

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