One might think that an intelligence failure can be benign: The good guys do far better than expected, the bad guys far worse. In fact, erring on the side of pessimism can be as big a problem as being too bullish. The period just before and after Russia began its full-scale invasion of Ukraine, in February 2022, is a good example of this. At the West’s most influential research organizations, prominent analysts—many of them political scientists who follow Russian military affairs—confidently predicted that Russia would defeat its smaller neighbor within weeks. American military leaders believed this consensus, to the point that the Joint Chiefs of Staff chair reportedly told members of Congress that Kyiv could fall within 72 hours of a Russian attack. Although those analysts’ gloomy assessments turned out to be wrong, they’ve nevertheless made the United States and its allies overly cautious in assisting Ukraine in its self-defense.
Both of us are military historians who have a keen interest in contemporary strategic issues—and who, at the outset of the war, harbored grave doubts about the prevailing analysis of Russian and Ukrainian capabilities. One of us, Eliot, has served in senior positions in the U.S. government; the other, Phillips, has advised the British Ministry of Defense on Ukraine and other matters. In a report published this week by the Center for Strategic and International Studies, we sought to understand how prominent military analysts had been so badly wrong. Why did they assume that Russia could successfully conduct an exceedingly complex lightning offensive and win a major war in considerably less time than the Wehrmacht needed to overrun France, a smaller country, in 1940? Why did they persistently take the most negative possible view of Ukraine’s abilities and prospects?
[Anne Applebaum: Is Congress really going to abandon Ukraine now?]
As we reread scores of articles and reports, listened to podcasts, and reviewed op-eds and interviews, we noticed how little uncertainty had been expressed. Russia, prominent analysts had insisted, had completely modernized its military. Its soldiers were no longer chiefly conscripts but professionals. Its military doctrine—particularly its organization of units into so-called battalion tactical groups, which are small infantry battalions reinforced with tanks and artillery—was a stroke of organizational genius. Its soldiers and airmen had been battle-tested in Syria and earlier operations in Ukraine. The two of us pored over the maps, reprinted widely, that showed half a dozen or more red arrows effortlessly piercing Ukraine up to its western border.
To the extent that analysts discussed Ukraine in any detail, its citizens were depicted as the demoralized and atomized victims of a corrupt government. The country’s substantial Russophone population was portrayed as largely indifferent to rule from Moscow or Kyiv. Ukraine’s equipment was no match for advanced Russian systems. They had experienced only static warfare in the Donbas and would have no chance against a Russian blitzkrieg. Volodymyr Zelensky was portrayed as an ineffective president. He was a comedy performer, not a wartime leader; his government, intelligence services, and armed forces had been penetrated by Russian spies and saboteurs. Ukrainians might not even put up much of a guerrilla resistance. On top of it all came consistent policy advocacy: assertions that Ukraine was not worth arming or that well-intentioned efforts to do so would merely increase suffering.
Two and a half years later, the Russians have taken as many as 600,000 casualties; Ukrainian cities have been shattered but still stand, while Ukrainian drones have hit Moscow. Ukrainians have driven the Black Sea Fleet from its anchorages around Crimea, sunk a third of its ships, and freed up sea lanes for the vital export of Ukrainian agricultural products. Ukrainian forces have in the past few weeks seized an area larger than Los Angeles inside the borders of Russia itself.
The same expert analytic community that erred early in the war continues to dominate much of the public and governmental discourse. Many of them persist in downplaying Ukrainian chances and counseling against giving the Ukrainians weapons that they have repeatedly shown themselves able to use with great effect. Some of them still warn of Russian escalation, up to and including the use of nuclear weapons, even as one Russian red line after another has faded to pink and vanished.
One reason for such larger errors rests on what our friend and colleague Hew Strachan, a British military historian, describes in his foreword to our report as Military Balance analysis. A thick volume produced every year by the International Institute for Strategic Studies, Military Balance is an invaluable resource. It documents important statistics such as the size of each nation’s armed forces, the amount and type of equipment it has available, and the number of men and women it has actively deployed. But those metrics are often far less important in war than immeasurable factors such as organization, discipline, fighting spirit, and quality of command at all levels.
The standard analysis of Russia and Ukraine paid almost no attention to the documented corruption of the Russian military, the rote nature of its exercises, and the failure of attempts to professionalize it. Far from having an abundance of well-trained personnel akin to American and British soldiers, Russian forces consisted for the most part of conscripts who had been bribed or coerced into signing up for a second year of duty in the same old abusive system. Many commentators wrongly compared Vladimir Putin’s forces to their Western counterparts, yielding predictions that Russia would employ “shock and awe” against the Ukrainians—as if its air force had experience and organization similar to that of the United States. But the Russian military was not a somewhat smaller and less effective version of America’s. It was a brutal, deeply flawed, and altogether inferior armed force.
Many observers also paid scant attention to all that had changed in Ukraine since 2014. This point is crucial: Many Western analysts had been trained as Russia specialists. Implicitly, perhaps subconsciously, they viewed Ukraine the way Russian imperialists did: as adjunct to Russia. In many cases ignorant of Ukrainian history, and even dismissive of its claims to national identity and political cohesion, authors of nearly a quarter of the reports we read did not even attempt to describe Ukraine as anything more than a target set for Russia. Many had never visited Ukraine, or spoken with Westerners—including members of allied training missions who had served there—who might have had different and better-informed views.
[Read: Ukraine was biding its time]
Possibly most disturbing, the two of us discovered just how small and insular the world of Russian-military analysis was. Think-tank political scientists with narrow specialties had enormous influence in a community whose incentives, unlike those in more vibrant academic disciplines, were for consensus rather than vigorous debate. Many authors made oracular pronouncements and seemed to resent serious questioning by outsiders, even including retired senior military.
We do not doubt prominent analysts’ smarts or honest intentions. But we were reminded of how some public-health experts acted in the early days of the coronavirus pandemic: confidently rendering judgments, dismissing doubts about them, excluding other experts—such as child psychologists, on the question of closing or opening schools—with relevant expertise different from their own.
Many in the public-health community have since engaged in some introspection. Russia experts have shown little such self-awareness, let alone self-criticism. The same experts continue to appear in the same forums, visit the White House, and brief an intelligence community that largely shares its views.
What is troubling is that analytic failures can happen again in any setting where small groups of experts in a particular country exercise outsize influence. Let’s hope analysts of the People’s Liberation Army will take a different approach if tensions with China continue to escalate.
“You should never trust experts,” the late-19th-century British Prime Minister Lord Salisbury famously wrote. “If you believe the doctors, nothing is wholesome: if you believe the theologians, nothing is innocent: if you believe the soldiers, nothing is safe. They all require to have their strong wine diluted by a very large admixture of insipid common sense.”
The correctives for recent intelligence failures do not include, obviously, chucking expertise altogether. But our report shows why, especially in moments of crisis, governments and the public need to hear from a wide variety of experts, demand relentless commonsense questioning, and, above all, create incentives for open, sharply expressed disagreement on fundamental issues. Expertise is not a form of occult knowledge, and those of us who consume expert opinion should always do so with a strong dose of skepticism. The analytic failure in Ukraine makes a strong case for something so often lacking in military analysis and the academic world more generally: intellectual humility.
theatlantic.com