This article originally appeared at Brookings.

March 18 marks the fifth anniversary of Russia’s illegal annexation of Crimea, which capped the most blatant land grab in Europe since World War II. While the simmering conflict in Donbas now dominates the headlines, it is possible to see a path to resolution there. It is much more difficult with Crimea, which will remain a problem between Kyiv and Moscow, and between the West and Russia, for years—if not decades—to come.

THE TAKING OF CRIMEA

In late February 2014, just days after the end of the Maidan Revolution and Victor Yanukovych’s flight from Kyiv, “little green men”—a term coined by Ukrainians—began seizing key facilities on the Crimean peninsula. The little green men were clearly professional soldiers by their bearing, carried Russian weapons, and wore Russian combat fatigues, but they had no identifying insignia. Vladimir Putin originally denied they were Russian soldiers; that April, he confirmed they were.

By early March, the Russian military had control of Crimea. Crimean authorities then proposed a referendum, which was held on March 16. It proved an illegitimate sham. To begin with, the referendum was illegal under Ukrainian law. Moreover, it offered voters two choices: to join Russia, or to restore Crimea’s 1992 constitution, which would have entailed significantly greater autonomy from Kyiv. Those on the peninsula who favored Crimea remaining a part of Ukraine under the current constitutional arrangements found no box to check.

The referendum unsurprisingly produced a Soviet-style result: 97 percent allegedly voted to join Russia with a turnout of 83 percent. A true referendum, fairly conducted, might have shown a significant number of Crimean voters in favor of joining Russia. Some 60 percent were ethnic Russians, and many might have concluded their economic situation would be better as a part Russia.

It was not, however, a fair referendum. It was conducted in polling places under armed guard, with no credible international observers, and with Russian journalists reporting that they had been allowed to vote. Two months later, a member of Putin’s Human Rights Council let slip that turnout had been more like 30 percent, with only half voting to join Russia.

Regardless, Moscow wasted no time. Crimean and Russian officials signed a “treaty of accession” just two days later, on March 18. Spurred by a fiery Putin speech, ratification by Russia’s rubberstamp Federation Assembly and Federation Council was finished by March 21.

ATTEMPTS TO JUSTIFY

Moscow’s actions violated the agreement among the post-Soviet states in 1991 to accept the then-existing republic borders. Those actions also violated commitments to respect Ukraine’s sovereignty, territorial integrity, and independence that Russia made in the 1994 Budapest Memorandum on Security Assurances for Ukraine and 1997 Ukrainian-Russian Treaty of Friendship, Cooperation and Partnership.

In late March 2014, Russia had to use its veto to block a U.N. Security Council resolution that, among other things, expressed support for Ukraine’s territorial integrity (there were 13 yes votes and one abstention). The Russians could not, however, veto a resolution in the U.N. General Assembly. It passed 100-11, affirming Ukraine’s territorial integrity and terming the Crimean referendum invalid.

Russian officials sought to justify the referendum as an act of self-determination. It was not an easy argument for the Kremlin to make, given the history of the two bloody wars that Russia waged in the 1990s and early 2000s to prevent Chechnya from exercising a right of self-determination.

Russian officials also cited Western recognition of Kosovo as justification. But that did not provide a particularly good model. Serbia subjected hundreds of thousands of Kosovar Albanians to ethnic-cleansing in 1999; by contrast, no ethnic-cleansing occurred in Crimea. Kosovo negotiated with Serbia to reach an amicable separation for years before declaring independence unilaterally. There were no negotiations with Kyiv over Crimea’s fate, and it took less than a month from the appearance of the little green men to Crimea’s annexation.

The military seizure of Crimea provoked a storm of criticism. The United States and European Union applied visa and financial sanctions, as well as prohibited their ships and aircraft from traveling to Crimea without Ukrainian permission. Those sanctions were minor, however, compared to those applied on Russia after it launched a proxy conflict in Donbas in April 2014, and particularly after a Russian-provided surface-to-air missile downed a Malaysian Air airliner carrying some 300 passengers.

Whereas Ukrainian forces on Crimea did not resist the Russian invasion (in part at the urging of the West), Kyiv resisted the appearance of little green men in Donbas. Before long, the Ukrainians found themselves fighting Russian troops as well as “separatist” forces. That conflict is now about to enter its sixth year.

Finding a settlement in Donbas has taken higher priority over resolving the status of Crimea—understandable given that some 13,000 have died and two million been displaced in the fighting in eastern Ukraine. Moscow seems to see the simmering conflict as a useful means to pressure and distract Kyiv, both to make instituting domestic reform more difficult and to hinder the deepening of ties between Ukraine and Europe.

Resolving the Donbas conflict will not prove easy. For example, the Kremlin may not be prepared to settle until it has some idea of where Ukraine fits in the broader European order, that is, its relationship with the European Union and NATO. But Russia has expressed no interest in annexing Donbas. While the seizure of Crimea proved very popular with the broader Russia public, the quagmire in Donbas has not. The most biting Western economic sanctions would come off of Russia if it left Donbas. At some point, the Kremlin may calculate that the costs outweigh the benefits and consent to a settlement that would allow restoration of Ukrainian sovereignty there.

Moscow will not, on the other hand, willingly give up Crimea. Russians assert a historical claim to the peninsula; Catherine the Great annexed the peninsula in 1783 following a war between Russia and the Ottoman Empire. (That said, Crimea was transferred from the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic to the Ukrainian Soviet Socialist Republic in 1954, and, as noted above, the republics that emerged from the wreckage of the Soviet Union in 1991 agreed to accept the borders as then drawn.)

Retaining Crimea is especially important to Putin, who can offer the Russian people no real prospect of anything other than a stagnant economy and thus plays the nationalism and Russia-as-a-great-power cards. He gained a significant boost in public popularity (much of which has now dissipated) from the rapid and relatively bloodless takeover of the peninsula. Moreover, it offers a vehicle for Russia to maintain a festering border dispute with Ukraine, which the Kremlin may see as discouraging NATO members from getting too close to Ukraine.

Kyiv at present lacks the political, economic, and military leverage to force a return. Perhaps the most plausible route would require that Ukraine get its economic act together, dramatically rein in corruption, draw in large amounts of foreign investment, and realize its full economic potential, and then let the people in Crimea—who have seen no dramatic economic boom after becoming part of Russia—conclude that their economic lot would be better off back as a part of Ukraine.

For the West, Russia’s seizure and annexation of Crimea pose a fundamental challenge to the European order and the norms established by the 1975 Helsinki Final Act. The United States and Europe should continue their policy of non-recognition of Crimea’s illegal incorporation. They should also maintain Crimea-related sanctions on Russia, if for no other reason than to signal that such land grabs have no place in 21st-century Europe.

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The Convention on Genocide defined the term as a variety of “acts against committed with the intent to destroy, in whole or in part a national, ethnical, racial, or religious group, as such.” Can you take us back to this moment in history—what was the context surrounding the convention and the origin of the term?

On the one hand, the convention reflected the intense lobbying, fervent commitment, and long-time interest of the Polish-Jewish international legal scholar, Raphael Lemkin, who coined the term “genocide” in 1944, after having escaped the Nazi takeover of Poland. On the other, it spoke to the needs of “international society” to outlaw the kinds of crimes committed by the Nazis against national and ethnic groups. In many ways, it was a backward looking document. It took a very long time for it to be ratified by the UN member nations (the U.S. ratified it only in 1988) and to become a part of international law in the way we think about it today. In fact, the convention was mostly forgotten and shelved until the 1990s with the war in Bosnia and the Rwandan Genocide.

What sparked your interest in this topic and inspired you to write this book?

I first began thinking seriously about questions related to genocide during the Balkan Wars of the early and mid-1990s. The murderous events in Bosnia, in particular, really shook me up, since I had spent quite a bit of time in the region as a graduate student and did not expect in the least the severe ethnic tensions that fueled war and genocide.

I tried to think comparatively about the historical phenomenon of genocide, and that led to a series of books about genocide in the twentieth century: Fires of Hatred; Stalin’s Genocides; and A Question of Genocide. After engaging the questions of students and scholarly audiences, I realized that genocide did not belong just to the twentieth century or just to Europe, but rather was the product of the enduring character of human societies. As a result, I started teaching a frosh seminar on “The World History of Genocide,” which, in turn, became the basis for this new book.

This book is really driven by student questions, discussions, and papers from that class. I dedicated the book to my students, many of whom have gone on to study human rights and international affairs at Stanford and beyond. The students really dug into the material and helped me understand how relevant it was to their own lives and their future.

In the book, you explore different cases of genocide throughout history. How has genocide changed over time? In what ways has it stayed the same?

From the beginning of human history, genocide has involved a political entity targeting a specifically designated group of people, sometimes within one’s territory and/or in another territory, and seeking their physical elimination. The motives for killing off a group, in the UN definition “in whole or in part” are less important in this view than the crucial question of intent.

There are several important “moments” in the history of genocide. One might be considered the Spanish conquest of the Americas in the sixteenth century, where the beginnings of “racial” thinking influenced the conquistadores’ massacres of indigenous peoples; another might be considered the development of the modern state following the French Revolution. The state, even in its democratic forms, can give rise to genocide.

The ideologies of communism and fascism in the mid-twentieth centuries played crucial roles in the development of genocide, and the interconnected complex of colonialism and post-colonialism also were important to the development of modern genocide. What scholars classify as “settler genocide” – when thinking about North America, the Antipodes, and Africa – was intimately linked to colonialism.

[[{"fid":"224942","view_mode":"crop_870xauto","fields":{"format":"crop_870xauto","field_file_image_description[und][0][value]":"Book cover for \"Genocide: A World History\"","field_file_image_alt_text[und][0][value]":"Book cover for \"Genocide: A World History\"","field_file_image_title_text[und][0][value]":"Book cover for \"Genocide: A World History\"","field_credit[und][0][value]":"","field_caption[und][0][value]":"","field_related_image_aspect[und][0][value]":"","thumbnails":"crop_870xauto"},"type":"media","attributes":{"alt":"Book cover for \\\"Genocide: A World History"","title":"Book cover for \\\"Genocide: A World History"","style":"width: 200px; height: 289px; margin-top: 8px; margin-right: 15px; float: left;","class":"media-element file-crop-870xauto"}}]]What are some of the challenges you’ve observed of reconciliation and forgiveness in societies that have experienced genocide?

Some scholars suggest that the history of genocide is best “forgotten,” as a way to help societies rebuild from the fierce blood-letting that genocide always involves. Revenge for past genocides sometimes provokes new conflicts. Most observers believe, however, that truth telling of one form or another—in courts, in local institutions, in cultural expression, and in historical and public discourse—is the best way to allow societies to recover.

Denial is almost always a part of genocide and its memory, which in turn makes reconciliation and forgiveness extraordinarily difficult. The involvement of international courts in convicting perpetrators of genocide has been, on balance, a positive development during the past quarter century. But the courts are frequently accused by the perpetrator populations of reflecting “victors’ justice” and political one-sidedness, which also impedes reconciliation.

Does your research shed any light on why such horrific events continue to take place, despite efforts to prevent them? Any silver linings or hope for the future?

There has been some empirical work on the incidence of violence and genocide over human history that demonstrates an overall downward trend in the percentage of people who die from violence and mass killing. The argument is that changing international norms about genocide have served to impede political leaders from turning to mass murder as a weapon of dealing with subject groups.

There are warning signs for genocide that range from increasing racism and xenophobia among societies and their political leaders to the ever-present threat of authoritarianism and the construction of police states, which make carrying out mass killing easier than in decentralized and democratic states.

The bottom line is that international institutions, laws, and norms do help impede the eruption of genocidal situations, but there are few guarantees and the international system works very slowly – think about the mass murder of the Yazidi Kurds or the bombardment of Aleppo now – when there is little agreement about how to intercede.

What additional questions did your research raise?

There is a deep gender component to genocide that needs to be explored further. Perpetrators do not treat women and men the same. There are important issues of rape and sexual exploitation involved in genocide, and, especially in the early history of genocide, women are more often than not captured and enslaved, rather than eliminated. The perpetrators themselves are almost always men – though there are frequently also women involved.

There are other dynamics of genocide that need to be studied more carefully. For example, genocide is a process, usually unleashed by war, not a distinct “event” with a beginning and an end. It tends to accelerate to a crescendo and then slows down. It frequently spreads from one targeted people or group to another, with methods that evolve and change over time. The perpetrators “learn” in the process of genocide, which ends up causing much more damage to societies than might be anticipated. These are all very good reasons for interdiction, that is, stopping genocide before it accelerates and spreads.

How do you hope this book will inform discourse or perceptions about the subject?

I define genocide rather more broadly than most scholars, including social and political groups into a concept of genocide that was initially articulated by Raphael Lemkin, but deleted, primarily for political reasons, from the 1948 Genocide Convention itself. This allows us to look at communist genocides (in the Soviet Union, China, and Cambodia), as well as anti-communist ones (in Indonesia, East Timor, and Guatemala.) Approaching genocide in this way also helps us think about genocide as a historical and potential threat to groups within societies that are frequently subjected to stereotypes, de-humanization and “othering,” and sometimes to state discrimination and even mass killing, like homosexuals and the disabled during Nazi Germany.

In the end, I believe that improving our understanding of these processes can help identify warning signs of genocide and deter, if not always prevent, attacks on minority populations of various origins.

This article was originally published in Stanford Global Studies online news on December 8, 2016 and also appears on the Stanford Global Studies Medium page. 

For more information about the book, visit the Oxford University Press website.

Norman Naimark quoted in USA Today News on Aleppo.