Photo by Gaël Gaborel – OrbisTerrae on Unsplash
In Moscow this October, a seemingly apolitical gathering provided a clear insight into Russia’s evolving state ideology. The 17th Congress of the Russian Geographical Society, held at the Kremlin Palace, was not just about science or exploration. It was, in effect, a display of how Vladimir Putin’s regime combines culture, history, and strategy into a unified machinery of national mobilisation.
Putin personally addressed the congress, not as an observer but as head of the organisation’s board of trustees. The Russian Geographical Society, one of the country’s oldest learned institutions, has in recent years become a convenient vehicle for the Kremlin’s ideological ambitions. Its revival was driven by Defence Minister Sergei Shoigu, who has chaired it since 2009 and was re-elected at this meeting. What was once an academic society has evolved into a hybrid of a scientific club, a propaganda platform, and an elite network. The RGS brings together senior officials, oligarchs, and security figures, a microcosm of Russia’s power structure. Its media operations are overseen by Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov, who was publicly tasked by Putin to intensify information support for its projects.
This transformation exemplifies how the Russian state channels genuine intellectual curiosity into a tool of soft power. Exploration, once a quest for knowledge, has been redefined as a patriotic obligation aligned with national goals. In Putin’s rhetoric, even geography now serves a political purpose.
At the congress, he laid out what he described as strategic priorities. Foremost among them was the Arctic, which he called a space of future competition. He insisted that Russia must consolidate the efforts of the state, business, and society to secure dominance in the polar region. The message was clear: the Arctic is no longer merely a zone of scientific interest or economic opportunity, but a strategic frontier to be contested.
He then announced that 2027 would be declared the Year of Geography in Russia, describing the discipline as one of political significance. The move follows a familiar pattern where the Kremlin designates annual themes to shape national narratives and allocate resources. However, this decision came after a period of confusion. Earlier proposals had suggested naming 2027 the Year of the Arctic, while 2026 was to be dedicated to engineers and inventors. Then, at the Valdai Forum in early October, Putin unexpectedly declared 2026 the Year of Education in Russia and China.
Such inconsistency reveals more than bureaucratic disorganisation. It highlights how Russia’s cultural calendar mirrors political messaging. Each redefinition of purpose corresponds to a shift in the Kremlin’s geopolitical narrative — from partnership with China to technological sovereignty, and now to territorial imagination. The Russian Geographical Society positioned itself effectively in this shifting landscape. By securing 2027 as the Year of Geography, it incorporated the Arctic narrative. It tied it to several symbolic anniversaries: the bicentennial of Pyotr Semyonov-Tyan-Shansky and Grand Duke Konstantin Nikolayevich, both early leaders of the RGS, and 330 years since the annexation of Kamchatka. These references are deliberate; they link modern ambitions to imperial precedent.
Putin’s most revealing proposal was his call to introduce new official maps of Russia in 2027. On the surface, this seems like a technical or educational initiative. However, in the language of Russian politics, updating maps clearly carries territorial implications. The act would imply the resolution of what the Kremlin describes as territorial issues, a euphemism for the formalisation of occupied territories in Ukraine. Implicitly, Putin’s message was that by 2027, Russia aims to have achieved and formalised the outcomes of its war, with new borders reflected in national cartography. Geography becomes not only a metaphor but a method: a way of turning conquest into administrative normality.
Alongside this, Putin ordered the establishment of a National Museum of Geography, describing it as a project that should be the largest, most beautiful and most modern in the country. Presented as a cultural endeavour, the museum is part of a broader ideological infrastructure designed to aestheticise state policy and recast expansion as exploration.
Over the past twenty years, the Kremlin has weaponised history, literature, religion, and commemoration to strengthen its domestic control and justify foreign aggression. As these narratives lose their motivating power, geography now seems ready to take their place. The language of space, vastness, discovery, frontier, appeals to the Russian imperial subconscious. It offers a moral basis for expansion, portraying it as a natural extension of civilisation. By linking exploration with patriotism and mapping with sovereignty, the Kremlin is building a cultural logic that turns empire into a virtue.
The RGS sits at the centre of this transformation. Its projects span from Arctic expeditions to educational programmes and media production. Through documentaries, exhibitions, and school outreach, it presents Russia not as an aggressor but as a civilisational power reclaiming its rightful scope. It is a sophisticated form of cognitive warfare, one that shapes not only what citizens believe about their country, but what the world is encouraged to see as legitimate.
For European policymakers, this is more than just symbolism. The RGS continues its international activities, including involvement in Antarctic research and cooperation agreements with foreign scientific institutions. Although these partnerships may seem apolitical, they can serve as channels for influence, integrating the Kremlin’s geopolitical narratives into global academic networks. Caution is advised.
Scientific collaboration should continue, but engagement with Russian state-linked entities must be undertaken with a clear understanding of their political agenda. Beneath the veneer of discovery, there is a calculated strategy: to normalise imperial ambitions through the allure of knowledge. Until Russia experiences significant political change, even the most seemingly benign initiatives, mapping projects, cultural exhibitions, museums, should be viewed as part of a coordinated ideological mobilisation. The geographers acting under the Kremlin’s banner are no longer merely charting the world; they are attempting to redefine its moral boundaries.
