The Kremlin’s classroom: how Moscow manipulates global academia

In December 2021, months before Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, Hosaka spoke at a meeting of the Association of Ukrainian Studies in Japan. He showed how pro-Russian narratives had quietly permeated even elite academic circles. Examining Japanese academic publications, he found that most of those written in 2014–2015 relied heavily on Russian sources and repeated familiar myths: a “civil war in Ukraine,” “oppression of the Russian language,” and a “nationalist threat.”

The reason, Hosaka explained, was simple. At that time, Japan had seventy-eight Russian studies scholars for every one expert on Ukraine. As a result, Ukraine was viewed almost entirely through Russian lenses — and even well-intentioned researchers often fell into the trap of imperial interpretation.

This is not just a Japanese problem. Wherever local voices are missing, Russian narratives fill the vacuum. For years, Moscow has invested in what it calls academic diplomacy: exchange programs, conferences, and cultural centers that use universities as convenient façades for influence. Inside Russia, however, academia itself has become a stage prop. Universities now function as branches of the security services, with so-called “First Departments” monitoring scholars, students, and international contacts.

Hosaka’s latest work takes this analysis further. His article in Studies in Higher Education details how Russian intelligence has been institutionalized within the education system — and how it exploits international academic structures to legitimize the regime. The study has already sparked wide discussion in Times Higher Education, opening a new chapter in the global debate on academic freedom and security.

Academic freedom under fire: How Russia’s control system works

In contemporary Russia, the notion of academic freedom has lost all meaning. As Hosaka shows, universities are now part of the country’s security vertical — spaces of surveillance rather than inquiry. Major institutions host “First Departments,” internal FSB offices that report directly to the security service. Many vice-rectors for international cooperation or “information protection” are in fact active FSB officers on assignment.

They monitor every aspect of academic life: professors’ foreign travel, post-visit reports, pre-publication reviews, and even students’ social media activity. Any “unpatriotic” comment can trigger a “preventive conversation.” The result is a climate of fear and self-censorship, where universities lose their autonomy and effectively become extensions of the security apparatus.

This is not a collection of isolated cases — it is an institutionalized system. Over two decades of Putin’s rule, it has erased what little independence academia once had. As Hosaka writes, this control undermines not only the institutional freedom of universities but also the personal freedom of scholars — their right to research, publish, travel, and express views without fear. “Most remain silent,” he notes in Times Higher Education, “because they are uncertain even about their own employment.”

The outer perimeter of influence

If repression governs Russian academia from within, seduction works beyond its borders. Under the guise of cultural diplomacy, conferences, and academic exchanges, Moscow pursues a subtler form of intelligence work — one that takes advantage of academia’s openness to shape global narratives.

Hosaka describes a familiar triad of tactics used by Russian intelligence and its affiliated networks:

• Control of research topics: Only “safe” projects are encouraged — those that do not question state policy.

• Recruitment through exchanges: Scholars are drawn into “peacebuilding” or “alternative analysis” initiatives, giving them a sense of moral legitimacy.

• Networks of sympathizers: Participants rarely see themselves as agents, yet they unconsciously reproduce Kremlin narratives within their work.

In practice, Russia exports self-censorship. Western scholars who study the Russian military, politics, or corruption are often warned that visas will be denied or “field data” will vanish. Many soften conclusions, avoid sensitive topics, or change research directions altogether. The result is a shadow zone where critical information disappears before it can be published.

Hosaka pays special attention to academics who present themselves as “independent critics” of the West, NATO, or sanctions. They are invited to conferences, awarded symbolic honors, and given media visibility — rewarded, as he puts it, through “ego massage.” The outcome is a network of seemingly autonomous individuals who sincerely, even enthusiastically, echo Kremlin talking points under the guise of “dialogue.”

The most visible platform for this strategy is the Valdai Discussion Club, which Hosaka calls “a showcase of regime legitimation.” Its participants sit alongside Putin and are quoted across Russian state media, creating the illusion of open dialogue between “the West” and “Russia.” In reality, it is a scripted performance directed by the security services.

The Ukrainian dimension: When “Academic diplomacy” drops its mask

Behind the façade of “dialogue,” Russia’s academic system is fully politicized — and directly complicit in war. After Feb. 24, 2022, the Russian Union of Rectors, representing more than 700 university leaders, signed a public letter supporting the invasion of Ukraine. The Russian Academy of Sciences issued similar statements, and several universities openly raised funds for the military.

Russia does not only occupy territory — it occupies knowledge. It seizes universities, laboratories, archives, journals, even their ISSN identifiers. At least 289 higher education institutions in occupied Ukrainian regions have been taken over and converted into pseudo-universities serving Russian propaganda.

In these territories, Russian curricula are imposed, students and schoolchildren are deported to Russia, and education itself becomes a tool of indoctrination. This is not incidental — it is a deliberate policy of intellectual colonization.

When we describe universities as a “battlefield of hybrid warfare,” we are not speaking metaphorically. It encompasses internal repression within Russia, “soft power” abroad, and the physical and legal annexation of Ukrainian academic space — followed by its international normalization.

Academic naivety is a luxury we can no longer afford

Hosaka’s study does not reveal isolated cases but a system — how Russia’s intelligence agencies embedded themselves into universities and used Western openness as a conduit for influence. His research draws on declassified Soviet intelligence manuals, Russian laws and regulations, and journalistic investigations, tracing a clear “chain of influence” from domestic control to global legitimization.

In his Times Higher Education interview, Hosaka said he deliberately chose a higher education journal, not a security studies one, to bring this topic into the mainstream of university policy and risk management. His goal is straightforward: to make higher education professionals aware of how autocratic regimes weaponize academic exchange.

The article ends not with alarmism but with a call to action — to document cases, educate academic communities, and create due diligence standards for collaboration and data protection. In short, to move from moral outrage to procedural defense of academic autonomy.

For Ukrainians, this analysis feels painfully familiar. For years, “friendship and cooperation” masked imperial control; cultural exchanges served as instruments of influence; and “academic partnerships” became mechanisms of legitimization. Russia seizes not only cities but also universities, journals, and scientific identities.

Yet universities around the world still act as if this does not concern them. They continue to publish, host, and invite Russian scholars, insisting that “science is above politics.” But, as Hosaka reminds us, neutrality in the face of tyranny is not a moral stance — it is complicity.

That is why Ukrainian researchers have proposed a simple but powerful measure: to accompany every mention of Russian academic or cultural institutions with a note such as “an institution of the aggressor state against Ukraine.”This is not censorship — it is informational hygiene, the academic equivalent of labeling toxic content. Russian universities and academies are integral parts of a propaganda machine that, under the banner of “heritage,” sustains imperial myths.

Our task is not only to protect academic freedom but to ensure it cannot be used as a shield for authoritarian aggression. That requires clear rules for affiliations, editorial boards, and transparency about institutional origins.

Universities must learn to see the elephant in the lecture hall — not as metaphor, but as a real threat to intellectual sovereignty. For when science loses its ability to distinguish between freedom and manipulation, it ceases to be science — and becomes part of the war.