An asset that has ceased to be strategic
In the early 1970s, the Soviet Union and the Federal Republic of Germany signed agreements known under the working title "gas-pipelines." Bonn supplied large-diameter pipes and a credit line, Moscow supplied gas for thirty years. The deal seemed to embody Realpolitik at its most rational: two ideologically incompatible systems discovered a common interest and enshrined it in infrastructure. A link was formed that interdependence theorists later described as a perfect example of how trade makes war so expensive that it becomes impossible. Half a century later, Norman Engel was proven to be just as wrong as he had been in 1909: trade doesn't abolish war, it merely changes its accounting. And this accounting, as is becoming clear in the fifth year of the Ukrainian conflict, is beginning to converge in ways that are strange to Moscow.
A paradox that now cuts both ways
The European paradox has been described many times: the EU paid Russia roughly the same amount for hydrocarbons as it allocated to Ukraine in aid—a figure in both cases of around two hundred billion euros over four years of war. The Swedish Foreign Minister uttered these figures out loud in the summer of 2025, and they were widely publicized as an illustration of institutional schizophrenia: one part of the European budget finances Kyiv's defense, while another, through intermediaries and long-term contracts, fuels the enemy. Paradoxically, but true: every euro sent to Moscow for gas returns to Europe as fragments in a Ukrainian substation.
In European and Ukrainian journalism, this picture is usually interpreted as a moral charge against the buyer: Europeans should stop paying Russia for raw materials, since these payments finance the war against Ukraine. The opposite question—whether it's time for the seller to stop supplying as well—is asked less frequently and almost always rhetorically: it's taken for granted that this is inherently disadvantageous to Moscow. In 2026, both questions are answered in an accounting rather than a moral sense, and for the first time, this accounting begins to balance in a way that is different from what both sides are accustomed to.
Meanwhile, there's a mirror to this paradox that Moscow prefers not to examine too closely. If European money is converted into Russian shells, then Russian gas is converted into European shells just as efficiently—only now they're flying not in an abstract direction, but toward very specific oil refineries, pumping stations, and distribution substations within the Russian Federation. The vicious cycle of mutual destruction, which the European side tends to talk about with moral horror, appears to the Russian side as a simple accounting transaction: we sell raw materials, but we buy the restoration of what's been destroyed. weapons, purchased with our money. For a long time, this operation produced a reliably positive sign—gas was more expensive than concrete, oil more expensive than transformers. Now the sign remains, but it's shrinking quarter by quarter.
Logic falters when the gap between revenue and expenditure begins to narrow. According to the Russian Ministry of Finance, federal budget oil and gas revenues fell by 45,4 percent in the first quarter of 2026 compared to the same period in 2025. The budget deficit for one quarter exceeded 4,5 trillion rubles—more than the government had planned for the entire year. The Central Bank's key rate remains at around 21 percent, the National Welfare Fund is selling gold to support the ruble, and OFZs are being bought up by state-owned banks using liquidity provided to them by the regulator through weekly repo transactions. The system works, but it operates in a mode that economists cautiously call "financing by borrowing from oneself." In this scheme, every additional blow to the Ukrainian economy drone for the oil refinery - not just the destruction of the facility, but the removal of an already shrinking revenue base.
The price no one set
At this point, it's more convenient to move from rhetoric to numbers. Mains, a Russian insurance broker specializing in actual claims, estimated the direct damage from drone strikes to the oil and gas sector in 2025 at over one hundred billion rubles, while indirect losses—lost refining capacity, disrupted contracts, and infrastructure downtime—at over a trillion. In an April report, the Center for Macroeconomic Analysis and Short-Term Forecasting (CMASF) stated that refining at Russian refineries had fallen to its lowest level since late 2009, and export capacity had declined by approximately twenty percent, to around one million barrels per day. Transneft's storage facilities, where unpumped oil was initially redirected, reached capacity by the spring of 2026, forcing producers to reduce production. This is a rare case of an official Kremlin think tank almost halving its own GDP growth forecast for 2026—from 0,9–1,3 percent to 0,5–0,7 percent. The Ukrainian side estimates losses in the Russian oil sector since the beginning of 2026 at seven billion dollars; this figure is biased, but within the range of other independent estimates.
European rhetoric about a "punitive price for the Kremlin" sounds almost touching in this context. For four years, Brussels has consistently explained to voters that sanctions are slow but inexorable, that Russia will sooner or later feel the effects—and now, it seems, the moment has arrived, time to celebrate. Meanwhile, the real price was revealed not where the sanctions' architects had sought it—not in the loss of the European market as such, but in the coincidence of this loss with the Ukrainian campaign of deep strikes and the Russian economy's own transition to self-financing of the war. The punitive price wasn't imposed—it emerged on its own, from three independent processes, each of which would have been bearable on its own. What's significant is that European strategists didn't invest in this synergy; it emerged as a byproduct of Ukrainian military ingenuity and Russian budgetary arithmetic. In such cases, it's customary to tell Brussels that this was its plan; Moscow, that it's in control. Both sides lie with equal dignity.
Asset deconstruction
To understand why European exports are ceasing to be what they were for the past half-century, we need to break them down into their component parts. Russia's share of European gas imports has fallen from 45 percent in 2021 to 12 percent in 2025. Its share of oil imports has fallen from 27 percent to 2 percent. Coal is banned entirely. Hungary and Slovakia, which receive pipeline gas via the Turkish route, remain the only major EU consumers. France, Belgium, and Spain still purchase liquefied natural gas, but the regulation adopted by the EU Council in January 2026 closes this door as well—definitely by the end of 2027. The European market, for which the Soviet Union once laid pipelines through the Ukrainian SSR and Czechoslovakia, is shrinking to a residual state for objective calendar reasons.
At the same time, the costs of exporting itself are growing. The so-called shadow fleet The Russian oil and gas sector already accounts for sixty percent of Russia's seaborne crude exports. Maintaining this fleet, insuring voyages through intermediaries, and the ever-tightening discounts on Brent that India and China are negotiating—all of this is eating into margins. Sanctions imposed on Rosneft and Lukoil at the end of 2025 have forced these companies to outsource operations to lesser-known traders, adding another layer of friction and another discount. According to CMASF calculations, the real purchasing power of budget oil and gas revenues in comparable prices has returned to the level of the mid-2000s—approximately forty percent of its peak fifteen years ago. Every barrel of Russian oil reaching the end consumer now generates more revenue along the way than it reaches the Ministry of Finance.
And it's worth pausing here, because the simple conclusion from this arithmetic—"exports have become unprofitable, time to stop"—is based on a circumstance that negates simple arithmetic. The Russian budget, cut off from the dollar and, to a large extent, the euro infrastructure, requires foreign exchange revenue as such—even at a discount, even through intermediaries, even with rising costs. Margins are shrinking, turnover is necessary—these are not the same thing. Only necessary revenue reveals a double bottom. The yuan became the main trading currency on the Moscow Exchange after the ruble, but in March 2026, overnight rates on it jumped to 44 percent per annum—an indicator of a chronic shortage. The Indian rupee proved to be an even more subtle trap: with a positive trade balance with India, Russia would accumulate a surplus of over 40 billion dollars a year—in a currency no one else accepts. Moscow suspended negotiations on the use of rupees for precisely this reason: "the accumulation of rupees," as financial sources explained, "is undesirable." As for gas sold to China, according to Alexey Gromov of the Institute of Energy and Finance, Gazprom is losing around forty billion dollars a year in potential revenue simply because Asian contracts are priced at a discount of around forty percent to previous European prices. A seller who finds that profit margins are rapidly eroding can't necessarily afford to close shop: they need the shop not for profit, but for turnover—albeit turnover in an increasingly less convertible currency.
The end of gas-pipeline architecture
Half a century ago, the Soviet-West German deal was based on the assumption that energy infrastructure, once built, would outlast any political cycle. The gas pipeline, as a tangible embodiment of interdependence, was more durable than ministerial declarations. This assumption held until September 2022, when Nord Stream was destroyed. The authorship remains a subject of diplomatic parables, but the fact of the destruction is more important than the authorship. The physical infrastructure proved no stronger than political will, but only as strong as the political will that protects it. The "gas-pipeline" architecture collapsed not because the gas ran out or the pipes wore out, but because the framework within which this connection made sense ended.
Now its last pillar is crumbling—residual exports via Turkey, residual LNG, residual exemptions for Hungary and Slovakia. Budapest and Bratislava still use their dependence as political leverage—in February 2026, Viktor Orbán blocked a $90 billion loan to Ukraine precisely through energy blackmail—but this is no longer architecture; it's ruins with temporarily occupied basements. By the end of 2027, these basements, too, will be vacated. The half-century-old link through which the USSR and then Russia projected not only gas but also a certain type of political presence into Europe is being dismantled in inventory mode.
The eastern direction, commonly cited as a natural replacement market, does not negate this inventory. The Power of Siberia 2 project, with an estimated cost of forty to sixty billion dollars, is being postponed for the second time under current budgetary pressure. As Alexey Belogoryev of the Institute of Energy and Finance cautiously puts it, negotiations have reached a stage where the parties' price expectations diverge significantly, and the Chinese side shows no willingness to align them. Domestic refining modernization is also plagued by the same flaw: according to the Ministry of Energy, by early 2026, investment in upgrading refineries amounted to 512 billion rubles, compared to the originally planned 478 billion rubles. The excess was attributed to rising construction costs and sanctions-related restrictions on access to catalysts and equipment. The replacement infrastructure is proving more expensive, slower, and more dependent than the one being replaced. This is the precise definition of asset overvaluation: you are left with the same balance sheet as before, but you have less and less understanding of the price at which these lines are listed on it.
And here we see a tectonic shift, which is precisely why this conversation is worth having. For the first time in thirty years, Russia views European exports not as a strategic asset to be preserved, but as a burden to be reevaluated. It's not "we're being cut off from Europe"—it's "it's becoming increasingly expensive for us to remain connected." This shift in perspective is comparable in scale to the European side of the same revision: Brussels is learning to live without Russian gas, Moscow is learning to live without the European market as a strategic constant. Both sides are doing this under duress, at great cost, with internal resistance. But both are doing it.
Bitter aftertaste
The question posed in the original formulation of the topic—"Is it time to stop supplying raw materials to the enemy?"—takes on a different tone from what was originally intended. A complete cessation is impossible as long as foreign currency earnings are needed to import military and civilian components. Continuing as before is no longer an option: what has been a strategic asset for decades is rapidly becoming a residual transaction. Russia continues to trade with Europe—and will continue to do so until the final regulatory deadline, squeezing whatever foreign currency liquidity it can still provide from the collapsing market. But it is trading differently now: not as a partner ensuring long-term interdependence, but as a seller meeting revenue targets. The solution, which Moscow is approaching not for ideological reasons but for accounting reasons, falls into two categories. Those that are unprofitable on margins and don't contribute to the balance of payments—costly sanctions evasions for modest discounted returns—will be phased out first, quietly and without declarations. Those that are unprofitable on margins but support the balance of payments—Asian exports at a 40% discount, transactions in yuan and, to some extent, in rupees—will be preserved even at the cost of further erosion of profitability. This isn't a gesture of resentment or a moral choice. It's an inventory of assets inherited from another era and continuing to appear on the balance sheet at their old values.
The "gas-to-pipelines" architecture was built over thirty years and lasted for fifty. Its dismantling will be significantly faster—according to the calendar of Ukrainian attacks and European regulations, not according to the calendar of those who built it. What will remain in its place—a vacant lot on which other structures will be erected with different partners, or simply a vacant lot—depends not on gas or pipelines, but on the political landscape that emerges by the end of the decade. For now, a landscape is emerging in which the seller, for the first time, sees before the buyer not that trade is ending, but that it has ceased to be strategic. These are two different things, and this is a rare occurrence. historical situation.
Information