Russia is fast approaching another historic crossroad—teetering on the edge again and pulled in opposite directions by conflicting traditions, interests and expectations.

In one direction, there are the evolving values of democracy, rule of law, economic opportunity, civility, and collaborative foreign policy. In the other lie nostalgia for the lost Empire and iron-fisted despotism, suspicion, xenophobia and militarism.

The glaring contradictions of the Russian nation are epitomized by her current president Boris Yeltsin, who was described in the memoirs of his former press-secretary Vyacheslav Kostikov as a "capricious, willful, fond of drinking, pitiless, authoritarian, kind, courteous, polite, democratic" individual.

When the communist system collapsed in 1991 and Yeltsin took over the reigns of government, there was a general sigh of relief that the long East-West confrontation would finally came to an end. Many hoped that a new era was beginning in world affairs.

Yet the victory march of liberal ideas in New Russia—after a short-lived, heady, period following the abortive communist coup— never got off the ground. The mood of the country was a far cry from the euphoria exhibited in the West. Russia felt neither vanished nor liberated. The ingrained mentality of her people, who never experienced freedom, the limited vision of her leaders rooted in the bureaucratic mires of the party nomenclature, and the weakness and disunity of her democratic forces provided the psychological background for Russia's inability to face the realities of her new position in the world. Compounded by clumsy half-hearted economic reforms, the tension within the Russian society has reached a dangerous level. Inevitably, it resulted in the revival of communist sympathies and the emergence of hitherto dormant chauvinism.

Although communists and nationalists differ in their denunciation of Yeltsin reforms, they are unified in their interpretation of developments of the last decade as a national disgrace and humiliation. They fuel the popular discontent with moth-eaten stories about foreign conspiracies, agents of influence, Jewish penetration of the government, and Caucasian domination on the market.

Incapable of countering their opponent's ideological assault with any constructive ideas, the Yeltsin government has started picking up the slogans of the opposition in the hope to ride out the storm. The emphasis on Russia's greatness and the uniqueness of her historic destiny borrowed from the vocabulary of the communist-nationalist alliance has not been augmented by a blueprint of a better future, based on economic diversity, rule of law, and respect for human rights.

In the same vein, the foreign policy of the present Russian leadership has reanimated the old image of an omnipotent, invincible Russia instead of demonstrating, in words and in deeds, to the world and particularly to its neighbors that the new Russia has abandoned for good her imperial designs.

From the very beginning of Yeltsin rule, his treatment of the outside world reflected old Soviet thinking. Russian leaders never concealed their growing desire to reestablish closer ties with the former Soviet territories, but they were checked in their practical moves by Yeltsin's earlier declarations that the former Soviet republics may "have as much sovereignty as they can swallow."

Yeltsin's magnanimous gesture did not stand the test of time. The Baltic states, which always felt trapped by the Soviets, were completely alienated by Moscow's crude treatment of their independence and surged forward to cement their long craved for bonds with the West. Ukraine, the closest to Russia in blood, language and culture, has been treated like a stray sheep. However, to Moscow's amazement, Ukraine has displayed no docility toward Russian coercive tactics and encroachment on the Crimea. It stood firm in the negotiations over the Black Sea fleet, and as Russian pressure grow she started looking for allies in the Baltics, the Caucasus and across the Atlantic.

Classic imperialist policy, 19th century style, has led Russia to a near disaster in Transcaucasus and Chechnya. The conflict over Karabakh destroyed a delicate equilibrium in the early years of Gorbachev's perestroika as Armenia and Azerbaijan were deliberately pitted against each other in hopes to preserve Moscow's control over the republics. The new Russian leaders did nothing to mitigate the conflict. They poured arms to Armenia and secretly courted Baku. In Georgia, they publicly expressed support for her territorial integrity while simultaneously arming and inciting the Abkhaz separatists. The Kremlin's imperial intolerance of dissent, failure to comprehend the post-Soviet realities culminated in the tragedy of Chechnya. The small proud nation was subjected to most barbaric treatment just because it wanted a measure of independence from Russia.

However, in the case of Chechnya, the arrogance of power backfired. It revealed more than ruthlessness of Yeltsin and his cohorts, which was witnessed by millions of people throughout the world in 1993 when the Russian parliament was set on fire by tanks. The Chechen conflict demonstrated the essential weakness of the new regime: its insecurity and failure to draw into its orbit other people and nations by setting a shining example of economic prowess and advances in democratic reforms. Perhaps Russia's poor economic performance has produced the most devastating effect on her former possessions. Having survived the initial shock of separation and in their search for identity and new supports, they finally realized that they can survive independently without Russia. While the Transcaucasus (especially Georgia and Armenia) have been grappling with problems of self-preservation and survival relying partly on Russian props, the Central Asian republics have been steadily sliding away, bolstered by the promise of their natural wealth. The oil producing states of Central Asia and Azerbaijan have been deemed the new oil emirates of the next century.

Russia has been jealously and grudgingly watching the process of negotiations on "the deal of the century" —the Caspian Sea oil development project— and trying to get what she perceives as her fair share of the pie. However, it was the US White House—not the Kremlin—who convinced Azerbaijani president Heidar Aliyev to use the multiple routing option (through Russia and Georgia) for the export of early oil. By the end of last year as Yeltsin was recovering from his heart surgery, Russia had become largely isolated from her neighbors. Her grandeur turned into a catchword with empty purse, faltering economy, demoralized army, and rampant crime behind the facade. There was no clear-cut policy, no innovations, no fresh approaches, no vision. "Russia is fencing off the CIS," commented Kazakstan president Nursultan Nazarbaev, an early and ardent supporter of the now barely kicking Commonwealth of the Independent States (CIS).

As Yeltsin searched for allies in the face of an advancing NATO, he found only Belarusian president Alexander Lukashenko willing to join him in his anti-NATO stance. A desperate attempt to draw China into the Kremlin scheme brought about only a high-worded declaration of unbreakable friendship but no specific pledge to stand up to NATO's expansion.

Surprisingly, it was the rudely interrupted romance with the Belarusian ruler that exposed a deep cleavage among the Russian political elite on the issue of further integration with some of the former republics. It has also focused attention on the underlying and growing discussions within the Russian leadership on the future course of the country's foreign policy. These discussions have obviously grown more productive as the younger breed of Russian politicians entered the government. Their voice has been heard lately in a number of ways indicating that Russia is gradually turning away from old myths and paranoid fantasies and is tilting toward a more benign and sober assessment of the world.

The first move in the right direction was made by Yeltsin himself. It finally dawned on him that Russia ought to look for other solutions of the Chechen conflict rather than to go on with brutal and indiscriminate bombardment of Chechen towns and villages. Despite fierce resistance of his military and security aides and defying slashing attacks from the communist and national opposition, Yeltsin acted swiftly to reach an accord with the leaders of "the bandit formations." Initially he used the services of General Alexander

Lebed, his erstwhile rival and, briefly, political ally to negotiate a truce. He went even further by withdrawing Russian troops from Chechnya and granting a semblance of independence to the rebellious republic.

To believe that Yeltsin has suddenly turned peace-loving because of pricks of conscience would be highly misleading. Yeltsin and his new advisers feared that the flow of oil from the Caspian sea may bypass Russian territory and will gradually eliminate Russia's economic and political presence in the area.

The paradox of the current situation is that the threat of NATO's eastward expansion has compelled the Russian leadership to speed up the review of its foreign policy. Some of the most hawkish of Yeltsin's aides have been booted out of policy-making positions which intensified rumors about Foreign Minister Eugene Primakov's future. Yeltsin signature on the long-delayed friendship treaty with Ukraine is the latest in a series of agreements with the so called "near abroad." The Russian media now admits that the five-year long confrontation with Ukraine has been absurd. The improved relations with Moldova are treated in a similar spirit.

Of course, economic considerations have been playing a growing role, and they have made a shift possible, just as they made it impossible for the time being to merge with Belarus. It would be premature, however, to celebrate the victory of common sense. Trumpeting the great success of Russian diplomacy in signing a treaty with NATO, Yeltsin warned that Russia "will quickly re-think its relations" with the alliance if the latter dares to move on the admission of former Soviet republics to NATO. A Russian foreign ministry official was more explicit in his comments on the Paris accord for the "Itogi" TV program: "the territory of the former USSR is the zone of our interest, and we do not intend to cede it." The old mind-set and habits still persist.

Unless a coherent policy is worked out in Moscow's relations with its former republics that ties them to Russia in a natural way — for example, economically— all attempts to intimidate or blackmail them will most likely fail. In fact, it will lead to more estrangement, if not outright hostility, with its neighbors. (A typical Soviet dilemma born out of the communal living where sharing the same kitchen and bath was proclaimed as the future of mankind.)

Furthermore, the intransigence in dealing with its neighbors will inexorably and adversely affect Russia's improving relations with the West and at some point may strike even at the very foundation of Russia as a federated state. Separatist moods are on the rise in multinational Russia, and it is not only Moslem fundamentalists and admirers of secular Turkey who may pose threat to Russia's integrity. It is the unhappy regions of the Russian Far East and Siberia with China lurking in the background. It is Karelia and former Eastern Prussia. It is the vast stretches of arable lands from the Black Sea to the Caspian. It is the region a few hundred miles east of Moscow, especially Tatarstan, with its unpredictable president Mintimer Shaimiev. What then will remain of Great Russia? Moscovia?