The weaponry used in the Russia-Ukraine war has been modern, but land remains the conflict’s most valuable strategic asset. And for Russia, the main value in land is not economic but political. Far from merely occupying Ukrainian territory, the Kremlin is quietly but efficiently converting military occupation into permanent ownership and global influence through land and agricultural policy.
Even as the conflict’s stipulated borders and peacekeeping mechanisms dominate the public discussion, the fate of any peace deal could turn on its treatment of the physical land that Russia occupies and the grain and other crops it produces there. Any peace deal that fails to consider these land policies will be a contradiction in terms.
The weaponry used in the Russia-Ukraine war has been modern, but land remains the conflict’s most valuable strategic asset. And for Russia, the main value in land is not economic but political. Far from merely occupying Ukrainian territory, the Kremlin is quietly but efficiently converting military occupation into permanent ownership and global influence through land and agricultural policy.
Even as the conflict’s stipulated borders and peacekeeping mechanisms dominate the public discussion, the fate of any peace deal could turn on its treatment of the physical land that Russia occupies and the grain and other crops it produces there. Any peace deal that fails to consider these land policies will be a contradiction in terms.
Land has always been crucial for politics, and control over it remains a fundamental strategy in winning any conventional war. Land confers immense economic, political, and social power to those who control it. Because land is central to livelihoods in the rural areas of eastern and southern Ukraine, and because the country’s fertile chernozem (black earth) is highly valuable for agricultural production, who holds that land—and how they hold it—determines who has political power.
Russia has accordingly sought to dominate and rewire occupied Ukraine through its imposition of Russian law and administration over the land. In the occupied territories, Russian authorities are forcing people off their land, stripping them of their ability to resist the occupation, and requiring others to reregister their land in Russian land registries—with the threat of losing it if they fail to comply.
For the residents of occupied Ukraine, the choice is stark: Compliance means acceptance of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s rule, whereas defiance might lead to financial ruin. Those who have left the region and become refugees might lose their property forever.
These policies also follow a time-tested playbook. States have long used land to strip their enemies of power and to assert new control and authority. From the Roman lex agraria to the Ottoman Land Code of 1858 to Venezuela’s 2001 Land Law, the requirement to reregister land can be used as an opportunity for land grabbing in an atmosphere of legal limbo. Throughout history, occupiers have used land ownership to repress or remove dissident populations, bring in loyalists, and assert control.
This is also a familiar Russian strategy of dominating Ukraine, having been employed at times ranging from Russia’s imperial expansion during the 18th century to the heydays of Soviet leader Joseph Stalin’s collectivization, famine, and mass deportations in the 1930s-1940s.
While Ukrainians are being pushed out, Russians are moving in. In the rapidly expanding land grab, Russian oligarchs and agricultural companies close to the Kremlin have already taken over large tracts of occupied cropland, according to the Wall Street Journal. Residents of occupied Ukraine estimate that tens of thousands of Russian citizens have already moved to these territories, lured by prospects of cheap or free real estate that formerly belonged to Ukrainians who have been killed or displaced by the Kremlin.
The implications of Russia’s land policies in occupied Ukraine will shape the future of the region—and potentially the world. Any cease-fire that stops the fighting but fails to address the Kremlin’s land grab will make it impossible to describe Ukraine’s territory as merely “occupied” by Russia. Allowing Russia to control, register, and reallocate land as it pleases will eventually make the area into a de facto fully Russian territory.
The Kremlin is also using its control of Ukrainian land to advance Russia’s global influence. In the global south, Moscow’s standing is strong, allowing it to circumvent sanctions, obtain foreign soldiers, gain diplomatic support, and continue the war in Ukraine. That standing turns on Russia’s control of land and its use of that land for influence in the global grain market.
While the United States and its allies have spent considerable effort to curtail Russia’s geopolitical leverage through controls on its exports of oil and gas, Western policymakers consistently ignore Russia’s even more potent tool of global influence—bread.
Russia has only recently gained dominance on the global grain market. Traditionally, the Soviet Union was a major importer of grain. Both it and the Russian Empire before it were brought down by food shortages, and as late as 1999, Russia had to rely on Western food aid to feed itself.
This changed in mid-2000s, when the Kremlin adopted a long-term strategy to make agriculture a priority in order to shield Russia from dependence on imported food. In less than 15 years, Russia switched from being an importer of wheat to the world’s largest exporter; it now controls about a quarter of global wheat trade.
Historically, for Russia’s leaders, food is a weapon. Starting in the 1920s, famines in which millions perished were used by Soviet authorities to destroy and subjugate dissident social groups and regions.
Dmitry Medvedev, a former Russian president and the country’s current deputy secretary of the Security Council, explicitly refers to grain as Russia’s “silent but fearsome” ammunition, suggesting it could be used against countries opposed to the Kremlin’s war. Russian state media has also threatened to stop food supplies to “unfriendly” countries.
In October 2024, Russia even proposed the creation of a grain exchange among the BRICS nations (Brazil, Russia, India, China, South Africa, and several recently added members) in what Nikkei referred to as a possible “OPEC for wheat,” in which Russia would be an undisputed leader.
The war against Ukraine has only strengthened Russia’s grip over the global grain supply. Whereas the West managed to limit the Kremlin’s ability to use oil and gas as geopolitical weapons, Russian agriculture and agricultural exports have largely been shielded from sanctions in an effort to avoid disruptions to global food supplies.
Since February 2022, Russia’s wheat exports have risen significantly, increasing by 24 percent from 2022-23 to 2023-24. In the Middle East and North Africa, regions that are heavily dependent on grain imports for food security and stability, reliance on Russian grain only deepened after the Kremlin’s 2022 invasion.
This increase is not simply a result of Russia producing more. Russia’s growing global share and expanding exports in the grain industry are a direct outcome of its devastation of Ukraine, another major agricultural producer, and its seizure of Ukrainian grain. Arrangements that encourage Ukraine’s own exports are simply not sufficient to compensate for the wreckage caused by the war.
The implications of Russia’s quest for dominance through grain are profound. In 2010, Russia’s position on the global grain market was much more modest, with 15 percent of the global export share. But when a drought prompted it to ban grain exports that year, many Middle Eastern and North African countries struggled to compensate for the lost grain, and the subsequent food crisis contributed to the outbreak of the Arab Spring.
Now, Putin is doing it again: After the fall of the Kremlin-allied regime of Bashar al-Assad, Russia quickly suspended grain shipments to Syria, contributing to an economic crisis. If Russia continues to cut grain exports for geopolitical reasons or because of domestic shortages, the fallout could be a global wave of instability, food insecurity, and migration.
The West therefore should recognize the dangers and the long-term impact of Russia’s land policies in occupied Ukraine and act accordingly. Otherwise, even if Ukraine manages to liberate its territories sometime in the future, it will have to confront a new structure of land ownership, deals, and land transfers that have been carried out outside of Ukraine’s legal and administrative framework—and the conflicting ownership claims that will result.
Experience from other conflicts shows that such situations often result in an overloaded legal system, economic inefficiency, political resentment, and potentially large-scale violence. After years of war and devastation, the Ukrainian government simply will not have enough capacity to meet this challenge on its own.
Any future cease-fire agreement should thus prevent Russia from unilaterally changing land ownership policies in occupied Ukraine. The United States and European Union should not lift sanctions or normalize relations with the Kremlin while it continues to grab Ukrainian land. Ukraine’s partners and international bodies such as the World Bank should also work with Kyiv to monitor land ownership structures in the occupied areas and prepare the legal and administrative tools to mitigate the impact of Russia’s land policies if these regions return to Ukraine.
It will also be important to use every available instrument to counter Russia’s ability to unleash a global food security crisis for political benefit. This could involve punishing anyone who illegally benefits from the illicit trade in grain from occupied Ukraine.
But policymakers should also promote and subsidize alternatives to Russian grain—including in Ukraine itself. That will be the only way to prevent Russia’s use of Ukrainian land as a weapon against the world.
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