When the scandal surrounding the Estonian Academy of Arts' announced boycott of Israeli universities broke out, it sparked significant discussion within my social media bubble. In one debate, a prominent cultural figure expressed opposition to all boycotts, including the severing of ties between Estonian universities and Russian academic institutions at the onset of Russia's full-scale war against Ukraine. This inspired me to engage in a thought experiment: what would have happened if academic relations with Russian universities and institutes had not been severed?

Critics of the boycott of Russian universities, both in Estonia and abroad, heavily criticized Estonian universities' decision. Their main argument was — and remains — that staff and students at Russian universities are critical of President Vladimir Putin and opposed to the war.

I'm not sure where this myth originated. Yes, there were some universities in Russia, primarily in Moscow, St. Petersburg and Novosibirsk, where opposition-minded students and academics were indeed prominent. But nowhere was this unanimity universal. To be precise, I know of only one Russian university where almost everyone has been system-critical since the annexation of Crimea in 2014.

In reality, Russia's academic circles mirror the society at large. In cities where opposition views are stronger, these sentiments are more prevalent among university communities. Conversely, in cities where loyalty and obedience to the authorities dominate, university staff and students reflect these tendencies.

Immediately after Russia launched its full-scale war against Ukraine, over a hundred university rectors in Russia signed a joint letter expressing support for their beloved president and his "special military operation." I know of at least one signatory who undoubtedly signed the letter only to shield their university from potential repercussions. Professional associations, including my own Russian colleagues in the Association of Anthropologists and Ethnologists of Russia, also issued support statements.

That was just the beginning. One of the first directives from Russia's Ministry of Education stated that publications in Western scientific journals would no longer be considered a benchmark for academic success. This announcement was met with celebration in Russia, as most Russian scientists — save for a small handful — simply lack the ability or resources to publish in Western journals.

Another process, which received little attention in Estonia, was the voluntary "purge" that began at most Russian universities. Since academic communities often know the political leanings of their colleagues, many universities dismissed numerous professors and researchers almost overnight, regardless of whether they had publicly spoken out against the war. A close friend of mine was fired in this manner during the war's first week from MGIMO, the Moscow State Institute of International Relations, and his course was canceled.

As the full-scale war broke out, a mass exodus from Russia followed. For those who remember, the Narva Bridge had six- to seven-hour queues on the Russian side. Among those fleeing were many academics and researchers. Some universities immediately fired these fleeing staff, while others allowed them to continue teaching via Zoom. A significant number of these displaced academics found new positions in Europe and Central Asia. Regardless, Russia lost a substantial portion of its top scientific talent.

At the same time, a culture of surveillance began to thrive within Russian universities, targeting both faculty and students. Often, colleagues reported on each other or students reported on fellow students. Over time, paranoia grew and so did the number of people who considered it their patriotic duty to denounce others. In some cases, this led to legal action. In the last two years, at least two Russian scientists have been prosecuted and convicted of passing classified information to foreign countries. Paradoxically, both were accused of collaborating with Russia's strongest ally, China.

Another wave of repression occurred during the second year of the war. Academics living abroad who criticized Russia's aggression against Ukraine began being labeled as foreign agents. By then, universities had already been thoroughly silenced, often through internal initiatives.

One of my anthropologist colleagues worked in recent years at a Moscow university known for its opposition-friendly environment. Historically, political organizations loyal to the regime had found no foothold there. But times had changed. When my colleague, by then living abroad, was labeled a foreign agent for their critical statements, the university not only dismissed them but also erased all references to them from its website, including records of publications produced under the university's auspices.

Today, only two or three private universities remain in Russia where critical and opposition-minded individuals have not been purged. In state universities, such individuals were long ago dismissed or have learned to keep silent and maintain a low profile. One could argue that any form of system-critical thinking in Russian universities is now dead.

The fact that system-critical thinking has been eradicated from Russian universities is not the fault of Estonian universities. This was orchestrated by Russian higher education and research institutions themselves, often voluntarily and with great enthusiasm. If Estonian universities were to collaborate with their Russian counterparts, we would only be dealing with loyal, regime-supporting and opportunistic Russian academics and students.

Continuing official cooperation would also enable Russian influence campaigns. This would give Russia, through its academics, the chance not only to disseminate propaganda but also to demonstrate that nothing has changed in Russia, that life continues as normal and that the war in distant Ukraine has not affected Russian society, its economy or way of life in any meaningful way.

What continued collaboration with Russian academic institutions would certainly not foster is the existence of opposition sentiment or protest movements within Russian society. These have already been thoroughly eradicated and suppressed by Russia's own people and institutions.

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