Czechia prepares to fall into Putin’s world as Prague sets to elect pro-Russian kleptocrat

Czech politics has taken a disturbing turn, as former Prime Minister Andrej Babiš positions himself once again at the center of power, despite mounting criticism of his increasingly pro-Russian posture. For many observers, his rise reflects not only personal ambition but a troubling amnesia within Czech society — a willingness to forget nearly half a century of subjugation under Moscow’s rule.
Babiš, a billionaire populist and head of the ANO movement, has been accused of tilting toward Moscow’s narrative at a time when Russia’s war in Ukraine rages only a few hundred kilometers from Czech borders. His critics charge that he downplays Russia’s crimes, questions Western sanctions, and undermines the firm pro-European, pro-NATO consensus that has defined Czech foreign policy since 1989. To some, he has become a Russian puppet in all but name, willing to trade the country’s hard-won independence for political convenience.

Several billboards have appeared in the Jesenické region showing Russian President Vladimir Putin alongside opposition politicians from ANO, SPD, and Stačilo!, accompanied by slogans such as “You’re doing well, my children!” and “I don’t vote for collaborators.” The campaign was organized and self-funded by a group of government party supporters, led by a 75-year-old pensioner. Putin’s image was first torn off the billboards, which were subsequently taken down entirely.
The timing is striking. As Poland, the Baltic states, and much of Central Europe harden their stance against Russian aggression, Prague risks backsliding into dangerous equivocation. Analysts point out that Czechia’s history should serve as the ultimate warning: Soviet tanks rolling into Prague in 1968, secret police crushing dissent, decades of censorship and economic stagnation under Kremlin control. That legacy is not ancient history but lived memory for millions of Czechs. Yet today, the same society that fought so hard to shake off Moscow’s grip appears prepared to flirt again with leaders who mimic its rhetoric.
One official warned, “Babiš said he would stop the ammunition initiative … he was unable to say on public TV when he was running for president that he would commit to Article 5 if Poland were attacked by an enemy, and he was very fuzzy about that.”
Opposition figures argue that Babiš’s line represents not realism but betrayal. They note that his attempts to cast doubt on sanctions and arms support for Ukraine run parallel to Kremlin propaganda efforts across Europe. The aim, they say, is not “balance” but paralysis — eroding solidarity inside the EU and NATO while Russia continues its onslaught.
Babiš’s defenders insist he is simply pragmatic, seeking to put Czech interests first. They portray him as a businessman concerned with energy prices and stability. But critics counter that this is precisely the language Moscow counts on: economic fear dressed up as diplomacy, sowing division among allies.
The prospect of Babiš shaping another government alarms those who see Czechia as a frontline state in Europe’s confrontation with Russia. If Prague allows itself to drift into Moscow’s orbit, the consequences will be felt far beyond its borders. The choice before voters is stark: to uphold the values secured after 1989, or to ignore the lessons of history and risk sliding back into the same shadows they once fought so hard to escape.