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The start of Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine four years ago changed the landscape in Europe, but also in Latin America. Relations between Moscow and this region had never been as close as they became starting in the second decade of the 21st century. Since Vladimir Putin came to power in 2000, political rapprochement was consolidated through numerous state visits, high-level meetings, contacts with regional and non-governmental organizations, and an increased presence of Russian media. Evidence of these ties is that Russia became the extra-regional country with the most bilateral documents signed with Argentina: 77 between 2008 and 2022.
That February 24, 2022—the start of what the Russian president called a "Special Military Operation"—was a breaking point. In Argentina alone, positive perception of Russia plummeted from over 50% to less than 30% between 2020 and 2023, with similar numbers across the rest of Latin America. Simultaneously, there was a decline in formal diplomatic relations; Russian embassies adopted a notably lower profile, and local governments sought to distance themselves from the Kremlin. This has been the case since Javier Milei took office (notably, Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky attended his inauguration), but it was also true during the final stage of Alberto Fernández’s term.
However, Russia has not disappeared from the map. Those formal relations have been replaced by informal connections and influence networks spanning alternative spaces. Over the last four years, local organizations seeking to strengthen ties with Moscow in commercial, cultural, or academic matters have emerged, joined by the growing role of public figures such as journalists, academics, and influencers. For example, the Center for Integration and Cooperation between Russia and Latin America (CICRAL) and the Alliance for Authentic Development and Russo-Ibero-American Cooperation (ADACRI) were both founded in 2024.
Russia’s presence is consolidated through media outlets, ranging from RT—its official television channel, which maintains its second most important Latin American office in Buenos Aires after Mexico City—to smaller local outlets like Radio Rebelde, Luis D’Elía’s network. Furthermore, Moscow has maintained and even increased its offer of scholarships and student events.
These influence networks appeal to diverse and broad political sectors, using ideologically ambiguous discourses that offer each group what it wants to hear. The primary targets are those identifying with far-left or far-right positions. In the former case, an anti-imperialist narrative exploits traditionally strong anti-American sentiments in Latin America. To this audience, Russia presents itself as a counterweight to NATO (relevant here is Argentina’s claim over the Falkland Islands, a territory controlled by the UK, a NATO member) and a promoter of a new "multipolar" world where U.S. influence wanes. For the latter group—conservative right-wingers—Moscow increasingly uses these networks to portray itself as the supposed last bastion of traditional values against the West’s progressive agenda, especially regarding LGBT+ issues. It also presents itself as a strict, stable, and socially orderly country. Crime and drug trafficking, major problems in Latin America, seem non-existent in Putin’s repressive Russia. In both cases, economic urgencies and the time elapsed since the start of the war in Ukraine—which has caused the topic to fade from media agendas—help the cause.
The next target audience is the political opposition to the Milei government, primarily Peronism, the party with which Russia signed 63 bilateral documents during the terms of Cristina Kirchner and Alberto Fernández. If Milei distances himself from Russia, at least one sector of the opposition seeks to draw closer, whether out of ideology or pragmatism—to promote greater commercial exchange or simply as a way to differentiate themselves before the electorate.
On the other hand, renewed relations also rest on commercial connections. While Latin America is far from being Russia’s main client or provider, that does not mean Moscow is disinterested. As early as 2016, the Kremlin’s Ministry of Foreign Affairs published the "Foreign Policy Concept of the Russian Federation," which noted the need to "continue comprehensively strengthening relations with the countries of Latin America and the Caribbean, taking into account the growing role of this region in world affairs." Russia possesses a highly developed industry in both the agricultural market (particularly in fertilizers) and the energy sector (nuclear energy and hydrocarbons). The relevance of trade and cooperation in both sectors lies not in immediate economic benefits from exports, but in their political impact: they can be used as tools of coercion by consolidating long-term asymmetric dependence in key industries, thus helping to secure lasting influence in the region.
A clear example is Brazil’s agribusiness, which represents 25% of its GDP and depends heavily on Russian fertilizers. In 2022 alone, it imported $5.6 billion, a 300% increase over 2020; by 2024, Russia controlled over 40% of that market. That same year, Russia began providing the South American giant with approximately 40% of its diesel imports, becoming the fifth-largest importer of Russian fuel products. A similar situation occurred in Bolivia, where Moscow invested heavily in developing the country’s gas and lithium resources. The development of these strategic relations has been directly backed by Kremlin officials and has been fundamental in Brazil and other regional countries refusing to support sanctions against Russia.
Separating trade from geopolitics seems simple and can appear pragmatic. So much so that almost the entire world does it. But in authoritarian regimes, the state and large corporations go hand in hand. Every 50-year infrastructure contract or every dependency on basic supplies limits the possibility of making sovereign decisions.
The goal, then, is not necessarily to win support, reach mass popularity, or have the majority of Latin Americans back Putin. The strategy aims to achieve a certain degree of neutrality in the region, fragmenting the Western consensus and creating a level of dependence such that countries cannot act against the Kremlin’s interests in international forums. Russia only needs key sectors (economic, political, academic) to replicate its messages for ideological or pragmatic reasons. This is called elite capture.
When a prestigious analyst repeats a Russian narrative ("Zelensky is a dictator," "neo-Nazi groups control Ukraine"), the public likely views it not as propaganda, but as expert opinion. This borrowed credibility gives Russia a permanence in the debate that official media cannot achieve, especially in a context of falling positive imagery among Latin Americans. Selective disinformation and media construction for the international market help create a narrative in which Russia appears to have no serious problems with infrastructure, corruption, insecurity, censorship, or repression. This narrative is strong due to consistency and the ideological affinity of certain sectors, but also because it is a geographically distant country that few Latin Americans have the chance to visit.
Russia’s communications war—the imposition of a narrative—does not necessarily seek to win support, but to generate distrust in the system, exploit internal societal divisions, and capitalize on chaos. Recall RT’s motto: "Question More." It is not about convincing, but confusing. It’s the "yes, the Russians might lie, but everyone else does too" argument. This is an extremely effective tool in contexts of discontent, and Latin America—with its inequalities, lack of infrastructure, poverty, institutional weakness, and crime—is a region where discontent is plentiful. When combined with the capture of elites who validate narratives, key economic sectors where Russia seeks to create dependence, and parties seeking economic and political support while at odds with Western institutions or governments, the strategy works.
Four years after the start of the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the most urgent warning Latin America can give the rest of the world is that the collapse of institutional trust is not a slow process, but a fire that spreads through cynicism. This region is the canary in the coal mine for global democracies because it demonstrates what happens when the Russian narrative (and that of other authoritarian actors) finds fertile ground in inequality and broken promises. Russia does not need to create problems; it only needs to amplify those that already exist. When voters feel that democracy alone does not put food on the table, educate, or heal, the rhetoric of order, stability, and "anti-system" from authoritarian figures becomes almost irresistible—especially if endorsed by increasingly broad and visible informal influence networks.
The warning from the Global South in this context is, therefore, that cynicism is more dangerous than a lie, regardless of where the message comes from. Once society accepts that "everyone lies"—the core of RT’s narrative—the capacity for collective action is lost. If there is no truth, there is no accountability, and without accountability, the path is cleared for authoritarianism.
