It started with the Great Resource Detachment.
Europe heroically pulled the plug on Russian oil, gas, and minerals.
In so doing, it bravely forfeited affordability and supply stability across the whole continent. Make no mistakes, Russia shrugged off the loss and swiftly rechanneled those revenues into a homegrown economic juggernaut.
Remember that quaint idea that Russia would knit itself into the European economic fabric?
The Financial Times quoted a business leader coldly, “We thought Russia was integrating with Europe. There are no such sentiments now”. That fairy-tale has spectacularly expired.
Russian copycats, meat-ware national champions like Vkusno i tochka, litEnergy, and Chernogolovka exploded after Western companies exited.
Vkusno i tochka alone grossed Rbs187bn ($2.4bn) in 2024, up from Rbs75bn in 2021. Russia’s economy reoriented itself in under three years. These new players taste profit—and don’t want Western intruders muddying the buffet.
Enter Vladimir Putin, rolling out the red carpet—well, the barbed-wire carpet.
He’s told foreign firms they can theoretically return.
Well, with costly buybacks, zero preference, and outright joint-venture mandates to ensure local control. Moscow apparently went all-Beijing when it comes to foreign capital.
“If the niche is filled by a Russian business, that train has left,” Putin declared.
Local champions aren’t just sipping champagne—they’re actively lobbying against any Western return.
Vkusno i tochka CEO Oleg Paroev personally appealed to Putin to block McDonald’s brand buybacks. Over 300 IT firms wrote a letter demanding protection from Western re-entrants. This emerging generation has weaponized patriotism — and they found listening ears in the Kremlin. Or, as Putin proclaimed of Western tech, “strangle them”.
Sneaky though it might be, some Western firms still dream of “doing business in Russia again,” as The Moscow Times put it.
They’ve got dormant buyback clauses, tax‑locked profits in “C‑accounts,” and latent brand equity—they’re itching to revive operations once geopolitical conditions brighten. But they’re painfully aware: it won’t be cheap—or quick.
Yet.
The giants that remained — Raiffeisen, UniCredit, Pepsi, Mars, Pfizer — are still pumping billions in profits and taxes into Russia (Raiffeisen alone forked over €800 m in 2023) . Nearly €3.5 bn in corporate taxes flowed from Western firms in 2023.
That’s not just revenue—it’s implicit blessings on the wartime economy.
For Western companies bold enough to exit, Russia slapped down seizures and “temporary” nationalizations—Danone, Carlsberg, Renault (via Ariston), Fortum, Uniper—only offering repatriation if favorable political conditions (read: sanctions relief) are met. Meanwhile, new laws threaten to lock Western assets as compensation for frozen Russian funds abroad.
Yes, Europe refused to compromise on principle.
But in the exit smoke, they ‘sold their parking spaces’ to emerging Russian champions. Firms like Arnest sprang up, absorbing Heineken, Unilever, Ball Corporation assets—revenues doubled and profits soared twentyfold.
Now those domestic champions are entrenched, profitable, and organized—even aggressively lobbying to prevent Western re-entry. Russia’s regulatory frameworks and future asset buy-backs run through local networks.
To sum up Europe’s accomplishments.
Energy independence. Forget it. All there is are higher prices.
Minerals? Gone.
Market presence? Evaporated.
Investor relevance? Fading.
Asset recovery? Blocked.
Strategic comeback? Distant mirage.
While Europe pats itself on the back for high-minded ethics, Russia savors a private-sector windfall, propped up by a new class of war‑era profiteers. Western firms are left with paperwork, lawsuits, “C‑accounts,” and empty buyback clauses.
It’s a little like learning a lesson the hard way: If you vacate the living room long enough, the couch gets claimed—and don’t think you’ll get your chair back just because you owned it once.
Europe didn’t just lose energy and minerals.
It handed Russia the market on a platter.
