Maya Khadra, a French-Lebanese journalist and lecturer specialising in the Middle East, knows the region’s media and politics inside out. In this interview with The Ukrainian Week, she looks at the historical roots and current drivers of Russian influence in the wider Arab world. Maya began her career at L’Orient-Le Jour, later moved to Paris, and won the 2013 Francophone Illustrated Journalism Prize for reporting in conflict zones. Today, she teaches communications at IPAG Business School and regularly appears on French and Arab TV — from LCI and BFM to Arte, Al Arabiya, and Sky News — offering her take on the latest developments across the region.
— Is Russian propaganda in the Arab world something new, or has it been around for a while?
— Russian propaganda in the Arab world is nothing new. Its roots go back to the Soviet era, when Moscow served, broadly speaking, as a hub for Arab communist movements. Throughout the 1950s and 1960s — and well beyond — the USSR backed leftist forces across the region. That legacy became deeply embedded in regimes like Syria’s Ba’athist government, which only collapsed in December 2024 following Bashar al-Assad’s flight.
Over the past seventy years, this influence has helped shape enduring cognitive biases across the Arab world: deep scepticism towards the West, the United States and NATO, alongside a strong pull towards conspiracy thinking. Russian media continue to feed these dynamics today. Their footprint remains substantial, particularly through platforms like RT Arabic. Banned in France, the outlet still operates correspondents across the Middle East, reinforcing these biases by pushing a distinctly slanted reading of current events.
The result is striking: even in a Sunni-majority country like Egypt, you can spot a certain — admittedly non-state — tilt that is pro-Iranian, pro-Russian and firmly anti-Western. At first glance, it can seem puzzling. But it makes more sense when you factor in the role of this propaganda, which taps into deep identity wounds across the Arab world — the legacy of colonisation, a lingering sense of Western domination, and the notion of “third-worldisation”.
Take the idea of a “multipolar world.” It has been actively pushed by these networks to cast BRICS as a credible alternative to the West. The approach is clear: an ideological pitch that plays on political fragilities and long-standing frustrations in the region, while also drawing on feelings of discrimination among some Muslim communities — all to stoke conspiracy thinking and deepen rejection of the West.
— How is this shaping perceptions of the Russian war in Ukraine?
— Across much of the Arab world, Ukraine is often framed as a country shaped by “Western decadence”, “corrupt values” or “wokism”. In largely conservative societies, that narrative tends to land — and stick.
The shift in the media landscape only reinforced these narratives. As Russian and pro-Russian commentators were pushed out of Western outlets, many found a new home in Arab media. Channels like Al Mayadeen — backed by Iran and closely tied to Hezbollah — and RT Arabic welcomed them, giving these voices a fresh platform.
From there, they continued to push familiar lines, including the claim that Russia is fighting the so-called “Ukro-Nazis” — a cornerstone of Kremlin messaging that has travelled widely across the Middle East. In a region where antisemitism still has a foothold in parts of society, the uptake carries a certain irony.
The talking points are almost scripted at this point: “NATO is surrounding Russia,” “Western sanctions are strangling the Arab world and triggering a global food crisis,” and the lurid, false claim that “US-run labs in Ukraine are making biological weapons.”
But that’s only part of the picture. Russia still holds significant geopolitical cards in the Middle East — from its military presence in Syria to continued exports of sanctioned oil to Lebanon, as well as safe havens for Russian oligarchs in parts of the Persian Gulf. Propaganda, in this sense, acts as a key tool for maintaining and protecting that sphere of influence.
— Do these divisions play out differently across Middle Eastern societies?
— There are clear fault lines. Atlanticism, for instance, remains strong in Israel and among parts of Lebanon’s Christian community. But in Lebanon, that picture is far from uniform. Another strand — closer to the populist far right — has leaned towards Moscow. Former president Michel Aoun has come to embody that shift, with repeated visits to Russia and a steady drumbeat of rhetoric casting it as a strategic partner.
Those ties went beyond symbolism. Aoun also travelled to Damascus to meet Bashar al-Assad, alongside Gebran Bassil, then serving as energy minister. During this period, Russian companies gained a foothold in Lebanon, and in some cases shell structures emerged as well — including outfits like CTEX Exchange, linked to money laundering and illicit wheat and oil trade.
Parts of these Christian circles have also adopted rhetoric that echoes France’s National Rally, particularly on migration. Lebanon is under intense pressure from the influx of Syrian refugees. But rather than framing it as a state or institutional challenge, some officials have resorted to discriminatory — at times openly racist — language. Alongside that, they have pushed the idea of Russia as a natural protector of Middle Eastern Christians.
On the other side of the spectrum are Christians aligned with Israel — mostly Maronites, that is, Catholics — who have long cultivated close ties with Europe, particularly France. Historically, they chose to anchor themselves with the Vatican rather than the Eastern Orthodox Church, reinforcing a distinctly pro-Western outlook.
That orientation dates back to the Lebanese civil war. At the time, they sided with Israel against Palestinian groups. Lebanese society was deeply split over the Palestinian question in 1975, as armed Palestinian factions operating from Lebanese territory sought to wage a war of liberation against Israel — effectively from within another sovereign state.
In a country as fragmented as Lebanon, with its eighteen recognised religious communities, those divisions quickly hardened. Much of the Muslim population rallied behind the Palestinians, viewing their struggle as part of a broader Muslim cause. Most Christians, with few exceptions, stood firmly against it.
That history still resonates today. Many of the same Christian groups that once framed their fight as a defence of Lebanese sovereignty — against Palestinian factions backed by the USSR and trained in camps overseen by KGB operatives — are now among the most outspoken critics of Russia’s war against Ukraine.
Their strong solidarity with Ukrainians is shaped, in part, by that long-standing distrust of the Soviet Union — and, by extension, of Russia today.
— Where does this solidarity come from?
— When the invasion of Ukraine began, there was an immediate sense of identification. First and foremost, with the experience of a society left to face a far stronger adversary alone — a country under attack by Russian forces targeting civilian infrastructure and residential areas, killing children and committing war crimes, from rape to the deportation of minors.
But the connection runs deeper than that. It is also rooted in a shared sense of abandonment — the feeling of being left to fend for oneself in the face of a hostile power. That experience has forged both an emotional and political bond. For many, Ukraine today represents a clash between two visions of the world: on one side, the democratic, liberal model associated with the West; on the other, the authoritarian and regressive system embodied by Russia.
There is also a strong element of recognition in how Ukrainians are portrayed. During the Lebanese civil war, these same communities were subjected to a similar kind of demonisation. Today, in parts of the Arab world, Ukrainians are branded “Ukro-Nazis” or cast as symbols of a decadent society.
Back then, the Lebanese Christian resistance was painted in much the same way — dismissed as pro-Western and hostile to pan-Arabism. The comparison is all the more striking given that one of its leading figures, Charles Malik, was a Harvard-educated philosopher who helped draft the Universal Declaration of Human Rights and went on to chair the UN Human Rights Commission.
In that sense, the injustice of war creates a powerful link between these Lebanese communities and Ukrainians. Both have been attacked, and both have been cast in the role of the guilty — made to carry the stigma, as if they were not the victims, but the perpetrators.
— How are these divisions reflected in Lebanese media?
— Lebanon’s media scene is a direct reflection of its deep social and communal divides. On one side are Shiite outlets tied to Hezbollah, like al-Manar; on the other, channels such as MTV that lean firmly pro-Western. The gap between them isn’t just noticeable — it’s vast. MTV, for instance, has taken a clear editorial stance backing Ukraine, to the point where Russian perspectives simply don’t feature on its airwaves. By contrast, al-Manar, al-Mayadeen, RT Arabic and Sputnik have largely echoed the Russian line, creating a stark media split.
There is no real shared information space. Unlike in France, where France Télévisions still offers a broadly common reference point — even if opinions differ — Lebanon’s media ecosystem is highly fragmented. In practice, access to information is shaped by these divides, turning what should be a universal right into something deeply skewed.
— What’s the situation like in the rest of the Arab world, especially the Gulf states?
— It’s a mixed picture. Some Gulf states have tried to position themselves as mediators in the war in Ukraine — Saudi Arabia being a key example — while also preserving their ties with the United States and Europe. That has meant walking a fine line: hosting pro-Ukrainian voices, but stopping short of openly criticising Russia.
Elsewhere, the pro-Russian bias is hard to miss. In Emirati media, Russian diplomats appear on TV nearly every night, and some presenters — something I witnessed firsthand — openly side with Moscow. Discussions can quickly turn confrontational, leaving little room for serious debate. Egyptian outlets also lean strongly toward Russia.
Overall, the landscape is diverse, but at its core it feels increasingly polarised — split between pro- and anti-Ukrainian positions, or more broadly, between competing pro- and anti-Russian readings of the war.
Even actors trying to strike a more nuanced tone — particularly in parts of the Gulf keen to keep some distance — remain tied to Russia through shared interests. They sit in the same framework, OPEC+, and are bound by overlapping energy and economic priorities. Those links inevitably shape how the war is covered and framed.
— Are Europe or Ukraine doing anything to counter this narrative?
— There have been some limited efforts. A handful of European NGOs, especially in Lebanon, are active in civil society and among younger audiences — the Konrad Adenauer Stiftung is a good example. Unsurprisingly, they take a pro-Ukrainian line and have organised events in support of Ukraine. The Ukrainian embassy in Beirut has also hosted conferences, alongside the Norwegian and Finnish embassies, aimed at raising awareness — both locally and across their regional networks — about the Russian threat.
But beyond that, there hasn’t been anything resembling a coordinated European information push. Europe, for its part, has largely avoided putting pressure on Middle Eastern governments to condemn Russia’s war against Ukraine. The result is telling: most countries in the region either voted against resolutions supporting Ukraine or abstained. Hardly any have offered clear backing for Ukraine in UN General Assembly votes.
— You mentioned your media appearances at the start of the invasion. What do you remember most from that experience, and do you still weigh in on these issues in Middle Eastern media?
— Since October 7, Ukraine has largely fallen off the radar. The war in Gaza, the fall of the Syrian regime, and everything else unfolding across the Middle East have pushed it far down the agenda.
It’s no longer a priority for Arab media. But back in 2022 and 2023, when coverage was broader, it was crucial to give the Ukrainian perspective a voice — there were very few Arabic speakers defending it at the time. For me, that became a point of personal principle.
At times, the exchanges were intensely charged. I remember appearing via videoconference from a Paris studio opposite a Russian diplomat in Moscow — the debates could get extremely tense, sometimes nearly boiling over. Participants would storm off, or the discussion would escalate sharply. In those moments, the key was to stay firm and not back down. The hardest part was resisting intimidation, especially since these stances are often dominated by men.
I don’t want to frame this as a gender battle, but there’s a deeply sexist streak in the Russian narrative. A woman defending Ukraine is all too easily dismissed as “hysterical,” or accused of championing some form of “decadence” or “wokism.”
