‘Some buy the propaganda. Many have changed their minds’: life in Russia after the invasion
Vladimir Putin chairs a meeting on investment projects in domestic industry in Chelyabinsk, Russia, on Friday. Photograph: Sputnik/Reuters
From the comfort of their VIP lounges, global leaders watched on as the decorated former figure skating star Irina Rodnina ignited the Olympic flame to kick off the 2014 Sochi Winter Games.
The opening torch ceremony, steeped in the competition’s language of “peace and tolerance,” was meant to be the culmination of Russia’s resurrection as Vladimir Putin turned to soft power to impress the world.
Ten years later, Rodnina was again entrusted with inaugurating a winter sporting event. This time, she fired the starting gun as hundreds of Russian skiers, banned from competing in the west, formed a giant pro-war letter “Z” at the start of an annual cross-country race on the outskirts of Moscow.
The stark contrast reflected a decade in which Putin annexed the Crimean peninsula and eight years later unleashed the biggest conflict Europe has witnessed since the end of the second world war.
He has opened a second front at home, kindling nationalist fervour with a mix of nostalgia for Russia’s imperial and Soviet past.
Presenting himself as the sole guarantor of Russian sovereignty and traditional values, Putin has firmly positioned himself against the west, which he brands “satanic”.
The news of Alexei Navalny’s death in jail on Friday dealt a devastating blow to the country’s already suppressed opposition. Putin’s control over domestic politics now appears total. Navalny’s death was also a reminder that Putin is waging a war on two fronts – abroad against Ukrainian citizens and at home against those who dare to think differently.
As the second anniversary of the invasion approaches, Russians find most aspects of their lives reshaped at an unprecedented pace by their president.
Children read freshly printed history books that defend Russia’s invasion of Ukraine and they learn how to handle military drones. War veterans, often former convicts from the notorious paramilitary Wagner group, visit schools to preach “patriotic values”.
Theatres and museums, once at the centre of a bubbling independent cultural scene, have seen their critical shows curtailed, with artists and directors jailed or in exile. Some museums now put on exhibitions featuring the personal belongings of Ukrainian soldiers killed on the battlefield.
Under the guidance of a militaristic orthodox church, the Kremlin has virtually outlawed being gay, sentencing its citizens for wearing frog-shaped earrings displaying an image of a rainbow or posting pictures of the LGBTQ+ flag.
In one of the most visible demonstrations of Russia’s embrace of conservative values, authorities in December cracked down on a raunchy celebrity-studded party in Moscow, signalling the shrinking of political freedoms even for the well-connected. One of Russia’s most most prominent pop singers, Philipp Kirkorov, has since embarked on a tearful apology tour, performing for soldiers in occupied Ukraine.
Observers say that state pressure has created an atmosphere of fear and denunciation – with neighbours, friends and even family members reporting on each other, often anonymously – reminiscent of the darkest repressions under Joseph Stalin.
One recent poll showed that up to 30% of Russians were scared to voice their opinions about the war, even to friends and family.
“We have seen a clear nationalistic and patriotic consolidation around the war,” said Denis Volkov of the independent polling agency Levada Centre, pointing to surveys that show consistently high levels of support for the invasion among Russians.
Putin has also mobilised the political and business elites, many of whom were reeling in the early days of the invasion when their Riviera estates and bank accounts were frozen by the west. While Yevgeny Prigozhin’s aborted summer rebellion temporarily weakened Putin’s standing at home, the plane crash that killed the Wagner leader two months later swiftly restored his reputation as Russia’s ruthless and unchallengeable leader.
“We stopped fantasising about a post-Putin future. He is our reality, and we need to live in it,” said one major businessman in Moscow.
But it is not only the stick which binds Russia’s elite around Putin. The president has delivered on his early promise to the rich and powerful: stay with me and get wealthy.
The Kremlin has turned the departure of hundreds of western companies into a windfall for Russia’s loyal elite, who have eagerly taken over the prized assets in a historic transfer of wealth comparable to the one seen in the early days after the fall of the Soviet Union.
A new cohort of Russian businessmen has emerged to fill the void left by international chains, among them Timati, a pro-Putin rapper who snapped up and rebranded hundreds of Starbucks and Domino’s Pizza stores across the country.
The resilience of the Russian economy has enabled Putin to maintain the war in Ukraine while simultaneously offering his citizens a robust choice of consumer goods. “Parallel imports” through Turkey and Kazakhstan have ensured that Muscovites can get their hands on the latest technological gadgets, like Apple Vision Pro headsets.
Going into the March presidential election that is set to hand him six more years, Putin faces no serious challenger.
His victory will be framed as a public endorsement of the invasion, according to Marat Gelman, a former adviser to the president. Despite telling subordinates in 2004 anyone “could go crazy” after seven years in charge, Putin’s tenure could surpass even Stalin’s, who ruled the Soviet Union for 29 years.
Still, not everyone is convinced. A small but persistent group of women gather every weekend outside the Kremlin to demand that their husbands, who were conscripted to fight in Ukraine, be allowed to return home.
“Some still buy into the state propaganda. But many are changing their opinion about the special military operation,” said the movement unofficial’s leader, Maria Andreeva.
The grassroots movement has been gaining momentum in Russia in the past few months and puts a dent in the image portrayed by Putin of a society united behind the war effort.
And when the Kremlin flirted with the idea of allowing Boris Nadezhdin, the little-known anti-war candidate, to run in the March presidential elections, thousands of Russians gathered in long lines to give their signatures in support of the long-shot politician.
“A significant number of people don’t like what is going on and oppose the war. They are just waiting for a chance to demonstrate their frustration,” said Greg Yudin, professor of political philosophy at the Moscow School of Social and Economic Sciences, pointing to the unexpected show of support for Nadezhdin, who has since been barred from running.
Yudin, like other experts, believes that the “silent majority” of Russians longs for a return to prewar normality and has instead embraced a form of escapism, largely ignoring the developments on the battlefield.
“Loud pro-war voices appear to be dominant in society, but in reality they are a minority,” Yudin said.
Recent polling has suggested that some in the country were growing tired of the war.
When quizzed by the Levada Centre on what Russians would like to ask Putin, the most popular question was: “When will the invasion of Ukraine end?”
But with the Kremlin exerting complete dominance over the nation’s media and education, and its security services progressively infringing on people’s private lives – all manifestations of a totalitarian regime – the lasting consequences of the war are yet to be seen.
“Russians are constantly being told how to think, and that of course has an impact. The propaganda is powerful,” said Yudin. “But it is too early to say just how much of the mind is poisoned.”