After two years of war, Russia finds itself frozen, but transformed
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Fred Weir Special correspondent
| Moscow
The few Western visitors to Moscow these days are invariably surprised by the apparent dearth of hardship. After all, the country is two years deep into a major war.
But beneath the surface, a deep transition in the economy, the political system, social relations, and public mood is clearly underway.
Why We Wrote This
Between Alexei Navalny’s death and the second anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine, Russia is in a transitional moment. The public may be going along with the war, but the country is shrinking its already limited space for expression.
The signs of change most watched – and fretted over – include Russia’s ability to ramp up its war production to meet battlefield needs in a grueling war, and the expanding wave of repression of anyone who disparages Russia’s war effort or appears to sympathize with the enemy.
The death last week of Alexei Navalny, perhaps President Vladimir Putin’s most inveterate critic, underscores a continuing reality that has many precedents in Mr. Putin’s Russia: Opponents of the Kremlin often meet ends that go far beyond the limits of mere repression.
“When the war suddenly started, there was shock and disbelief,” says Nadia Titova, who works as a journalist’s field assistant. “Now it’s more apathy, a desire to distance oneself, emigrate into one’s own inner life. You try to stay afloat. Navalny’s death made it worse; he had been out of mind, and suddenly he was back in the most terrible way.”
The second anniversary of Russia’s war in Ukraine comes, ironically, on a long holiday weekend.
But there is unlikely to be any celebration of the anniversary within Russia, or even much discussion about it. Most families will instead be marking the traditional Defender of the Fatherland Day, the Russian equivalent of Father’s Day, which falls the day before.
Indeed, the few Western visitors to Moscow these days – such as former Fox News personality Tucker Carlson recently – invariably voice surprise at the outward dearth of hardship in a country so deep into a major war and the accompanying barrage of sanctions, the most severe in history.
Why We Wrote This
Between Alexei Navalny’s death and the second anniversary of the invasion of Ukraine, Russia is in a transitional moment. The public may be going along with the war, but the country is shrinking its already limited space for expression.
But beneath the surface, a deep transition in the economy, the political system, social relations, and public mood is clearly underway.
The signs of change most watched – and fretted over – include Russia’s ability to ramp up its war production to meet battlefield needs in a grueling war, and the expanding wave of repression of anyone who disparages Russia’s war effort or appears to sympathize with the enemy.
The prison death last week of Alexei Navalny, perhaps President Vladimir Putin’s most inveterate critic, underscores a continuing reality that has many precedents in Mr. Putin’s Russia: Opponents of the Kremlin often meet terrible extralegal ends that go far beyond the limits of mere repression.
Little room for debate
Socially, the country appears in deep freeze. There is little public discussion of the most burning issue of the day – the war – and efforts by public opinion scientists to quantify peoples’ moods are fraught with ambiguity. Outside of official publicity, there is little enthusiasm for the war effort, but neither does there seem to be much overt opposition. Many people express themselves in a language of angst, doubt, fear, and uncertainty, but avoid talking about specifics.
“When the war suddenly started, there was shock and disbelief,” says Nadia Titova, who works as a journalist’s field assistant. “Then there were emotions of fear and anger, along with the hope that it would all end soon. Now it’s more apathy, a desire to distance oneself, emigrate into one’s own inner life. You try to stay afloat. Navalny’s death made it worse; he had been out of mind, and suddenly he was back in the most terrible way.”
Mr. Navalny’s death has demoralized many, not because he headed a powerful mass movement – he didn’t – but because even people who didn’t think of him as a potential president saw him as a brave and honest critic who represented hope for building a better country, says Masha Lipman, co-editor of the Russia Post, a journal of Russian affairs published by George Washington University.
“Navalny was unique in many ways,” she says. “He was the only one pushing people toward overcoming their apathy and building a real organization. People appreciated and admired him for his anti-corruption work, but he was not able to build anything lasting. Perhaps if he’d been allowed to act unrestrained, he would have become the leader of a proper political party. But that did not happen.”
The current presidential elections will not offer even a semblance of competition to Mr. Putin, much less give a limited stage to any critical opponent as past elections sometimes did. The only anti-war candidate, Boris Nadezhdin, was blocked from participating by election authorities earlier this month, which means that even the constrained space for public debate that previously existed has shrunk drastically.
“It will not be an election, but basically a plebiscite on loyalty to Putin,” says Ms. Lipman. “People are now denied even the most limited expression of criticism.”
Public opinion polls show that declared support for the war is little changed over two years, at around 70%, while those opposed are about 20%. The approval rating of Mr. Putin has experienced few ups and downs over the past year and now stands at a healthy 85%.
“Russia and Russians have an exceptional ability to adjust to difficult circumstances and a willingness to cling to the status quo, even if it’s a sliding one,” says Ms. Lipman. “The war has affected many people, perhaps most, in a variety of ways. But there is still a possibility for those who don’t want to think about the war to turn their backs on it. Not thinking about it isn’t the same as not knowing, of course, but people can still do that.”
Reshaping the war economy
One of the biggest surprises for many Western observers has been Russia’s ability to reconstitute the old Soviet military-industrial complex in order to equip and field its armies and prosecute a long, materials-intensive war.
Moscow has not accomplished that by using old Soviet methods of central planning and economic command, but through a market-oriented method of profitable state orders to private industry that resembles the “military Keynesianism” that’s familiar in the United States. The Russian army has attracted thousands of recruits by offering high salaries, and generous benefits to the families of those who are killed and wounded. One long-term consequence of this, experts suggest, is that it creates new constituencies for war, both in business and in society.
Mikhail Chernysh, an expert at the official Institute of Sociology in Moscow, says that despite initial shock when the war started, many people have processed it and accepted it as a reality. “There is a feeling that ‘we’re in it, so we have to win it,’ that seems the predominant mood,” he says.
“Some people even see it as an opportunity. The war revealed many flaws and weaknesses in our army, our economy, and our lives that we have been forced to correct. We now have to produce many things for ourselves that formerly we just imported,” he says. “However this war ends, it will change social relations. People who have proven vital to the country, in defense, in industry, and other activities will grow in social status and respect. There will be no returning to the past.”
