Something has changed in the air in Russia. Now even loyalists complain of increasing restrictions and repression, and once optimistic businessmen are now discouraged.
We are witnessing three related processes. First, attitudes toward President Vladimir Putin are changing. Second, economic optimism and the associated everyday patriotism, which celebrates survival rather than development, are fading - people are simply grateful to be alive. And finally, Russians are realizing that it is impossible to win a war that has diminished their country's advantages.
Preparations for Moscow's annual Victory Parade, held on May 9 to mark the end of World War II, are strikingly different this year. Rehearsals in previous years began in April. This year, the parade is being held without rehearsals and military equipment, with only a small number of military personnel participating.
Most importantly, Putin will spend less time on the public platform in Red Square, at a time that is well known in advance. The security implications are obvious. A military parade is supposed to be a show of strength and courage, but if it is held covertly, without rehearsals and with the internet jammed - to reduce the chances of a Ukrainian attack drone being able to find its way to the site - it shows nothing but fear and weakness.
“Victims are not tried,” Soviet dictator Joseph Stalin liked to say. But those who are not winners can be tried – and people are starting to judge Putin. The entire state apparatus, the government, the parliament, the media, the church and the intelligence services are still trying to cover up the mistake Putin made back in 2022, when he launched a full-scale invasion of Ukraine – but they are finding it increasingly difficult to do so.
Putin's aura is fading. Power is still firmly in his hands, but its captivating force is weakening. His true face is emerging. People increasingly see an old man with skinny legs and weakening muscles under his baggy suit. The pre-war Putin, naked to the waist riding a horse, is now impossible to imagine.
In line with his appearance, his speech has changed, becoming confused and sometimes nonsensical. He often strays from the topic and struggles to express himself. Sometimes he ventures into the realm of fiction, talking about “foreign agents” who are safe in Russia as long as they reveal the sources of their funding – although the reality is quite different, especially due to a recent law signed by the president himself. Putin no longer inspires confidence, even among the ruling elite. Instead of a guarantor of stability, he has become a burden.
New Age
The mood is now strikingly different than it was a year ago. Russian society seems to have come full circle: from the worst fears at the start of the “special military operation,” through the euphoria of survival, to a new cycle of doubt and fear. Even the official level of support for Putin has noticeably declined.
Since the summer of 2022, people have largely adapted to the war. After the initial shock of the invasion, mobilization, the departure of Western brands and the emigration of friends and celebrities, waves of repression and bans, as well as the rebellion of Yevgeny Prigozhin, since 2024, a new prosperity has emerged from the ruins of the old life, and with it a mood of "everyday patriotism", a sense of fragile peace, and even a return of optimism.
The real culprits for the change in mood in Russia are not the security services, rebellious influencers, or rational elements within the regime. The ability of the Ukrainian armed forces to inflict devastating strikes on oil refineries, warehouses, and other facilities across almost all of Russia has forced the Russian regime to violate the terms of an agreement with a loyal majority willing to turn a blind eye to war.
It became clear that Russia could not be easily excluded from the global economy. The army, although it failed to carry out a blitzkrieg, was no longer retreating, but was again on the offensive. The ruble did not collapse, and the state did not close its borders or freeze citizens' savings. Industrial growth, unemployment, and wages were better than pre-war forecasts had predicted. The global South did not turn its back on Russia, and renewed relations with US President Donald Trump returned Russia to the world of high-stakes diplomacy.
The regime has managed to impose on society the feeling that everyone is on the same ship, on which everyone will either be saved or perish. After all, if the bridge is sinking, the rest of the ship is already under water.
Everyday patriotism rejoiced in preserving a familiar way of life, despite the circumstances. Even for those opposed to the war, economic survival became a source of pride, giving them a kind of common ground with those who supported the war. But in the spring of 2026, that commonality is gone.
The end of social compromise
When it launched an all-out invasion of Ukraine, the Russian regime dismantled previous social agreements with the Russian people, but quickly offered them a new one: you can live outside the war, but you can't be against it. For those who accepted the offer - even though no one had actually asked them for their consent - the regime was prepared to provide a way of life close to the one before the war.
This exchange was accepted by many, if not most: some out of desperation, others out of genuine indifference to the misfortune of others. But by the spring of 2026, the Russian regime had, without much consideration, violated the terms of that compromise one after the other, and society is now angry. People did not agree to ignore the war only to become the target of prohibitions and repression themselves, and now they feel cheated and played.
The authorities have banned popular foreign messaging apps like WhatsApp and Telegram, claiming they are not transparent, and are trying to force everyone to use the domestic app Max instead. The implication has not gone unnoticed - that communication via Max, unlike them, is transparent - and people feel that their privacy has been grossly violated. Residents of unfree countries are particularly sensitive to the latter, as their personal space is all they have left when the state takes over the public space.
As paid services are often negotiated through messaging apps, the public suspects that the state is trying to peek into citizens' wallets in this way. This theory has been further strengthened by fiscal measures introduced in recent months, such as an increase in VAT from 20 to 22 percent, as well as the obligation to provide a tax identification number for transfers via the faster payment system - whereas previously only the recipient's phone number was sufficient.
The economic mood is also changing. Military growth no longer means greater revenues and new opportunities. The tone of Putin's meeting on economic issues on April 15 was markedly different from the president's earlier meetings with the economic bloc of the government.
Government economists, who until recently seemed much more confident than the military leadership, suddenly realized what it was like to be a Russian general: negative growth in the first months of 2026, judging by the gloomy tone of the commander-in-chief, means retreat.
War on the Internet
A recent turning point was a viral Instagram post by Russian model and blogger Victoria Bonya, in which she criticized Russian authorities, told Putin that she “doesn’t know much,” and listed a series of problems that she said officials were afraid to mention to Putin, including internet outages.
First, she addressed Putin directly, rather than lower institutions like Roskomnadzor, thereby indirectly labeling the president himself as the source of the problem.
Second, the whole concept of a “special military operation” was based on the assumption that the president had information that ordinary people did not have, such as plans for an immediate attack from outside. Bonja’s message turns that assumption on its head: we, the people, know about the country’s internet problems and everything else, but the president doesn’t. And perhaps, therefore, he doesn’t really know what he’s talking about when it comes to war. Perhaps he didn’t even know when he started it all.
Meanwhile, Putin has confirmed that he personally approves of internet restrictions, saying that “people’s safety will always be a priority.” In doing so, he is once again imposing a classic authoritarian trade-off between freedom and security—but that tried-and-true mechanism is now faltering. People are literally saying that they must have access to the internet, even if it increases the risk of Ukrainian drones. So if ordinary people are willing to put up with the dangers that come with their rights, whose safety is at stake? In other words, they are being asked to give up their rights for the sake of the leader’s security.
Following Bonya's Instagram post, Putin appeared to cautiously criticize those responsible for the series of blockades and bans. He first recommended that the authorities communicate better with citizens, then urged them to "not get fixated on bans."
His reaction was unprecedented, both because a grassroots initiative provoked such a high-level response and because of his carefully measured criticism of the security services, which Putin usually shields from any accountability. It looks like a victory for civilian bureaucrats, though it is likely to be temporary. Sensing that he is losing his balance, Putin is trying to reassert himself ahead of the State Duma elections in September, but the security services are already targeting people close to First Deputy Chief of Staff Sergei Kiriyenko, who is leading the resistance to the bans.
The fading power
The real culprits for the change in mood in Russia are not the security services, rebellious influencers, or rational elements within the regime. The ability of the Ukrainian armed forces to inflict devastating strikes on oil refineries, warehouses, and other facilities across almost all of Russia forced the Russian regime to violate the terms of the agreement with a loyal majority willing to turn a blind eye to war.
Ukraine's fierce resistance, coupled with a new military-industrial revolution, has led to a military stalemate and turned the front into a death zone. Even the most vehemently "patriotic" Russian pro-war bloggers have stopped calling for a general mobilization, as that would only mean more people getting killed by drones.
Similarly, the resilience of the Ukrainian civilian population has dashed Russia’s hopes of achieving victory behind the front lines by bombing Ukraine’s energy infrastructure to cold-bloodedly crush the population into submission. Instead of taking to the streets to overthrow President Volodymyr Zelensky, Ukrainians have focused on procuring generators.
Moscow's calculation that the Western economy would be the first to collapse in a head-on collision has also proven to be wrong. The very arena in which Russia was preparing to showcase its strengths - military superiority and economic stability - has turned into a showcase for its weaknesses. The Russian government is now visibly driven by fear. As the aura of authority fades, coercion takes its place, while Russian intelligence services are intoxicated with power.
The outbreak of a real war in 2022 has forced disparate elite groups to unite in order to survive. Now, the uncertainty over the outcome of the war is causing cracks in the foundations and top of the regime, and the entire edifice is collapsing. Even if it survives, it will never look the same again.
Researchers of the twilight phases of political eras in history will recognize that difficult-to-describe feeling of weakening, when the old power has not yet disappeared, but has ceased to be perceived as natural and self-evident.
Meanwhile, the authorities rush to show that everything is fine, but in the process they make more and more mistakes and slip like a car stuck in the mud. The system is still in place, but it is shifting from its place and is no longer perceived as it once was. A change in public mood is beginning, which opens up the most unexpected possibilities - both attractive and terrifying. In early 20th-century Russia, this feeling inspired an entire literary corpus. Perhaps in this century too, a new one will be dedicated to it.
The author is a senior fellow and editor-in-chief at the Carnegie Center for Russia and Eurasia.
carnegieendowment.org
Prepared by: A.Š.
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