The war in Ukraine, which not long ago seemed to be turning in favor of Vladimir Putin’s invading Russian Army, appears to have undergone another reversal. Thanks in part to its drone campaign, the Ukrainians have, according to some analysts, “turned the tide,” putting pressure on Putin to potentially accept a ceasefire in the coming months. At the same time, there have been bubbles of discontent forming within Russia, over the cost of the war and government crackdowns on internet access. (On Thursday, Ukraine launched what may be its largest drone attack ever on Moscow, causing chaos throughout the city.)

To understand what might be happening in Russia, and how the Putin regime might respond, I recently e-mailed several rounds of questions to Tatiana Stanovaya, a senior fellow at the Carnegie Russia Eurasia Center, and the founder of the political analysis organization R.Politik. Our conversation, edited for length and clarity, is below. We discuss whether anything has really changed in Russian politics, the dangerously chaotic decades that may await the European continent, and why—even if Putin is unlikely to be dislodged—his mystique may be starting to fade.

Numerous reports suggest that Putin is facing increasing levels of domestic skepticism and anger over what’s happening in Russia. Do you view this skepticism as coming from Russian élites, or average Russians, or both, and how do you distinguish between their different feelings?

This is a large question. The changes are substantial, multilayered, and driven by very different factors. To simplify, I would distinguish between the general evolution of public and élite sentiment caused by the war, which has been slow and cumulative, and more situational changes, mainly linked to recent events.

The war has brought significant uncertainty to the élites. Fatigue from the war is growing within society, but Russians remain broadly willing to delegate responsibility for the war to Putin, whether this means peace or continued war, although support for the war has been steadily declining. The first four years were years of adaptation: Russia was learning to live with a new reality, with many uncomfortable inconveniences that nevertheless remained bearable.

But 2026 looks different. The government’s attempted blocking of the messaging app Telegram; extensive internet restrictions; and widespread connectivity problems with mobile internet have dealt a significant blow to everyday life. The difference between then and now is that many Russians are facing a situation in which they feel they are reaching the limits of their capacity to adapt. In Russia, Telegram is much more than a social network. It is an environment for connections and a business tool—especially after the Russian government banned Instagram—and a source of information. This is without even mentioning the military’s need for Telegram as a messenger. [The Kremlin denies such use.]

All of this is taking place alongside repeated internet disruptions. Russians had become accustomed to being digitally advanced, with a high level of digital comfort and accessibility. Much of this has now been abruptly taken away, or at least disrupted. A couple of months ago, the question was what price the Kremlin would have to pay for this. Now we see a gradual decline in approval ratings—not a collapse, but a decrease. Discontent has increased, and the level of anxiety has exceeded the level of calm. One of the last times this happened was in August of 2024, as a reaction to a Ukrainian intrusion into the Kursk region.

This is not happening in isolation. We have also seen some unexpected and unrelated critical voices questioning current policy, as well as tangible skepticism about whether Putin knows what to do in Ukraine. Is he going to fight indefinitely, given the current protracted war of attrition? Is he ready to catch up with the Americans and finally make a deal?

We are now in a situation where the understanding that the war must stop has become so pronounced that it feels like a new situation. However, the question of how it should stop remains divisive; a larger part of society supports a settlement, while a smaller part advocates continued military action. This comes in a context in which the Americans have paused and are perhaps doubtful of Russia’s ability to take the Donbas, which has been a key Moscow narrative underpinning the Kremlin’s vision of the so-called Anchorage understanding between Trump and Putin.

So there is a major question in the air: What comes next, and at what price? It is becoming increasingly uncomfortable to endure a war with no settlement in sight. This is what is genuinely new in 2026.

What stresses or tensions would come out into the open if Putin made a deal to end the war which wasn’t overwhelmingly positive for Russia? Is he under various sorts of pressure to keep it going, in other words, or is it continuing because he wants it to for other reasons?

This is a very widespread assumption in the West: that Putin calibrates his decisions according to the views of dissatisfied constituencies. In my view, this is largely incorrect. In Putin’s political world view, society is expected to support his “historical” moves, which he sees as a historically necessary course of action, and essential for safeguarding Russia’s long-term survival. If that support is lacking, the problem is not the decisions themselves but the way they have been explained. Responsibility, therefore, falls on the government and senior officials, who must ensure that society understands and accepts the decision.

Politically, Putin can today afford to make almost any deal, provided it does not involve truly radical concessions, such as the highly unrealistic scenario of ending the war unconditionally or withdrawing Russian forces entirely. He has already survived two significant military retreats: from Kyiv and Chernihiv, in April, 2022, and from Kherson, in November, 2022. Neither produced serious domestic political consequences. This suggests that, from a domestic perspective, he can also afford significant concessions, or what ultra-patriotic circles would describe as a “shameful peace.” And, anyway, the regime possesses sufficient instruments and institutional capacity to generate the required public response.

Another question is what constitutes a positive deal. Right now, any end to the war, provided it is not a military defeat, would be welcomed by a major part of society and the élites. The problem is that Putin, regardless of all the domestic pressures—the growing budget deficit, rising discontent among the public, conflict fatigue, and economic slowdown—needs a “decent deal,” or one that implies major sacrifices from Ukraine.

Putin launched this war because he sees it as existential for Russia, a last resort tied to what he perceives as Russia’s survival over the, say, next thirty to fifty years. And I believe that Putin will go to his grave convinced that he must secure a real deal. Broadly speaking, it would imply guarantees that the West would not resume using Ukraine as an “anti-Russia project.” This means a neutral status for Ukraine, no NATO presence, including no military presence from NATO member states, a reduced Ukrainian Army, as well as a number of political demands aimed at securing a pro-Russian presence inside Ukraine, including the influence of the Orthodox Church of the Moscow Patriarchate, rights for the Russian-speaking population, the possibility for pro-Russian forces to participate in elections, restrictions on Ukrainian nationalism, and so forth.

Today, this appears entirely unrealistic. That is the core problem: Putin wants something that he is unlikely ever to obtain, and there is little indication that he will change his mind regardless of the price he may have to pay. But, on the other hand, he may also prove more flexible on territorial issues, which some ultra-nationalist or hard-line-conservative forces in Russia could interpret as a bad deal, while continuing to insist on the geopolitical demands that form the basis of the war.

You wrote, “And, anyway, the regime possesses sufficient instruments and institutional capacity to generate the required public response.” What did you mean by this?

The Kremlin controls the media, can shape public narratives, and can suppress virtually any form of opposition or dissent. There is little concern about the far-right or pro-war community, which may be vocal but remains politically harmless. It is hardly organized, and much of it is inherently pro-state and would support the authorities in any case, while the more radical elements can be prosecuted if necessary.

Who are these ultra-nationalist figures you mentioned now? How important are they? What do we know about Putin’s attitude toward them?

They may be described in various ways: the far right, ultra-nationalists, ultra-patriots, or similar labels. What unites them is a deeply anti-Western and anti-liberal belief system, as well as a vision of Russia as a great power and, in some cases, a restored superpower with imperial ambitions.

This constituency is far from homogeneous. Some are relatively pragmatic and understand the political rules of the game, as well as the Kremlin’s calculations. Others are ideological fanatics, while some have effectively turned this world view into a profession.

These are the people who want Russia to take Kyiv and advance further into Europe. Many advocate nuclear escalation. In their view, a substantial part of the government constitutes a “fifth column” working discreetly in the interests of the West.

This milieu includes the pro-war community on social media, particularly those who cover the war on Telegram; conservative figures such as Konstantin Malofeev, with his media assets and connections to parts of the élite, including members of the government establishment; and many individuals within the security services themselves. The latter are often associated with what might be termed the silovaya ideologiya—a security-state ideology that emphasises a strong state, the primacy of state interests over private interests, great-power status, and strict domestic order. This world view frequently overlaps with Russian nationalism.

It is a natural part of Russian society and the élite. It is not dominant, but it is clearly present. The war has given these groups an opportunity to become more prominent. Some remain deeply oppositional, while others support the state on principle, regardless of circumstances.

For Putin, the key criterion in determining his attitude toward them is their intentions. They can be regarded as genuine patriots if they are assumed never to turn against the state. In that case, they may remain allies of the Kremlin, albeit under close surveillance. Others, however, who seek to position themselves in opposition, are deemed either manipulated, misguided, or acting on behalf of particular interests, and are therefore considered a matter for the government to address.

If politics is reasserting itself in Russia, what does that potentially mean? If Putin or his regime is under threat in any way, who is he under threat from?

I do not see politics reasserting itself in Russia. There is a shift in public mood, and there are changes in perceptions and attitudes, but these are more psychological than practical. There are no players besides Putin who can be considered actors or subjects with their own agency in the decision-making process.

Everything that remains politically “alive” exists outside the decision-making process. Those who are inside it are implementers, interpreters, executives, and yes-men.

There are no meaningful coalitions and no well-functioning horizontal interactions. The élite is highly atomized. People around Putin cannot afford to step outside their sphere of responsibility or encroach on someone else’s interests (with some exceptions in the military and security services). There is a great deal of fear, as everyone is isolated within the system and exposed to the constant risk of surveillance and prosecution.

Who would dare challenge Putin with his nearly eighty-per-cent approval rating and a significant part of the élite fearing his disappearance? For many, he remains the only and last guarantee of their survival, while the prospect of a post-Putin era appears threatening to them.

What I do see is a fading image of Vladimir Putin. He is getting older, increasingly detached from reality, more emotional, and more sensitive to certain issues. Time is working against him, and he appears increasingly vulnerable in a human sense: less objective and less capable of absorbing information from different sources. He also seems to be losing the ability to ensure the smooth and coherent functioning of the system.

As a result, institutions and political figures increasingly operate within their own areas of responsibility, with very little coördination between them. This produces a range of problems, including restrictions on the internet and social networks introduced without adequate preparation or planning. For example, Russia will hold federal elections, the first during the war, to the State Duma in September, yet the political logic behind the preparations appears contradictory, with no shared understanding of priorities. The Federal Security Service seeks greater control of the elections, while domestic-policy managers are more concerned with maintaining a less anxious society. Putin is demanding a greater role for war veterans in positions of power, yet the system is struggling to accommodate them. Conservative forces advocate additional restrictions, while Putin’s United Russia party might try to play a therapeutic role, seeking to reassure and calm the public.

Putin’s paradox is that he created a highly personalized regime in which he is expected to remain at the center of the decision-making process, but at the same time he increasingly withdraws from more routine responsibilities, leaving them to subordinates who can act only within the narrow confines of their own bureaucratic mandates. The result is a system that is increasingly incoherent and unbalanced. It is unclear where the next point of failure may emerge, while Putin himself appears largely unconcerned by these developments. Many people recognize this growing disengagement and sense a gradual “de-Putinization” in the system. Yet the distance between recognizing this reality and acting upon it remains considerable.

You mentioned Putin viewing this war as existential. Why? I assume something changed within him in the decades of his rule. Was it a changing ideological outlook? Increasing paranoia? How did he get to a place where what seems to many of us like an insane and brutal war became a necessity?

This war has always been existential for Putin, who has long been obsessed with the idea that the collective West, led by the U.S. and driven by the so-called deep state, pursues an anti-Russian policy aimed at weakening, fragmenting, and strategically constraining Russia through NATO enlargement and the expansion of NATO’s military infrastructure in the post-Soviet space.

In this world view, Ukraine has been seen as the principal platform for implementing this anti-Russian project, including the potential deployment of NATO military bases and missile systems capable of reaching Moscow within minutes, as Putin has said, justifying the war. If he abandons his goals in Ukraine, he believes that Russia will sooner or later—perhaps not tomorrow, but in the coming decades—find itself with a strategic gun pointed at its head, ready to fire at any moment.

This way of thinking is not unique to Putin. It is shared by parts of the Russian élite, and began to take shape after the collapse of the Soviet Union, becoming visible during the nineteen-nineties. It is, in many respects, a legacy of the Cold War era. Within the logic of the Russian leadership, the war in Ukraine is therefore not only about Ukraine itself but also about challenging the outcome of the Cold War.

Where does all this leave us then? Everything you have written makes sense, but I can’t quite decipher the endgame it suggests we are heading toward. I am not asking for a prediction so much as an opinion on where your analysis leads you.

As the Russian saying goes, “We started for health and ended with a funeral service”—meaning that what began on a positive, hopeful note ended up gloomy and pessimistic.

The issue is that there is no real “endgame” to the war in Ukraine. What we are witnessing is the culmination of decades of confrontation between Russia and the West, years of accumulated mistrust, with the war serving as the physical manifestation of that broader conflict. The fighting itself may stop. There may be a ceasefire, a pause, or even a negotiated settlement. But the underlying conflict—between Russia and Ukraine, and increasingly between Russia and Europe—cannot simply be resolved. It is likely to persist for years, if not decades.

Russia remains a major power with considerable resources, a resilient political system, nuclear weapons, and an élite and society that are not prepared to reconcile with the West except on terms they regard as acceptable. At the same time, Russia is becoming increasingly tied to China, within a much more multipolar world order—a phenomenon partially caused by a disoriented West. This is not simply a Putin problem. If Putin were to disappear tomorrow, it would not erase decades of antagonism between Russia and the West. Even if a successor wished to withdraw and pursue a different course—which is far from guaranteed—there would be no easy way out. Ukraine, meanwhile, would remain deeply wounded and likely determined to seek redress.

The European continent risks entering an era of chronic, localized, and poorly managed escalation zones: scattered but recurring flash points where local conflicts, military incidents, and coercive actions generate their own dynamics, making de-escalation increasingly difficult and the over-all trajectory progressively more dangerous. This pattern may persist until a major tragedy or systemic shock finally compels the continent’s principal powers to negotiate a new security order. ♦