Putin’s Hidden Vulnerability

In early August, as Ukrainian forces burst across the Russian border on their way to capturing some 385 square miles of Russian territory in the Kursk region, the Kremlin maintained it had everything under control: state media reported that Russian President Vladimir Putin was competently organizing relief efforts for the region’s inhabitants and directing the army to crush the invaders. “The military says Kyiv has failed to achieve its goal of securing a foothold in the Russian region,” the state-run RT network reported a day after the invasion began.

On Russian social media, the mood was less sanguine. Catching Russia’s military leadership completely by surprise, Ukrainian forces had overrun the border and taken hundreds of Russian prisoners. Tens of thousands of residents had fled. And in the days and weeks that followed, Russian forces seemed unable to mount a significant counterattack. Two Majors, one of the most popular pro-war nationalist channels on the Telegram messaging app, which has 1.2 million subscribers, complained about the incompetence of the army chief, Valery Gerasimov, “and his patrons in the Kremlin.” Normally, direct criticism of the Russian president is rare on state-controlled social media, but now Putin himself was a target. “He is ruining the country,” went a comment on OK, the Russian social media platform popular among an older demographic. “I wish he’d shoot himself already. It’s sickening to watch.”

Nor were these isolated statements. According to Filter Labs, a data analytics company I have advised that uses AI to analyze Russian social media, state media, and economics data, online sentiment toward Putin dropped precipitously after the Kursk offensive began and remained negative throughout August. The tenor of many of these negative comments was not subtle: “Our great strategist seems to have shit himself, there’s more to come,” one wrote. Another even made explicit the failure of Russian propaganda: “On TV we are crushing the [Ukrainian slur], occupying settlements one by one, and everything is going well for us,” the commenter wrote. “But in reality, they are bombing the Belgorod region, they have invaded Kursk, they are bombing cities in the Russian hinterland, and terrorist attacks [in Russia] are happening one after another.”

According to Filter Labs, this collapse in public support for Putin hadn’t been seen since the attempted coup by the Wagner paramilitary leader Yevgeny Prigozhin in the summer of 2023. In the weeks since the Kursk upheaval, several popular pro-war Telegram channels have deleted their most anti-Kremlin comments from the summer. But near the frontlines, public sentiment has not recovered. Even Russian opinion polling, whose findings experts often worry yield responses that are too pro-regime, showed a three-week dip in Putin’s popularity. The usual 60 percent who “fully approve” of Putin’s leadership dipped to 50 percent.

“He is ruining the country,” wrote one commenter on OK, the Russia social media platform.

These findings point to an underlying problem in Putin’s information system. From the outset of its invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the government has stifled liberal media in Russia, forcing independent news organizations to either close down or move out of the country and blocking access to platforms such as Facebook, Instagram, and Twitter. Since the war began, Putin has allowed many major pillars of the Russian state—the army, the Federal Security Service, the presidential administration, and mercenary forces—to oversee their own popular pro-war social media and especially Telegram channels, which they use to attack one another and push their own interests. In addition to promoting Kremlin policies, this allows Putin to balance power among these power centers and keep each on their toes. Meanwhile, ordinary Russians get to vent some of their frustrations on social media—as long as they don’t criticize the leader or the decision to wage war.

In moments of crisis like the Kursk invasion, however, this combination of official propaganda and intra-elite online checks and balances buckles. These breakdowns do not mean that there is some hidden mass movement inside Russia supporting liberal ideas or opposing the war. But they do reveal a central weakness in the Kremlin’s propaganda system, one that is not simply about exposing the Kremlin’s disinformation about its war crimes or denigration of Ukrainians. Debunking the lies, hate speech, and incitement to genocide is morally right and crucial to establishing truth. But challenging such concocted stories inside Russia is unlikely to undermine Putin’s war machine, or the regime’s grip on Russian society.

Instead, the key vulnerabilities in Putin’s information system are about the limits of control and how that affects the regime’s overall confidence in its ability to wage war. Ukraine’s international partners need to understand the specific ways that information flows are organized in Russia; which agendas, media, and audiences the Kremlin thinks are important to enable its war effort; and how these relationships can be disrupted.

GHOST HOSPITALS AND MISSING EGGS

The cracks in the Kremlin’s control over what Russians say and do lie along two axes: long-term grievances that the regime struggles to manage, and sudden shocks that are too complex for its propaganda model to contain.

As Maria Snegovaya of Georgetown University has observed, the Kremlin has consistently managed to build popular support for its wars—even before the era of high censorship that exists today. For example, in September 2015, on the cusp of Russia’s intervention in the Syrian civil war, the Levada Center, an independent Russian polling organization, found that 69 percent of the population opposed providing direct military assistance to the Syrian government. Within a month, however, opinion had dramatically shifted: 72 percent supported the Kremlin’s bombing campaign in Syria. Similarly, in December 2021, only eight percent of Russians thought Russia should send military troops to fight against the Ukrainian government. By February 2022, however, 68 percent supported the Russian troops’ actions in Ukraine, a figure that rose to 80 percent in March.

Although such swings may simply seem to show the population adapting to regime policies, survey data have also revealed an important connection between popular support for war and Russians’ sense of national identification. In studies, for example, Russians have shown a correlation between high levels of collective narcissism (the idea that Russia is superior to other countries), collective resentment (the belief that Russians are denigrated by outsiders), and backing the war. Thus, when the Kremlin argues that Russia should go to war in the name of its historic empire and to show the world it is “great again,” it is exploiting attitudes that are already present in the Russian population.

Even now, after more than two and a half years of fighting, most polling shows Russians generally displaying support, or at least acquiescence, to the war, although some dents appear to be showing. In the highly censored online environment, there are few complaints about the extraordinary rates of Russian losses, let alone expressions of sympathy for Ukrainians. Yet people do worry openly when the war affects their self-interests.

Consider medical services. After Russia’s 2022 invasion of Ukraine, state spending in this sector decreased sharply, while spending on defense increased. In its 2023 budget, the Kremlin cut spending on medical services by 23 percent—a dramatic decline. On social media people complained of long wait times for basic medical services caused by staff shortages, equipment like ventilators being out of order, and a lack of vaccines and chemotherapy. The overall sentiment toward medical services on social media dropped. In a March 2024 study of the effects of Russian propaganda, Filter Labs showed that to make up for this, state media gave lavish attention to new medical investments that the government was purportedly making and how Russian medical companies were overcoming Western sanctions. The propaganda offensive briefly boosted public sentiment, but people’s own experiences told a different story, and their opinions on this issue soon crashed again.

The government has faced some of the same challenges on economic issues. Amid persistent high inflation, Russians even in the most prosperous regions have complained that their salaries are worth less and less. Household debt has gone up: 16.9 percent between 2021 and 2022, and another 18.1 percent between 2022 and 2023. Russians have made increasing use of short-term loans and even payday loans. The Kremlin has responded by promoting the fact that salaries are increasing, including in poor regions like Buryatiya, in southern Siberia. Meanwhile the Central Bank and Ministry of Labor have funded a special public education program on financial literacy to warn of the dangers of payday loans and microloans. And there are now signs that after two years of consumer confidence fueled by the war economy, anxiety is now increasing: the Levada “consumer confidence index” dipped by eight percent in August—at the same moment the Kursk incursion was underway. Increasingly Russians say their economic situation has declined over the past year and that they worry about the future.

Economic worries are often a foremost concern for soldiers’ families, too. The Kremlin is now offering extravagant salaries and signing bonuses of up to $38,000 to men who sign contracts with the army. As one recruitment poster put it: “While serving your Motherland for glory, you’ll be able to complete house renovation and buy new appliances for your kitchen.” But when I spoke to journalists who still cover the poorer regions where many soldiers come from, they told me that families in these areas are far more concerned about the government not paying compensation for dead soldiers. Some fear that fallen soldiers are left on the battlefield on purpose so that the state never has to identify the dead and thus avoids paying out.

At times, Russians’ economic worries have erupted into violence. As Vasily Gatov, an exiled Russian media analyst and a visiting fellow at the University of Southern California, has explained, when eggs became scarce early last year, some people began attacking poultry farmers. The episode says much about the sometimes paradoxical effects of Kremlin propaganda: amid rumors of supply chain problems and price hikes, the Kremlin made a heavy-handed campaign telling people there were plenty of eggs. The result was that people assumed the opposite and rushed to buy all available eggs, augmenting the crisis.

PROPAGANDA PARALYSIS

To anyone paying attention, there is often a striking gap between calm-sounding Russian news reports and the discontent about the same developments on Russian social media. Alongside long-run economic issues, the Kremlin’s propaganda machine has had an even harder time dealing with massive, unexpected shocks related to the war. Putin’s partial mobilization in fall of 2022, for example, precipitated an unexpected mass emigration. Online, the Kremlin pushed positive news about the measure, which improved public attitudes for about two weeks—before they crashed again. So the Kremlin did more messaging on the issue, only to find public sentiment falling again. With each wave of propaganda, the Kremlin’s ability to maintain public support for mobilization became less effective.

Or take the startling rebellion by Prigozhin in June 2023. As Prigozhin’s Wagner army marched toward Moscow, Kremlin state media simply went silent as they waited for instructions. It also quickly became clear that Russia’s elites, the military, and the broader public were not particularly concerned about stopping the mutineers. As the country followed events with cool curiosity, some popular Russian military bloggers took Prigozhin’s side. In the end, Prigozhin never pressed home his advantage, and two months later, he was eliminated in a plane crash. But the episode showed how easily the Kremlin’s propaganda machine can jam—and that when it does, Russia’s various arms of power will not rush to the president’s aid, waiting instead for their chance to pounce.

The Kursk incursion is now the most recent such shock. In the weeks since the Ukrainian offensive began, the government has continually tried to downplay the operation and claim that Russian forces are taking care of the problem. But it has been difficult for Moscow to hide the first major invasion on Russian soil since World War II. Even local state news dared to criticize Putin’s response. “Kursk Region Residents Believe That the Government Has Abandoned Them,” ran one headline.

In each of these shocks, the Kremlin has shown an inability to handle unforeseen events. In the immediate aftermath of both the Kursk incursion and Prigozhin’s mutiny, Russian state television, used to being directed from above, was left to flounder. When the state-controlled media aren’t immediately instructed what position to take, when Telegram nationalists let their emotions get the better of them and are not being issued clear orders, then suddenly the patriotic pseudo-pluralism cultivated by the regime collapses, leaving the regime exposed and inept.

It may be tempting to conclude that Putin’s strongman rule is impervious to temporary dips in manipulating public discourse and behavior. But even in Russia, these shifts are important, because they show that the state is not able to control society at will. Consider the weird Russian ritual of elections, despite the fact that everyone knows Putin will win. As Stephen Holmes and Ivan Krastev argued as early as 2012, the Kremlin relies on blatant voter fraud and on instructing state employees how to vote. The aim is not to convince anyone that these elections are free and fair but to show that the government is capable of rigging them—and that it has the power to get the country to play along in the farce.

Thus, any perceived erosion of Kremlin control over public speech and behavior threatens Putin’s tsar-like status. For the regime, it also likely brings back bad memories from the late Soviet era. The current Kremlin elites saw how easily control was lost in 1989 when central Europe slipped quickly away from Moscow’s grip, and again in 1991 when the seemingly solid Soviet Union collapsed. Today, Putin is constantly on the lookout for any signs of a repeat and has shaped his approach accordingly. When the leadership sees itself losing control over social discourse and behavior, it changes policy. Sometimes the Kremlin increases censorship. But it can also simply reverse an unpopular plan. Thus, the Kremlin has so far refrained from another mobilization, despite the military’s urgent manpower needs. And on the battlefield itself, whenever Ukrainian forces push Russia back, as they did with Russia’s Black Sea Fleet, Putin retreats instead of risking a situation in which he is no longer in control.

As Polish Foreign Minister Radek Sikorski argued in September, if the West wants to stop Russia, it needs to change Putin’s calculations about the risks and costs he faces at home for waging the war now and waging new ones in the future. Doing so will require victories on the battlefield, effective economic warfare, diplomatic unity, and the necessary rearmament of Ukrainian forces. But information has a crucial role to play, as well, one that has already been shown in some of the largest wars of the twentieth century.

PRODDING THE PIG-DOG

The problem confronting Ukraine and its partners in trying to reach ordinary Russians is not unlike the challenge faced by the United Kingdom toward the citizens of Nazi Germany in World War II. At first, the British hoped they could encourage a democratic countermovement in Germany. But they ultimately realized it was hopeless. Whatever liberal values individual Germans might have privately held, there was no serious pro-democratic movement to support. Observing the popular national front that Hitler had spent years building, Lord John Reith, the British minister of information and founder of the BBC, concluded, “There may be discontent but it has no voice. . . . It is the war machine you have to beat.”

Two years into the war, however, British communication efforts pivoted. Although some parts of the government continued to hope that a democratic vision of Germany could still be achieved, a new section inside the Political Warfare Executive, the body that oversaw all British foreign communication efforts, tried a more pragmatic approach: it would organize dozens of subversive radio stations, leaflets, and newspapers focused on the economy, the splits between the army and the Nazi Party, the tensions between Germany and its allies, and the repressed anger that many ordinary Germans felt toward bureaucrats. The aim was not to turn Germans into democrats but to engage what Sefton Delmer, the head of special operations at the PWE, called Germans’ inner “pig-dog”: the anger, jealousy, and desire to look out for oneself that can often undermine state propaganda about “national greatness.”

The British focused on the repressed anger that many ordinary Germans felt toward Nazi bureaucrats.

The British campaign was not entirely successful. Stations that masked their origin were quickly found out—as they would be today. Delmer would come to regret some of his experiments with disinformation, which he felt “boomeranged” back onto the allies: a warning to anyone who wants to imitate that sort of tactic today. But when the British team worked out which real information triggered ordinary Germans, the engagement was impressive. 

By 1943, senior Nazi officials were bemoaning the subversive effect of the British-run German-language stations, which became among the three most popular in Munich. Snap polls the British conducted with German prisoners of war showed that by 1944, some 50 percent tuned in to the broadcasts. The details of soldiers’ lives and the dirt on internal Nazi corruption that was dished up by these stations was so rich that it made Nazi leaders suspect leaks from inside the elite—leading to paranoia and arrests.

CONFOUNDING THE KREMLIN 

Like their British counterparts 80 years ago, Ukraine’s Western allies also need to refocus the way they harness information against their enemy. To the extent that there are any Western-backed communication efforts into Putin’s Russia—and there are very few, such as those overseen by the U.S. Agency for Global Media or World Services of the BBC—they largely engage the country’s small population of liberals and follow the logic of classic Western journalism. By challenging the Kremlin’s lies and false narratives about the war, this work keeps the flame of truth alight and is a wise investment for the future, helping develop a postimperial vision of Russia that doesn’t define itself by enslaving and dominating others. But to actively undermine Russia’s war machine now, Kyiv and its partners will need to launch more targeted communications efforts.

Firstly, Europe and the United States need to find ways to exploit and exacerbate Putin’s lack of control, particularly at moments of heightened disorder. Coming on the heels of Kursk, another such shock—such as suddenly granting Ukraine the right to strike targets inside Russia, causing a new wave of uncertainty throughout the country—might have put the Kremlin in a situation in which it felt it was losing its hold over Russian society. There are many other kinds of moves that could create similar shocks. Unlike the complex choices surrounding military actions and authorizations, information initiatives bear little risk of leading to direct military escalation: indeed, Russia has itself long exploited this fact, by attacking democracies through information warfare, recognizing that there is little the West can do to respond. While the United States and its European partners do not need to imitate Russia’s use of disinformation, they, too, can profit from this non-military strategy.

New research on the Kremlin’s efforts to manage what Russians say and do during the war suggests a range of potential topics for public information campaigns into the country. One concerns the army and families of soldiers, surfacing issues about financial compensation for those killed in action. Imagine if, during the recent Kursk operation, Ukraine and its allies had already established a major communication channel aimed at Russian soldiers and their families, as the British radio broadcasts did with German soldiers in World War II. It could have been used to decrease morale and encourage defections at a moment of panic. Such a project could also include discrete channels aimed at different branches of the Russian system: the Federal Security Service and police, the army, and mercenary soldiers. Another focus could be on issues of perennial concern to the general population, such as health care and the economy. By continually undermining the Kremlin’s control over what people say and do, such efforts would make the Russian leadership less confident in its ability to contain the domestic costs of its foreign policy.

For maximum effect, any sustained information campaign should be connected to the broader economic, diplomatic, and military strategies and coordinated between Ukraine and its allies. The Ukrainians are fighting for their lives and can take the lead on the most subversive communications efforts connected to their own military actions. In turn, larger allies like the United Kingdom and the United States can assist with public diplomacy, research, timely policies, and information about military assistance and economic statecraft, as well as reorienting communication channels to target ordinary mainstream Russians rather than the liberal audiences reached by most current initiatives. Frontline states in the Baltics can focus on border regions of Russia, which have taken the greatest economic hit from the war. There is a role for civil society, too: governments no longer dominate the means of communication as they did in World War II. Some of the most innovative campaigns can come from private-sector activists—although these will be more effective if their independent activity aligns with a broader strategy.

So far, however, the United States and its European allies have failed to take advantage of the Kremlin’s structural vulnerabilities. Instead, they tend to remain in a reactive mode, preoccupied with redlines and fears of Russian escalation. During each of the major shocks that have struck the Kremlin since the war started, they have stepped back and let Moscow recalibrate, recover, and come back even stronger. This is what is happening now with the Kursk offensive. After a few weeks of panic, the Kremlin appears to be getting its propaganda strategy back in order—telling Russians to be calm and not await any speedy liberation of the Kursk region. As it doubles down on its assault in the Donbas, the Kremlin is glad to have the Kursk problem fade from view. Ukraine’s allies cannot afford to squander the next time the Russian propaganda system is thrown into confusion, when its seeming total control slips to reveal the incompetence and apathy underneath.