Is the sinking of the super-yacht Bayesian and likely death of Mike Lynch a bigger story than Ukraine’s Kursk incursion? The Russian mid-market tabloid Moskovsky Komsomolets certainly thinks so, reflecting a clear unwillingness on the part of the Kremlin and the state-controlled or state-dominated media to get to grips with the current crisis in Kursk.
Likewise, the stodgy government newspaper of record, Rossiiskaya Gazeta, recently stuck with a piece about plucky locals ready for whatever happens, under the headline, ‘A city with a special history and a spirit that cannot be broken. How Kursk lives today.’ Meanwhile, the stridently pro-Kremlin Komsomolskaya Pravda ran the latest outburst from former president turned maximalist troll Dmitry Medvedev warning that ‘there will be no negotiations after the Ukrainian Armed Forces attack on Kursk Region.’
Only the broadsheet Izvestiya on Wednesday led with Kursk, but even then with an upbeat tale of a Russian helicopter gunship destroying Ukrainian armoured vehicles. Inside, the paper ran a large ‘analysis’ piece that in many ways mirrored the key Kremlin talking points, explicitly sourcing most of the piece to the SVR, Russia’s Foreign Intelligence Service. First of all, of course, the incursion was presented as doomed to failure – and, indeed, already collapsing on every front, regardless of the visible evidence of slowing but continued Ukrainian advances. Secondly, it was framed essentially as a Nato operation, with the Ukrainians as lumpen foot soldiers, even though credible reporting has shown that Kyiv didn’t even warn its western allies of the attack, let alone let them direct it. Meanwhile, the attack has apparently further widened splits in the western alliance, which is on the verge of collapse.
As usual, it is Perfidious Albion that is the main villain of the piece. Britain is ‘one of the main curators of military actions in Ukraine on the side of the Ukrainian Armed Forces,’ and the daring, fluid small-unit operations which allowed them to advance so quickly could only have been taught by the British. Nationalist politician Dmitry Rogozin concurred, saying the current Ukrainian operations ‘reek of the British a mile away,’ following in the footsteps of headline-hungry parliamentarian Adalbi Shkhagoshev, who asserted that British spooks and soldiers were directly involved, on the basis that ‘English was heard’. Surely conclusive.
This all reflects the challenge the incursion has presented Vladimir Putin. Putin’s unwillingness to engage with or name something has always been a mark of how much it scares him. Opposition leader Alexei Navalny’s name was taboo until he was safely dead. Before then he was instead referred to as ‘that individual.’ Likewise, this invasion is simply ‘the situation’ or ‘current circumstances.’
This is not just Putin’s usual habit of trying to ignore or hide from difficult policy crises. It also reflects the particular characteristics of the Kursk invasion. Putin may have been tempted to try and stir up patriotic fury against the attack, but to do that, he would have to admit the scale of the incursions and the degree to which Kyiv’s forces look as if they are digging in for the long term. For a leader whose legitimacy depends so much on his status as the defender of the Motherland and guarantor of security, to make such an admission would invite difficult questions about how it could have been allowed to happen.
Instead, then, this is at once an outrage and an outlier, a mark of desperation on the part of a Ukrainian regime on the verge of collapse. Rather than acknowledge that Kyiv could pull off such an unexpected and, so far at least, successful operation, the West – and especially those sneaky Brits – must be presented as behind it all, even as they cynically bleed their lumpen proxies to get at Russia.
There are two key problems with this narrative. First of all, Russians do not seem really to be buying it. Even before the incursion, 58 per cent of them favoured negotiations to end the war (even if that does not necessarily mean concessions to Kyiv). They may still believe that the war was sparked by Kyiv or Nato, but they are certainly not accepting the bland assurances that everything is in hand. Organisations such as FreshLabs and OpenMinds that track Russian social media have noted a distinct uptick in sentiments of alarm and anger at the authorities. Meanwhile, a recent survey by the FOM polling company recorded a 12 per cent rise in feelings of anxiety and a 7 per cent spike in the proportion of people willing to admit they are unhappy with the regime. Most, in contrast with their own media, regard the Kursk incursion as the main issue of the moment.
Secondly, this is at best a temporary approach. What happens if the Ukrainians are not driven out of Russia, as the Kremlin is promising? If Kyiv – newly heartened by its victories – does not sue for peace, and the western alliance does not fragment?
At present, Russians are just as upset by the state’s failure to tend to the war’s 200,000 displaced refugees as they are by its failure to defend the country’s borders. There is anger, but more than that, there is disillusion. This is not going to force Putin to the negotiating table nor spark mass unrest. But a regime which has been surprisingly adroit at mobilising its base and demoralising its critics has found itself beginning to do the very opposite. Not simply thanks to this misbegotten war, but because of Putin’s evident inability to come up with a policy or narrative response to the invasion.
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