As the war launched by Vladimir Putin following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 enters its fifth year, one longstanding assumption about modern conflict appears both confirmed and confounded. Conventional wisdom suggests that the longer a war drags on, the more public enthusiasm fades. Economic strain deepens. Casualties accumulate. Fatigue sets in. And yet in Russia, public opinion appears suspended in a peculiar state of ambiguity.
Recent polling suggests that just over half of Russians expect the war to end in 2026. At the same time, a majority say that if negotiations fail, Moscow should escalate with greater use of force. This combination — cautious expectation of closure paired with rhetorical support for escalation — captures the enigma of Russian public sentiment in 2026. It is neither fervently mobilized nor openly rebellious. It is neither fully supportive nor visibly collapsing.
Sanctions and the “Social Contract”
From the earliest days of the conflict, Western governments designed their strategy around an assumption: that economic sanctions would eventually undermine domestic support for the war. The theory was straightforward. Putinism, analysts argued, rested on an implicit social contract. The Russian public would accept political passivity in exchange for stability, rising living standards and the freedom to live private lives largely untouched by state intrusion.
That contract appeared under strain even before 2022. Since Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014, sanctions and structural economic weaknesses had slowed growth. Living standards stagnated. Regional inequality widened. Demographic decline continued.
When the full-scale invasion began, many Western policymakers believed that exclusion from European markets, capital flight and technological isolation would gradually erode public tolerance. Four years later, the results are mixed.
Military spending has tripled. Defense industries hum at full capacity. War-related production has masked underlying economic fragility. Reserve funds have been drawn down to stabilize the currency and support social spending. Yet beneath this surface stability, pressure is mounting. Inflation eats into household budgets. Skilled labor shortages grow. Consumer choice narrows. The middle class feels squeezed.
Still, the predicted public backlash has not materialized in a visible or organized way.
One flaw in the “social contract” thesis is that it tends to treat Russian citizens as primarily economic actors. It assumes that support for the Kremlin hinges chiefly on material well-being. But ideology matters.
Putin’s narrative — often summarized as a pledge to restore Russia’s greatness, sovereignty and global stature — resonates with a segment of society shaped by post-Soviet dislocation and resentment toward the West. Since 2022, state messaging has framed the war not merely as a territorial dispute but as a civilizational confrontation.
Official approval ratings for Putin have remained above 80 percent throughout much of the conflict. In authoritarian contexts, such figures must be treated cautiously. Fear, conformity and social desirability bias all influence responses. Yet dismissing all support as fabricated would oversimplify reality. Some of it is genuine.
The “rally around the flag” effect — a phenomenon observed globally during wartime — appears to have occurred after both the 2014 annexation of Crimea and the 2022 invasion. The surge in approval may reflect authentic patriotism, reactive solidarity in times of crisis, or a pragmatic recognition of the risks of dissent.
In today’s Russia, disentangling these motivations is nearly impossible.
Independent polling faces formidable obstacles. Laws penalizing the “discrediting” of the armed forces and the spreading of “fake news” create an atmosphere of caution. In such an environment, refusing to answer or giving a socially acceptable response becomes a rational strategy.
The Levada Center, widely regarded as one of Russia’s more independent pollsters, continues face-to-face interviews, though response rates are low. Online surveys attempt demographic balance but cannot eliminate self-censorship. Reported support for the “special military operation” typically ranges between 60 and 70 percent.
Ethnographic research complicates the picture further. Field researchers embedded in provincial towns often report not fervent nationalism but muted acquiescence. Many citizens avoid political discussions entirely, retreating into private life — a practice sometimes described as “internal emigration.”
This phenomenon has historical precedent. During the late Soviet era, large segments of society disengaged from official ideology while maintaining outward conformity. The system endured for years despite widespread cynicism — until it did not.
There is no shortage of vocal war supporters. Pro-war military bloggers, nationalist commentators and state television personalities dominate public space. Their visibility, however, reflects state permission as much as grassroots momentum.
One way to assess genuine enthusiasm is to examine behavior rather than words.
If support were deeply passionate, recruitment centers might be overwhelmed. They are not. Instead, the state relies heavily on financial incentives. Volunteers are offered high salaries relative to regional incomes. Prison recruitment programs have supplemented manpower. Coercive mobilization and administrative pressure fill gaps.
Simultaneously, hundreds of thousands of men have avoided conscription by leaving the country, exploiting legal exemptions or staying off official registries. Emigration waves following mobilization announcements suggest limits to public willingness to sacrifice.
Symbolic participation reveals similar patterns. The “Z” symbol — shorthand for support of the war — dominates official billboards and state-sponsored events. Slogans like “Za pobedu” (“For victory”) appear in public spaces. Yet privately displayed symbols have largely vanished. Few homes or personal vehicles display overt signs of enthusiasm.
Humanitarian aid drives for soldiers are often organized through schools, workplaces and churches. Participation frequently reflects social pressure rather than spontaneous activism. Many participants frame their involvement as supporting individual soldiers — sons, brothers, neighbors — rather than endorsing the broader war.
The distinction is subtle but important.
Cultural consumption offers another lens. If society were swept by militaristic fervor, patriotic music and propaganda films might dominate charts and streaming platforms. Instead, Russian music rankings are filled with songs about romance, heartbreak and personal introspection.
Jakone’s melancholic “Eyes As Wet As Asphalt” sits alongside lighthearted tracks celebrating fashion staples like hoodies. A Bashkir folk song unexpectedly became a streaming hit. Escapism, not militarism, appears to define popular taste.
Book sales tell a similarly complex story. George Orwell’s “1984,” with its depiction of surveillance and authoritarian control, has surged in demand. Viktor Frankl’s Holocaust memoir “Man’s Search for Meaning,” an exploration of suffering and moral responsibility, also ranks high. Readers appear to be seeking frameworks to understand trauma and power — not celebrating conquest.
State-backed cultural products often struggle. The dystopian film “Tolerance,” portraying Western moral decay, failed to capture wide enthusiasm. Meanwhile, streaming audiences gravitated toward “Heated Rivalry,” a romantic drama centered on a same-sex hockey relationship — hardly aligned with official narratives about traditional values.
The Kremlin’s campaign to promote conservative family norms faces demographic headwinds. Divorce rates remain high. Birth rates continue to decline. Social realities resist ideological engineering.
One reason public opposition remains muted may be the Kremlin’s strategy of partial insulation. Unlike total wars of the 20th century, the conflict in Ukraine has not required full-scale societal mobilization. Daily life in major cities retains a semblance of normalcy. Restaurants operate. Shopping malls function. Domestic tourism thrives.
By avoiding mass conscription and hiding casualty figures, the state limits visible costs. Financial compensation for families of fallen soldiers cushions economic blowback. For many Russians, especially in urban centers, the war remains geographically and psychologically distant.
This managed distance allows rhetorical support for escalation to coexist with personal disengagement. Survey respondents can endorse tougher measures in theory while hoping privately that such measures will not disrupt their own lives.
It is a precarious equilibrium.
Observers often describe Russian society as divided into three broad groups: a small minority opposed to the war; a slightly larger minority enthusiastically supportive; and a silent majority that passively goes along.
This middle segment — pragmatic, apolitical, cautious — forms the backbone of regime stability. Its support is shallow but sufficient. It does not organize protests. It does not challenge narratives. It prioritizes stability.
Yet passive acquiescence is not the same as deep conviction. It can endure for years, sustained by habit and fear. But it may prove brittle if confronted with sudden shocks — economic collapse, mass casualties, elite fractures or visible military defeat.
The late Soviet Union offers a historical analogy. In the 1980s, official propaganda and lived reality diverged sharply. Public rituals continued. Approval ratings remained high. Yet beneath the surface, cynicism accumulated. When political openings emerged, the system unraveled with surprising speed.
Today’s Russia is not the Soviet Union. The state has learned from past collapse. It controls media tightly, suppresses opposition swiftly and calibrates repression to avoid mass backlash. Digital surveillance tools enhance oversight.
Nevertheless, the gulf between the Kremlin’s triumphant narrative and the everyday experiences of ordinary citizens persists.
The war’s fifth year finds Russia in a state of suspended tension. Casualty figures — though officially minimized — circulate through informal networks. Economic adaptation masks stagnation but does not eliminate it. Younger generations navigate a world of restricted travel and cultural isolation.
Gen Z Russians, raised in a relatively globalized era, face a narrowing horizon. Many are apolitical, focused on careers and relationships. Others quietly resent restrictions. Few openly challenge the state.
In provincial towns, military funerals have become familiar rituals. Compensation payments bring short-term relief to struggling families but cannot replace lost lives. Conversations about the war often occur in whispers, if at all.
The result is a society neither mobilized nor rebellious — a society waiting.
For Putin, ambiguity works. As long as no mass anti-war movement emerges and approval ratings remain high, he retains maneuvering space. Escalation can be framed as strength. Negotiation can be framed as pragmatism. The narrative is flexible.
But the durability of this arrangement depends on continued insulation. Should mobilization broaden, casualties spike dramatically or economic stability falter, passive consent could erode.
Western policymakers who once anticipated rapid domestic backlash must reckon with a more complex reality. Sanctions alone have not fractured public support. Ideology, repression, adaptation and apathy combine to sustain the status quo.
At the same time, the absence of visible protest should not be mistaken for enthusiastic endorsement.
As the conflict moves deeper into its fifth year, the Russian public’s attitude remains layered and contradictory. Many expect an end soon. Many say escalation is necessary. Many avoid discussing politics altogether.
The Kremlin’s version of reality — a nation united in existential struggle — coexists uneasily with everyday life marked by consumer concerns, personal aspirations and quiet coping strategies.
History suggests that such dissonance can persist for long periods. It also suggests that when change comes, it can arrive abruptly.
For now, ambiguity prevails. Putin governs a society that appears stable yet subtly strained, supportive yet weary, compliant yet inwardly detached. Whether this balance can endure another year — or another five — remains one of the central unanswered questions of the war.
What is clear is that beneath the surface of polling numbers and patriotic slogans lies a more fragile foundation than official narratives imply. And in that fragility resides both the resilience and the vulnerability of contemporary Russia.
