Since February 24, 2022, when Russian forces poured into Ukraine, Western observers and governments have concentrated their attention on the fighting front. Intelligence agencies in Britain, Poland, the Baltic countries, and the United States have provided their governments with steady updates on the action, while independent bodies like the Institute for the Study of War in Washington have done as well or better for the public at large. News organizations have proven less successful, in part because they tend to give equal time to bogus official reports from Moscow.

Meanwhile, over the same period, Western governments and the press, neglecting Napoleon’s mot that “Armies proceed on their bellies,” have largely neglected related developments on Russia’s home front. The few Western journalists still functioning in Moscow self-censor in the hope of preserving their accreditation and visas. Their work is further hampered by the fact that nowadays few official Russians consent to being interviewed. A bold and subtle young Russian, Daniil Orain, has filmed “man on the street” interviews, but most of his subjects also engage in prudent self-censorship.

The West has largely missed, if not ignored, these developments on Russia’s home front. But following the statements of Russian online bloggers, both official and unofficial, as well as C-SPAN-like coverage of Russia’s Duma does offer some compelling insights into the debates that are starting to effloresce over the country’s future.

An official Russian war correspondent, Evgeni Lisitsyn, recently reported that “Russia does not control the front.” And Yuri Devich, a Duma member and friend of the jailed chauvinist Igor Girkin, opined that “It is now likely that the enemy will take a major [Russian] city.” In the same vein, Andrei Kartapolov, chairman of the Duma Committee on Defense, declared that “Black days have begun for Russia.” Even more blunt is the hard-nosed commentator Sergei Mardan, who declared “Enough of the lying. Victory is not in sight.” Meanwhile, over in the Duma, a loyal ally of Vladimir Putin named Oleg Matveevich declared on October 29 that “the very concept of Ukraine should not exist,” but it does, and as a result, “Hell has begun for us all.”

Only last week, one of the most zealous Moscow tele-journalists, Olga Skabeeva, complained that “Our Special Military Operation hangs by a thread” and that “They’re hitting us with such blows that we cannot survive.” To those of her viewers who were amazed by her volte-face, she explained that “We were forced to hide the truth from Russians.” A more sophisticated regular on the same program, film director Karen Shakhnazarov, the well-known son of one of Gorbachev’s confidants, averred that “The outcome of [the present process] is a collapse akin to death, civil war, atomic bombs, etc.” Not to be outdone by these outbursts of despair, Skabeeva and Shakhnazarov’s boss, Vladimir Soloviev, had already announced on September 27 that “The Ukrainian army is fiercely wiping out our technology,” “Our victory is now impossible,” and that “it’s time for a retirement [e.g. Putin’s].” The writer Mikhail Veller was even blunter, saying that the Special Military Operation “is leading to Putin’s self-liquidation.”

Some of the few insights on the Russian domestic scene to reach Western audiences concern corruption in the senior ranks of the Russian army and Putin’s effort to stamp it out by sidelining (but not firing) Minister of Defense Sergei Shoigu and replacing him with the economist Andrey Belousov. But instead of mounting a top-to-bottom purge of the officer corps, Belousov attacked profiteering and venality by senior members of the Russian Duma. The resulting turmoil has yet to reach a conclusion and has at the same time failed to quell criticism of the army’s top command. But could it be otherwise? As explained by Duma member Alexander Boroda, carrying out army reforms during wartime is next to impossible.

The most audible focus of domestic criticism is what is seen as the disastrous impact of the Ukraine war on the Russian home front. While many in the Western press express amazement that the Russian economy is still functioning, those Russians who bother to follow the televised debates in the Duma know that this has been possible largely due to government contracts with civilian firms to shift production from consumer goods to military hardware. But several Duma speakers have pointed out that interest rates are at an all-time high and are killing even the producers of military hardware. They know, too, that Putin is paying for these contracts by drawing on what were once huge reserves piled up by the oil industry over previous decades but are now only a fraction of their former value. Putin himself has often groused that Russia’s $300 billion reserves abroad are frozen and inaccessible.

Against this background, Duma member Andrei Kuznetsov delivered an impassioned critique based on official data from the State Statistical Committee. He stated that “Russia is today a poor country.” Parodying glowing reports from the war front, he said that “OUR front [as opposed to the war front] must be the social and economic development of our country.” If this does not become our number one goal, Russia will face a “catastrophe.”

A full year before this blast was aired on national television, an even sharper attack on Putin’s economic policies had been broadcast, but only on the Telegram site. The event was a meeting organized by the Communist Party of Russia chaired by the Communist warhorse of the Yeltsin era, Gennady Zyuganov. The main speaker was a highly regarded mathematician, physicist, oceanographer, and president of the Russian Academy of Sciences, Robert Nigmatulin.

Bemoaning Russia’s economic collapse, Nigmatulin stated that Russia’s economy was now on a level with Argentina and lower than Kazakhstan, Azerbaijan, and Belarus. “Yes,” he said, “we invest, but nothing is produced.” Then Nigmatulin unloaded with both barrels: “We must acknowledge that every policy of our President is negative.” But his ministers are no better: He asserted that “The Minister of Defense [then Shoigu] and the other ministers are all incompetent.” In spite of this, Nigmatulin observed, “Every time they speak they begin by praising the President.” Russia, he concluded, is in the grip of a new “Cult of Personality,” namely, Putinism. 

More was yet to come. On October 29, 2024, Elena Petrova of TASS reported that the cost of home heating had risen ten times in ten years. In 2024 alone it is up 150 percent in the province of Tambov and 40 percent in Tver. Russians, she concluded, are forced to devote a fifth of their income to heating alone.

Duma delegates now focus on specific officials whom they consider malefactors.

Valery Gartung attacked fellow Duma member and director of the Bank of Russia, Elvira Nabiullina, saying that “She does everything possible to hinder economic growth.” Thanks to her, “Our banks do everything possible to kill the economy.” “The few positive signs that can be discerned are all in spite of the Bank of Russia, not because of it.” Yes, he acknowledged, business leaders complain of a lack of manpower, but this is precisely why “they should be investing in new technologies.”

These diverse assaults on Putin are arising from both the political right and left, from communist members of the Duma and from members of reform-minded political parties deemed acceptable. For all their differences, their many criticisms are directed against government policies that have been inextricably linked with Putin since his rise to power. Moreover, the negative effects of every one of the policies they denounce have been greatly exacerbated by Putin’s war on Ukraine.

It is in this context that one must consider Russia’s mounting demographic crisis, which nowadays is felt in all policy discussions like a deep, rumbling diapason. While to some extent Russia’s crisis parallels the low replacement rate of other populations in Europe and America, it has been profoundly worsened by the country’s enormous loss of lives due to the army’s “meat assaults” and appalling disregard for its soldiers’ lives. Russians know that even if the war were to end tomorrow, the demographic crisis will deepen for years, as will the economic crisis caused by the slow process of converting war production back to civilian produce and the lack of funds to do so.

It is not necessary to cite here the countless statements by dissident officials, publicists, and ordinary citizens that Russia can no longer dream of “winning” the Ukraine war.

But with the rare exception of such nationally acknowledged and hence protected notables as Nigmatulin, few of these critics dare mention Putin by name. But even this is changing. Six months ago, it was common for Duma critics to criticize Putin’s party, United Russia. Then they shifted to criticizing “the leadership,” without naming names. Then critics from both right and left began referring to “our leaders” and later, increasingly, to “our leader.”

Where does all this lead? The Russian voices cited here present a necessary corrective to Putin’s oft-quoted fulminations. In my view, they represent a significant and growing chorus of officials and ordinary Russians who are fearful about their country’s future and do not look to Putin to remove the dark cloud he himself has brought over the land. Their very existence suggests that Putin is operating from weakness, not strength, and that on the home front, his luck is fast running out.