In our country, you can't say what is to blame
In a nation that pumps oil from the earth in vast quantities, ordinary Russians now wait in line for hours simply to fill their tanks — a paradox that the war in Ukraine has made unavoidable. Ukrainian strikes on Russian refineries have severed the link between raw extraction and domestic supply, bringing the distant conflict into the daily rhythms of Moscow and beyond. As approval ratings edge downward and public pessimism reaches a generational high, the question history is quietly asking is not whether economic pain will soften a leader's resolve, but whether it ever truly has.
- Fuel queues stretching for blocks have appeared even in Moscow, the wealthy capital of one of the world's largest oil-producing nations — a visible contradiction that is difficult for authorities to explain away.
- Ukrainian drone and missile strikes on Russian refineries are the proximate cause, disrupting domestic supply chains and forcing the Kremlin into emergency measures including rationing, price subsidies, and the deployment of Cossacks to manage crowds.
- The disruption is cascading outward — bus routes cut, garbage uncollected, farmers anxious about harvests, and social media filling with footage of fights breaking out in fuel lines across the country.
- Putin's approval rating has slipped to 74% and Russian economic pessimism has reached a two-decade peak, yet experts warn that pressure of this kind is more likely to harden the Kremlin's posture than soften it.
- Rather than signaling a turn toward negotiation, Putin has appeared in military fatigues, claimed battlefield victories, and instructed generals to analyze the 'real combat actions' of Ukraine's European allies — language that has unsettled Western capitals.
Drive through Moscow today and the fuel crisis announces itself at nearly every petrol station — queues stretching for blocks, some stations shuttered entirely, tanks run dry in the capital of a country that extracts more oil than almost anywhere else on earth. The mood among those waiting is less rage than resignation. One driver reconsidered a long journey because he could not trust the roads would have fuel. Another found the whole situation absurd — a nation drowning in oil, forced to queue for petrol — and split the blame between Ukrainian missiles and Russian unpreparedness. When asked who bore ultimate responsibility, a third driver simply smiled and said nothing.
The war that Putin spent years keeping at arm's length from ordinary Russians has arrived at the pump. Ukrainian drones and missiles have struck deep into Russian territory, targeting oil refineries and disrupting the domestic supply chain. Russia can no longer refine enough fuel to meet its own demand. Authorities have responded with rationing, jerry can bans, price subsidies, and in some regions the deployment of Cossacks to maintain order. Bus services have been cut. Garbage collection has been reduced. Farmers are worried about the harvest. A Siberian mayor set up portable toilets for drivers waiting in line.
The political numbers are moving. The independent Levada Center recorded Putin's approval at around 74%, down from earlier highs, while only 52% of Russians now believe the country is heading in the right direction, compared to 61% in May. Gallup found Russians more pessimistic about their economy than at any point in the past twenty years. Even state-run polling registered a sharp single-week drop in public trust. Economist Christopher Weafer called the fuel crisis a potential game-changer for Russian growth, warning that the full damage would not appear in official statistics for weeks.
Yet experts caution against reading economic pain as a path to negotiation. Professor Nina Khrushcheva told the BBC that Putin was unlikely to bend under pressure — that pressure of this kind was more likely to produce aggression than concession, and that Western hopes of ordinary Russians toppling their leader under hardship were, simply, fantasy. The evidence points the same way: Putin has since appeared in military fatigues, claimed battlefield gains, and instructed his generals to analyze what he called the 'real combat actions' of Ukraine's European allies. The phrase has raised alarms. The question is no longer whether the fuel crisis will force talks — it is what comes next.
Drive through Moscow on any given day now and the fuel crisis announces itself immediately. At nearly every petrol station, cars and lorries form queues—some stretching for blocks, others moving in fits and starts, a few stations shuttered entirely because the tanks have run dry. This is the capital, the wealthy heart of a nation that extracts more oil than almost anywhere else on earth. Yet even here, the authorities cannot guarantee that people will find fuel.
The mood in these queues is less rage than resignation mixed with practical worry. Yekaterina, waiting with her husband Andrei, said she was "not happy" and felt the panic spreading through the city—everyone convinced supplies would vanish entirely. But she believed it could be solved with better organization. Elmar, another driver, called the situation "very bad." Prices were climbing as stocks fell, and he was reconsidering a planned trip to Dagestan because he could not trust the roads would have fuel. When asked who bore responsibility, he smiled knowingly and said nothing—in Russia, blaming the president or the Kremlin is not something most people do aloud. Valery found the whole thing absurd: a country drowning in oil, forced to queue for petrol. He split the blame between Ukrainian missiles and Russian unpreparedness. "I have no desire to get used to queues," he said.
The war, which Putin has spent years keeping at arm's length from ordinary Russians, is now arriving at the pump. Ukrainian drones and missiles have been striking deep into Russian territory, targeting oil refineries and darkening the skies over Moscow and St. Petersburg. Russia, despite being one of the world's largest oil producers, cannot refine enough fuel to meet its own demand. Authorities have begun rationing, banning jerry cans in many areas, and in some places—the Black Sea resort of Anapa, for instance—deploying Cossacks to maintain order in fuel queues. A Siberian mayor has set up portable toilets for drivers waiting in line. Bus services and garbage collection have been cut back. Farmers are worried about harvesting crops. The anxiety is real and spreading.
Social media is flooded with images of mile-long tailbacks and reports of fights breaking out. The Kremlin is paying attention. Putin addressed the fuel shortage on state television, acknowledging that Ukrainian attacks are "obviously creating problems" but insisting the situation is "not critical." Behind the scenes, the government is moving fast—increasing fuel imports, subsidizing prices, and allowing lower-grade fuel to be sold, despite concerns it could damage engines.
The political numbers are shifting. The independent Levada Center found Putin's approval rating slipping to around 74%, down from higher levels earlier in the year. Only 52% of Russians now believe the country is heading in the right direction, down from 61% in May. Gallup reported last week that Russians were more pessimistic about their economy than at any point in the past two decades, with 60% saying conditions where they lived were deteriorating. Even the state-run VCIOM polling organization registered a 3.4 percentage point drop in public trust in Putin over a single week.
Christopher Weafer, head of the consultancy Macro Advisory, called the fuel crisis a potential "game-changer" for Russian economic growth. The costs of the war are mounting, he said, and while the full damage will not show in official statistics until July, the likelihood of sustained crisis has significantly dimmed prospects for the rest of the year. The question now is whether this economic pain will force Putin to negotiate.
Experts are skeptical. Nina Khrushcheva, a professor of international affairs at The New School in New York, told the BBC that Putin was unlikely to bend under pressure. "The more pressure he feels, the more likely he would act aggressively and repressively," she said. Russians feel anger and desperation, she added, but also deep resignation. Western hopes that economic hardship would push ordinary Russians to topple their leader were, she said, fantasy. "That doesn't happen."
Instead, all signs point to escalation. Last Friday, Putin appeared in military fatigues meeting with commanders, claiming victories on the battlefield and promising to seize more territory. He then instructed his generals to analyze what he called the "real combat actions" of Ukraine's European allies, suggesting they were extending the war. "We need this analysis for taking responsible decisions in the future," he said, without elaborating. The phrase has raised alarms in Western capitals. The question now is not whether the fuel crisis will force negotiations, but what Putin might do next.
Citações Notáveis
The more pressure he feels, the more likely he would act aggressively and repressively— Nina Khrushcheva, professor of international affairs at The New School
The costs of the conflict are rising. The likelihood of lasting crisis has significantly dimmed the growth prospects for the remaining part of the year— Christopher Weafer, head of Macro Advisory
A Conversa do Hearth Outra perspectiva sobre a história
Why does a fuel shortage in Moscow matter more than fuel shortages elsewhere in Russia?
Because Moscow is where power concentrates. If the capital is queuing for petrol, it means the crisis has reached the people closest to the system. It's harder to ignore when it's your own city.
The people you spoke to seemed almost calm about it. Shouldn't they be angrier?
There's a difference between anger and resignation. They've lived through worse—the 1990s were brutal. They know how to endure. But endurance isn't the same as acceptance. The worry is real; they're just not sure what to do with it.
Why would Putin address this on state TV if it's not critical?
Because it is critical, and he knows it. When a leader has to go on television to tell people something isn't a crisis, it usually means people are starting to believe it is one. He's trying to manage the narrative before it manages him.
Could this actually force him to negotiate?
The experts say no. Putin sees pressure as a reason to push harder, not back down. And most Russians, even frustrated ones, don't have a mechanism to force change. Anger alone doesn't topple regimes.
What's the significance of him asking his generals to analyze European involvement in the war?
It sounds like he's building a case for something. For escalation, maybe. For strikes on NATO countries, or at least the argument that they're already fighting him. It's a dangerous signal wrapped in bureaucratic language.