He does not want to see or hear. He listens only to the security services.
In the long arc of power, those who rule through fear often find themselves imprisoned by it. Vladimir Putin, once a figure who projected control over a vast nation, now moves between underground bunkers, his public presence reduced to pre-recorded theater, his inner circle consumed by mutual suspicion. The war in Ukraine did not create this withdrawal, but it has accelerated a retreat that began long before — a leader sealing himself away from the world he governs, and in doing so, losing his grip on it.
- Putin has spent weeks at a time in underground bunkers, including one in the Krasnodar region, while his family quietly vacates Moscow residences and the Valdai estate.
- Security protocols have reached an almost surreal intensity — staff near the president are barred from phones and public transport, their homes fitted with surveillance cameras, and his public appearances replaced with pre-recorded footage.
- The paranoia has turned inward: security chiefs are blaming each other for the deaths of senior Russian officers, and Putin has responded by extending personal protection to ten generals, institutionalizing the fear.
- Moscow itself has become a security perimeter, with internet shutdowns, dog squads along the river, and anti-drone forces deployed — the capital reshaped around one man's anxiety.
- Public frustration is breaking through anyway: a lifestyle blogger's 18-minute video appeal, which received 1.5 million likes, forced the Kremlin to stage a rare and carefully managed public appearance in St. Petersburg.
- Analysts warn that Putin now listens only to the security services, which have come to control all spheres of Russian life — the bunkers protect him from drones, but not from the consequences of his own disappearance.
Vladimir Putin has largely vanished from public life. For weeks at a time, he governs from underground bunkers — one reportedly in the Krasnodar region of southern Russia — while his family avoids their Moscow and Valdai residences. His security detail, the Federal Protective Service, has transformed his existence into something resembling a sealed chamber, driven by fears that have compounded since the start of the Ukraine war: assassination, drone strikes, and the specter of a coup.
The tightening accelerated by March, as Kremlin officials grew anxious about threats both real and imagined. Ukrainian drones had struck Russian airfields beyond the Arctic Circle in what became known as Operation Spiderweb. The U.S. seizure of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro in January reportedly rattled the Kremlin further. Staff who work near Putin cannot carry phones or use public transport. Surveillance cameras have been installed in their homes. State media broadcasts pre-recorded footage to maintain the fiction of a president moving normally through the world.
The paranoia has become institutional. Security chiefs blamed each other for allowing senior Russian officers to be killed in Ukrainian-linked attacks. FSB chief Alexander Bortnikov criticized the defense ministry; National Guard head Viktor Zolotov cited resource shortages. Putin responded by directing protection for ten generals. Meanwhile, Moscow's internet has suffered repeated shutdowns, and Federal Protective Service agents have deployed along the Moscow River to counter aerial threats.
Yet the bunkers cannot contain the consequences of withdrawal. Internet restrictions, new taxes, and livestock culls in Siberia have generated discontent that state media struggles to suppress. When a Monaco-based blogger posted an 18-minute video telling Putin that Russians were "afraid of him" — and received 1.5 million likes — the Kremlin was forced to respond with a staged public appearance in St. Petersburg that only underscored how far he had retreated.
Political analyst Andrei Kolesnikov described Putin as a figure who no longer wants to see or hear the world around him, listening only to the security services that now control all spheres of Russian life. The bunkers may shield him from drones and assassins. They cannot shield him from the slow erosion of a leader who has chosen disappearance over governance.
Vladimir Putin has largely disappeared from public view. For weeks at a time, he works from underground bunkers—one reportedly located in the Krasnodar region of southern Russia—while his family avoids their residences in the Moscow region and the Valdai estate in the northwest. The Russian president's security detail, the Federal Protective Service, has transformed his daily existence into something resembling a sealed chamber, driven by fears that have accumulated since the start of the Ukraine war: the possibility of assassination, drone strikes, and even a coup attempt.
The tightening began in earnest by March, when Kremlin officials grew visibly anxious about threats both real and imagined. Ukrainian drones had struck Russian airfields beyond the Arctic Circle the previous year in what became known as Operation Spiderweb. Then came January's seizure of Venezuelan leader Nicolás Maduro by the United States—an event that, according to sources close to Putin, rattled the Kremlin's sense of security. The isolation itself had roots deeper than the war; it had been building since the Covid-19 pandemic, when Putin first retreated from normal human contact.
Now the security apparatus has metastasized. Staff members who work near Putin—cooks, photographers, bodyguards—cannot use public transportation. They cannot carry mobile phones or devices with internet access when in his presence. Surveillance cameras have been installed in their homes. Public appearances have become theater: Russian state media broadcasts pre-recorded footage to maintain the fiction that the president moves through the world normally. When Putin does venture out, security screenings for anyone he might encounter have become exhaustingly rigorous.
The fear extends beyond the president himself. In late meetings, security chiefs blamed each other for lapses that had allowed senior Russian officers to be killed in attacks linked to Ukraine. FSB chief Alexander Bortnikov criticized the defense ministry for lacking a dedicated protection unit for high-ranking officials. Viktor Zolotov, head of the National Guard, pointed to resource shortages. Putin responded by directing the Federal Protective Service to provide protection to ten generals, including three deputies. The paranoia had become institutional.
Moscow's internet has suffered repeated shutdowns, partly attributed to heightened security arrangements and efforts to defend against drone attacks. European intelligence sources reported that Federal Protective Service agents have deployed dog squads and stationed forces along the Moscow River to counter potential aerial threats. The city itself has become a security perimeter.
Yet the bunkers cannot contain the consequences of Putin's withdrawal. Public frustration has risen visibly. Internet restrictions, new taxes on small businesses, and livestock culls in Siberia have generated discontent that even state media cannot fully suppress. A lifestyle blogger based in Monaco named Viktoria Bonya posted an 18-minute video appeal to Putin in which she said Russians were "afraid of him." The video received more than 1.5 million likes and forced the Kremlin to respond. Putin later made a rare public appearance in St. Petersburg, where interactions were carefully staged to project accessibility—a performance that only underscored how far he had withdrawn.
Andrei Kolesnikov, a Moscow-based political analyst, offered a stark assessment to the Financial Times: Putin had become like a Banksy sculpture in London, a figure carrying a flag that obscures his face. He no longer wants to see or hear the world around him. He listens only to the security services, which now control all spheres of life. The hope, Kolesnikov suggested, is that Russians will simply accept this as the new normal.
Analysts point to the obvious conclusion: Putin's reduced public engagements reflect not just heightened security measures, but also declining approval ratings and a widening chasm between the Kremlin and public expectations. The bunkers may protect him from drones and assassins. They cannot protect him from the consequences of his own isolation.
Notable Quotes
Putin is like the new Banksy sculpture in London—he does not want to see or hear. He listens only to the security services, which now run all spheres of life.— Andrei Kolesnikov, Moscow-based political analyst
The shock of Ukraine's drone Operation Spiderweb is still there.— Person familiar with Putin, to Financial Times
The Hearth Conversation Another angle on the story
Why would Putin suddenly become so afraid now, in 2026? He's been in power for decades.
The Ukraine war changed the calculus. It's not just the military losses—it's that Ukrainian drones proved they could reach deep into Russian territory, hitting airfields near the Arctic. That shattered the sense of invulnerability.
But a coup? Is that a real threat, or is it paranoia?
Both, probably. There's no evidence of an imminent coup. But when security chiefs start blaming each other for the deaths of senior generals, when the FSB and the National Guard are pointing fingers, you can feel the fractures. Putin is reading those fractures as danger.
The pre-recorded footage—that's striking. He's literally not present in his own country anymore.
Right. State media has to maintain the appearance that he's governing, that he's visible, that things are normal. But he's in a bunker in southern Russia. The gap between the image and the reality is enormous.
What about the public? Do ordinary Russians know he's hiding?
They're not stupid. The internet shutdowns, the staged appearances, the sudden security sweeps—people notice. That blogger's video got 1.5 million likes because she articulated something people already felt: that they're afraid, and their leader is unreachable.
Is this sustainable? Can he govern from a bunker indefinitely?
That's the question analysts are asking. The security services now run everything. Putin listens only to them. At some point, that becomes its own kind of vulnerability.