The War Has Reached Moscow, and the Russian Propaganda Machine Seems Lost

Observers of the war in Ukraine are still discussing with fascination Kyiv’s recent large-scale drone and missile attack on Moscow, one of the biggest since the start of the war. Ukrainian drones and missiles shut down airports, hit critical energy and military infrastructure, and for the first time since 2022 many residents of Moscow experienced something they had previously seen only in TV reports from Belgorod or Kursk: war arriving in their own backyard. And the image of a giant oil tank lid flying into the sky will likely remain in the meme charts for a long time.

Yet this article is not about the attack itself, nor about future strikes. Far more interesting than the attack itself was Russia’s reaction. Or rather, the lack of one. To be even more precise, a very specific form of reaction that says almost as much as the attack itself.

Putin remained silent from the very first minute of the strikes.

This time, however, his silence was particularly revealing. During the largest Ukrainian drone attack on Moscow since the war began, Putin was attending a Russia–ASEAN summit in Kazan. He found time to speak about Russia’s cooperation with Southeast Asia, the multipolar world order, economic relations, and various international issues. He met foreign leaders, discussed future projects, and even thanked guests for presenting him with elephants - a scene that was unintentionally comical given what was happening at home.

Yet while drones were flying over Moscow, airports were being closed and strategic facilities were burning, the Russian president did not find a single word to say about it. He commented on bilateral relations, thanked participants for attending, and discussed future initiatives, but there was no public reaction whatsoever to the largest strike on the Russian capital since the beginning of the war.

This was not accidental.

It reflects a long-standing rule of Putin’s political playbook: when an event is politically inconvenient, it is often best to pretend it is not important enough to deserve presidential attention. The problem this time was that millions of Russians could see what was happening with their own eyes. As a result, silence - intended to diminish the significance of the event - instead became a sign that the Kremlin lacked a convincing explanation.

Russian state propaganda appeared unusually confused. Some channels focused on the number of drones allegedly intercepted. Others praised the supposedly outstanding performance of Russian air defense. Still others attempted to redirect attention toward Russian strikes against Ukraine. Yet one crucial element was missing: a coherent explanation of how all this fit into the four-year narrative of Russian strength, total control and inevitable victory.

This offers an interesting perspective on the Russian regime.

In the West, Russian propaganda is often portrayed as an almost perfect instrument of social control. To be fair, the Kremlin has built a highly effective information machine. It can shape public opinion, divert attention from uncomfortable topics and provide simple answers to complex questions. Yet the system has one major weakness: it functions best when it controls the narrative.

When reality begins to unfold outside the script, propaganda struggles.

Since the beginning of the war, Russians have been consistently told that the fighting was taking place somewhere far away. In Ukraine. In Donbas. In border regions. The average resident of Moscow was reassured that life in the capital could continue largely as normal. Yes, there was a “special military operation.” Yes, the army needed support. Yes, there would be some inconveniences. But none of this would directly affect daily life.

This amounted to an unwritten contract between the authorities and society.

You stay out of politics, and we will keep the war away from you.

Recent events suggest that this contract is beginning to crack.

When drones fly over Moscow, airports are shut down, strategic facilities burn, and videos from the capital spread across social media, it becomes increasingly difficult to pretend that the war is happening somewhere else. More importantly, tangible economic consequences are beginning to emerge. Strikes against energy infrastructure have disrupted fuel supplies, caused price increases in some areas and led to restrictions. These effects may be temporary. But the key point is that the consequences of war are becoming visible not only at the front but also in Russia’s capital.

The most important question today is therefore not how many Ukrainian drones were intercepted or how many reached their targets. A more significant question is what all this says about Russia itself.

These events reveal an important paradox. During four years of war, propaganda has built such a powerful narrative about the necessity of fighting until victory that not only society but the state apparatus itself has come to believe it. Officials, regional governors, propagandists and security structures have all been taught one central truth: Russia is winning and must continue fighting until the end.

Such a system works well during an offensive.

It adapts far less easily when war becomes more costly than expected, when the front line moves more slowly than promised, and when enemy strikes reach the very center of the state.

In other words, propaganda becomes a hostage to its own narrative.

Equally important is the fact that these events coincide with growing signs of problems within Russia’s economic and mobilization model. The authorities continue to avoid discussing a new mobilization wave, yet reports from the regions suggest increasingly aggressive recruitment methods. At the same time, even official economic indicators point to rising inflation, labor shortages and growing war expenditures. This is not yet a crisis. But it is evidence that the burden of war continues to accumulate.

Another lesson is that this war has fundamentally challenged traditional assumptions about military power.

For decades it was assumed that Russia’s advantage lay in its larger army, greater number of tanks and superior artillery. Today we see that technology is changing the rules of the game. Drones, artificial intelligence, electronic warfare and robotic systems allow Ukraine to strike targets that would have seemed unreachable only a few years ago.

The most important lesson from this story is therefore not about drones.

It is about limits.

It turns out that Russian air defense has limits. Moscow’s security has limits. Russia’s economy has limits. And perhaps most importantly, Kremlin propaganda has limits as well.

There is also another important lesson for the West.

For years we have often heard the argument, especially from parts of “Old Europe”, that Russia should not be pressured too hard because it might escalate further or respond with new threats. Yet recent events suggest the opposite. The greatest difficulties for the Kremlin arise not from Western reactions to Russian actions, but from situations in which pressure is applied directly to Russia itself.

Russia feels most comfortable when it dictates the agenda, chooses the time, place and methods of confrontation. But when it is forced to react to the actions of others, extinguish fires on its own territory, explain failures to its own population and confront problems that propaganda cannot conceal, the image of strength begins to fade.

One of the key lessons of this war is therefore simple: Russia must not only be deterred; it must also be continuously pressured.

Pressure works. It forces the Kremlin to spend resources, alter plans and shift from offence to defense. And that pressure should not come from Ukraine alone. It should also come from the West through sanctions, technology restrictions, military support for Ukraine, measures against Russia’s shadow fleet and sustained economic and political pressure.

History shows that Russia rarely changes its behavior out of goodwill. But it has repeatedly changed its calculations when confronted with sufficiently strong and persistent pressure. That is why the most important question today is not how to react to Russia’s actions. The most important question is how to ensure that the initiative remains in the hands of Ukraine and the West.

Perhaps that is why the most important signal from last week was not the explosions over Moscow.

The most important signal was that, for the first time in a long while, the Kremlin appeared unsure how to explain the attacks.

And for authoritarian systems, that is often a far more dangerous sign than the strike itself.

P.S. Four days after the attacks in Moscow, Vladimir Putin finally addressed them during his speech at the United Russia Party Congress on June 28, 2026. Notably, he did not dwell on what had happened in Moscow itself - the airport closures, damage to infrastructure, or the fact that millions of Russians had witnessed the war reaching their capital. Instead, he folded the attacks into the Kremlin's familiar narrative of national unity, resilience, and Russia's determination to achieve its objectives in Ukraine. Rather than revising the narrative, the Kremlin simply absorbed an inconvenient reality into it - a telling reminder that, for authoritarian systems, controlling perceptions remains as important as managing the battlefield.