Confounding expectations, Russia’s Unity Day public holiday on November 4 did not see the official start of campaigning in the presidential election scheduled for March 2024. President Vladimir Putin did not formally announce he was standing, nor did he visit the opening of the enormous “Russia” exhibition in Moscow, which is supposed to be the centerpiece of his campaign.
Some put the lack of expected campaigning activity down to the recent anti-Semitic pogroms in Dagestan. Others believe the Kremlin is trying to shorten the election season, and thereby reduce risks. It’s also possible Putin is so bored by the preelection ritual that he is simply reluctant to get going.
Either way, the campaign must start soon. It won’t attract a lot of interest, and probably won’t even be the most important political event of the year: after all, as with previous presidential elections, there will be no suspense, and the result is entirely predictable. A decent show would require energetic candidates, interesting manifestos, and political engagement in which people see themselves as actors in a historic event. All three are lacking.
Indeed, Russian presidential candidates never put much effort in, even if they have been given the go-ahead from above. That’s because such votes are rarely a career boost. After polling, candidates either retain their previous status, like Communist Party leader Gennady Zyuganov or A Just Russia head Sergei Mironov, or they disappear from politics entirely, like Communist Party candidate Pavel Grudinin, ex-Kremlin advisor Sergei Glazyev, and billionaire Mikhail Prokhorov.
Nor have electoral manifestos ever played an important role. The most obvious examples are Putin’s presidential campaigns: in 2018 he didn’t have a program at all, and in 2012 he simply put his name to a few newspaper articles. Manifestos presuppose an aspiration for change, and the rhetoric of reform is absent in today’s Russia.
Finally, there is little interest. Phrases like “the future of the country depends on your vote” have been overused and bear little relation to reality as far as most voters are concerned. There has been no real contest in a Russian presidential election since the end of the 1990s. Instead, the emphasis is on creating a festive atmosphere. This time around, the “Russia” exhibition, with its idealized vision of Russia’s future, is supposed to help foster the holiday mood.
Nevertheless, political life in Russia is more dynamic during an election, which tends to trigger jockeying in the corridors of power. Occasionally, that jockeying becomes public, but it mostly takes place behind closed doors.
The start of a presidential term is traditionally a time for political reshuffles or major reforms. The contracts of those working in the presidential administration and in government are linked to the head of state’s term in office, and it would be unwise for anyone to bank on those contracts being renewed.
Logic dictates that there are unlikely to be any major changes at this election because a reshuffle could distract from the military goals in Ukraine. But that doesn’t mean that political tensions won’t rise over the course of the election period.
Stability is, of course, a key part of the Russian system, but there are limits. The leadership of the Federal Security Service (FSB) and the Security Council have not changed since 2008; the current defense and interior ministers have been in their jobs since 2012; and current senior figures in the presidential administration were appointed in 2016. Mikhail Mishustin will soon have been prime minister longer than Putin ever was.
There are plenty of grounds, therefore, for a reshuffle. But it’s a difficult decision for the Kremlin. Not changing anything means preserving the existing state of affairs and blocking the promotion of effective officials, leaving young regional governors dreaming of plum jobs in Moscow. Opting for change, meanwhile, means putting the system under additional stress.
Right now, there is enough stress as it is, with the potential to affect both the speed at which the system can react to problems, and its overall effectiveness.
There have been three serious crises during the war in Ukraine: the Russian retreat from Ukraine’s Kharkiv region in September 2022, the failed Wagner mercenary uprising in June 2023, and the anti-Semitic unrest in the North Caucasus in October. The first of these crises led to the announcement of partial mobilization: perhaps not a swift response, but a response that was appropriate in scale. The following two crises, however, didn’t lead to much in the way of a substantive response from the authorities. The calculation appears to have been that, with time, everything would calm down and be forgotten. In part, that turned out to be true.
Still, the Kremlin’s approach of avoiding drastic action and blaming external actors could turn out to be dangerous. At the very least, it means there will be heightened fears of a foreign enemy springing some kind of unpleasant surprise to derail the upcoming election. That nervousness, in turn, increases the chances of the Kremlin itself making a major mistake, which could have far more serious consequences than anything supposedly cooked up by its foes. It’s no coincidence that some believe the invasion of Ukraine was in part motivated by fears that the West could seek to disrupt the 2024 election.
The end of the electoral cycle should draw a line under much of this nervousness. Yet Russia’s leaders also have a lot of decisions to make after the vote.
Should they pursue a more radical domestic policy, including by ramping up repression? There’s no obvious reason for such an extreme step, given the moderate mood in the country (including among the elites).
Should they continue to put off a political reshuffle and the rejuvenation of the elites? Any disruption to the status quo will be difficult because of doubts the older generation has about the ability of younger officials to keep the situation under control.
Should they switch to a more public focus on the war? This is complicated by the lack of military achievements and dim prospects of future success on the battlefield. In any case, how can Russia’s war aims even be clarified for the wider population?
Finally, how could elements of modernization be introduced, at least in some sectors, while continuing down the path to a retro-utopia and “sovereignization”?
There is no certainty over any of those questions. While the presidential elections may offer the Kremlin an opportunity to provide some answers, there’s no guarantee it will make use of that opportunity.
