The surprise incursion by the Ukrainian military into Russia’s Kursk region has been under way for over a week now, prompting mass evacuations that belie the official Russian narrative of stability at home. The assault has exposed the weak spots in the regional power vertical, which is now being forced to adapt to the conditions of de facto martial law.
Anyone simply arriving in the southwestern city of Kursk by train who had not been following the local information channels on the Telegram messaging app might not initially know that Ukrainian troops have entered dozens of towns in this border region. In the city itself, there are no additional inspections or visible build-up of security forces. There is not even any sign of groups of contract soldiers in transit: a typical sight in train stations across Russia. Kursk looks like a peaceful, albeit somewhat deserted, city—until the first air raid siren sounds, or the unsuspecting visitor gets into conversation with refugees from elsewhere in the region. After that, it becomes clear that a new frontline life has begun, and that things are even more serious here than they were last year in the neighboring Russian region of Belgorod, which also borders Ukraine and has come under drone attacks and shelling.
This contradiction between two images—one of a peaceful city, the other of a frontline city—reflects the discrepancy between the wartime reality and what could be described as the Russian government’s long-term communication strategy of simply hushing up any problems. Kursk’s regional government now faces the difficult task of evacuating residents and providing the infrastructure needed to carry out intensive military operations while avoiding sparking any panic and trying to maintain the illusion of stability for which the Kremlin strives so hard.
It’s impossible to solve such a delicate task without both strong leadership and initiative from below, as well as ideally some cooperation between the authorities and civil society. But the system through which municipal (and to some extent regional) officials are selected is designed to filter out anyone proactive. From the classic set of reactions to stress—fight, flight, or freeze—the regions always choose the last option. That is not specific to Russia in particular, but is simply the normal logic of a bureaucrat in any centralized authoritarian state.
Since the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the communications strategy of sweeping anything unpleasant under the carpet has proven its success. Officials and propaganda-disseminating media paint a picture of peaceful life using a very specific kind of bureaucratic language to reduce the negative emotions that could be elicited by the message: not an explosion, but a bang; not a drone strike, but a detonation of ammunition; not an incursion by Ukrainian troops into the Kursk region, but a provocation by the Ukrainian armed forces on the northern Ukrainian front; or even just “the current situation.” This approach is entirely in keeping with the fundamental desire of the average Russian to ignore the war and its consequences.
In the border regions, however, this strategy risks adding to the problems of the local authorities, since the dissonance between the illusion of peaceful life and the reality for residents evacuated away from the shelling is simply too stark. For the Kursk authorities, the situation is further complicated by the approaching September gubernatorial election: they need to present the most positive picture possible, not just to the region’s inhabitants, but first and foremost to their overseers in the presidential administration.
What is happening in the Kursk region has clearly demonstrated how the federal center and crisis-hit regions interact amid Russia’s “special military operation” in Ukraine. In recent days, special regimes have been declared in three border regions: Belgorod, Bryansk, and Kursk. That allows Moscow to effectively take manual control of the regions. Following the announcement of the start of a counterterrorism operation in these regions on August 10, the security forces have been given virtually unlimited powers, such as the right to confiscate personal vehicles for their own needs.
Two days earlier, an “emergency situation on a federal scale” was declared in the Kursk region. This means that the cost of dealing with the emergency will be borne by the federal rather than regional budget. The governor of the Belgorod region, which is also under attack, has called on the federal government to follow suit there.
So far, however, the allocated federal funds are clearly insufficient. The Kursk region’s acting governor, Alexei Smirnov, told the president on August 12 that 121,000 people had already been evacuated, with that figure due to increase to 180,000. Those evacuated from the combat zone have been promised just 10,000 rubles ($111), though many of them have lost their homes, and even, in some cases, family members. Compared to the payments made to contract soldiers, such compensation looks like a mockery.
In addition, the Kursk region authorities have shown that they were completely unprepared for an attack by the Ukrainian armed forces, even though they could well have been expected to study what problems the administration of the neighboring Belgorod region has faced in evacuating and assisting refugees during the last two years of daily shelling and cross-border raids.
Instead, former Kursk region governor Roman Starovoit was busy securing a place for himself in the federal government: following the presidential election this spring, he moved to Moscow to take up a new post as transport minister. Meanwhile, those responsible for overseeing the Kursk region within the presidential administration and law enforcement agencies did not want to spread panic by devising scenarios for a possible Ukrainian attack on Kursk.
As a result, no clear plan was developed, and that is now obvious. In some places evacuation began too late, while in others it did not happen at all. This and the lack of official information about distribution points for humanitarian aid are currently the subject of lively discussion in online public Kursk groups. The only answers come not from the regional government’s press service, but from volunteers who have taken it upon themselves to do the authorities’ job for them by collecting and distributing aid. There are not enough volunteers, however, and evacuees are having to stand in line from 9 a.m. to 9 p.m. to receive aid.
It is also falling to volunteers, neighbors, and relatives to evacuate people from the danger zone. People are having to take matters into their own hands to compensate for the regional government’s failings.
The attacks on the Kursk region, in which a dozen civilians have reportedly been killed, will no doubt boost support for the “special operation” against Ukraine and the “rallying around the flag” effect that the Kremlin has strived for—and largely achieved—since February 2022. According to surveys, in 2023 the declared support for the “special military operation” in the Kursk region was 77 percent (much higher than the national average of about 60 percent). In the Belgorod and Bryansk regions, the support was 69 percent and 66 percent, respectively. Now, these figures are likely to increase.
The border regions of Belgorod, Bryansk, and Kursk have always tended toward conservative values. The rhetoric about Russia “rising from its knees” and a “defensive war against NATO” was well received there in the 1990s. Now the authorities are talking about an “existential war,” and the tragic paradox is that for the border regions at least, that is becoming a self-fulfilling prophecy.
