In the quarter-century for which Vladimir Putin has ruled Russia, he and his entourage have created a power vertical: a clear system for governing the country, as well as for the distribution of material resources and influential positions. The rules formulated back in the early 2000s are simple: show loyalty, do not exceed your assigned authority, prove your usefulness, and wait for rewards from the big bosses.
The vertical was effective because on the one hand, it illustrated the growth prospects for those inside it. On the other hand, it kept them apart from one another, forcing them to rely on the president’s arbitration alone.
But the number of new or vacant positions gradually decreased, and the distribution system hit a ceiling. That situation was exacerbated by the war with Ukraine, which has taken up all of the president’s focus, causing Putin to distance himself from his role of arbiter among the elites.
As a result, the elites are tired of the stagnation of personnel and the futility of expecting rewards from above. At the same time, they have begun to seriously fear that as the pie shrinks, they could lose their former influence. Accordingly, the players have become proactive, trying to expand the scope of their authority and establish horizontal connections with each other. Such connections give the elites the chance to survive beyond the post-Putin era, but at the same time, they undermine the foundations of Putinism.
Prizes for Players
Russia’s power vertical has been gradually built under Putin’s personal leadership. A good example is Putin’s loyal ally Igor Sechin, who worked as deputy head of the presidential administration until 2008, when Putin became prime minister to comply with constitutional limits on consecutive presidential terms. When Putin moved to the government, Sechin went with him, becoming deputy prime minister.
Disloyal players saw their “prizes” taken away and given to others, such as the YUKOS company, whose assets came under Sechin’s control.
Year after year, figures who were not from Putin’s inner circle were forced out of government, such as Prime Minister Mikhail Kasyanov, Labor Minister Alexander Pochinok, and Defense Minister Igor Sergeyev. Some of the old guard bureaucrats and businessmen who showed loyalty did survive, however, either retaining their positions or receiving others in compensation.
The code of laws of the power vertical was not overly complex. Putin acted as arbitrator and as a guarantor of the rights and interests of both his inner circle and the representatives of old guard business and bureaucracy unconnected with him. The main rule of the power vertical was that arbitration was carried out from above. In order to motivate the players, the president distributed resources and positions. That increased the efficiency of the system being built and ensured the additional loyalty of participants, who agreed a priori with the results of the arbitration, without trying to challenge it. They worked strictly within the limits of their authority and did not lay claim to anything belonging to someone else.
The initial rewards ended in the mid-2000s, but the Kremlin managed to keep handing out carrots as oil and gas revenues swelled the state coffers. The authorities created state corporations: new state and quasi-state structures headed by high-ranking officials whose former posts were then given to other players. Businesses old and new won government contracts for mega-projects, from the Sochi Olympics and the World Cup to the construction of highways and bridges.
The governors are also worthy of mention. Back in the early 2000s, the elected governors felt like rightful owners of their territories. Thanks to direct elections, regional leaders could count on the will of voters and contacts with local elites, and accordingly confront the Kremlin on issues that mattered to them. But in 2005, gubernatorial elections were annulled, and the federal leadership began a gradual purge of heavyweights and elected leaders. They were nearly always replaced by carpetbaggers who had nothing to do with those regions. Gradually, governors turned into powerless viceroys.
The allocation of budget funding is also skewed toward the federal center, and key positions have become permanently occupied by people close to Putin. Sechin has headed Rosneft oil company for thirteen years, Anton Siluanov has led the Finance Ministry for a few months longer than that, and Alexander Bortnikov has been director of the FSB for seventeen years.
The initially dynamic regime, built on the distribution of prizes in the form of plum positions and expanded spheres of influence, began to stagnate. Even before the full-scale invasion of Ukraine, fatigue from waiting for change had become one of the dominant moods among the elites.
Aggressive Expansion
Against this backdrop, the participants of the power vertical are being forced to formulate new ad hoc rules themselves and to try new tactics for expanding their influence, in doing so breaking previous taboos. Once, for example, it was absolutely unthinkable for players to step outside the confines of the powers assigned to them by the arbiter—i.e., Putin—or to ask the president for a specific job. Ambition and zeal were not considered a sin in themselves, but they could only be displayed within strictly determined limits.
Deputy Prime Minister Yury Trutnev is a case in point. He successfully oversaw the merger of the Perm region, of which he was in charge, with that of Komi-Permyak. Moscow Mayor Sergei Sobyanin, back when he was governor of the Tyumen region, proved himself the same way by setting in motion the abolition of direct mayoral elections. These two officials did not come up with the idea of the merger or abolition themselves, but merely carried out the will of the federal center. Nor did they exceed their authority. Putin appreciated those efforts: Sobyanin was appointed head of the presidential administration, while Trutnev was given the Natural Resources Ministry.
Anyone stepping outside the boundaries of their sphere of influence has always been firmly put back in their place. Take Putin’s close associate, the late former KGB officer Viktor Cherkesov. As head of the Federal Drug Control Service, he decided to turn his agency into a competitor with the FSB. Cherkesov acted quite openly, begged Putin for a new role—and ultimately lost his post and further career opportunities. Another example is Vyacheslav Volodin, who, after leaving his post as head of the political bloc of the presidential administration, wanted to retain control over United Russia. As a result, Volodin fell from grace for a time and was forced to relinquish the party to new political managers.
There is, however, one figure who has violated these rules, yet whose career can be considered very successful, and that is Sergei Kiriyenko, the first deputy head of the presidential administration. He twice ensured record official election results for Putin (in 2018 and 2024), but did not receive the expected promotion. The problem is that the president is comfortable working with Kiriyenko, who is good at gauging Putin’s mood and entertaining him with all sorts of personnel competitions, large-scale exhibitions, and, most recently, the “Time of Heroes” program for promoting war veterans in the civil service. Kiriyenko has become trapped precisely because of this talent for delighting the president.
Kiriyenko compensates for this stagnation by expanding his influence into areas untouched by his predecessors, such as education. “Foundations of Russian Statehood,” a new and compulsory ideological university course, was developed under the supervision of Andrei Polosin, a close associate of Kiriyenko’s. The political bloc has also made inroads into culture, adding cultural figures to blacklists, and has drastically increased its influence over the country’s governors by introducing a de facto mandatory School for Governors training course and regular follow-up seminars. Representatives of elite groups now constantly encounter the Kiriyenko horizontal, which forces them to maintain relationships with the official and his team.
Kiriyenko uses a fail-safe method for his expansion: he convinces senior leadership that there are “political” issues in a particular sphere, or even that the sphere itself has become “political,” meaning the political bloc must deal with it.
Kiriyenko is not unique. Amid personnel stagnation and a shortage of resources, many officials have long occupied their positions and are well aware that expanding into related spheres or cooperating with the curators of those spheres (i.e., establishing a horizontal dialogue with them) increases their influence. Accordingly, the former general secretary of the United Russia ruling party Andrei Turchak recently made every effort to show the president that he wanted a promotion to governor of St. Petersburg. He tried to create his own horizontal in the form of loyal people inside the St. Petersburg branch of United Russia. Neither Putin nor the city’s current governor, Alexander Beglov, appreciated his efforts, and as a result, Turchak was exiled to govern the remote and depressed Altai republic. Unlike Kiriyenko, Turchak acted head-on—and did not succeed.
Horizontal expansion is a risky tactic. But if Kiriyenko manages to get a promotion or even just keep his post, which is now a far more heavyweight role than it was when he was appointed back in 2016, the number of adherents of the horizontal expansion tactic will increase significantly.
The Rostec Fortress
Rostec CEO Sergei Chemezov and his clan have a slightly different tactic. They are skilled at placing their people within the government, such as Denis Manturov, who last year became first deputy prime minister. The group has become an active player on the regional market, placing managers in regions where Rostec operates: usually well-developed territories.
This strategy differs from Kiriyenko’s. Chemezov is clearly not laying claim to anyone else’s territory. Where Kiriyenko has soft power, Rostec lobbies for its own people. Chemezov does not let outsiders into his fiefdom. Such tough defenses ultimately lead to expansion and the construction of horizontal connections: the further the bastions of a fortress from its central point, the safer its center.
The Rostec fortress has every chance of living to see a transition of power. The corporation is prepared for a number of different scenarios and has several potential successors lined up, depending on how quickly the transition begins, including Manturov, who is ready to step into the prime minister’s seat at any moment. Defense is already turning into expansion, which may intensify with each passing day.
Dialogue and Resource Allocation
Tactics for creating horizontals are not always expansionist. The elites are learning to talk to one other without Putin, and that is also worthy of note.
As a rule, it is representatives of disgraced or weak clans who begin to establish a dialogue with other players. That was the case with Nikolai Patrushev, the former secretary of the Security Council, who in May 2024 was given the not particularly influential or significant post of presidential assistant for shipbuilding. The previous rules implied that anyone who had fallen from grace should resign themselves to their fate, though they could hope for future favor from the president and a return to the vertical.
Patrushev chose a different path. He asked Putin for something that the president did not mind giving. The Kremlin got a new department for maritime policy and a Marine Collegium, which allowed Patrushev to employ his own people and begin to establish allied relations with other influential groups. The scientist Mikhail Kovalchuk, for example, who has close ties to Putin, was invited to head up the scientific council of the Marine Collegium—and agreed.
What is important is that Patrushev is laying claim to areas—primarily the Arctic—that are not of much interest to other influential groups and individuals. Officially, responsibility for overseeing the Arctic issue lies with Trutnev, but for him the topic has always been secondary, so he has no problem with Patrushev’s arrival on the Arctic scene.
Another figure gradually regaining his influence is former defense minister Sergei Shoigu. He is trying his hand as an informal diplomat, meeting with the leaders of friendly states, and has secured a personal dialogue with China’s Xi Jinping. Former United Russia secretary general Andrei Turchak, meanwhile, maintains relations with influential officials and businessmen as a governor. Of course, this is not a strategy for growth, but simply for maintaining a position within the vertical. But what is important is that it entails independent efforts, a certain level of creativity, and the construction of horizontals.
In many ways, such dialogue is based on a mutually beneficial exchange of resources: Patrushev and Turchak may have fewer of them than they did before, but they still exist. The former Security Council secretary can not only help with interactions with the security forces, he also still has direct access to Putin. Turchak, meanwhile, has the resources of his region at his disposal. Their partners share their resources with them in turn—and this is also an indicator of the formation of proto-horizontals in the system.
Russia Without Putin
Some elite groups and influential figures prefer to abide by the classical rules of the vertical: i.e., to simply wait for Putin to change their lot. Prime Minister Mikhail Mishustin and Kremlin Chief of Staff Anton Vaino, for example, keep their heads down and work quietly, without clearly demonstrating any particular career ambitions.
That model enables them to stay afloat for now, but weak clans are already starting to suffer amid the reduction in resources. In this context, horizontal tactics will be increasingly in demand, even just to survive in Putin’s system. Players who have increased their influence with the help of horizontals become stronger: they are no longer as easy to attack. In the event of any losses, horizontal partners whom that player previously helped could help them in exchange. And as players’ careers progress, they increase their chances of retaining control over their previous place of work.
The strengthening of the broader Rostec group’s position makes replacements in this group problematic: too many managers in the state corporation and the government will have to be rotated. Meanwhile, Patrushev’s success in restoring his influence also shows that proactivity and creativity are now more effective tactics than simply waiting passively.
At the same time, the models of behavior outlined above improve the chances of a player’s survival and the growth of their influence when the vertical is destroyed. Most of Putin’s elites have either forgotten how to work horizontally or never knew how to do so. Active and creative practitioners of these new approaches will clearly find themselves in a more advantageous position in a Russia without Putin—a day that will inevitably come.
Kiriyenko could offer his services as a successor who is already in horizontal contact with all groups. The Rostec clan is also capable of putting forward a successor from its ranks, but that would be a harder sell.
The practice of horizontal ties and dialogue is bringing forward the dawn of post-Putin Russia. It blurs the contours of the vertical, providing opportunities for elite groups to resolve issues among themselves, without resorting to presidential arbitration. Finally, it is becoming a school for the creation of coalitions: of political battles and opposing processes away from the public eye. Ultimately, horizontals are paving the way for a transition of power, because the elites are coming to understand that it is entirely possible to live without Putin.
