By Ekaterina Janashia | 2025-09-25

For more than three years, the Kremlin has tried to tie patriotism to military service, loyalty and traditional values. Yet among Russia's younger generations, that message is faltering.

The war in Ukraine has touched every corner of Russian life, from schools to workplaces to family tables. But the gulf between generations has become particularly stark. While state television promotes the invasion as a patriotic duty, many young Russians are quietly distancing themselves from the official line, a split that could shape the country's future.

Kontur spoke with three young people whose lives have been reshaped by the war. Their names have been changed to protect their safety.

'Like a joke'

For Sonya, a 20-year-old student in Saint Petersburg, the first months of the war felt unreal.

"It was like a joke, and I couldn't believe such things could really happen in our time," she said. "It was scary -- for myself, for my loved ones, for strangers and for the future."

That fear never entirely left her. Instead, it calcified into something permanent, forcing her to adapt. She stayed in Russia, unlike some of her peers, but life grew smaller: sanctions made travel nearly impossible, prices soared and the cultural landscape thinned as musicians, actors and artists fled abroad.

"I realized the war had affected me in ways I never imagined," she said. "My favorite artists left, and joy itself seemed to diminish."

Her experience is not unusual. Young men fear conscription, while young women encounter a different kind of pressure: state messaging that casts them as mothers of soldiers or guardians of tradition.

For students like Sonya, leaving often isn't an option. Finances, family ties and logistics keep them rooted in a country that feels less open with each passing year.

A life in exile

Andrey, 32, once spent summers with relatives in Ukraine. Since the invasion began, those relatives have cut off contact.

"This makes the tragedy of the war feel deeply personal," he said.

Soon after President Vladimir Putin announced a "partial mobilization" in 2022, Andrey left Moscow for Tbilisi, Georgia. The move cost him his career and financial stability. He now earns less in a new profession, but he says the bigger loss is political.

"In Moscow, I could go to rallies, donate to human rights activists. Here, I feel completely helpless," he said.

Irina, his partner, 24, joined him a year later. She has friends in Ukraine.

"They're still there and can't leave," she said. "We know they are alive and well, which is the most important thing, but unfortunately, they no longer communicate with us."

Life abroad has brought its own complications, yet exile has also forged new communities: independent newsrooms, small NGOs and circles of dissidents who try to preserve the fragments of a civic life they once had at home.

For Andrey and Irina, survival abroad is focused more on maintaining a sense of integrity than material comfort.

"I'm managing to make do with what I have," Andrey said. 'Much more concerning is the feeling of complete helplessness."

The machinery of propaganda

Sonya was still in school when the war began. She remembers the atmosphere shifting instantly.

"When I came to school, the head teacher entered our classroom with glee," she recalled. "It was only then that I understood that war is not a horror for all people, but for some, it is truly a 'celebration.'"

By the time she entered university, the propaganda had only grown more pervasive.

"TV shows, music, news and advertisements -- everywhere they are trying to convince me that war is good," she said.

Irina encountered similar efforts at her Moscow theater institute, where a series of compulsory lectures was introduced. At one session, a man in a dark suit asked students about their "civilian role" and attitudes toward the so-called "special military operation."

"Discussions broke out, but he quickly shut them down," Irina recalled. "Then he began asking us what countries we were citizens of, as our theater school has a very international crowd."

The man singling out a girl who was an American citizen and pressing her with questions such as, "Tell me honestly, aren't things so wonderful in America, either?"

"The girl answered him calmly, 'Well, yes, just like any country, there are pluses and minuses.' He wouldn't leave her alone for a long time," Irina said. "In the end, I couldn't stand it and walked out of the audience in the middle of his fiery speech. I was the first to do so, and as it turned out, 15 more people followed me."

Such scenes are part of the Kremlin's bid to saturate public space with patriotic spectacle. But resistance persists, often in quieter forms. Students mock official slogans in Telegram groups, musicians smuggle dissent into lyrics, and some young people simply refuse to participate in orchestrated flag-raisings or school assemblies.

These small acts are not without risk: Russians have been fined for reposting memes and detained for holding blank signs. Amnesty International reports that students have been expelled for voicing anti-war views. Yet even under threat, many resist in subtle ways.

A generation apart

Despite the scale of the state's propaganda machine, surveys suggest it is failing to fully capture young Russians.

A Levada Center poll from late 2024 found that half of 18- to 24-year-olds believed the invasion should have been stopped before it began. Just 31 percent said they would have allowed it to go forward.

"Among my acquaintances, there are no people who have 'changed their minds,'" Sonya said. "Everyone remains with their opinions."

Irina's experience is more mixed: "Unfortunately, I do have friends, classmates and peers who adhere to the official line, but they are not the majority."

In early 2025, nearly half of Russians aged 18 to 29 said most of their peers did not support the war, according to the independent Russian Field project. Only 35 percent thought their social circles endorsed it.

Older Russians, particularly in rural areas, are more likely to view the war as a patriotic necessity. Younger Russians, concentrated in cities and often better connected to the outside world, see it differently. But as the war grinds on, the skepticism of Russia's youth may prove to be one of the few forces capable of shaping what comes after.