By Ekaterina Janashia | 2025-09-26

The Kremlin has invested heavily in shaping the minds of young Russians, linking patriotism to military service and loyalty to the state. Schools host patriotic lessons, youth groups wave flags, and prime-time television blasts a steady rhythm of justification for the war in Ukraine.

Yet among the young, skepticism persists. Surveys show that Russians under 30 are far less likely than their parents to actively support the invasion or the values underpinning it. That divide is not confined to opinion polls. It runs through families, fracturing relationships between parents and children, and, in some cases, severing them altogether.

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

Rejected by their parents

Sonya, a 20-year-old student in Saint Petersburg, says most of her friends oppose the war. But among her classmates, she sees another pattern.

"Many of them take the position of their parents, who in turn support the war," she told Kontur. "When everyone in a family supports a war, it is unlikely that the child will have opposing thoughts."

At first she tried to argue. Now she avoids debate. "People blindly believe only what they want to believe," she said.

Andrey, 32, agrees. "I have a feeling that it has almost no effect on people my age or younger within my social circle, but it is very effective on my parents' generation," he said.

"I have friends who were rejected by their parents -- supporters of the 'official line' -- because of their political views. These are always very painful stories to hear."

That pain is widespread. Polling by the Levada Center has consistently shown sharp generational splits. Older Russians, who rely heavily on state television, are more likely to echo Kremlin talking points. Younger Russians, who get their information online, are far less receptive.

The war inside families

Andrey says the line could not be clearer. His cousin, 25, was open to conversations about politics and ultimately aligned with him. His parents, by contrast, were immovable.

Irina, 24, has had similar experiences. Her family has not split, but the tension is palpable. At first they argued constantly, trading facts and counterarguments. Over time, they fell silent.

"We just don't discuss it anymore," she said. "What angers me the most is when a supporter of the 'official line' makes a casual statement. Everything flares up inside me, but then I tell myself it's better to ignore it to prevent another argument. I feel a sense of shame for that."

For many families, silence becomes the only survival strategy. "Why do they get to say whatever they want," Irina asked, "while we have to be the ones to be smarter and not ignite the fire?"

'Anything can happen'

The divide is not only theoretical. Sometimes it is marked in blood.

Irina's second cousin volunteered to fight in Ukraine and was killed. Her grief was complicated by the way her relatives rationalized his death.

"What truly shocked me were the words of one of my family members," she said. "They told me, 'Well, that's life. Anything can happen.'"

The casual dismissal haunts her. For Irina, such stories provoke what she called an "all-consuming hopelessness."

Their sense of futility reflects a broader generational gulf. A Levada poll in late 2024 found that 57 percent of Russians under 30 would disapprove of a loved one joining the military, compared with just 42 percent overall. Support was highest among the oldest respondents.

Life abroad, identity intact

Now living in Georgia, Irina says she has not encountered pro-Kremlin voices. If anything, she finds herself defending Moscow, the city she loves, even as she rejects the war waged in its name.

"Sometimes I even have to defend Moscow, because I love this city so much -- it is my hometown," she said. "The city itself isn't to blame for anything. The people are."

That complexity echoes through the exile community. For many young Russians abroad, the war has meant losing their country's future but also being forced to renegotiate what it means to belong.

The war has devastated families in Ukraine, where strikes on apartment blocks, power plants and even mobile branches of Ukrposhta, the national postal service, have killed civilians in their daily routines.

In Russia, the impact is of a different order: it has torn families apart less through physical destruction than through division and denial. Around kitchen tables and across strained phone calls, parents and children now inhabit separate realities.

The Kremlin may succeed in enforcing silence. But beneath that silence, the generational divide deepens -- and it may shape Russia's future long after the war has ended.