Panic has a peculiar trait: it masquerades as order. When those in power start banning everything in sight—first people, then words, then the internet, then the very possibility of disagreeing—it looks like strength. In reality, it’s the exact opposite. It’s a convulsion.
That is exactly the impression Russia gives in the spring of 2026. Not a country under an iron-fisted regime, but a country where the regime is frantically trying to plug more and more holes—and with every plug, it becomes only more obvious that the dam is no longer holding.
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They're banning LGBT people. What does politics have to do with it?
At first glance, it seems unrelated. Well, yet another group of organizations has been banned. Well, the courts have ruled that the “Russian LGBT Network” and “Callisto” are extremist, "Guys+" (our friends), Moscow Community Center (our friends), “Irida,” “Vykhod,” and “LGBT Resource Center”—all within just a few weeks. Seven organizations since the beginning of spring. Two more are awaiting a court ruling.
At first glance, what could queer human rights activists possibly have in common with internet blocking or Putin’s falling approval ratings?
Everything. Absolutely everything.
Because these aren't isolated decisions. They are symptoms of a single diagnosis: a government that has lost sight of how to run the country and has resorted to the only strategy still available to it—prohibition.
The logic behind the crackdown on queer organizations is the same as that behind the blocking of Telegram. It’s the same as that behind the laws against “discrediting the army.” It’s the same as that behind nighttime raids on journalists. It’s not about eliminating threats—there weren’t any in these organizations. The Resource Center provided psychological support to people. “Parni+” produces media content. “Callisto” criticized the bill and monitored human rights violations.
This is not a threat to the state. It is simply an illusion—the illusion of something that exists beyond control. And that, right now, is unbearable.
The Internet: The War Against Reality
Over the past 20 years, Russian society has grown accustomed to effective digitalization. Even military restrictions didn’t particularly affect this sphere: Facebook and Twitter, which were blocked, had never been especially popular; people continued to use Instagram via VPN; and they switched from WhatsApp to Telegram. And suddenly, the familiar digital world began to crumble in a matter of weeks. 
First, there were prolonged disruptions to mobile internet service; then they blocked Telegram, forcing everyone onto the MAX messaging app; and now VPNs are also under attack. The widespread discontent is fueled by the fact that what was a simple task yesterday—like paying with a credit card—has suddenly become impossible. 
The Levada Center reported that 55% of Russians do not support blocking Telegram and WhatsApp — a 14-percentage-point increase over half a year. Support for the lockdowns fell from 49% to 36%. 
This is an important figure. Not because 55% is a majority that will take to the streets, but because Russia is a country where, for years, people have been afraid to tell pollsters the truth over the phone. And now they are speaking up.
The Software Developers Association puts it bluntly: the government is trying to achieve a political goal through technical “head-on” methods, ignoring the very nature of the internet.  Put simply: people who understand how technology works look at what’s happening and see the absurdity of it all. This isn’t a strategy—it’s panic dressed up as an order.
Shadaev, the head of the Ministry of Digital Development, publicly admits that he is not acting on his own initiative, but is “carrying out the task assigned to him”: “Of course, we understand all the consequences, but all the other options are much worse. It’s a difficult compromise.” 
"A difficult compromise" is a bureaucratic euphemism for "We think this is crazy too, but an order is an order."
The Elite: Silent Sabotage
The initiative to block websites comes from the FSB; it has no political backing, and those carrying it out are, as a rule, critical of the new bans themselves. And overseeing it all is Putin, who understands little about the matter but gives his blessing without delving too deeply into the details. 
That is the key formula behind what is happening. It’s not malicious intent. It’s not a well-thought-out strategy. Institutional blindness: one law enforcement agency is pulling the blanket over itself, the president nods without looking, and everyone else—technocrats, business leaders, and mid-level officials—quietly sabotages the effort because they understand: this is a disaster.
Victoria Boni’s speech sparked a public rift among the elite. Some members of the civil service clearly tried to use it to slow down the pace of the bans. Even Putin cautiously criticized those who are keen on imposing bans. 
This is a symptom known in political science as “loss of administrative coherence.” The president criticizes policies that he himself has authorized. A minister admits that he doesn’t want to do what he’s doing. The Kremlin press secretary explains how to use a VPN. Government officials, their relatives, and the elite publicly use all the banned services. 
The system prohibits what it itself engages in. This isn't a double standard. It's a breakdown.
1917: When Things Are Banned Not by Force, but Out of Fear
Nicholas II also imposed bans. He banned gatherings, political parties, newspapers, and certain words. The closer it got to the end, the more he banned. And the more he banned, the more obvious it became that he wasn’t in control of the situation—he was simply afraid of it.
A fundamental historical observation: the 1917 Revolution did not occur when Russia was in dire straits. By 1916, the country had managed to radically increase its production of ammunition, and the war economy demonstrated resilience and potential for growth.  Objectively speaking, the situation was under control.
It became uncontrollable for another reason: the decay of the army, which had come to see the senselessness of the protracted war, combined with revolutionary unrest and peasant protests, all of which were compounded by a key factor—the collapse of the state’s authority. 
It wasn't poverty that brought down the regime. It was mistrust. The moment when most people stopped believing that those in power knew what they were doing. After that moment, the rest was just a matter of technique.
Russia in 2026 is going through this very moment. Putin’s approval rating has dropped below 80% for the first time since the fall of 2022.  Anonymous officials are telling the press things that would have been unthinkable just a year ago: “Everyone feels like this has been going on longer than the Great Patriotic War.” — "And at the same time, we can't take a single region." 
Parallels That Are Uncomfortable to Notice
Comparing 2026 to 1917 is not a journalistic exaggeration.
Then: A protracted war with no clear objective for victory.
Currently: The war is now in its fifth year, negotiations have reached an impasse, and the economy contracted by 1.8% in the first two months of 2026.
Then: elites who quietly sabotage the government, not daring to stage an open revolt.
Currently: The Russian elite are aware of the country's downward trajectory and believe that it is time to act—but a certain catalyst is needed, and it could emerge quite unexpectedly.
Then: a monarch out of touch with reality, surrounded by people who are afraid to speak the truth.
Currently: Putin doesn't really understand what's going on, but he approves of the decisions without delving too deeply into the details.
Then: An army that fights but doesn't know what it's fighting for.
Currently: — It's the same thing, but with drones.
The main difference from 1917 is that in Russia in 2026, there is no organized political force capable of seizing power.
The Bolsheviks, back in their day, knew what they wanted. Today’s potential successors to Putin—security officials, technocrats, and regional barons—have neither a platform, nor legitimacy, nor charisma. This makes a possible coup no less likely, but significantly more dangerous: power could simply fall into a vacuum.
Links in a chain
Here it is—the chain we need to talk about openly.
Banning LGBT organizations isn’t homophobia for its own sake. It’s an attempt to label people as “right” and “wrong,” to create an image of an enemy within the country, to divert attention, and to give the security forces something to do. It’s the same logic behind the hunt for “foreign agents” and “extremists.”
Internet blocks are not a fight against “Western influence.” They are an attempt to cut people off from information that does not align with the official worldview. It’s the same logic behind the ban on independent media.
The war in Ukraine is not “denazification”. This is an attempt to rally society around an external threat, put domestic politics on hold, and preserve the regime at a time when there are no other means of maintaining legitimacy.
All these elements are held together by one thing: the regime’s fear of its own people. And the more restrictions there are, the more evident that fear becomes.
Putin's actions show that he is afraid of everything. When he tries to act like a cowboy shooting off the hip—that's the first sign that things are going to hell.
A frightened dictator is not a strong dictator. He is a dictator on the decline.
What to Expect
No one can say for sure when or how this will end. A coup, a collapse, negotiations, a slow decay—history offers various scenarios. But the pattern of what is happening has already taken shape.
The elite’s resistance in and of itself provokes an even harsher response from the security forces. Public objections from loyalists will be met with new repressions. The question then is whether this will trigger even greater resistance within the elite—and if so, whether the security forces will be able to handle it. 
It's a spiral. And it's unwinding.
In February 1917, people in Petrograd went to work, read newspapers, and grumbled while waiting in line for bread. No one knew that in a few days, the 300-year-old monarchy would collapse. It did not collapse under a revolutionary assault. It simply stopped functioning—and discovered that no one wanted to defend it.
Today’s Russia faces the same problem. It’s not enemies from outside. It’s the chain from within—one that the regime itself has forged, link by link, ban by ban.
And when the chain breaks—it breaks all at once, everywhere.
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