Wagner uprising

Last Thursday, Yevgeny Prigozhin, in a familiar fashion, expressed his strong disapproval of Russia's defense minister, Sergei Shoigu. Seated in front of a flag associated with the Wagner group and calmly sipping tea from a mug, he resorted to name-calling, referring to Shoigu as a despicable individual. Prigozhin accused Shoigu of being a spineless public relations figure and an oligarch who had never experienced combat firsthand.

According to Prigozhin, the defense ministry had deceived Vladimir Putin into authorizing a large-scale invasion of Ukraine the previous year. He dismissed the official justifications for the war, such as "denazification" or "demilitarization" and the threat of a NATO attack on Russia. Instead, Prigozhin claimed that Shoigu orchestrated the invasion solely to earn a second "Hero of Russia" medal.

These allegations were not out of the ordinary for Prigozhin, as he had been venting his frustrations about Russia's military leadership online for several months. In previous instances, he had accused both Shoigu and the commander-in-chief, Valery Gerasimov, of neglecting Prigozhin's Wagner troops by withholding ammunition, sacrificing Russian soldiers in ill-fated missions, and exploiting eastern Ukraine for personal gain.

On June 10th, the conflict took a significant turn when Sergei Shoigu declared that Wagner soldiers would be required to sign contracts with the Russian defense ministry, effectively dissolving the Wagner group. Surprisingly, President Putin appeared to support this proposal. Yevgeny Prigozhin, who was once a close ally of Putin, found himself at a personal crossroads, faced with the decision of accepting the Kremlin's decision or taking a stand.

The answer to this dilemma came on Friday evening when Prigozhin shared another provocative video on his Telegram channel. The footage depicted what appeared to be the aftermath of a missile strike on a lush Wagner camp situated somewhere in the occupied Donbas region. A soldier, visibly out of breath, hurried past destroyed trees and what seemed to be a lifeless body. Expressing shock and distress, he exclaimed, "Fuck! Oh fuck!"

Prigozhin made an assertion that the Russian defense ministry was responsible for the attack, resulting in "numerous casualties." He claimed that eyewitnesses confirmed the strike came from behind. Despite the staged appearance of the video, Prigozhin now had a justification for initiating the next phase of his audacious plan: a Wagner invasion of Russia.

The New York Times reported that Prigozhin had been contemplating a rebellion for some time, with indications of a significant plot detected by US intelligence agencies. Last Thursday, intelligence officials briefed a select group of congressional leaders in Washington, expressing concern over the potential consequences if Russia's nuclear arsenal were to fall into the wrong hands.

Interestingly, Moscow seemed unaware of Prigozhin's intentions. On Friday evening, a convoy of armored vehicles carrying Wagner soldiers departed from Ukraine, crossing the international border without obstruction. They proceeded unhindered towards Rostov-on-Don, a city with a population of over a million people and a bustling logistics hub for the conflict in Ukraine

On Saturday morning, the residents of the area woke up to a surprising development—they found themselves under the control of new warlords. Yevgeny Prigozhin confidently entered the premises of the building that belonged to the southern district military command of Russia and established himself as the new leader. Accompanied by his mercenaries, they began patrolling the streets of the region. Curious locals ventured out to witness the unfolding situation. Surprisingly, the atmosphere remained relatively calm. People even took selfies with a tank, and a woman kindly offered a Wagner soldier wearing a balaclava a bottle of water.

Prigozhin, a former hot dog seller from Leningrad who had now become the center of attention, seemed to enjoy a warm reception even from senior military figures. He engaged in conversations with Deputy Defense Minister Yunus-bek Yevkurov and Deputy Chief of the General Staff Vladimir Alexeyev. During these discussions, Prigozhin explicitly expressed his demand for the removal of Shoigu and Gerasimov. In a matter-of-fact manner, he stated that if his demands were not met, he would personally lead his small army to the gates of Moscow.

The unexpected turn of events left the Kremlin in a state of shock. It presented the most significant challenge to President Putin's authority since he assumed office in 2000. Despite Putin's persistent accusations against the West, blaming US and UK leaders for attempting to destabilize his regime, it was his friend and restaurant owner, Yevgeny Prigozhin, who now appeared to be betraying him. The unexpectedness of Prigozhin's actions led to the question: "Et tu, Yevgeny?"

This development raised a multitude of questions. Were there factions within Russia's military and security elite secretly supporting the rebels? And in the event of a confrontation, would regular soldiers be willing to turn their weapons against their fellow Wagner comrades? With much of the army deployed in Ukraine, and the internal security division, Rosgvardiya, ill-equipped to counter Prigozhin's experienced fighters, even Putin's former FSB spy agency seemed inadequate to handle the situation. The pace at which events unfolded was dizzying.

At 10 am, President Putin addressed the nation. His face appeared pale and filled with anger as he accused Wagner of endangering the constitution and committing treason. He vowed severe punishment and legal measures against the "mutineers."

In Moscow, law enforcement authorities erected barricades, and armored vehicles were deployed to protect important government ministries and buildings. Meanwhile, a significant number of planes took off from the city. According to Ukrainian intelligence, there were claims that Putin had fled north to his residence near Lake Valdai.

By midday, the rebel forces began their advance. Video footage showed numerous vehicles, including an air-defense system, traveling along the M4, a major southern highway stretching 1,100 kilometers and connecting Rostov to Moscow.

Initially, there were speculations among observers that Prigozhin's uprising might have been secretly coordinated with the Kremlin. However, it turned out that this conspiratorial version was incorrect. Prigozhin's audacious coup attempt, which he referred to as a "march for justice" in a seemingly feeble manner, was indeed genuine. His forces shot down a Ka-52 attack helicopter, resulting in the death of its crew, and destroyed an Il-18 aircraft. The incident led to the loss of at least 15 Russian servicemen, most of whom were combat pilots.

The afternoon that followed was surreal. The rebel convoy continued its northward journey, traversing a landscape adorned with pine trees and fields under a somber grey sky. A tank was positioned on the back of a heavy loader, and a jeep hurriedly passed by. Meanwhile, across the border in Ukraine, a sense of jubilation prevailed. Many people held hope that if the uprising succeeded, it could potentially bring an end to Russia's devastating invasion, to Putin's reign, or perhaps even both.

Then at around 8pm there was another remarkable twist. Belarus’s president, Alexander Lukashenko, announced the rebellion was off after negotiations he had brokered, a fact Prigozhin confirmed soon afterwards in a voice memo. The two sides had agreed a deal. Progozhin said his followers wanted to avoid bloodshed. They had got to within a two-hour drive of Moscow but would return to their “field camps” in eastern Ukraine.

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The Kremlin gave supplementary details. Putin’s press spokesperson, Dmitry Peskov, said no one from Wagner would be prosecuted. The mercenary group’s soldiers could join the regular army. Or not. And, most importantly, Prigozhin would go into exile in Belarus. These conditions seemed astonishingly lenient. Putin had previously jailed opposition leaders for long, punitive periods. His critics had died in mysterious ways.

It wasn’t immediately clear on Saturday night which side blinked first. But it was obvious where public sympathy lay, at least judging from the rapturous send-off given to the departing Prigozhin. Young men cheered his SUV and broke into chants of “Wagner Wagner”. They took photos and shook his hand. There were excited whoops as a soldier fired a volley into the air by way of valedictory salute. The atmosphere cooled as soon as the first police units arrived in Rostov. Several people booed the representatives of the old order. Prigozhin is an oligarch and a billionaire, but his crusade against corruption and calls for greater honesty have struck a chord in a state characterised by theft and organised lying. His blunt, no-nonsense videos – he likened Gerasimov last week to a “squealing fishwife” – have made him a celebrity.

For Putin, it was a narrow escape from an extremely dangerous moment. He emerges from the crisis a weaker and more vulnerable figure. The mantra of his time in office has been stability. Yes, Russians have fewer rights. But, according to Moscow’s messaging, they enjoy predictable government, in contrast to the chaos and decadence on offer in the west. His reputation for dependable leadership has now gone.

Ukrainian officials have watched events inside Russia with glee. Yuri Saks, an adviser to the defence ministry, described the uprising as ridiculous, bizarre and weird, and as “inter-species in-fighting between different factions of a terrorist country”. The takeaway in Kyiv is that Moscow is reaping what it has sown. They predict more turbulence to come and the collapse, sooner or later, of Putin’s murderous regime.

Russia’s president gave the impression on Sunday that it was business as usual. He pledged to continue his “special military operation” in an interview apparently recorded before the uprising. The war is going badly. If Ukraine’s counteroffensive succeeds in taking back territory and breaks through Russian defensive lines this summer, Putin will find himself under even more pressure at home.

There was no sign on Sunday of Prigozhin. It wasn’t immediately clear if he is in Belarus or somewhere else. It seems unlikely that he and Putin can co-exist for long, even if Prigozhin agrees to stay in Minsk. The Wagner chief has become a rival and pretender, and a possible post-Putin president. His coup attempt may be over for now, but Russia is entering a new and unpredictable phase.