Vladimir Putin loves to project the image of a strongman, whether it’s shirtless riding a horse or shirtless, gun in hand, striding through the bush and filming for the Kremlin’s photographers of the great white hunter plays. While the resulting photos often provoke ridicule abroad, he believes they serve him well at home and reinforce the notion that he exudes so much raw power that he cannot be challenged.
But whatever else the events of the past few days have revealed, from the moment Yevgeny Prigozhin’s mercenaries launched what looked like a possible coup attempt to the still unclear deal that ended the mutiny, they wrecked everything what was left of Putin’s aura of invincibility. They did this by demonstrating to those who still had doubts on this point that the Russian leader is anything but a brave superman.
It may have been tactically wise at first to tolerate this open display of defiance against his regime, but it was a devastating sign of weakness. Putin followed his impulse to immediately punish Prigozhin and his troops not because he was unsure of his victory in a real showdown. His subsequent praise of his military and security forces for standing up to danger was sheer theatre; Everyone could see them melt away as the Wagner group took over Rostov-on-Don and then pushed straight north unopposed to within 125 miles of Moscow.
There is a long history of Putin’s efforts to cement his fearsome image. When he succeeded Boris Yeltsin as president in 2000, he immediately set about proving that a tough new boss would take over, someone who was the opposite of his hard-drinking, often moody predecessor.
In an interview with three Russian journalists, published as a book by the Russian President, First Person: An Astonishingly Frank Self Portrait, he detailed his prowess as a judo champion who won the Leningrad championship at the age of 21. He was ready to admit defeat Once, when he faced Vladimir Kyullenen, even that was a form of boasting. “I wasn’t ashamed to lose to a world champion,” he explained.
The message was that he never lacked courage. He described matches against bigger opponents, some of which took his breath away, and emphasized that he still emerged victorious. But the impact of such boasting has been wearing off for some time. When Putin launched the invasion of Ukraine, the International Judo Federation suspended him as their honorary president and ambassador. More significantly, Yasuhiro Yamashita, President of the All Japan Federation, denounced him for his “cowardly” actions.
Probably no adjective fits Putin as well as this – but it is absolutely correct. He may have shown physical courage in his youth, but Putin as Russia’s leader has not. In fact, all of his traits of power only underscore his reluctance to take personal risks.
While Putin had no qualms about sending young, ill-prepared, and ill-equipped conscripts to their deaths in Ukraine, his whole life has revolved around minimizing risks to himself. He was so scared of COVID that in-person visits were kept to a minimum until recently. Before coming into his presence, they were sprayed while passing through a special disinfection device. Once in the same room, they were still kept at a great distance. Hence the awkward photos of Putin addressing them as they sit at the end of an overly long table.
Nor has Putin shown any inclination to show more than superficial solidarity with his troops on the front lines. In April he visited military command posts in the Russian-controlled areas of Kherson and Luhansk, but the video footage leaves no doubt that he was there for brief photo ops, nothing more. There was nothing quite like Winston Churchill’s frequent strolls through newly bombed neighborhoods during the Blitz, during which the British leader showed he was not afraid to face the same dangers as his countrymen.
Yeltsin provided a much more recent contrast when, on August 19, 1991, he faced the troops sent to back the Kremlin hardliners’ coup. He climbed into a tank and addressed both soldiers and civilians, turning the delicate situation around. Nobody can imagine that Putin would take a similar personal risk in a comparable situation. Instead of exposing himself to danger, he would have disappeared behind a sea of bodyguards.
Even the prototype of the Russian tyrant, Josef Stalin, looked like he was about to run for cover after Hitler’s troops launched the invasion of the Soviet Union on June 22, 1941. Panicked that his strategy of working with Hitler had failed, he retired to his dacha, unwilling even to address his compatriots on the radio. Callers to the Kremlin were told: “Comrade Stalin is not here and probably will not be here.”
However, at the urging of his Politburo, he resumed his duties and, at a critical moment, made a decision that showed his willingness to take a personal risk. When it became apparent that Moscow would fall to the Germans in October, most of the regime’s senior leaders were evacuated to Kuibyshev, the city slated as a backup capital during the war, and Stalin was to join them. Instead, he decided at the last minute not to board the special train awaiting his evacuation. It was a signal to everyone that he was not ready to give up the capital – and the Germans fell short of their objective.
Putin has repeatedly expressed his admiration for Stalin’s leadership during the war, ignoring his many miscalculations and his relentless brutality towards his own people, which almost led to disaster. But just as hard to imagine that he took such a big risk as Yeltsin did in 1991, it’s even harder to imagine that half a century earlier he behaved as Stalin did at the train station.
In Putin’s world, risks are borne by others. Ironically, however, his concern for his own safety could ultimately prove to be his undoing. There is no greater risk for a tyrant than to display his own cowardice.