Charles Maines

That's Alexei Minyalov, an opposition activist who launched Chronicles, a research project to counter what he argues is weaponized polling in favor of the war.

Pagnyalo says in an environment where criticism of the Russian invasion is criminalized, of course a vast majority of Russians say they support the military campaign.

It's out of self-preservation.

Yet when presented with more nuanced choices, for example, would you support a decision to withdraw forces early or prefer government resources be devoted elsewhere, a truer picture emerges.

In other words, the answers you get depend on the questions you ask.

In smaller towns like Livni, some 300 miles to the south of the capital, the war mostly thrives on conformity, money, and fear, says Irina Turbina.

Her son Arseny, serving a five-year jail term for his anti-war views.

He was just 15 years old, a precocious eighth grader with a love for physics, Real Madrid and opposition politics, when mass government security agents stormed their apartment in 2023.

He was later convicted on terrorism charges for aiding the Ukrainian army, a crime Arseny denies and his mother maintains was fabricated.

Amid Arseny's legal troubles, Turbina has watched as neighbors and colleagues avoided contact or gone out of their way to show support for the Russian invasion, just in case, she suspects.

Meanwhile, others in town have gone off to fight, with army enlistment bonuses and state bereavement payouts in the tens of thousands of dollars transforming the local economy.

The government's ability to preserve a sense of normalcy has been key to maintaining public morale, says Sergei Politaev, a supporter of the war effort who writes for the politics blog Vatfor.

And it's true, despite wave after wave of Western sanctions, Russia's economy has performed far better than anyone predicted.

Even amid more recent signs of mounting economic troubles, Politaev insists Russians can adapt because they always have.

Yet there's a growing sense that amid a conflict with no immediate end in sight, the state's need for control, too, knows no bounds.

Last fall, the arrest of musicians from the band Stop Time over their performance of anti-war cover songs on the streets of St.

Petersburg made global headlines.

In court, the group's singer, 18-year-old Diana Loganova, who goes by the stage name Naoka, said they were just playing songs they like to a public that wants to hear them.

She and another band member have since fled the country, but the case has served as a reminder.

Wartime censorship laws dictate what Russians can hear, watch, read, and share.