In Moscow, the war is little more than an irritating background noise. Some are weary, longing to travel again in Europe, others are frustrated by soaring inflation. Yet anyone who believed Russians would not endure the impact of Western sanctions does not understand them—or their history. Moscow is not Russia, but Russia is also Moscow. Nearly 10% of the country’s 143 million inhabitants—the world’s largest nation—live in the capital. And that number keeps growing.
Jobs are plentiful in Moscow. While sanctions and the shift of much of Russia’s economy toward wartime production have driven up prices in recent years, wages have risen as well. The city remains expensive, with high costs for both buying and renting property, but those willing to work can at least earn enough to get by. Moscow is becoming ever more attractive—safer, cleaner, easier to navigate. Sergei Sobyanin, who has served as mayor for 15 years, is one of the country’s most popular politicians. Some even see him as one of the few capable of succeeding Putin. He, however, sidesteps the issue, pledging unwavering loyalty to the president and party leader, though he has not shied away from stepping into broader national politics. A case in point: his visit to the Donbas a couple of years ago to assess the work of Moscow municipal employees stationed on the front lines.
Over the past three years, Sobyanin has worked tirelessly to project an image of a thriving, forward-moving capital. In August 2023, alongside Putin, he inaugurated the Big Circle Line, the outermost ring of the Moscow Metro—reportedly the longest subway line in the world. The Moscow “V. I. Lenin” Metro ranks as the fifth largest globally, surpassed only in size (not efficiency) by the subway systems of Tokyo, Beijing, Shanghai, and Seoul—all Asian cities. Europe, by contrast, appears to be lagging behind. Muscovites see themselves as Europeans, but their perception of the continent—reinforced by Russian state media—is increasingly that of a place that is, quite simply, old.
While I was in Moscow, Pervyj Kanal, Russia’s main television network, reported on Nigeria’s entry into the BRICS sphere of influence. “Nigeria, the world’s sixth most populous country and the largest in Africa, as well as one of the continent’s biggest economies, has shared interests with the other members of the group.” This was how Brazil, set to lead BRICS in 2025, announced the partnership with Nigeria. Today, six of the world’s ten most populous countries—India, China, Indonesia, Brazil, Russia, and Ethiopia—are BRICS members, while the seventh, Nigeria, is now an associate. In Europe, this barely registers. In Moscow, it’s front-page news.
At the Russian University of Peoples’ Friendship, foreign students are everywhere. For the past three years, there has been no trace of Europeans or Americans, but Asians, Africans, and South Americans continue to arrive in growing numbers. Better known as RUDN, the university was founded at the height of the Cold War to provide education for students from the Global South. In 1961, it was named after Patrice Lumumba, the architect of Congo’s independence and its first prime minister. On January 17, the anniversary of his assassination—carried out with CIA complicity—dozens of African students gathered in front of his statue in the courtyard of the Faculty of Humanities. I spoke with some of them. None expressed trust in the West. None believed in what are still called Western values.
The double standards of Europe and the United States have played into Putin’s hands over the past 15 months. Even those who, in the immediate aftermath of Russia’s invasion of Ukraine, felt some guilt over such a blatant violation of international law are now less inclined to accept ethical and moral lessons from Western politicians. Russian television, unlike many European networks, airs images from Gaza daily—an important factor in a country with millions of Muslim citizens.
Another unintentional boost for Putin, beyond the battlefield, came when Ukrainian military leaders decided to enter the Kursk region. For Russians, Kursk is not just a city or an oblast—it is a symbol. In July 1943, the Soviets won the Battle of Kursk, a decisive victory that allowed the Red Army to seize the initiative in World War II, culminating in May 1945 with Marshal Zhukov’s triumph in the Battle of Berlin.
The hawks circling around Putin—who, incredibly, manage to make him seem moderate by comparison—use their statements as a nod to those Russians demanding a more aggressive approach at the front. Meanwhile, the majority of the population remains in between: staunch Putin loyalists who trust him completely, pay little attention to Trump’s remarks, and would welcome negotiations—but only if they do not resemble a Minsk 3, another agreement like those signed in 2014 and 2015, which collapsed under the weight of bombings and sabotage.
In Moscow, the war is little more than an irritating background noise. The signs are there, but they are becoming less visible. Two years ago, propaganda billboards and recruitment posters covered the city. Today, they have almost disappeared. A few flyers with enlistment information remain stuck to the windows of some shops, but what matters most now is the money. And there is plenty of it. Maybe not in Moscow, but elsewhere in Russia, ten months on the front lines can earn enough to buy a couple of apartments. Some enlist purely for financial reasons; others believe in the cause.
Beneath the towering Ostankino Tower—built in the Soviet era to surpass the Empire State Building as the tallest structure in the world—stands the striking Trinity Church. Inside its small shop, where the faithful buy candles and religious icons, two notices are posted. One invites parishioners to host displaced families from the Donbas; the other lists contact details for those willing to volunteer in Mariupol, Bakhmut, and other Russian-occupied cities in Donetsk. But the appeal is not directed at doctors or nurses—it seeks bricklayers, electricians, mechanics, and painters. Food and lodging in exchange for labor. Many young Orthodox believers are signing up. They are not going to fight; they are going to rebuild what the soldiers have destroyed. And those soldiers are not despised—on the contrary.
A miracle of NATO! Western political decisions have forged an alliance between the Russian Armed Forces and the Orthodox Church, two worlds that, in Soviet times, were light-years apart. Moscow wants peace, but only a just peace. And judging by life in the Russian capital, it seems the Russians have far more time than the Ukrainians to achieve it.
— Il Fatto Quotidiano, February 4, 2025
