The Russian bear has not so much rolled over as adopted a new yoga position: the 'constrained lotus of strategic flexibility.' According to leaked Kremlin tea leaves (and a very nervous man who may or may not have been a Ukrainian spy), Mr. Putin remains as bendable as a frozen flagpole on Red Square. His position on Ukraine is unchanged, which is to say it resembles a brick wall with delusions of grandeur. Yet, in a development that has shocked the diplomatic world, Russian public discourse has begun to show signs of life, like a corpse twitching after a particularly jolting defibrillator charge.
State television, previously a monologue of muscle-flexing and historical grievance, now features the occasional grainy interview with someone who says 'maybe this whole 'special military operation' isn't going superbly.' Granted, these are followed by five hours of patriotic montages set to folk-rock, but the point stands. The shift is akin to a lion tamer allowing the lion to look thoughtfully at the chair before pretending it's a log. This is the sound of a superpower remembering it has an off switch.
Let us not overstate: Putin's face remains a map of granite irritation. He will not be bending, not even for a glass of fine Georgian wine. But the atmosphere has grown thick with the odour of pragmatic retreat, a fragrance currently mixed with the cologne of 'we should have thought this through.' The billboards still say 'for the children of Donbas,' but the fine print whispers 'and also to save face.' The public discourse is no longer a tight, uniform army; it's a bickering committee of pensioners arguing over the last cucumber.
My sources, a man I met at Gatwick who claimed to have a relative 'very high in the Kremlin's water department', suggest the shift is genuine, if only because the Russian public has started asking questions. 'Where is the parade?' they ask. 'Why are there no new tanks? Is the limousine factory closed?' This, dear reader, is the sound of a nation waking up from a very long, expensive nap, only to find its wallet missing.
In the grand theatre of absurdity, Putin remains the lead actor, refusing to break character as the set burns down. But the audience, once a chorus of obedient clappers, now cough and check their watches. The shift is real, but so is the vodka. Whether this leads to peace or a more creative type of war remains to be seen. For now, I'll be in the corner, raising a glass of aviation gin to the concept of 'tactical yielding.' Slainte.
