General elections this month have revealed that the Russian public is frustrated, uncertain about the future and electrified by protest sentiment. Kremlin candidates struggled to win their gubernatorial bids, while high school and college students—people who haven’t even started working yet — took to the streets to protest plans to raise the pension age. Political analysts chalk this situation up to Kremlin errors. They believe that domestic policy chief Sergei Kiriyenko has loosened the political rules too much and has invested too heavily in the spectacle of the election campaign. These tactics backfired, prompting protests and more votes for the pro-regime opposition — votes for any random candidate, rather than specifically against the Kremlin. It’s a classic example, the logic goes, of “democracy by mistake,” a term coined by political scientist Daniel Treisman. But, in truth, this is bigger than a simple miscalculation or poor execution by the regime. This election represents an important moment for Russia: it’s a day when the largest coalition of support for the regime in modern history ceased to exist. The notorious Crimean consensus is dead.

The period after Russia’s 2014 annexation of Crimea can be called the golden age of Russian authoritarianism. Never before had the president enjoyed such massive support. Never before had he been so able to mobilize necessary resources for army modernization, infrastructure building, and his hardline foreign policy agenda. The efforts and funds invested in creating a “war coalition” starting in 2008 have yielded enormous results. Only in 2014 could Putin finally create his paradoxical Putinism, which combines both “nationalist” and “globalist,” as well as “socialist” and “capitalist,” components. And although micromanagement, informal deals between government and business entities, and public-private partnerships did not eliminate social inequality, they allowed it to be mitigated with targeted actions. While the standard of living in 2014–2016 failed to grow in statistical terms, the government pushed the banks to issue mortgages and consumer loans at record levels amid a declining economy. Borrowing was intended to eliminate inequality. The president’s friends received new roles. They stopped being mid-level business executives managing their respective chunks of state property and became champions of national causes, people carrying out geopolitical tasks. Meanwhile, oligarchs were demoted—despite receiving state assistance during the economic crisis and after being hit with sanctions. They became run-of-the-mill deputy ministers, while deputy ministers became run-of-the-mill oligarchs. Up through 2014, Putin’s socioeconomic program could be summed up with the phrase “I’ll make them pay.” But what happens when there is no “them” anymore? What do you do if the entire business elite has become subordinate to Putin? This brings about political collapse that forces the redrawing of key power lines within society. Nicos Poulantzas, a once prominent twentieth-century Marxist politician, believed the main conflict inside dictatorial regimes is between comprador (globally-oriented) and national (locally-oriented) bourgeoisie. This conflict, he posited, eventually destroys dictatorships, opening them up to the world. Some research—especially by Thomas Pepinsky—now provides empirical evidence for his claim. During the Crimean consensus, society treated Putin as an outside force separate from the massive capital that propels the nation toward historic goals. But by around 2016, Russia no longer had the comprador class. Capitalists with business interests in the West either gave up these interests or left the country, moved their assets, and retired. And the national bourgeoisie is not really a bourgeoisie, nor is it outside the regime. Thus, the ubiquitous Putin has become synonymous with capital. Here, capital doesn’t mean corruption and $40 billion in mysterious bank accounts. Rather, it refers to the complete execution of the political mandate. After eliminating all outside forces, the Kremlin itself has become them. It has become capital. The controversial Platon toll collection system, pension reform, and digital procurements distributed among the president’s friends are all signs of “revenue-leasing” capitalism in which the distance between the government and business has been reduced to mere technical details. In this revenue-leasing framework, any protest against inequality, poverty, or non-payment of salaries automatically becomes protest against the Kremlin. Any protest against a “liberal” initiative is protest against the regime. How can a government paralyzed by disputes between the president’s friends and his entourage guarantee greater social equality, higher incomes, and improved living standards? In a cash-strapped economy, economic growth in one sector—for example, through a large infrastructure project—always comes at the expense of another sector.