6 Russian Words for a Country Sliding Into Authoritarianism

When a tank gets stuck in front of the entrance to a circus, the scene looks like it's straight out of a comedy film, but in Russia, it really happened: in June 2023, during the Wagner Group's rebellion, a tank became wedged between the colorful columns of the Rostov-on-Don circus. The cheerful posters and the military armor created a photo that immediately went viral, somewhere between tragedy and farce. Yet this image captures the paradox of Russian authoritarianism in a single shot: everything seems to be under control on the outside, while chaos reigns on the inside. The mistake we often make is to think that authoritarianism is just a matter of strong leaders, military uniforms, and overt repression. But the reality is much more subtle, and the way Russians talk about power is the clearest proof of this: language becomes a tool for survival, resistance, and, at times, self-deception. Take the word vlast': in theory, it means “power,” but in Russia, it is something more. It is not just an abstract concept: representatives of the state are called “those who have vlast’.” They are not “officials” or “politicians,” but living embodiments of absolute power. Anatoly Sobchak, Putin's mentor, had said, “We [democrats] have power. So this is a democracy.” But in Russia, power is never neutral: those who wield it often bend it to crush those below them. And what seems far-fetched – a head of state using “apolitical” tools to target his opponents – can become reality anywhere if the signs are not recognized. Behind every regime is a silent army of byudjetniki, literally “budget people”: teachers, doctors, public employees, students – all dependent on the state for their salaries. They are the ones who fill the squares at pro-Putin rallies, often coerced by the threat of losing their jobs or being expelled from university. A professor from Perm recounted receiving a call: “Either you go to the rally, or tomorrow you won't be allowed into the classroom anymore.” The luckiest ones are paid; the others go out of fear. This tacit agreement keeps the system afloat: in exchange for security and regular paychecks, people agree to play the role of an enthusiastic audience. But fear is the real currency. Then there is the word zona, which in Russian means a “special territory,” but is also slang for “prison.” In Russian culture, the zone is not just a physical place: it is a state of mind, a parallel reality where rules are suspended and violence is permitted by design. Think of Chernobyl, the gulags, but also Gaza or Donbas: whenever a zone is created where brutality is tolerated, that logic sooner or later spills out and infects everything else. History teaches us that the violent methods used to seize power almost always become the system – just look at the Bolsheviks or the Fascists. If you allow barbarism to exist “far away,” sooner or later it will knock on your door. An even more disturbing example is Kadyrovization: Ramzan Kadyrov governs Chechnya as his personal fiefdom, experimenting with extreme forms of repression – from torture to “forced apologies” that are filmed and posted online, now replicated throughout Russia. It is as if a laboratory of oppression were being created, where what happens remains invisible to others… until it becomes the norm everywhere. And today, the prison also has its digital walls. The digital gulag came into being when Russia, after suppressing the free press, sought to isolate its network from the rest of the world. Everything is centralized in a single app, which is convenient for making doctor's appointments but perfect for fining protesters or sending military summonses. Convenience becomes the excuse for losing freedom. But in everyday life, the dominant feeling remains one of absurdity. The expression “cursed circus” was already popular, but the photo of the tank blocking the entrance to the big top turned it into a living meme. Everything seems like a charade, but behind the scenes, fear is growing. It's just that, in Russia, people have learned never to expect the worst: they say “dna net,” meaning “there is no bottom.” Every time you think the limit has been reached – with Navalny, with the rigged elections, with the absurd laws – there is always a new abyss. And when you convince yourself that you can't sink any lower, you hear knocking from the bottom. The Russians put it this way: “Someone is still knocking from below the bottom.” Authoritarianism never comes all at once: it seeps in, one boundary at a time, one word at a time. Those who have experienced all this, like Maria Kuznetsova or Dan Storyev, recount it in a language full of codes, irony, and bitterness that only those who have lived through it can truly understand. If you think that the way language changes power has opened your eyes, you can mark it on Lara Notes with I'm In – choose whether it's a new awareness, an experience you've had, or a belief you now carry with you. And if tomorrow you happen to tell someone the story of the tank at the circus, or the joke “there is no bottom,” on Lara Notes, you can use Shared Offline to tag those who were with you. That way, the conversation remains, even when everything else seems to disappear. This Note comes from Foreign Policy and has saved you 11 minutes.