Sep 27, 2026 · 18 min · 9 segments
Russians Just REBELLED Against Putin → They Refuse to Die for His INSANE War **Putin’s Army Ran Out of IDIOTS Willing to Die for Money** Hosted by Simplecast, an AdsWizz company. See…
To understand why a governor ends up writing quotas, you have to go back to what Putin promised and how quickly he spent it.
The Women's Day promise lasts about a day.
The next morning, the Defense Ministry admits there are conscripts in Ukraine after all, and that some have already been taken prisoner.
The promise about reservists holds out longer, and it's the one I want to keep hold of because it does come back.
In September 2020, Putin signs the call-up he said he wouldn't come, 300,000 men, and a great many of them who can leave the country do exactly that.
Ordering men to fight costs you the ones who run, and it turns the families who stay into people asking questions.
From here on, he buys his army.
The war becomes a job ad.
Regions compete on signing bonuses.
The independent Russian outlet, Voriskru, has found recruiting ads describing military service as rear area work, even humanitarian work, for men who then sign an ordinary Defense Ministry contract.
The first time I read that, I assumed I read something wrong in the translation.
That's the ad, and for a while, the purchase works.
For men in poorer regions, a contract is often the best paid work on offer.
Men sign, bank the bonus, and send it home.
In December 2023, live on his annual phone-in, Putin says 1,500 men a day are signing contracts, and then he asks the question himself, "Why would we have mobilization? There's no need." The men already mobilized get a different message.
A year after the call-up, the head of the Russian Parliament Defense Committee tells reporters they'll come home only once the war is over.
Their wives start turning up outside of government buildings in white scarves.
One group called Way Home, or Put-Domoi, asks for one thing, the husbands back.
The following spring, the Justice Ministry lists the group as a foreign agent, along with one of its best-known faces, Maria Andreyeva.
She told reporters, "It seems that loving your husband and wanting him safe counts as foreign influence." Days later, a handful of other wives turn up outside the Defense Ministry anyway with their children in strollers.
They kneel in front of a police officer.
One of them points at her toddler and says she gave birth, and three months later, they took her husband.
So the bargain as I read it has two halves.
To understand why a governor ends up writing quotas, you have to go back to what Putin promised and how quickly he spent it.
The Women's Day promise lasts about a day.
The next morning, the Defense Ministry admits there are conscripts in Ukraine after all, and that some have already been taken prisoner.
The promise about reservists holds out longer, and it's the one I want to keep hold of because it does come back.
In September 2020, Putin signs the call-up he said he wouldn't come, 300,000 men, and a great many of them who can leave the country do exactly that.
Ordering men to fight costs you the ones who run, and it turns the families who stay into people asking questions.
From here on, he buys his army.
The war becomes a job ad.
Regions compete on signing bonuses.
The independent Russian outlet, Voriskru, has found recruiting ads describing military service as rear area work, even humanitarian work, for men who then sign an ordinary Defense Ministry contract.
The first time I read that, I assumed I read something wrong in the translation.
That's the ad, and for a while, the purchase works.
For men in poorer regions, a contract is often the best paid work on offer.
Men sign, bank the bonus, and send it home.
In December 2023, live on his annual phone-in, Putin says 1,500 men a day are signing contracts, and then he asks the question himself, "Why would we have mobilization? There's no need." The men already mobilized get a different message.
A year after the call-up, the head of the Russian Parliament Defense Committee tells reporters they'll come home only once the war is over.
Their wives start turning up outside of government buildings in white scarves.
One group called Way Home, or Put-Domoi, asks for one thing, the husbands back.
The following spring, the Justice Ministry lists the group as a foreign agent, along with one of its best-known faces, Maria Andreyeva.
She told reporters, "It seems that loving your husband and wanting him safe counts as foreign influence." Days later, a handful of other wives turn up outside the Defense Ministry anyway with their children in strollers.
They kneel in front of a police officer.
One of them points at her toddler and says she gave birth, and three months later, they took her husband.
So the bargain as I read it has two halves.
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