How Moscow blooms while Ukraine burns Theatre of denial

In a compelling and unsettling opinion piece, The Economist delivers a psychological x-ray of Vladimir Putin’s Moscow: a metropolis draped in flowers and spectacle while the machinery of repression and war grinds out of view. The article contrasts the idyllic optics of the capital’s “Summer in Moscow” festival with the underlying terror and ideological fervour fuelling Russia’s ongoing assault on Ukraine—and reveals a city built on distraction, denial, and designer flowerbeds.

At the centre of the piece is a paradox: Moscow has never looked more vibrant, even as Russia’s war effort deepens and dissent is criminalised. Mayor Sergei Sobyanin’s festival—complete with pétanque courts, artisanal ice cream, and wildflower amphitheatres—has transformed public spaces into paradisiacal zones of curated leisure. This aesthetic renaissance is not incidental; it is strategic. The state, The Economist argues, is compensating for its brutal foreign policy with internal comfort, especially for the elites clustered in the capital. Consumption has replaced conviction. The war may rage on, but in Moscow, it’s hidden behind pink petunias and pop-up operettas.

Simultaneously, the Kremlin’s ideological grip is hardening. Putin’s rhetoric—invoking immortality, martyrdom, and civilisational struggle—mimics the language of fascism, but without any future-oriented vision. His ideology is retrograde and millenarian, its function not to inspire but to sanctify death. As one entrepreneur in Moscow says, allegiance to this ideology is about loyalty, not belief. Propaganda elevates fallen soldiers to saints, even as society buries them quietly and repression ensures no one asks why they died.

This duality—where repression coexists with hedonism—is captured sharply. Behind flower-draped boulevards lie ghosted histories and silenced spaces. Bolotnaya Square, once a rallying point for protest, now hosts family-friendly entertainment. Pushkin’s statue, long a symbol of dissent, is veiled behind newly planted cypresses. The shrine to Boris Nemtsov is buried under carefully staged floral arrangements. Protesters are replaced with performers; trauma is papered over with paint and public classes in baking.

The Economist wisely highlights the mechanics behind this illusion. With war outsourced to paid contract soldiers from impoverished provinces, Moscow’s upper class is shielded from its consequences. The economy teeters, sanctions bite, and international isolation grows—but inside the Boulevard Ring, the show must go on. Putin’s regime knows the importance of protecting the comfort of the capital’s elite. They remember the Soviet Union’s collapse was hastened not by tanks, but by empty shelves and the appeal of a better life in the West.

Crucially, the piece avoids portraying Muscovites as wholly duped. Many are painfully aware of the disconnect. Photographer Alexandra Astakhova calls the experience “psychedelic.” Dmitry Muratov laments the loss of protest rights. Others endure the masquerade with grim humour, grateful at least that Moscow is not plastered with the “Z” of war or riddled with roadblocks—yet.

As the summer display inevitably fades, The Economist leaves the reader with a haunting question: what will come next? In a city where artifice reigns and voices are muffled, the only certainty is that the curtain will fall—and the next act may be darker still.

By Vugar Khalilov