Four Years In: How War Reshaped Russian Daily Life

£15,000. That's what recruitment billboards across the Russian town of Yelets promise anyone willing to sign up and fight in Ukraine.

In this city 350 kilometers south of Moscow, war isn't just news anymore—it's wallpaper. A massive mural covers the side of a nine-story apartment block, depicting five local soldiers killed in Ukraine. "Glory to the heroes of Russia!" reads the inscription above their faces.

What Vladimir Putin launched as a "short and successful military operation" has now stretched longer than Nazi Germany's brutal war on the Soviet Union. Four years in, the conflict that was supposed to force Kyiv back into Moscow's orbit has instead forced Russia to confront uncomfortable realities at home.

When War Becomes Normal

The signs are everywhere in Yelets. Emergency shelters dot the landscape—at bus stops, in parks, in apartment basements. Ukrainian drones have reached this far into Russian territory, making air raid sirens a nightly routine.

"The sirens go off almost every night," explains Irina, a bus station ticket collector. "But I don't leave my building. We just go into the corridor where there are no windows."

Irina knows the war's human cost intimately. "My friend's husband was killed fighting there. The son of my cousin, too. And grandson. Lots of people have been killed. I feel sorry for these lads."

Yet she helps pack aid for soldiers on the front line, even as she struggles with her own finances. "Utility bills are suffocating us. Prices are crushing us. It's very hard to get by."

The confusion is palpable. "In the Great Patriotic War, we knew what we were fighting for," she says. "I'm not sure what we're fighting for now."

The Economic Squeeze

Russia's budget deficit is growing, and the government has raised VAT from 20% to 22%. The Finance Ministry says the extra revenue will fund "defense and security"—a euphemism that everyone understands.

Small businesses feel the pinch acutely. At a local bakery, owner Anastasiya Bykova explains the cascade of rising costs: "We've had to raise prices because our utility bills, rent and tax bills have all gone up. And the VAT increase means our ingredients are more expensive."

Her worry extends beyond her own business: "Imagine we all have to shut down: our bakery, and the restaurant opposite. We try to make our town look good. But if we close, what's left? Just a dark grey patch."

The Contradiction of Support

Perhaps nowhere is Russia's complex relationship with this war more evident than in the words of pensioner Ivan Pavlovich in nearby Lipetsk. Standing in his apartment stairwell, frustrated by a leaking pipe and broken elevator, he embodies the contradictions many Russians feel.

"If I was younger, I'd go and fight there," he declares. "The special military operation is excellent. It's just that prices keep rising. Pensions go up, but then prices go up even more. So, what do I gain? Nothing."

Then comes the admission: "Of course, we'd live more comfortably if there was no special operation. They spend a lot of money on it. People also give what they can. We need to help. I'm not complaining."

The Global Stakes

From the West's perspective, this war represents Russia's attempt to overturn the entire post-Cold War security architecture in Europe. But Russian state media frames it differently. TV anchor Dmitry Kiselev tells viewers: "We live in a time of war: a war forced on us by the West. We have to win it, and we can't get by without a war budget."

Putin's own rhetoric reinforces this narrative of inevitability: "Where the foot of a Russian soldier steps, that's ours," he declared last year. "Russia's borders do not end anywhere."

Yet the reality on Russian streets tells a different story—one of economic hardship, personal loss, and quiet questioning that coexists with public support.