Is Putin In For A Repeat Of 1917?
- 13.07.2026, 15:09
The lines for gasoline are reminiscent of the bread shortages before the revolution.
A Swiss newspaper Neue Zürcher Zeitung draws attention to the fuel crisis in Russia, drawing parallels with the bread lines in Petrograd more than a century ago, which became one of the sparks that led to the fall of the monarchy and the ensuing civil war. At that time, the country, exhausted by a long war, descended into chaos, culminating in the abdication of Nicholas II. The publication emphasizes that today’s Russia under Putin is far more rigidly structured and subject to much tighter control by security agencies than the late empire was.
To illustrate this, the journalists describe a scene at a Lukoil gas station in Cheboksary, where a line of cars stretched half a kilometer in the evening. People sat silently in their cars waiting for fuel; after more than an hour of waiting, one of the drivers joked grimly that the remaining gasoline could now be considered “premium”—since it was “still clean.” The NZZ notes that even in the provinces, people have long since lost faith in the quality of domestic fuel, which damages engines.
The publication points out that lines in Russian history have always carried political undertones: during the Soviet era, people stood in line for hours for sausage, scarce goods, and books—and it was precisely in these lines that rumors and jokes spread, eroding trust in the authorities. But the most alarming precedent remains February 1917, when hungry lines for bread escalated into street protests, clashes with police and troops, and ultimately the fall of the monarchy.
The NZZ authors compare Putin’s war against Ukraine to World War I—in essence, this, too, is a war of attrition without any clear existential necessity. At the same time, the political context today is fundamentally different. In 1917, the country had a State Duma with a liberal opposition, Marxists, and industrialists who openly criticized the tsar; even some members of the elite and relatives of Nicholas II were talking about a constitutional monarchy. Under the current government, such a scenario is almost unthinkable.
The difference is also evident in the scale of the repressive apparatus: the tsarist secret police numbered fewer than 2,000 officers and about 20,000 informants, whereas, according to Western estimates, today, hundreds of thousands of people serve in the FSB and FSO alone, and digital surveillance—cameras, smartphones, internet providers—makes the state incomparably more impenetrable.
There is also a military factor: in 1917, millions of soldiers passed through major cities, hospitals, and garrisons, and units weary of the front lines could have become the driving force behind an uprising. Today, however, military personnel fighting against Ukraine return to the country in scattered groups—on leave, after being wounded, or upon demobilization—and do not form an organized force capable of rapidly influencing the political situation. Therefore, commentators conclude, gas station lines alone are unlikely to repeat the scenario of 1917.
Nevertheless, they pose a different kind of danger to the Kremlin: the fuel crisis shatters the illusion of normalcy. The war ceases to be just a picture on TV and enters people’s daily lives through empty gas stations, poor-quality fuel, wasted time, and everyday frustration. This is not the revolution of tomorrow, but it is a slow erosion of trust in a system that promised stability in exchange for silence.