Russian Roulette: Prigozhin’s Fatal Victory
Vladimir Putin pictured touring Yevgeny Prigozhin’s Concord Food Factory in 2010. Photo taken by the Government of the Russian Federation.
As the sun grazed the soil of Russia’s southern Rostov region, a steadfast force of conviction emerged from the darkness. On June 24th, Wagner forces made a decisive switch and pivoted from the frontlines in Ukraine. 5,000 soldiers led by Yevgeny Prigozhin trekked across Russian soil to the heart of the Kremlin on their “March for Justice.” During this 124 mile journey to Moscow, Prigozhin claims to have captured the major military city, Rostov-on-Don, “without firing a single shot,” and with the support of its locals. President Vladimir Putin responded in a televised emergency address by calling all Wagner soldiers to lay down arms, and promising amnesty to those who were led astray by Prigozhin’s treason. Belarusian President Lukashenko granted Prigozhin immunity in exile for ending his occupation–a deal that Prigozhin seemed to have accepted. Now, a mere two months after the failed mutiny, Prigozhin was named among a list of 10 passengers who died in a plane crash in the northwest region of Moscow. Though an unsurprising fate for a dissenter against Putin’s Russia, Prigozhin has left behind a remarkable precedent of strong-armed defiance.
Shattering Putin’s image of invulnerability, Prigozhin’s chaos pulled at the seams of Russia’s fragile system, exposing fault lines in the Kremlin’s clandestine circle of close-knit elites. Once Putin’s closest ally, Prigozhin’s betrayal was not just another casualty of the Ukrainian war, but the final chess move of a strategic opportunist who has repeatedly maneuvered his way through the insecurities of Russia’s system for his own gain.
Like Putin, Yevgeny Prighozin was born and raised in St. Petersburg, Russia, where he spent much of his youth involved in crime after the death of his father. Serving several years in the rigid Soviet prison system for robbery, assault, and fraud, Prigozhin was pardoned from his twelve year sentence early in 1990 and opened a hot dog stand with his mother and stepfather. Emerging from poverty with a reputation as a crafty con-man, Prigozhin infiltrated the Kremlin through his multi-million dollar catering business serving Russia’s most elite, including Putin himself. From an ex-convict to a man interwoven in the lavish world of the Kremlin’s elite, Prigozhin’s history of deception and lawlessness does not fit the traditional candidature of a loyal asset, and yet, Prigozhin somehow became one of Putin’s closest policy confidants. His rise to prominence reveals that he is fundamentally untrustworthy, yet smart enough to work Russia’s system to his own personal advantage. While Putin attended law school and served the KGB, Prigozhin grew up relatively unengaged in politics, but entered government to attain wealth and by extension influence. Fixated on success and power, Prigozhin’s past reveals his self-interest and sheer tenacity to actualize his goals. He does not want to fix the broken Russian system, but to take advantage of its weak points for his own personal gain.
Prigozhin offered Putin an unconventional asset: connections with criminals he forged during his youth in a penitentiary. These connections were leveraged during the illegal 2014 annexation of Crimea when he, alongside former Russian official Dmitry Utkin, founded the Wagner Group–a paramilitary mercenary group that recruited from prisons in underprivileged areas across Russia. Targeting those at the bottom of Russia’s socio-economic hierarchy, Prighozin promised thousands of incarcerated men their freedom in exchange for their service.
The Wagner Group influenced military outcomes in conflicts such as Ukraine, Syria, and Mali, furthering the Kremlin’s interests while the Russian government distanced itself, insisting that mercenary armies were outlawed in Russia. The ambiguity surrounding Wagner, specifically whether or not they were an extension of Russia’s foreign policy objectives and who was responsible for leading them, allowed Prigozhin to exercise greater influence in the Kremlin and build loyalty with his soldiers while Putin could execute covert geopolitical manipulation with impunity. It was a mutually beneficial arrangement that served both parties–so long as neither defected.
Embodying the guise of a shadowy organization from its inception, Prigozhin officially claimed leadership after the Ukranian invasion of 2022. Speculation of the connection between the Kremlin and Wagner was no longer a key point of investigation, but reality. Prigozhin launched a slander campaign of Russian military officials and leadership on the social media platform Telegram for months prior to the coup attempt. Publicly revealing hundreds of fallen Wagner soldiers in video footage, Prigozhin questioned, “who is really betraying the Motherland,” and publically flirted with calls for Wagner soldiers to abandon their posts. Through strong nationalist-stoked sentiment and visuals of carnage caused by “stupidity” of leadership, Prigozhin called for Russian elites to instead send their “care-free” children to war, further cementing his image as a man of the people. The decision to publicize Wagner and Russia’s connection served as a warning of the looming division between Prighozin and Putin.
Because one of the central pillars of Prigozhin’s arrangement with Putin was protection from incrimination, Prigozhin’s public recognition of ownership over Wagner was a clear indication of his changing agenda, or perhaps the fruition of a long sought goal. Right before publicization of his role, ‘Putin’s chef’ was presented with an opportunity to seize more power on a silver platter–a failing war effort that was not the quick victory Putin promised, the perception of a weakened leader, and faltering Russian confidence in the war effort. With the domestic Russian environment already in a vulnerable position, Prigozhin was perfectly positioned to document wartime failures and dissent against Russian leadership, portraying them as blundering and out of touch. While Russian officials persisted in the narrative of decisive and inevitable victory, Prigozhin countered with a boots on the ground version of the story, juxtaposing the willfully ignorant elites and ordinary civilians dying on their behalf. Through what appeared as a classic anti-establishment political agenda, Prigozhin drove a wedge between Wagner Group and the Kremlin elites.
While there is no question that the Russian operation in Ukraine has failed to deliver on its goals and instead resulted in a large number of casualties, Prigozhin's true motivations remain a mystery. Did this mutiny really stem from a sense of duty, or was it merely another weakness in Russia he sought to exploit in order to extend his own personal power?
While Prigozhin put on a persona of concern for his soldiers, he once boasted “a dog’s death for a dog” when video footage of an ex-Wagner soldier being murdered surfaced online. The killed ex-Wagner soldier, Yevgeny Nuzhin, had revealed stories of the conditions under which he fought and that failure to carry out an order resulted in execution. Stories such as Nuzhin’s show that through the Wagner Group, Prigozhin took advantage of one of the most vulnerable segments of Russian society and bent them to his will, employing fear to inspire unyielding loyalty. The characterization of him as a military leader mourning the lives lost under his command is a fabrication. Rather, he demonstrated himself to be relentless in his pursuit of amassing power no matter the cost–much like Putin himself.
The Russian people are placed in the midst of a power struggle between two authoritarian leaders that present themselves as alternatives to the other, but who are essentially the same. Prigozhin was not a manifestation of the concerns of the ordinary Russian, but an extension of the same elitist and manipulative power structures that exist in the Kremlin. The coup was not a frustrated cry for justice, but a vehicle through which Prigozhin decided to launch his newest power play. Ruling through fear, endlessly chasing a position of prowess, and engaging in non-democratic forms of influence, Prigozhin was not a new player on the Russian political arena, but yet another manifestation of the same moral decay and self-serving politics that has long infected Russia at the expense of its people. While the coup certainly exposed Russian weakness, publicly broadcasting that Putin’s invulnerability is a facade, the consequences of this exposure remain unknown. Though Prigozhin’s anti-war sentiment has taken hold with some Russians, they overlook the fact that he has perpetuated and instigated war in foreign countries for years.
For men as ruthlessly ambitious as Prigozhin and Putin, it was unlikely that neither man would have pursued retaliation. While Putin needed Wagner as a tool of Russian influence, Prigozhin only needed Putin to raise him to the level of influence he had achieved; Putin needed a private mercenary army to fulfill his geopolitical goals, but Prigozhin no longer needed Putin. Despite the brevity of the coup, Prigozhin’s failure to instate a change in leadership, and then his eventual alleged assassination, Prigozhin remains victorious. Rather than looking at the coup as a quick and intense isolated failure, perhaps we ought to consider what qualified as victory for Prigozhin: exposing Russian incompetence. Putin lost the Wagner Group as a tool to conduct Russian affairs, and has been publicly humiliated. He suffered not only a strategic defeat, but a personal one: the loss of Prigozhin. In a nation puppeteered by a power-driven man, Putin proved incapable of guarding his stature against a man of similar nature.
Fiza Rizvi (CC ‘24) is a columnist for CPR and is studying computer science. She is primarily interested in international affairs and national security.