Becoming the Leviathan: The Origins and Logic of Putin’s Machismo
Putin following his August 2011 skin dive in the Black Sea. Photo by the Kremlin.
On a sunny day in August 2011, then-Russian Prime Minister Vladimir Putin emerged from the shallows of the Black Sea cradling two Greek urns. With only two dives under his belt, Putin’s discovery was nothing short of a miracle; he noticed the artifacts close to shore and promptly retrieved them for Russian media outlets watching nearby. If this scene sounds too good to be true, that’s because it is: in October 2011, Putin’s spokesman Dmitry Peskov admitted the Kremlin had orchestrated the stunt, saying, “Of course [the artifacts] were left there or placed there. It’s completely normal. There’s no reason to gloat about this and everything else.”
While laughable, this incident is an example of the lengths to which Putin will go to cultivate his image. Throughout his time in power, Putin has demonstrated his masculinity and physical prowess through a series of carefully orchestrated media campaigns. In fact, skin diving is one of Putin’s tamer undertakings—other public outings have included posing with a Kalashnikov, riding shirtless on horseback, and releasing a tiger into the Russian wilderness. Despite mockery by Western media, Putin remains committed to these over-the-top macho performances. In his world, this behavior is not only “normal,” but necessary: Putin relies on his macho image as a means of diverting citizens’ frustration with the Russian state.
We must consider the Russian political landscape of the 1990s to understand how Putin’s public image came to be. In 1991, Boris Yeltsin became President and subsequently dissolved the Soviet Union. Per the suggestion of Western experts, Yeltsin passed a series of economic reforms—“shock therapy”—focusing on the privatization of Soviet industry. At the same time, Yeltsin concentrated state power via constitutional changes, media control, and support for the security agencies. These rapid changes had serious consequences including inflation, corruption, and unemployment—all of which contributed to growing crime and suicide rates. Furthermore, Yeltsin became a national embarrassment due to his obvious alcoholism and efforts to appease the West. By the end of his term in 1999, Yeltsin’s popularity rating was in the single digits.
It was at this time that Yeltsin appointed Putin—then largely unknown—as Prime Minister. In the months leading up to Yeltsin’s December 1999 resignation and Putin’s March 2000 election as president, Putin began shaping the strongman reputation on which he has come to rely. In September 1999, a series of bombings targeted residential buildings across Russia, killing over 200 people. Despite a lack of evidence, Putin blamed the attacks on Chechen terrorists, crudely stating, “We will pursue them everywhere…. We’ll soak them in the toilet, we’ll wipe them out in the outhouse.” (A line which became somewhat of a trademark.)
Since the attacks, academics, politicians, and Russian citizens have harbored doubts about the Chechens’ guilt. In fact, many suspect the involvement of the F.S.B.—Russia’s domestic security service—which was led by Putin from July 1998 to August 1999. During the wave of bombings, police in Ryazan arrested several F.S.B. officers in connection to an attempted bombing, accusing them of planting military-grade explosives in a residential building. Then F.S.B. director Nikolai Patrushev framed the scandal as a misunderstanding: the men were conducting a “security training exercise” and had merely deposited bags of sugar, not explosives. Putin never allowed an investigation into the incident, and multiple journalists and officials who challenged the Kremlin’s narrative were murdered by the Russian authorities. Although the F.S.B.’s role in the bombings has yet to be proved, these events have a concerning implication: Putin is willing to generate chaos—specifically, violence targeting his own citizens—so he can portray himself as the antidote to that very chaos. With his response to the 1999 bombings, Putin distinguished himself from Yeltsin; unlike his predecessor, Putin was a fearless and aggressive leader, capable of quashing threats to Russian security.
Throughout his time in power, Putin has continued to develop this macho, strongman image. One important strategy is his adoption of khamstvo, a uniquely Russian brand of rudeness usually associated with crude, aggressive, or degrading language. Putin’s 1999 “outhouse” comment marked the beginning of his public use of khamstvo, and since then he has escalated the frequency and intensity of his lewd remarks. For example, at a 2002 press conference, Putin addressed the Chechen War, saying, “If you really want to become an Islamic radical and are ready for circumcision, let me invite you to Moscow…. I’ll see to it that an operation be done in such a way that nothing will ever grow back.” In 2006, Putin sparked international outrage with his response to Israeli President Moshe Katsav’s sexual assault allegations, saying, “He turned out to be a strong man, raped 10 women.” In a 2008 meeting with then-French President Nicolas Sarcozy, Putin threatened to “hang [Georgian President Mikheil] Saakashvili by the balls.” These are among countless examples of Putin’s habit of public khamstvo.
In contrast with his trademark crass language, however, Putin has taken efforts to curb this same behavior by Russian citizens. In 2014, Putin passed a law forbidding the use of certain swear words in films, television, music, theater, and other forms of media. In addition, publishers were required to print warnings on the covers of books containing swear words. The message is clear: khamstvo is only acceptable when wielded by Putin, because he uses such language to challenge and humiliate Russia’s adversaries, rather than to criticize the Russian state.
Another critical aspect of Putin’s public image is his demonstrations of athleticism and physical prowess. During his first presidential term, Putin began stressing his interest in judo, an activity he claims to have practiced since childhood. In 2004, Putin published his book, Judo: History, Theory, Practice, and in 2008 he released an instructional video on the sport. Putin’s biggest judo P.R. stunt, however, occurred in 2016, when he sparred with the Russian national team, miraculously defeating every opponent—including the team’s coach. (Putin was 63 years old at the time.)
Although Putin has been ostracized by the international judo community following the invasion of Ukraine, he still uses the sport to showcase his masculinity and ability to lead. At present, Putin’s personal website credits judo with teaching the “knowledge, abilities, and skills that every politician needs.” Barnard College professor Kimberly Marten contends that Putin is even hinting at his approach to international politics, wherein he “sizes up an opponent’s weakness, throws him off balance, and then makes his opponent fall from his own weight.” Put simply, judo allows Putin to demonstrate not only brute strength, but also cleverness and agility.
In addition to his participation in judo and other organized sports—specifically hockey—Putin attempts to portray himself as rugged and capable outdoors. Putin launched this side of his image in August 2009 with a highly publicized vacation to southern Siberia. Putin’s adventures included shirtless horseback riding, white-water rafting, and even the exploration of Lake Baikal in a miniature submarine. For several days, Putin was accompanied by then-Minister of Emergency Situations Sergei Shoigu (now Defense Minister), who introduced him to his native Tuva Republic. Russian state media praised Putin for not only his masculinity, but also his generosity to locals. Western leaders and media have brutally mocked these over-the-top macho performances, but Putin has defended his behavior and since orchestrated other such campaigns.
It is clear that since taking office in 2000, Putin has attempted to distinguish himself from his predecessors through consistent displays of aggression and physical strength. The question remains, though, as to why he does so in such a cartoonish way. After all, it is hard to imagine figures such as President Biden, Chinese President Xi Jinping, or British Prime Minister Rishi Sunak parading half-naked on horseback or skin diving for “lost” artifacts.
Former Chancellor of Germany Angela Merkel believes Putin’s hyper masculine image is overcompensation for Russia’s shortcomings. In 2007, Merkel met Putin at his Sochi residence to discuss energy issues and relations between Russia and the European Union. Without warning, Putin brought his pet Labrador into the room, allowing it to circle Merkel, who has a longstanding and well-documented fear of dogs. Later, Merkel succinctly explained Putin’s strategy: “I understand why he has to do this—to prove he’s a man. He’s afraid of his own weakness. Russia has nothing, no successful politics or economy. All they have is this.”
Merkel’s remark exposes not just Putin’s own insecurity as a leader, but also the national sense of insecurity to which he is reacting. For all its posturing, Russia is no leader in the global economy; its 2021 GDP was a mere 1.78 billion—a fraction of China’s 17.7 billion and the U.S.’s 23.3 billion. Citizens are also widely dissatisfied with Russia’s domestic politics—dominated by the incumbent United Russia party—though most are too intimidated to speak up. These frustrations, in addition to the culture’s strict gender roles, have resulted in rampant depression and rising suicide rates among men. In other words, Russian citizens—men, specifically—are keenly aware of their government’s shortcomings and are paying the price.
By fashioning himself a hyper masculine image, Putin is attempting to divert citizens’ frustration with his regime. Rather than taking responsibility for various societal problems, Putin has created an external enemy on which he can heap blame: the West. Over the years, Putin’s campaign against the West has escalated, transforming from juvenile insults into openly hostile foreign policy. Although this strategy has insulated Putin from criticism for over 23 years, he now finds himself quagmired in Ukraine. How can it be true that Putin is at once the all-powerful Leviathan and free of blame for the Russian army’s failures in Ukraine? Perhaps Putin’s narrative has finally been undone.
Amelia Fay (CC‘23) is a staff writer for CPR. She is a senior in Columbia College studying Comparative Literature and Russian.