Exactly 1,535 days of war is what it took for Russian President Putin to publicly refer to his Ukrainian counterpart by his last name. Within these long, bloody, and—for the Kremlin—not exactly successful 1,535 days, the Ukrainian leader was everything but a man with a first and last name to Putin: most often dubbed a “neo-Nazi” or the “head of the neo-Nazi Kyiv regime,” a “disgrace to the Jewish people,” a “clown,” a “vile green louse,” a “stinking corpse,” and a “drugged-up zombie.” The linguistic diversity of the Russian authorities truly cannot be disputed.
Such delegitimization and dehumanization of the Ukrainian president are, of course, not a matter of daily inspiration for individuals within the Russian state leadership or court propagandists; quite the contrary: they carry a distinctly systemic character. In September 2023, for instance, the Kremlin sent a circular to Russian state media outlining the expectation that Zelensky should under no circumstances be called “president,” but rather referred to using phrases like “the head of the Kyiv regime” or “the Kyiv leader.” They strictly adhered to this, of course. The Kremlin successfully tested a similar tactic in the preceding years when it systematically ignored and delegitimized opposition leader Navalny—later murdered in a Russian prison—primarily for the domestic public, building him up as a nameless figure, referred to merely as “that gentleman,” “the subject,” or “the patient” (in reference to his 2020 poisoning attempt and subsequent treatment in Germany).
The goal in both cases is, naturally, similar: by not uttering the name (or the political office in Zelensky’s case), Putin attempts to deny his opponent any subjectivity, essence, political weight, and existence. To him, they are not equal political actors (Navalny in domestic politics, Zelensky in an international context), but merely “disturbances” that, moreover, lack any legitimacy. In other words, this also means that they can be dealt with in whatever way the Kremlin pleases or deems necessary. Because if the Kremlin and the “Russian World” in Ukraine are fighting a junta led by a “drugged-up zombie” or a “neo-Nazi,” then absolutely all methods are justified. Starting with war crimes, attacks on civilian infrastructure, and massacres of civilian populations.
So, what changed on May 9, 2026, on Victory Day, when Putin not only called the Ukrainian president by his last name for the first time but even expressed readiness for a personal meeting (after all, for years the Kremlin sent messages to the world and the domestic public that it had no intention of negotiating with Zelensky, claiming he lacked legitimacy)? A lot. Primarily, the realization has likely reached Putin himself that the “special military operation” is not exactly going according to plan. What does this mean?
First, while the Russian army advanced at a snail’s pace and captured new territories in the Donbas in 2024 and 2025, this trend has come to a complete halt in recent months. Russia is practically no longer advancing, and the political goal—capturing 100 percent of the Donetsk region (Ukraine still controls about 20 percent)—appears increasingly unrealistic, at least in the near or even medium-term future. Furthermore, Ukraine has shown that it is capable of waging a more than equal war with drones and unmanned aerial vehicles, not only on the battlefield but also in the (deep) Russian rear. It is not just Russian refineries in the interior of the country that are burning, but also large oil storage facilities (Tuapse), airports around Moscow and St. Petersburg, and military facilities over 1,000 km away from the Ukrainian-Russian border. Thus, month by month, slowly but persistently, the war is moving closer to the average Russian.
It is entering their reality with all the negative consequences it brings. Paradoxically, for many, this is an even greater shock because they had not really noticed the war on television or in mass (state) media before; it was deliberately dose-controlled and, of course, surgically censored. Now, suddenly, it is not reaching them through TV screens, but they can observe it from their living rooms—all they have to do is look out the window. And it causes the expected things: fear, distrust, and uncertainty. Including in the authorities. And this is exactly what the Kremlin wanted so desperately to avoid.
Second, the catchphrase “It’s the economy, stupid,” coined in 1992 by political strategist James Carville for Bill Clinton’s presidential campaign, strikes at the heart of the current Russian context as well. The cost of this senseless war has become a financial burden for the average Russian—real incomes already began to fall in 2024–2025, and this year the drop is even steeper. The fiscal stimulus of the war in the form of GDP growth is long gone; instead, the military budget has devoured many real sectors and jobs, numerous businesses are closing their doors, and inflation persists. People are complaining about the high cost of living, especially utility services and food. Social destitution is still quite far off, but the drop in living standards is palpable. And the most problematic thing for the Kremlin is the realization by many that the authorities are at least indirectly responsible for this situation. In the good spirit of personalist autocracies (and the Russian tsarist tradition), the authorities will try with all their might to shift the blame onto the “bad boyars,” but this only works up to a point. When the glass is overflowing, even this trick will no longer work.
Third, the war is not only swallowing Russian men (objective estimates of the dead by early 2026 hover around 350,000, with the wounded and disabled being several times that number) or the real purchasing power of the average Russian, but also the financial interests of the Russian elite and oligarchs, including those who are particularly close to Putin. Top KGB men and military apparatchiks do not choose their means—if a political goal and task are set, they will realize them. Regardless of their absurdity, the unreality of execution, or the many bodies that will fly around as collateral damage during the attempted realization. It is the same now. If Putin issued an order that the internet needs to be “kept under closer surveillance or its operation restricted,” then the FSB will start doing just that. And so the Russian internet, a technological marvel competing with Silicon Valley just a few years ago, found itself overnight in the hands of the notorious 2nd Service of the FSB. In the hands of people who, instead of algorithms, understand only repression, and who always use a hammer because they see only nails everywhere.
The same applies to the internet now—authorities are indiscriminately blocking internet access everywhere (both mobile, even in Moscow, and broadband), regardless of the consequences. Duma deputies have no signal, banks cannot operate, and apps for booking taxis or fast food delivery do not work either? So what. We are fighting “neo-Nazis,” or, in a milder version: “Safety first.” Business suffers, and in this case, not just small entrepreneurs, who are merely a replaceable cog in the system, but also large corporate systems for which the internet is the backbone of operations, without which everything simply falls apart. Big capital and oligarchs are suffering, and the value of assets is shrinking. And they are looking for allies within the system (primarily high-level bureaucratic functionaries and apparatchiks) who are willing to listen. Putin’s “Mr. Zelensky” is a signal that he has heard them.
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But has Putin also heard everyone else, the millions of his own citizens, let alone the Ukrainians and Western allies? I would dare say, unfortunately not. “Mr. Zelensky” is undoubtedly an extremely important symbolic milestone of this war, far more telling than many analytical reports. The war is not going according to plan for Russia, and despite enormous casualties and negative consequences, it has achieved practically none of its set strategic goals. Yet, concluding that this is a signal of Putin’s readiness for serious negotiations and concessions aimed at achieving peace in Ukraine would still be wrong.
The primary recipients of the message were the Russian elites, who heard that “the Tsar hears them,” which in other words means that the authorities are not completely detached from everyday reality and their financial troubles. Which is better than nothing. The second recipient was Zelensky himself: Putin is indeed ready to negotiate with him (which the Kremlin tries to sell as an element of concession), but exclusively on his own terms and about final solutions that have been written in the Kremlin for quite some time—Kyiv must surrender the rest of the Donbas, and the rest can be discussed later. These are terms typically dictated by victors to those who capitulate.
“Mr. Zelensky” is thus not an announcement of imminent peace, and Putin did not transform into a diplomat overnight. He is, however, forced by four years of harsh reality to realize that he can no longer win this war (quickly) even on the battlefield, and victory in the minds of Russians is also slipping away. Consequently, his toughest battle is shifting from the frontlines to his own backyard—to maintaining the illusion of an omnipotent, infallible tsar in front of an increasingly frightened public and nervous elites running out of patience, internet, and money. When a dictator returns a name to his greatest enemy, it does not mean he has begun to respect him or that he is ready to concede. It merely means he can no longer afford to ignore him.