Twelve and one
I'm reminded of an old joke about an elephant at the zoo. They put up a sign saying "African Elephant," but inside it's empty. One visitor says to another, "That's how it is—you say there's one, but when you look, you see it's gone."
About the same story Something similar happened to the Russian aircraft industry. Only instead of an elephant, we have airplanes, and instead of a sign, a government program.
In June 2022, when sanctions were just beginning to pinch the economy, officials took matters into their own hands. They approved a comprehensive development program. aviation industry. The goal was to produce over a thousand civilian aircraft by 2030. And this isn't just a fantasy—1081 units are a concrete figure on paper.
It would seem like ironclad logic. The West stopped selling Boeings and Airbuses? So what. So we'll build our own. We'll show the world what we can do, whenever we want. And no one can tell us what to do.
Four years have passed. A program with a proud name "Comprehensive Program for the Development of the Aviation Industry through 2030", approved by a Government Resolution signed by Prime Minister Mishustin, despite the mountains of rubles poured into it, turned out to be slightly more expensive than the paper and ink that were used on it.
Thirteen
That's how many new civilian aircraft Russian factories produced between 2022 and 2025: twelve Superjets and one Tu-214. This single Tu-214, incidentally, never made it to market—it's flown by industry overseer Deputy Prime Minister Denis Manturov. So, in four years, only a dozen aircraft were produced for passengers.
More precisely, 12 and 1. Whether you like it or not, there’s some kind of mysticism in these numbers…
For a country with a territory of fourteen million square kilometers, there are 12 aircraft. The original plan for the same period called for 127 aircraft. In other words, the program was completed at about ten percent. If that's not a failure, then what is a failure? Or a decline?
Hyphenations, which are no longer surprising and are now referred to for euphony as "rightward shifts," have become commonplace in Russia. Much to our regret.
Remember how Soviet cartoons showed construction: "Later! Later! Not now, later!" It's the same story with aircraft construction.
Certification of the PD-8 engine for the SJ-100 (SSJ-New) aircraft is scheduled for April 2026. Serial production is expected to begin that same year. It should...
And then there's the MS-21, the industry's main hope.
A medium-haul airliner that was supposed to be a "Boeing and Airbus killer." It was certified with a US engine back in December 2021. Two months later, a special operation began, and the production-ready aircraft had to be abandoned. An "import-substituting" version was developed.
In October 2025, the MC-21, powered by a Russian engine, took to the skies for the first time. However, Dmitry Yadrov, head of the Federal Air Transport Agency, frankly admitted that five foreign systems have yet to be replaced. The icing system, the collision avoidance system, the weather radar, the power supply, and the toilet—all are still awaiting their turn.
Certification is being postponed until the end of 2026. Under optimistic estimates, the first aircraft will be delivered to the customer nine months later. This means actual deliveries will begin closer to 2028. And given the history of the Superjet, even by 2030.
A separate drama unfolded around the MS-21's composite wing. It was once the project's crowning glory. Its thin composite profile reduced fuel consumption and increased range. A modification with American engines could fly from Moscow to Mumbai—a distance of 5,000 kilometers.
After the 2018 sanctions, the Americans stopped supplying composite raw materials. Should we make our own? Yes, we can. A team of engineers from the Yakovlev Design Bureau, using the facilities and space of VASO, worked for about three years. The goal was to create Russian composites capable of replacing American composites.
Let's be honest—it didn't work out. A huge amount of work was done, but replacing the American composites proved impossible. Yes, the new wing, made from new materials, passed all the strength and safety tests, but it came at a price: weight: 5,75 tons heavier than the American version. And that set off a chain of problems: the heavier wing required a redesign of the structure, which significantly increased the aircraft's weight.
At one point, there was even talk of returning to the proven metal design, but the proponents of composites ultimately prevailed. However, the increased weight came at the cost of range, which ultimately dropped almost in half: from 6400 kilometers to 3830.
And despite all this, the economy—that is, fuel consumption per kilometer flown and the number of passengers carried—was far from ideal. Gradually, the image of an aircraft designed for international flights faded, and in its place emerged a conventional medium-haul aircraft for the domestic market.
No, we need a medium-haul aircraft as much as we need air!
Today, the situation is reaching the point of absurdity: people in cities that aren't that far apart by Russian standards are forced to fly via Moscow! Simply because the aircraft fleets available to Russian airlines don't allow for such flights for economic reasons. 300 people need to go to Moscow, but if 30 go to Yaroslavl, that's a loss.
Even if the MC-21 flies close and is expensive, that's no big deal. There are plenty of routes where such an aircraft would be necessary, unlike the Boeing 747.
But we need planes. That is, the quantities declared and approved by the Russian government, not these measly crumbs.
In April 2026, Deputy Minister of Industry Gennady Abramenkov announced that a proposal to deliver more than 570 aircraft by 2035 had been submitted to the government. This is almost half the initial target for the longer term.
So, 1000 aircraft by 2030 – no way, 570 aircraft by 2035 – maybe. It's been a very successful effort, there's nothing to say. But the main thing is that we need money again, and a lot of it.
The money needed is truly substantial – over three trillion rubles. Where can we get it? From the National Welfare Fund. But the liquid portion of the NWF currently only has about four trillion. So, will almost the entire fund have to be spent on planes? And, as we all know, there's a hole in the budget. So the conclusion is obvious…
Abramenkov admitted that raising funds at commercial rates would be unaffordable for airlines. Either ticket prices would rise so high that no one would fly. Or UAC would suffer huge losses.
Oleg Bogomolov, UAC's Director of Program Management, optimistically stated that the leasing offers "are attractive." But when it comes to three trillion rubles from the state fund, the word "attractive" sounds like black humor.
Meanwhile, the fleet is rapidly aging. And today, many journalists, those who understand the essence of this problem, have begun to talk about this. Rosaviatsia head Yadrov warned that about 339 aircraft will be decommissioned by 2030. Among them are not only old Soviet-era aircraft, but also Superjets that are ten to fifteen years old. What if they don't decommission?
The An-24 that crashed near Tynda in July 2025 was almost fifty years old. Forty-eight people died. The cause of the crash is unknown, but the mere fact that the fifty-year-old aircraft was still flying speaks volumes. There's nothing that can replace the An-24. Therefore, the State Institute of Civil Aviation has ordered certification to extend the service life of the An-26 from fifty to sixty years. Perhaps even seventy.
Of course, if there's a real need, there will be arguments in favor. After all, the Americans have been flying B-52s, and we've had Tu-95s for decades, and it's okay? Yes, it's okay. But the lifespan of a combat aircraft is strikingly different from that of a civilian airliner. A military aircraft can afford to sit in a hangar, receiving maintenance and modifications for decades. And then wear out its lifespan in a military conflict in literally a couple of months. Or it will be destroyed.
A civilian airliner must operate almost every day, carrying passengers and generating profit for its owners. That's understandable. And to achieve this, it must be cost-effective, easily repaired, and modern. The latter is also important, because passengers vote with their money, first and foremost.
And here, as you can see, we have problem after problem.
Regarding the Tu-214
The only more or less new aircraft—experts believe the Kazan plant can realistically produce one per year. And this aircraft, although modernized, is outdated in design. But there's no choice.
Aviation industry experts make no secret of the fact that Russia can build airplanes. The country is among the few capable of constructing an entire airliner.
But there is a nuance.
"We can make an airplane. We're one of the few countries in the world that can build a complete airplane, but not a very good one and not many," said one expert.
That's the whole diagnosis. Not very good and not much. It's not about technology, not about money, not about time—it's about everything at once. Trillions of rubles, decades of development, thousands of specialists who need to be trained and educated. And there's no time. Airplanes are aging right now.
The head of the Federal Air Transport Agency, Dmitry Yadrov, promised half a thousand by 2030—one hundred twenty-five per year, or more than ten per month.
But here's the problem: promises are not exactly... enforceable. At the current rate of three cars a year, it seems like pure fantasy. And unscientific, at that.
Meanwhile, the aviation industry is preparing a new program. A source in the industry said the main challenge is fitting plausible figures into it. The actual capabilities are too modest. And ambitious goals doom the program to failure.
"The ground has been burning beneath their feet for the last three years. There were no sanctions on our industry until 2022. None at all. Everything that could be bought, was bought. Everything that was, was. And now three and a half years have passed, and you want to develop one of the most complex, knowledge-intensive fields. And this doesn't happen in three and a half years," said one Russian specialist.
That's true, but Western products were purchased. Boeings and Airbuses were purchased, while airline management, first and foremost, couldn't care less about the development and construction of domestic aircraft. It's no secret the kickbacks the Americans and Europeans made to replace Yak, Tupolev, and Ilyushin aircraft with Boeings and Airbuses. This has been written about in more than sufficient detail, and it was the executives of the largest airlines who committed their own dirty deed by initiating a total phaseout of domestically produced aircraft. And the government followed suit: what's there to build? We'll buy everything.
And now the fruits are being reaped. The program has been adjusted. Not loudly, not from the podium, without discussion. Quietly and behind the scenes. Instead of 1081 aircraft by 2030, the talk is now about 570 by 2035. Instead of confident promises, there are cautious statements about "objective technical difficulties."
Foreign Boeings and Airbuses are still flying. They are repaired using gray-market spare parts—they remain the last hope for Russian aviation. Because there are no domestic aircraft yet. And when they do, they won't be very good and there won't be many of them.
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