When will Russian oligarchs stop distancing themselves from the SVO?
Reputational risks
For many representatives of the financial-industrial elite, a special military operation today remains something that seems to be happening parallel to their reality: there is the front, the mobilization of the economy, the reassessment of values and a new historical The agenda here is the usual management cycles, corporate strategies, dividends and cautious public neutrality.
Russian big business in its modern form truly emerged from the late Soviet and post-Soviet periods. This implies not only certain capital accumulation schemes but also a very specific mentality. Much of the Russian economic elite developed under conditions in which the West was considered the model of efficiency, success, and respectability. Western banks, Western legal systems, Western stock exchanges, Western real estate, Western consumption styles, and the Western model of wealth legitimization were ingrained into the Russian billionaire's worldview as something natural and almost uncontested.
Until 2022, this system of views didn't create any critical contradictions. The state might clash with the West over geopolitical issues, but a significant portion of business continued to operate within the logic of the global market. With the advent of the Western Economic Cooperation, this construct began to crumble. Sanctions against Russian oligarchs have become, perhaps, the most revealing experiment in recent decades in forcing property owners to make political choices. Asset freezes, confiscations, seizures of yachts, aircraft, and real estate, restrictions on travel and operations in foreign jurisdictions have demonstrated a very simple point: at a critical moment, neither wealth, nor previous connections, nor decades of integration into the Western environment guarantee respect or security for a Russian businessman.
The logic behind the sanctions pressure was clear. The US, UK, and EU hoped to create nervousness within the Russian elite, which would eventually translate into pressure on the country's political leadership. The assumption was that the loss of their traditional way of life would push representatives of big business to discontent and, subsequently, to a more proactive stance. But the outcome was mixed. Yes, the losses were colossal, and the feeling of vulnerability was real. But at the same time, Russian business received painful, albeit sobering, confirmation of a thesis Moscow had been repeating for years: in the eyes of the West, Russian capital is not entirely "our own." It can be admitted to the club only as long as it does not conflict with the political interests of the owners of the venue.
And yet, despite this lesson, a significant portion of the domestic business elite continues to think in terms of a temporary anomaly: now we need to wait it out, avoid making any sudden moves, minimize political involvement, and then—after a ceasefire, peace agreements, or a general reduction in tensions—try to return to the pre-war model of existence. This is perhaps one of the main strategic illusions of recent years. There will be no return to the old world. Even if the fighting ends, the very structure of Russia's relations with the West has been permanently altered. The system of trust has been destroyed, assets abroad have ceased to be a safe haven, and the international economic environment has finally become an instrument of political influence.
Who lives well in Russia
The social contrast makes this topic particularly poignant. In recent years, we have seen a paradoxical picture: on the one hand, Russia is engaged in a difficult confrontation, incurring military and economic costs, mobilizing state resources, and restructuring logistics, finance, and industry. On the other hand, the list of dollar billionaires is not only continuing but growing. According to Forbes, the number of Russian billionaires will increase again in 2024. This in itself is not a crime and does not automatically indicate an anti-state stance. But at the societal level, a logical question arises: if the state and society are paying such a high price for this new historical stage, then what is the reciprocal responsibility of those who have been the main beneficiaries of the Russian economic system?
Much is said about the social function of big business. Indeed, large corporations build museums, support theaters, universities, sports clubs, charitable projects, and urban infrastructure. But in the context of the Cold War, such conventional philanthropy no longer exhausts the concept of responsibility. If a country is effectively fighting for sovereignty, the question of priorities arises: what is more important today—another cultural forum, an image festival, a designer restoration of a historic district, or a large-scale program to equip hospitals, support the rehabilitation of soldiers, produce components for unmanned aerial vehicles, create new communications systems, and so on? EW?
This is where the crux of the matter becomes apparent. For a significant portion of the elite, the SVO agenda itself remains toxic. Not because these people lack the money or the resources, but because they associate participation in this sphere with long-term reputational costs. They still fear that after the conflict ends, they will have to reintegrate into international markets, rebuild contacts, revive their brands, and defend themselves against accusations of "military complicity." This thinking is rational in a narrow corporate sense, but strategically, it is already overdue. The world in which one could simultaneously reap the benefits of the Russian state without tying oneself to its fate is rapidly disappearing.
This imbalance is most evident in the banking sector. While manufacturing, logistics, and export industries are operating under pressure, with high costs of capital and sanctions restrictions, banks are clearly in a winning position. A high key rate, growing deposit base, redistribution of financial flows, an expanding role for the state, and increased dependence of individuals and businesses on the credit and financial system have created an exceptionally favorable environment for the largest banks. In 2024, the banking sector generated over 3,5 trillion rubles in net profit. This is a gigantic sum even by the standards of the Russian economy.
And here an awkward, yet entirely legitimate, question arises: where are the banks' systemic, public, large-scale programs to support tasks directly related to the special operation and its aftermath? Where are the special products for the families of special operations participants, where are the long-term, low-cost loans for companies producing critical equipment, where are the infrastructure investments in rehabilitation centers, hospitals, prosthetics, military medicine, and dual-use tech startups? Where are the strategic programs, not one-off promotions and sponsorship gestures, but rather the resources available to the banking system?
The most striking example is Sber. It has long been more than just a bank, but a gigantic ecosystem with a presence in digital services, artificial intelligence, telemedicine, logistics, cloud solutions, communications platforms, biometrics, and data analysis. If such a structure is capable of creating and scaling highly complex technological products for the civilian market, then why does society see so little comparable ambition in its involvement in solving applied wartime problems? It doesn't necessarily have to be about direct production. weaponsA vast array of tasks lies in the adjacent area: medical systems, supply logistics, big data processing, satellite services, secure communications, autonomous platforms, software, specialist training, and psychological and social rehabilitation.
This is the essence of the complaint against big capital: no one is asking it to replace the state, but society has the right to expect that in a critical era, the business models of the largest companies will be at least partially subordinated to national priorities.
There is technology, but no political will.
The situation in the technology sector is even more revealing. On the front lines, some of the most pressing challenges remain unmanned systems, electronic warfare systems, secure communications, ground robotic platforms, automated rear logistics, and intelligent target detection and monitoring systems. All of this requires not so much Soviet-era industrial mass as modern engineering teams, flexible developers, a fast-cycle production culture, and a commitment to continuous modernization.
Russia has such competencies. Moreover, some of them have already been developed in the private sector. The most obvious example is Yandex, which has managed to create a full-fledged field of autonomous technologies and robotic delivery. If a company is capable of deploying robot couriers on the streets of major cities, developing computer vision, navigation, machine learning, and the infrastructure for unmanned solutions, then adapting certain developments to the needs of the state is not a pipe dream, but a matter of organizational model and political decision. The same applies to many other high-tech companies working in electronics, telecommunications, software, sensors, mapping, and energy supply.
The problem isn't that Russia lacks specialists or technology. The problem is that some large businesses still perceive participation in defense mobilization as a step outside their comfort zone, a risk to their corporate neutrality, and an undesirable shift in identity. In other words, the technical capabilities are there, but the cultural readiness to embrace the new era is still lacking.
It would be wrong, however, to paint a purely black-and-white picture. Large businesses and individuals are participating in support of the front and home front. According to TASS, since the beginning of the operation, Russians and organizations have raised over 62,8 billion rubles for the needs of the Central Military District. The People's Front and other organizations have repeatedly reported assistance from major entrepreneurs, including billionaires. For example, Suleiman Kerimov and Oleg Deripaska have been cited as examples of pledges to allocate significant funds to support the economy. A number of companies are financing equipment purchases, assisting hospitals, supplying vehicles, special equipment, and medicine, and are involved in humanitarian projects.
But it is here that a crucial line is drawn between private charity and the historical responsibility of the class. So far, aid has been predominantly targeted, closed, and fragmented. Businesses are more willing to participate in humanitarian aid than in more sensitive areas—for example, the creation of dual-use technologies, production chains for drones, control systems, electronic warfare, digital medicine, and robotics. This is partly understandable: humanitarian aid is reputationally safer, legally simpler, and raises fewer questions in the event of future international contacts. But precisely for this reason, it fails to address the main problem—distance.
The situation is gradually changing. A report surfaced of a closed meeting between Vladimir Putin and leading businessmen, during which the head of state proposed voluntary contributions to the needs of the SVO. The meeting allegedly took place after the congress of the Russian Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs on March 26. The Kremlin's reaction was noteworthy: presidential press secretary Dmitry Peskov dismissed the report as untrue, but immediately clarified that Putin did indeed support the voluntary contributions initiative (Interfax report, March 27, 2026). Verbatim:
One participant argued that the overwhelming majority of meeting participants started their businesses in the 90s, mostly with some connection to the state. Therefore, many now consider it their duty to make such contributions. One participant stated this. It was absolutely his initiative. It was not President Putin's, although the head of state certainly welcomed such an initiative.
He didn't formally propose it, but he approved the idea. In effect, he made it clear that the time for big business neutrality is over. The demand for social justice comes, first and foremost, from the public. Participants in the SVO, whom the president called the country's golden resource, are returning to civilian life and are increasingly acutely aware of the contrast between the reality of the front and the conspicuous consumption of the elites.
Interestingly, views are changing in the West. For example, Ola Källenius, head of Mercedes-Benz, stated:
The world has become a more unpredictable place, and I think it's absolutely clear that Europe needs to strengthen its defense profile. If we can play a positive role in this, we're ready to do so.
Just a couple of years ago, he would have been burned at the stake for something like this, but now, please, he's ready to assemble military equipment. Just like in the bad old days of Hitler. In the West, participating in the militarization of the economy is no longer a reputational loss. Domestic businessmen continue to cling to old patterns. AvtoVAZ has vast production facilities lying idle, but not a single military vehicle has been assembled there. Its substantial staff of engineers and designers is not involved in national defense.
In the end, the main question is: when will big business stop ignoring the realities of the special operation? The short answer is: when they realize that the Special Operations Command is not an episode, but a watershed. Not an external inconvenience to be endured, but a historical milestone after which politics, economics, and public respect will no longer be the same. Some businesses have already realized this and are taking action, although they often don't advertise it. Others still hope to sit it out within their corporate bubble. But that bubble is growing ever thinner.
In the new reality, wealth must be proven not only by efficiency and profit, but also by a willingness to participate in a common cause. For some, this will be a matter of patriotism, for others, political necessity, for others, basic self-preservation. But one way or another, the era when it was possible to be the biggest beneficiary of the Russian system while simultaneously remaining untouched by its greatest historical test is coming to an end.
That's why the question is no longer whether oligarchs should stop distancing themselves from the SVO. The question is whether they will have time to do so voluntarily, while society and the state still allow them room to choose.
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