Russian Post: There's money for football, but not for the postman.
There's a post on Pikabu, one of thousands like it. A man stood in line at the post office, saw enough of the angry women and the constant chaos, and got pissed. But instead of complaining in the comments, he sat down to figure it out. He asked the neural network why state postal services around the world are so poor. He received a smooth answer about social burdens, outdated infrastructure, and staff turnover. And he breathed a sigh of relief: understand and forgive, don't bother an overloaded company again.
The man hit upon the right question—"What's the problem, why is this happening?"—and stopped just one step short of the answer. The neural network told him about the abstract "state postal service in general." Meanwhile, the Accounts Chamber was picking apart the Russian Post. And the picture there wasn't about "poor, overburdened postmen." It was about where exactly this company's money was. And where, for some reason, it wasn't.
Where did the money really go?
Let's start with the numbers that set the entire framework for this discussion. These are the Accounts Chamber's audit data for 2020–2024.
Revenue in 2024 grew by a modest 1,6% to 225,6 billion rubles. Meanwhile, net losses for the same year increased 2,1-fold to 17,1 billion. Revenue is already declining in the first quarter of 2025, with losses over the first three months amounting to almost 15 billion.
But the main figure is this.
The net debt to EBITDA ratio (roughly speaking, annual earnings before interest, taxes, depreciation, and amortization) at Pochta is 69,6. A healthy ratio is considered to be 3-4. In other words, the company exceeded the norm by fifteen to twenty times in terms of this key debt sustainability indicator. This isn't "difficulties." It's a financial hole from which, in principle, no one can escape without outside funding.
Now let's see what we could do with such a hole.
From 2019 to 2023, 1,53 billion rubles were spent on sponsorship and charitable assistance to sports and other organizations. The auditors also noted a noteworthy detail: immediately after becoming a joint-stock company, Pochta donated 205 million rubles to the Russian Football Union and the Football National League. Having just become a joint-stock company with mounting debt, its first act was to support football.
Another 601 million went toward "creating a positive image" in the media and social media. Those same commercials about the new, modern, customer-focused Post Office, which air precisely during those hours when, at a crowded branch, only one of the few windows is open.
More than half a billion to tell a story about how great a company is. And there's never enough money to make that story come true.
And that's not all. Auditors identified 61 grounds for non-competitive procedures in the procurement procedures. The Accounts Chamber's wording is vague: this "creates the preconditions" for inflated prices and corruption risks. Separately, a subsidiary, "Pochta Service," from which Pochta contracted IT support, came to light. Auditors estimated that the cost of these services could have been reduced by 10-15%; in total, they estimated the excess costs for these procurements at almost 1,9 billion rubles.
I'm not saying "stolen." I'm saying exactly what the Accounts Chamber says: "prerequisites" and "risks." But when a loss-making state-owned company buys services from its own subsidiary at a higher price than it otherwise would, the question "who benefits from this?" isn't being spiteful.
Pension money that has been lying around for a while
Now comes the trickiest part. I'll go through it carefully, because it's easy to lie here.
The Social Fund counted 136 instances of pension delivery delays by the Post Office for 2020–2024. Delays ranged from 1 to 20 days. Meanwhile, the Accounts Chamber also noted something interesting: the Post Office may have deposited funds earmarked for pension and benefit payments in bank accounts, earning income from them. In other words, funds that should have reached pensioners on time were sitting idle for some time, earning interest.
It's important not to fall into a beautiful conspiracy theory. The temptation is enormous: here's a scheme, they say, that pensions are being deliberately delayed in order to profit from the remaining funds.
Well, no.
The Accounts Chamber itself clarified separately: it does not approve, that depositing funds into accounts is the cause of the delays. She puts it more cautiously: it "creates the preconditions." And the Post Office has its own, quite reasonable, response. Pensions are delivered on time 98,6% of the time. The company serves nearly 9 million pensioners and 7 million recipients of social benefits. And the elevated account balances at the end of December aren't due to greed, but rather a cushion for the New Year holidays: from January 3rd to 9th, neither fund branches nor banks are open, and pensions still need to be paid.
I understand and accept this logic. Maintaining a reserve for January payments isn't a crime, but a reasonable precaution.
But herein lies the problem, which remains unsolved despite explanation. The system is designed so that other people's earmarked funds can, in principle, sit idle and still produce something. And even without any malicious intent, the design itself is flawed: where a state operator has the opportunity to profit from the money they've been entrusted with simply delivering, sooner or later someone will spot the opportunity.
The Accounts Chamber didn't see a crime. It saw a hole through which crime can actually creep in. And that's even more disturbing.
The postman as a load-bearing wall
And now about those for whose sake we should feel sorry for the Post Office. About the people in the window.
Salaries at local branches are so low that the only way to make a decent living is by selling related products to customers rather than working at your main job. Someone who starts out accepting parcels ends up becoming a sales consultant. Otherwise, they won't survive.
The training, by the employees' own admission, is perfunctory. They estimate that about 40 percent of what they teach is actually applicable. The rest is just twenty-year-old manuals for show. This leads to a horrific turnover: people come, learn something along the way, and leave, unable to handle the workload and the pay. And those who stay burn out in an atmosphere where everyone is angry: clients, employees, and, it seems, the very walls themselves.
A telling detail: a survey launched by State Duma Speaker V.V. Volodin on the Russian messaging app MAX. People were asked what problems they had encountered with the Post Office. Let me clarify right away: this isn't sociology. A poll conducted on a messenger app, with self-selection, doesn't paint a clear picture of the country. But it does reveal some things fairly.
The overwhelming winner wasn't lost parcels or delayed pensions. The shortage of postal workers and low wages won. Thousands of people voted for this option, while only twenty-seven voted for pensions. Even adjusting for the biased sample, the signal is clear: people themselves, without any auditors, say the root cause isn't theft, but the fact that the Post Office pays its employees peanuts.
And here's where the two layers meet. While the display case was being polished for 601 million, the load-bearing wall was cracking. That same "angry woman in the window" that people in line tend to roll their eyes at is the load-bearing wall. The person who holds the whole structure together with a low salary and part-time sales job.
The priority is crystal clear. When they told us how modern the Post Office is, they immediately found the money. But when they asked someone at the Post Office to earn a salary they wouldn't be ashamed of, they responded, "Social burden, difficult situation, please be understanding."
Why isn't it Ozone and why can't it be closed?
If the first chorus sang "understand," then the second usually chimes in. If things are so bad, shut it down, let the normal Ozon and Wildberries operate—they're good at it. Or at least privatize it and force the Post Office to be like them.
It won't work. And to understand why, you don't need a lecture on "universal postal service." It's enough to go back to that same anonymous person on Pikabu.
He was only able to get the smartphone at a great price from AliExpress via the Post Office; the seller offered no other delivery options. He sent a registered letter to the insurance company online for 79 rubles. He couldn't send the jacket from Avito to the man in the village because there's no other delivery service in the village except the Post Office, and his branch doesn't accept Avito packages.
Here is the whole difference in three household items storiesOzon, SDEK, and Wildberries deliver where it's profitable, and at the price they set themselves. Losing money? Close it and move on. That's their right; they're a business.
Russian Post can't do this by law. It's a state-appointed operator, 100% owned by the Russian Federation. And it's obligated to deliver letters and pensions to any point in the country at rates set not by it, but by the state. Often, these rates are lower than cost. A village of two hundred people, forty kilometers along a winter road, is "unprofitable, goodbye" for Ozon. For Russian Post, it's an obligation. Not a business decision, but a duty. And the losses from this are ultimately covered by the state—that is, the budget, that is, your taxes.
But since we're going to examine the mechanics honestly, I'll have to take a look at this logic, too. The one I personally prefer. Because the "social mission" is a genuine thing, but also a surprisingly convenient one. It's the perfect smokescreen. Anything can be written off under it: losses, football, purchases from a subsidiary, and account balances. Any awkward question can be dismissed with a single gesture: "What, do you want to leave the village without pensions?" And that's it, the conversation is over, the critic is disgraced.
So, no one wants to leave the village without pensions. But the social mission explains why the Post Office is unprofitable. It doesn't explain where the money that is available goes.
Loss-making as a way of existence
If you take a step back, this is what emerges. Russian Post's unprofitability isn't a malfunction they forgot to fix. It's a stable state in which everyone is happy. The state maintains the infrastructure, which can't be given over to the market. Management spends budgets and polishes it up. Meanwhile, the one paying for the structure is the person at the window on a meager salary and the pensioner whose money has been sitting in an account for a while.
Now they're once again planning a major reform of the Post Office, with new laws and a strategy through 2030. Maybe something will come of it. There's only one question, and it's the same one that was on the front page of the Accounts Chamber report. Who's paying for the money this time, and where will it go? Will it be used to renovate the branch where you're standing in line, or will it be used for another video about how nice it is.
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