On 9 May, Vladimir Putin made statements that many interpreted as hints of the Russian president’s desire to reach a peace agreement with Ukraine and bring the war to an end. Reflecting on the possible conclusion of the «confrontation,» the head of state said: «I think things are heading toward a close.»
In response to journalists’ questions, Putin also addressed the possibility of a meeting with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky. He insisted he was not rejecting dialogue, renewed his standing invitation for Zelensky to come to Moscow, and then added: «We could meet in a third country, but only once a final agreement has been reached. It must be the endpoint, not the negotiations themselves—because we know what negotiations by themselves look like.»
Many observers spotted a change in tone. For the first time in a long while, Putin used the word «close,» and the reference to a third-country meeting marked a departure from the usual sarcastic invitations to Moscow. It is obvious that the Ukrainian leader will not travel to the Russian capital, so the «invitation» in practice amounted to the Russian side declining talks.
From a purely rational standpoint, peace would be more advantageous to the Kremlin now than at any point since the war began. The economy is deteriorating, the authorities’ ratings are slipping ahead of parliamentary elections, and cities are under regular drone attack. Strikes on oil refineries have shut down several major plants, already creating shortages on the fuel market. On the battlefield, the Russian army is showing no clear progress: Ukrainian forces are steadily seizing the initiative, while Russian military bloggers complain ever more openly about a lack of manpower, equipment, and Ukraine’s superiority in drones.
All of this points to an obvious conclusion: it is time for Putin to make peace. Yet his remarks—and the context around them—are being interpreted with considerable latitude. The passing reference to a «third country» does stand out against the backdrop of the usual mocking summons to Moscow, but Russian officials have floated the idea before, including last summer. In substance, Putin said nothing new. He has repeatedly declared his readiness to personally sign a final peace treaty with Zelensky once negotiations are concluded. Those talks are currently suspended, and it is unclear when—or if—they will resume. The Kremlin’s conditions remain unchanged: the handover to Moscow of territories not yet occupied by Russian troops. Kyiv finds this scenario utterly unacceptable. And Russia itself currently lacks the resources to seize those settlements by force.
The word «close» can just as easily be read another way: as Putin’s conviction that the Kremlin will achieve its goals on the battlefield regardless. The Russian president has repeatedly described this military scenario as his preferred outcome.
Far more credible are reports that Russian generals have promised Putin the capture of Donbas by autumn and that the Kremlin still harbors longer-term plans to reach Kyiv. The top brass, keen to bolster its own influence, is actively manipulating the president by feeding his appetite for new territory. Putin, for his part, is only too happy to go along.
At the Victory Day parade, the president once again spoke of «the warriors who are advancing.» «No matter how much the equipment and tactics of war may change,» Putin declared, «one thing remains constant: the fate of the country is decided by people.» The remark reads like a direct rebuttal to military bloggers’ complaints about Ukraine’s overwhelming drone advantage. For Putin and the high command, victory through sheer mass of manpower remains the tactic of choice. They have no intention of abandoning it—which makes a fresh wave of mobilization increasingly likely.
On 13 May, presidential spokesman Dmitry Peskov restated the key precondition for any talks: the withdrawal of Ukrainian forces from Donbas. Most likely, Putin’s «peace-loving» signals have one overriding purpose—to keep Donald Trump interested in the negotiating track. The Kremlin does not want peace for peace’s sake; it wants to open economic channels with the incoming US administration and detach them from the Ukrainian file. State media and Kremlin-friendly outlets are eagerly amplifying the «peaceful» elements of Putin’s speeches to help make that happen.
The wishful thinking about Putin’s readiness for peace and the freewheeling interpretations of his words are understandable but highly dangerous. A just peace is genuinely desired in Ukraine and the West, and Russian society itself is tired of the war. That creates fertile soil for manipulation. Sadly, Russian opposition politicians have sometimes served as unwitting transmitters of these illusions, feeding Western audiences the narrative of Putin’s supposed «readiness» for peace.
Betting on the phantom peaceful intentions of the Russian president risks prompting misguided decisions and missteps—the very outcome the Kremlin is counting on, hoping to exploit other players’ mistakes.
Exit of the border governors
On 13 May, Belgorod Governor Vyacheslav Gladkov and Bryansk Governor Alexander Bogomaz both stepped down. Both regions lie on the border, have lived under constant shelling for years, and have faced repeated Ukrainian Armed Forces raids. Politically, however, the two departing leaders could hardly be more different.
Alexander Bogomaz, who had run Bryansk Region since 2014, was a genuine relic of the old gubernatorial corps—the generation of regional heads appointed back in the Vyacheslav Volodin era. By now, most of those «old guard» figures have already been replaced.
Vyacheslav Gladkov, by contrast, was a textbook product of the Sergei Kiriyenko political machine. A former Rosatom executive, had previously headed the town of Zarechny, home to one of the corporation’s flagship enterprises. Kiriyenko’s team steadily moved him upward: first to vice-governor, then to governor. In 2020 he took charge of prosperous Belgorod Region, an area with a strong agricultural base and developed industry. Gladkov cultivated a public-facing image, worked hard to win over residents, and was beginning to succeed. Belgorod was widely seen as an ideal springboard for a future federal-level post—until the full-scale war began.
After February 2022 everything changed. The model Kiriyenko-era governor was forced to become a crisis manager with severely limited resources. The Presidential Administration understood that a protracted crisis in a frontline region would inevitably tarnish the reputation of and «effective» manager and tried to evacuate Gladkov to Moscow in advance, offering him the post of head of the Internal Politics Directorate (UPV). The plan fell through: there was no suitable compensation slot for the incumbent UPV chief, Andrei Yarin.
The longer Gladkov remained in Belgorod, the deeper he sank into the daily grind of crisis management. His work was seriously hampered by mobile internet blackouts, which left regional authorities unable to warn residents promptly about drone attacks. Gladkov spoke publicly about the problem while carefully staying within system bounds and avoiding direct criticism of the security services. Thanks to his proximity to Kiriyenko’s circle, he could afford to be slightly more candid than other governors. Even so, criminal cases related to the construction of defensive fortifications touched some of his subordinates, as they did officials in other border areas.
Despite high-level patrons, Gladkov’s room for personnel maneuvers remained extremely narrow. In the most literal sense, the war has destroyed both the governor’s career and the Kiriyenko team’s plans for him.
Plans to replace Alexander Bogomaz had existed in the Presidential Administration’s political bloc even before the end of his second term. Bryansk Region was already considered a depressed area before the full-scale invasion, so there were few takers for the job. In 2025 no suitable successor was found, and the veteran governor was allowed to run for a third term. In the end, however, the decision was made to remove him anyway.
What stands out in the handling of border-region appointments is the unusually long delay in selecting replacements. Vedomosti reported the departures of Gladkov and Bogomaz on 6 April, meaning the decision had been taken even earlier. Yet both governors remained in their posts for more than a month. Gladkov was even forced to take two separate periods of leave to give the Administration time to find a successor.
Media speculation at the time centered on General Alexander Shuvaev, a veteran of the war in Ukraine and graduate of the Kremlin’s «Time of Heroes» program. Those rumors quickly faded: the Kremlin realized the general was ill-suited to run a civilian region. An awkward pause ensued. The political bloc scrambled for an alternative but failed to identify a stronger candidate. In the end, Belgorod Region was given to Shuvaev after all. His candidacy was actively promoted by Alexei Dyumin, Putin’s aide and a figure close to Rosgvardiya chief Viktor Zolotov’s clan. Zolotov has a clear position: border regions should be run by security-service personnel or people from their orbit. Kursk Region had already been handed to former Rosgvardiya adviser Alexander Khinshtein. The new Belgorod governor now joins that same cohort.
The «postponed» appointment of Shuvaev shows that the Kremlin fully understood the risks: a general without a ready team would probably struggle with civilian governance. No better option could be found. Gubernatorial posts in general have become less attractive and running problem-ridden frontline regions even less so. Officials prefer to remain in familiar chairs in familiar regions.
Shuvaev can be seen as the first genuine military officer appointed to a relatively significant civilian post.
Bryansk Region, for its part, went to a classic «shift-worker» official, Yegor Kovalchuk. His résumé includes stints as mayor of Miass, vice-governor of Chelyabinsk Region, and «prime minister» of the annexed «LNR.»
Both appointments—Shuvaev’s and Kovalchuk’s—illustrate that the Kremlin is now willing to hand over regions to military men and itinerant bureaucrats when it cannot find more suitable candidates. It is a stop-gap measure that the political bloc is trying to present to the top leadership as a deliberate and successful personnel strategy.
