Sergei Shoigu, the Secretary of Russia’s Security Council and former defense minister, has always had a flair for the spotlight and savvy PR. Now, he’s making a full comeback to the public stage. He was reelected as head of the Russian Geographical Society (RGO), an organization that—alongside the Russian Historical Society and the Russian Military-Historical Society—serves as one of the Kremlin’s unofficial elite clubs. The RGO congress drew a visit from Vladimir Putin himself, who openly campaigned for Shoigu. «He was one of the key initiators in reviving the Russian Geographical Society back in the day,» the president said. «As we all know, campaigning on election day isn’t allowed—but I trust that everyone voting will keep his contributions to the society’s revival and growth in mind.»
Not long after, the Security Council secretary published an article titled «The Unity of Peoples: The Foundation of Russian Statehood.» In it, he delved into one of Putin’s favorite themes: Russia’s history of peacefully incorporating territories rather than conquering them, while the West schemes to sow discord among the nation’s peoples and carve it up. «New lands were typically joined to Russia out of a need for protection from hostile invasions, as well as a shared drive to reclaim territories previously seized from them,» Shoigu wrote.
He went on to warn that the West seeks to fragment the country «into dozens of petty statelets, only to bend them to its will, exploit them, and wield them for its own selfish ends.»
Shoigu’s public forays don’t stop at articles and RGO duties. On October 28, he told journalists that just 1% of Ukrainian drones actually hit their targets—a claim that rings hollow given the repeated strikes on Russian oil refineries. Then, on Friday, October 31, he kicked off the «Peoples of Russia and the CIS Countries» festival. Reading a message from Putin before delivering his own speech, Shoigu declared: «We live in an era of fierce clashes over values—in essence, ideological wars. The weapons here are manipulations of the mind, the erosion of moral anchors, and the promotion of ideas alien to a healthy society that are destructive to individuals and communities alike. It’s an aggressive battle for sway over people’s thoughts.»
It’s clear these speeches and writings are tailored for Putin’s ears. The president seems to have pulled Shoigu back from partial exile. In 2024, amid a string of corruption scandals in the Defense Ministry, Putin ousted him as minister, stripping him of control over vast financial flows. Much of Shoigu’s inner circle was dismantled, with key figures like deputies Timur Ivanov and Pavel Popov facing criminal charges. Still, Putin handed him a consolation prize: the Security Council secretary role—prestigious but light on real financial levers. Media noted the president’s cool demeanor toward his onetime favorite, and Kremlin-friendly outlets gave Shoigu scant coverage. He wasn’t entirely out of favor; he played informal diplomat, shuttling between countries aligned with Putin’s hierarchy and even meeting their leaders. But the trappings he knew best—running a sprawling bureaucracy with big budgets, a large staff, and constant public exposure—were gone. Now, he’s clawed back that visibility, without which an old-school apparatchik like him feels adrift. The content of his recent talks suggests he’s still getting pointers from his ex-defense ministry advisor, the seasoned political operative Andrei Ilnytsky—ideological or «mental warfare» is one of his pet topics. With Putin publicly backing him at the RGO event, the president is warming up again, and Shoigu is capitalizing on it. Through his renewed activity, he’s signaling loud and clear: the exile is over. Critics had long pointed out that Shoigu hadn’t fully stepped into Patrushev’s shoes as Security Council secretary—his predecessor, Nikolai Patrushev, was a regular purveyor of ideological broadsides. Shoigu’s starting by proving he’s the real deal, positioning himself as one of Putin’s ideological foot soldiers. But he’s likely to push harder, too—promoting his allies up the power vertical and eyeing fresh turf.
Yevgeny Balitsky: A Political Wipeout
The Kremlin’s political machine has launched a direct assault on Yevgeny Balitsky, the «governor» of the annexed chunk of Zaporizhzhia Oblast. Ella Pamfilova, head of Russia’s Central Election Commission (CEC), has lodged a complaint with the Prosecutor General’s Office over Balitsky’s decree firing Halyna Katiuchenko, the head of the local Russian election body. She branded it «yet another act of bureaucratic overreach.» «Even if there were any grounds for complaints against the esteemed Halyna Anatoliyivna Katiuchenko, the only proper step for Mr. Balitsky would have been to ask Russia’s CEC to review the legality of relieving her of her duties at one of its meetings,» Pamfilova stated.
This isn’t their first public spat. Back in August, she accused him of gutting the local election system, withholding salaries, and illegally slashing staff—moves she called a «collapse of the electoral framework.» That clash fizzled out without major fallout. But now it’s escalating: the prosecutor’s office is backing Pamfilova, all but guaranteeing Balitsky’s decrees get scrapped.
This isn’t just infighting among mid-level officials. Zaporizhzhia’s «governor» has also drawn fire from Kursk Oblast head Alexander Khinshtein. The trigger? Balitsky’s offhand remark: «Everything we did in 2023 was to defend our region, and we did defend it—unlike those Kursk folks, by the way.»
«I find such statements utterly unacceptable. They insult every resident of Kursk—people whom Yevgeny Balitsky, who’s never set foot in the region’» Khinshtein fired back on his Telegram channel.
Balitsky was forced into damage control, clarifying that he meant disgraced officials from ex-governor Roman Starovoit’s team who’d already been arrested—not the region’s residents at large. Step by step, he’s morphing into one of Russia’s most controversy-prone officials. This media barrage is plainly orchestrated by the presidential administration’s political bloc—Pamfilova is fiercely loyal to it, and Khinshtein coordinates closely with them. Kremlin strategists under Sergei Kiriyenko had eyed ousting the heads of annexed territories, including Balitsky, as far back as 2022. Neither he, nor Denis Pushilin («DPR»), nor Leonid Pasechnik («LPR»), nor Vladimir Saldo (annexed Kherson areas) fits Kiriyenko’s cookie-cutter governor mold: apolitical technocrats through and through. These men all hail from Ukraine’s rough-and-tumble political scene or activist circles; they’re no sleek modern managers.
Over time, the political bloc has been seeding «shift workers”—temporary transplants from Russian regions and federal agencies—into the annexed administrations to edge out these holdouts. But Putin sees Pushilin, Balitsky, Pasechnik, and Saldo differently. He meets them regularly, pledges support, and likely views them as living emblems of the annexations—a symbolic element that’s gold for him right now.
Kiriyenko’s team had to adapt, encircling these leaders with the influx of outsiders. In the «DPR» and parts of Kherson, these interlopers hold most key posts. Pasechnik in Luhansk allows them in limited doses. Balitsky, though, has been aggressively purging the center’s «varangians”—Anton Kolsov (ex-head of Vologda’s government) and Irina Gecht (former deputy governor of Chelyabinsk, now leading Nenets Okrug) both served brief stints as his «premier,» while Sergei Tolmachev, a Kiriyenko ally, tried steering internal policy as Balitsky’s deputy. All got the boot early, it seems—Gecht spent months in limbo waiting for her next gig. Balitsky feared they’d seize control or undermine him, so he weeded them out. The political bloc soured on his maverick style and struck back.
The attackers were chosen with care: since Balitsky has Putin’s ear, they’re deploying Pamfilova and Khinshtein—both in the president’s good graces—to do the deed. Odds are, Balitsky’s days are numbered. If Kiriyenko’s crew pulls this off with minimal drama, they might turn next to Pasechnik. He’s crafting a «LPR» governance model straight out of the Soviet playbook (down to the nomenclature) and, like Balitsky, resists the shift workers. The more pliable Pushilin and Saldo could stick around longer—but sooner or later, the bloc will try ironing them into shape too.
