I have now spent more than a quarter of a century conducting research in Russia's Siberia. During that time, I not only traveled beyond the Ural Mountains, but even before Russia closed due to COVID lockdowns — and later launched its full-scale war against Ukraine — I also frequently attended conferences in Moscow and St. Petersburg.

In Russia, Siberian studies have traditionally been a major field, involving hundreds of people. As a result, conferences on Siberian topics are common and usually well-attended. Over the years, I've also developed a solid network of acquaintances outside academia. Many are involved in music — musicians, DJs, event organizers — but there are also journalists, schoolteachers and regular salaried workers.

When the war began, I immediately cut ties with some in this circle who enthusiastically supported the aggression against Ukraine initiated by their beloved president. Interestingly, there was no clear pattern to who supported or opposed the war. Among both supporters and opponents were representatives from all the social groups within my circle of acquaintances.

Others remained, and I still communicate regularly with some of them. This communication has now become quite important for understanding what is happening in Russia. Not that it provides a sociologically representative picture of Russian public attitudes or moods, but it does offer me some sense of the situation.

Perhaps one trend that seems to be deepening among the Russian population is what Russians themselves call "internal emigration." As one good friend explained to me: "I live my own life. I don't care about politics. I finally have the chance to afford a few things, go into the woods with friends to grill shashlik, treat myself to something new, take vacations." He even posted photos on social media of his vacation in Egypt.

He also refuses to discuss politics with me. Beyond his apolitical stance, there is the pervasive paranoia in Russia that all communication channels are being monitored by the security services. There's a long-standing belief that saying certain words triggers recording systems somewhere. Thus, this friend refuses to use words like "war," "Putin" or "Ukraine" when speaking with me. So, what do we talk about? Well, things like the home renovations we're both working on, what our mutual acquaintances are up to and which new bars have opened in Yakutsk.

I have another friend who lives in a district in southern Siberia focused on the forestry industry. From time to time, he sends me reports on what's happening there and any developments. He's interesting to talk to because his district is, in a sense, typical: it's from places like this that the Russian army gets its cannon fodder — and from which Wagner once recruited its mercenaries.

Recently, this friend reported a significant mental shift in his area: war fatigue has set in. While people once enthusiastically supported their beloved president's "limited military operation" to "denazify and demilitarize" Ukraine, the excitement has since faded. Yet, it's still from these very places that people join — or are sent to — the Russian army.

Not long ago, people volunteered for the army with enthusiasm, believing that fighting "fascism" in Ukraine was a great idea. Now, people are starting to say around their kitchen tables that this damned war isn't necessary.

Another interesting shift has occurred. When Russia annexed Crimea from Ukraine in 2014, the phrase "Krymnash" ("Crimea is ours") emerged. Krymnash were those who enthusiastically welcomed the "reunification of ancient Russian lands" with the "motherland." And there was no shortage of such enthusiasm in Russia! Now, in addition to grumbling that the war is unnecessary, some are starting to say around their kitchen tables that they don't even need Crimea. Everything went wrong because of Crimea, they say, though who could have known at the time?

Crimea is far from Siberia, and people are now beginning to realize that having this peninsula within the country doesn't actually improve their lives — and might even make them worse. My friend added sarcastically, "Otherwise, people here are going about their business as if nothing has happened, though they're puzzled that their relatives and friends keep getting killed somewhere west of Poland. Strange, isn't it?"

One way or another, whether by following bloggers or talking with friends and acquaintances still living in Russia, it seems that the majority of Russians are trying to live as though nothing has happened. Some are surprisingly successful at this. In fact, living standards have risen in certain Russian regions. The large salaries of contract soldiers, compensation for those killed and labor shortages — caused by so many men being drafted — have driven wages up in many areas.

Although people try to ignore the fact that their country is at war, they can't completely shut it out. I've heard several stories of how even the attempt to live in this artificial "nothing-has-changed" world doesn't fully succeed.

One incident comes to mind: I was telling a good friend about my life here in Estonia — working, the kids going to school, soon taking one of them to Germany for a school break. My friend started crying and asked me to keep talking about how we live a "normal life" here.

Finally, a bitter note for those who desperately try to argue that this is purely Putin's war. The fact that Russians are tired of the war and would like it to end quickly does not mean they consider the war criminal. No — the majority of Russians still believe their beloved president's "limited military operation" is justified. Nor does kitchen-table grumbling about the war mean that these complainers will go out and protest against it in the streets.

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