If you’ve ever wondered what self-destruction disguised as anti-corruption looks like, just take a look at Vladimir Putin’s Russia in 2025. The Kremlin’s latest wave of arrests, “suicides,” and corporate seizures has less to do with fighting graft and everything to do with a crumbling regime tightening the screws on its own inner circle.
The most recent casualty? Roman Starovoit, a former governor and until recently Russia’s transport minister. Within hours of being dismissed by Putin, Starovoit was found dead of an apparent suicide—by gunshot—in a public park. His death wasn’t cloaked in mystery, nor did it need to be. The writing was on the wall: he was about to be arrested for allegedly siphoning off roughly $190 million meant for military fortifications near the Ukrainian border. And he wasn’t alone. His predecessor in Kursk, his deputies, the contractors—they were all in on it, funneling state funds into their own pockets while pretending to defend Russia from invasion.
But here’s the twist: this isn’t an exposé of rogue bad apples. It’s a glimpse into how Putin’s system functions. Corruption isn’t a bug in the system—it is the system. For decades, the unspoken pact between the Kremlin and its elite has been brutally simple: stay loyal, get rich. In return for obedience, governors, generals, and oligarchs were granted a license to embezzle. No democratic freedoms, no accountability—just graft as compensation.
Now, with the war in Ukraine dragging into its fourth year and battlefield gains stalled, Putin is recalibrating. Not reforming—just reining in. The message is clear: steal all you want, just don’t jeopardize the war effort. Hence the high-profile arrests, sudden deaths, and carefully timed public humiliations. From another dead transport ministry official who supposedly died of a heart attack at age 42, to the arrest of National Guard generals for embezzlement, the “purge” is as selective as it is strategic.
Even those not directly implicated in treason are being brought to heel. Take Konstantin Strukov, a mining magnate who tried to flee the country in his $50 million jet. He didn’t betray the regime—he was the regime. But Putin needs gold. And when he needs something, loyalty and legality become irrelevant. Strukov’s empire was seized mid-flight.
This is about money, yes—but also fear. The Kremlin knows it’s bleeding. Ukraine’s relentless drone campaign, backed by surging domestic production and increasingly direct Western support, is obliterating Russian supply lines and infrastructure. Russia’s armored columns are now reduced to comically tragic motorcycle battalions. One FPV drone can do what an artillery barrage once did—and it’s working. The Kremlin can’t advance, can’t resupply, and can’t cover up the rot fast enough.
And so, the purges. They’re not clean-ups. They’re performance. They’re warnings to other insiders: you can be next. Not because you betrayed Putin, but because you became inconvenient. Because your corruption made headlines. Or because you simply failed.
Meanwhile, the West sends mixed signals. Trump reverses freezes on military aid only after public outcry, trying to appear both generous and cautious. His administration’s internal chaos has left allies guessing and adversaries smirking. It’s not strategy—it’s improvisation with nuclear stakes. Europe, to its credit, seems more committed. Germany, in particular, is quietly but significantly boosting Ukraine’s ability to produce its own long-range drones and missiles. And sanctions—when actually enforced—are doing real damage. Russia’s tech sector is imploding, its black market logistics are failing, and its once-vaunted military industrial complex is choking on counterfeit parts and legal paralysis.
But let’s not pretend this is over. Putin isn’t suddenly waging war on corruption. He’s waging war on incompetence. Or rather, on the public appearance of incompetence. His grip is slipping—not because his cronies are corrupt, but because that corruption is no longer sustainable.
The regime he built is devouring itself to survive. And if history tells us anything, it’s that when authoritarian regimes start eating their own, the end is closer than it looks.
Glory to Ukraine. And may the fox that stole that Russian man’s phone be a symbol of the small, chaotic victories that keep hope alive.
