T-invariant continues its project in which Russian scientists and academics, speaking anonymously, share how their lives and work have changed amid the war and the ever-tightening grip of state control. In this installment, a Doctor of Physical and Mathematical Sciences from the Volga Federal District discusses staffing issues, funding challenges in Russian science, and the widespread detachment from the war.
The profound shock of February 2022—one that still reverberates today—has led many to assume that virtually every aspect of academic life must be undergoing drastic changes. While acknowledging the gravity of current events, it’s worth focusing instead on more gradual, long-term processes—those less susceptible to sudden shifts.
To begin with, change has been a constant for Russian universities and research institutions over the past two decades, unfolding in an unbroken sequence. What does this look like from the inside? Organizational restructuring typically takes the form of mergers, “optimization”,management overhauls, and the integration of universities into large-scale federal projects. These include nationwide competitions for research and federal university status, initiatives to boost competitiveness, the establishment of “advanced engineering schools,” and repeated revisions of educational standards. Under these programs, universities received additional funding—usually between 100 million and 1 billion rubles per year. Hundreds of institutions participated, with every major university eventually joining one initiative or another. Each new minister, meanwhile, inevitably spawns a new program.
On paper, funding has indeed increased—yet it remains low compared to developed nations, not to mention Soviet-era levels. Did this money help? The academic environment is highly resistant to rapid change, and in my view, there has been no significant shift in teaching methods or research focus. Attempts to forcibly redirect existing faculty and labs toward “priority” fields have clearly failed. These are, after all, “old circus horses,” trained in specific tricks—and breaking their habits is no easy task.
Creating a new lab is possible, but it’s best done from scratch: recruiting specialists from here, importing equipment from there—all of which is costly and complicated. That said, many of the new or revamped degree programs and labs established under these initiatives are still operational and yielding results. Yet the number of genuinely innovative, sustainable research teams remains small. During the 2010s, the volume of academic publications grew exponentially—though this did not translate into a proportional increase in meaningful breakthroughs. Meanwhile, bureaucracy and reporting requirements surged, while planning horizons shrank to just 1–3 years. By the 2020s, publication growth plateaued, exposing the unsustainability of linear, endless expansion models.
Staffing shortages at universities remain acute, even as the proportion of younger faculty has slightly increased and older professors have become more willing to retire. Pensions, it should be noted, have been indexed annually for non-working retirees—and starting in 2025, working pensioners will also see adjustments. In theory (per the so-called “May Decrees”), academic staff should earn at least twice the regional average wage. In reality, however, a full associate professor’s base salary only slightly exceeds the regional average. University HR and accounting departments have mastered the art of manipulating contracts and averaging figures to produce the required statistics for higher-ups.
When hiring for academic positions, candidates must undergo competitive selection processes. These vary widely across universities, depending on the discipline and whether there is even minimal real competition. Not everyone is eager to compete for a full-time position—salaries remain low, while workloads are excessive. For instance, young researchers in fields with strong industry demand rarely agree to teach, even part-time. A quarter-time position for a freshly minted PhD is often the best compromise, as they prefer to focus on more lucrative and engaging work outside academia. In many cases, a young specialist can earn more than an associate or even full professor by working in programming or private consulting. Some supplement their income through grants—usually applied research projects—though these are often secured outside the university system.
Since last year, discussions have resurfaced about restructuring higher education, particularly the abandonment of the Bologna system—which, in truth, Russia never fully embraced. The current bachelor’s-master’s model may be scrapped in favor of a more differentiated specialist degree, a throwback to the Soviet-era system.
Some ask about China. Undeniably, China has transformed its global scientific presence, expanding its researcher and student populations while dramatically increasing domestic funding.
Yet I see no evidence that China has become a model or partner for Russian science. Few, if any, are rushing to publish in Chinese journals. The prestige of European and American publications—including “unfriendly” conferences and journals like Nature or Science—remains unshaken, despite even official discouragement of publishing in Elsevier’s open-access journals.
That said, the scientific world (at least in the natural sciences) remains largely open and international for individual Russian researchers. Institutional barriers, however, have emerged in grant systems and access to certain platforms. While the Russian Academy of Sciences increasingly relies on domestic citation indices (RSCI and VAK), meaningful academic impact is still measured by international publications.
For years now, science and education have not been priorities in Russia. Research spending hovers around just 1% of GDP—a strikingly low figure, several times less than what leading technological nations invest. This underfunding persists despite the government enjoying substantial revenues from consistently high oil prices.
While it’s true that recent years have seen an increase in research initiatives, development programs, and expanded youth grants and scholarships, the state has clearly chosen to prioritize applied research over fundamental science. Funding flows primarily to projects with industrial partners and immediate practical applications.
This approach appears rooted in a dangerous misconception—that modest investments in state-run research institutions can somehow yield groundbreaking technological solutions ready for scaling. The reality is more complex: the government has limited control over the private enterprises and structures needed to truly commercialize innovation. It’s far easier to manage budgetary organizations—appointing compliant leadership, dictating priorities, disbursing funds, and demanding reports—than to cultivate a genuine innovation economy.
Creating an ecosystem where entrepreneurs can effectively implement cutting-edge scientific advances requires more than bureaucratic oversight. As Richard Florida has observed, Stanford University didn’t create Silicon Valley—American entrepreneurs and venture capitalists did, operating within a uniquely conducive environment. Russia’s current model overlooks this fundamental truth, favoring the illusion of control over the messy but necessary conditions for real technological progress.
The state’s most visible goal is simple: new products and the revenue they generate. Yet its leaders fail to grasp the distinction between fundamental science and its applications, between research and development. The prevailing attitude seems to be: “We have specialists—they’ll figure something out.” This explains the peculiar focus on universities. There’s even a pervasive belief: “We can buy anything—people, technology, whatever we need.” But modern innovation doesn’t work that way.
The real tragedy lies in Russia’s systemic breakdown of meritocracy, particularly in governance. Incompetent and underqualified individuals have risen to decision-making roles, crippling effective bureaucracy.
Discussions about Russia’s future often fixate on the hypothetical departure of its political leader. But this overestimates the role of individuals while underestimating structural factors—historical contingencies, societal forces, and economic realities. Take the 1990s: an attempt at simultaneous political and economic reforms. The economic reforms, broadly speaking, succeeded because they weren’t just imposed from above—they were propelled by millions seeking a better life.
People wanted change and saw its possibility. The result? Entrepreneurship flourished, housing markets emerged, mortgages and consumer credit became accessible, currency exchange liberalized, and mobility increased. Mass car ownership, telecommunications, and consumer goods replaced Soviet-era shortages and blat (cronyism). All this unfolded amid rock-bottom oil prices, which, while limiting growth, also made reforms unavoidable—there was no fallback.
In contrast, political reforms—establishing stable, modern democratic institutions with checks and balances—never materialized. The failure stems partly from a lack of reform drivers but also from mass consciousness. Even in the relatively free 1990s, when elections were competitive and administrative pressure minimal, what ideas won popular support? Not progressive, rule-of-law platforms but archaic, populist, or outright irresponsible ones. Building modern institutions takes decades—assuming the will exists. Unlike the 1990s, however, large-scale economic reforms aren’t urgently needed today. While key interest groups now better understand what should be done, neither elites nor the public show real appetite for change—nor is there clarity on how to achieve it.
What awaits Russian science and universities? The answer hinges on societal attitudes, leadership will, and the agency of scientific communities. Crucially, there appears to be no “grand design”—technological and scientific progress unfolds haphazardly, through trial and error. In such races, the systems that iterate fastest pull ahead.
Thus, freedom and diversity are essential. Hypothetically speaking, science must first define what constitutes science itself, prioritize goals over metrics, and secure at least a threefold increase in funding from diverse sources. Simultaneously, the responsibility for applied science should shift to corporations—through incentives and the creation of a tangible innovation ecosystem.
A pivotal aspect of this “bright future” will be the cultivation of trust. Trust can only be earned through concrete actions. In science and education, this means condemning and eradicating deceit, fraud, imitation, and malpractice: no more purchased dissertations, plagiarism, honorary authorship, orchestrated publications in predatory journals, data fabrication, statistical manipulation, falsified reports, and so forth.
Higher education needs de-unification and de-bureaucratization. Perhaps there’s no need to increase university budgets with state funds, but we could reduce the number of state-funded students while lightening faculty workloads, granting universities greater financial autonomy. As a radical measure, some institutions could be dissolved and rebuilt from scratch—realigned with new goals, leadership, and methodologies. Private and corporate education should be given a green light, with expanded opportunities for paid education. We need ecosystems for people with fire in their eyes.
I contend that no one should claim ownership of exclusive, long-term social ideas. After the Communist bloc’s collapse, Fukuyama posited humanity’s inevitable march toward liberal democracy. Today, he’s thoroughly revised that view—because reality proved uneven: some nations soared, others faltered.
There exists a small set of hyper-universal principles that endure beyond states, religions, or social systems. Everything more specific is ephemeral. With each century, the lifespan of dominant ideologies or states has shortened. Today’s “traditional values” were once revolutionary—even biblical ones. Thus, I believe in evolution: values shift, attitudes flow. Change too fast, and society rebels; too slow, and stagnation kills.
I see no inevitability in history. European culture of the last 150 years rests on choice and the ambiguity of its consequences. A single choice is no choice at all—just predetermination, a refusal to evolve. Yet while fatalism thrives in minds, reality defies it. Many in Russia crave miracles, speak in absolutes—words like “suddenly” and “never” dominate public discourse.
At work, we avoid discussing the “Special Military Operation.”
Colleagues vaguely know each other’s stances; most are peaceable, with humane professions—teachers, doctors, service workers. They’re neither angels nor demons but retreat into detachment, treating war like bad weather: “It’s somewhere else, caused by vague, malicious people.”
Propaganda’s role is overstated. When pressed, people reveal their core selves—yet subjectivity and responsibility go unexamined. Passivity is excused as helplessness.
The longing for peace is hard to quantify. Most urbanites feel no war. TV news is a distant film; the fridge—tangible, still full—anchors reality. Yes, life’s harder now, but unlike Soviet-era scarcities, today’s struggles are about quality: cheapened goods, “Chinification” of markets. As for deaths, people abstract them: “Killing happens. It always has.” Only when it touches you—a son, brother, friend—does perspective shift. But for now, that’s not most people’s reality.
It would be inaccurate to claim that all young people are rushing to leave. Many remain—not necessarily out of political conviction, but because they see professional opportunities here. Quite a few are building careers and doing solid scientific work.
Yes, the media constantly speaks of crisis, catastrophe, collapse—but these words have lost their emotional impact. What I observe, rather, is a gradual sinking into quicksand. Millions are suffering, yet their pain remains localized, atomized, and invisible on the surface.
Some things persist: European football is still broadcasted, for instance. But even partial exclusion from global culture, sports, and international organizations takes its toll. The bleakness of the situation is often underscored by seemingly minor details—like the absence of the Vienna Philharmonic’s New Year’s Concert from the Golden Hall of the Musikverein.
Do I believe “beauty will save the world”? No. But cultural exchange thickens the layer of civilization, and its erosion impoverishes everyone. Social evolution continues, albeit unevenly. Real change will come not just from shifts in individual nations, but when global population decline intersects with effective mass education. Only then might humanity soften its biological aggression and grasp cause-and-effect relationships more clearly.