Sovereignisation, Ideologisation, Imitation: What today’s Russian school is — and is not

The education system has become one of the main targets of the Russian authorities’ efforts to indoctrinate the population and transform the country into a new ideological project. This focus reflects not entirely unfounded concerns: young people are the most resistant to the conservative and isolationist concept of Russia as a ‘besieged fortress of traditional values’.

The Russian authorities have announced a course of 'sovereignising' education, intended to become a new chapter in the history of the post-Soviet school and replace the 'neoliberal consensus' of the previous era, which viewed the school primarily as a provider of educational services.

However, the contemporary Russian school remains far from a picture of totalitarian uniformity of thought. Administrative impulses for indoctrination collide with the everyday routine of schools and the institutional apolitical stance of both the schools themselves and the bureaucratic hierarchy. Imitation and hypocrisy have become forms of 'negative resistance.'

Ideologisation and imposed uniformity undoubtedly reduce the quality of education and the school atmosphere. Yet they fail to achieve the main goal of 'sovereignisation', that is reprogramming the current generation of young people according to the Kremlin doctrine, which leaves space for alternative action, according to Russian public figure Yulia Galyamina.

Pavel Talankin’s film, Mr Nobody Against Putin, by a former teacher from the town of Karabash, has been shortlisted for an Oscar. The Russian opposition has generally expressed enthusiasm about the film, and judging by this nomination, they are not the only ones. The story the film tells aligns more with the expectations of those who see contemporary Russia primarily as a landscape of advancing and consolidating a new version of totalitarianism. Its main character-narrator, Mr Nobody, silently confronts this world through his camera and is ultimately forced to escape it. Talankin’s film is shot from 'inside' but edited for an 'outside' audience. The impression of complete uniformity in the environment depicted is intended to heighten the artistic effect of hopelessness.

The reality of today’s Russian school, while far from ideal, is far more complex. Administrative drives for aggressive ideologisation intersect with management practices established in previous periods, the expectations of pupils and parents, the actions and inactions of individual administrations, and, above all, the teachers on the ground. What occurs in the Russian school largely reflects how Russian society as a whole reacts to the authorities’ recent attempts to ideologise public and state life. Understanding the details of this picture is therefore crucial.

Post-Soviet schools: from Makarenko to the ‘neoliberal consensus’

During perestroika, the well-known 'Congress of Innovative Educators,' one of the early milestones of a changing era, proclaimed the principles of ‘cooperative pedagogy.’ These ideas drew partly on contemporary calls to return to the beginnings of the USSR and revive progressive collectivism, but they mainly reflected the humanist and democratic ideals of the late twentieth century, which had been gradually taking shape even in the late USSR. Very soon, however, they were replaced by more fashionable and radical democratic and liberal ideas. In 1990, Russia appointed what many educators consider the most effective Minister of Education ever, Eduard Dneprov, who clearly articulated the links between education, politics, and democracy. He asserted that education is a vital political institution, essential for reproducing social order, and that 'democracy begins not with elections, but with the classroom.' In both cases, the school was seen not only as a site for imparting knowledge but also as an institution shaping social and civic worldviews.

Subsequently, developments in school education reflected trends across the country. Genuine democracy was of little interest; the focus was on the economy, consumption, and the market. Education was mainly understood as a service within market relations. This 'neoliberal' approach persisted for nearly two decades. It was reflected, for example, in the liberal education law drafted during Medvedev’s presidency (still in effect today, though somewhat modified), which enshrined the principles of institutional autonomy and diversity of educational content and methods. In practice, however, the law’s real foundation was the idea that parents, rather than the state, were responsible for the quality of their children’s education and socialisation.

This concept was shaped less by democratic ideals than by the logic of market competition. Schools and universities were expected to compete for pupils who brought them funding – both state-funded pupils, whose funding was now linked to the individual student, and, where possible, fee-paying pupils. Success was measured primarily by graduates’ achievements in entering higher education or the labour market, effectively gauging how well schools positioned students for future success.

This system had clear advantages. Autonomy and competition led to the development of very good schools offering high-quality education and an atmosphere of intellectual freedom. 'Resourceful' parents had a wide range of options for educating highly motivated children. At the same time, given the limited funding available from the consolidated budget, this model also fostered corruption and significant territorial and social inequalities between schools and pupils. In international education rankings, which assess the 'average situation' including remote and rural schools, Russia invariably floated somewhere in the middle, while at international Olympiads it received (and continues to receive) the highest awards.

A new demand from both sides

At the 'ground level,' in their everyday operations, the school system was far from the stated ideals of autonomy, diversity, and competition. In many respects, it reproduced old Soviet, or even pre-revolutionary, templates: grading systems, the class-lesson structure, subject-specific lessons, stacks of paperwork and reporting, displays for show, and a strict hierarchy from department head through school director to teachers and then pupils. Over the thirty years from 1985 to 2015, most schools never fully rid themselves of these atavisms, although the administrative framework of school reforms in the 2010s did penetrate all levels of the management hierarchy, for better and for worse.

What the 'neoliberal' system did achieve in mass schooling was to eliminate the educational and socio-political functions of education. Schools largely abandoned the Soviet models in this area. In doing so, they shielded teachers and pupils from the militarised nationalism that was already knocking at the door, yet at the same time turned away from Dneprov’s legacy, failing to become spaces for the development of democratic skills or collective self-governance.

Schools were outside politics, which suited many people. But not all. Since the early 2010s, there has been growing demand in certain social groups for a civic dimension to education. Many teachers could not accept the role of service providers and sought to strengthen the educational, formative component. Among parents, there was also a demand for schools to perform a socio-political function. Some parents who had participated in protests on Bolotnaya Square joined their children’s school governing boards, while others longed for hymns and flags, drills and marching songs, and basic military training. According to a 2013 survey by the Levada Centre, in 2013, 47% of those surveyed were in favour of mandatory singing of the national anthem in Russian schools, while 39% were opposed; 12% were entirely supportive, and 11% strongly opposed. This reflects the presence of both types of demand.

The majority of Russians expected, and continue to expect, that schools provide a 'good education' enabling children to enter colleges or universities and become capable professionals able to support a family, rather than citizens. Yet a more passionate minority sought alternative models. During the 'Crimean consensus' of 2014–2015, voices calling for a return to the old Soviet-style school, with its centralisation and ideologisation, began to grow louder. Yet at that point, no genuine political choice was made in the education system, or in politics more broadly.

Therefore, when Putin launched the 'special military operation' in 2022, no real ideological preparation, including at the school level, had been arranged. Once it became clear that the operation would drag on, an ideological justification was hurriedly constructed, relying on one politically charged group: militarist nationalists, later labelled Z-patriots or simply ‘zetnik’s.

Sovereignty and the ‘splinter’ ideology in schools

‘A sovereign education system… is an extremely important, fundamental matter. And we will implement it at all levels — from schools to colleges and universities,’ Vladimir Putin stated, launching the Year of the Teacher in 2023. Whereas in 2022 the education system reacted spasmodically to constantly shifting conditions, from 2023 onwards more systematic, though still slowed by bureaucratic routine, changes have begun to take shape. These changes show signs of the so-called 'sovereignisation' strategy, presented as a new course and a new era in the post-Soviet history of the Russian school.

The ‘sovereignisation’ of schools manifests in two main processes: verticalisation and ideologisation. Verticalisation methods include formal, institutional measures – such as introducing unified federal educational and formative programmes – and informal measures, including direct orders from ministries to schools and various forms of coercion, from digital monitoring to repression (→ Re:Russia: The School of Military Putinism). Verticalisation is necessary not only as a means of control; it also serves as the instrument for implementing uniform and ideologically guided education. This distinguishes imitative Putinist totalitarianism from classical totalitarianism: here, centralised bureaucratic control is a tool for ideologisation, whereas ideology itself does not serve as the basis or 'glue' for unity and obedience. It must be enforced through administrative pressure as on its own, it attracts few adherents and has no significant non-bureaucratic support.

The ideology being imposed, which can be characterised as conservative, nationalist, and militarist, has neither a clear, appealing goal nor a compelling, emotionally charged vision of the future, inspiring figures, or practices suitable for pupils to adopt. Its content boils down to asserting the greatness of the Russian state, its uniqueness, special path, and place in world history. In brief, its core message is that Russia is magnificent and invincible, despite the intrigues of various enemies. Russia is a 'splinter' (as in the popular song by Tatyana Kurtukova), provoking its eternal adversary, the West, to gnash its teeth.

This 'picture' is eclectically overlaid with a variety of historical narratives, from the Battle on the Ice to the ‘special military operation’. Scriptwriters for ‘Important Conversations’ remain ambiguous, for instance, regarding the 1918–1922 Civil War: are they on the side of the 'Whites' or the 'Reds'? The ideological framework is too weak to apply to more complex historical conflicts. Instead, the central event in Russian history and symbol of Russian invincibility is the Great Victory in the Second World War, around which the main school ideological practices are organised: projects, marches, competitions, and so on. Add a superficial layer of religiosity (such as capitalising the word Church) and militarism, and the result is the ideological cocktail delivered to Russian schoolchildren.

However, this cocktail is unpalatable and unlikely to be well absorbed. Firstly, it is unclear how these abstract ideas and historical narratives relate to real, everyday life. In practice, their traces are difficult to detect outside schools and official media. Even in urban spaces, there is little evidence of ideological intervention (the Z-symbols that were initially widespread have almost disappeared, and there are noticeably fewer billboards advertising military contracts). Beyond the classroom, where relevant lessons occur, the ideology has virtually no impact on pupils’ lives. Contemporary pedagogical psychology holds that moral orientations are internalised only when ideas are enacted in practice; mere words remain background noise.

Secondly, the only heroes offered to pupils are long-dead Second World War figures, distant as the heroes of the 1812 war, or participants in the current military operation, who are not widely perceived as heroes by contemporary Russian society and often provoke fear, contempt, or envy — envy of their privileges rather than their fate (→ Re:Russia: Heroes, Mercenaries, Victims). In general, schoolchildren cannot associate themselves with either of these groups. Thirdly, the sole vision of the future offered by this ideology is a girl constantly giving birth and a boy dying for the motherland. Such a vision is unlikely to inspire anyone; it conflicts with the range of socially and professionally acceptable models pupils actually encounter.

It is worth noting that the educational-ideological programme ‘Important Conversations’ is deliberately eclectic. Topics such as caring for the elderly or separating waste align with modernisation demands and civic education expectations among so-called 'Bolotnaya-style' citizens. In contrast, other scenarios are filled with ideological markers appealing to Z-patriots. Some parents who monitor their children’s lessons have developed the practice of checking the topic of the next 'conversation' and, if it is considered toxic, simply keeping their child home.

The routinisation of ideologisation

Such parents are, of course, in the minority. The majority do not follow what is taught in ideological lessons, including the ‘Important Conversations’, which are perceived simply as an additional ‘class hour’. Most teachers share this perception.

All this ideological fakery has to be drummed into the heads and hearts of schoolchildren by people who do not believe in what is written in the curricula, standardised textbooks and educational programmes, but just repeat a few practices handed down from above: ‘Important Conversations’, standardised programmes for humanities subjects, ideological elements in subjects such as life safety and labour, and youth programmes run by official organisations such as the ‘Young Army’ and ‘First Movement’. All activities must be carried out in specified quantities and recorded in reports.

If you read the news about Russian schools (or watch Talankin's film), you might think that they have turned into something akin to totalitarian barracks: grim rituals, strict control, and local enthusiasts with burning eyes. In reality, the situation is very different. Administrative directives sent from Old Square, filtered through the various levels of the bureaucratic hierarchy and the routine of school life, are distorted and weakened. While it is impossible to completely ignore the system’s demands, it is entirely feasible to 'go through the motions' or 'tick the boxes.' And this is precisely what most pupils, teachers, and even school directors do.

And while there are teachers who support ideological initiatives, seeing in them a restoration of the lost educational role of schools or, like the hero of Talankin's film Pavel Abdulmanov, an opportunity for career growth, most parents perceive ideological subjects either as an empty formality or as an obstacle to professional education. Students, meanwhile, gain one serious skill from all this ideological posturing: the art of hypocrisy, which is, of course, a major concern for the moral state of society, but at the same time appears to be a form of ‘negative resistance.’

In a sense, the programme of school ideologisation has stumbled over the legacy of authoritarian neoliberalism, which cultivated lack of ideals, political apathy, and atomisation as key skills and conditions for life success. At the same time, the carefully structured administrative hierarchy prefers to operate within formal bureaucratic parameters, paying little attention to the 'ideological' outcomes of its actions. Signals from the top, even if distorted, reach down, but signals from below are barely audible. As a result, the system cannot effectively track the impact of its measures or develop a functioning strategy.

Yet bureaucratic efforts to impose ideology, even without achieving their main goal, have numerous negative consequences for schools: increased workload for teachers and pupils forced to conduct countless activities 'for show,' a decline in educational quality, and a heightened atmosphere of anxiety and aggression. Overall, 'sovereignisation' removes the advantages of the previous 'neoliberal' education policy – autonomy, freedom, and competition – while retaining the disadvantages: inequality, the disenfranchisement of teachers (who have shifted from serving parents to serving the state), and growing corruption due to monopolisation and lack of oversight, compounded by political propaganda.

The future — between apathy and action

In autumn 2025, the Ministry of Education completed the new Education Development Strategy up to 2036. The draft makes it clear that the authorities will continue the policies of the past three years: verticalisation and militarist-nationalist ideologisation of schools. However, in the coming years, these efforts will increasingly encounter objective constraints.

In particular, the deficit in the education budget, already evident at the regional level, is likely to grow as the economic situation deteriorates. As a result, not only regional but also federal educational spending will be cut. This will affect the conditions in which pupils study, teacher motivation, the quality of education, and, of course, its ideological and formative dimension.

The quality of education as a whole will also decline due to the heavy ideological load, the elimination of competition among programmes, textbooks, and pedagogical approaches, and the isolation of schools from international cooperation. What schools teach will increasingly fail to meet the needs of pupils and parents, who expect the development of communication, creativity, and self-organisation skills. Meanwhile, ongoing repression and the return of parents from the military operation with PTSD will exacerbate the negative psychological climate in schools.

This is a very sad picture, yet it is very far from the picture of the restoration of a totalitarian school or an atmosphere of patriotic conformity, as is often imagined ‘from the outside’. The main difference is that Russian schools still remain a space for action. The bureaucratisation and routinisation of the ideological project imposed from above leave enough room for this. This includes the eclecticism of the aforementioned ‘Important Conversations’ programme, which many teachers use. Recently, the Teacher’s trade union carried out an original campaign, turning one of the ‘conversations’ into a discussion about labour rights and the trade union movement. This was not just a bold move. Any collective politicisation (and propaganda lessons in school are collective politicisation, albeit ‘correctly’ framed and coercive) undermines the foundations of Russian authoritarianism: depoliticisation and atomisation.

Watching Talankin’s film, I kept thinking of another story. An old friend, whom we will call Grigory, works at a large and highly prestigious university. At the start of the war, he considered following the example of many colleagues and leaving the country; he had the experience, connections, and financial means to do so. Yet, after weighing the decision carefully, he concluded that his place was in Russia. And he did something entirely different. Grigory got a job as a history teacher. And not at some elite school, but at a school in a very small town in one of the regions neighbouring Moscow. Now, once a week, he drives several hours there and back so that students in the Russian ‘provinces’ can hear an alternative point of view and develop critical thinking.

There are many such teachers in Russia. Unlike the ones featured in the film, however, they are unknown, receive no awards, and attract no online acclaim. On the contrary, they carry out their teaching duties under constant threat of repression. They do so because they understand that the Russian school is not a totalitarian zone; more complex processes are at work, leaving space for the future. This prevents them from abandoning the next generation of Russians.