In the shadow of an energy superpower's pride, ordinary Russians now wait through the night for petrol that may never arrive — a quiet unraveling caused by Ukrainian drone strikes on the refineries that once symbolized national strength. Moscow, which exports crude oil to the world, now imports the fuel its own citizens cannot find, while the government authorizes grades of petrol banned for over a decade. The gap between official reassurance and lived experience has become a kind of second crisis, one measured not in barrels but in the erosion of trust and the collapse of the planning horizon
Fuel Crisis Deepens as Ukraine Strikes Russian Oil Infrastructure
Civilians experience disrupted daily life, sleep anxiety from drone attacks, and economic hardship from shortages and inflation.
When you go to sleep you don't know if you'll wake up
Mark
Why does a fuel crisis matter so much to a story about war?
Mimi
Because it's where the war stops being abstract. It's the moment someone realizes they can't drive to work, can't visit family, can't plan a week ahead. It makes the conflict tangible.
Mark
But Russia is an oil superpower. How does this even happen?
Mimi
That's the point. It shouldn't. The fact that it is happening—that they're importing fuel, selling banned petrol—tells you something about the scale of the damage and how stretched their systems are.
Mark
The government says there are no critical consequences. Do people believe that?
Mimi
No. The polling shows anxiety is rising. There's a gap between what officials say and what people experience waiting two hours for petrol. People feel it in their bodies.
Mark
What struck you most about the Russian Flag Day celebration happening at the same time?
Mimi
The contrast. Candyfloss and military hardware for children, patriotic songs, while people are anxious about whether they'll wake up in the morning from drone strikes. It's not cynical—it's how societies function under strain. You celebrate and you endure simultaneously.
Mark
Do you think this changes anything politically?
Mimi
Not immediately. People aren't rebelling. They're adapting. They're shortening their planning horizon. That's actually more dangerous for a government long-term—not anger, but resignation.
O Pulso
- Drivers in Moscow queue for hours — sometimes overnight — with no guarantee of fuel, some too low on petrol to even search for an alternative station.
- Ukrainian drone strikes have forced 'unscheduled repairs' at Russian refineries, triggering shortages severe enough to bring eighty-car queues to a single station.
- Russia, one of the world's largest crude exporters, has begun importing petrol and reauthorized a lower-grade fuel banned since 2013 for its engine-damaging sulphur levels.
- President Putin insists there are 'no critical consequences,' but independent analysts and rising public anxiety polls suggest the Kremlin's reassurances are failing to land.
- Amid patriotic Flag Day celebrations — candyfloss, concerts, and children posing with Kalashnikovs — civilians speak quietly of shaking windows, high prices, and the fear of not waking up.
In the shadow of an energy superpower's pride, ordinary Russians now wait through the night for petrol that may never arrive — a quiet unraveling caused by Ukrainian drone strikes on the refineries that once symbolized national strength. Moscow, which exports crude oil to the world, now imports the fuel its own citizens cannot find, while the government authorizes grades of petrol banned for over a decade. The gap between official reassurance and lived experience has become a kind of second crisis, one measured not in barrels but in the erosion of trust and the collapse of the planning horizon.
Svyatoslav has been sitting in his car for two hours at a Moscow petrol station, watching the sign flip to read 'no fuel available.' His tank is too low to drive elsewhere, so he waits — holding onto the possibility that a delivery might come today, or perhaps tomorrow. It is a scene repeating itself across Russia as Ukrainian drone strikes on oil refineries force what officials call 'unscheduled repairs,' producing queues that stretch to eighty vehicles at a single station.
The depth of the crisis is underscored by a striking irony: Russia, one of the world's largest crude oil exporters, has begun importing petrol. To ease the shortage, the government has also authorized Euro 2 fuel — a lower-grade petrol banned since 2013 for its high sulphur content, which contains up to fifty times more sulphur than the modern Euro 5 standard. The government's own newspaper warned that prolonged use can damage injectors, sensors, and catalytic converters in modern vehicles.
Elizaveta drove to a station at eleven at night, reached the front of the queue by midnight, and found it closing until two in the morning. Lyubov drove in from the provinces to find empty stations the whole way, stroking her dog Agatha to calm herself while she waited. When asked about the crisis, her answer was careful but clear: 'Everyone connects this to that situation.' The war is present in every conversation, even when its name goes unspoken.
President Putin has acknowledged that attacks on infrastructure 'do inflict damage,' but insists there are 'no critical consequences.' Columnist Andrei Kolesnikov describes a profound disconnect between what people feel and what their leader tells them — suggesting Putin may be 'trying to hypnotise himself that everything is okay.' Polling shows public anxiety is rising.
On the same day the queues lengthen, Moscow celebrates Russian Flag Day with concerts, candyfloss, and displays of military hardware where children pose with Kalashnikovs. A speaker tells the crowd they live in a wonderful country and will always be victorious. Yet nearby, a woman mentions that her windows shook for the first time the night before. Another says that when she goes to sleep, she doesn't know if she'll wake up. A pensioner named Tatyana finds meaning in hardship — 'difficulties unite us' — but beneath the resilience lies something quieter: the sense that ordinary people cannot shape what is happening around them. All they can do is adapt, manage their fear, and live entirely in the present moment.
Svyatoslav has been sitting in his car for two hours at a Moscow petrol station, watching the sign board flip to read "no fuel available." When asked why he doesn't simply drive elsewhere to find gas, his answer is matter-of-fact: his tank is too low to make the journey. He waits anyway, holding onto the possibility that fuel might arrive today, or perhaps tomorrow. He has no better option.
This scene has become routine across Moscow and other parts of Russia this week. Long queues snake from petrol stations as the country grapples with what officials describe as "unscheduled repairs" at oil refineries. The repairs are anything but routine—they are the direct result of Ukrainian drone strikes targeting Russian oil infrastructure. Earlier in the summer, such attacks triggered severe shortages. Now they have returned with renewed intensity, and this time the queues are longer still. At one Moscow station, eighty vehicles wait in line. The authorities appear unable to quickly restore refining capacity or solve the logistics problems that have compounded the crisis.
The situation has become so acute that Russia—a nation recognized globally as an energy superpower and one of the world's largest crude oil exporters—has begun importing petrol. The irony is stark and speaks to the depth of the problem. To manage the shortage, the government has also authorized the production and sale of Euro 2 petrol, a lower-grade fuel that was banned in Russia in 2013 because of its high sulphur content. Euro 2 contains up to fifty times more sulphur than the modern Euro 5 standard. The government newspaper Rossiyskaya Gazeta warned that regular use of such fuel can damage fuel injectors, spark plugs, oxygen sensors, catalytic converters, and soot filters in modern vehicles. One tank won't destroy an engine, the paper noted, but it sharply reduces the margin of safety.
Elizaveta describes the exhausting reality of the search for fuel. Last night she drove to a petrol station at eleven o'clock and reached the front of the queue by midnight, only to find the station closing until two in the morning. Lyubov drove into Moscow from the provinces yesterday and found empty stations all the way. To calm herself while waiting, she strokes her pet dog Agatha. When asked how she views the crisis, Lyubov's response is telling: "Everyone says there is a difficult situation in the country. Everyone connects this to that situation." The war is inescapable in the conversation, even when unspoken.
President Vladimir Putin has acknowledged that attacks on industrial facilities and infrastructure "do inflict damage; this is obvious." But he moved quickly to minimize the concern. "There are no critical consequences from such attacks," he said. "There have not been and cannot be." Andrei Kolesnikov, a columnist for the independent outlet Novaya Gazeta, sees a profound disconnect. "It is a disconnect between people's feelings and the description of reality by Vladimir Putin," Kolesnikov observed. "Maybe he's trying to hypnotise himself that everything is okay." Recent polling suggests that anxiety in Russian society is rising—a signal that the Kremlin's message of reassurance is not resonating.
On the same day the fuel crisis deepens, Moscow is preparing to celebrate Russian Flag Day. Giant billboards display patriotic announcements. The local authorities have set up stalls and organized a street concert. There is candyfloss for children, and alongside it, displays of military hardware—Kalashnikovs, hand-held rocket launchers. Children pick up the weapons and pose for photographs. Volunteers hand out Russian tricolours. A singer croons about raising the flag of the country. One speaker declares to the crowd: "Dear friends, we live in a wonderful country! We know that we will always be victorious."
Yet the war is very much on people's minds. Angelina speaks plainly about the fear: "When you go to sleep you don't know if you'll wake up in the morning. That's the only problem. Everything else is fine." Another woman mentions the high prices, the petrol shortages, and then adds: "Last night, for the first time, my windows shook. I heard 'boom boom!'" A pensioner named Tatyana finds meaning in hardship: "Difficulties unite us. The harder things are, the stronger we get." But beneath these expressions of resilience lies something else—a sense that ordinary people cannot influence what is happening around them. All they can do is adapt, manage their psychological state, and hope that whatever comes next, they can say, "Oh well, never mind." The horizon of planning has collapsed into the present moment.
Citações Notáveis
There are no critical consequences from such attacks. There have not been and cannot be.— President Vladimir Putin, downplaying the impact of Ukrainian strikes on Russian infrastructure
It is a disconnect between people's feelings and the description of reality by Vladimir Putin. Maybe he's trying to hypnotise himself that everything is okay.— Andrei Kolesnikov, columnist for Novaya Gazeta, on the gap between official messaging and public experience
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War & Conflict