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In recent years, Russian audiences have grown used to the sight of children as young as six dressed in immaculate khaki pants, red branded T-shirts, and red berets marching across their TV screens, into their school classrooms, and through city squares on holidays. Barely a day goes by without a uniformed child popping up next to Russian President Vladimir Putin, the former president, Dmitry Medvedev, or Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov at some function or other. These children are part of the Youth Army, Russia's frightening paramilitary youth group, and they are to be—or so the state claims—the defenders of Russian civilization in a grand existential war that is just beginning in Ukraine.
Founded by the country's Defense Ministry in 2016, the Youth Army is fast expanding. It already counts 1.3 million members—all of whom are learning that their country is surrounded by mortal enemies, that only war can bring peace, and that there is no greater feat than to die for the Motherland. At first glance, the Youth Army's uniformed children, constant military training, and active preparation for careers in the nation's army appear to imitate the Hitler Youth or the Soviet Pioneers. But Putin's Youth Army comes with a twist: a surprisingly sophisticated digital presence that draws unwary kids into the twisted world of Russia's militarism.
In a barrage of fun memes, online games, and TikTok-style videos, the Youth Army turns the grim reality of deaths on the battlefield into something aspirational. For example, in a recent video that celebrated the annual May 9 holiday—the date when Russia remembers victory over Hitler's Germany—the group's official TikTok account released a video shot in the city of Tver'. In the clip, a young man in uniform, apparently returning from the front, appears at a military parade. A teenaged Youth Army girl, impeccably turned out in uniform, is embarrassed and elated as her beau gets down on one knee to propose. As she accepts, the watching crowd cheer with delight. In hundreds of similar videos dripped into young Russians' social media feeds, the message is repeated by teen soldiers and Kremlin-paid celebrities and influencers. The Youth Army isn't a place to go to die in a war that Russia's millennials seem to loathe. It's a place where dreams come true.
Yet underneath this frothy social media surface lurks a more dangerous message: that the very best Russians are those who die for their country. In a video published this month and already viewed by almost 10,000 users on VK, a Facebook clone popular in Russia, a teen "young soldier" tells the tale of two young soldiers, one from World War II and one from today's war against Ukraine. Both complete heroic feats before being killed in action against "fascists." The "heroes" of today are compared to the saintly martyrs of Russia's World War II, which is celebrated with religious fervor under Putin. And Youth Army Soldiers can easily become military saints too: the group's website hosts an "Alley of Memory" that showcases the photographs and stories of some of the many former members who have died in the fighting. Images of the dead stare out from the computer screen, unblinking, as if they were holy icons for Russia's young to imitate.
Even as the Youth Army's graduates begin to die in Ukraine, the frightening realities are kept far away. Earlier this year, in the Siberian town of Noyabrsk—a sorry place almost 1,400 miles from Moscow—local media was briefly consumed by news coverage about Nikita Nedzelsky, a 20-year-old volunteer drone operator who had died fighting in Russia's war of aggression against Ukraine. In what has become a familiar sight across Russia as the death toll racks up for Putin's failing forces, Nedzelsky's tearful mother accepted a posthumous medal on her son's behalf. At the ceremony were the press, civic leaders, local veterans, schoolchildren, and, proudly standing to attention as they paid their respects, members of the Youth Army.
The mood of the day, though, was not regret. It was one of patriotic celebration. Local media released a barrage of videos, reports, and online hits that paid tribute to Nedzelsky: out came schoolteachers, classmates, and relatives to explain what a sainted life the boy soldier had led. In response to online materials re-shared by the local Youth Army unit, "young soldiers" leapt to attack the enemy: "They're getting slaughtered by the fascists...the Yanks have turned Ukraine into an anti-Russia!!" Now the local Youth Army "unit" has even been renamed in honour of Nedzelsky. A constant stream of digital propaganda coaxes and cajoles children into the Youth Army, reminding young Russians every time they pick up their phones and browse their beloved social media accounts that men like Nikita Nedzelsky—men who have died in a futile war of aggression—are the state's favorite heroes.
It's here, online, that the state may have found something far more appealing to the young than the revitalized patriotic school curriculum, blazingly unsubtle TV propaganda, and public denunciations and trials. The group's "young soldiers" will not merely achieve popularity or romantic success. So long as they join up and are willing to put it all on the line for the Motherland, they too can, in death, ascend to the pantheon of Russia's military saints.
Vladimir Putin might die or be deposed tomorrow. Indeed, Yevgeny Prigozhin's march on Moscow has revealed the dictator's fragile position. But as young Russians are told that their country's war is existential and their fallen are saintly, they will not easily unlearn the militarism that is sweeping across the nation.
The West must be on its guard. Putin isn't just building an army for war against Ukraine today. His military machine is designed to run for years of conflict to come.
Ian Garner is an expert in Russian culture and war propaganda. He is the author of Z Generation: Into the Heart of Russia's Fascist Youth.
The views expressed in this article are the writer's own.
