For Marina, a 45-year-old freelance copywriter, WhatsApp had been a mainstay for both professional and personal communication for years.
However, that changed abruptly last month when a call to a colleague failed to connect. They subsequently attempted to use Telegram, another popular messaging platform in Russia, with similar results.
Marina is one of millions of Russians impacted by recent restrictions imposed by Roskomnadzor, the country’s media regulator, in mid-August, targeting calls made through these two widely used platforms.
This development coincides with the launch of “Max,” a new “national messenger” application developed by a Russian firm with close ties to the Kremlin.
Estimates suggest that WhatsApp and Telegram boast monthly user bases of 97 million and 90 million, respectively, in a nation of 143 million.
From parental communication to tenant associations, these platforms are integral to daily life. WhatsApp, owned by Meta—an entity designated as extremist in Russia—is particularly favored among older demographics due to its user-friendly interface.
In certain regions of Russia, especially remote areas with limited connectivity in the Far East, WhatsApp serves a more significant function than simple messaging. Given the often sluggish mobile browsing speeds, residents leverage the app to coordinate local matters, arrange transportation, procure goods, and disseminate news.
Both applications employ end-to-end encryption, ensuring that messages and calls remain private from third parties, including the platform providers themselves.
Authorities assert that these apps have refused to comply with Russian law requiring the storage of user data within the country, and allege that messaging apps are exploited by scammers. However, data from the Central Bank indicates that the majority of scams still occur via traditional mobile networks.
Telecom experts and many Russian citizens view the crackdown as an attempt by the government to monitor communications and potentially censor content.
“The authorities are trying to dismantle any kind of relationships, connections, friendships, or mutual support among us, ordinary people. They want everyone to sit quietly in their own corner,” says Marina, a resident of Tula, located 180km (110 miles) south of Moscow.
Marina requested anonymity, citing concerns over the potential repercussions of speaking to international media.
The Max app is being heavily promoted by celebrities and influencers, and since September 1, all devices sold in Russia are required to have Max pre-installed.
Max was launched by VK, the parent company of Russia’s largest social network. This Facebook-like platform is controlled by Gazprom, the oil-and-gas giant, and Yuri Kovalchuk, a billionaire and close associate of Vladimir Putin.
Max is envisioned as a super-app, consolidating various functions, including government digital services and banking.
This model is akin to China’s WeChat, which is central to daily life but also functions as a tool for censorship and surveillance.
Max’s privacy policy stipulates that it can share information with third parties and government entities, potentially granting access to security services or exposing user data to leaks.
In a context where individuals face prosecution for critical comments or private messages, and a black market for personal data fuels a surge in scam calls, this is a significant concern for many Russians.
Even with the introduction of Max and the restrictions on WhatsApp and Telegram, the Russian state already possesses extensive capabilities to monitor its citizens.
Legally, sim cards can only be purchased with national identification, and security services have access to telecom operators’ infrastructure, allowing them to track call history and location data.
As of this month, sharing a sim card with anyone beyond immediate family members is now illegal.
However, Max could potentially allow authorities to access message content, and avoiding the app is becoming increasingly difficult.
Schools are now mandating the use of the app for parent-teacher communications.
In the Rostov region, bordering Ukraine, Max is being implemented as an alert system, while in St. Petersburg, it is being integrated with emergency services.
Despite these efforts, Max remains significantly behind its competitors, with a reported 30 million users this week.
The Kremlin has long been wary of the freedoms afforded by the internet, which Vladimir Putin once characterized as a CIA project.
The first legislative restrictions were enacted in 2012, shortly after mass opposition protests, ostensibly to protect children from suicide-related content.
Ten years later, coinciding with Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine, the government blocked prominent social media sites, including Facebook, Instagram, and X, as well as most independent media outlets, rendering them accessible only through VPNs.
New restrictions continue to emerge. As of this month, Russians can be fined for “deliberately searching” online for extremist materials—sourced from an ever-expanding blacklist of over 5,000 resources maintained by the Ministry of Justice. This includes works by opposition leader Alexei Navalny, who died in prison in 2024, and Ukrainian songs.
Another measure targets advertisements on platforms linked to “extremist” organizations, effectively ending advertising on Instagram, which many small businesses had relied upon as a digital storefront.
Advertising for VPNs is also prohibited, and while the use of these apps is not illegal, it may now be considered an aggravating factor in criminal cases.
Compounding the issues with WhatsApp and Telegram, many Russians are experiencing life without mobile internet entirely, as entire cities face regular cut-offs.
Since May, every Russian region has experienced mobile internet disruptions.
Blackouts intensified throughout the summer, with up to 77 regions simultaneously affected at the peak, according to the Na Svyazi (In Touch) project.
Authorities justify these measures as necessary to protect people and infrastructure from attacks by Ukrainian drones—Kyiv’s response to Russia’s ongoing bombardments of Ukrainian cities.
However, some experts doubt that disabling mobile internet, which many Russians use in lieu of broadband, is an effective countermeasure against long-range drone attacks.
Telecom expert Mikhail Klimarev explains that local authorities, responsible for countering drone attacks, lack alternative resources.
“There are no air defense systems, no army—everything’s on the frontline,” he says. “Their logic goes: we’ve switched off the internet and there were no drones, hence it works.”
In Vladimir, located 200km (125 miles) east of Moscow, two of the city’s three districts have been offline for nearly a month.
“It’s impossible to check bus routes or timetables,” says Konstantin, another resident who requested anonymity. “The information boards at stops also show errors.”
Taxi fares have increased as drivers are unable to accept online orders.
State TV in Vladimir framed the shutdown as a “digital detox,” showcasing residents who claimed they were now enjoying more walking, reading, and socializing.
In Krasnoyarsk, a Siberian city with over a million residents, mobile internet was unavailable citywide for three days in July and remains unreliable.
Some officials dismissed complaints, with one Krasnoyarsk bureaucrat suggesting that remote workers who lost income should “go and work for the special military operation,” the term used in Russia for the war in Ukraine. She later apologized.
The government is developing a scheme to allow Russians access to vital online services, such as banking, taxis, deliveries, and the Max messenger, during shutdowns.
Sarkis Darbinyan, lawyer and co-founder of digital rights group RKS Global, cautions that this is a dangerous development.
“There’s a possibility the authorities will use this measure for other goals apart from fighting drones,” he told the BBC.
He believes that the Kremlin’s current approach to the internet is mirroring Beijing’s.
“Unlike the Chinese, Russians have spent decades enjoying cheap, fast internet and foreign platforms,” he says. “These services became deeply ingrained not only in people’s daily lives but also in business processes.”
For now, those who are wary of installing Max on their devices can still find workarounds.
Marina from Tula reports that her mother, a school teacher, was instructed to download the messenger but told her superiors that she did not own a smartphone.
Individuals can still communicate via traditional mobile networks, albeit at a higher cost, particularly for international calls, and with less security.
Alternative means also exist, such as using VPNs or alternative messaging apps, previously relegated to tech enthusiasts and those handling sensitive information.
However, as government control over the internet intensifies, fewer individuals will find ways to circumvent it, assuming that the internet remains accessible for them to attempt in the first place.
Additional reporting by Yaroslava Kiryukhina
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