Oligarch power after invasion: weakened, transformed or merely disguised?

Tuesday 22 January 2026

The full-scale Russian invasion of Ukraine in February 2022 appeared, at first glance, to herald the end of the post-Soviet oligarch. Tanks crossed borders, sanctions cascaded across jurisdictions, yachts were impounded, villas frozen, and the once ostentatious masters of Eurasian capitalism seemed suddenly exposed. Commentators spoke confidently of the “death of oligarchy”, as though war and Western financial law had at last achieved what decades of reform rhetoric had failed to do. Three years on, such confidence looks premature. Oligarchic power has certainly been shaken, but it has not vanished. Instead, it has adapted to war, sanctions and political mobilisation, often becoming less visible, more defensive and in some cases more tightly fused to the state than before.

Before the invasion, oligarchs in both Russia and Ukraine occupied a familiar and broadly comparable position. They were not merely wealthy individuals but political actors whose economic empires granted them leverage over media, parties and policy. Their power rested on control of key assets, preferential access to the state, and the weakness of institutions that might otherwise have constrained them. War has disrupted each of these pillars, but in uneven and sometimes paradoxical ways.

In Russia, the invasion marked a decisive turning point in the relationship between the Kremlin and big business. The oligarchs of the 1990s and early 2000s had already been tamed under Vladimir Putin’s system, but they retained a degree of autonomy so long as they remained politically loyal and economically useful. Sanctions following 2022 shattered this equilibrium. Western asset freezes stripped many Russian magnates of their international mobility and lifestyle, while export controls and financial isolation undermined the global reach of their firms. Figures such as Roman Abramovich found themselves abruptly cut off from the jurisdictions that had once offered both profit and protection.

Yet this did not amount to a liberation of the Russian economy from oligarchic influence. Instead it accelerated its militarisation and nationalisation in all but name. Those oligarchs who remained inside Russia were compelled to demonstrate their loyalty through direct support for the war effort, whether by financing defence production, accepting state-appointed managers, or surrendering assets to Kremlin-friendly structures. Wealth did not disappear; it was redistributed within a narrower political circle. Oligarchic power, far from being eliminated, became more openly subordinate to the state, serving as an extension of wartime governance rather than a semi-independent force.

In Ukraine the invasion produced a different, though no less profound, transformation. Since 2014, Kyiv had already embarked on a gradual campaign to curb oligarchic dominance, driven by public anger, civil society pressure and Western conditionality. The full-scale invasion intensified this process. Wartime unity made the overt exercise of oligarchic influence politically toxic, while the existential nature of the conflict strengthened the state’s claim to regulate strategic sectors. Media consolidation under emergency legislation reduced the ability of wealthy individuals to shape public narratives, and some prominent oligarchs saw their assets nationalised or placed under temporary administration.

The case of Ihor Kolomoisky illustrates both the possibilities and limits of wartime de-oligarchisation. Once emblematic of Ukraine’s captured state, he has faced criminal proceedings, incarceration on remand, and the effective loss of key holdings. Such developments would have been difficult to imagine without the political cover provided by war. Yet it would be misleading to conclude that oligarchic power has been eradicated. Economic concentration persists in several sectors, and the networks of influence built over decades do not dissolve overnight. Rather they have been forced into a more discreet and defensive posture, awaiting a post-war settlement that will define the rules of reconstruction.

The international dimension further complicates the picture. Sanctions were intended not only to punish aggression but also to fracture elite support for war by targeting those with the most to lose. In practice they have had mixed results. Some oligarchs have indeed lost vast fortunes, but others have benefited from reduced competition and state largesse. Moreover sanctions have reinforced the bifurcation of global wealth into friendly and unfriendly jurisdictions, encouraging capital flight to less transparent financial centres and deepening the opacity of ownership structures. Oligarchic power has not vanished so much as migrated into more complex legal and geographical forms.

War also alters the social legitimacy of wealth. In both Russia and Ukraine, the moral economy of wartime places a premium on sacrifice, patriotism and visible contribution to the collective effort. Lavish consumption becomes suspect, and political survival requires public displays of alignment with national goals. This has constrained the largesse and excess that once defined oligarchic culture, but it has not necessarily reduced underlying influence. Power exercised quietly through procurement contracts, reconstruction planning and regulatory exemptions may prove more durable than the flamboyant media baronies of the past.

The question then is not whether oligarchs have been weakened in an absolute sense, but how their power has been reshaped by war. In Russia it has been narrowed and subordinated, folded into a wartime command economy that tolerates wealth only insofar as it serves the regime’s objectives. In Ukraine it has been challenged and partially rolled back, yet not entirely dismantled, constrained by public scrutiny and the demands of European integration but still present beneath the surface. In both cases, invasion has acted less as an executioner than as an alchemist, transforming the visible form of oligarchic power while preserving its underlying logic.

Whether this transformation proves temporary or lasting will depend on the post-war order. Reconstruction, privatisation and foreign investment will create vast new opportunities for influence. Without strong institutions, transparent governance and sustained political will, old patterns may reassert themselves under new names. War has weakened the oligarchs’ confidence and altered their methods, but it has not resolved the deeper structural conditions that allowed them to flourish. The danger is not that oligarchic power will return unchanged, but that it will do so disguised, embedded within the machinery of recovery and shielded by the very narratives of resilience and unity that war has made indispensable.