Yevgeny Prigozhin had his reasons for launching a mutiny over the weekend. Russia’s military leadership—including Generals Valery Gerasimov and Sergei Shoigu—had made a bid to subordinate Prigozhin’s mercenary army to their command. The extremely hierarchical, martinet culture of the regular army surely clashed with the efficiency-oriented, entrepreneurial culture of the Wagner paramilitary group, whose motto was “Death is our business, and the business is going well.” But Prigozhin’s message, which he delivered in a 30-minute speech on Friday, was not just about his personal grievances, or even just about the prosecution of the war. It was also political, and full of contradictions.

The mercenary leader accused the military leadership of poor planning, which had led to the betrayal and sacrifice of Russian soldiers, and at the same time, he challenged the very rationale behind the war in Ukraine. He called for a more organized—and more brutal—fight, but also claimed that the entire conflict was the result of Russian President Vladimir Putin’s hubris, because Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky had been open to negotiations at the start. He assumed a threatening posture toward Ukraine, but spoke respectfully of that country’s military and political leadership. At one point, Prigozhin called the Russian leadership “mentally sick scumbags and wankers” for deciding to “throw yet another several thousand Russian guys into the meat grinder to croak like dogs.” Then, shockingly, he added, “But that can be a legitimate option too. Sometimes, it is reasonable to act like that.”

For all the inconsistencies, Prigozhin’s speech carried an overarching message that was entirely clear: Putin fails to execute his own plans. His system is so inefficient that it cannot win the war it started, and it failed to achieve its goals through diplomacy as well. No matter what the aims are, they should be carried out.

Anne Applebaum: Putin is caught in his own trap

Prigozhin’s statements can seem chaotic, but they are not improvisations. Rather, the mercenary warlord commands a team of spin doctors and speechwriters that has been running political campaigns in Russia for years. His appeals to various discontented constituencies, from military hawks to anti-war pragmatists, are based on a careful analysis of the tendencies and moods in Russian society. And that analysis yields a singular conclusion: More and more Russians feel that the country has reached a dead end.

In Ukraine, no visible path leads to a Russian victory. Putin keeps inventing stories about how Russia will inevitably prevail: First, it was supposed to win easily by removing the government in Kyiv, then by seizing the Donbas, then by destroying Ukraine’s crucial infrastructure, then by freezing Europeans last winter, then by waiting until the West grew tired of supplying Ukraine with weapons. Many in Russia were once willing to believe Putin’s fairy tales, but few can now pretend to believe a good end is in sight. Rather, a defeat is looming, and even though the word is virtually prohibited for public use, it comes up more and more often in private conversations. In his public appearance during the mutiny, Putin finally hinted at the real possibility of a defeat, openly invoking the “dagger in the back” metaphor that was used to fuel resentment in Germany after it lost in World War I.

Many Russian elites have anticipated the Ukrainian counteroffensive with great anxiety, as it would put to the test their apprehension of a looming rout. Putin was aware of those stakes, which was why, when the counteroffensive turned out to be underwhelming in its initial stages, he rushed to call it a failure. Prigozhin is speaking to the same frightened elites when he publicly overestimates Ukrainian gains and paints a bleak picture for Russia.

Remarkably, when Prigozhin launched his mutiny, he faced little resistance from the elites, who remained mostly silent for almost a full day. After Putin addressed the public, a flurry of supporting statements from officials followed in a matter of minutes, seemingly more an orchestrated performance than an expression of genuine sentiment. The officials did not follow their statements with actions, and Prigozhin’s convoy proceeded toward Russia’s capital without meeting much resistance from the the military, either.

Elliot Ackerman: Prigozhin’s loss is Ukraine’s gain

What about the Russian people? Maybe the elites and even some of the military brass were sitting on the fence, but opinion polls have long confidently indicated that ordinary Russians stand firmly behind their president. Last Saturday, however, the majority of Russians apparently chose to disengage from the unfolding drama. In most parts of the country, life continued as usual, with students attending their graduation ceremonies, seemingly indifferent to “some sort of war somewhere in Moscow,” as one graduate in St. Petersburg put it to a Russian journalist.

In the cities directly affected by the mutiny, the attitude was hardly different. People carelessly walked past the military headquarters in Rostov-on-Don occupied by the Wagner troops, even after a blast happened there, fortunately killing no one. Among those who did show interest were some passersby who showed enthusiasm for the Wagner troops’ arrival in the film clips that circulated on social media. Except for one minor scuffle on the streets of Rostov-on-Don, there were no reports of people rushing out to save the president, or stop the mutineers, or even to let them know they were unwelcome.

In Moscow, where I was that Saturday afternoon, the city streets were eerily empty, even though no curfew or evacuation had been declared. On a public bus, I overheard conversations that mentioned the mutiny, but not with strong emotion. Muscovites seemed calm, as if such a thing had long been bound to happen and would be greeted with indifference.

I had lunch with a military expert that day. He told me that three divisions were in principle tasked with defending Moscow, but he was far from certain that they would obey the orders. Short of that, he reckoned that the Wagner troops would meet no resistance on their way to the capital. A bridge across the Ob River had evidently been prepared for destruction if a natural barrier was needed, and a few military vehicles patrolled the city. But Moscow did not look at all likely to withstand an assault.

Was Putin deliberately refraining from taking military action? Not exactly: The Russian air force consistently (and unsuccessfully) attacked the Wagner convoy, which shot down several helicopters and planes, killing their pilots. There seemed to be neither an order to stand by, nor one to intervene, nor any order at all. The government fled to the north, while many rich people headed south, to Turkey or Dubai.

Read: The coup is over, but Putin is in trouble

Prigozhin’s aborted march on Moscow made clear that Putin was no longer the arbiter of a conflict among warlords: He was himself part of the conflict, which was why not he but Belarus’s president, Aleksandr Lukashenko, served as its mediator. And although the two forces at odds on Saturday could hardly be classified as supporters versus opponents of the war in Ukraine, the deeper import of their standoff is the unspoken acknowledgment that the invasion, and with it Russia, has reached a dead end. Nobody has a working plan, all responsibility is delegated, and the president keeps doing what is clearly not working, while his power gradually erodes. Russia is reckoning with the fact that it cannot continue like this.

Today this recognition enters Russia through the loathsome figure of Yevgeny Prigozhin. But the Wagner group leader’s  uncanny crusade is probably a sign of things to come. Russia needs a way out of the impasse, and Putin is unlikely to offer one. Even getting rid of Prigozhin will not change this basic fact. His march may be the last call to start the search for a way out.

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Russia is splintering. Even though Yevgeny Prigozhin just announced a surprising stand-down while en route to Moscow, it’s clear that his effort remains by far the greatest threat to Vladimir Putin since he took power in the summer of 1999. The story of the Wagner Group plot may not yet have reached its end, so it’s worth understanding how coups work: what causes them to succeed or, in this case, why they fizzle or fall short.

The prospect of a dictator meeting his demise conjures images of crowds taking to the streets and toppling statues, the despot fleeing his palace with henchmen carrying hastily packed suitcases full of cash. Such events do happen, but they’re the exception. Most of the time, dictators fall when their military splits into factions, and one faction turns against the regime. If all factions turn against the dictator, then it’s time for the henchmen, the suitcases of cash, and a hasty exit.  

Since the end of World War II, two-thirds of all dictators have been toppled in coups d’état—irregular seizures of power that are usually led by a group within the military. However, in recent years, coups have become less common. During the height of the Cold War, an average of 13 coup plots were executed per year globally. Since 2010, that number has hovered around two to three per year. Because they are rare events and because no two are alike, coups are difficult to predict. But some patterns can help us understand whether a plot will succeed or fail once it has begun.

For more than a decade, I’ve studied coups around the world, including those in Thailand, Madagascar, Zambia, and Tunisia. And in speaking to dozens of generals and soldiers who have hatched coup plots—and those who join them once they’re under way—I’ve learned that the successful ones share a few major factors.

The most successful coups are those in which the military is unified. In Thailand, for example, coups are usually executed by the military brass, who announce that they are toppling civilian politicians. With nobody with guns to oppose them, Thai coups almost always succeed. No splintered factions, no risk of failure. After all, what’s the president or prime minister going to do—shoot back at the army?

When the coup is carried out by a faction within the military sector—as has happened in Russia—the dynamics become more complicated. Such a coup plot is not like a battle, in which the bigger, superior force tends to win. Rather, the plot will likely succeed less on strength than on perception. The plotters are playing a PR game, in which they’re trying to create the impression that their coup is destined to triumph. Nobody wants to be on the losing side, because the punishments are brutal. If you stay loyal to the dictator and the dictator gets toppled, you might be jailed, even executed, by the usurpers. But if you join the plot and it fails, the same fate awaits, often with an unpleasant visit to the dictator’s torture chambers. A soldier or officer can make no higher-stakes bet. Picking the losing side never ends well.

[Read: Russia slides into civil war]

When coups succeed, they hit a tipping point that produces a “bandwagon effect.” Just as sports teams tend to see their fan base expand dramatically when they’re on the cusp of a championship, coup plotters see their ranks swell when they look like they’re on the cusp of ousting the dictator.

When dictators face coup attempts, then, they desperately try to control information, assert their authority, and remain as visible as possible. That’s why Putin addressed the nation this morning—and why there are reports of digital censorship aimed at blocking access to information about the Wagner Group or Prigozhin’s videos. It’s important to appear calm and in control, a strategy that Turkey’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdoğan, used effectively in 2016, when he broadcast a message to the nation via FaceTime during an attempted coup.

Successful coups also take the regime by surprise at a moment of weakness. Many plots are carried out when a dictator is abroad, sick, or vulnerable in some other way. In those instances, the dictator is slower to respond (some successful plots have even been carried out while a dictator is undergoing surgery abroad). In this instance, Prigozhin chose to strike at a moment when the Kremlin is mired in a bloody, seemingly pointless stalemate in Ukraine. He timed his plot well, because bandwagoning becomes more likely if people around the dictator already have doubts about him.

So what would it look like if a military gambit against Putin were to succeed? The answer, surprisingly, doesn’t likely involve a mass-casualty tank battle or a gunfight in the streets of Moscow. Instead, a successful coup requires one of two things: defections to the plotters, or inaction against them.

For coup ringleaders, the best-case scenario is a series of high-profile defections, in which senior leaders within the military announce that they are backing the plot. Their decampment reinforces the perception that the plot will succeed, which changes the behavior of even the lowest-ranking soldier who was previously on the fence.

But sometimes, sitting on the fence is sufficient to allow coup plots to topple governments. After all, Rostov saw no gun battles, just acceptance on the part of Russian soldiers who didn’t feel like sacrificing their lives to shoot soldiers who, until a few hours earlier, were on the same side. Prigozhin’s forces took Rostov the same way that Putin thought he would take Kiev—with little to no resistance. When a military fails to act decisively against a coup, then, that delay gives the plotters an opening to create an aura of inevitability around the putsch. If Prigozhin had kept it going for longer, his chances of success would have been higher.

However, Putin, while sometimes irrational, is no fool. He has engaged in extensive “coup proofing,” which means that he’s taken steps to ensure that when someone starts shooting at his forces, they shoot back, rather than turning their weapons on him. Putin has coup-proofed his dictatorship by creating a splintered security sector rife with internal competition, which means that no one faction dominates the rest. Three of Putin’s core security and intelligence services (the GRU, SVR, and FSB) also have elite special-operations branches full of loyalists.

Beyond that “praetorian guard,” Putin has also insulated himself by creating such an intense fun-house mirror of disinformation that nobody within Russia knows what to trust. The environment is, as Peter Pomerantsev puts it, one in which “nothing is true and everything is possible.” But the effects cut both ways. In Putin’s favor, few soldiers would have wanted to break with their superiors on the basis of mere whispers, rumors, and unverified reports about Wagner’s advance. At the same time, however, soldiers in Putin’s Russia will always wonder whether they’ve been told the truth when Putin asserts that he still has complete control.  

[Read: A crisis erupts in Russia]

Coup plots are fast-moving crises defined by uncertainty, in which nobody really knows what’s going on, and everyone is operating on imperfect information, forced to make impulsive, snapshot decisions within the fog of war. Coups are therefore among the most unpredictable events in politics. If anyone claims to know how Putin will fall, they’re lying. But even though this plot seems to have been called off, Prigozhin’s challenge to Putin will nonetheless be a decisive moment in Russia’s dictatorship and the war in Ukraine.

Everyone—loyalist or not—can see that Putin has been openly attacked, which conveys weakness. Putin’s forces in Ukraine will wonder whether they should get killed in a seemingly futile war, particularly when the biggest territorial gains of the war so far have now been in Russia, not Ukraine. And Putin, already a paranoid and irrational figure, will now make more decisions out of fear. So even if the coup fizzles, it will change Russia’s internal politics, Putin’s behavior, and the battlefield dynamics in Ukraine.

There are no “good guys” in a battle in which two Russian war criminals vie for control of a major nuclear power. However, if you’re watching events and trying to understand the strategic logic of coups and how Putin’s regime might end, look out for whether the loyalists stay loyal or start to peel off toward those challenging him. If important figures begin to abandon the regime en masse, Putin is toast.

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