RUTHFULLY YOURS

The days when an overconfident Russia dispatched planeloads of medical supplies to Italy, Serbia and the U.S. now seem like ancient history. As of Thursday there have been more than 57,999 confirmed cases, up more than 5,000 from Wednesday, and 57 more deaths for a total of 513. Those numbers are proportionate to about 131,731 infected and roughly 1,165 dead in the U.S.—numbers America hit before the end of March.

The independent Russian medical union Alliance of Doctors charges that the government is covering up the actual number of infections, so worse may be coming. Even officials are saying it. “I can tell you for sure that there has been no peak [in Covid cases] yet whatsoever,” said Mayor Sergei Sobyanin of Moscow, where more than half the infections and deaths have occurred. “We are at the foothills of the peak, not even in the middle.”

Russia entered the crisis in a weakened state. Its longest stagnation in modern history—an average of about 1% growth between 2009 and 2019—has eroded incomes. In the third quarter of 2019, by official estimates, almost 18 million Russians, or 12%, were below the subsistence minimum—which this year the government defines as about 11,000 rubles a month, or $146. Most of the impoverished were working. The Russian State Statistical Agency, Rosstat, reported last year that 80% of families were regularly unable to buy a “minimal assortment of goods,” and 35% couldn’t afford two pairs of shoes for each family member.

Adding to the malaise is the disastrous oil-price war Russia entered in early March with the Saudis. Neither the economy nor the ruble is likely to recover soon. In 2009, after the financial crisis, Russia’s gross domestic product shrank by almost 8%—the largest contraction among Group of 20 economies—and the country is likely to bear the brunt of the coming global recession too. So far the government has promised to give those “who abide by the self-isolation regime” a one-time payment of 4,000 rubles ($53): half now, and half after the quarantine is lifted.

In the next few months, the coronavirus dislocation may bring incomes down as much as an average of 18%, and up to eight million Russians could lose their jobs. Though the highest unemployment benefit has been raised, it’s still only 12,130 rubles, or $161. The smallest payout is 1,500 rubles, or a little under $20. Even these beggarly sums are out of reach for an estimated 25% to 40% of Russians, especially in small towns and the countryside, who are employed full- or part-time in the shadow economy, and thus not entitled to any assistance. In all, according to a Russian expert, tens of millions of people will need support.

The worst of the auguries by Russian observers—“the destruction of the system,” or even the “greatest shake-up since 1917”—are still not likely, at least in the short run. There is enough resilience in the Russian political system, and people are too preoccupied with surviving to take to the streets. There is little doubt, though, that this is going to be the toughest challenge President Vladimir Putin has faced in his 20 years in power.

In 2019 his approval ratings dipped close to the lowest in his reign, according to the independent Levada Center. In March his popularity was only a couple of points above the November 2013 nadir of 61%—three months before the invasion and occupation of Crimea. His brazen March 10 self-coronation speech to the Duma, in which he endorsed the proposal to “zero out” his previous four presidential terms and allow him to run again in 2024, was immediately seen for what it was by almost half of the nationally surveyed Russians. Forty-six percent told pollsters they didn’t want to see him in the Kremlin after his current term expires in 2024.

After telling provincial governors to do the best they can, and ceding to them neither power nor resources to accomplish much, Mr. Putin left Moscow. This is bound to deepen the people’s sense of abandonment and resentment. His chosen refuge—Stalin’s former dacha outside the town of Valdai—evokes the Soviet dictator’s escape to a different dacha after the Nazi invasion on June 22, 1941.

The tools that have served Mr. Putin so well in previous crises—television propaganda, bribes to opinion leaders and politicians, selective repression and, most of all, the people’s trust in his luck—are not likely to be as effective this time. Only about half of Russians now believe the state-controlled television, down from almost 80% in 2009. Even if Mr. Putin dropped his longstanding reluctance to dip into Russia’s foreign-exchange reserves and Welfare Fund, there may not be enough gold, dollars, euros and yuan in the Treasury to support Russians through the crisis and prevent the economy from sliding into a deep recession. Most important, only 35% of Russians trust Mr. Putin the most out of their national leaders, according to a survey the Levada Center conducted in January.

Repression remains available, but for the first time core supporters could turn on Mr. Putin. In the words of leading political economist Evgeny Gontmakher, they may “soon be driven to desperation” by the lack of money even for the bare necessities. Violent incidents could lead to national crisis, and even the 340,000-strong National Guard, which Mr. Putin cobbled together four years ago from the police and the Internal Affairs Ministry’s troops, may have trouble restoring order.

Mr. Putin is likely to save himself and his regime. Yet anger will linger and likely resurface in 2024 when the Russians will have to participate in an election charade to lend him legitimacy. Covid-19 may not destroy Mr. Putin’s presidency, but it has placed a time bomb under it.

Mr. Aron is director of Russian studies at the American Enterprise Institute and author of “Roads to the Temple: Truth, Memory, Ideas and Ideals in the Making of the Russian Revolution 1987-1991.”