Reflections on a Fateful Day: Eyewitness Accounts of the Wagner Mutiny Two Years Later

A previous employee of Yevgeny Prigozhin’s «troll factory,» a graduate student caught up in the chaos, and a soldier from Rostov-on-Don—the city overtaken by insurgents—shared their experiences.

Two years after Wagner’s unexpected uprising against the Russian military command, witnesses recounted their memories of one of the most tumultuous days in modern Russian history in conversations with The Moscow Times.

Polina, 22, worked for RIA FAN, the St. Petersburg-based news agency infamously dubbed the «troll factory» due to its significant role in Prigozhin’s media propaganda.

On the night of June 23, 2023, she was abruptly awakened by a phone call.

«My phone was flooded with messages,» Polina recalled, choosing to omit her last name for her safety. «My superiors were urgently requesting everyone who could come to work. Those on the night shift in the office were overwhelmed by the deluge of news and urgent directives from Prigozhin’s press office.»

When Polina learned that her boss had unexpectedly launched a “march of justice,” dispatching Wagner mercenaries toward Moscow, she was taken aback.

In a torrent of expletive-ridden rants, Prigozhin criticized Russia’s military leaders for «stealing» Wagner’s achievements in Ukraine and condemned the Kremlin’s «monstrous bureaucracy» for obstructing war efforts.

«All I could think of were curse words,» Polina said. «But at the same time, I felt a strange respect for the person initiating this rebellion. Here was a man, once Putin’s chef, now rising against his own patron and sovereign. It felt revolutionary. I was initially impressed… but that didn’t last long.»

She remained at her computer through the night, struggling to keep up with the rapidly changing events. Meanwhile, Wagner’s troops faced no opposition as they advanced into Rostov-on-Don, a city with a population of one million, taking control of the Southern Military District headquarters and various government facilities.

«I could only publish the press releases we received from Prigozhin’s team,» she explained. «Soon after, our website was blocked. Everything began malfunctioning. I didn’t even have a moment to gather myself—I just passed out around four in the morning.»

As Polina was frantically working, Dmitry, a military officer, reported for duty in Rostov-on-Don.

«When I arrived, I found a group of people glued to the TV, watching updates about the rebellion and Prigozhin’s approach to Rostov,» he said. «Then they broadcast General Surovikin’s appeal asking the mercenaries to halt their advance. We joked that next we’d see ‘Swan Lake’ on the screen,» referencing the ballet famously shown during the Soviet coup attempt of 1991.

Dmitry noted mixed reactions among his peers.

«Some admired Prigozhin for his candidness regarding issues within the Defense Ministry. Others viewed him as a fraud leading a band of criminals,” he stated.

While he acknowledged that some soldiers may have been willing to support the insurrection if it had succeeded, he personally was not one of them.

«I had sworn an oath to Russia, not to a private military entity,” he asserted.

“I was frightened,” he recalled. “Not for my own safety, but for my wife’s. I texted her to let her know I was okay and asked her not to follow the news. More than anything, I hoped this wouldn’t end in violence.”

As Polina succumbed to sleep after her all-nighter, Wagner forces were engaged in clashes with Russian troops in Voronezh, another million-strong city in southern Russia.

In the meantime, Georgy, a 25-year-old graduate student, was traveling home to the Voronezh suburbs after a night out.

«A friend called to tell me there were reports of gunfire nearby,» Georgy said. «I checked Google Maps and noticed that my bus was taking me right through that area.»

«It would have been cinematic to die right after someone warned me about the shooting,” he joked. “But I opted for a taxi to take a different route. Thankfully, I made it home safely and fell asleep around seven in the morning.»

While Georgy was sleeping, a military helicopter crashed mere kilometers from his home, an oil depot exploded, and shelling struck a nearby apartment building. Authorities soon launched a counterterrorism operation in the area.

«I called my boss to say I couldn’t make it to work that day, and he understood,» Georgy recalled, smiling.

Polina, however, was unable to work that day for a different cause: Federal Security Service (FSB) agents were conducting a raid on the RIA FAN office.

«When I woke up, I found a message in our work chat stating that they had broken down the doors and were searching the premises. My colleagues were apprehended and stopped responding to messages,» she said.

Watching reports of casualties and destruction stemming from the rebellion, she noted that her initial admiration for Prigozhin transformed into anger.

«Did his media staff deserve to be detained and questioned? Did they deserve to risk criminal charges?» she wondered. «I felt stuck, waiting for my colleagues to explain what had transpired and what was forthcoming.»

Polina explained that FSB officers were searching for personal information on everyone associated with Prigozhin’s ventures.

«They scoured our computers. They could uncover everything we disclosed during hiring polygraph tests: our addresses, passport numbers, contact details, information about relatives, foreign real estate, protest histories, opinions about Putin and the war,» she said. «It was a treasure trove of sensitive information.»

She remained paralyzed with fear until the evening of June 24, when Prigozhin abruptly announced he was withdrawing his forces. The Kremlin had agreed not to prosecute the mutineers for treason in exchange for Prigozhin’s exile to Belarus.

«When my colleagues were released from the office, I felt a wave of relief. I hoped everything would be okay, that there would be no legal repercussions for us. But I had mixed feelings. It was over before it truly began. I thought all these sacrifices were not justified. It felt more like a circus—a spectacle. A vanity project for Prigozhin,» she remarked, mentioning that her colleagues shared similar sentiments.

Following that, Prigozhin vanished from the public eye.

Polina returned to work, although she was uncertain about why she continued showing up.

«With our website blocked, we had to resort to VPNs in the subsequent days. No one was reading our content. Our site traffic was almost nonexistent. Our media outlet was dying. There was no communication from our boss Prigozhin.»

The RIA FAN editor-in-chief provided no clear direction either.

«He said, ‘Let’s keep working for now and figure it out later,’” she remembered.

Shortly thereafter, exiled Russian media began reporting that Prigozhin’s media empire was on the verge of collapse.

«In every article, they referred to us as ‘Prigozhin’s trolls,’» Polina noted. «Many of my colleagues found it amusing—’Liberals are yelling about a troll factory, yet they hesitate to call us journalists.’ But those Meduzas and DOXAs are just as propagandistic as we are.»

Yet, she admitted that most of the staff weren’t particularly nationalistic and did not care much about Prigozhin’s fate.

«We never really discussed politics during breaks or lunches in the cafeteria. I believe most people were there for the paycheck and comfort. Everyone was mostly focused on their salaries,” she stated.

Later, she discovered that RIA FAN’s top editors had been aware beforehand that their office would be raided. «They quietly deleted their personal information from shared files before the security forces arrived. They didn’t advise anyone else to work from home that day. They just left,» she explained.

A week later, all editorial staff at RIA FAN were asked to submit their resignation letters.

Polina mentioned that she hasn’t stayed in touch with her former colleagues.

«After they left me without a paycheck, I wanted nothing to do with Prigozhin or his businesses again,» she said. «All I know is some people found work at other outlets not associated with Prigozhin’s media holdings. Apparently, there was a high demand for former ‘trolls.'»

Two years after his uprising and death in a mysterious plane crash, Prigozhin seems to have faded from public memory. On the anniversary of the rebellion, there were no reminders of those events visible in the streets of Russian cities.

Today, the late Wagner leader is mostly remembered through memes and his striking, memorable phrases, particularly one from the rebellion day: “There are 25,000 of us, and we’re coming to sort things out!”

“Prigozhin accomplished a lot for the front [in the conflict],” remarked Dmitry, the officer. “But no one truly understands his motivations that day. It’s regrettable about the people who lost their lives.”

“His rebellion will be recorded in our nation’s history as a pivotal moment that never truly materialized,” he concluded.