The Leningrad Courtyard Rules: Understanding Putin's Code
Why Western Approaches Keep Failing
Based on Andrew Ryvkin's analysis in The Atlantic, December 6, 2025
"If a fight is unavoidable, you have to hit first." — Vladimir Putin, quoted on chocolate given to a US Congresswoman by Russian envoy Kirill Dmitriev
The Context: Post-Siege Leningrad
Putin was born in 1952, seven years after the 900-day Nazi siege that killed perhaps a million Leningraders through starvation, shelling, and cold. His older brother died during the siege. The city he grew up in was traumatized, impoverished, and crowded into communal apartments where multiple families shared kitchens and bathrooms.
The courtyards (dvory) of these apartment blocks were where children spent their time, largely unsupervised. They were microcosms of Soviet society at its rawest—hierarchical, territorial, and governed by unwritten rules that had filtered down from the Gulag system into street culture.
As Ryvkin writes in The Atlantic:
"Trump is a creature of the Manhattan-real-estate world; Putin grew up amid the rubble of postwar Leningrad. Those Soviet courtyards formed him. In them, he internalized the rules of ponyatiya—an unwritten code, roughly translated as 'the concepts,' or 'the understandings,' that originated in Stalin's Gulags and still governs much of life in Russia, regardless of who's in power."
Putin has described himself as a shpana—a hooligan, a street kid. He was small, scrappy, and learned early that survival meant understanding the code.
The Rules of Ponyatiya
This code, sometimes called vorovskoy zakon (thieves' law) in its criminal form, has several core principles:
1. Hierarchy is absolute and must be demonstrated
Respect isn't given—it's taken. Your position in the pecking order is established through confrontation, and it must be constantly maintained. Showing deference to someone above you is expected. Receiving deference from those below you is your right.
2. Never show weakness
Weakness invites predation. If you're hurt, don't show it. If you're afraid, hide it. If you're uncertain, project confidence anyway. Admitting vulnerability is an invitation for others to exploit you.
3. Loyalty to your group is sacred
Your svoi (your own people) are everything. You never betray them, never inform on them, never abandon them. In return, they protect you.
As Ryvkin observes:
"The ponyatiya of Putin's youth generally meant never betraying your gang and always standing up for your friends. Putin still lives by these rules. He's kept the same circle of friends since the 1980s—a good number of them are now billionaires—and no matter how badly they handle a situation, they are hardly ever punished. They're in their 70s now, but they still play hockey together in what they call the 'Night Hockey League,' or the NHL (they had custom jerseys made)."
4. Insults must be answered
An unanswered slight is an invitation for more. It signals that you can be disrespected with impunity, which destroys your standing. The response doesn't have to be immediate—the courtyard has a long memory—but it must come.
Ryvkin notes: "Ponyatiya also meant never letting an insult go unanswered. Consider the defectors—not to mention the oligarchs, journalists, and dissidents who have displeased Putin—who have ended up dead."
Consider the fate of those who crossed Putin:
Litvinenko — poisoned with polonium in London
Politkovskaya — shot in her apartment building
Nemtsov — killed steps from the Kremlin
Navalny — poisoned, imprisoned, dead in an Arctic penal colony
Prigozhin — whose plane fell from the sky exactly two months after his mutiny
The message isn't subtle. It's not meant to be.
5. Your word is your bond—within the group
Promises made to svoi are sacred. Promises made to outsiders are tactical. The concept of good-faith negotiation with adversaries doesn't exist in this framework. You say whatever serves your interests; the other party should be smart enough to know that.
6. Taking is strength; asking is weakness
If you want something, you take it—or you position yourself to take it. Requesting permission, proposing trades, offering concessions—these all signal that you lack the power to simply seize what you want. They invite the other party to extract more from you.
7. The strong do what they can; the weak suffer what they must
This is almost Thucydidean, but stripped of any tragic sensibility. It's simply how the world works. Morality is a story the weak tell themselves. Power is the only currency that matters.
How This Manifests in Putin's Foreign Policy
Ryvkin explains: "Putin approaches foreign policy according to the same code. Hierarchy is absolute. The strong must be respected, and the weak must obey."
On Ukraine: A smaller nation without nuclear weapons is supposed to submit. That's the natural order. Zelensky—a comedian, an entertainer—leading successful resistance creates cognitive dissonance. As Ryvkin writes:
"The fact that Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky—a man whose comedy performances Putin once enjoyed—is now leading a country that's stopping Russia from reclaiming its imperial glory creates cognitive dissonance. A comedian is supposed to be feeble; a smaller nation without a nuclear arsenal is supposed to submit, and its people are supposed to stay silent."
On NATO expansion: In the courtyard, if someone else's gang moves onto territory you consider yours, and you don't respond, you've lost it. The response doesn't have to be proportional. It has to be memorable.
On negotiations: When Trump offers a deal, Putin doesn't see a negotiating partner. He sees someone asking for something, which means someone who lacks the power to take it. The correct response is to demand more, because the offer itself revealed weakness.
On the West generally: European leaders who talk about rules, norms, and international law are speaking a language that, in the courtyard, marks you as either naive or running a scam. Putin assumes it's the latter—that Western moralizing is just cover for Western interests—because that's how he operates.
Why Trump Keeps Failing
Trump thinks he's in a Manhattan real estate negotiation where both parties want a deal and the question is price. In that world, an opening offer is the start of a process. You go back and forth, find common ground, close.
In the Leningrad courtyard, an opening offer is information about your desperation. The correct response is to pocket what's offered and demand more. If they keep offering, keep taking. Why would you ever close when the other party keeps bidding against themselves?
Ryvkin captures this dynamic precisely:
"Trump has mostly approached the war in Ukraine as though it were a business transaction—a straightforward quid pro quo. The White House has repeatedly floated a list of proposals for Putin to end the war: recognition of Crimea as Russian, de jure control over parts of eastern Ukraine, and a package of economic incentives. The content of these offers matters less than the act of offering; in Putin's world, initiating a deal is a sign of weakness. The moment Trump extends his hand, he marks himself as submissive and invites Putin to demand more. The better strategy would be to instead apply pressure and wait for Putin to make the first move. In dealing with Putin, in other words, Trump keeps thinking he's entering a Manhattan boardroom, when in fact he's walking into a Leningrad courtyard—and blinking first."
Every time Trump praises Putin, extends an olive branch, or floats a concession, he's signaling—in Putin's framework—that he needs this deal more than Putin does. That he's the supplicant. That Putin holds the power.
The Evidence
Ryvkin catalogs how Trump has consistently presented himself as the weaker party:
"For years, Trump was eager to prove that he had a great relationship with Putin. He courted the Russian leader with summits, diplomatic overtures, and long phone calls, even as the rest of the free world shunned him. Trump made no secret of his admiration, either. He called Putin a 'genius' for moving troops to eastern Ukraine, praised him as tough, and at one point said that the Russian dictator was 'outsmarting our country at every single step.'"
Putin lets his contempt slip in small ways. Ryvkin notes the 2018 summit guestbook: "Trump wrote, 'Great Honor,' while Putin simply added his signature and the date."
And on an upcoming call with Trump, Putin told an audience: "Please don't be angry; I understand that we could have talked more. It's just awkward to keep others waiting—they'll get upset."
Ryvkin explains: "To a Western ear, that doesn't sound like much, but for someone like Putin—or any Russian street kid, for that matter—'getting upset' is a feminine trait. To apply it to a man is not courtesy; it's an insult."
What Actually Works
The article notes that when Trump applied actual pressure—sanctions on Russian oil companies, tariffs on India for buying Russian weapons, talk of nuclear testing—Putin backed down:
"Trump reacted to Putin's saber-rattling by saying that Russia should end the war in Ukraine instead of testing a nuclear-powered missile—and added that the United States has a nuclear submarine positioned off Russia's coast. Treasury Secretary Scott Bessent dismissed Dmitriev on CBS News, calling him a 'Russian propagandist.' After yet another of Putin's threats, Trump announced that he would resume nuclear testing. That's when Putin backed down: In an effort to ease tensions, his press secretary clarified that Russia would be testing nuclear engines, not warheads. It was the clearest example of the kind of approach that actually works on Putin."
Pressure is a language Putin understands. It's what he respects.
But Trump keeps reverting to flattery and offers, apparently unable to internalize that these are read as weakness by someone operating on courtyard logic.
The Deeper Problem
The ponyatiya framework has no concept of mutual benefit. There's no win-win. Every interaction has a winner and a loser, and the game is zero-sum.
This makes genuine negotiation nearly impossible. Any agreement Putin signs is understood—by him—as a temporary truce that lasts only as long as the balance of power that produced it. If that balance shifts, the agreement means nothing.
This is why arms control treaties eroded. Why Minsk I and Minsk II failed. Why any deal on Ukraine that leaves Russia strong enough to try again will simply be preparation for the next attempt.
As Ryvkin concludes:
"Nothing in the underlying dynamic—or the bloodshed—will change if Trump keeps assuming that Putin wants American investment, a G8 seat, and the Donbas more than he wants to destroy Ukraine."
Implications for Europe
If the American president cannot or will not understand who he's dealing with, Europe cannot rely on Washington to manage this relationship. The Leningrad courtyard rules don't change because an American businessman wishes they would.
For Europe, the implication is stark: the only durable security is the kind that doesn't depend on Putin's word. It depends on making the cost of aggression higher than Putin is willing to pay—and demonstrating the will to impose that cost.
Deterrence, in other words. Not deals.
The Leningrad courtyard respects walls it cannot breach, and nothing else.
Source: Andrew Ryvkin, "Putin Lives by a Code Trump Doesn't Understand," The Atlantic, December 6, 2025