Reuters

Fighters of the Wagner private mercenary group pull out of the headquarters of the Southern Military District to return to base in the city of Rostov-on-Don, Russia, June 24, 2023.

When oligarch Yevgeny Prigozhin led his 25,000-strong Wagner private military forces into open insurrection against Russia’s Defense Ministry and Moscow elites this weekend, it looked like the kind of turning point that often occurs in Russian history.

But then the rebellion fell apart within hours.

Now Mr. Prigozhin appears set for exile in Belarus, and President Vladimir Putin – who called the Wagner rebellion an act of treason and a “stab in the back” – remains in power after a mostly bloodless weekend of military maneuvering. Yet a fierce debate has opened up among Russian experts over what long-term repercussions might unfold after this event.

The brief and peacefully resolved rebellion revealed deep divisions within Russia’s military establishment, and forced Mr. Putin to make awkward compromises with a powerful oligarch whom he had labeled a “traitor” just one day earlier.

Some point to the August 1991 coup by Soviet hard-liners, which was defeated within days by popular protests, but so deeply undermined the sagging foundations of Communist power that the Soviet state collapsed within months. Mr. Putin himself referenced the overthrow of czarist rule in 1917, when a “great state” was destroyed by “intrigues and squabbles,” leading to the loss of vast territories and a catastrophic civil war.

Russians are famously averse to instability, and the relatively recent experience of Soviet collapse and a decade of chaos that followed is very much a factor in their attitudes. Some commentators argue that the main public reaction to Mr. Putin’s swift resolution of the crisis will be relief that the specter of civil war was averted, and that may even strengthen Mr. Putin in the short term.

AP

A service member stands atop an armored vehicle in Rostov-on-Don, Russia, June 24.

“The thing that could have really harmed Putin would have been an armed confrontation between the Russian army and the Wagners,” says Sergei Markov, a former Putin adviser. “But this solution, by showing wisdom and mercy and ending the crisis peacefully, has made Putin stronger. It now establishes unity, especially if most of the Wagners now sign up with the regular army.”

“A negotiating Putin is not Putin”

Mr. Prigozhin appears to have prepared no sweeping plan to seize power, but may have hoped that Mr. Putin, or the Russian people, would back him after he almost bloodlessly occupied the Russian military headquarters in the southern city of Rostov-on-Don and sent expeditionary forces racing toward Moscow.

After several hours of negotiating with Belarusian President Alexander Lukashenko, a Putin ally, he agreed to cease his “justice march” to Moscow, send his troops back to their camps in Ukraine’s Luhansk region, and accept something that looks like exile for himself in Belarus. In return, all charges against Mr. Prigozhin and his men were dropped.

In a passionate statement on his Telegram channel Monday, Mr. Prigozhin insisted that his goal was never to overthrow the Russian government, but to “prevent the destruction of Wagner” after Mr. Putin had ordered the private army to disband and accept contracts with the regular Russian army by July 1. Another goal, he said, was to bring to justice those corrupt military leaders whose “gross incompetence” had led to many costly mistakes in the course of the “special military operation.”

Russian news sources report that thousands of Mr. Prigozhin’s men might join him in special camps being set up in Belarus, leaving Wagner a potential force to be reckoned with.

The failed Wagner rebellion has led some Russians, especially opposition figures and experts mostly in exile, to argue that the fragile underpinnings of Mr. Putin’s power have been exposed, and that his failure to deal decisively with Mr. Prigozhin’s challenge suggests that his authority has been diminished, perhaps fatally.

“A palace coup is now closer. Putin didn’t lose the support of the people; he lost support of those his power depends upon,” says Leonid Gozman, a liberal opposition leader who is now abroad. “Regular Russians are very well attuned to these things, and they will distance themselves from the authorities even more than before.”

Alexander Zemlianichenko/AP

People walk through the center of Moscow, June 25. As troops who were deployed to protect the capital from Wagner mercenaries withdrew this past weekend, people swarmed the streets and flocked to cafes.

Andrei Kolesnikov, a Carnegie expert who is still working in Russia, wrote in a draft commentary provided to the Monitor that the Prigozhin affair “destroyed the blissful ... picture, so important for Putin. After all, his regime is based not on active support, but on the indifference of the majority of citizens. In a difficult moment, they will not defend the president, but in exchange for calm and a relatively tolerable standard of living, they have been willing to indifferently support Putin’s initiatives and his war.”

And Abbas Gallyamov, a former Putin speechwriter now in exile, argues that “a negotiating Putin is not Putin. He is a person who suppressed all opposition. Taking into account that presidential elections are to be held next year, we may well see a project to anoint a successor to Putin, since his reputation has been greatly diminished.”

But others maintain that contemporary Russians, especially older ones who already experienced the Soviet collapse and the ensuing chaos, prize stability above all. They say that most Russians will not be disappointed that Mr. Putin defused a dangerous challenge by peaceful means, and at least his short-term position may well be strengthened.

Even though Mr. Prigozhin rose up against Moscow’s authority – importantly, a challenge that no military or civilians joined him in – he and his men are still regarded by most Russians as patriots who recently won a key battle for Russia in Bakhmut, and violent measures against them might have turned them into martyrs.

“I can’t really see how this outcome of the crisis somehow weakens Putin,” says Sergei Strokan, a columnist with the business daily Kommersant. “In a critical moment Putin stepped in and was able to find a nonviolent exit strategy very quickly. Whether you like Putin or not, he proved to be a successful crisis manager in this sticky situation. It was the happiest possible outcome, and it puzzles me that many people want to see it as a demonstration of weakness. What would have been disastrous for Putin, and Russia, would be the spectacle of Wagner forces in a pitched battle with the Russian army.”

AP

A man takes down a poster reading "Join us at Wagner" above a highway on the outskirts of St. Petersburg, Russia, June 24.

Denis Volkov, director of the Levada Center, Russia’s only independent polling agency, says it’s too soon to judge. But Mr. Prigozhin’s rash actions, which led to the deaths of 12 Russian helicopter pilots he claimed were attacking his men, have probably cost him in public standing.

“In recent months, after Prigozhin’s victory in Bakhmut, a lot of people saw him as a truth-telling, successful military leader struggling against incompetence and corruption,” Mr. Volkov says. “But the mutiny has certainly undermined his reputation, and his rating is falling.”

“Putin resolved the crisis effectively and quickly”

Most experts agree that the affair has revealed the flaws in Mr. Putin’s system of power, which relies on being the supreme mediator among elite factions, interest groups, and personalities.

In the early stages of the war, the Kremlin wanted to fight a “special military operation” using mercenary forces, separatist militias, and units of contract soldiers, with minimal commitment of regular Russian forces. So Mr. Putin allowed Mr. Prigozhin to build his powerful, private Wagner army and criticize official military leaders.

But after military setbacks last autumn forced the Kremlin to declare a mobilization of reserves, the Wagner forces became redundant. Last month, Mr. Putin decreed that they be incorporated into the regular Russian army. He probably underestimated Mr. Prigozhin’s angry potential to defy that order.

“People have a right to ask how Putin allowed this situation to develop. Where was the commander in chief when Prigozhin was openly claiming the leaders of the army are incompetent, that the war is senseless, that Russia is losing?” says Mr. Strokan. “Another good question is, how did a private army perform so much better on the battlefield than Russia’s regular forces? A lot of people say Putin might use this situation to shuffle his top military leaders and tighten the screws in general. After all, a lot of what Prigozhin was saying made good sense.

“But most people will agree that Putin resolved the crisis effectively and quickly, and will be greatly relieved about that. I can’t see how that weakens Putin.”

Olga Podolskaya contributed reporting to this story from Moscow.

Two days after mercenary leader Yevgeny Prigozhin led his Wagner fighters in a convoy toward Moscow and then retreated, one of the most important questions raised by his action remains what effect – if any – it will have on the war in Ukraine. 

The most likely answer is that it may not make much of a difference – at least, not yet. Ukraine’s counteroffensive to liberate the fifth of its territory still under Russian occupation is so far carrying on with little change. In that context Saturday’s act might end up more of a sideshow than main event.

No Russian military units on the Ukrainian lines turned to rush to Moscow’s defense Friday or Saturday. There was no pause in Russian missile salvos as Ukrainian forces continued to inch forward.

The unknown factor remains longer term effects. Battlefield morale, for instance, may tip even more toward Ukraine’s favor, as Russian troops learn more about the infighting and dysfunction among their leaders.

The loss of Wagner regiments – with individual mercenaries integrating into the Russian military – could deprive Russia of some of its most effective units, just as Ukraine’s counteroffensive lurches into gear.

Overall the weekend’s events were a reminder that the effect of the fighting isn’t only about the battlefield. It’s about applying pressure on an enemy, and hoping that the enemy cracks, on the front or hundreds of miles behind it.

“Optimism! Of course, we see some optimism,” says Taras Semeniuk, an international affairs analyst based in Kyiv. “Ukrainians interpreted this as, if Prigozhin can do this today, then tomorrow another battalion can do the same.”

Ukrainian Presidential Press Service/Reuters

Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy speaks to a Ukrainian service member after visiting positions near the front line in the country's Donetsk region, June 26, 2023.

Putin’s “chef”

Mr. Prigozhin initially came to power as a caterer in the Kremlin, earning under-the-table contracts and eventually the nickname “Putin’s chef.” Even after emerging as the leader of Wagner, which the Russian government refused to acknowledge for years, he never gave interviews. It was hard to even find his picture.

The war in Ukraine brought out Mr. Prigozhin’s public side. Early on, he was recorded recruiting prisoners to accept contracts with his mercenary force to fight on the front lines. During the almost yearlong siege of Bakhmut, which Wagner forces brutally prosecuted, Mr. Prigozhin posted videos, recordings, and statements on the popular social app Telegram – an influencer for the wartime age.

Mr. Prigozhin visited the front, dressed in fatigues, and cast himself as an anti-elite everyman. He would post videos of brutal actions and, ever more often, rants against the Russian military establishment, in particular Minister of Defense Sergei Shoigu and chief of the general staff, Valery Gerasimov. 

A week ago, Mr. Prigozhin publicly flouted the Russian narrative of its war in Ukraine, saying it was meant to enrich corrupt elites, not fight Ukrainian fascists. On Saturday, they began their march, reportedly shooting down Russian aircraft that attacked them and killing around a dozen pilots. 

Prigozhin Press Service/AP

Yevgeny Prigozhin of the Wagner Group records a video address in Rostov-on-Don, Russia, in this handout photo taken from the video, June 24, 2023. A weekend revolt by Russian mercenary forces may have undermined President Vladimir Putin's power.

Mr. Putin, who reportedly had been warned by Russian intelligence of Wagner’s intentions in advance, then released an emergency video statement. This was “mutiny” and “treason,” he said, a “stab in the back to our country.”

Hours later, he seemed to give the mutineers a life raft. The deal purportedly negotiated gives Wagner soldiers who participated immunity, those who didn’t the chance to re-enlist with the Russian military, and it allows Mr. Prigozhin to leave for Belarus. Russian state outlets have since reported that a criminal case into him will not be dropped. Any deal, regardless of its formality, may mean little for Mr. Prigozhin’s safety.

Pavel Bednyakov/Sputnik/Kremlin Pool Photo/AP

Russian President Vladimir Putin is seen on monitors as he addresses the nation in Moscow after Yevgeny Prigozhin, the owner of the Wagner Group, called for armed rebellion and reached the southern Russian city of Rostov-on-Don with his troops, June 24, 2023.

View from Ukraine

Ukrainian soldiers on the front line watched the extraordinary events in Russia with glee, says Andriy Zagorodnyuk, a former Ukrainian minister of defense and now the director of the Center for Defense Strategies, a think tank in Kyiv.

“Their reaction was like very, very sarcastic amusement, because obviously, when you see your enemy fighting each other, it’s always something which you find very weird,” he says.

One Ukrainian drone commander who goes by the call sign Magyar produced a video of himself sitting on the back of a military vehicle, eating popcorn while watching news reports about the Russian insurrection on his iPad. Behind him, U.S.-supplied Javelin anti-tank missile canisters were also overflowing with popcorn.

The image went viral, and popcorn-themed memes soon spread across Ukrainian social media; a popular Ukrainian food delivery service tweeted that it was seeing an increased demand for popcorn from customers. “Is someone watching the news?” the post mocked.

Throughout the war, memes have proven to be a vital tool in maintaining Ukrainian civilian and military morale.

But the longer term implications of Mr. Prigozhin’s mutiny for Russia’s war in Ukraine are still unclear to most people here.

“It’s important to understand that this story is not over,” says Mr. Zagorodnyuk. “I think there will be more bold moves. We’ll have to wait and see.”

Efrem Lukatsky/AP

Ukrainian soldiers fire toward a Russian position on the front line in Ukraine's Zaporizhzhia region, June 24, 2023.

Washington’s take

Offering a deal at all might make Mr. Putin look weak. 

“Putin clearly has been shown to be weak so he’s going to need to crack down,” says Evelyn Farkas, former deputy assistant secretary of defense for Russia and Ukraine.

She expects investigations and prosecutions against Russian military leaders seen chumming with Wagner rebels in the southern Russian city of Rostov-on-Don.

Mr. Prigozhin survived an armed march toward Moscow. Afterward, he exited Rostov-on-Don en route to Belarus to a near hero’s farewell. Citizens shook his hand and took photos. He smiled, sitting shotgun in a military vehicle. 

“Prigozhin tapped into something very real,” says Ms. Farkas. 

That something was alienation with the war, she says, which apparently has an audience even among the military.

On the front, it’s difficult to know how much information is reaching Russian soldiers, says Catherine Sendak, a former high-level Defense Department official on Russia and Ukraine. So don’t expect a collapsing, demoralized front. 

But Mr. Prigozhin’s “getting handshakes and selfies,” says Ms. Sendak, now with the Center for European Policy Analysis. “So something is bleeding through Russian society.”

Meanwhile, the Russian military is bleeding troops. Wagner is one of multiple mercenary groups fighting against Ukraine, but it’s the largest. According to estimates, it has some 25,000 troops, including an elite of 5,000, who helped seize Bakhmut, the last victory Moscow can boast in its campaign. 

With Wagner’s dissolution, it will be difficult to mix the former mercenaries into the rank and file. For one, the soldiers-for-hire include a large share of convicts fighting in exchange for commuted sentences. For another, it’s hard to trust comrades who just led a near coup.

“Will they be effective without Prigozhin there in the field, in the trenches with them?” asks Ms. Farkas, now head of the McCain Institute, a think tank at Arizona State University. “The fact that it’s an open question is, of course, positive for Ukraine, because those were battle hardened, brutal fighters.”

“Wounded duck”

In a report Sunday, the Institute for the Study of War said it was too early to define what concrete impacts Mr. Prigozhin’s failed rebellion and the Kremlin’s apparent weaknesses could have on the war in Ukraine.

However, it noted that “the resolution of the events of June 23 and 24 … will likely substantially damage Putin’s government and the Russian war effort in Ukraine.”

Mr. Putin looks like a “wounded duck,” says Mr. Semeniuk. The view from Ukraine at this time is that “he does not show that he has the power now to manage his country.”

Ukraine, meanwhile, announced Sunday that its much-anticipated counteroffensive that started quietly several weeks ago is continuing in the south and east. The fight to win back more land taken by Russia was proving to be a slow and bloody grind, but on Sunday, Ukraine claimed to have retaken several more villages as it continued to push the Russian troops back in small increments.

“Essentially Ukraine just simply moved on” as the world focused on the news from Russia, Mr. Zagorodnyuk says.

Neema Paypay Mutsiirwa treks up the hill to her office in Masisi-Centre, the capital of Masisi territory, deep in the mountains of eastern Congo. It is a steep climb, made more difficult by slick mud and loose rocks. But Ms. Mutsiirwa does not pause to catch her breath, taking forceful steps in her rubber sandals. 

It’s a determination that serves Ms. Mutsiirwa well in her work counseling survivors of sexual assault and domestic abuse. Raised on the slopes of Masisi, she has dedicated her life to her role as the coordinator of Women’s Action for Social Change, a civic group. That makes her one of a handful of people in this conflict-ravaged area who, beyond clinical needs, provide desperately needed support to female victims of violence.

The lush, eastern region of the Democratic Republic of Congo has for years suffered from conflict and its aftereffects. Fighting in North Kivu, where Masisi is located, is driven by regional rivalries, competition over land and mineral resources, and the presence of  more than 100 armed groups, all vying for control or survival. 

Earlier this year, a resurgent rebel outfit known as the March 23 Movement (M23) briefly captured key towns and roads in Masisi territory, some 1,600 miles northeast of the capital, Kinshasa. The violence sent thousands of civilians fleeing and a flood of women to Ms. Mutsiirwa’s door.

Sarah Fluck

A general view of Masisi-Centre. The blue-roofed buildings belong to the hospital.

With scant resources, and in the face of enormous difficulties, Ms. Mutsiirwa and others like her provide a vital safety net amid the latest uptick in fighting.

“We don’t leave the office,” Ms. Mutsiirwa says. “They come all days, from different places.” 

“The community ... trusts us”

Masisi is a microcosm of broader challenges in eastern Congo, which has experienced nearly 25 years of war.

Between the 1930s and 1950s, Belgian rulers encouraged white farmers to settle Masisi while importing tribes from Rwanda and Burundi to work its plantations. After Congo won independence, the government first granted voting rights to Masisi’s immigrant population, sowing tensions along ethnic lines.

The subsequent Congo Wars killed as many as five million people across eastern Congo. Foreign armies battled for control of the fertile Masisi region, while new rebel groups popped up to defend their territory. 

A 2003 peace deal ushered in a tentative drawdown, but sporadic clashes have continued. Ever since, sexual violence – inflicted by soldiers and civilians – has been a feature of the conflict.

The women seeking Ms. Mutiisrwa’s help are often desperate. 

When an armed group attacked her village in February, Ms. Ushindi struggled to keep up with her neighbors as they fled. “I couldn’t run,” she recalls. “I said, okay, if they kill me, they will kill me here.” 

Sarah Fluck

A view of the main street in Masisi-Centre.

Men she refers to as “the enemies” found her. 

Ms. Ushindi, who asked to be called by a pseudonym, doesn’t know who the men were. She only remembers that some wore military uniforms and others, civilian clothes.  They carried guns. They beat her. Seven raped her. 

Ten other women were raped alongside Ms. Ushindi. Two died from their injuries, she says, including a 9-year-old girl. 

Afterwards, she was unable to move or control her bladder. “I was like a person who has been paralyzed,” she says. 

Other villagers found her and placed her on a makeshift stretcher, walking for four days to reach Masisi General Referral Hospital. The hospital, supported by Doctors Without Borders (MSF), has just 16 doctors. In the first quarter of this year, staff treated 165 cases of sexual violence, MSF says.

This month, Human Rights Watch documented more than a dozen rapes committed by M23 fighters in North Kivu between late 2022 and spring 2023, which the advocacy organization dubbed war crimes. It has previously recorded similar assaults by other armed groups operating in the region.  

Sarah Fluck

The entrance to the referral hospital in Masisi-Centre, the biggest in the region.

Sarah Fluck

Theophile Kubuya, medical director of the biggest hospital in the region, at his office in Masisi-Centre.

As the conflict with M23 drags on, providing care – which is free of charge –  has become more difficult. “We work in a situation of instability,” says Dr. Théophile Kubuya, the hospital’s director.  The patient load “exceeds the capacity of the hospital.” 

Tents have been set up in the courtyards between whitewashed buildings to deal with patient overflow. Ex-fighters and civilians alike recover from gunshot wounds, lying in beds next to children being treated for malnutrition. 

As Ms. Ushindi spent a month in the hospital recovering from her injuries, Ms. Mutsiirwa brought her food and clothes and introduced her to a support group for survivors of sexual assault – providing a lifeline.

But Ms. Ushindi’s husband left her upon hearing she’d been raped, a common response to the stigma associated with sexual violence.  

In such cases, Ms. Mutsiirwa will attempt to intervene and negotiate a reconciliation, so women like her can return to their homes. Despite entrenched prejudice, Ms. Mutsiirwa is successful in around half of the cases she takes on. 

“Most of the community accepts us and trusts us,” Ms. Mutsiirwa says. 

Giving advice

Across Masisi territory some 470,000 people newly displaced by conflict have sheltered in crowded camps, making the difficult journey from their homes in search of safety. 

Ms. Maombi, also a pseudonym, escaped fighting in her village in February, running into the mountains with her child. There, she met four men with guns. Like Ms. Ushindi, she doesn’t know who they were. But she says the leader of the group raped her. 

The next morning, she was allowed to leave.  

Eventually she reached Kalinga Camp, a refuge for displaced persons on the outskirts of Masisi-Centre. There, she found a community among other women. “They comforted me and encouraged me,” Ms. Maombi says. 

Clautilde Harerimana, who fled her village in 2016, now serves as a protection officer in Kalinga camp. Whenever she can, she meets women like Ms. Maombi, offering support. 

People wake Ms. Harerimana at night, asking for her help. It used to anger her husband. Upset that his wife spent her days volunteering, rather than caring for their eight children, he wanted her to quit. It was only when the rest of the camp pleaded with him that he relented. 

Sarah Fluck

Clautilde Harerimana is a protection officer at a displaced persons' camp on the outskirts of Masisi-Centre. "I am a person who can keep secrets," she says.

“I am someone who can keep secrets,” Ms. Harerimana says simply. “I am able to give advice.” 

Armed groups are not the only ones guilty of sexual assault in eastern Congo, explains Maria Erikson Baaz, a researcher at Uppsala University, in Sweden. “When we talk about wartime sexual violence, we tend to always think that it is military perpetrators, but many times civilians are the main perpetrators,” she says. 

This, she argues, calls for long-term work addressing gender norms and inherited trauma. For now, local activists are leading the charge.

Ms. Harerimana provides whatever advice she can to the women who seek her out. And Ms. Mutsiirwa continues to make the difficult climb up the hill to her office, so she can receive women there. 

Her organization, Women’s Action for Social Change, also runs programs in positive masculinity, encouraging men to respect their wives, and provides livelihood support to women who have been assaulted and rejected by their communities in hopes of bringing a more permanent end to violence against women. 

“I am a woman,” says Ms. Mutsiirwa, her tone brisk. “I see women suffering. That is why I am pushed, and I am involved in this work.”

Editor’s note: This story has been updated to correct the spelling of Ms. Mutsiirwa's name in the caption.

Lindsey Shuey/Republican-Herald/AP/File

Students work in the library at D.H.H. Lengel Middle School in Pottsville, Pennsylvania, in 2022. Scores for U.S. 13-year-olds on a recent national math assessment had the steepest drop ever recorded.

More soon-to-be high school students have weaker math and reading skills than previous generations, underscoring the lingering academic challenges following them since the pandemic.

The insight comes from a national sampling of 13-year-olds who participated in a test to gauge reading comprehension and math knowledge during the 2022-2023 school year. The National Assessment of Educational Progress (NAEP) found that students’ average scores fell by 4 points in reading and 9 points in math – a record decline for that subject – compared with teens tested during the 2019-2020 school year.  

The steep declines offer the latest evidence that academic recovery in the wake of pandemic school closures is slow-moving, putting students on a wobbly path as they enter more difficult courses in upper grades. 

The results from grade-based tests given last year also showed lower reading and math proficiency rates among fourth graders and eighth graders. Separately, eighth graders’ U.S. history and civics knowledge slipped since the pandemic as well.

Martin West, a member of the National Assessment Governing Board, spoke bluntly about the latest test results during an announcement event last week in Maryland. Dr. West, a professor at Harvard Graduate School of Education, said 13-year-olds’ academic declines elicit “additional cause for concern – even for alarm.” 

What’s special about this test?

The National Center for Education Statistics administers the assessments, which have come to be known as the “nation’s report card.” 

These results stem from the long-term trend assessment – which is age-based and designed to monitor students’ academic performance over time. The first reading assessment of 13-year-olds occurred in 1971, followed by the math assessment of students that same age in 1973. 

The test mostly consists of multiple-choice questions that students answer after reading short passages or applying basic math computations or formulas. About 8,700 students – from seventh and eighth grade – nationwide were tested in each subject from October to December.

What’s significant about the results?

The 13-year-olds’ test results mark a downward trend that began before the pandemic. But the declines were widespread, cutting across most student groups, and were the steepest drop ever recorded for math.

Put into context: Students’ average math score this year dropped to its lowest number since 1990, while the average reading score mirrored a level not seen since 1975.

The NAEP assessments also look at how teens in various percentiles perform, and the conclusion this year painted a grim portrait. Students considered lower, middle, and higher performers all saw their math and reading skills dip since 2020, though sharper decreases were recorded among the lowest-performing students.

SOURCE:

The National Center for Education Statistics (NCES)

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Karen Norris/Staff

Additionally, students of all races and ethnicities – except Asian – posted declines since 2020, as did students from different regions and socioeconomic circumstances. But the results show exacerbated achievement gaps between student groups. Black students, for instance, trailed white students by 27 points on the reading assessment and 42 points on the math assessment. 

A factor driving the downward trajectory could be tied to how students spend their recreational time. Only 14% of 13-year-olds reported reading for fun almost every day, down from 17% in 2020 and 27% in 2012.

“While I’m really glad that this data exists and can shine a light on the reality that faces us, it is very important that we shift quickly from ‘What do the data say?’ to ‘What do we do?’” says Allison Socol, vice president for P-12 policy, practice, and research at The Education Trust.

What can be done moving forward? 

Given the disparities that exist for students of color or those performing at lower levels, Dr. Socol says more resources – and evidence-based practices – should be directed to “places where students have been long underserved.”

She points toward equitable school funding, higher-quality instructional materials, rigorous courses, and curriculum that reflects the identity of students as examples. Tutoring can be an effective tool as well, Dr. Socol adds, because it provides students with strategic academic support and perhaps gives them another trusted adult in their lives. 

Students who were convened on a panel to discuss the results, however, made one thing loud and clear: They don’t want mandatory longer school days.

Thiago Hardy, a sophomore at Oakdale High School in Ijamsville, Maryland, says extra hours would only make “mental health and that kind of thing for kids worse.”

Rather than add more time, Amanda Portner, a middle school literacy specialist in Thurmont, Maryland, says the education system needs to look at the efficient use of instructional time. 

“There is a significant amount of instructional time that is lost to eight, 12, 14 days of standardized testing,” she says. “And that’s something that we’re all measured by. We all live in that culture. We all live in that world, but we need to be truthful about the time that it’s consuming.”

Pedro Noguera, dean of the Rossier School of Education at the University of Southern California, says for too long the nation has focused on student achievement at the expense of learning and motivation. 

“They’re not the same,” he says. “Learning is the path to achievement. We focus on the outcome. ... But the means to improve the outcomes is by getting kids more engaged, more motivated, and we have not done that.” 

Fostering in students a love for reading and exploring their own interests, he says, could work wonders outside traditional strategies such as tutoring and summer school. 

“Those can be quite helpful,” Mr. Noguera says. “But there’s also a lot students can do themselves to further their education, and we should really focus on that as well.”

At a cluster of nondescript garage-like shops in this northern Saudi city, customers pick up and inspect the objects of their desire, the rarest of which can be worth as much as a brand-new car.

These shops have no website, no Facebook or Instagram pages, no Google business profiles, not even phone numbers. If you are a collector or simply serious about your coffee, you know.

“If you like coffee, you are going to like coffeepots. And if you want the perfect coffeepot, you have to come here,” says Ibrahim, a customer who made the six-hour drive up from Riyadh. “Everyone knows this is the place for dalleh.”

Despite the lack of marketing, business is always brewing at Hail’s Souq al-Dallal, the largest coffeepot market in the Middle East, where craftsmen forge some of the last handmade copper pots in all of Arabia.

In the coffee-crazy Arab Gulf, where Arabic coffee is a daily and sometimes daylong ritual gathering friends and honoring guests, this symbol of identity and hospitality can carry a luxury price tag. It is a price many Saudis are more than happy to pay.

The dalleh – plural dallal – is the iconic Arab coffeepot, with a round base, curved neck, and ornate spout, found in markets and homes across the Middle East. It is ubiquitous in the Gulf, where it is placed prominently in guest rooms and features on Emirati and Kuwaiti currency like a founding father.

On a Monday morning, customers line up at this market for dalleh repairs and refurbishing as craftsmen offer to buff away char, sand out scratches, and fashion replacement lids and handles.

Taylor Luck

Saad al-Shammari holds up a qureishi, the Rolls-Royce of Arab coffeepots, made only in northern Saudi Arabia, at his family workshop in Hail, Feb. 11, 2023.

Amid banging hammers and whirring machines, owners anxiously watch craftsmen pound out dents and polish their cherished coffeepots like Ferrari owners at a body shop.

Abdullah al-Shammari waits for a worker to finish polishing his heirloom set of five Hail coffeepots, a yearly tuneup to clean off 365 days’ worth of soot and coal ash from his daily campfire brews.

“A dalleh coffeepot is a must-have item in any Saudi house, and here in Hail it is part of our daily life,” Mr. Shammari says as he anxiously peers over the worker’s shoulders. “We use the dalleh more than our mobile phone.”

“The coffeepot is a symbol of our values,” he says, nodding approvingly at his pots’ shiny golden sheen. “It means we are hospitable and always ready to serve a cup of coffee to a guest or a stranger to talk and share.”

Taylor Luck

A shop owner in Souq al-Dallal, the largest coffeepot market in the Arab world, in Hail, Saudi Arabia, Feb. 11, 2023.

Meanwhile, a dozen Kuwaiti and Qatari customers browse packed shelves of used pots, on the lookout for a genuine dalleh made by one of the masters: Ibrahim Raslan, Mehdi Saleh, or Hussein Mazaal.

While some rummage for hidden gems, well-heeled customers head straight to the Hail National Dallal Workshop, owned by Ibrahim Radini, for a bespoke handmade coffeepot.

Like clockwork, the company’s four workers pound, flame-torch, and cool sheets of copper in various shapes as they produce the base, neck, spout, and lid of the next custom-ordered dalleh.

Hail is far from the historical centers of Arab copper coffeepot production – Damascus, Aleppo, and Baghdad – where the art form dates back three centuries.

Taylor Luck

Ibrahim Radini shows off the design of his signature Abu Yusuf coffeepot on his phone at his family's workshop in northern Saudi Arabia.

When Mr. Radini’s father decided to revive Saudi Arabia’s own coffeepot production 50 years ago, his goals were modest.

“Dallal are a big part of our identity and daily life, but we kept importing from other countries and waited weeks for their arrival,” says Mr. Radini.

“My father said, ‘Why don’t we produce our identity here in Saudi Arabia?’”

The elder Radini recruited top coppersmiths in India and Pakistan, whose sons carry on the craft in the workshop today, producing stainless steel-lined copper pots.

Yet the significance of this workshop has grown beyond Saudi Arabia in recent years as the traditional Arab centers of coppersmiths have declined. 

Most of Iraq’s artisan coppersmiths gave up the trade over three decades of sanctions and war. The violence of the Syrian civil war destroyed Aleppo’s historic Al-Madina Souk and scattered most of the remaining Syrian coppersmiths there.

The handful of remaining dallal makers in Damascus now rely on machinery to mass-produce their coffeepots and use a lower grade of copper – often mixed with tin and zinc – due to inflation and sanctions.

Taylor Luck

A custom handmade coffeepot with its signature "Made in Hail" stamp, displayed at the Hail National Dallal Workshop.

If you want a new handmade Arab coffeepot, Mr. Radini’s workshop is one of the last places in the world to get it.

But it will cost you.

The smallest coffeepot they make runs to $2,000; larger ones go for more than $10,000.

Like any collector’s item, one dalleh is never enough. Saudis and Gulf citizens use at least three coffeepots to make Arabic coffee: one pot for boiling water, the second to brew coffee, and the third, smallest pot for serving. A set of five, including an extra jumbo-size pot, makes a statement.

Some are willing and eager to spend thousands on just the right bespoke handmade pieces to place on their mantel to impress – and then serve – guests.

With the workshop only able to produce one set of five coffeepots a week, there is a monthslong waiting list.

“People spend money on luxury clothes and watches, but you are never going to gather friends and guests around a watch,” Mr. Radini says. “That is why for many people, true handmade coffeepots are worth the investment.”

Taylor Luck

A worker welds the upper half of a copper pot at the Hail National Dallal Workshop.

“For some people, dallal are bigger status symbols and more important than a car,” adds Mr. Shammari.

And the Rolls-Royce of Arab coffeepots? That would be the qureishi, or qasr, a distinctive design made only in Hail.

Legend has it this design was born in the 19th century when the ruler of what was then the Hail emirate, Abdullah bin Rashid, commissioned an artisan to make a unique set of coffeepots for the royal household “unlike any other in the world.”

The craftsman, who had traveled frequently to Baghdad and Damascus, incorporated design elements from different pots: a round base à la Baghdad, an elongated Arabian Peninsula neck, and a long Damascene spout.

He went heavy on the decor, engraving rows of intricate checkered triangles and adding solid copper symbols: cardamom pods, cloves, and a long vertical coffee bean below the spout – all key ingredients of Arabian coffee.

Taylor Luck

Workers file and pound unfinished copper pots at the Hail National Dallal Workshop, one of the last handmade coffeepot workshops in the Arab world, Feb. 11, 2023.

It takes Mr. Radini’s craftsmen an entire month to produce one qureishi dalleh.

Today, a set of five qureishi coffeepots will set you back $36,000.

But don’t let the sticker shock fool you; the last Arab coffeepot makers’ future is far from certain.

Copper prices have nearly doubled over the past eight years: A global run on copper, driven by the rising demand for electric cars and solar panels – a shortage compounded by the Ukraine war – has led to dalleh price hikes.

The handmade Arab dalleh is increasingly becoming a luxury item beyond the means of middle-class Saudis, who opt instead for affordable mass-produced stainless steel dallal from India, Indonesia, and South Korea, priced between $30 and $50 each.

Mr. Radini says he will continue forging coffeepots as long as there’s copper and coffee.

“We Saudis know hospitality and we know coffee,” he says as he holds a half-finished pot up to the light. “A coffeepot is not just kitchenware. It is a part of who we are.”

AP

Members of the Wagner Group military company sit atop of a tank in Rostov-on-Don, Russia, June 24, prior to leaving an area at the headquarters of the Southern Military District. A weekend revolt by Russian mercenary forces has undermined President Vladimir Putin's power, setting the stage for further challenges to his rule at home and possibly weakening Russia’s hand in the war in Ukraine.

In Ukraine, officials have begun to closely track the morale of Russian soldiers on the front line – indeed of all Russians. The reason: In a moment of truth-telling on June 23, one of the most successful and popular commanders of Russian forces, Yevgeny Prigozhin, told his country on social media that the Kremlin’s rationale for the war is bogus and that top security officials are corrupt.

Perhaps uttered simply out of anger – Mr. Prigozhin’s militia was about to be officially subsumed into the Russian military – his revelations could feed into rising anxiety among Russians about their future. In late May, 53% were worried about themselves and loved ones, according to the Public Opinion Foundation. That is up from 43% just a few weeks earlier.

Mr. Prigozhin’s utterances and then his troops’ takeover of a strategic Russian city and march toward Moscow have since left him in exile. Yet his words and actions may have removed the scales off the eyes of many Russians. They saw President Vladimir Putin forced to negotiate with a former close associate and to ask another country, Belarus, to mediate in the crisis. These actions leave cracks in the facade of Mr. Putin’s claim that he is the paramount source of stability.

The world has seen “that the bosses of Russia do not control anything,” Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelenskyy said after the mutiny by the militia, known as the Wagner Group. “And what will you, Russians, do? The longer your troops stay on Ukrainian land, the more devastation they will bring to Russia.”

Truth bombs like those from Mr. Prigozhin often alter the course of wars. Think of the release of the Pentagon Papers during the Vietnam War. Or the discovery that Iraq had no weapons of mass destruction, the public rationale for the 2003 American invasion. On the social media app Telegram – popular among young Russians – Mr. Prigozhin said that Ukraine and NATO did not intend to attack Russia, as Mr. Putin alleged, and that the need to rid Ukraine of Nazis is a “pretty story.”

Nearly two-thirds of Russians would support ending the conflict in Ukraine and moving to negotiations, according to a late-May survey by the Levada Center. After last week’s revelations by Mr. Prigozhin, “I imagine a lot of [Russian soldiers] currently deployed in Ukraine will be thinking long and hard about how enthusiastic they should be fighting,” retired Lt. Gen. Ben Hodges, former commander of American forces in Europe, told Newsweek.

For a while, lies to justify a war can be as powerful as military arms. Yet truth can help end a war as much as weapons might. Ukraine, where citizens demand truth from their elected leaders, is watching closely to see if the Russian people shed a passive acceptance of Kremlin lies and instead embrace the truth.