Good day. And as I have said frequently when we speak of sanctions and counter-sanctions, of embargoes and evasions, one must distinguish between short-term ingenuity and long-term sustainability. The so-called “shadow fleet” that Russia assembled to move its oil under the radar of Western sanctions was, at its inception, an example of the former. This week, we see ever more clearly that it is failing at the latter.

The shadow fleet — a loose collection of older tankers, many poorly insured, some dubiously flagged, and all operating at the margins of legality — was never a permanent solution. It was a holding pattern, a way to keep exports flowing while avoiding direct confrontation with price caps, insurance restrictions, and port inspections. For a time, it seemed to work. Headlines spoke of Russia “adapting,” of sanctions being “circumvented,” of maritime flows continuing despite Western pressure.

But as I have often observed, a system that depends on opacity, aging hardware, and legal ambiguity is highly vulnerable to pressure once the other side decides to focus on it. That moment has now arrived. Regulatory scrutiny has increased. Insurance providers have grown less willing to attach their names to opaque arrangements. And — most significantly — Ukraine has begun to treat the shadow fleet not as a background phenomenon, but as a legitimate strategic target.

Strikes and sabotage operations against tankers associated with this network, combined with mounting legal and financial risks, have exposed the fragility of the entire construct. Some vessels now avoid certain routes altogether. Others sail with chronic delays. The result is not a complete halt, but a pervasive drag, a slowing of throughput and a steady rise in cost.

Russia’s problem is not simply that some ships have been damaged or forced into longer routes. It is that the entire architecture of its sanctions evasion depends on three assumptions:

• that there will always be enough marginal shipowners willing to take the risk;
• that the international insurance and legal environment will remain fragmented and exploitable;
• and that Ukraine will lack either the means or the political cover to interfere.

All three assumptions have been eroding. This week, they have eroded further.

Ukraine understands, as we have discussed in previous weeks, that it cannot simply out-produce Russia. It must instead apply pressure where Russia is most constrained: in revenue, logistics, and perception. The shadow fleet sits precisely at the intersection of these three vulnerabilities. Each ship delayed, each route altered, each premium raised tightens the economic band around Moscow’s ability to finance the war.

Western regulators, meanwhile, have begun to appreciate that enforcement is not a matter of grand announcements but of persistent, almost bureaucratic attrition. Inspections, audits, insurance rules, port state controls — these are dull instruments individually. But together, when applied consistently, they create an environment in which opaque networks struggle simply to function.

The Kremlin will, no doubt, continue to present the shadow fleet as evidence of resilience, speaking of “alternative logistics” and “new routes.” Yet the subtext grows harder to hide. If the arrangement were truly stable, there would be no need for constant improvisation. Stability does not require daily invention. Vulnerability does.

As we close this week, we can say with some confidence that the shadow fleet is no longer a quiet workaround. It is itself becoming a theater of contestation. Every new incident — whether legal, financial, or kinetic — chips away at its viability.

Future analysts will likely view the shadow fleet not as a masterstroke of sanctions evasion, but as an ultimately unsustainable stopgap — one that bought Russia time at the cost of increasing structural fragility. This week adds another layer of evidence to that assessment.

The shadow fleet was never truly in the shadows. And now, under greater scrutiny and growing pressure, it is showing its limits.