Such an outcome was facilitated by the fact that although mass repression ended with Stalin’s death in 1953, the mechanism for suppressing dissenting thought had been preserved and even perfected. Thus, Russia slid into a state of socioeconomic and political decay that not even Gorbachev’s benevolent therapy and Yeltsin’s cruel measures were unable to halt. The remission of Russia’s diseases was short lived. That the majority of the population joyfully accepts Putin’s repudiation of democracy unequivocally confirms the seriousness of the state of national affairs.
Revanchism has already brought Russia catastrophes from the early twentieth century to the present. For example, after its defeat in the Russo-Japanese War (1904–5), and against the background of serious setbacks on the front during the First World War, the Bolshevik reaction triumphed. The defeat of Moscow’s decade-long intervention in Afghanistan, marked by the withdrawal of Soviet troops in 1989, led to the genocide of Russia’s own citizens in Chechnya. More recently, Russia’s annexation of Crimea in March 2014 and its de facto military intervention in Ukraine have catalyzed a stiffening Western response. There is no reason to suppose that revanchism, which germinated under Yeltsin and flowered luxuriantly under Putin, will turn out well for anyone.
Traditionally, the reality of what Russia actually is, has nothing in common with how both Russians and foreigners alike perceive it. Russia’s rulers have perfected the art of lying and hypocrisy to achieve their own objectives. One of the most vivid modern examples is the myth that the Bolshevik coup and everything that followed from it, including the Stalinist genocide of Russia’s own people, were done for the sake of the people themselves. Not only were they proclaimed to be free and happy, but they came to believe it themselves. Prevaricating, cruel tyrants were often immensely popular, while those leaders who tried to improve the lives of the people and who spoke the truth were hated. A prime example is Gorbachev, who liquidated the system of totalitarianism and came close to destroying the nation’s slave mentality. Rather than being honored, many considered him a “traitor to Russia’s interests.”
Gorbachev and the very tight circle of his comrades in arms—notably Eduard Shevardnadze, Alexander Yakovlev, and a few others—performed the dirty work of cleaning out the Augean stables of totalitarianism. But Gorbachev made so many mistakes that he was unable to hold onto power.
Something akin to a law of nature appears to operate in Russia. It not only dooms the infrequent and short-lived attempts at liberal reforms and sensible domestic and foreign policy to failure, but each reaction to such attempts also throws the country so far into reverse that it seems as if the people had been inoculated against freedom. The situation in Russia today looks very gloomy. The Russian authorities beat people, throw them into prisons and camps, and ruin them and exterminate undesirables. They liquidate freedom of the media, preserving only its facade, and eliminate judicial independence, parliamentarianism, and other elements of democracy. Yet some Western politicians and scholars continue to pretend that everything is really not so bad.
Pragmatism is surely necessary in politics, but it cannot be the only motive for government action. Western policies based solely on ensuring the delivery of Russian oil and gas are unworthy of the West. Ignoring flagrant and massive violations of the entire spectrum of human rights in Russia, its rapidly progressing slide toward totalitarianism, and the reality of new threats to international security such as Russia’s actions in Ukraine are equally unworthy.
Russia forfeited its future by choosing as its president in 2000 a mumbling, stammering, knock-kneed, brow-furrowing ex-KGB agent who speaks the language of the gutter and values power above everything else. He is prepared to do anything to preserve this power. He attained the summit of baseness and cynicism thanks, in part, to the indulgence, until very recently, of his foreign partners.
Scarcely had he come to power when Putin began to establish a “dictatorship of the mediocre over the imbeciles.”3 He had no problem with mediocrity, either his own or that of his close associates. It was harder to fool that part of the population who had already acquired a certain taste for freedom of the media and, consequently, for having opinions of their own. He worked on this problem from his first day in power and dealt with it brilliantly.
The intentions and moral direction of Putin and his associates became crystal clear after the murder in October 2006 of the popular journalist Anna Politkovskaya, who had courageously opposed the Kremlin. Almost no one doubted this act bore the fingerprints of the hand of power—whether of Moscow or of the Chechen capital Grozny was not important. Even more sinister was the poisoning in London one month later of the former lieutenant colonel of the FSB Alexander Litvinenko by means of the rare radioactive substance polonium-210. This murder was so shocking that suspicion arose that it might have involved some sort of bizarre ritual; otherwise, the use of polonium was difficult to explain. Moscow concocted a number of fantastic explanations including, for example, that Litvinenko had committed suicide in order “to annoy Putin.”
From time immemorial, Russians have been brought up to possess a slave psychology. Serfdom was only done away with in 1861. But serfdom under the tsarist regime was quite humane compared to the social order established under the communist dictatorship. The slave-communal psychology is also firmly embedded in the heads of those in power, not only from their upbringing, but also from what they imbibed as they accumulated power. Power in Russia is traditionally identified with various blessings and perquisites unobtainable by “ordinary mortals.” Their recipients become dependent on these privileges.
It is a cliché to extol the long-suffering nature of Russians. This is actually a reflection of their powerlessness and their habit of fulfilling the “will of those on high,” whether it is the department head, the municipal head, or the head of the country. A belief in the “good Little Father Tsar” is virtually the foundation of the national mentality.
This mentality is the source of the complete misunderstanding of what democracy is. One cannot speak of democracy when both the people and the authorities neither know how nor desire to implement existing legislation. There can be no democracy in a nation whose politics rest upon lies. Of course, in politics a certain degree of hypocrisy and verbal trickery is inevitable. But the political cynicism in Russia, a country where democracy has supposedly triumphed, is off the charts.
Another component of Russian political culture that is likewise incompatible with democracy is the authorities’ view of citizens as virtual bond slaves, serfs, or their own property. For its part much of the population views power as something holy, unshakable, virtually ordained by God.
These are certainly bitter words, yet I begin from the premise that Russia is a great nation. It has given to the world many geniuses who have been noted for their steadfastness and heroism. Unfortunately, Russia is a nation that has been crippled by its rulers.
Summing up, Russia, like the former Soviet Union, again presents a danger to itself and to those around it. Russia has become transformed into a degraded and absolutely disorganized power. The anarchy, constantly growing xenophobia (in the broad sense of the term), terrorism, and much else that have persisted for many years at all levels and in all spheres of activity in Russia embody not only significant dangers for the region but also for civilized society itself. Many of these dangers are now too obvious to ignore any longer.
One must give one’s due to the Soviet leaders, beginning with Lenin. They implanted the shoots of discord and hatred throughout the world. It was they, too, who created much of the infrastructure, including international terrorism. Therefore, it is impossible to understand and deal with contemporary Russia and the international problems arising from its policies if one ignores the history of the communist monster and its successor. It is precisely this history that the following chapters explore.
Chapter 1 focuses on the unexpected role of the Soviet Foreign Ministry under Eduard Shevardnadze in leading the struggle for democratic reforms
inside the USSR during perestroika. Chapter 2 examines the fateful coup d’état against Soviet president Gorbachev in August 1991 and the paradoxical achievement of its goals even though the coup itself failed. Central to these events was the rise of the secret services to a position of paramount power. Chapter 3 probes the roots of Russia’s tragedy by exploring the psychology of servitude that began centuries ago during the imperial era and well served the totalitarian regime that the Bolsheviks instituted in 1917. Gorbachev’s attempt from above to institute democratic reform encountered widespread resistance from below and culminated in the breakup of the USSR and the rise to power of Boris Yeltsin, an easily manipulated product of the old system that had little inkling of democracy.
Chapter 4 enters the corridors of power to discuss the decision makers and decision-making process of Russia under Yeltsin and Putin. It describes the disintegration of the Russian foreign policy establishment and the compromised state of Russia’s intellectual elite. Chapter 5 focuses on the rise of the secret services, whose embodiment is Vladimir Putin and whose presence is ubiquitous. To replace Marxism-Leninism, the new leaders have propounded the Russian national idea—a toxic mixture of autocracy, Russian Orthodoxy, and the supposed superior virtues of the Russian people. Chapter 6 details the methods by which Putin and his associates methodically destroyed the fledgling institutions of democracy begun during perestroika. Their techniques included violence, lies, suppression of dissent, and phony spy scares. Chapter 7 argues that Russia, nostalgic for the superpower position it occupied in the Cold War, has reverted to a policy of revanchism, expansion, and militarism that poses a threat to its neighbors as well as to itself. Rather than confronting Putin, until the Kremlin annexed Crimea and launched a proxy war in eastern Ukraine, Western powers turned a blind eye both to Russia’s domestic repression and to its foreign adventurism. Finally, the conclusion asserts that only the eventual emergence of an authentic Russian elite imbued with liberal and democratic values can break the hold on power of the current criminal authorities whose grip is secured by a hypnotized and subservient public.
1
Diplomacy and Democratic Reforms
It is hard to imagine. In the Ministry of Foreign Affairs in the capital of what, in the second half of the 1980s, is still the totalitarian Soviet Union, a number of ministry officials are working openly to destroy the totalitarian foundations of the state. This was the same ministry headed during the Cold War by the grim-faced Andrei Gromyko, widely known in the West as “Mister No” from the results of his negotiations and almost automatic rejection of all Western proposals. Yet the story is true. It was the Ministry of Foreign Affairs that initiated and pushed through almost all of the democratic changes in the Soviet Union during the tenure of Mikhail Gorbachev, the last president of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics.
Why did part of the foreign policy establishment of the USSR seek to destroy the totalitarian regime and establish democracy and a state ruled by law in a country devoid of legitimacy and justice? The answer reflects the rather well-organized confusion of the era of change that began with Gorbachev’s accession to power in March 1985. The new leadership of the ministry demanded it.
From their service abroad, many Soviet diplomats were familiar with a world outside their own country that was entirely different. More than many others in the USSR, they had a better and clearer understanding of not only the need to promote the democratic reformation of society but also how to achieve it. To give one prominent example, Gorbachev’s close associate Alexander Yakovlev, generally recognized as the chief ideologist of perestroika, had spent many years on diplomatic assignment in Canada.
The Foreign Ministry and Foreign Minister Eduard Shevardnadze were meant for each other. A unique synthesis existed in the ministry between those officials who had mastered the science and art of diplomacy and Shevardnadze, Gorbachev’s minister of foreign affairs, who possessed political will and was intimately acquainted with every facet of Soviet life. Prior to becoming the leader of the Soviet Republic of Georgia (1972–85), he had headed Georgia’s Ministry of Internal Affairs.
Of course, Shevardnadze did not act on his own. First, appropriate conditions had to be created for the Foreign Ministry to become active in the field of human rights, an area that had been clearly outside its domain. According to a resolution the Foreign Ministry proposed at the Twenty-Seventh Congress of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union (CPSU), in February–March 1986, humanitarian affairs was designated one of the foundations of international security. This empowered the Foreign Ministry to address human rights issues inside the USSR that had previously been out of bounds not only for the diplomatic service but also for all other government departments apart from the punitive ministries, which punished those who even dared to speak of human rights.
Soon a Directorate for Humanitarian and Cultural Cooperation was established in the Foreign Ministry. Its main task was to resolve a broad range of questions in the field of human rights. It was far from obvious, however, how to undertake the task of cleaning up one’s own home, sweeping out all the accumulated dirt and trash.
Shevardnadze’s appointment as minister of foreign affairs triggered an intense allergic reaction among many ministry officials. After the simple and predictable Andrei Gromyko, Shevardnadze was an enigma, especially to officials who were unfamiliar with the complex issue of human rights or simply clueless as to what was going on around them. For almost a year Shevardnadze sized up the ministry and made no changes among its leading personnel. Only just prior to the explosion of the nuclear reactor at Chernobyl on April 26, 1986, did he replace his first deputies. Instead of the hawkish Georgy Kornienko and Viktor Mal’tsev, he appointed Anatoly Kovalev and Yuly Vorontsov to these positions. Then Kovalev’s closest associates, Anatoly Adamishin and Vladimir Petrovsky, also became deputies to the minister.
Starting from the top down, I shall provide brief sketches of those persons to whom Russia is indebted for what was good and democratic in its recent past.
I can only judge Eduard Shevardnadze, whom both well-wishers and adversaries referred to as the Silver Fox, on the basis of what I know personally. There have always been too many lies and too much slander surrounding him, born of misunderstanding and hatred. Yet there can be no doubt that he made an invaluable contribution to the establishment of democracy in Russia. He and Alexander Yakovlev were the main authors of the democratic reforms.
During perestroika, this lively, charming, energetic, gray-haired man was as greatly respected by the supporters of democratic reforms as he was hated by their opponents. His name is linked to the end of the arms race, the Velvet Revolutions in Eastern Europe, the end of the Cold War, and the Soviet Union’s entry on the path of establishing democracy and observing human rights at home. His enemies accused him of abandoning the foreign policy positions of the USSR and of weakening the country’s military potential. His supporters admired the courage with which he jettisoned moldy dogmas and facilitated the USSR’s rapprochement with civilized, democratic countries. He was always in the thick of contentious matters and seemed to attract them to himself.
His first deputy (and my father) was Anatoly Kovalev. Shevardnadze did not deal with a single important foreign or domestic policy issue without consulting him. Possibly this was because of my father’s closeness to Gorbachev; possibly it was because of the foreign minister’s empathy and trust in him. As far back as the height of the period of stagnation in the 1970s when Leonid Brezhnev was in power, Kovalev was instrumental in having the USSR assume unprecedented obligations with regard to human rights by signing the Final Act of the Helsinki Conference on Security and Cooperation in Europe (CSCE). He was close to all the Soviet leaders, starting with Brezhnev, and was especially close to Gorbachev, to whom he had direct access. Kovalev’s other persona was that of a poet. He embodied a paradoxical combination of idealism grounded in what, for those times and for people in his profession, was an unusual belief in common sense together w
ith a combative personality. He was a cunning chess master who calculated diplomatic moves many turns in advance. In his youth he had boxed and played soccer and many other sports. This synthesis of creativity and combativeness enabled him to be effective in both the foreign and domestic policy arenas.
Yet he was hampered by a tendency to idealize his like-minded political associates, and he was excessively loyal toward Shevardnadze and Gorbachev. His combativeness helped when he was pushing forward some good initiatives but not when he failed to realize there was no chance for success. Still it was thanks to Shevardnadze and Kovalev that the Foreign Ministry succeeded in getting the Twenty-Seventh Congress of the CPSU to include human rights on the agenda of international security policy.
The deputy minister of foreign affairs of the USSR Anatoly Adamishin was a liberal even down to the smallest details. Clever and intelligent, he was a very modest man who achieved much more for democracy and liberalism than all the inveterate demagogues put together. He liked to compare himself to a medieval battering ram in the service of Shevardnadze and Kovalev. This is a striking metaphor, of course, but if he was a battering ram, he was by no means a medieval one. Adamishin acted too intelligently, too resourcefully, and with too much talent for this comparison to be valid. This slim and resourceful diplomat was distinguished by his outstanding boldness and exceptional human decency.
Vladimir Petrovsky replaced Anatoly Adamishin as the custodian of human rights and democratic standards after Adamishin’s departure to serve as ambassador to Rome. Even after Eduard Shevardnadze’s retirement in December 1990, Petrovsky continued to work actively on human rights and did everything he could to ensure the successful convening of the Moscow Conference on the Human Dimension of the CSCE (September–October 1991).
Russia's Dead End: An Insider's Testimony from Gorbachev to Putin Page 6