The opening of the RSFSR’s books was salt on the wounds of Russian rancor over the economic terms of Soviet federalism. Prime Minister Silayev persuaded himself that the center had for seven decades been robbing Russia blind. He was scandalized to find that the RSFSR subsidized the federal budget to the tune of 46 billion rubles (about $30 billion at the official exchange rate). With Yeltsin’s backing, he tried to pare the figure in the 1991 budget to 10 billion rubles and to pass that sum to sister republics through an RSFSR-controlled account and collect some of what was owing in kind as consumer goods.37 As talk grew of market pricing, Russia’s mammoth reserves of hydrocarbons and minerals looked increasingly like a pot of gold to be protected from the center and from poorer Soviet republics. And Yeltsin voiced sympathy with the labor movement that had taken shape in Russian and Ukrainian heavy industry in 1989 and gone on strike in favor of workers’ control over productive assets.
Crisscrossing the regions of Russia for three weeks in August 1990—flying on scheduled Aeroflot flights—Yeltsin was in tip-top populist form. In Sterlitamak, Bashkiriya, in the southern Urals, an invitation-only audience gathered in the House of Culture of the Caustic Soda Works:
Watching Yeltsin’s chemistry with a crowd, it is easy to see why local officials are eager to grab his coattails. . . . Yeltsin had just begun his remarks when an aide interrupted to tell him that the outdoor loudspeakers were not working and that the thousands of people gathered in the square outside were getting restless.
A few minutes later, Yeltsin left the elite stewing in the stuffy auditorium and squeezed through a window onto a low rooftop. The reception was thunderous. He doffed his suit coat and mugged for the delighted crowd until technicians could run a microphone out to him.
“Well, I think this event could have been better organized,” he teased, with a glance back at his embarrassed hosts.38
At several stops, Yeltsin was mobbed by well-wishers and had to step onto a streetcar or truck bed to get out of the press of people. In the hamlet of Raifa outside Kazan, Tatariya, where he had lived for five years before the war, he went for a half-hour swim in the local lake and then donated his striped swimsuit to his hosts, who made it the centerpiece of “one of the main legends of the village,” brought out for discussion once a year.39
In the minority homelands, Yeltsin catered to the anti-Moscow mood. If he were a Tatar, he told writers in Kazan, he would be going after “the self-sufficiency of the Tatar republic.” At Kazan State University on August 5, where he was met with pickets who bore signs reading Azatlyk (Freedom, in the Tatar language), he put forth his famous summons to the Tatars to “take as much sovereignty as you can swallow.” In Ufa, the capital of Bashkiriya, he rephrased the call: “We say to the Bashkir people: ‘You take the share of power which you yourselves can swallow!’”40 The catchy phrase was minted by his new adviser on nationality questions, the ethnographer and sociologist Galina Starovoitova. It corresponded with Yeltsin’s take on the issue, and he unsheathed it to great effect. On the same expedition, he deplored the cost to Russians of the USSR as a superpower. “Charity begins at home,” he declared, “and Russia will not help other states” or keep up the Soviet Union’s defense, space, and foreign-aid budgets.41
Russia-USSR tensions were taken to the boiling point in 1990–91 not by this or that issue but by the intertwining of all the main issues dividing them. For the insurgent Yeltsin, devolution of power was a precondition of pursuing political and economic reform. He meant to become Russia’s first elected head of state and up the pace of economic change, toward a terminus he now would not put in the Marxist compartments: “I think you find in the real world neither the capitalism about which the classics spoke nor the socialism about which they spoke. . . . I am not for socialism for the sake of socialism. I am for the people living better.”42 The prelude to market reform would be an anti-crisis package to counter shortages and hoarding. And Russia would need to be paid a fair price by Soviet and foreign purchasers for its fuels and raw materials. Only self-direction would permit his government to take this route.
Gorbachev was more emphatic than Yeltsin in commingling devolution, politics, and economics. The play for sovereignty, he charged in May 1990, was a design for killing state socialism (communism) as an ideology and social model. “It contains an attempt to excommunicate Russia from socialism. . . . The program’s author . . . wants to invite us with one stroke of the pen to say farewell to the socialist choice we made in 1917.”43 In defending the central power, Gorbachev saw himself as carrying on sacrosanct Soviet beliefs as much as constitutional stability.
Did this all make for an ineluctable collision between the two? High-level actors feared it did and tried to talk Gorbachev into co-opting Yeltsin by offering him a plum political position. Aleksandr Yakovlev and Georgii Shakhnazarov—who had earlier begged Gorbachev to send Yeltsin abroad—lobbied him after the Russian election to make Yeltsin vice president of the USSR. Gorbachev demurred, saying Yeltsin’s ambitiousness was too insatiable for him ever to accept.44 In December 1990 he handed the post to Gennadii Yanayev, a former Komsomol official whom he said he could trust; Yanayev would be one of the leaders of the plot to depose him in August 1991. While Yeltsin would have turned down the vice presidency—it would lower him to “personal assistant to Gorbachev,” he said in an interview—he would have considered the meatier job of prime minister if it had been offered in 1989. Once he was RSFSR leader, it was out of the question.45
Common ground was more likely to be found on policy than on the allocation of positions. Yeltsin’s ideas about economic and socioeconomic change continued to be sketchy. For some months in 1990, he backed a wacky plan, put forward by economic counselors Igor Nit and Pavel Medvedev, for motivating workers through the emission of a counter-currency they termed “red money.” Implementation in the agrarian sector divided the Silayev cabinet, and a more presentable alternative came up. The Five Hundred Days Program for economic reform furnished the last best chance for collaboration with the center. Drawn up between February and August of 1990 by a group of economists headed by Stanislav Shatalin and Yevgenii Yasin of Gorbachev’s camp and Grigorii Yavlinskii of Yeltsin’s, it called on Russia and the Soviet Union to move decisively to market harmonization of economic activity. In the space of a year and a half, it would have nullified most price controls, made a start on privatization of property (for which it used the euphemism “destatization”), scrapped the USSR’s industrial ministries, and relegated regulatory and overhead functions to an “interrepublic economic committee,” after agreement on a “treaty of economic union.” The project, Yeltsin assured crowds in the Volga basin and the Urals in August, would stabilize the economy in two years and lead to growth and improved consumer welfare in the third year. The Russian Supreme Soviet passed on it on September 11, at which point Gorbachev got cold feet. On October 16 he abandoned Five Hundred Days, saying it would emasculate the federal government. Yeltsin declared Russia would have to make reform on its own, which Kremlin conservatives took as evidence that it was impossible ever to cooperate with him.46 Yavlinskii left his position as deputy premier of the RSFSR in frustration with Gorbachev but also with Yeltsin. Yeltsin was to vow in a private aside to Yelena Bonner, Andrei Sakharov’s widow, that “I will not play the dupe [durachkom ne budu] the next time.”47
Gorbachev’s backpedaling bore on more than economics. He bit off extra powers for his executive presidency, promoted hard-liners to positions such as prime minister (where he replaced Ryzhkov with the Soviet finance minister, Valentin Pavlov), and made spasmodic use of troops against nationalist unrest in the Baltic and Caucasus areas. In the consultations on a new “union treaty” for the Soviet federation, the necessity for which he announced on June 11, 1990, the day before the Russian sovereignty declaration, Gorbachev ceded nothing to the republics.
In November 1990 Yeltsin visited Kiev, the capital of Ukraine, the secondranking Soviet republic, where he addressed its parliament and de
alt with Ukrainian officials as equals. He signed a ten-year cooperation treaty with his counterpart, Leonid Kravchuk, on November 19. It recognized existing borders, which gave weight to Ukraine’s claim to Crimea, the idyllic peninsula in the Black Sea, populated chiefly by Russian speakers and home to the Black Sea Fleet, arbitrarily shifted from the RSFSR to the Ukrainian republic by Nikita Khrushchev in 1954. Yeltsin, said a leading nationalist, Vyacheslav Chornovil, had “injected a very constructive note” by holding out the prospect of greater Ukrainian autonomy from Moscow without severing ties with Russia.48 A month later, Yeltsin’s Russia and Kravchuk’s Ukraine, with Belarus (Belorussia) and Kazakhstan (the fifth- and fourth-ranking republics, Uzbekistan being the third), formed a “council of four” to work on a bottom-up treaty as a counter to Gorbachev’s. In January 1991 the Soviet military put on a show of force in Lithuania and Latvia, slaying twenty people in firefights at a television tower in Vilnius and an office building in Riga. In fear of a crackdown that would be lethal to democratization, Yeltsin called down hellfire on it and issued an appeal to Russian soldiers in the Baltic garrisons not to take “a wrong step.” Anatolii Chernyayev, in a draft letter he kept to himself, reproached Gorbachev: “You started the process of returning the country to civilization, but it has come up against your line on the ‘unified and indivisible [USSR].’ You have said many times to me and other comrades of yours that the Russians will never forgive anyone for ‘breaking up the empire.’ But here is Yeltsin insolently doing it in Russia’s name, and very few Russians are protesting.”49 On February 19 Yeltsin issued his first call for Gorbachev to resign. Gorbachev assured his assistants that “Yeltsin’s song has been sung” and time was working against him.50
A related topic was Russia’s right to act in world affairs. U.S. Secretary of State James Baker was in Moscow on March 14–16, 1991, and refused to meet with Yeltsin privately; Yeltsin then refused to come to the embassy dinner party. Ambassador Matlock thought his handling of Baker “petty and selfdefeating.” 51 In mid-April he got a chilly reception at the European Parliament in Strasbourg, leaving after several days of snubs, and was unable to get President François Mitterrand to meet with him at the Élysée Palace.52 After France, he tried again in the United States. Through Ambassador Jack Matlock, he stated his wish to visit Washington a second time and be guaranteed that he would be properly received by the president. He went shortly before his swearing in as Russian president, but at the bipartisan invitation of Senators Robert Dole and George Mitchell, not of George Bush. Hosting Yeltsin in the Rose Garden on June 20, Bush stressed relations with the Soviet government and mentioned Gorbachev’s name more often than Yeltsin’s. Strasbourg and Washington were both reminders “that the West only had eyes for Gorbachev.”53
Or at least most of those in authority in the West did. Margaret Thatcher had been an admirer since their meeting, and John Major, her replacement, took a like view. They were joined by Richard Nixon, the thirty-seventh president of the United States. Nixon went to Moscow right after Baker and paid a call on Yeltsin. Yeltsin had been misinformed by staff members about the family history of his guest and held forth about Nixon’s grandfather having lived for a time in Yekaterinburg. Nixon’s grandfathers had never traveled outside the United States; he listened without comment, and they moved on to the current political situation.54 Nixon, who had traded observations about the future of communism and capitalism with Nikita Khrushchev in the celebrated Kitchen Debate of July 1959, liked what he saw and heard in 1991. The Russia trip had held but one surprise, he told an assistant back in New Jersey. “What was that?” she asked:
He pointed a finger in the air. “One word. Yeltsin.”
Several long moments went by before he continued. “Goddamn the press! If you listen to them, you’d think Yeltsin was an incompetent, disloyal boob. The only reason the press have treated him as badly as they have is because he has some rough edges. He doesn’t have the grace and ivory-tower polish of Gorbachev.” Nixon shuddered with self-recognition. “He moves and inspires the people despite what the Western press says about him.”
Yeltsin’s defiance fed into his own. “The guy has enormous political appeal. He has the potential to be a great revolutionary leader, charging up the people, his own Silent Majority,” he said, making the parallel explicit. “He is very direct. He looks you straight in the eye. He has core convictions that no longer involve communism. He is infinitely better for the United States than Gorbachev. But I don’t think he wants Gorbachev’s job.”
“Do you mean that he doesn’t want to lead the Soviet Union, but he may want to lead an independent Russia?” I asked.
“Right, because he knows that there’s no future for the Soviet Union. None. . . . If Russia has any future, Yeltsin is it.”55
Nixon made the point in a meeting with President Bush and in public articles and interviews.
American audiences got a peek at Yeltsin’s ability to cut to the chase in the June visit to Washington. At one dinner, he made it about two minutes into his prepared speech and told his interpreter to give it in English. “This cut the delivery time in half, and when it was over the crowd responded with a standing, cheering ovation.”56 Desk analysts for the Central Intelligence Agency began giving Yeltsin respect right at this time. A secret assessment by the Office of Soviet Analysis circulated on June 1 argued that too much attention had been lavished in the government and the press on Yeltsin’s quirks, lust for power, relationship with Gorbachev, and tactics—“his larger-than-life persona and remarkable political odyssey invite this.” But that was not the whole picture, and it was high time to say so. “Contrary to the stereotype, Yeltsin does have goals that he has been consistently pursuing, and strategies for realizing them. These are important not only because they drive his actions, but also because they reflect in broad outline a coherent Russian democratic alternative to the imperial authoritarianism of the traditionalists.” The CIA team was especially impressed by Yeltsin’s ability to keep up with changes in the Soviet environment and by his “appreciation of the interdependency of goals.”57
Yeltsin considered his parliamentary position the stepping stone to a Russian presidency. Most of his associates were more interested than he in legislation and were less vociferous on policy toward the Soviet center. Even Vladimir Isakov, the chairman of the Council of the Republic, one of the two halves of the Supreme Soviet—a professor of jurisprudence from Sverdlovsk and a centrist—was upset by his propensity for playing the lone hand. Yeltsin would listen intently to advice, agree in principle, and then act “as if the conversation had never taken place.”58 Comity within the group dissipated in February–March 1991, and agitated sessions of the Supreme Soviet and congress were accompanied by pro-Yeltsin street demonstrations of up to 300,000 people, penned in by soldiers and riot police. Yeltsin’s salvation was to induce the legislature to piggyback a question on institution of the office of president onto an all-USSR referendum on the future of the union on March 17. Seventy percent of Russians endorsed the federation and 71 percent an elected Russian presidency. In a masterpiece of brinkmanship, Yeltsin got parliament to schedule the election for June 12, the anniversary of the 1990 sovereignty declaration, before agreeing on presidential powers—something it got to on May 24, with only three weeks to spare. The Communists for Democracy faction headed by Colonel Aleksandr Rutskoi, a mustachioed hero of the Afghan war, provided the requisite congressional votes.
Rutskoi was named Yeltsin’s vice-presidential running mate, at Lyudmila Pikhoya’s suggestion, and two members of Democratic Russia and the Interregional bloc, Gavriil Popov and Anatolii Sobchak, ran parallel campaigns for mayor of Moscow and Leningrad. Management of the Yeltsin campaign was entrusted to Gennadii Burbulis, an owlish professor of dialectical materialism from Sverdlovsk (born in the oblast town of Pervoural’sk), who was admitted to Yeltsin’s circle in 1990 and had hoped to be the vice-presidential nominee. An RSFSR television channel, one of the first inroads in the tussle ove
r sovereignty, went on the air on May 13, in time for the race.
Of the five candidates who vied with Yeltsin in this, his third anti-establishment election in two years, only the former Soviet premier Nikolai Ryzhkov, the nominee of the Russian communists, was a serious contender. The party’s beetle-browed leader, Ivan Polozkov, impossible to get elected, would resign his post in August. Yeltsin ducked the all-candidates’ debates and did two rambles out of Moscow, formally on parliamentary business, presenting himself as statesmanlike and not grubbing for votes. If Vladimir Zhirinovskii, the windbag Russian nationalist who came in third, is speaking the truth, Gorbachev’s office, working through the KGB, implored him to visit the same cities as Yeltsin and covertly gave 3 million rubles (about $2 million) to his vice-presidential candidate, Andrei Zavidiya, to buy his cooperation. But Zavidiya, Zhirinovskii says, did not bring Zhirinovskii in on the scheme and skimmed off 90 percent of the money; Zhirinovskii did not alter his travel plans.59
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