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Alexei Navalny

Alexei Navalny Books

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“I suddenly realized I was in the humiliating predicament of being a smaller boy who was having money taken from him by a bully. This was wholly unexpected. Reading about such situations, I would smile superciliously and think that nothing of that kind could ever happen to me, because I would immediately fight back. It is, after all, better to take a beating once than to be humiliated repeatedly. Unfortunately, I had never read that such a relationship might begin with a con, a seemingly amicable request. For the next six months this boy (Crane was his nickname) poisoned my existence. I had to avoid him, otherwise every meeting turned into an excruciating dialogue with poking and threats. I was desperate and didn't know what to do. In my class I was the biggest and strongest, but Crane was taller and older and brazen and self-assured, which is, of course, the most important asset in the art of street confrontation. I had no older brother I could turn to, not even an older pupil I was friendly with. Complaining to my parents would shame me; besides, I already knew the advice they would give. "Well, just give him a good punch and he'll back off." It is all very well for adults to advise you to throw a punch. All bullying seems to them mere childish nonsense, although its emotional and psychological intensity is a hundred times greater than any problems they might be facing.... "What's that there, is your lip swollen? Let me see," he said, pretending to be in a conciliatory mood. At that I did the most daring thing in my life. Nowadays I get asked in nearly every interview where I get my courage. I genuinely believe my work in the past twenty years has not called for bravery; it is more a matter of having made a conscious choice. It certainly does not require even 1 percent of the courage I needed at that moment. I am sure it is a feeling familiar to many people: from sheer rage, desperation, and, paradoxically, above all, fear, you gain the courage to take the most resolute and reckless action. Yelling at him every swear word I knew, I punched him in the face several times as hard as I could, landing about half the blows. Completely taken by surprise, he fell over and looked up at me in bewilderment, lying on his back and half covering himself with his hands, evidently expecting me to start kicking him. I looked down no less bewildered. The fit of rage had passed, the adrenaline was draining away, and with every millisecond I came closer to the famous predicament of Schrodinger's cat: Crane might now get up and I would be dead or not. At that moment I leaned a rule in life: it is easier to perform a bold action than to live with its consequences. I ran away as fast as I could and looked back: Crane was running after me. After a couple of minutes I had a stitch in my side, but I ignored it, aware that if I stopped, everything would be much worse. I got away, but the next three days or so were scary, I feared getting beaten up at school in front of my friends or, even worse, in front of girls. To my great surprise, though, when I came face-to-face several times with my nemesis at school, he just glared at me menacingly. This gradually mutated into his very deliberately seeming not to notice me, while I, similarly, did not seem to notice him. I am still not sure why he didn't try to take revenge. Perhaps the answer is to be found in economic theory: A free agent wanders through the market taking money from younger pupils, each of whom is intimidated. By my outburst of insanity, I raised the price of harassment in my torturer's eyes and he made the rational decision to move on to others who were less psychotic. So I was, you might say, saved by the invisible hand of the market...The second possible explanation is that I wisely did not blab about the incident, sharing it only with a couple of close friends. Crane realized I was not trying to sabotage his reputation as bully in chief...”

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“I can't stand the word "mentality," which I think is a completely artificial concept, but it is plainly true that some kind of Russian national character exists, and this bravado about enduring privation, which could so easily be avoided, is a significant aspect of it. We suffer appalling conditions, criticize and gripe about the authorities, yet simultaneously manage to take pride in being able to survive in these horrid conditions, and consider it a great competitive advantage in a hypothetical confrontation between nations. Well, yes, we say, the Japanese do make good cars, but just let them try to assemble a functioning car form the spare parts of three others and some rusty scrap metal the way our neighbor Vasily managed to. I notice the same thing in myself when I go abroad and compare the activities of opposition politicians in Russia and Europe. I can find myself on the verge of saying, "I wonder how you would get on as a politician if, after every meeting in an electoral campaign, you were placed under arrest for a month." It is as if I were priding myself on living in an environment so grim, and where politics is so very real, that I absolutely have to go to prison. You don't need to be a great psychologist to recognize what is a the root of this: Russians yearn for a normal life, fully aware that we have invented all our existing problems for our ourselves. We can't admit to being fools, though, so we look for something to boast about, where in fact there is nothing to be proud of. There were political discussions in our home regularly, and the overall attitude toward the authorities was critical. That seemed to be true of other families I knew, which might appear strange, because all military officers were obliged to be members of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, and propaganda in the army and control of its ideological loyalty were top state priorities. These directives had exactly the opposite effect of what was intended. The title of "political worker" (an officer responsible for ideological work) was always tinged with irony. They were laughed at behind their backs, because everybody knew their sole professional duty was to tell lies. The mind-boggling discrepancy between what political workers said and the reality of life was obvious, even to a child when these geezers turned up at school to tell us about the wonders of the Soviet system. One who had served in Cuba described the wiles of the Americans and how marvelous life had become in the "Island of Freedom" after the victory of the revolution, but all the children wanted to know was whether it was true you could just walk into a shop there and buy Coca-Cola and how their parents could best draw the lucky straw and get to work anywhere as long as it was abroad.”

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“All Soviet people loved to criticize the authorities, but were afraid of the all-powerful KGB (which, in army towns, was referred to as osobisty, "special agents"). The main worry was telephone tapping. It was clearly not credible that the KGB could have sufficient staff to eavesdrop on the conversations in every apartment. Nevertheless, when friends came to visit my father and, after a few vodkas in the kitchen, started berating the authorities, my mother would put the telephone under a cushion. It seemed odd, and when I asked why she was doing it, she brushed the question aside by saying there was no knowing what might get said and who might hear it. I found that extraordinary. Here were grown-ups talking about completely ordinary matters, like the impossibility of finding Bulgarian ketchup in the shops and having to get in the queue for meat at five o'clock in the morning. I could not see what there was to be afraid of. All schoolboys had been to the stores and had noticed the long queues, and knew that the most used word in the Soviet lexicon was "shortage." That meant there must be people not allowing you to say what was obviously true. Moreover, they were apparently employing other people to listen in to the phone in your home to the extent that we needed to use a cushion to protect ourselves. What an irony that my first memory of the use of that cushion dates to 1984.”

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“If you are a Russian bureaucrat, you are required to obey every order, even if it is illegal, and with each passing year this comes to seem more natural. When the Kirovles case was brought against me, Belykh, who knew perfectly well the charges had been fabricated, kept his mouth firmly shut. That was one of the reasons the case was able to proceed to trial. It is fundamental to Putin's power, however, that the rules can change and at any moment be used against you. Seven years later I turned on the television and was stunned. Nikita was shown being arrested in a Moscow restaurant in the act of accepting a bribe. He got eight years in a strict regime facility and, as I write this, is still in prison.”

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“Nostalgia for the U.S.S.R. is an important feature of Russia today, and a political factor not to be underestimated. Long before Donald Trump's clarion call to "Make America Great Again," Vladimir Putin had uttered the unofficial slogan of his reign, "We shall be as respected and feared as the U.S.S.R." This rhetoric was employed from the first steps he took on coming to power. I thought it laughable and was sure it wouldn't work, but I was wrong. It is a banal thought, but the human brain really is designed in a way that means you return in memory only to what was good in the past. Those who feel nostalgic for the U.S.S.R. are in reality nostalgic for their youth-a time when everything was still in the future, when you played volleyball on the beach in the company of friends, and in the evening drank wine, grilled kebabs, and had no worries about crime, unemployment, or uncertain prospects for the future. Even such archetypally Soviet absurdities as being sent to "dig up potatoes," compulsory work in the fields to which schoolchildren, students, and the workers of city enterprises were dispatched in the later years of the U.S.S.R., are remembered as merely a distraction, pretty awful but fun. At the time, having to dig up frozen ground, "helping the collective farm workers save the harvest," irritated everybody and only demonstrated the total failure of the Soviet agricultural system. But who remembers the rubber boots that pinched, the dirt under your fingernails, and the sense of the utter pointlessness of the labor, when it is all eclipsed by a picture in your head of a female classmate smiling dazzlingly at you from the neighboring plot.”

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“I firmly believe that all the best things on earth have been created by brave nerds. (I have on the wall of my office a photograph of the 1927 Solvay Conference on Physics. My heroes are those brave nerds who brought about a revolution and enabled the progress of all humankind. I find them so inspiring that I have hung a copy of that photo in the rooms of both my children.) But these nerds in Yabloko were cowardly, scared to experiment. The world changed and they stood still. There was a time when Yabloko was a faction in the State Duma, and the party could not imagine it ever being different. When they failed to get over that 5 percent threshold, they complained about abuse of power and falsification of results. They were indignant and claimed that victory had been stolen from them and that in fact they had received many more votes. It was true that the election results even then were being flagrantly rigged, but Yabloko had also done nothing to fight for votes. Gradually the y resigned themselves to the idea that they could never win. They believed they were little people facing a huge, hostile country were nerds were unpopular. They became afraid of their voters, and their fear was masked by exaggerated elitism with intellectual overtones. Needless to say, no one cared for that, and they began to lose what little support they had left. This was absolutely contrary to my idea of how to do politics. I believed it was essential to find a common language with everyone. I feel at home with my former classmates, almost all of whom are now in the armed forces or police, as well as when I am being held in a detention center with drug addicts and hooligans of every variety. One such hapless guy in the next bunk has been telling me how he ruined his life, and that his HIV treatment is very expensive and doesn't work. We are discussing the ins and outs of methadone therapy. The Russian people are good; it's our leaders who are appalling. I had no doubt that 30 percent of the Russian population subscribed to democratic views, so we had every chance of becoming, over time, the political majority. That is why, when I realized Yabloko was deliberately alienating its supporters, I got tired of being in a political minority. I was ultimately expelled from the party. The pretext was my "nationalism.”

PoliticsAmbitionBraveryNationalismNerds
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“We must not repeat the same mistake. Putin will not last forever, and we have no way of knowing what the nature of his departure will be-voluntary, forced, or natural. But from our history we can imagine how great the temptation may be to overlook at first small, the more major, transgressions on the part of whomever we are backing. The new leader gives voice to our interests, you can imagine someone saying, our political outlook. In order, for example, not to let the populists come to power, he may tweak, tamper, and tinker a little. He may make use of the national television channel. But what of it? He'll be telling it how it is, he's our guy, after all, and he'll only get rid of people if they are really asking for it. That's why, as a reminder of mistakes in the past and a pointer for the future, I would very much like this sense of karmic retribution to be shared by as many people as possible. People who, like me back then, turned a blind eye to the lawlessness, the lies, and the hypocrisy and saw it all as a case of the ends justifying the means and as necessary backing for a particular team.”

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“I was not really sure what my father did in the army. His job seemed mainly to involve two activities: One was rushing to his station to signal an alert drill daily at 9:00 p.m...The other activity was catching runaway soldiers...I could not get the adults to explain why anyone wanted to run away. Where were they going? There were soldiers everywhere. They were used as a general workforce, sweeping the streets, driving cars, hauling stuff around. Others were always marching somewhere. Often they would waylay schoolkids near a store and ask them to go in to buy something. They were afraid to go in themselves because they might be spotted by a patrol on the lookout for soldiers absent from their unit without leave. The soldiers didn't look particularly happy, but neither did they seem so unhappy they might be thinking of running off into the forest. As I found out later, they were running away because of dedovshchina ("bullying"). Bullying of raw recruits by older soldiers reached such a level that in 1982 the minister of defense had to issue a secret order, "On Combating Nonregulation Relations," thereby recognizing it as a widespread practice. Hazing became a self-replicating system. You joined the army, got beaten up, your money was taken from you, and you were forced to scrub floors and do the laundry of the "older" soldiers, who joined the army just a year and a half before you. After all these humiliations, you just waited for your turn to beat up the rookies, because that was just the way it was, a necessary part of army life, something that transformed a civilian wimp into a real man. The system was often tacitly endorsed by officers, who saw it as a self-regulating system of training and discipline. For example, some rural idiot joins the army, fails to understand elementary commands, looks scruffy, and is generally hopeless. So then the staff sergeant punches him a couple of times in the middle of the chest ("in the soul"), which really huts (you cannot punch him in the face, because the marks would show), and he immediately comes to his senses and starts behaving like a seasoned soldier. Needless to say, such an idiotic practice did nothing to improve discipline, and fundamentally undermined respect for the army. Soldiers returning home after two years of national service luridly described the bullying to those yet to be conscripted. It closely resembled the revelations of people returning from prison. Mothers listened in horror and then had no wish to send their sons off to the army. Periodically, after yet another unfortunate young man, unable any longer to bear the hazing, committed suicide or shot his abusers, the army would launch another anti-bullying campaign, which never did any good. The practice is institutionalized and can only be combated by changing the institution, primarily by creating an army in which professional servicemen and servicewomen are paid a salary to defend the county. What is not needed is an army that depends on hapless youths taken from their families (for two years in the U.S.S.R., and nowadays for one) who are forced to spend their time in an institution that is a bizarre form of survival school. Curiously, the army takes a certain pride in this constant imbecility, as I began to notice as I grew older. It was regularly remarked that our soldiers and officers were so inured to carrying out ridiculous orders-for example, with my own eyes I saw soldiers painting grass green before inspection-that, under fire, they would perform miracles of discipline. Because they lived in such poverty and were so used to hardship, there could be no doubt that in the event of war the pampered Americans, with their luxurious barracks and individual apartments for officers, would be defeated.”

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“In the 1990, there was a rock band in Russia called Bakhyt-Kompot, and they had a song that was musically terrible but an important expression of punk philosophy that articulated one of my own main preoccupations. The chorus went like this: "How come the Czechs have cracked it, but Russia hasn't hacked it? How come the Poles have cracked it, but Russia hasn't hacked it? How come the Germans have cracked it, but Russia hasn't hacked it?" All the countries of the Soviet bloc and the Baltic republics were managing to "crack it," but not us. We had the oil, the gas, the ores and timber, infrastructure of sorts, and industry. We had a lot of highly educated people but it didn't help. I'm not talking about "like in America"; it wasn't even like in Poland. According to current official statistics, 13 percent of people were living below the poverty line; in terms of the average wage, we had been overtaken by China, Lebanon, and Panama. Someday I believe it will all work out and everything will be fine, but we have to face the fact that from the early 1990s to the 2020s, the life of the nation has been wasted moronically, a time of degeneration and failing to keep up. There is good reason why people like me, and those five or ten years older, are called a cursed and lost generation. We are the people who should have been the main beneficiaries of market and political freedom. We could have adapted readily to a new world in a way that was beyond the ability of most earlier generations. Fifteen percent of us should have become entrepreneurs, "like in America." But Russia didn't crack it. No one doubts we are living better now than we were in 1990, but, excuse me, thirty years have passed. Even in North Korea people are living better now than they did then. Scientific and technological progress, whole new branches of the economy, communications, the internet, ATMs, computers . . . Those who claim the rise in living standards relative to the 1990s is due to the exertions and achievements of the Putin regime re like stock joke characters saying, "Thank heaven for Putin! Under his rule the speed of computers has increased a millionfold." The comparison should not be between us as we were in 1990 and us as we are now, but between how we are now and how we could have been if we had grown at just the average global growth rate. We would easily have achieved what we watched in Czechoslovakia, East Germany, China, and South Korea achieve. That is a comparison about which we can only feel sad. This is not some abstract exercise, but thirty years of our lives. And God knows how many more such lost and stolen years lie ahead. For as long as Putin's group is in power, we will count the missed opportunities and be noticing how other countries have overtaken us in per capita GDP, and how those we have always looked down as little better than beggars have overtaken us in terms of their national average income.”

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“The standard and completely moronic response of the Soviet-and subsequently of the Russian-authorities to any crisis is to decide that it is in the interests of the population that they should be lied to endlessly. Otherwise, the reasoning goes, people are sure to run out of their homes, rush around in a state of anarchy, set buildings on fire, and kill each other! The truth of the matter is that nothing of that sort has ever happened. In most crises the population is prepared to behave in a rational and disciplined manner, especially if the situation were to be explained to them and they were told what needed to be done. Instead, as I have since seen on a less dramatic scale many times, the first official reaction is invariably to lie. There is no practical benefit to the officials doing so; it is simply a rule: In an awkward situation, lie. Play down the damage, deny everything, bluff. It can all be sorted out later, but right now, at the moment of crisis, officials have no option but to lie, because the imagined idiot population is not yet ready for the truth. In the Chernobyl affair, it is pointless to look for even a scintilla of rationality. God forbid the people should have been told to stay indoors for a week and not go outside unless absolutely necessary. In Kiev, the capital city of Ukraine with a population in the millions, a May Day parade was held just five days after the explosion, for the same propaganda purposes-to pretend that all was well. We know now how these decisions were made. The leaders of the Communist Party, sitting in their offices, wanted foremost to ensure that neither the Soviet people nor-horror of horrors-foreigners should know anything about the atomic disaster. The health of tens of thousands of people was sacrificed in the cause of a grand cover-up that was ridiculous, because the radioactive fallout was so extensive it was registered by laboratories all over the globe.”

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“The Soviet Union was amazingly effective at producing propaganda and telling lies, but what was needed here was the ability to build houses in a hurry, and that it was something it could barely do and certainly couldn't do well.... The question most puzzling even to my ten-year-old self was why the authorities were lying like this when everybody around me knew the truth. What kind of pathetic attempt at deception was this? If you are going to lie, you should at least be expecting to benefit from it in some way. You claim to be sick and you don't have to go to school; that at least makes sense. But what was the point of these lies? Describing the way the Soviet Union worked, Vasily Shukshin, a Russian writer, memorably said, "Lies, lies, lies . . . Lies as redemption, lies as atonement for guilt, lies as a goal achieved, lies as a career, as prosperity, as medals, as an apartment . . . Lies! The whole of Russia was covered with lies, like a scab." An excellent description of the situation. If the Chernobyl disaster had never happened, I would probably have heard less talk of politics. It would certainly have been less personal, and my political views would have been slightly different. But things happened as they did, and many years later, when I was a grown man, I watched the newly appointed acting president of Russia, forty-seven-year-old Vladimir Putin, on television, far from sharing any enthusiasm about the country's new "energetic leader," I kept thinking, He never stops lying, just as it was in my childhood.”

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“Operation Stronghold is a plan for defending a police department from attack. It was evidently developed for dealing with terrorist attacks and other such emergencies but in practice is now used whenever the authorities want to keep lawyers, human rights activists, journalists, or anybody else out of a police precinct. If you later complain your lawyer was not allowed to see you, the Ministry of the Interior routinely replies, "At this time training exercises were underway, and Operation Stronghold was being rehearsed. Only officers and staff of the police department were admitted to or allowed to leave the site." They practice Operation Stronghold whenever I'm arrested.”

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“Suddenly, from behind the frosted glass of an adjacent room, a colleague appears. He's senior in rank, a captain. The captain holds out his hand for the passport and then starts brusquely looking through it. Yulia gives me a wry smile, as if to say, here we go. "Alexei Anatolievich, please come with me," the captain says. The expression on our lawyer's face reflects what she is thinking about the failure of our cunning plan. She is standing literally centimeters away, but already on the far side of the barrier that symbolizes the state border. She tries to open it and come back in, but it is obviously locked and can only be opened by pressing a button in the border guard's cubicle. "Why do you want me to go with you?" I ask. "We need to establish certain details." "Well, what's the problem with establishing them here?" "You need to come with me." Do you take me for a complete fool? I think. If you've decided to arrest me, bring out your cops, of whom you doubtless have a squad at the ready. They want to avoid a photograph of the police taking me away. "I don't have to go anywhere with you," I say. "Here is my lawyer. I insist you establish your details or whatever it is in her presence." We bicker some more, and I can see the pain in the captain's eyes. He is under instructions to get me to walk through that adjacent door-with no photos of policemen-but he is clearly not going to be able to deliver. He mutters something into his handset, and six policemen magically appear. Olga begins attacking the barrier even more energetically, demanding to be let back in. Just in case, I move Yulia, who is standing between me and the police, behind my back. Heaven knows what they may have in mind. The altercation continues, now with a police major, and by now I am on autopilot. This routine of "Come with me," "No," "Come," "No, I don't have to. Here is my lawyer," "No, come with me" is something I know so well I could repeat it in my sleep. What is important right now is to think strategically. I have a single-use mobile phone in my pocket (I feel it). Kira has the backpack with the laptop. I give the suitcase to Yulia; it is unlikely she will be detained too. That seems to be everything. I am ready. I say goodbye to Yulia, kissing her on the cheek. The standard dialogue has already reached the stage of "If you refuse to comply with the instructions of police officers, forcible action will be taken." There is no point in refusing to go with them and be dragged off by the arms and legs like at protest rallies. What if all they are planning to do is hand me a summons to appear in court? In fifteen minutes the whole confrontation would look pretty silly. I kiss Yulia again and go on my way, accompanied by an escort of police.”

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“This routine of "Come with me," "No," "Come," "No, I don't have to. Here is my lawyer," "No, come with me" is something I know so well I could repeat it in my sleep. What is important right now is to think strategically. I have a single-use mobile phone in my pocket (I feel it). Kira has the backpack with the laptop. I give the suitcase to Yulia; it is unlikely she will be detained too. That seems to be everything. I am ready. I say goodbye to Yulia, kissing her on the cheek. The standard dialogue has already reached the stage of "If you refuse to comply with the instructions of police officers, forcible action will be taken." There is no point in refusing to go with them and be dragged off by the arms and legs like at protest rallies. What if all they are planning to do is hand me a summons to appear in court? In fifteen minutes the whole confrontation would look pretty silly. I kiss Yulia again and go on my way, accompanied by an escort of police.... Everyone in Russia is familiar with the phrase "a theater performance for one spectator." It starts within a few seconds. Two characters in plain clothes turn on cameras, while a third (you call tell he is in charge from his jacket) produces some papers, goes over to the major, and begins solemnly intoning, "Comrade blah blah blah, I report that in the case of blah blah blah there is blah blah blah evidence, blah blah blah Navalny, blah blah blah search." Having absorbed this, the major turns to the border guard, who reports that based on a review of blah blah blah documents citizen Navalny has been identified. At this I start laughing at them. "Why are you behaving like lunatics? Who are you putting this shown on for? There's only me here; relax and speak normally," I say. They cannot relax, however, because of those two cameras filming the proceedings. Their superiors, who have scripted this performance, are invisibly present in their camera proxies. Nobody reacts to my words.”

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“A billionaire senior manager stood up and said, "We are giving this special award to Vladimir Leonidovich Bogdanov." Bogdanov, the CEO and a billionaire too, got to his feet, accepted the award, and began reading his report: We have extracted this quantity of oil. We have made that huge amount of profit. Eventually, the host of the event stood up and asked, "Are there any questions?" Three hundred fifty shareholders sitting in the auditorium remained silent. "Does anyone want to say anything?" Silence. I raised my hand and told him, "There is something I want to say." The look on the young host's face suggested a flying saucer had landed in the hall with little green men emerging from it. It was obvious that in all his working life he had never before encountered anyone who wanted to say anything. "Fine," he said eventually. "Please come forward." I went up onto the stage and said, "There is an oil-trading company called Gunvor. It is owned by Gennadiy Timchenko, a very close friend of Putin's, and you sell your oil through it. Why was it chosen? Was there a tender? If there was, which other companies took part? How much oil do you forward to Guvnor, and what are the terms? I am demanding these explanations because at present everything suggests that the company's profit is simply accruing to Gunvor, and because of this shareholders are not receiving the dividends due them." To judge by the expressions of those sitting on the stage, little green men not only had landed but were now firing their ray guns while tap-dancing. You could read in the eyes of those onstage that they were wondering where I had come from. "Had he been sent by the Kremlin? The FSB? How dare he publicly accuse them of corruption!" I spoke with extreme courtesy, peppering my speech with legal terms. I followed up my question about Gunvor by demanding to be told who the real owners of Surgutneftegas were. It was widely known that as of 2003 the company had been publicly identifying only ordinary shareholders in its reports, presenting an incredibly convoluted scheme of corporate ownership from which no one on the planet could deduce who actually owned this gigantic oil enterprise. While I was speaking, there was absolute silence in the auditorium, but as I went on, I could see people becoming animated, first of whom were the journalists. It was part of their job to sit through these incredibly dull meetings, but now, for the first time in living memory, something besides the predictable was happening and things seemed to be livening up. Next, the shareholders showed signs of life. At first they just stared at me in bafflement, trying to work out who I was, but then they realized I was just an ordinary person like the rest of them, except that I was not afraid to get up on the stage. When I finished, the audience applauded. That was a moment to treasure, a triumph and a mind-numbing moment when I knew that now I really was battling corruption. I started attending all the shareholder meetings. Before they began, the main topic of interest to the journalists was whether Navalny was there. Everyone loved watching a battle between David and Goliath. I would put up my hand, and start speaking, and the company management would look sour because there was nothing they could do to stop me. Of course, they did not answer any questions. They could hardly say, "You're right, Alexei. We're thieves just like Putin." Their response was, "Thank you for raising such an important issue. We will look into it." Of course, nobody in the hall expected them to say anything meaningful. Far more important was the fact that someone was asking questions.”

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“Neither Yeltsin nor the leaders of Ukraine and Belarus were to blame for its collapse. The Soviet Union was destroyed by the Communist Party and the KGB. The former, through the lies, hypocrisy, and incompetent management of its senile leaders, reduced the country to a state of economic crisis. The latter, in the person of its chairman, Vladimir Kryuchkov, attempted a coup that was bungled as badly as everything else they had done in earlier years. Most researchers of the August putsch believe Chairman Kryuchkov was the main actor among the conspirators. At that time, Lieutenant Colonel Vladimir Putin, working in the Leningrad department of the KGB, was by no means making a fuss about geopolitical disasters but, in pursuit of money and new opportunities, cheerfully leaving the ranks of his organization in order to throw in his lot with the mayor of Leningrad, Anatoly Sobchak, one of Yeltsin's main supporters. In other words, Putin was unquestionably one of those with a direct interest in the collapse of the U.S.S.R., helping it along and extracting maximum benefit from it. I don't want to exaggerate Putin's personal role or assert that he particularly betrayed his organization. He simply acted in his own interests. One day he was out catching dissidents on the streets of Leningrad who would be sent to prison for "anti-Soviet propaganda," and the next he was the bag carrier of one of the new regime's most radical supporters.”

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“I finish writing the emails and send them. I check that Yulia has access to the banking apps-a fairly pointless exercise because all my accounts have been frozen for months by lawsuits filed by "Putin's chef," Yevgeny Prigozhin, a man who, in the days of the U.S.S.R., was convicted of aggravated robbery but has now become, thanks to his friendship with Putin, "a successful entrepreneur" with a monopoly on the food supply to the day cares and schools of Moscow. We are running out of time. One more meeting is scheduled. I call Leonid Volkov, our chief of staff, Maria, and Kira. Yulia joins us. We briefly discuss the plan of action for each possible scenario: we get home without hindrance; I am arrested at the airport and jailed; I am detained, then released, and the Kremlin waits for the indignation to subside and then has me arrested; nothing happens, but I am arrested in a couple of weeks on a different charge, and so on. These scenarios are approaches the Kremlin has already used on us. In the twenty-first century you are confronted not just by the machinery of a repressive state but by the PR machinery of that state. Public opinion is what matters to all the players. The same action performed in subtly different ways can either leave people unmoved or enrage them and bring them out onto the streets to demonstrate. Everything has to be taken into account, including what day of the week it is and the weather.”

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“Mikhailova anticipates they might detain me after I have passed through the turnstile, that is, after formally crossing the border. I would then be taken away quickly. So she will go through first, then I, then Yulia. these are important issues we need to discuss if we are to be prepared for every eventuality, but I do not actually believe I will face any threats on the day of arrival. I have long ago given up trying to analyze and predict the behavior of Putin and the Kremlin. There is just too much irrationality in it. Putin has been in power for more than twenty years, and like that of any other leader in history who has stuck around that long, his head is filled with messianic obsessions, all that "No Putin, No Russia" stuff, openly proclaimed from the rostrum of the State Duma. The real balance of power between the sundry groups in the Kremlin is also unknown, no matter what the political analysts choose to write. So it is futile to try calculating what "they" might do next, and we have to do what we think is right. We have, however, a general understanding of how the media and public opinion function. More or less all we know about Putin's technique for ruling is that he conducts endless opinion polls and takes account of the results in his planning. Arresting me at the airport would not be in his interests. Of all the scenarios for isolating me, this is the one most favorable for me. In the first place, the European Court has already ruled on the Yves Rocher case, recognizing that I am innocent. I make that point during our discussion: "Are you trying to tell me they will arrest me on a charge that has already been ruled against by the European Court of Human Rights? You must be joking." Arresting me for "failing to observe the conditions of a suspended sentence" would be too cynical, even by the standards of the Kremlin. First they try to poison me, and then, when I am in a coma and in intensive care, they announce, "Oh, look, he has failed to register with the police. Let's imprison him on that county." If they try it, they will immediately lose the battle for the first bastion of public opinion, the journalists who follow closely how the situation is developing. My period of probation in a case they brought in 2014 ended, after numerous extensions, on December 30, 2020, eighteen days ago. So it is no longer possible to revoke my suspended sentence. Obviously, no such trifling matter as the law will ever deter a Russian judge, for whom the only thing that matters is the telephone call in which his boss gives him his orders. But why make everything difficult, why attract attention, and, most important, why whip up sympathy for me with blatantly illegal harassment? At his most recent press conference Putin referred to me dismissively with a phrase that had clearly been though through and characterizes his latest tactic: "Who cares about him?" So would it not make the best sense to operate within that framework and ignore my return? Reduce a big deal to a puff of smoke? Instead of providing journalists with the anticipated great shots of me being arrested, let them have a video of me coming out of the airport with my luggage, unsure what to do with myself while waiting for a taxi? Then, after a couple of weeks, when the fuss is over, call me in for questioning on the latest fabricated criminal charge. A couple of months after that, impose house arrest. Three months or so after that, move me to a prison with a short sentence, then renew it. Then just keep me there. Everyone will have gotten used to it by then. Why would anyone protest when I'd been in prison for ages? No, Putin is nuts, but he's not going to be crazy enough to create a major incident by arresting me at the airport.”

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“In 1999, when Vladimir Putin came to power, many thought he was wonderful. He was young, he didn't drink like Yeltsin, and he seemed to be saying all the right things. That strengthened the hope that everything would at last be put right. This talk really annoyed me. I didn't like the idea of Putin as "successor"; I wanted a genuine presidential election, with competing candidates. If we imagine that Putin was a Communist who campaigned and won fairly, I would have been very upset, but I would have accepted the result. Now, though, Putin was being foisted on Russia as payment for his loyalty and willingness to provide legal immunity to the former president and his family. I knew that I couldn't believe a word Putin said. his appointment made me determined to resist. I didn't want someone of that kind to be the leader of my country. My feelings were very strong. I wanted to register my presence as far removed from Putin as possible, on the opposite side of the political arena, so that later, when I was a grandfather, I would be able to tell my grandchildren, "I was against it from the outset!" All that remained was to decide which party to join. The Communists still had the largest organization and were the obvious choice for someone who wanted to make it clear they were opposed to Yeltsin's successor, but for me the merest hint of the Soviet past was like a red cape to a bull. The Liberal Democratic Party of Russia seemed to be in opposition, but I did not trust its leader, Vladimir Zhirinovsky, to stand up to the new regime. In the democratic wing, there were the Union of Right Forces (URF) and Yabloko. The former included some well-known officials like Anatoly Chubais and Boris Nemstov (both of whom seemed to me then to be Young Community League types). Yabloko, which bore more resemblance to a bunch of amiable nerds, was the only genuinely democratic party, overtly opposed to Putin, and that seemed preferable. My decision must have seemed odd to some people, and I might have hesitated longer, but I wanted my position to be absolutely clear: I would join the opposition. When there was talk that the electoral threshold to the Duma could be raised from 5 percent to 7 percent, and there were doubts as to whether a democratic party would be able to achieve the new minimum, that only increased my motivation. So I took myself off to Yabloko's headquarters in the center of Moscow. It was not at all how I had pictured the headquarters of a parliamentary party. It was a complete shambles.”

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“Transneft is the world's largest pipeline company and moves oil all over Russia. Needless to say, it is state owned. In the mid-2000s it undertook the huge project of constructing an oil pipeline from eastern Siberia to the Pacific Ocean. Any construction project of that size is guaranteed first and foremost to involve a whole lot of embezzlement. Even if it gets completed, such a mega-project will not be finished on time; it will be done shoddily and against regulations; and a large chunk of the budget will be misappropriated. And that is exactly what happened. This was obvious to everyone, including the government, and in 2008 Transneft was audited by the Accounts Chamber, a special auditing department of the state. Scandalously, the results were kept secret at the request of Transneft itself. I went to great lengths to get my hands on this secret report and finally succeeded. I was appalled. The report's 150 pages drily laid out, with numbers and analysis, the fact that everything that could have been plundered had been. Construction costs had been inflated many times over, fly-by-night offshore companies had been selected as contractors, tenders and bidding had been conducted with wholly incredible irregularities, and the documentation relating to them had been destroyed in order to conceal what had been going on. The report was not the theorizing of experts or posts in a blog on the internet but rather an official report by the Accounts Chamber. The total amount embezzled in the course of the pipeline project was some $4 billion, "1,100 rubles stolen from every adult in Russia,' as I wrote in LiveJournal at the time. It was a huge scandal. The head of the state corporation at the time was, and to the present day still is, Nikolai Tokarev, an ex-KGB officer and a very close buddy of Putin's who had shared an office with him at the Soviet KGB residency in Dresden. Tokarev, an extremely private person, eventually spoke out. He accused me of being an opportunist and claimed I was "licked by Madeleine Albright's National Democratic Institute." And she, he claimed, virulently hated Russia. I ridiculed their understanding of the world, which had changed not a jot since the days of their youth and the Cold War. Almost immediately after publication of my investigation, an examination of the Kirovles case began in Kirov Region. It was in fact a reexamination, because I had already been investigated when I was working as Belykh's adviser. The police had unearthed nothing illegal then, and the episode was quickly forgotten. This now was evidently an attempt to prevent my returning to Russia, which was an option I did not for a moment contemplate. For several months I had been some homesick that I was devouring sorrel borscht in my dreams. The four of us packed our bags and flew back to Moscow. A new phase of my life had begun: every time I returned home, I wondered whether I would be arrested at the border.”

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“The "government of reformers," as is now obvious, operated a policy of over-the-top corrupt protectionism that would turn any real conservative green with envy. Huge duties were imposed under the pretext of protecting domestic manufacturers. Then they were canceled, before being reintroduced. Customs policy could change by anyone bringing a suitcase of cash to the government. Needless to say, every decision to impose high duties was accompanied by ways of making it possible to circumvent them, exceptions for special cases. Ultimately, the most straightforward and effective idea came to dominate: redesignating goods subject to a high rate of duty as belonging to a different category, which attracted a low rate.”

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“Now that we have tons of autobiographical testimony and interviews and archive documents and, most important, now that we can see with our own eyes the "reformers of the 190s" transmogrified into Putin's lickspittles, propagandists, oligarchs, and bureaucrats, and all of them extremely rich, we should be honest, repudiating hypocrisy and any attempt to justify ourselves for our wasted years. We should admit that there never were any democrats in power in Russia, in the sense of people with a genuinely liberal, democratic outlook. And the main narrative of our recent past, the confrontation between "democrats" and Soviet conservatives, never happened either. "What do you mean, never happened? I was part of it!" Even I want to protest in response to such a radical, or naive, or wicked assertion. But it is only too obvious that it never happened, at least not in the way those involved in the events portray it. There was an objective historical process. There was the U.S.S.R., ideologically, economically, and morally bankrupt. There was a conflict between elites, in which one faction, in order to sweep away senile dotards, tricked itself out in more popular colors, those of "democrats and supporters of a market economy." With that slogan it seized power. Well, isn't that just the way of the world? Are you going to accept that one section of the elite came up with new slogans and won, or are you going to go around with a liberalometer checking everybody's ideological purity to find out who most believed in what they were saying and who was less than sincere? Actually, a device of that description would have been very helpful, and the lack of one is exactly why nothing worked out "like in America" or, for that matter, in the Czech Republic. In the countries of the Soviet bloc, those opposing the conservatives, socialists, dodderers, idiots, and saboteurs had as their leaders (or just playing a crucial role) people of the stature of Lech Walesa and Vaclav Havel. They had stood their ground in the face of oppression and persecution, and over many years had shown in action a genuine commitment to the words they proclaimed from the podium. In Russia everything was different. The chief "radical democrat" was Boris Yeltisn. I was born in 1976, at which time Yeltisn was the first secretary of the Sverdlovsk regional committee of the CPSU. That is, he was the governor of the largest industrial region in the Urals with powers that were far in excess of today's governors. There he behaved like a typical Soviet petty tyrant, and just as in the mid-1970s he would climb into his official black car, live in his officially provided apartment, and acquire his official elite dacha, so until his death that is the lifestyle he and his family took for granted. He belonged body and soul to the Soviet party establishment, and what little he knew about the life of the "common people" he gleaned from his chauffeurs and servants.”

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“The second important principle was 'normality.' The Kremlin has been trying for years to marginalize our movement and drive it underground, to turn us into a modern equivalent of the Soviet dissidents. I have great respect for those dissidents, who were heroes. But in 2012, no one in their right mind wanted to become a heroic dissident-it's dangerous and it's scary. Everyone just wanted to be normal. And that's exactly what we were-normal people with a normal office life. Although we were essentially an organization for revolution, with each person taking great risks, from the outside we looked like a bunch of Moscow hipsters. We had a spacious open plan office and a coffee machine, and we played Secret Santa. WE had Twitter and Instagram accounts. Our staff was young, everyone was friends with everyone else, we went on hikes together and threw parties (though in later years I began to notice a curious tendency for everything that was the most fun to begin after I had gone home). The only way we were different from a fancy start-up was that we were battling Putin. Of course that brought with it predictable downers, like having our office bugged. Although that was disagreeable, it was not particularly scary. Over time, however, the downers became more numerous. the pressure grew year by year, and by 2019 arrests and searches had become part of our daily lives. Our hipster office remained just as hipsterish, only now the riot police sawed through the door with a chain saw, burst in with semiautomatic weapons, made everyone lie on the floor. During one of these raids, fifty members of the staff were relieved of their computers and phones, and all our equipment, documents, and personal belongings were taken. If you managed to hide your phone behind the baseboard molding and your computer in the ceiling tiles-well done. But most often everything was confiscated. The tactic was clear enough: We needed money to replace the equipment, and we would have to ask for donations. The Kremlin was hoping it would gradually become more difficult to raise funds, but after each attack on us we saw a surge in contributions. What the Anti-Corruption Foundation does is obvious from the name. We are hybrids, somewhere between journalists, lawyers, and political activists. We come across a story involving corruption, examine the documents, collect evidence, and publish it. In the first years, we did so as posts on my blog; later, as videos on YouTube. The most important thing we do, then, is spread the story so millions hear about it. The number of independent media outlets was falling rapidly, censorship was everywhere, and no major newspaper, let alone television network, was going to publicize our work. What do you do in a situation like that? You tell the story yourself and ask others to help. Post a link on your blog, write something on social media, send the video to your friends, and if nothing else is helping, print out a leaflet and put it up in elevators. 'This is our mayor: His official salary is around $2,000 a month. and here is his apartment in Miami, which is worth $5 million.' At the end of every investigation I made an appeal: 'Guys we've done our bit. Here's a great, important story, but without your help no one is going to know about it. Send links to your friends. Join your regional group on VKontakte and leave a comment there too. Send it to your grandmother and your parents.' The result was that donors not only gave us money but effectively started working for us themselves and became an important part of our organization.”

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“The more popular our project became, the more it worried the Kremlin. At first they simply ignored us, but after a while began actively attacking. Pro-Kremlin journalists wrote that we were 'providing a mass platform for the wrong kinds of people' and 'creating the wrong sorts of trends.' Then the regime started overtly hindering our activities and trying in every way possible to discredit them. The debates were held offline, which made us vulnerable. The regime started putting pressure on the owners of the premises where we held them. There were 'inspections,' visits from the police, threats to cut off their electricity, anything to stop them from allowing us to hire their rooms. The regime began sending gangs of troublemakers regularly. A dozen people would turn up, begin yelling, throw things around, and start a fight, and the venue would turn down our next attempt to book it. The main aim was to marginalize us, to show that ours were 'not political debates at all,' but just a bunch of drunks getting together and starting a fight. See how disgusting they are, there's one with blood running down his face. I mention the blood because it was my face it was running down. A group of drunken young guys turned up at one of our debates, shouting insults, chanting 'Sieg Heil,' and snatching the microphone from those who wanted to ask questions. I tried form the stage to calm down the ruckus, but a fight broke out, with one of the invaders attacking me outside. I had a gun with me for self-defense that fired rubber bullets. I first shot in the air and then in the direction of my assailant. This made little impression on him, and he hurled himself at me. We were both taken away by the police but not charged. turns out my attacker was the son of some FSB higher-up and Daddy didn't want a fuss. I must admit that the Kremlin's tactics worked. We were faced with the purely logistical problem that no club wanted anything more to do with us, and even if they did, we could not guarantee the safety of our audience. The disruptions became predictable and overshadowed the meaningful part of the debates. The project would have to be abandoned. This taught me a useful lesson, and was a significant moment in my political career. I saw how much could be achieved without money and without the 'protection' of the Kremlin, indeed, in spite of the Kremlin. What I needed was a group of supporters to work with me, and I found that group through the internet. I have often heard it said that my rapid adoption of the internet provided unique political flair, that I was a visionary prophesying the dawning of a new era. That is very flattering, of course, but far off the mark. I took to the internet because there was no alternative; television and the newspapers were censored, and rallies were banned.”

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“Gorbachev's greatest problem, which ultimately became a problem for the U.S.S.R., was his irresolution and the half-heartedness of his actions. He wanted to be a reformer but was deeply anxious about the consequences of real reform. He would herald great changes, only then to try to avert them. He partly opened the door to freedom, but when everybody tried to rush through, he jammed his foot against it and then pushed with all his weight to stop the door from opening any further. The trouble was that what people wanted was a fully open door, not a chink they could peep through. My mother and I would binge-watch the new broadcasts that broke through the old censorship rules and were aired thanks to Gorbachev's glasnost. We were outraged by any hint that he, with the help of Leonid Kravchenko, his loathsome head of the Soviet State Committee for TV and Radio Broadcasting, was trying to rein in freedom of speech and clutch at the remnants of censorship. Appreciation of his having allowed freedom of speech was instantly overshadowed a hundredfold by indignation that he was not allowing it in full. I well remember the angry outbursts in our family: For heaven's sake, fire your wretched Kravchenko. Can't you see that's what the whole country wants and that it will back you? Gorbachev's affection for his wife, which today is seen as sweet, was met with daggers drawn by a patriarchal and backward Soviet society. "He's henpecked. Trailing along after his wife again." That too caused a fall in his popularity.”

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“The criticisms made of Gorbachev-that he was indecisive, spineless, lily-livered, half-hearted, evasive-were all true. Just as it was true that he earned them all in his opposition to the radical democrats, whom I idolized at the time. The camp of those who hated Gorbachev was divided between those who did not like the reforms and those who did not like the fact that he was introducing them too slowly. The latter, to whom I belonged, hated him much more fervently: we had a goal we could see elsewhere-complete freedom of speech, capitalism, and democracy-and that made us active critics hammering away. We also deprived Gorbachev of support from the only section of society he could count on. So when, in his own good time, having missed every opportunity, he ceased to be afraid and ran for office (before that, he had been elected only by collegial bodies like congresses and supreme soviets whose subordinate status removed the risk of losing), he gained a derisory 0.51 percent of the vote. The older I grew, the more intolerant I became of Gorbachev, but now I view him positively, if only because he proved completely incorruptible. In that he was unique. Everyone who had power during the transition from socialism to capitalism tried to grab as big a slice of the pie as they could. The Communist leaders of the central Asian republics of the U.S.S.R. became owners of entire countries and promptly turned them into totalitarian states. Ministers scooped up whole industries for which they had responsibility. Directors of factories found ingenious ways of becoming their owners. Nimble-footed members of the Young Communist League, whose resonant voices had vowed their preparedness to give their lives for the party, now employed their influence and connections to become oligarchs. When Gorbachev stepped down as president, he took nothing with him, though there had been colossal opportunities for him to get rich. No one would have blinked an eye if a couple of major factories had somehow been transferred to offshore companies under the guise of "joint ventures." He could have helped himself to state property abroad. It would have been so easy to siphon party money into personal accounts. He did none of that. People can argue as much as they like that it was because he did not have the opportunity, but the fact remains that he made no attempt to do so. In my view, that was because he was a different kind of person. Not avaricious.”

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“That is why, reflecting on that nauseating possible future, I am so grateful to Gorbachev for having done away with it. Not that meant to. He goofed, and that is precisely what I have to thank him for...He overlooked the fact that inviting everyone into the garden would not lead to deferential discussion with an elite, full of allusive hints and skirting around contentious matters. On the contrary, realizing that they now could speak out without getting beaten up, the denizens of the basement would climb up to the roof en masse and state bluntly that they had no water to drink and nothing to eat. The weight of their words, the reverberation of their stamping boots, and the indignation in their hearts would make everything come tumbling down. I didn't regret that in the slightest. After all, what had I lost? Russia, my country, was still there. I still had my language, Tolstoy and Dostoevsky. Moscow and Kazan and Rostov. The army was still there, and the state. Even the bureaucrats were still where they had been. Kiev, Tallinn, and Riga did not vanish into thin air. Everything was as it had been. You could go to those cities if you wanted to. What had changed was that now you had a choice, you had freedom. What remains of that freedom in Putin's Russia today, which is trying to pretend it is the U.S.S.R., is in fact much more than there was then. You can now choose your profession, where you want to live, and your lifestyle. You no longer have to tie yourself in knots in a competition to see who can be the more two-faced in order to be allowed a trip abroad. You can just buy a ticket and go. At this point someone almost always says, "Only nowadays you have to have enough money," and then reminisces about the social guarantees and equality in the U.S.S.R. In reality there was nothing of the sort. The social gulf between a collective farm worker and a member of the regional Communist Party committee was no less than the gulf we have now between an oligarch and one of today's many average workers. Housing and cars were, by an order of magnitude, less accessible than they are today. Sure, many people received accommodation for free, but to get it they had to wait twenty years. Of course, there is a huge difference in the ceilings for luxury and wealth then and now. In the U.S.S.R. the ceiling was on the first floor of a dacha in the "writers' village" outside Moscow. Now there is no ceiling; it has disappeared unimaginably far away, bursting through the roofs of French chalets and skyscrapers on the edge of Central Park in New York. That, of course, is annoying But it does not alter the indisputable fact that although the mass of the population might indeed have been moved by grim tectonics, as Tolstoy would have it, it was nevertheless Gorbachev who started patching something up, but in the end hammered a nail in the wrong way and everything fell down. On its ruins, everyone was given the chance to live a decent life without the perpetual lying and hypocrisy. If, of course, they wanted it.”

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“More often than not the "successful entrepreneurs" of the time were officials of the Communist Party or members of the Young Communist League, and this seemed to confirm the popular suspicion that there was corruption and that the source of their wealth was not so much enterprise and initiative as power and access to resources. On top of that, for the seventy years of its existence the Soviet Union had been inculcating contempt for wheeler-dealers and anyone else in pursuit of private profit. Someone working in commerce in those times could live reasonably well, but it was more prestigious to be a cosmonaut, in the military, or a professor. Then, suddenly cosmonauts were nobodies, just ordinary mortals who got rewarded for their pains with a three-room apartment and a black Volga car, and professors could barely make ends meet. At the same time, some obscure cooperative owner, and just about anyone selling something in the market-was a lord of the universe and had more money than any Hero of Labor ever received. It turned out that being poor was much more bearable when everybody else was, but it was intolerable once you could see your neighbor was far richer. We often hear talk about the envy Russian or Soviet people felt toward the first entrepreneurs, and that is what made the late 1980s such a hateful time. I believe, however, it was all caused by the inequality of opportunities. If Gorbachev could have made it easy for everyone to become an entrepreneur, if millions of people had taken that up, rather than just tens of thousands of the smartest, or wiliest, or those who found themselves well positioned, then everything could have been different. Instead, the setting up of cooperatives, and later of the first businesses, was made monstrously complicated and was totally under the control of the Soviet bureaucracy. If you wanted to start a business, you had to pay bribes or have contacts, or at least have the kind of charisma that could bring walls tumbling down. For long years this established the image of businesspeople as shifty, devious individuals who had got in on the act by less than legal means. In the army, the police, and the KGB, resentment at this decline in the status of officers was particularly acute. Something was going to have to change.”

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“On August 21, the Soviet defense minister, Dmitry Yazov, gave the order for troops to be withdrawn from Moscow. The State Committee for the State of Emergency had lost, and along with it, the U.S.S.R. had, too. On returning from his dacha in Crimea, Gorbachev evidently expected to be greeted by rejoicing crowds as a liberated hero. People were happy to see him back, but only as further evidence that the putsch committee had been defeated. Gorbachev's expectation of consolidating his authority on a surge of support came to nothing. All the admiration and support was for Yeltsin and a new government, the people who had taken risks and acted resolutely. This was strengthened when testimony was produced suggesting that Gorbachev might have had a part in preparing the conspiracy, or at least knew of it in advance and, in his usual way, decided not to take sides either with the Soviet conservatives or with the Russian reformers but to wait and see who came out on top. Indecision is a cardinal sin in an era of change. In an instant, Gorbachev lost everything. Once again, as happens during revolutions, something mind-blowing had occurred. On Monday he was, if not the most popular of leaders, the universally acknowledged president of a vast nation, with power over the world's largest army and over the industry and agricultural enterprises of a territory covering one-sixth of the world's land area-and the power to start a nuclear war. Come Thursday, he was nobody. He still retained a personal limousine, his secretaries, and a special telephone, only now no one was calling him. Whatever might be documented in seemingly unchallengeable statutes protected by a constitution and an army of lawyers, the center of power had shifted to Yeltsin, transferred in some intangible manner. Nobody really understands exactly how it happened, but neither was anyone in any doubt that the transfer of power had taken place. On December 8, 1991, the Republic of Belarus, the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republics, and Ukraine pulled of a spectacular ruse. Their leaders, Stanislav Shushkevich, Boris Yeltsin, and Leonid Kravchuk, met in a forest in Belarus, where they declared that, since their three republics had been the founders of the U.S.S.R., they had the right to dissolve it, which they would proceed to do. In its place they established the Union of Independent States. From their point of view, the trick made good sense: the presidents of the republics wanted to put Gorbachev and all his officials out of contention and to seize unfettered power for themselves. That is what was behind their action, and to implement it they needed formally to put an end to the indestructible U.S.S.R. Nowadays, people go on about what a mistake that action-the Belovezha Accords-was. One of those publicly lamenting it is Vladimir Putin. With great intensity and passion, he claims the accords was "a major geopolitical disaster." Well, it didn't seem like that to me at the time (and I'm not claiming to be a repository of objective truth, just relaying what my feelings were). It was just one more item on the television news-well, perhaps an item that rated a bit more discussion that usual, but there was no sense of portentousness. If those who gathered in the woods executed a crafty and, to be honest, rather deceitful and devious legalistic maneuver, they were only confirming something that was already obvious, namely that the U.S.S.R. no longer existed as a real country.”

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“For any project you need two things: people and money. I had no qualms about people. All my experience suggested I was not going to be left as a lone lawyer working from an office in a basement. Money, though, was a problem, because you can't run an independent organization in an authoritarian state without a budget. In the past, politicians had asked rich people for money, oligarchs. By 2011, however, the oligarchs wouldn't come within cannonball range of me. And neither did I want to owe them any favors. So I put a post on my blog saying, "I know how to work, I know what to do, I will find and hire the necessary number of staff, but the financing has to come from you. Give me money. You need to donate a modest amount to a good, useful project, and that will save me from having to run around trying to cadge funds from oligarchs and businessmen." These micro-donations were the base that enabled me to become independent. And there was nothing the Kremlin could do about it. It was easy for them to arrest and intimidate one or two big donors, but what could they do against tens of thousands of people? Nowadays there seems nothing special about that approach; it is standard for a fundraising campaign. But in 2011, everyone thought I was out of my mind. What on earth was a micro-donation? How could you possibly raise money for investigations and legal work online, especially in Russia? In our country no one had ever done anything like it before. There were no models to follow, there was no habit of donating regularly, there was no financial infrastructure. And yet people began transferring money to me, ordinary readers of my LiveJournal blog. At first I collected the donations in my personal account and later published a bank statement and report on my blog. The average donation to RosPil was 400 rubles (at that time about $15), and in one month I collected almost 4 million rubles, more than the annual budget I had originally set.”

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Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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“Here I am looking at that house on St. Bart's and feeling so bad that this is what the freedom of the citizens of Russia was sold for. It's time to stop using the Native Americans who sold Manhattan for $24 as the standard example of an unfair deal. Think instead about a popularly elected president who won his first election (fairly!) with 57 percent of the vote, only to barter everything for a house with a terrace in the Caribbean. A cool, objective look at the Yeltsin era confronts us with a dismal and disagreeable truth, one that explains Putin's rise to power: there never were any democrats in government in post-Soviet Russia, let alone freedom-championing liberals who opposed conservatives desperate to resuscitate the U.S.S.R. The whole lot of them-with rare exceptions...were an unholy horde of hypocritical thieves and lowlifes. They were aroused for a time by democratic rhetoric in order, within the framework of the political contest of the time, to be on the same side as the Kremlin, as the authorities. That was the only thing that mattered to them; along with, most important, the opportunities for self-enrichment. The whole bunch of them have always regarded power as a cash cow, and they still do. The feudal allocation of land for sustenance. Power equals money. Power equals opportunities. Power equals a comfortable life for you and your family, and everything you do while in power is aimed at retaining it. That is why all these functionaries were loyal members of the CPSU and never once inclined toward dissidence (none of the, including Yeltsin, who, despite the PR myth, never relinquished his seat in the ruling bureaucracy). Then, still ensconced in their old offices, they gravitated to the ideological niche of "capitalist democrats" and were agreeably surprised to find how much personal property they were allowed to accumulate under the new economic dispensations. "Elections," "freedom of speech," and ridiculous "human rights" were by no means an obligatory appendage to their Swiss bank accounts. They drifted toward a new stance as "patriotic conservatives deploring the collapse of our glorious U.S.S.R.," an entirely organic, stress-free metamorphosis. I do not believe in karma or predestination, but as I am writing this, I feel the fates are mocking me. I feel I am being made to pay for my blind support of Yeltsin despite his disregard for the law. I don't like the way Putin set out to kill me. But what was it I said when Yeltsin, who appointed Putin, was blasting away at the parliament with tanks? A reminder: I said, "It's long overdue. There should be no mercy for these irredeemable morons cluttering up the parliament." What about those privatization loans-for-shares auctions, when the nation's major natural resource enterprises were handed over for free to people appointed from above to be oligarchs? Those, after all, were not only fundamentally shameless and immoral but also completely illegal in purely formal terms. People who wanted to get in on the act and compete for the best bits of what remained of the U.S.S.R. were barred, using the same ridiculous pretexts as those used nowadays to sideline election candidates. And when they took the matter to the courts, they were smirked at in just the same way the prosecutors smirked in the trumped-up cases against me. My comrades are being squeezed out of the political field year after year. Not only are we prevented from taking office, but any connection with our organization, even just a monetary donation, is threatened with inspections or even criminal prosecution. And that has all been done by the very people whose right to bombard the parliament, to falsify elections "for the sake of reform," and to drive the Communists and nationalists out of politics "for the sake of the future" I so fervently defended.”

DemocracyPopulismYeltsinPost Soviet RussiaRise Of Putin
Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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“At the time it was de rigueur among Putin's economic operators to represent themselves as 'effective managers.' In practice, however, it was limited to the facts that they dressed in bespoke Brioni suits, bought up the priciest offices in Russia, and modeled themselves on Leonardo DiCaprio in The Wolf of Wall Street, only it was the state's money they managed rather than their own. Beneath the veneer of effective management was the same bunch of crooks who, given the slightest opportunity to steal, would do so. They were effective only in being able to devise fifteen different ways of cooking the books of a government contract in less than a minute, inventing a dozen fake commercial deals to make everything look proper, and briskly spiriting the loot away to their offshore company. The top dogs in all these state corporations were totally corrupt, and most of the regular staff were even more outraged by that than I was. It was from whistleblowers that I obtained the information that provided the basis of my first high-profile anti-corruption investigation. In 2007, VTB began purchasing oil drilling rigs in China and then leasing them to Russian oil producers. The cost of a Chinese drilling rig was $10 million. VTB Leasing, however, paid 50 percent more than that through an intermediary offshore company registered in Cyprus. It seemed an entirely pointless arrangement. What did Cyprus have to do with anything, and why was an intermediary needed? Surprisingly, it turned out that this offshore company was controlled by VTB's top executives, and the price difference went straight into their pockets. They purchased not five, note ten, but thirty of these drilling rigs. It would have been impossible to find customers for so many. This deal was supposed to remain secret, like dozens of others, but on this occasion things worked out differently. I not only wrote about the business but traveled to Yamal, where, in the middle of a field, I found the orphaned rigs still in gigantic containers and covered in snow. In the summer they rusted in a swamp. This investigation was very straightforward. You didn't need a degree in economics or to be an expert on oil production to work out what was wrong. I wrote hundreds of complaints, went to court, and even won. In those days that was still possible. I urged all the minority shareholders of VTB to file complaints together with me and demand documents. They did. This lasted for years, with statements to the police, rejections, appeals, lawsuits in Russia and Cyprus. It was a particular pleasure to question Kostin personally on the topic of drilling rights at shareholder meetings. He tried to find excuses, but with a marked lack of success.”

CorruptionCorporate Malfeasance
Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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“Of the entire gamut of reforms proposed by Gorbachev, glasnost really did work and rapidly changed everything. Unlike everything else, to achieve it, you didn't have to do anything; you had only not to do anything. You hade to not prohibit, not censor, not dismiss journalists for articles they wrote. Stories began appearing in the press that made you wonder how they ever got published. It soon became clear that writing the truth was actually profitable: you were not kicked out of your job, no "administrative conclusions" were drawn, you became wildly popular, and the circulations of publications you worked for went through the roof. The ideological dam had begun to crack, and although the Soviet leaders tried desperately to shore it up, they couldn't. The news that a program had been removed from the national television channel's schedule provoked instant fury, as if these very protesters had not been living a year previously in a country where censorship was total...From 1987 onward the U.S.S.R. moved rapidly toward winning the world championship for free speech. The realization that you no longer went to prison for anything you said so delighted everyone that people tried to make up for the preceding seventy years lost to censorship. In October 1987 the national channel began airing Vzglyad (Viewpoint), which came to mean everything to me....Young presenters, also unlike the standard officious old codgers, covered a wide variety of news stories and discussed them in the studio. From time to time this was interrupted by videos of bands like DDT, Alisa, Kino, and Nautilus Pompilius. Seeing rock musicians with their socially relevant and often anti-Soviet songs on national television was fantastic. This was no longer a crack in the dam of censorship, but more like seeing it under fire from heavy artillery....For four years, Vzglyad was unquestionably the most popular broadcast in the Soviet Union. Its journalists and presenters became superstars who determined the way television developed. Their subsequent fates have been strikingly different. Vladislav Listyev, the mainstay of Vzglyad, was shot dead in the entrance to his apartment complex. Artyom Borovik, who had become one of the top investigative journalists, died in an airplane accident in 2000; my daughter went to a school named after him. Alexander Lyubimov, the Vzglyad journalist I most adored, now roams the state-run television and radio studios as a diligent Putinite. In 2007, when Putin's censorship was in full bloom, he invited me on his talk show on a radio station run by the state-owned gas company Gazprom. He was as smart as ever, had the same intonations I remembered so well from my childhood, but now was pushing the official line and had a clear understanding of what could be said and what was banned. I looked at him and the whole time felt such an urge to say, "For heaven's sake, Alexander, I became who I am thanks to you and your colleagues. For some reason, you betrayed all that." After Vzglyad, Konstantin Ernst hosted Matador, a program about the movies, every broadcast of which I watched. He now heads Channel One of state television and is a major Putin propagandist. The most repulsive, deceitful reports, including the infamous lie about a little Russian boy allegedly crucified by Ukrainian soldiers in front of his mother, aired on his watch... It seems incredible to believe that most of these people, who were at the wellspring of free speech in Russia, did not just hold their tongues after giving in to the temptation of easy money, but brought the same energy and initiative of their early days to bear as active propagandists of the new regime, foaming at the mouth as they defended acts of injustice and corruption.”

PropagandaFree SpeechSellout
Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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“To this day, huge numbers of people are convinced that Yeltsin excoriated the party bosses, published critical reports, and suffered for his beliefs. None of that happened. Those bosses, in the course of their internal intrigues, first appointed him head of the Moscow regional committee of the CPSU, that is, mayor of Moscow, and then, when they began to fall out with him, transferred him to the position of head of the State Construction Committee, that is, minister of construction. Some fall from grace! He did not even have to settle for a lower class of limousine, and remained firmly in the milieu of treacherous officialdom. His family remained the same, too, with exactly the same values, or rather, the same complete absence of values and only a craving for personal luxury and wealth. That was to prove crucial when the family was transformed into "the Family." Yeltsin was devoid of genuine ideological motivation and driven only by a lust for power. He was an extremely talented individual, a truly intuitive politician who sensed the popular mood and knew how to exploit it. He was prepared to act decisively and boldly on occasion, but always in the interests of himself and his own power rather than of the people or the nation. I am writing this vehement denunciation of Yeltisn, partially because I regret having been a blind admirer of his and of that part of Russian society which, only too ready to support everything he did, paved the way for the lawlessness we live with today.”

Boris YeltsinRise Of Yeltsin
Book:Patriot: A Memoir
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