Though I’d never be able to prove it in a court of law, I will forever suspect that the reason train No. 263 left me behind at the Naushki, Siberia, border post had a lot to do with toilet etiquette.
This is my only theory, aside from generic rancor, as to why the provodnitsa encouraged me to return to Naushki Station at 4:00 for a train that left at 3:15.
A “provodnitsa,” as Russian-rail veterans know, is the female attendant responsible for overseeing the passengers in a given train car. Formally, the duties of a provodnitsa include taking tickets, vacuuming the berths and attending to the upkeep of the toilets. On the surface, this seems like an innocuous job description — until one realizes that, in Siberia, these duties fall under an obsolete model of customer service.
Years ago in the United States, service industry workers wore lapel-buttons that read “The Customer is Always Right.” As far as I know, their employed-for-life Soviet counterparts were never required to display a customer service philosophy — but if they were, I’d suspect the buttons would have read “The Fact That You Exist Annoys the Hell Out of Me.”
Within the confines of train No. 263 to Irkutsk, this old Soviet style of service reigned. It didn’t help that the head provodnitsa, who had the demeanor of a pit bull, looked like a breasty, platinum-blond version of Boris Yeltsin. Nor did it help that the assistant provodnitsa looked like a female Stay-Puft Marshmallow Man with support stockings and a perpetually blank facial expression.
For the most part, the melancholy Madame Stay-Puft kept to herself, but La Femme Boris roved the corridors with a petty ruthlessness that would have made Nurse Ratched come off like Kathie Lee Gifford. I soon discovered that the meekest request to the head provodnitsa — a tea bag, or a roll of toilet paper — invariably resulted in a spittle-flecked Russian tirade so merciless that I eventually hid out in my cabin in an attempt to avoid her entirely.
The problem with this isolationist strategy, of course, is that sooner or later one has to go to the toilet.
A quick look at an Ulan Bator-Irkutsk train timetable reveals a glaring inconsistency in the schedule. Whereas, say, the 100 miles from Ulan Bator to Zuun Kharaa is listed at a fairly reasonable three hours — the tiny 14-mile stretch from Suhkbaatar, Mongolia, to Naushki, Russia, weighs in at no less than 16 hours and 13 minutes. This is because the train arrives in Suhkbaatar late at night, and the border customs station doesn’t open until mid-morning.
Unfortunately, my cabin-mates and I never bothered to check the timetable while we were waiting at the border. In what seemed like a good idea at the time, Dan, James, Mark and I numbed the boredom of Suhkbaatar by quaffing several bottles of Admiral Kolchak lager for breakfast. This was great fun, until we realized that the train toilets — which empty directly onto the tracks — are kept locked for sanitary reasons at all stops. We’d been allowed out of the train for pee breaks the night before, but — since we were in the middle of a tedious customs process — we had no such luck in the morning.
By noon, we were all prone in our berths, cradling our bladders in agony.
When the train finally lurched into motion after the 15-hour wait, we stampeded for the toilet. La Femme Boris was there waiting for us — along with half the other passengers in our car.
Since I don’t understand Russian, I’m not sure what the provodnitsa’s rationale was for barring us from the toilets for the 14-mile transit into Russia, but her eyes — which were lit with the righteous fire found only in true prophets and petty bureaucrats — said it all. My companions pleaded with her in English, but I beat a path back down to the other end of the rail car. There, the sad-faced Madame Stay-Puft stood — keys in hand — in front of the small private lavatory reserved for the provodnitsas.
“Toilette!” I implored, hoping she understood.
The assistant provodnitsa held a finger in front of her face. “Nyet!” she said somberly.
“Da! Da! Toilette!”
“Nyet.”
“Da!”
“Nyet!”
“Da!” I insisted, desperate.
Before Madame Stay-Puft could “nyet” me again, the lavatory door opened, and a startled-looking Russian man stepped out. Seizing the moment, I sprang into the toilet, pulled the door shut and locked the bolt. Madame Stay-Puft pounded on the lavatory door as I tremblingly dropped my pants and loosed the flood-gates — her protests fading from my consciousness with each second I stood over the rattling metal bowl.
Never before can I recall deriving such transcendent satisfaction from such a simple activity. If God is in the details, then my triumphant moment in the lavatory was communion itself: a prosaic psalm, humbly praising our Creator for dreaming up the urethra. Perhaps Madame Stay-Puft was livid when I emerged from the toilet, but I don’t recall: I had emptied my bladder and been filled with the Spirit. I walked back to my berth as blissful and impervious as Shadrach in Nebuchadnezzar’s furnace.
I noticed a stark contrast in my train cabin upon return. Dan and James occupied the bottom bunks, miserably coiled into fetal positions. Mark, on the other hand, gave me a wink and grinned from the top bunk, nonchalantly swinging his legs back and forth.
The Admiral Kolchak bottles, I noticed, were no longer empty.
After completing the paperwork formalities at the Naushki stop, our train car emptied out in a matter of seconds. Mark and I lolled in the cabin, giggling at the sight of Dan, James, and the rest of the train passengers sprinting for the Naushki Station toilets. After a few minutes of congratulating each other on winning the Trans-Siberian Toilet Battle of 1999, Mark and I were interrupted by Madame Stay-Puft. Standing imposingly outside our door, she gestured at us to leave.
“No worries,” Mark said to her. “We don’t need to use the toilet.” This gave us both a chuckle, but the assistant provodnitsa just scowled and kept gesturing. Still giddy, Mark and I got up to leave.
“Let’s just hope she doesn’t steal our supply of cold, delicious Admiral Kolchak while we’re gone,” I said, to Mark’s amusement, as we walked down the corridor.
La Femme Boris met us on the tracks as we climbed out of the train. “Back! Here!” she barked, holding up four fingers.
“What, four o’clock?” I said.
The head provodnitsa shoved her fingers under my nose and glared at me. “Here!” she repeated.
“I guess she wants us back at 4:00 then,” Mark said.
Exactly two hours later — not long after having inspected some old Soviet tanks with James — we returned to find the train gone. It was not a minute later than 3:50.
The Trans-Siberian Toilet Battle of 1999, it appeared, had suddenly escalated into a war.
By the time a small Mongolian woman named Monika had talked us into hiring a large Russian man named Igan to drive us to our Ulan Ude cutoff point, the train had been gone for nearly an hour and a half.
Mark, James and I sat in the Lada and pondered our odds as Igan filled the car with gas. I had the shotgun seat; the Brits shared the back.
“So are we in favor of this, then?” Mark said suddenly.
“What do you mean?” I said. “We’ve already paid half the money. He’s almost filled us up with gas. Of course we’re in favor of it.”
“I know,” Mark said. “I just have a bad feeling about this all of a sudden.”
“But Monika said she had a good feeling about this guy.”
“Monika had a good feeling, but this is Russia, not bloody Kansas. For all we know, she’s in on it.”
“In on what?”
“In on a bullet in your head and mine. Russians think Westerners are filthy rich. Think about it: This is Siberia. Nobody will miss us if he drives us over to his mates’ place and blows our brains out.”
“That will never happen, Mark.”
“Says who? We’re dealing with Russians here! I say we vote on whether to keep going with this guy.”
Mark, a normally confident 26-year-old graphic artist from England, was beginning to worry me. Somewhere, I had read that 38 percent of all Russians live below a poverty line of $20 a month. The figures for Siberian Russians had to be even more dire. If Igan wanted to, he could indeed kill us all and make a year’s profit. But by that same logic, our $26 fare would certainly fill his coffers handsomely — and murder is not something one does on a whim, even in Siberia.
“OK,” I said. “If you want to vote, I vote to have Igan drive us to Ulan Ude.”
“I vote to quit now and wait for the next train,” Mark said. “I’m willing to cover all the money we’ve already paid up front.”
“We’ll look like a bunch of freaks if we do that!” I protested.
“We’ll look like freaks with bullets in our heads.”
Mark and I turned to our tie-breaker, James — a 19-year-old Hong Kong native on his way to a London law school. James silently looked at us, obviously uncomfortable at being the swing voter. “Let’s just go,” he said finally. “I think we’ll be fine.”
“I have a bad feeling about this,” Mark grumbled.
Igan eventually returned to the car, and we left Naushki. For the first 20 minutes, nobody uttered a word. I was just getting comfortable with the silence when Mark piped up from the back seat.
“What did the driver just do?” he said.
“I don’t know,” I replied. “He threw something out the window.”
“I think it was a cigarette.”
“Yeah, it was probably a cigarette. So?”
“So, don’t you think that was a little strange? He hadn’t even smoked it.”
“Well, I also saw him take a 10-kopeck coin from the ashtray and throw it out the window. Maybe he’s just bored.”
“He could be bored, or maybe he’s nervous.”
“Nervous about what?”
“I don’t know.”
“Then why worry, Mark? Sheez.” I fell silent for a moment, knowing that I couldn’t even be sure if were headed in the right direction. All the road signs were lettered in Cyrillic; for all I knew Igan was driving us to Vladivostok to sell us into slavery.
“So, James,” I said, determined to defuse my own creeping paranoia. “What makes you want to study law?”
Fully aware of my clumsy play at changing the subject, James took a long moment before answering. “I’m not really sure,” he said finally. “I don’t know if law is what I want to do, to be quite honest.”
“Well, what’s your dream, then? Where do you see yourself in a perfect future?”
“I’m not sure, exactly, but I know I’d like to live in fantastic opulence.”
“What, like Hugh Hefner or something?” Across from me, Igan had just put a fresh cigarette in his mouth.
“Not at all,” James said. “I mean opulence like the gardens of Versaille or the Czarist Winter Palace at Peterhof. I’d want my riches to be excessive and Baroque.”
“It’d be impossible to zone a Versaille in the industrialized world,” I said. “As close as you could get to that these days would be to buy an island in the Caribbean.”
At this, Igan tossed his unlit cigarette out the window. Mark seemed about to snap. “I told you I had a bad feeling about this,” he said, his voice angry. “Could you two please cut out the chit-chat?”
“Why?” I said. “I assure you the driver has better things to do than to kill us.”
“I’ve only had this feeling two other times in my life, Rolf.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“And what happened the two other times?”
Mark didn’t reply to this; James’ face went blank. It was a couple of beats before I registered what had happened.
Igan had just stopped the car.
Monika’s words rang in my head: “Just don’t let him stop the car, and you’ll be safe.” I imagined Igan pulling a Glock out from under the driver’s seat and blasting my brains all over the upholstery. No doubt Mark and James were thinking the exact same thing.
Before any of us could react, Igan slammed the Lada into reverse. Backing us into a ditch, he put the car into gear, pointed the front end 45-degrees from the road, and sent us bumping across a field of dirt. As Igan began to arc back to the left, I noticed a look of terror in his eyes. Then it dawned on me.
Igan was not going to kill us; Igan was taking us around a stretch of poorly marked road construction. Furthermore, Igan was afraid. What he was afraid of, I’m not exactly sure — but, knowing Monika, I strongly suspect he was told he wouldn’t get the other half of his money if he ever stopped the car.
Flooring the gas pedal across the dusty field, Igan’s face broke into relief as we bumped back onto the blacktop.
During his pioneering Arctic voyages of the early 1700s, Danish explorer Vitus Bering confessed that “you never feel safe when you have to navigate in waters that are completely blank.” Having seen Igan’s moment of panic, my companions and I emerged from the blankness: We finally had a human indicator by which to navigate our own emotions. The issue of Igan’s integrity was summarily dropped, Mark and I stopped making each other nervous and we actually began to enjoy the ride.
In a way, missing the train was a gift, since it allowed us to experience a part of Siberia few Westerners ever see. In the land beyond the tracks, Siberian life took on a sleepy pace amid dense taiga forests and along broad mountain basins. Dovetail-jointed log cabins sat at the roadside, their window-shutters freshly painted sky-blue. Long-haired girls in homemade dresses carried baskets across fields. Buryats — Siberia’s original, Asiatic inhabitants — roared past us on motorcycles. Concrete bunkers with heavy steel doors (Oil pipeline valve stations? Roadside emergency shelters? Nuclear war evacuation tunnels?) appeared at 6-mile intervals. Log-cabin villages with wooden-spired Orthodox churches appeared in the river valleys. A brightly painted Buryat Buddhist shrine, still under construction, sat by the roadside. Ducks and herons frolicked near the rivers; a lone elk jogged across a distant hill.
Igan said nothing the whole time, taking his eyes from the road only to toss cigarettes and kopeck coins out the window. We eventually deduced that he did this — perhaps in deference to local shamanist superstitions — only when he was passing another car or negotiating a dangerous mountain curve.
We arrived at Ulan Ude just after 7:00 that evening — nearly four hours after our train had abandoned us at Naushki. Hastily handing a relieved-looking Igan the rest of his money, we rushed into Ulan Ude Station to check the train schedule reader board. Train No. 263, I noticed, was due to arrive at 17:15 and depart at 17:30.
“Perfect!” I exclaimed. “17:15. That means the train should be here in just a few more minutes.”
Mark and James stared at me without a trace of enthusiasm. “17:15 means 5:15,” James said quietly. “Not 7:15. The train left nearly two hours ago.”
Crestfallen — trembling with adrenaline withdrawal — the three of us walked into downtown Ulan Ude to change dollars into rubles and find something to eat.
Ulan Ude, a Buryat regional capital of 400,000 souls, proved to be a colorful, bustling, ethnically diverse city. Vintage electric streetcars rattled down its avenues, Western-style supermarkets graced its downtown and a suburban airport promised a last-ditch fail-safe method of catching up with our train. Since there seemed to be no other immediate choices, my companions and I bought some food, scouted out some hotels and returned to Ulan Ude Station to inquire about the next train to Irkutsk.
James, our language specialist, immediately went to work at the station information booth. The clerk spoke only Russian, but was able to direct James to a German-speaking army officer.
“We need to find the next train to Irkutsk,” James said in German to the officer.
James frowned at the officer’s response and looked over at Mark and me. “He says train No. 263 will come soon. That doesn’t make any sense.”
James turned back to the officer and pointed to the reader board. “Train No. 263 left for Irkutsk hours ago,” he intoned in German.
The Russian army officer laughed and gave a brief reply. Suddenly grinning, James looked at us and translated: “All Russian train schedules run on Moscow time. Moscow is five time-zones behind us. Our train won’t be here for at least another hour and a half!”
Mark and I let out a whoop of relief that echoed off the insides of Ulan Ude Station.
* * *
Train No. 263 pulled into Ulan Ude just after 10:30 that night. Dan and a handful of Swiss, Kiwis and Canadians greeted our return with a hearty round of applause. Apparently, the provodnitsas had few fans — and our abandonment at Naushki had turned into quite a scandal among the non-Russian passengers. As we walked up the train car corridor, La Femme Boris and Madame Stay-Puft were conspicuously absent.
Sometime around midnight, I was strolling the corridor when La Femme Boris emerged from her berth and sternly waved me inside. Dispatching her glum-faced assistant to some unseen duty, the head provodnitsa handed me a cup of tea and glowered. Madame Stay-Puft returned with an English-speaking Russian passenger who announced she had been recruited as a translator.
“The provodnitsa says she is not responsible for what happened at Naushki,” the translator told me. “You should have known about the time-zone change. It’s your own fault the train left without you.”
This was an obvious red herring. Even with the change of time zone, the provodnitsa had clearly misled us. Having already planned for this scenario, however, I decided to forgo argument and play my trump card.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said to the translator. She passed this along to La Femme Boris, who spit out a furious Russian reply.
The translator turned back to me. “She insists that it was a time-zone problem. It’s entirely your own fault the train left without you and your friends.”
“But the train didn’t leave without us,” I said, putting on my best expression of befuddled innocence. “We’ve been on the train this whole time. Are you sure she checked the dining car?”
I waited just long enough to see a bewildered expression crease the head provodnitsa’s face as the Russian woman translated.
Then I sauntered back to my cabin and went to bed.
The train trip was not over — among other things, a mind-numbing 81-hour ride from Irkutsk to Moscow still lay ahead. But for that moment, I could revel in the fact that the Glorious Trans-Siberian Toilet War was officially over.
And I — in my own estimation, at least — had emerged triumphant.
MOSCOW — There was a Congolese man, stabbed on the Moscow metro. And a Muslim girl, beaten with a bat by three teenage boys, who told her to get out of their northern Russian city, Kondopog.

But perhaps the most disturbing recent example of racial violence was the murder of Muslim activist Metin Mekhtiyev, who was knifed in the neck and face outside his building in central Moscow earlier this month.
Police say it was a robbery, since his Vertu mobile phone, money and keys were missing. But the brutality of the crime points to a racially motivated attack, said Vera Alperovich, an expert in extremism at Moscow’s Sova Center for Information and Analysis.
Xenophobia toward non-whites is rising in Russia, especially toward migrant workers from Central Asia and the restive North Caucasus region, where unemployment is rampant.
Polls demonstrate how widespread the problem is. One in five Russians strongly agrees with the slogan “Russia for Russians,” while 43 percent believe that any measure taken to protect “my people” is good, according to research by Higher School of Economy professor Mark Ustinov. Nearly 70 percent of Russians have negative feelings toward people of another ethnicity, Ustinov’s research found.
The growing influx of migrant workers — 13 to 14 million annually by some expert estimates — most of them temporary, from poor former Soviet republics Tajikistan, Uzbekistan and Kyrgyzstan, exacerbates the already tense racial and ethnic relations in Russia. Russia is second to the U.S. in migrant arrivals.
Many Russians fear newcomers will take over their jobs, towns and eventually their country.
This has led to a spate of attacks on foreigners, and contributed to the rise in popularity of racist political slogans.
“Stop feeding the Caucasus,” a slogan coined over the winter by anti-corruption activist blogger Alexei Navalny, gained much resonance with the public.
The number of violent attacks on non-white foreigners peaked in 2007, when up to five were killed each month. That number has dropped significantly. Thirty-two people were attacked and two killed in xenophobic and racist violence since the beginning of this year, according to Sova, which monitors racism and xenophobia in Russia.
The real number of attacks is likely much larger, however, since most go unreported, said Tanya Lokshina, the deputy director of the Human Rights Watch Moscow office.
“If locals beat an Uzbek worker in an industrial zone on the outskirts of Moscow, police are not likely to seriously investigate the case,” Lokshina said. “And the Uzbek is not likely to report the attack. He either won’t know how to do it, or, God forbid, won’t have proper documents.”
Law enforcement stepped up hate crime arrests in the last three years, especially after mass beatings of non-whites during the December 2010 riots on Manezhnaya Square in central Moscow caused wide outrage.
Most of Russia’s violent nationalist gangs have been liquidated, with leaders in jail for decades to come. Earlier this month, five members of a nationalist gang were sentenced to life in prison for killing 27 people and committing other crimes.
Last September, a nationalist businessman was sentenced to nine years in jail for several charges, including designing and promoting an online game that required players to kill a migrant street cleaner and a police officer to get to a higher level. Players must then kill human-rights activist lawyer Stanislav Markelov, who was gunned down in Moscow in 2009, to win the game.
The arrests have brought down the level of violent attacks. But an attitude of xenophobia still pervades Russian culture.
A blond waitress with pale skin and blue eyes laughed when two well-dressed Africans walked into an upscale restaurant frequented by foreigners, GlobalPost observed while waiting to interview a source for this story.
She turned to another waitress, a dark-skinned brunette. “Your people have walked in,” she said. “I’m white. You are closer to them,” the blonde said, pointing out the brunette’s darker skin and hair.
Some are exploiting that for political advantage.
Migrants are not blending in to the Slavic society, said Dmitry Demushkin, the leader of the right-wing nationalist council “Russkiye,” or Russians. He plans to register a party called the Nationalist Party in the near future. “They are taking over certain industries — outdoor markets, street cleaning. Of course people don’t like it,” Demushkin said.
His party plans to advocate for the interests of ethnic Russians and those who have historically lived on the territory of the Russian Federation, Demushkin said.
The organization is against violence toward migrants, he said. Instead, Demushkin proposed to make working conditions in Russia unattractive for the migrant workers so they stop coming. His proposals include liquidating corruption and fighting what he sees as monopolies of ethnic groups in certain industries, he said.
Demushkin believes the party will become a powerful force in the near future, especially since nationalists are growing in strength across Europe.
Some migrants do violate the law. The frequency of crimes committed by foreigners has gone down, but the gravity has increased, Moscow prosecutor Sergei Kudeneyev said earlier this month, the Interfax news agency reported.
Last year more murders, attempted murders, serious robberies and rapes were committed by foreigners than in 2010.
More migrants in Russia work illegally than legally, experts said. CIS countries have a visa-free regime with Russia, but foreigners are required to register seven days after arrival. In order to register, an address or a job is required.
New arrivals, many of whom do not have contacts in Russia and cannot afford to live in a hotel, can’t get registered. Without registration, they cannot get permission to work.
“They are pigeonholed by these limits,” said Kamil Dilmuradov, a lawyer with the Union of Migrant Workers.
Many come from rural areas and don’t know the law. Some don’t speak or read Russian, Dilmuradov said.
President-elect Vladimir Putin has said migrants strengthen Russia’s economy and broaden its demographics, but he has proposed to toughen immigration regulation, including boosting penalties for violations and requiring Russian language and culture exams for all workers during his election campaign in January.
The politicians have the right idea to make the country more monolithic, Russia-Asia Union of Industrialists and Entrepreneurs political consultant Grigory Trofimchuk said.
The migrants aren’t doing anything bad, they just don’t know how to act, according to Trofimchuk.
“A crowd of young Uzbek men walking down the street and blaring their national music from their cell phones might cause tension,” Trofimchuk said.
The Federal Migration Service has drafted a conception of immigration policy, which includes education and integration initiatives for foreigners. The proposal is being reviewed at the top levels of government, according to Tatiana Bazhan, who heads the service’s department to facilitate integration. She said it is not yet clear when the proposal will be implemented.
But critics said the government is not doing anywhere near enough to solve the problem.
Business dictates migration politics, said migrant rights activist Lidiya Grafova, who is also a member of the government committee on migration policy. She pointed out the steady decline of quotas for migrant workers, which went from 3.9 million in 2009 to 1.7 this year.
“Migration politics are just words for now,” Grafova said. “In real life, everything occurs as it’s profitable for business. It’s profitable to hire cheap, powerless Tajiks.”
Migration will remain Russia’s potential tinderbox, unless comprehensive reform is passed, Dilmuradov said.
“The fact is, while there are migrants, there will be those moods. If these problems won’t be solved, it could get worse and worse,” Dilmuradov said.
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Russia Today, the politsiya and Western punks alike all want to know: Who is Pussy Riot, when is their next gig, and where can I get their album? Despite having no releases or merchandise for sale, no tour dates, no Myspace or even recorded music, the band of masked women who perform only aggressive guerrilla shows has achieved a level of punk legitimacy not reached since the era when the combination of bleached hair and three chords was on its own automatically scandalous.
The days of the Fraternal Order of Police suing the Crucifucks, Tipper Gore taking on the Dead Kennedys, and black metal goblins burning churches are long past. Punk is now no more a social threat than some leftist fringe group selling poorly designed newspapers. And yet, with three of its alleged members now imprisoned and facing seven-year jail sentences, the pastel-balaclava-wearing, sloppy-guitar-playing riot grrrls have become an icon of a brewing cultural revolution in Russia.
Pussy Riot’s now famous performance of Punk Prayer in Christ the Savior Cathedral in Moscow’s Kremlin, which earned them the personal ire of both the Orthodox Church’s patriarchate and Vladimir Putin himself, was a call for the Virgin Mary to become a feminist and exorcise Putin. Other feminist and anti-authoritarian performances included disrupting a fashion show by taking over a catwalk, performing unpermitted in a posh boutique, and playing a song called “Freedom to Protest — Death to Prisons” on the roof of a building in a Moscow prison complex to jailed anti-Putin protesters.
Last week a “Party Riot Bus” circled Moscow blasting punk rock and stopping for news conferences and performances calling for the release of the imprisoned band members. Riot grrrl matriarch Kathleen Hannah released a video pledging her support to the band, telling her fans she would “see you out in the streets.” A concert in Tallinn, Estonia, to support the band drew several notable politicians, including President Toomas Hendrik Ilves.
On the flip side, counterprotesters have attacked supporters in Moscow, focusing on removing the masks of female supporters. An anti-Pussy Riot rally was held the same day is Krasnodar, drawing an estimated 10,000 calling for a “moral revival” in the “fatherland.”
The band has derived their success — and scorn — by turning contemporary punk culture on its head. Where punk was once relegated to musky basements, squats and other shabby makeshift venues, Pussy Riot makes all public spaces — the streets, the metro, the church — their stage. While punk bands play for punks, Pussy Riot plays for commuters, police and clergy. While punk bands seek fame with glamorous pseudonyms and outlandish rock star antics, Pussy Riot is masked. While punk bands engage in nihilistic lyricism, Pussy Riot’s songs are direct attacks on the confines of their authoritarian state and patriarchy. Since punk fell from the pop charts in the early ’80s, it has been sent on a quest to define and sustain its own identity, creating punk houses, venues, record stores and community centers, resulting in the introverted and self-obsessed situation of the sub-genre today. Pussy Riot does precisely the opposite.
It is fitting, then, that one conservative Russian website translated Pussy Riot to “Uprising of the Uterus.” What was once scandalized, forbidden, subaltern, rises from its rightful caste hidden and below and speaks in the very locations of its oppressing power. Who are these women, these punks, to perform, to pray, to protest in sacred locales? To desecrate is one of punk’s existential tasks. The smashing of sacred relics conjures society’s most archaic reactions: in this case, imprisonment, public shaming, flogging, concerns of Satanism, witchcraft, hysteria.
Punk has needed a Pussy Riot for so long. In many ways, it is the literal projection of the riot grrrl movement, which employed satire and third-wave theatrics to intervene in the traditionally macho and misogynist punk scene. It succeeded in creating a new type of punk — the grrl — but, until now, it had never successfully caused a riot.
Through the 2000s, bands have unsuccessfully attempted to wreck cultural terror. There was San Diego’s the Locust, who wore masks and bodysuits similar to Pussy Riot, played noisy and aggressive punk, but were not actually anonymous, nor were their lyrics directly political. The band shocked a lot of punks and sold a lot of records, but had very little cultural impact outside their genre. Black metal-heads became enamored with the “Cultural Terrorist Manifesto,” which also has had seemingly no effect. In 30 years, punk had perfected only gestures.
Perhaps part of the reason punk has begun to lash out so effectively in the former Soviet Union is the nature of the extreme oppression in Russian society. I spoke to Moscow anti-fascist Kostya about the dual dangers to the Russian anarchopunk — the right wing and the State:
I came up with the scene when it was possible to organize a strictly antifascist show, and you could be sure that only the right people will visit it. But still there was a danger of being attacked by Nazis before or after the show. Today it continues, but the situation is even worse. First of all, nobody fights with the fists, you’re more likely to be stabbed or shot with a traumatic gun. Secondly, and what is worse, there is strong oppression from the state and police. The situation in Russia isn’t stable, that’s why the government tries to control all the young people who can be dangerous today or in the future. They always try to put the same number of Nazis and anarchists in prison.
Kostya tells me Russia has its own anti-activist police force, called the “Department of Fighting Extremism.” Along with the threat of right-wingers burning down political squats or punk venues, the result has been a neutralized public face for the punk scene. All radical politics have been forced underground. It is no surprise, then, to see it return masked.
In 1977 the Ramones toured America like an Armed Struggle cadre of cultural terrorists, all dressed alike, playing the simplest and loudest music yet formulated. They not only invented punk that year, but they planted it everywhere they went. Punk’s success was its virility; reproducing with such ease that soon there were Ramones at every corner of the globe.
Reacting to increasingly technical progressive rock, the Ramones liberated the guitar to the world. Pussy Riot has taken this communization a step farther. To be a “member” of Pussy Riot, you don’t need to be able to play guitar or even to know the original band. As one member, Garadzha, told the newspaper Moskvkie Novosti: “In principle anyone can join.” You don’t even need to sing very well, she continues. “It’s punk, you just scream a lot.”
What would be the shape of punk outside the confines of the world of rock music? If Pussy Riot is any indication, it appears at scenes of intense banality or oppression. They have appeared on the catwalk, on top of a prison and of course at the altar. They sound something in between a streetpunk band (Blatz’s Fuk Shit Up is the first thing to come to mind) and an battle-worn activist giving an impassioned speech through a megaphone. The precarity of their performances gives a new spin to the typical speedy bursts of punk — the songs need to be so short because they could be apprehended any second.
Everything about the band is similarly practical. The rawness of their sound reflects the semi-improvised site-specific nature of the songs. Their masks obscure their identities from police detection. Their bombastic performance (use of fire, flares and the iconic punch-dancing) makes up for the lack of amplification. While other novel punk bands form their own stylized front against the limits of society, society’s limits seems to have fully formed Pussy Riot.
Perhaps antagonistic counterculture, once self-ghettoized within the margins of society, is beginning to coalesce into a new political form, one that transcends both its anti-social roots and the populism that activism too often demands. The Occupy movement is the most obvious example, but disruptive feminist and queer situations similar to those created by Pussy Riot have occurred in the United States over the last several years. The radical queer group Bash Back! disrupted service at a Lansing, Mich., megachurch, making out on the pulpit and dropping pro-queer flyers. Repetitive comments by law enforcement official that rape is a result of women’s attire lead to massive anti-rape and sex-positive “Slut Walk” protests last year. With a new right-wing offensive against women escalating to the withholding of contraception and forced transvaginal ultrasounds, the coalition between the church and authoritarianism is as relevant in the United States as in Russia. Could time be ripe, then, for some of the aforementioned agitators to arrange a Pussy Riot U.S. tour?
The New Inquiry is an online journal of social and cultural criticism. Every month,TNI releases a subscription-based magazine for $2, available for download in both PDF and e-reader formats. The New Inquiry Magazine, No.3: “Arguing the Web” (April, 2012) is available now! Support TNI and subscribe for $2 here.
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This interview first appeared in The Browser, as part of the FiveBooks series. Previous contributors include Paul Krugman, Woody Allen and Ian McEwan. For a daily selection of new article suggestions and FiveBooks interviews, check out
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Edward Lucas, the international editor of the Economist and author of a new book about Russia, gives an excoriating critique of Putinism and explains how Russia’s amoral present is rooted in a failure to come to terms with its past.
Wherever you turn – from contemporary literature to media reporting – there seems to be an unremittingly negative portrayal of modern Russia as corrupt, undemocratic and gangster-run. Is that a fair description?
Well, it’s both better and worse than the popular perception. It’s worse in the sense that I think the country is really run by what amounts to a gangster syndicate which is ruthless in its pursuit of wealth and power, and distorts the machinery of the state in order to achieve that and to perpetrate crimes against the Russian people. So I think Russia is worse than the slightly sanitized picture we get in the media, not least because of libel laws that mean it’s quite hard to write clearly and bluntly about some of the people involved.
But I think things are also better, because you have a new generation of Russians who don’t remember the Soviet Union, except possibly for childhood memories, are living lives largely unclouded by fear and official propaganda, and are integrated into the world in a way in which Russians haven’t been for 100 years. It’s those people who made up a chunk of those protesters who were filling the streets of Moscow and other cities during the weeks after the phony Duma elections in December [2011]. There’s cause for hope there, and the Putin propaganda bubble seems to have popped pretty substantially. Although he’s still in power he no longer enjoys the hypnotic popularity that he’s had over the last 10 years.
You’ve written about the threat that the current Russian regime presents to Western interests, and argue that the West has been complacent in dealing with Russian espionage.
The West tends to treat Russian espionage as a bit of a joke. What I did in my book was to investigate 10 Russian illegals [spy cells], the most notorious of which was Anna Chapman. I found out they were doing rather a lot and their activities weren’t a joke but were serious and potentially damaging. Russia is still jolly good at spying, and we have lots of vulnerabilities that they are very willing to exploit.
Why do they still play these spying games?
I think it’s partly because they can. They don’t have a navy really, they don’t have an air force, they don’t even have a serious space program compared to what the Soviet Union had, but they can still spy. Second, the leadership is addicted to information. It believes that there are conspiracies out there and with enough spying they will uncover them. So the paradox is that even when there’s no secret, Russian spies are tasked with trying to discover one, which leads to some tragicomic outcomes which I talk about in my book “Deception.”
One of the big priorities is getting their money into the West. They need to understand how our decision-making works – who makes the rules on money-laundering, who makes the rules on stock exchange listings and who makes the rules on energy regulation. They want to know whether they can change the rules, evade them or subvert them. So we do have secrets and for them espionage is one of the best ways of trying to secure their objectives, and my book is meant to be a bit of a wake-up call and say this is what’s going on. There is also a historical pattern to it. In the past we have been comprehensively suckered by the Soviet KGB, which ran rings around us in many respects. I uncover some glaring historical scandals of operations by MI6 and the CIA in the Soviet Union which went completely wrong, and provide an important contrast to the rather more successful operations that Russia is running against us now.
Rather than compare Russia with Europe, might it be more appropriate to compare it with other countries whose oil exports make up a disproportionate amount of their wealth and are often ruled by corrupt, undemocratic and potentially dangerous regimes?
There’s a danger of being patronizing and deterministic. It’s like saying African countries can’t be democratic or Asian values are antithetical to democracy. Actually, what we have seen in Europe in the last 25 years is that countries that conventional wisdom thought were doomed to poverty and chaos have become very successful ones and countries that we thought were doing very well have fallen into great difficulties. So I’m very hesitant to say that Russia is beset by eternal woes that mean it can never be democratic, prosperous or law abiding.
I do think the shock of the Soviet collapse was very deep, and many people underestimated how difficult things were going to be after that. The country was ruined in so many ways – from brains to bridges – and a huge work of reconstruction is still needed to get over the terrible damage done by communism. I think it was fanciful to think it was ever going to be very easy, but that doesn’t mean one shouldn’t deplore things that have gone wrong. I think the 12-year Putin experiment in retrospect looks like a very serious wrong turn for Russia, rather than being a gateway to a bright and better future as it was portrayed at the time.
The dominance of the oil and gas sector has allowed Russia to punch above its weight in the world. Without it, the Russian government would surely behave differently.
I think that’s true. The main business of the regime is stealing natural resource rents. Rents is a rather technical economic term, but it’s the windfall money you get from just digging something out of the ground and selling it for a lot of money. There are also what people call bureaucratic rents, which is a fancy word for bribes. I think there are two pyramids in Russia – one of natural resource rents and one of bureaucratic rents or bribes. The regime sits at the top and sucks money up from both of those and then squanders some of it on high living in Moscow but pumps a lot of it into the West, where it’s laundered in places like Vienna and even London and New York.
You’ve chosen five books for us, all of which have been published relatively recently. Is there a single thread that ties your choices together?
I think history and the legacy of the past is something of a thread. The communist party has gone but the KGB is still there, and the difficulty in confronting the crimes of KGB – and the regimes whose instrument it was – is a very big deal. I spent a lot of time in West Germany in the 1980s and was very aware of the very painful and sometimes rather intrusive idea of Vergangenheitsbewältigung, which is the coming to terms with the past. It’s always been striking that once you go east of the Iron Curtain, people are often ignorant about the misdeeds of their country’s history or relativize them in a way that is really shocking by the standards of Western Europe.
There is a feeling that the Soviet Union is gone and forgotten, when it shouldn’t be. There should be a memory of the totalitarian past in a country like Russia. Which is not to say that every Russian should feel personally guilty for it, but everything you see is built on the bones of millions of innocent people and that should be a really big deal in Russia. But sadly – and partly because of the Putin regime – it is not.
Well that segues nicely to your first book choice, which talks about this question of Russia coming to terms with its past. Please tell us more about “It Was a Long Time Ago, and It Never Happened Anyway.”
I think David Satter has really captured the role of the past in the present in Russia. He’s a very experienced correspondent from the Soviet era who has maintained his interest in post-Soviet Russia. He’s a really energetic, gumption reporter – he just goes to places that foreign correspondents don’t often go to in the provinces and follows up stories he first reported in the 1970s. Also, he’s unashamedly interested in morality. He feels that the Soviet Union hollowed out both public and private morality and left people without a moral compass when it collapsed. He highlights some of the extraordinary instances of casual, amoral treatment of people by the system and by other people in the book. It’s quite a pessimistic book. He feels Russia has been poisoned by the Soviet past and until that poison is out of the system it is going to be sickened by it.
His reportage is based on real life things. He has a gripping, haunting story of this guy who’s got drunk and ended up in a rubbish bin. The bin is then emptied into a garbage truck. The man wakes up and has his mobile phone on him. He phones from the back of the garbage truck and gets through to the police and tells them that he’s about to be crushed to death by the crusher. He tells them the part of Moscow he thinks he’s in and asks them to do something. And the police react with such casual boredom to this – the whole conversation is recorded – and you can hear the man becoming more and more desperate. You just think, when you have such a vivid human tragedy here, what kind of person would be a police dispatcher answering these emergency calls who wouldn’t sympathize with this person’s plight?
The title of his book is the quintessence of the Putinist attitude to the past. On the one hand, it’s a long time ago, so it’s irrelevant. On the other, if you say it is relevant, it wasn’t like that anyway – Stalin wasn’t such a bad man and his crimes really weren’t committed. It’s a classic Russian contradiction and an excellent title. Another thing he’s touching on is the role of the secret police in Russian thinking. The current regime is a corrupt secret police state and the role of the FSB [Federal Security Service] as an enforcement agent for the Kremlin is absolutely vital and Satter touches on that too and illuminates it.
Does he give any cause for optimism?
I think what he feels is that you’ve got to have a change at the top and you’ve got to have a government that tells the truth to its citizens about the past and deals with it and until that happens you’re always going to be navigating with a wonky compass. He doesn’t really write so much about the current political situation, which I think gives an opening at the moment. Putin’s looking quite weak and it’s unclear that he will last the full six years. It’s at least possible that out of that weakness will come a change in the regime or even a change of the regime. But it could also go wrong. It could be that the regime chucks Putin overboard and survives in some other form. It’s a stealing machine based on tens of billions of dollars, which the people in charge aren’t going to give up lightly.
Satter talks about how the rights and desires of individuals were subjugated in the Soviet era. This tradition has continued under Putin, hasn’t it?
Yes, and this touches on one of the other books I have chosen, Alexander Etkind’s “Internal Colonization,” where he says the relationship between the rulers and the ruled in Russia has always been a colonial one ever since the first Russian state came into existence. It has really followed the same pattern since. Russian rulers treat Russia the way that other countries’ rulers treat their colonies. It’s a callous, exploitative way where the quick win based on grabbing something someone else has got, or getting something out of the ground and selling it, is far more important than the long-term development of the economy. I don’t think that’s a complete explanation of Russia, as the Soviet Union did invest heavily in education, the space race, the arms race and other things, but I think the basic model of Russia as a quasi-feudal, quasi-piratical state is a very good one.
OK, let’s move on to Etkind now, who is a Cambridge academic. Can you tell us more about the thesis of this book?
Etkind’s thesis is that Russia has had a unique model of development, which is that it colonized itself. Lots of European countries had empires, but they colonized other countries and territories across the world – sometimes with conspicuous brutality and other times with a civilizing mission, and sometimes a mixture of the two. But in Russia’s case the colonization started from the very earliest stage of the Russian state. It was initially based on fur and timber and other types of resources and then later moved on to gas and oil. It’s meant that you’ve never had a proper relationship between the rulers and the ruled. It encouraged the impetuous and exploitative acts of behavior, first by the barons of the feudal overlords, then the aristocracy of the Tsarist era and then the communist aristocracy. It’s always based on contempt and brutality and it hasn’t really changed.
This is a short book and very digestible. I read it relatively recently and was very impressed by it. We know all about Russian colonization of other countries, and the Soviet empire in Eastern Europe, but the idea that Russia itself had been colonized is quite a new one.
You’ve touched on the question of whether Putin will last the six years of the presidency. Masha Gessen, who is a Russian American journalist, also thinks the Putin bubble is likely to burst at some point. Can you tell us about her book, “The Man Without a Face”?
It’s a very polemical portrait of Putin, a man whom she detests. I think she nails a lot about him. She really focuses in on Putin the man and inverts this common picture of a glamorous, decisive, tough guy to show that the reality is sordid, scary and in a way rather pathetic.
One quite interesting thing she notes is that he has a kind of kleptomaniac streak. She points out the occasions where he has embarrassingly pocketed trinkets. Once there was a glass model of a Kalashnikov filled with vodka and he just swiped it. He also took a ring from an American sports tycoon who had to claim he had given it to Putin as a gift. She concedes that you can’t do an armchair diagnosis, but she thinks he is afflicted by a rare form of kleptomania called pleonexia, where you get quasi-sexual satisfaction from expropriation.
The book tells the story of this small, grey man from the back rooms of the KGB – he was not even a distinguished frontline spy but a pretty unimpressive backroom boy – and how he worms his way into the inner councils of the St Petersburg city administration, then enriches himself hugely before moving to Moscow. Then there is an account of him rescuing the Yeltsin family from possible impeachment and disaster and then taking over the whole country. It’s a compelling biographical story. But what she also does is place it in a very impressive political and bureaucratic context. She says the hybrid of the old KGB and the new mafia in St. Petersburg – which sort of mated and mutated under Putin in the years he was there – transposed to Moscow and then took over the whole country. I found that a convincing and compelling account of what’s happened. You have on the one hand these “espiocrats”, these people whose mindset is absolutely conditioned by the world of the secret police and the secret service abroad. On the other hand is this mafia and its basic motivation, which is money and the ruthless desire to steal as much as possible from anybody who gets in their way or anybody they can reach.
Despite the protests from sections from the middle class, Putin does retain quite a large degree of popularity. Even if he did rig the last election, nobody really doubts that he would have won it.
A free election is not just about counting the votes correctly; it’s about what happens in the campaign. And I think that the way the campaign was constructed meant there wasn’t any doubt about Putin winning it because you didn’t have any serious challenger on the ballot – you had two professional losers, a clown and a stooge. So obviously Putin looked good against them. The other thing is that he had the relentless support of all the mainstream media and particularly television where most Russians get their news. The rigging you do on election day is the least important bit of election rigging.
But I think there has been a huge change. For a long time, Russians would say that the health system was bad, corruption was bad, the criminal justice system didn’t work, and that they were fed up with their elected representatives. But if you were to ask them if they approved of Putin they would say they did. He may have his faults, they would argue, but he’s got the country back on its feet again and there’s no real alternative. But I think that has profoundly changed now. It’s really hard for people to feel enthusiastic about Putin. His public approach now is based on kicking out foreigners and standing up for the ordinary Russian against the elites in the big cities. But that’s not really a programme. It’s the few cards he’s got left to play. If you compare that to the visionary rhetoric of his early years in power – with the promise of turning Russia into one of the most prosperous countries in Europe and a commitment to “dictatorship of the law” – now people just say: “Well, you had 12 years to do it and you didn’t when you could have done it, when you were hugely popular and had lots of money. Why should we get excited about any promises that you make now?”
Tell us about your next choice, Rachel Polonsky’s “Molotov’s Magic Lantern.”
Both Etkin’s and Polonsky’s books have an admirable way of taking cultural allusions from Russian literary history and using them to explain the history of the time but also the present. Rachel Polonsky’s book is based on her chance discovery of [Vyacheslav] Molotov’s library. Polonsky finds out that her upstairs neighbor’s flat in Moscow still had Molotov’s library in it. Molotov was of course Stalin’s great henchman. He signed 373 death warrants for senior officials, including his close colleagues during the Great Terror, so he was a very bad man. He was also the principal Soviet signatory to the Molotov-Ribbentrop pact of 1939. But he was a bibliophile – he loved books. He had made lots of notes in the books and occasionally even used his moustache hairs as page markers.
That’s one axis of this book. The other is the author’s own travels. She goes around all sorts of places in Russia and describes what she finds and links that back into Russian literature, chiefly Molotov’s books but others as well. It’s a very captivating read. You don’t feel you are being bombarded by learning when you’re reading it. But at the end you feel a great deal better informed.
Would you describe it as a travelogue?
It’s what you might call a literary travelogue, although that sounds possibly a bit disparaging because she’s genuinely well-informed about Russia. When she goes to places she doesn’t have the ingenuous naivety of the travel writer. She hones in on what’s important and what really matters.
She’s also very determined not to be swept away by this consumerist bombast which is very characteristic of modern Russia – “Look, I’ve got a bigger car than I had last year and I’ve a bigger flat,” and so on. She wrote this book at the height of the Putin boom, so her quite acerbic and at sometimes rather mordant approach to Russia was prescient.
Your final book, “Let Our Fame Be Great,” is by former Reuters Moscow bureau chief Oliver Bullough and looks at the history of the Caucasus.
I think the Caucasus is Russia’s Achilles heel, really. It was the great triumph of the Tsarist empire getting the Caucasus. It was a great military feat trouncing these supposedly barbarian, wild mountain people. So it was celebrated in Russian literature and history as a great conquest. Then in the 1930s and 1940s it was the site of the extraordinary great deportation of the Chechen and Ingush people – tens of thousands of people driven from homes in the middle of the night, put on cattle trucks and dumped on the Steppe in central Asia with appalling casualty rates. And then when the Soviet Union broke up, Chechnya tried to regain independence and conflict ensued.
Actually, what we are seeing is the point at which the Russian empire busts. It’s tried to digest the Caucasus but it hasn’t. What Oliver Bullough does absolutely brilliantly is look at the forgotten history of the Caucasus. What I particularly like about it – although he writes very well about all the bits of the Caucasus – is his focus on the Circassians and one of the great untold stories of the 19th century. This was a large country which had the misfortune to be on the southern fringe of an expanding Russia. There was what nowadays we would call a genocide, and one that rivals the treatment of the North American Indians or the Australian Aborigines or any of the other victims of European imperialism. But it has just vanished from our collective memory. I don’t think one person in a thousand knows about tens of thousands of Circassians who were massacred on the beaches of the Black Sea, in fact very close to Sochi where Russia will host the 2014 Winter Olympics.
What Bullough does brilliantly is to bring to our attention the fragments of documents we have from these pathetic remnants of cemeteries in Turkey – where the ships laden with dead bodies arrived. He also goes to places like Syria and Jordan where the Circassian diaspora has now become very influential and well-established and interviews them, and you get this feeling for this whole world you just don’t know about. These people with their language, their history, their culture and their colossal tragedy behind them, trying with satellite television, Twitter and the Internet and all these modern means, to get themselves back together again and get their story told.
The book also looks at the history of Russia’s interventions in Chechnya, in which both sides have committed atrocities. Is this a conflict that is likely to raise its head again in the near future?
The Chechens are a very tough people who have been brutalized by their historic experience. I don’t think anyone should take a naive, romantic view that this is a captive nation struggling to be free and they’ll become the Switzerland of the Caucasus if they’re allowed to be, because the damage done by history leaves very deep scars on all sides. I wouldn’t want to particularly judge the question of what should be the constitutional arrangements in the North Caucasus – I just think that Russia is struggling and failing to hold on to the North Caucasus. Russians are leaving, and you have bunch of corrupt and very oppressive satrapies that pay lip-service to Russia, but where the Russian constitution doesn’t actually apply any more. They consume very large amounts of Russian money and I just don’t think that’s very sustainable. The combination of some mistakes by the Chechens and many more mistakes by the Russians has created a really horrible situation that is going to be around for a long time.
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After a brief period of freedom in the 1990s, president-elect Vladimir Putin has largely cracked down, and kept up pressure, on independent media during his first two terms as president in 2000 and 2004. The last 12 years saw a decline of independent press and critical journalism in Russia. Today the main television channels and many news outlets are either majority owned by the state or Kremlin insiders.
Press freedom grew under President Dmitry Medvedev. Last year’s reforms included demoting libel to a less serious crime and increasing jail terms for assault on journalists. But, as after each major event in Russia since 2000, a crackdown on independent media followed the Dec. 4 parliamentary elections, which sparked mass rallies all over Russia over alleged fraud.
The government maintains that Russia’s press is free.
“Freedom of the press is guaranteed and provided in this country,” Putin’s press secretary Dmitry Peskov said. The policy toward the media will continue after Putin officially becomes president — again — on May 7, Peskov said.
However, Pulse’s recent troubles underscore the costs of criticizing the government.
Pulse may be evicted from the building it has occupied for the last two decades because of violations in radio frequency technologies, Sklyarov said. If the regional court of arbitration finds his internet company guilty of licensing violations later this month, Pulse will lose a major source of its funding.
Sklyarov admits to infractions, but said that they are minor and long-standing. He connects the inspections with his decision to change programming and monitor the election.
To draw attention to the pressure, Sklyarov has spoken at an anti-government rally in Moscow and has been in touch with Medvedev’s administration. Despite a phone conversation with an unnamed official from the Kremlin and a request from Mikhail Fedotov, the head of the Presidential Council for Civic Society and Human Rights, to look into the sudden rash of inspections, local government continues to pursue its investigation of Pulse.
While independent outlets and journalists in Russia’s regions face more pressure than their counterparts in Moscow, the capital’s news outlets are also coming under scrutiny.
A planned June reshuffling of the board of directors has been moved up three months at the prominent independent radio station Echo of Moscow. Echo’s parent company, state-run gas company Gazprom division Gazprom Media, replaced two long-time independent members with company-appointed candidates.
At the station, the move, which gives a majority to Gazprom appointees, is seen as a “crooked” attempt to control editorial policy, deputy chief editor Sergei Buntman said.
The announcement came after Putin criticized the station for “pouring diarrhea” all over him “from morning to night.” Echo of Moscow, which is often critical of the government, featured extensive coverage of opposition leaders and anti-government protests after Dec. 4.
“I understand that the initiative [for the reshuffling] did not come from Gazprom Media, but from higher political authorities,” Echo chief editor Alexei Venediktov said in a statement published on the station’s website.
Nikolai Senkevich, the president of Gazprom Media, said the decision was prompted by “increased attention” to the station from “all different sides” and the dismissal of the independent directors was a necessary change, Russian news service Ria Novosti reported.
Other recent incidents include an investigation into funding of opposition channel Dozhd, the freezing of funds for opposition newspaper Novaya Gazeta, a dismissal of an editor from the respected Kommersant newspaper after publication of a photograph of a defaced election ballot, and police beatings of several journalists covering anti-government protests.
In January, Russia’s Union of Journalists, an organization thought to be controlled by the Kremlin, appointed a new director for the Center of Extreme Journalism, a group that monitors freedom of press violations in Russia. The new director was one of the center’s analysts and has previously worked in the administration of Russia’s first president, Boris Yeltsin.
The members of the center’s staff saw the new director as a government functionary and viewed his appointment as an attempt to control the organization, said Irada Guseinova, a former analyst at the center.
The entire staff of the Moscow office and affiliates in the CIS quit as a sign of protest.
“It all looks good on paper,” Guseinova said. The union has the right to appoint directors for the center, a subordinate organization. “But [in this environment] what’s the point of monitoring?”
While the government cracks down on the independents, it has shown an uncharacteristic openness in policy and state-run television channels.
A law that facilitates registration of political parties is about to pass. Earlier this week, Natalia Morar, a Moldovian-born journalist who wrote about state corruption in Moscow’s New Times magazine was allowed back into the country after being refused entry for four years. Putin proposed to create a “speaker’s corner” where everyone can come and speak their mind, modeled after London’s Hyde Park.
For the first time ever, the “stop-list,” or an unofficial list of people not allowed to be broadcast, that includes government opposition and is usually decided by a channel’s top officials, seems to have been lifted.
Opposition leaders Boris Nemtsov and Sergei Udaltsov appeared on two state-run channels last month, a first for prominent Kremlin opponents.
Television had to adapt to the demands of the people, said Alexander Morozov, the head of the Center for Media Studies, a Moscow think tank.
“It is impossible to hide what’s happening in the country,” Morozov said.
However, Gos Dep, a political talk show aired in February on Russian MTV and hosted by celebrity “It-girl” Kseniya Sobchak, was cancelled after just one episode for what many say was Sobchak’s decision to bring Alexei Navalny, a popular blogger and anti-corruption activist, on the next show.
“Navalny is just not allowed on television,” Morozov said.
NTV, also owned by Gazprom Media, has recently broadcast a series of reports, accusing the opposition of receiving money from the United States. The reports, largely thought by analysts, journalists, opposition and many Russians, to be smear documentaries ordered by the government, led to a rally protesting the reports, and a mass boycott of the channel.
Medvedev’s proposal to create a public broadcaster has been revived. The bill introduces public television and radio, with minimal government involvement, and programming aimed to create a civic society and inspire the viewer to be a better citizen, the Presidential Council’s Fedotov, who is heading the project, said.
“The channel will make the viewer morally cleaner, inspire him to vote, recycle,” Fedotov said. Medvedev will pick the channel’s founders from a group nominated by the Presidential Council and the Public Chamber, seen as largely subordinate to the Kremlin.
However, at least some of the channel’s funds will come from the state budget, Fedotov said. For many, this casts doubt on the project’s claims of independence from the government. Other issues up for debate include competing with other channels for viewers and the broadcaster’s educational functions.
Television is a source of information, not mass education, Echo’s Buntman said. After decades of Communist rule, with only a brief period of relative media freedom, a strong, independent press is not a tradition in Russia. Forming this demand through public television is total nonsense, Buntman said.
“This understanding won’t magically emerge from public television,” Buntman said. “It will only emerge in a competitive media atmosphere, where each outlet will try to compete with the other for accurate coverage of events.”
Buntman doubts the broadcaster won’t be controlled by the Kremlin.
“What if someone will decide there is too much negative information?” Buntman said.
The question on everyone’s mind is, what will happen after Putin’s inauguration on May 7.
The future of media depends on what political course Putin will take, either to try to work with everyone or take the nationalistic, patriotic line, Morozov said. It is possible that Putin will not pressure the media because he does not have any reason to be nervous, since he faces little criticism from abroad, Morozov said.
What looks like new media liberalization is temporary, said Aleksey Simonov, the president of Glasnost Defense Foundation, a nonprofit organization that monitors violations against press. After Putin’s inauguration, the Culture Ministry will become responsible for media, now under the jurisdiction of the Communications Ministry, Simonov said. All three choices for the new minister in charge of media are heads of three state-run television channels, according to Russian news reports.
Although the inspections and, what Sklyarov calls “assault” on Pulse, has not stopped, on Tuesday Sklyarov won the first of two cases against his internet company in the local court.
“We are fighting, and we will continue to fight,” Sklyarov, 63, said. “I have a hot temper despite my age. I weigh 120 kg (260 lbs). Once you get me going, you can’t stop me.”
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