Edited by Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund and Elena Namli

Power and Legitimacy – Challenges from Russia

ROUTLEDGE CONTEMPORARY RUSSIA AND EASTERN
EUROPE SERIES

Power and Legitimacy –

Challenges from Russia

Edited by
Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund and
Elena Namli
an informa business

ISBN 978-0-415-67776-9
www.routledge.com

,!7IA4B5-ghhhgj!
Power and Legitimacy – Challenges
from Russia

This book sheds new light on the continuing debate within political thought
as to what constitutes power, and what distinguishes legitimate from illegiti-
mate power. It does so by considering the experience of Russia, a polity where
experiences of the legitimacy of power and the collapse of power offer a con-
trast to Western experiences on which most political theory, formulated in the
West, is based. The book considers power in a range of contexts – philosophy
and discourse; the rule of law and its importance for economic development;
the use of culture and religion as means to legitimate power; and liberalism
and the reasons for its weakness in Russia. The book concludes by arguing
that the Russian experience provides a useful lens through which ideas of
power and legitimacy can be re-evaluated and re-interpreted, and through
which the idea of ‘the West’ as the ideal model can be questioned.

Per-Arne Bodin is Professor of Slavic Languages at Stockholm University,

Sweden.

Stefan Hedlund is Professor of Russian Studies at Uppsala University,

Sweden.

Elena Namli is Professor of Ethics at Uppsala University, Sweden.

Routledge Contemporary Russia and Eastern Europe Series

1 Liberal Nationalism in Central 8 The Development of Capitalism

Europe in Russia
Stefan Auer Simon Clarke

2 Civil–Military Relations in 9 Russian Television Today

Russia and Eastern Europe Primetime drama and comedy
David J. Betz David MacFadyen

10 The Rebuilding of Greater

3 The Extreme Natinoalist Threat
Russia
in Russia
Putin’s Foreign Policy towards
The growing influence of Western
the CIS countries
Rightist ideas Bertil Nygren
Thomas Parland
11 A Russian Factory Enters the
4 Economic Development in Market Economy
Tatarstan Claudio Morrison
Global markets and a Russian
region 12 Democracy Building and
Leo McCann Civil Society in Post-Soviet
Armenia
5 Adapting to Russia’s New Labour Armine Ishkanian
Market
Gender and employment strategy 13 Nato–Russia Relations in the
Edited by Sarah Ashwin Twenty-First Century
Aurel Braun
6 Building Democracy and Civil
Society East of the Elbe 14 Russian Military Reform
Essays in honour of Edmund A failed exercise in defence
Mokrzycki decision making
Edited by Sven Eliaeson Carolina Vendil Pallin

7 The Telengits of Southern Siberia 15 The Multilateral Dimension in

Landscape, religion and Russian Foreign Policy
knowledge in motion Edited by Elana Wilson Rowe
Agniezka Halemba and Stina Torjesen
16 Russian Nationalism and the 25 The Heritage of Soviet Oriental
National Reassertion of Russia Studies
Edited by Marlène Laurelle Edited by Michael Kemper and
Stephen Conermann
17 The Caucasus
An introduction 26 Religion and Language in
Frederik Coene Post-Soviet Russia
Brian P. Bennett
18 Radical Islam in the Former
Soviet Union 27 Jewish Women Writers in the
Edited by Galina M. Soviet Union
Yemelianova Rina Lapidus

19 Russia’s European Agenda and 28 Chinese Migrants in Russia,

the Baltic States Central Asia and Eastern Europe
.
Janina Šleivyte Edited by Felix B. Chang and
Sunnie T. Rucker-Chang
20 Regional Development in Central
and Eastern Europe 29 Poland’s EU Accession
Development processes and policy Sergiusz Trzeciak
challenges
Edited by Grzegorz Gorzelak,
30 The Russian Armed Forces
John Bachtler and Maciej in Transition
Sme˛ tkowski
Economic, geopolitical and
institutional uncertainties
21 Russia and Europe
Edited by Roger N. McDermott,
Reaching agreements, digging
Bertil Nygren and Carolina
trenches
Vendil Pallin
Kjell Engelbrekt and Bertil Ngren

22 Russia’s Skinheads 31 The Religious Factor in Russia’s

Exploring and rethinking Foreign Policy
subcultural lives Alicja Curanović
Hilary Pilkington, Elena
Omel’chenko and Abel Polese 32 Postcommunist Film – Russia,
Eastern Europe and World
23 The Colour Revolutions in the Culture
Former Soviet Republics Moving images of
Successes and failures postcommunism
Edited by Donnacha Ó Beacháin Edited by Lars Lyngsgaard Fjord
and Abel Polese Kristensen

24 Russian Mass Media and 33 Russian Multinationals

Changing Values From regional supremacy to
Edited by Arja Rosenholm, Kaarle global lead
Nordenstreng and Elena Trubina Andrei Panibratov
34 Russian Anthropology After the 38 EU–Russian Border Security
Collapse of Communism Challenges, (mis)perceptions and
Edited by Albert Baiburin, responses
Catriona Kelly and Nikolai Serghei Golunov
Vakhtin
39 Power and Legitimacy –
35 The Post-Soviet Russian Challenges from Russia
Orthodox Church Edited by Per-Arne Bodin,
Politics, culture and Greater Russia Stefan Hedlund and Elena
Katja Richters Namli
36 Lenin’s Terror
The ideological origins of early 40 Managing Ethnic Diversity in
Soviet state violence Russia
James Ryan Edited by Oleh Protsyk and
Benedikt Harzl
37 Life in Post-Communist Eastern
Europe after EU Membership 41 Believing in Russia – Religious
Edited by Donnacha Ó Beacháin, Policy after Communism
Vera Sheridan and Sabina Stan Geraldine Fagan
Power and Legitimacy –
Challenges from Russia

Edited by
Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund
and Elena Namli
First published 2013
by Routledge
2 Park Square, Milton Park, Abingdon, Oxon OX14 4RN
Simultaneously published in the USA and Canada
by Routledge
711 Third Avenue, New York, NY 10017
Routledge is an imprint of the Taylor & Francis Group, an informa business
© 2013 selection and editorial material, Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund,
Elena Namli; individual chapters, the contributors
The right of the editors to be identified as the authors of the editorial
material, and of the authors for their individual chapters, has been asserted
in accordance with sections 77 and 78 of the Copyright, Designs and
Patents Act 1988.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reprinted or reproduced or
utilised in any form or by any electronic, mechanical, or other means, now
known or hereafter invented, including photocopying and recording, or in
any information storage or retrieval system, without permission in writing
from the publishers.
Trademark notice: Product or corporate names may be trademarks or
registered trademarks, and are used only for identification and explanation
without intent to infringe.
British Library Cataloguing in Publication Data
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library
Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data
Power and legitimacy: challenges from Russia / editors Per-Arne Bodin,
Stefan Hedlund, Elena Namli.
pages ; cm. – (Routledge contemporary Russia and Eastern
Europe series; 39)
Includes bibliographical references and index.
1. Power (Social sciences)–Russia (Federation) 2. Executive power–Russia
(Federation) 3. Legitimacy of governments–Russia (Federation)
4. Russia (Federation)–Politics and government–1991- I. Bodin, Per-Arne,
1949- II. Hedlund, Stefan, 1953- III. Namli, Elena. IV. Series: Routledge
contemporary Russia and Eastern Europe series; 39.
HN530.2.Z9P6665 2012
303.30947–dc23
2012003730

ISBN: 978-0-415-67776-9 (hbk)

ISBN: 978-0-203-10877-2 (ebk)

Typeset in Times New Roman

by Taylor & Francis Books
 Contents

List of contributors ix

Introduction 1
PER-ARNE BODIN, STEFAN HEDLUND AND ELENA NAMLI

1 Dimensions of Russia: developments after the USSR 8

KLAUS VON BEYME

2 Never show weakness: how faking autocracy legitimates

Putin’s hold on power 28
STEPHEN HOLMES

3 Legitimizing the Russian executive: identity, technocracy, and

performance 46
EUGENE HUSKEY

4 Legitimacy of power and security of property 59

STEFAN HEDLUND

5 Capitalism and Russian democracy 75

BORIS KAPUSTIN

6 Democracy in Russia: problems of legitimacy 102

BORIS V. MEZHUEV

7 Power and society in Russia: a value approach to legitimacy 118

RUBEN APRESSYAN

8 Powerful rationality or rationality of power?: reflections on

Russian scepticism towards human rights 133
ELENA NAMLI

9 The ‘cultural/civilizational turn’ in post-Soviet identity building 152

JUTTA SCHERRER
viii Contents
10 Conservative political romanticism in post-Soviet Russia 169
ANDREY MEDUSHEVSKY

11 ‘Bez stali i leni ’: Aesopian language and legitimacy 188

IRINA SANDOMIRSKAIA

12 Medvedev’s new media gambit: the language of power in

140 characters or less 199
MICHAEL S. GORHAM

13 Legitimacy and symphony: on the relationship between state

and Church in post-Soviet Russia 220
PER-ARNE BODIN

Concluding remarks 235

PER-ARNE BODIN, STEFAN HEDLUND AND ELENA NAMLI

Index 239
Contributors

Ruben Apressyan is Professor and Head of the Department of Ethics at the

Institute of Philosophy, Russian Academy of Sciences. He is the author of
several books and numerous articles on the history of ethics, origination of
morality, nature of morality, normative and applied ethics, philosophical
issues of war, violence and non-violence, civil society and love.
Klaus von Beyme is Professor Emeritus of Political Science at the University
of Heidelberg. After studying Political Science, Sociology, History and
History of Art in Heidelberg, Munich, Paris, Moscow and at Harvard
University, he was Professor of Political Science at the University of
Tübingen 1967–73, before moving to Heidelberg. His major research fields
are Comparative Politics and Political Theory.
Per-Arne Bodin is Professor of Slavic Languages at the Department of Slavic
Languages and Literatures, Stockholm University. He has written on the
relationship between Russian culture and Russian Orthodox tradition.
His most recent book is Language, Canonization and Holy Foolishness:
Studies in Post-Soviet Russian Culture and the Orthodox Tradition (Acta
Universitatis Stockholmiensis, 2009).
Michael S. Gorham is Associate Professor of Russian Studies at the Depart-
ment of Languages, Literatures and Cultures, University of Florida. He
has published articles on the intersection of language, literature and poli-
tics in Russia and a book titled Speaking in Soviet Tongues: Language
Culture and the Politics of Voice in Revolutionary Russia (Northern Illinois
University Press, 2003). His current research explores related issues in late- and
post-Soviet Russia.
Stefan Hedlund is Professor of Soviet and East European Studies at Uppsala
University. He has published on Soviet and Russian economic development,
and on the influence of history on current affairs. His main research interest
lies in the field of institutional theory and institutional change. His recent
publications include Invisible Hands, Russian Experience and Social Science:
Approaches to Understanding Systemic Failure (Cambridge University
Press, 2011).
Stephen Holmes is Walter E. Meyer Professor of Law at New York University
School of Law. He is the author of numerous books and articles in political
x Contributors
theory, the history of ideas, comparative politics and contemporary affairs.
His principal fields of research include the disappointments of democratization
and liberalization after communism.
Eugene Huskey is William R. Kenan, Jr. Professor of Political Science and
Russian Studies at Stetson University in Florida. He has published widely
on politics and legal affairs in the Soviet Union and the successor states of
Russia and Kyrgyzstan. His most recent publication is Russian Bureaucracy
and the State: Officialdom from Alexander III to Vladimir Putin (Palgrave
Macmillan, 2009).
Boris Kapustin is Senior Research Fellow at the Institute of Philosophy, Russian
Academy of Sciences, Moscow, and currently Senior Lecturer for the Pro-
gram on Ethics, Politics and Economics at Yale University. His most
recent publication is Гражданство и гражданское общество (‘Citizenship
and Civil Society’) (Vysshaia Shkola Ekonomiki, 2011).
Andrey Medushevsky is Professor at the Higher School of Economics in Moscow,
where he teaches Comparative Constitutional Law and Political Science. He
is editor-in-chief of the journal Russian History. His latest book is Russian
Constitutionalism: Historical and Contemporary Development (Routledge, 2007).
Boris V. Mezhuev is Senior Fellow at the Department of Philosophy, Moscow
State University, and Deputy Chief of ‘Strategy 2020’, at the Foundation
for Civil Initiatives. His recent publications include ‘Perspectives of Political
Modernization in Russia’ (Polis, 2010, No. 6), and ‘The “Orange Revolution”:
A Reconstruction of the Context’ (Polis, 2006, No. 5).
Elena Namli is Professor of Ethics at Uppsala University. She has published
three monographs and several articles on Russian philosophy and theology.
Her current work deals with post-colonial critique of traditional liberal
understandings of human rights concepts.
Irina Sandomirskaia is Professor of Cultural Studies, Södertörn University.
She has written several works on the history of linguistic practices, theories
of mother tongue and theory of translation, notably Kniga o rodine: opyt
analiza diskursivnykh praktik (‘A Book about the Motherland: Analyzing
Discursive Practices’) (Wiener slawistischer Almanach, No. 50, 2001). She is
working on a series of studies that combine linguistic theory and film theory.
Jutta Scherrer is Director of Research at the École des hautes études en sciences
sociales, Paris and a Research Associate at the Centre Marc Bloch, Berlin. She
teaches Russian history and is particularly engaged with analysis of socio-
cultural and political phenomena of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries.
She has published extensively on the Russian intelligentsia, Marxism in
Russia, the Orthodox religion and religious philosophy. Scherrer’s more recent
work deals with identity construction in post-Soviet Russia. Her latest book
published is Kulturologie: Russland auf der Suche nach einer zivilisatorischen
Identität (Wallstein Verlag, 2003).
Introduction
Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund and Elena Namli

Two decades have now passed since the collapse of the Soviet Union.
To some, this was an event of great joy and hope; to others, it marked the
tragic end of a great revolutionary project. Differences in perceptions were
conditioned by a variety of factors, such as age, profession, ideological
preferences and position inside or outside the former Soviet society, to men-
tion but a few. Beyond such differences, however, most if not all were united
in asking the very same and truly crucial question, namely, ‘What would
come next?’
From the outset and up until fairly recently prevailing expectations held
that all the former socialist countries would join in undertaking a successful
‘transition’ from the old Soviet order to a Western-style system. Presently, it is
becoming increasingly obvious how erroneous and indeed naïve such expec-
tations have been. For most countries in the former Soviet Union, the laud-
able initial ambition to build liberal democracy and rules-based market
economy has not been fulfilled. The main question that now emerges con-
cerns what has actually happened instead, and why so many have ceased even
to move in the originally intended direction.
The sheer size and political importance of Russia will help explain why
seeking to understand Russian development in particular has come to be
viewed as imperative. This is the case not only for those who have been dis-
appointed by the outcomes, but also for those who do not share the norma-
tive view of liberal democracy as an ultimate goal for all societies. The present
volume will follow the trend of placing Russia in focus, but will not do so at
the cost of losing perspective. Our understanding of ‘challenges from Russia’
rests, rather, in an ambition to use the case of Russia as a way of approaching
a troublesome undercurrent in Western scholarship about the process of post-
Soviet transformation, namely, the powerful belief in the normative role of the
liberal tradition.
The theoretical importance of recalling the early stages of post-Soviet
development lies in highlighting that the standard tools of social science in
particular may not have been up to the task of conceptualizing the nature and
complexity of the problems that faced the early reformers. The various ways
in which actual developments in Russia would deviate from what was
2 P.-A. Bodin, S. Hedlund and E. Namli
commonly expected at the time will serve as a call to reconsider and perhaps
also to reformulate some basic theoretical understandings about societal
change, and not only within the realm of social science.
The original initiative to produce the present volume emerged out of dis-
cussions amongst the editors on precisely such matters. Questions raised con-
cerned the meaning and implications in a deeper analytical sense of Russian
developments in the wake of the collapse of the Soviet Union. To the extent
that we may talk about failure, was this caused by technical mistakes in imple-
mentation, or perhaps by more fundamental errors in conceptualization of the
problems at hand? Given how tightly the liberal tradition of Western scho-
larship has been linked to incremental change within otherwise well-functioning
societies, was there really a readiness to face sweeping extra-marginal change
on multiple margins, under conditions where all previous rules and enforce-
ment mechanisms had been suddenly suspended? Are we right in saying that
the fault lies with Russia and the Russians? Or should blame be placed with
venal foreign influences? Or, is it perhaps the case that Russia is presently
offering important lessons for Western scholarship to absorb, concerning the
presumed universality of values and the general applicability of long-accepted
theoretical concepts and models?
Feeling that these were questions best approached from a broad inter-
disciplinary perspective, and by scholars from different national backgrounds,
it was decided to aim for a volume of papers reflecting upon the situation in
Russia – twenty years after the beginning of the project of liberal democratic
transformation. Those who were invited to join the venture were encouraged
to think in terms of ‘challenges from Russia’ that may cause reflection and
reconsideration of concepts of ‘normality’. Draft papers were presented at a
workshop held in Stockholm in April 2011, which turned out to be a lively
and most productive gathering.
An important reason why we have chosen to focus empirically on Russia
may be derived from Russia’s self-image of being an heir to the Soviet Union,
and from the political behaviour that has been conditioned by this image. As
evidenced by contemporary discourse in Russia, the issue of national identity
is clearly linked to recognition of historical continuity from the Russian
Empire to the Soviet Union and beyond to Russia of today. This sense of
continuity provides a platform for discussion of political, social and cultural
changes that are related to the present object of inquiry.
Of all the many possible challenging questions that would need to be asked
in order to understand the character of the on-going transformation in Russia
we have chosen to focus on the issue of power. Current discussions about an
alleged ‘authoritarian restoration’ and historical parallels drawn to past pat-
terns of autocratic government illustrate that this is a core dimension of
the problem at hand. At the same time, it is not per se a peculiarly Russian
problem.
The nature of power and what may distinguish legitimate from illegitimate
power is one of those truly fundamental questions that have occupied thinkers
 Introduction 3
from Plato to our days. What is legitimate power? How does power become
legitimate? What characterizes the moment when power becomes legitimate?
When does it lose its legitimacy and only force is left? Looking back at the
experience of developments in Russia over the past twenty years, we have a
rich background against which to scrutinize different theoretical approaches
to the thorny issue of power and legitimacy. All the contributing authors have
been encouraged to think in these terms. Hopefully, the results of their
endeavours, as published here, will serve to challenge and enrich a broader
scholarly discussion on the issue of power.
The theoretical approach of the present volume differs from most other
attempts to address the Russian experience of, and discourse on, power. The
common trend has been to view Russia as a complicated political ‘case’, and
to offer explanations as to why the country fails to develop in a sustainable –
liberal and democratic – way. The scale of the problems that Russia has faced
and still faces remains undoubted. Yet, we shall shift the focus and ask if it
may be the case that the frameworks of academic analysis that are commonly
used to analyse Russia actually prevent us from reaching a deeper and more
adequate interpretation.
Instead of presuming that traditional Western theoretical tools can be suc-
cessfully applied to understand the character and forms of power discourse in
Russia, we turn matters around and put these theoretical tools under metho-
dological scrutiny. This can be done in many different ways, ranging from the
analysis of normative assumptions within dominant theoretical frameworks to
the exploration of alternative but marginal frameworks. In brief, our aim is to
use a discussion of Russia’s political, social and economic difficulties as a
means by which to challenge the dominant Western view on power and
legitimacy.
There are good reasons to explain why the empirical Russian background is
so well suited for the task at hand. Following decades of pervasive control by
the Communist Party of all political, economic and other spheres of social
life, the collapse of the Soviet order produced a unique situation of vacuum.
It was not only the centralized power of the party-state that collapsed. In a
simultaneous process, its associated ideology evaporated, leaving subjects to
grope for new senses of identity and for new interpretations of what had
happened and what would follow. Bringing order into this chaos requires that
we map out what kinds of structures have emerged to fill this vacuum, and in
which ways they may be seen to relate to the legacy of prior Soviet and Russian
history.
The thirteen scholars that have been brought together to undertake this
venture have come from economics, ethics, history, language, law and political
theory. They come from different backgrounds also in regard to both culture
and ideology. What unites them is a search for a deeper understanding of
the character of the phenomenon of power. This common ambition, com-
bined with wide differences in topical and methodological approach, shall
hopefully be helpful in achieving a more nuanced analysis of the issue of
4 P.-A. Bodin, S. Hedlund and E. Namli
power and legitimacy both in general and as it appears in the current
situation in Russia.
Turning now to brief presentations of the actual contributions, in the first
chapter, titled ‘Dimensions of Russia: developments after the USSR’, Klaus
von Beyme invites our readers to reflect upon a set of dimensions that are of
crucial importance to a comprehensive understanding of the political devel-
opment in post-Soviet Russia. As the author shows, these dimensions are
products not only of the Russian development as such. They have also been
construed via a comparison between Russia and the normative picture of the
democratic and liberal Western world. Looking at differences in political cul-
ture, at perceptions of legalism and of the ‘Rechtsstaat’, and the failure of
Russian democracy, observers have tended to use Western models as para-
digms for scientific analysis and political expectations. What are the prospects
for this approach and what are its obstacles? Von Beyme’s chapter introduces
a number of issues that are developed and problematized at greater length in
some of the following contributions.
In ‘Never show weakness: how faking autocracy legitimates Putin’s hold on
power’, Stephen Holmes argues strongly against the tendency to look upon
authoritarian power as an ‘easier’ and more tempting alternative to democ-
racy. Instead of describing ‘Putin’s Russia’ as a strong authoritarian and
therefore morally problematic political culture, Holmes offers us a reflection
on the challenge that is involved in seeking to ‘create and consolidate’
authoritarian power. Arguing that we need a deeper understanding of the
forms and practices of legitimation of weak political institutions within an
authoritarian context, he challenges the common assumption of the Russian
leadership as possessing strong authoritarian power.
In ‘Legitimizing the Russian executive: identity, technocracy, and perfor-
mance’, Eugene Huskey elaborates on technocracy as a means of legitimizing
the authoritarian power of a government that consistently underestimates
people’s capacity to be political subjects and to behave as political subjects.
Together with the construction of Russia’s collective identity, technocracy
functions within the framework of a neo-patrimonial regime. Huskey argues
that this regime differs both from the traditional ideology of the Soviet era
and from the ideas of Western democracy. His analysis does not consider
technocracy and the urge for collective identity as simply pragmatic instru-
ments of the rulers. Such means are rather viewed as a ‘part of their own
mental map, shaped through early socialization’.
In Chapter 4, titled ‘Legitimacy of power and security of property’, Stefan
Hedlund reflects on the relation between political governance and the insti-
tution of rights to property. Historical Russian experiences of profound diffi-
culties in separating power and property are seen to challenge a number of
central assumptions within liberal economic and political theory. Hedlund
argues that contrary to what is conventionally assumed in discussions on how
to ‘liberate’ the market, the emergence of a rules-based market economy
requires institutions of legitimate and accountable government. In his view,
 Introduction 5
Russia’s failure to establish a well-functioning market economy reflects serious
shortcomings in the traditional Western understanding of the relationship
between markets and governance.
In Chapter 5, on ‘Capitalism and Russian democracy’, Boris Kapustin
offers an analysis of Russian democracy, or rather the lack thereof, as a case
of a general deficit of democracy connected to the dominant form of current
global capitalism. Kapustin strongly rejects the whole class of cultural
approaches that claim in various ways that Russian culture is somehow
incompatible with democracy. Instead, he argues in favour of a materialistic
explanation of Russian development, focusing on the global transformation
of capitalism into ‘financialized capitalism’. Based on Russian experience,
Kapustin claims that the dominant form of capitalism today cannot be
understood by means of neo-liberal theory but rather calls for new theoretical
approaches.
The issue of democratic power is placed in focus also in Chapter 6. In
‘Democracy in Russia: problems of legitimacy’, Boris Mezhuev elaborates on
political development in Russia from a historical perspective. Democracy in
Russia is seen to lack legitimacy due to its historical linkage to economic
backwardness and social inequality. Another important factor explaining the
lack of legitimacy of democratic institutions in Russia is held to be ‘the cou-
pling of democracy and the weakness of state’. Elaborating on the question of
strategies that may help overcome the deficit of democracy, Mezhuev dis-
cusses the possible roles of the intelligentsia and of ‘ideological minorities’
such as the communists.
In Chapter 7, ‘Power and society in Russia: a value approach to legiti-
macy’, Ruben Apressyan starts by reminding the reader of the philosophical
genealogy of the term legitimacy, as applied to political power. Apressyan
interprets Locke’s and Weber’s understandings of political legitimacy as
mutually complementary and claims that this allows us to treat legitimacy
as a subject of competition between the state and society. He elaborates on
this understanding by applying it to a number of recent political events, where
such confrontations can be found. He also discusses the striking fact that poll
data do not show any correlation between these events and public opinion
concerning the legitimacy of political leadership.
In Chapter 8, ‘Powerful rationality or rationality of power?: reflections on
Russian scepticism towards human rights’, Elena Namli approaches the rela-
tionship between the liberal nature of the ethics and law of human rights and
the challenge that is involved in implementation of human rights in non-lib-
eral cultures. She does so by focusing on some forms of Russian scepticism
towards ‘Western rationalism’ of the human rights discourse. In Namli’s
analysis, the legal nihilism of Dostoevsky is compared to the reaction of
ordinary Russian people to the second trial of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, in
2010. She argues that there are different historical types of practical rationality
that create important diversity in how we can understand the dialectics of
power and responsibility. While it is necessary to strengthen the culture of
6 P.-A. Bodin, S. Hedlund and E. Namli
human rights, as a means of securing legitimate power, it cannot be done
effectively without a deeper understanding of different types of practical
rationality.
In ‘Culture and civilization as categories in post-Communist Russia’, Jutta
Scherrer examines a set of new trends in Russian culture and within Russian
academic circles that can be understood both as a reaction to the ideological
vacuum that appeared as a result of the collapse of the Soviet Union and as a
form of a quasi-ideological legitimization of political power and of the state.
Scherrer explores the phenomenon of the so called kul’turologiia and criticizes
its academic and popular practices using the normative ideal of a reliable and
free academic knowledge.
Andrey Medushevsky joins Scherrer in her rejection of the idea of Russian
culture as a unique non-Western civilization. In Chapter 10, entitled ‘Con-
servative political romanticism in post-Soviet Russia’, he maps out the most
common elements of neo-conservative discourse in Russia. He argues that
given how this discourse has tended to dominate both the media and many
spheres of political life, scholars must tread carefully. There is a danger here
that giving too much attention to neo-conservative thinkers may be taken as a
sign of scholarly approval. Medushevsky presents the formal and most fre-
quent arguments from Russian neo-conservative discourse. Like Scherrer in
relation to kul’turologiia, he criticizes it by using a set of criteria for a reliable
scientific discourse.
Chapter 11 changes tack. In ‘“Bez Stali i Leni”: Aesopian language and
legitimacy’, Irina Sandomirskaia elaborates on the potential and short-
comings of so-called Aesopian language (euphemization of politically sensi-
tive moments in conversation and writing) as a strategy for resistance against
the Soviet power. Using a number of authentic texts reflecting on the practices
of Aesopian language during Soviet times, Sandomirskaia shows an inherent
ambiguity of the strategy of the usage of the euphemized dominant language as
a means for resistance. She argues that this ambiguity is connected to the
nature of Aesopian language as ‘belonging to the immediate situation of
speaking’ thus deeply dependent on agents’ relation to the dominant language
of power.
The ambiguity of linguistic tools in the process of legitimizing political
power is placed in focus also in Chapter 12 by Michael Gorham, entitled
‘Medvedev’s new media gambit: the language of power in 140 characters or
less’. Not even a president may use more than 140 characters while tweeting.
But does this generate communication that can promote the development of a
sustainable society? Based on a detailed analysis of Dmitri Medvedev’s micro
blog, and of its parodic alter ego, Gorham speculates about the role of the
internet in Russian democratic development.
Finally, in Chapter 13, ‘Legitimacy and symphony: on the relation between
state and Church in post-Soviet Russia’, Per-Arne Bodin elaborates on the
relation between the Russian Orthodox Church and the Russian State. Bodin
focuses on official events where the hierarchy of the Church appears together
 Introduction 7
with the leaders of the state. Given that the Russian Constitution firmly
separates state and religion, this offers potential for speculation around
the role of religious factors in legitimating secular power. His discussion of
the ambiguity of the state–Church relationship is conducted with the help
of the traditional theological notion of symphony.
The volume ends with short concluding remarks written jointly by the
volume editors. Without any aspiration to speak on behalf of the contributors,
the editors try to draw some general conclusions from the various contributions
they have made to this volume.
Finally, the editors would like to express their gratitude to those persons
and institutions that have supported the project in various ways. Generous
financial support has been received from Uppsala University’s Centre for
Russian and Eurasian Studies, and from The Royal Swedish Academy of
Letters, History and Antiquities. The Royal Academy also hosted the above-
mentioned workshop on ‘Power and legitimacy’ in April 2011. Special thanks
go to Helene Carson for taking good care of all the participants during the
proceedings. Mark Bassin, Karin Grelz, Jukka Gronow, Sven Ove Hansson
and Boris Kapustin generously assisted by offering valuable comments on the
first versions of the manuscripts that were presented at the Stockholm con-
ference. We are grateful to all for their contributions. A final word of thanks
also goes to Greg Nizhnikau and to Karina Shyrokykh for their efficient and
valuable assistance during the conference and during the subsequent editorial
process.

Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund, Elena Namli

Uppsala and Stockholm, November 2011
1 Dimensions of Russia
Developments after the USSR
Klaus von Beyme

In the wake of the collapse of the USSR, Russia embarked on a project of

institutional transformation that was widely viewed at the time as a labora-
tory of sorts for social science experimentation. The importance of recalling
these early stages of post-Soviet development lies in emphasizing that the
standard tools of social science may not have been up to the task of con-
ceptualizing the nature and complexity of the problems that faced the early
reformers.
In this chapter, we shall look at seven specific dimensions of institutional
transformation, where Russian developments after the collapse of the USSR
have been at variance with initial expectations, and where such variance calls
for careful consideration of what driving factors might have been at play. We
shall begin, however, with a brief look at prior perceptions of the nature and
durability of the Soviet order, and at attempts made to predict and later to
explain its eventual demise. To the extent that scholarship failed to properly
understand where Russia was coming from, it might not have been well posi-
tioned to recommend what should be done, or indeed to point at who was to
blame for what happened.

Conceptualizing the Soviet order

Following the death of Joseph Stalin, the Soviet Union moved from totali-
tarian to authoritarian rule. Yet, despite the celebrated ‘thaw’ that was
allowed under Khrushchev it failed to democratize. Sustained by the ‘vertical
of power’ that was embodied in the Communist Party, the system as such
remained stable until late into the Brezhnev era. It was, however, beginning to
suffer the consequences of immobility. With the ageing of the senior members
of the Soviet elite, stability turned into stagnation and a crisis of legitimacy
was brewing.
Having long been prone to denounce the alleged ‘socialdemocratization’ of
other socialist countries, especially Hungary and Poland, in the end the
Soviets would prove to be themselves ‘socialdemocratized’. In sharp contrast
to what the Chinese leadership would do in June 1989, on Tiananmen Square
in Beijing, they would consequently fail to react with force against new social
 Post-USSR developments 9
movements.1 The liberalization that was implemented under Gorbachev was
impressive as such, but sometimes already excessive; too much glasnost’
tended to kill an orderly perestroika.
After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, two important questions
came to the fore in Russian discourse. Originally formulated as famous
book titles, both had played major roles in Russian intellectual history,
and were immediately familiar to all cultivated Russians. One was Alexander
Herzen’s classic Kto vinovat?, ‘Who is to be blamed?’, published in 1845,
and the other Nikolai Chernyshevsky’s equally classic Chto delat? ‘What
is to be done?’, published in 1863. Both were of immediate relevance to
reforms that were implemented by Gorbachev, and to the dissolution of the
USSR.
For all the tremendous prestige that Gorbachev would enjoy in Western
Europe, at home he was held broadly responsible for the end of the Soviet
order. In a more precise and less emotive setting, he could be blamed for
not having even attempted to implement important structural reforms that
might have saved the system. We can list three separate areas where this was
arguably the case.
The first and most challenging was the option of abandoning the one-party
system and admitting new political forces to compete in open elections.
Gorbachev was under enormous pressure from all sides. While democrats in
the ‘Democratic Russia’ movement were pushing for rapid democratization,
Communist Party conservatives were holding back. That Gorbachev’s spee-
ches at party meetings were only partly welcomed was clearly reflected in the
protocol, which would mark burnye aplodismenty (‘stormy applause’) only
when the General Secretary ended a reformist idea with a quotation from
Lenin. Perestroika would in this area stop at introducing halfway house
measures such as the Congress of People’s Deputies, which served to increase
the ambitions of the democrats without providing any real satisfaction.
A second area where bold measures might have saved the day was in
reforming the federal structure of the state. Such a reform might have pre-
vented the mounting tension between the Russian leader Boris Yeltsin and the
Soviet leader Mikhail Gorbachev from escalating into a confrontation that
provoked a Russian declaration of sovereignty and in the end the collapse of
the Soviet Union. Barring discussion of what could have been achieved, we
may note that actual reform stopped far short of addressing the core of the
problem, seeking to achieve little more than the promotion of popular ethnic
dance groups.
And, of course, there was the problem of economic reform, phrased here as
the gradual acceptance of market society. By refusing to consider seriously a
formal introduction of the basic building blocks of the market economy, such
as market-based pricing, capital markets and private property rights, Gorbachev
instead had to tacitly approve of spontaneous forces that achieved the same in
a peripheral and partly clandestine way, paving the way for the type of
‘robber capitalism’ that was to follow.
10 K. von Beyme
Looking back at how the Soviet order as such was perceived, we may note
that both Russian and Western scholars were prone to believe in the stability
of the system. They would in consequence rarely predict its possible dissolu-
tion. While there were a few who did forecast the collapse of the Soviet
Union, their predictions were based on the wrong premises. One was Andrei
Amalrik, whose famous book 1984, published in 1970, almost correctly pre-
dicted the beginning of the end in the Soviet Union.2 Yet, he gave the wrong
reason, namely, military conflict between China and the Soviet Union.
Another was Hélène Carrère d’Encausse, whose L’empire éclaté, published in
1978, even got it wrong in the subtitle: ‘The revolt of nations in the USSR’.3
The nationalities did regard the disintegration of the system as an opportu-
nity to gain independence, but with the possible exception of the Baltic states
they did not cause the collapse with their own actions.
During the early Soviet era, Western scholars were frequently ready to
believe in the dictum of the Austrian economist Ludwig von Mises that
communism will succeed only for as long as the majority of the people accept
it, and that it will normally not be a promising workable economic system.4
Although considerable economic growth was in consequence held to be
impossible, it did happen after World War II. Scholars such as the Czech
exponent of the Dubček reforms in Czechoslovakia, Zdenek Mlynarz, pre-
dicted that there would be growing crises because innovations failed and
economic growth withered away.5 But he only anticipated less aggressive
Soviet foreign policy, not the collapse of the system.
After the disintegration of the Soviet Union, ‘retrospective prophecy’ has
flourished among Western scholars. Many analyses of the reasons for the
collapse have been summed up in one major factor, such as the role of cor-
ruption in the work of Leslie Holmes.6 Corruption certainly contributed to
the decline, mainly in the sense that it delegitimized the Soviet elites, but it
was not a sufficient cause for explaining collapse. Most authoritarian
systems are corrupt and nevertheless survive for a long time – especially in
Latin America. In the Soviet period, it used to be said that ‘America has a
military–industrial complex – the Soviet Union as a whole is a military–
industrial complex’. This bon mot was to be adopted for post-communist
Russia in a slightly modified form: ‘America has a mafia – Russia is a mafia
system’.
Proceeding now to look at how Russia would develop in the wake of the
collapse of the Soviet order, we shall examine seven specific dimensions
that may help us towards a better understanding of the post-Soviet order.
These seven dimensions are: a) the role of political culture, b) Russian per-
ceptions of democracy and the law-based state, c) the design of political
institutions, d) the need to deal with the nomenklatura elites, e) problems of
Russian federalism, f) transforming the party system, and g) controlling the
media.
Let us begin with the role of political culture, an area where differences
between Russia and the West are held to be the most intuitively obvious.
 Post-USSR developments 11
The role of political culture
Given how important the notion of ‘political culture’ has become to Western
scholarship, it is of some interest to note that it was only recognized very late
by Soviet scholars. The first conference on this topic to be held in the com-
munist bloc took place in Cracow in the 1970s.7 The official Soviet attitude
was to vehemently criticize this ‘bourgeois concept’, preferring instead to
develop the substitute of a socialist obraz zhizni, a ‘way of life’, entailing
investigations about what the citizens were really thinking, beyond the façade
of propaganda.8 The absence of common grounds for analysis would not be
helpful in achieving common understanding.
As many scholars who have frequently visited the country will testify,
differences in political culture between Russia and the West are important
as such, and may at times also have important consequences. As suggested
by Margaret Mommsen, perhaps the most important challenge to visitors
has been emotional, rooted in a contrast between eulogies advanced in
toasts at evening dinners, with glasses of vodka raised high, and dis-
appointing toughness that follows in negotiations during the following
day.9 Behind the emotional façade, however, we may find important
problems of identity that are deeply rooted and that keep playing important
roles.
In the wake of the collapse of the USSR, Russia tried to stabilize a new
idea of her identity by introducing new mandatory subjects for students in all
faculties, namely, that of kul’turologia (see Jutta Scherer’s contribution to this
volume). Rooted in late nineteenth- and early twentieth-century Russia, when
it was associated with some of the most prominent intellectuals, during the
Stalinist era kul’turologia was superseded by the social focus of Marxism–
Leninism. Although the corresponding English notion ‘culturology’ may
sound clumsy, it was the American anthropologist Leslie White who seems to
have used it first.10 The German language in contrast has no difficulties with
the term Kulturologie.
In post-Soviet Russia, the old economic-centrism of Marxism–Leninism
has again been replaced by the culture-centrism of kul’turologia. Importantly,
however, both ideologies share a kind of ‘wholism’ or ‘totalism’ in outlook.
This offers one of several reasons why the latter has been vulgarized and used
in an exaggerated way. In its modern form, kul’turologia was developed into a
kind of citizen training. Even Putin made use of these new possibilities to
strengthen Russian feelings of identity. Analysts, such as Jutta Scherrer, have
also found it astonishing that the Eurasian way of thinking was hardly built
into the new ideology.11
An important challenge to our understanding of Russia, which may be
found in this new way of Russian thought, rests on the fact that it tends
to think in binary oppositions, such as ‘popular culture’ in Russia vs. Western
mass culture. It thus remains within the long tradition of feelings of
superiority that has marked Slavophile and Neo-Slavophile movements in
12 K. von Beyme
Russia. By way of illustration, we may note that Germany has had a unique
experience with the associated differences in mentality.
Beginning in 2003, an annual ‘Petersburg dialogue’ has been arranged
between political and economic leaders and experts from Russia and
Germany. Frequently focused on promoting the grazhdanskoe obshchestvo, or
civil society, this experiment has been highly elitist. Given that the two teams
never meet at the same intellectual and emotional level, one observer has even
dubbed it a mesalliance par excellence.12 Another Russia expert compared the
‘dialogue’ to an old married couple going about their daily routine without
espousing any new ideas.13 Some critics have demanded the Europeanization
of the institution – others have remained sceptical because the agenda might
develop in an even more chaotic way.
Returning to the problem of contrasts in political culture, what has been
evidenced by the process as a whole is that while Russians negotiate in a
strategic rationalistic way, being always on the lookout for possible advantage,
Germans – contrary to what people abroad normally think of Germany – tend
to start from a highly idealistic impetus to promote civil society, a task which
Russian negotiators mostly pay no more than lip-service to.
The importance of differences in cultural traditions is sometimes played
down via encouraging quotations from the Russian poet Tiutchev, stating that
one cannot understand Russia but one can only believe in it. For a less poetic
approach, we may turn to the philosopher Ivan Ilyin – a favourite ideologue
for Putin – who has criticized the naivety of the idea that Russia could be
governed as democratically as Switzerland.14 Several further illustrations
along similar lines may be advanced.
A case in point is the new national anthem that was introduced under
Putin. While symbolically retaining the familiar tune of the old Soviet
anthem, Soyuz nerushimi respublik svobodnykh, it was given new lyrics that
only a minority of Russian citizens know by heart. Similarly, the initial cele-
bration of ‘Constitution Day’, which for a while provided an opportunity for
demonstrating ‘constitutional patriotism’, was quickly replaced by the more
patriotic ‘Day of National Unity’. Held on 4 November, it commemorates
the event in 1612 when the Russians liberated themselves from Polish occu-
pation. Modern constitutional patriotism was thus replaced by a traditional
nationalism.
Since the day in question happens to coincide with the ‘Day of the Icon of
the Holy Mother of God of Kazan’, a symbolic and vitally important union
of Church and state was also achieved. Putin, in consequence, won support
both from Solzhenitsyn and from leading figures of the Orthodox Church.
Religion was thus effectively built into the image-making of Putin’s adminis-
tration. The virulence of the regime’s flirtation with Orthodox nationalism
would soon be given somewhat worrying prominence.
In 2003, a highly controversial exhibition was opened in the Sakharov
Museum, entitled ‘Take Care: Religion!’ After a mere four days, it was van-
dalized by Orthodox activists claiming to be incensed by the sacrilegious
 Post-USSR developments 13
nature of some of the exhibits. Police arrested five people accused of
khuliganstvo, or ‘hooliganism’. Finally, however, it was not the khuligans but
rather the organizers of the exhibition who were sentenced, according to Art.
282 of the Russian Penal Code. The defence attorney pleaded a case of
‘Satanism’ and of attempting to foment religious discord.
This strange kind of defence of the Orthodox Church, initiated by Com-
munist Party deputies, would be criticized by opposition writers like Mikhail
Rykin.15 It caused exceptional concern in the sense of fitting so comfortably
into an emerging alliance between Church and state, tacitly allowing, if not
condoning, violence as a means to suppress unwanted forms of social and
religious criticism.

Perceptions of legalism and the ‘Rechtsstaat’

Proceeding from the problems of political culture to Russian perceptions of
legalism and of the Rechtsstaat, we may note that in his article on Russian
‘sham constitutionalism’, Max Weber had already indicated the presence of a
certain ‘legal nihilism’ in the Russian tradition.16 Interestingly, during the late
Gorbachev era, Weber would be joined in his criticism by Vladimir Tumanov,
who was later to become the second Chairman of the Russian Constitutional
Court.17
Historically, Russia developed two kinds of legal nihilism. One was radical
legal nihilism, which opposed all legal restrictions and which some writers
have claimed to find in the works of Tolstoy. The other was moderate
legal nihilism, which pointed at a gap between the ideal of justice and its
manifestations in political reality.
In its moderate form, the very same type of disappointment with Western
democracy and the legal state has been found in many opposition movements
in post-communist countries. Bärbel Bohley, a well-known opponent of the
GDR government and a leader of the democratic forces after reunification,
was to become deeply disappointed with the new democracy: ‘We longed for
justice – but we got only a Rechtsstaat’. We had to tell her that the
Rechtsstaat was the only possible approach to increase justice in society.
Russia loves both the German word Rechtsstaat and the generic term
‘democracy’, but associates different concepts with these terms. The philoso-
pher Dmitri Furman stated with resignation: ‘We proclaimed democracy, but
we were unable to install it’.18
While democracy and market society were originally seen together, under
Putin the two notions were separated. Putin has proved himself to be mainly
interested in the economy as a means by which to restore Russia as a super-
power. In his message to the Duma in 2005, democracy was mentioned
23 times. In 2006, it was mentioned only twice, reflecting the rapidly declining
importance of that notion.19 Putin’s self-image is clearly not that of a demo-
cratic leader. He has, on the contrary, preferred to refer to himself as the
‘manager employed by the big enterprise Russia’.20
14 K. von Beyme
Putin’s basic aim has seemed to be to liberate Russia from the image of
being a mere producer of natural resources, with little or no processing. He
has frequently sought to devalue democracy as such, by using terms such as
‘democracy Russian style’ or ‘sovereign democracy’, which tolerates no
external interference in Russian internal affairs. He has also ridiculed the
United States at times for overdoing its propaganda on human rights. Occa-
sionally, his self-representation has even come close to the style prevailing
during the Cold War.
When asked for his model foreign countries, Putin mentioned Korea,
without indicating which part – but probably South Korea, a market society
with a certain degree of authoritarian leadership.21 Asked for his role models
in statesmanship, he mentioned Napoleon and de Gaulle, and even Erhard.
Although consistently in favour of a market society, he has increasingly
insisted on certain exceptions, especially in the sector of strategic industries
that are relevant for military strength.22 Looking more systematically at the
way in which Putin has responded to questions such as these, we may find a
fairly functionalistic approach to the constitution, to national symbols and to
political culture.23
The Russian constitution that was adopted by referendum in 1993 was
certainly no product of legal nihilism. Approximating Western standards, it
showed that Russia was on an acceptable road. It was an octroi without
popular plebiscite, similar to the case of the German Basic Law, which –
second only to the French Constitution – was a source of inspiration for
Russian founding mothers and fathers. Radical Russian critics such as Lilia
Shevtsova have claimed to have seen already in the constitution the basis of
authoritarian developments.24 In my opinion, this is an exaggeration. It is not
the constitution as such that has vestiges of authoritarianism. Such concern
should be linked to the way in which it was first promulgated and then abused
under Yeltsin, and eventually ignored under Putin.
The French presidential system was a source of fascination already to
Gorbachev’s advisors, such as Shakhnazarov, and its powers have been
extended much further than any French president would dare. The main dis-
advantages again can be found not so much in the text of the constitution. It
is true that it is marked by inconsistencies. This is most obvious in the use of
notions such as ‘Russian Federation’ and ‘Russia’ that are clearly differentiated
at the outset and then used almost as synonyms. Again, however, the main
deficiencies of Russian constitutional life rest not in formal codification but
rather in its underdeveloped legal culture and its many informal bypass options.
The most promising step towards a Russian Rechtsstaat was taken with the
introduction of a Constitutional Court. In his above-cited criticism, Tumanov
did not mention that he himself was originally an exponent of the moderate
form of legal nihilism. When I organized an international conference on
judicial review, he agreed to participate, and the succession of title revisions
that he suggested for his presentation may be viewed as deeply reflective of
the overall process of change.
 Post-USSR developments 15
In 1986, he submitted a paper that was titled ‘Why Russia does not need
judicial review’. Appearing at the conference in 1987, he had reformulated his
topic to ‘The equivalents of judicial review in the Soviet Union’. In the final
printed version, the title read: ‘Guarantees for constitutionality of legislation
in the USSR’.25 These quick changes in formulation during the period of
perestroika were remarkable, mainly because Tumanov as we have just noted,
was later to become the second Chairman of the Constitutional Court.
From its foundation in 1991 until the autumn of 1993, the Court made
27 decisions and two expert reports (zakliucheniia). The most frequent peti-
tioners and plaintiffs were Duma deputies (17 cases), regions (three cases) and
individuals with constitutional complaints (7 cases). In nine cases, decrees of
the President were challenged; in seven of these the Court held that the acts of
the President had been partially or completely in line with the Constitution.
In the remaining two, the President had acted in an unconstitutional way.
Four laws of the Russian Federation were contested by the Court, as were
nine cases of complaints against Duma deputies or their speaker. In only one
case, the constitutionality of a parliamentary act was endorsed. In five cases,
subjects of the Federation were involved, and in six cases individual citizens
complained. (The sum total exceeds the 27 decisions because in some
cases several plaintiffs joined forces.)
As the first Chairman of the Constitutional Court, Judge Valerii Zor’kin
established a pattern of judicial activism that would not be well received.
Faced with a sharpening confrontation between the President and the Speaker
of the Supreme Soviet, Ruslan Khasbulatov, he tried to intervene as a med-
iator, but as a politician he was given poor marks. Zor’kin commented on TV,
met politicians, the Patriarch and even foreign diplomats at will. When
Yeltsin decided to end the standoff by dissolving the Supreme Soviet, an act
that was in contravention of the outdated RSFSR Constitution, Zor’kin disputed
the legality of this decision.
It would soon become clear that the Court could not survive so much
judicial activism. Yeltsin came to view it as a competitor in the political
arena, and others agreed that the Court was out of line. In late September
1993, the liberal judges Ametistov and Vitruk began a boycott of the sessions,
arguing that the Court had turned into a political force. (Both judges later
joined the sessions again.) On 5 October 1993, the Court decided that given
the worsening legal situation it could no longer review legal norms. It would,
in consequence, restrict its work to constitutional complaints. Both camps in
the Court resorted to blackmail by challenging the quorum. In January 1994,
it became evident that Zor’kin still had followers in the Court. He would also,
symptomatically, be re-elected as President of the Court in 2003.
The Court in its present form is a product of the revolutionary events of
1993. Having originally called a Court to assist in his struggle against the
Soviet Union, Yeltsin tried in 1993 to exorcize spirits he had invited. One
judge, Evzeev, openly referred to his action as a coup d’état. The ill-famed
decree No. 1400 (22 October 1993), which introduced a ‘special regime’, was
16 K. von Beyme
held to violate the Constitution. Although Yeltsin’s administration did not
dispute this, it argued that under the present conditions the President was
unable to carry out necessary reforms based on the framework of the old
‘Brezhnev’ Constitution. Importantly, Yeltsin could not even rely completely
on ‘his group’ in the Court. A critical statement was accepted with a 9:4
majority (Ametistov, Vitruk, Morshchakova, Kononov dissenting). Refusing
to accept the President’s recommendation to suspend, the Court continued its
work.26
Beginning in 1995, the Constitutional Court would normalize. On 13 February
1995, Vladimir Tumanov was elected President with 11 votes. Tamara
Morshchakova won against Vitruk and Baglai as Vice-Chair. Tumanov stood
for a return to the legal duties of the Court, as opposed to its political role.
At a press conference in July 1996, he was able to report that the new
momentum of the Court had been accepted by most institutions, and that
there was no threat of the Court becoming ‘unemployed’. Criticisms from
conservative Duma deputies were countered by hinting that many of their
propositions and complaints did not concern legal but rather political ques-
tions. Tumanov also denied allegations that the decisions of the Court were
more in favour of the President than of the Duma.
The workload was increased by 200 questions for an opinion (obrashchenie)
that were submitted by institutions and citizens of the Russian Federation. In
1995, the judges produced 17 decisions with dissenting votes, most of them
concerning presidential decrees and the Chechnya case. In many cases of
federal conflict, the Court decided in favour of the federal subjects. Sometimes
the traditional forces in regions and republics were stronger than in Moscow.
In some cases, the regions used a pure parliamentary system which deviated
from the semi-presidential scheme of the central institutions. Contrary to
the views of the central government, the Court was more tolerant towards
these institutional deviations. It argued in some cases that deviations from the
scheme of powers in the Federation were acceptable as long as no special
federal law had regulated the matter.
A non-consolidated democracy will always face initial problems of enforcement
of legal sentences. Legally, the Court’s decisions are binding – but who
secures this? Viewed from this perspective, it was important that Yeltsin
accepted the Court’s first decision against his policy, when it prohibited a
suggested merger of the secret service with the Ministry of Internal Affairs.
It was said to his credit that Sergei Shakhrai had convinced the President that
this decision could not be ignored. But the federal subjects did not follow the
good example. Tatarstan held its referendum in spite of a negative ruling from
the Constitutional Court. The main problem of centre–periphery relations
rested in the fact that the old Soviet system had never developed a mechanism
of legal sanctions.27
The principle of Bundestreue that is so important to German constitutional
law was unknown in Russia. The Soviet Union had inserted a right to seces-
sion into the Constitution, but whoever might have contemplated using it
 Post-USSR developments 17
would have been prosecuted by penal law, which prohibited proclamations of
secession, and by the secret service. This double standard would have impor-
tant consequences for Russia’s nascent democracy. When Chechnya wished to
exercise its right to secession, this option was no longer recognized by the
democrats in Russia.
In the case of Tatarstan, Zor’kin tried to invent his own sanctions by
mobilizing the media and the federal authorities. A possible further escalation
might have been impeachment of Tartarstan civil servants and politicians who
disobeyed court decisions. But ‘contempt of court’ sanctions have yet to be
accepted. One is easily reminded here of the classic saying that ‘Russia is large
and the Tsar is far away’. Zor’kin’s campaigns against the Tatar Republic
failed to go beyond public lamentations without major consequences.
If Putin’s ideas about ‘guided democracy’ and iron-fisted democracy turn
out to be consistent with respecting the Constitutional Court, this institution
is likely to assist the President in overcoming centrifugal tendencies in the
Federation. But this would also imply an increasing problem for the demo-
cratic nature of the regime. Under Yeltsin, human rights issues took precedence
over federal issues only because large numbers of minor citizens’ complaints
had greater value than the political weight of the issue. Chechnya has shown
that this problem may well be the major challenge faced by the Constitutional
Court of the Russian Federation in the future.28
Sufficient measures are available for the enforcement of legal decisions. The
problem is that the will to use such measures will not be forthcoming unless
appropriate institutions combine a personal interest with a legal decision
which increasingly seems to be guided by consultations with the executive.
The highly personalized nature of the system as such remains the main
obstacle to a true introduction of a Russian Rechtsstaat.

Designing political institutions

Returning to the classic Russian question of ‘What should be done?’, the early
Russian reformers faced some rather important choices with respect to insti-
tutional design. Proclaiming that Russia would become a ‘normal country’,
characterized by democracy and a market economy, was acceptable for pure
propaganda purposes. It was, however, not very helpful in approaching
the complex question of what would need to be done in order to ensure that
the envisaged outcome could be reached, or indeed to provide a clear image
of what the outcome in question should look like. The American system of
democracy and market economy does not have an exact likeness to the European
versions of the same.
The question of how to approach the practical tasks of institutional design
was a hot topic in social science debates as well. With respect to the choice of
a rational mix of institutions in the former communist countries, it was
interesting to note that conservative analysts and former leftists dubbed
‘rational choice Marxists’, such as Adam Przeworski, Jon Elster or Claus
18 K. von Beyme
Offe, would at times arrive at similar conclusions.29 In a political culture with
floating party systems and few organized interest groups, the emergence of a
prominent role for the President in a semi-presidential structure was seen to
be unavoidable.
While rational-choice neo-institutionalists such as Jon Elster – inspired by
communitarian ideas of justice – focused on the distribution of opportunities
and the ideas of social justice behind the constitution, traditional palaeo-
institutionalists, such as Giovanni Sartori, were more narrowly focused on the
immediate results of certain institutions.30 The search for justice was in their
perception even dangerous. They followed the traditional constitutionalists
who longed not for Rousseau’s ‘good citizens’ but rather preferred to rely on
‘good institutions’.
In the late communist era, models of ‘corporatism’ were discussed in the
literature. After communism, however, the sectoral governance function of
interest groups would fail to penetrate an anarchic and oligarchic market
society. The trade unions in particular remained extremely weak. As hor-
izontal social forces failed to develop, vertical structures now had their
opportunity.
Faced with the implied challenge of managing the driving forces in this
process, Boris Yeltsin may in turn be blamed for having failed to promote the
development of intermediary institutions. We may advance five specific
dimensions where he may be arguably accused of having committed fundamental
errors in institution-building.
First and most important was the fact that he renounced the possibility of
holding ‘founding elections’. In so doing, he left the legislature in the hands
of the political opposition. Proceeding to govern without the country’s par-
liament, he failed to recognize that even a functioning semi-presidential
system needs the minimum of a functioning legislature.
Second, he preferred to govern in the classic way of divide and rule.
By pitting one institution against another, he would succeed in warding
off emerging threats to his own power, but at the price of preventing the
development of internalized rules of division of power.
The third area was that of federalism, where a failure to address the anar-
chic conditions prevailing in the wake of the collapse of the USSR would
serve both to strengthen local elites and to provide impetus for the centrifugal
tendencies in the system.
Fourth was the failure to support a movement towards genuine indepen-
dence of the judiciary. The intention to reduce the powers of the Constitutional
Court effectively prevented the development of a pouvoir neuter (neutral
power).
Finally, the way in which privatization was implemented effectively served
to prevent courts from developing into guardians of a division of powers. By
affording a leading role to the nomenklatura managers, anomic privatization
would be associated with protection services, private detectives and even
criminals developing a parallel underground system.
 Post-USSR developments 19
A key notion in analysing institutions has been that of the vertikal’ vlasti,
the ‘vertical or power’, which was aimed at a vertical streamlining of institu-
tions. A prominent feature under the Soviet order, it has assumed prominence
also under the post-Soviet order. Although frequently associated with Vladimir
Putin, it was actually re-introduced in 1996, when Yeltsin tried to mobilize the
‘political technocrats’ to prevent a victory of the communists under Gennady
Zyuganov.
The semi-presidential system was beginning to stabilize in the middle of the
1990s. The number of normative decrees declined from 202 in 1994 to 144 in
1999.31 Seeking to compensate for the lack of a governing party, Yeltsin had
sought to generate support by creating a presidential cabinet. As it became
clear that this was working well, he retained the system, which has come to
be viewed by some as a hereditary institution derived from the secretariat of
the Central Committee.32
The presidential administration would remain dominant. The only real
exception was observed when Yevgeny Primakov served as Prime Minister,
from September 1998 until May 1999. Enjoying wide support in the Duma,
Primakov attempted to build a durable coalition, but it was to be a short-lived
experiment. Under Putin, both the bureaucracy and the secret services were
again strengthened, and the number of civil servants increased dramatically.
Proclaiming Russia to be a ‘Presidential Republic’, he would not accept the
label of a ‘Parliamentary Republic’.
Even the legal system was affected by the strengthening of power vertical.
The office of the Attorney General, compromised by actors such as Andrei
Vyshinsky under Stalin, may be viewed as a case in point. As the last Attorney
General under Yeltsin, Yury Skuratov was able to remain in office for five
years. He investigated corruption among Yeltsin’s daughters, and survived
three attempts by the President to have him deposed by the Council of Federa-
tion. He was finally toppled by a dubious video showing him in bed with a
couple of prostitutes in a hotel.
Putin would develop far fewer conflicts with attorneys, preferring to use
them as his own agents. It was symptomatic of this transformation of the
power structure that when he decided to move against oligarchs Gusinsky,
Berezovsky and Khodorkovsky, his first-choice candidate for the job would be
Vladimir Ustinov, Skuratov’s successor as Prosecutor General, who in 2006
would be promoted to Minister of Justice. The implication is that the judiciary
was once again destined to form part of the executive power.

The nomenklatura elites

Turning to the core question of the role of the country’s elites, it is tempting
to recall Stalin’s classic dictum that it is all about the cadres. Under the Soviet
order, co-optation was the name of the game, and it would remain so in the
post-Soviet era. Faced with challenges in the form of introducing regime
accountability, and transparent enforceable rules concerning the exercise of
20 K. von Beyme
power, Russia’s rulers would remain beholden to elite co-optation, as opposed
to democratic means of recruitment.
Compared to other former socialist systems, Russia stands out in main-
taining a high degree of continuity. In the post-communist era, the Russian
nomenklatura would suffer a decline by no more than 11 per cent, whereas
in countries like Poland or Hungary, it was more than one-third.33 There was
hardly any mobilization of citizens by the new elites. The non-elites were
paralysed by the double strain of reconstruction of the economy and the
political system. The old elites did not have a guilty conscience – they had
after all not lost a war, but merely the competition between two systems.
Being too cynical to defend the old system, large parts of the nomenklatura
quickly perceived that their chances for the future rested in the appropriation
of state property. As there was no consequent pressure for a completely new
start, members of the Russian elites could afford to quarrel over scenarios of
development in a distinctly personalized way: Gorbachev against Yanaev, and
Lukyanov and Yeltsin against Khasbulatov or Rutskoi.
Sociological investigations have shown that the leading groups under
Yeltsin came mostly from the Soviets (63.6 per cent), and only to a lesser
extent from the Communist Party (21.2 per cent). Economic leaders were
strong in the government elite (42.3 per cent). The business elites got a chance
via the Komsomol (37.7 per cent). Whereas in other former socialist countries
there was a rule of thumb that the revolution was a ‘coup of the deputy leaders’,
this was true only for the economic elites in Russia.34
The Soviet form of co-optation had depended on fixed rules as long as the
formal nomenklatura was functioning. In contrast, it developed no real fixed
points of reference. The absence of a clear power structure under Yeltsin
made the competition for influence and position not only fluid but also central to
maintaining power. Theories on rent sharing and rent management were able
to explain how power was exercised, in the absence of transparently structured
political system.
Major corporate enterprises emerged as substitutes for parties and interest
groups. Even President Dmitry Medvedev would mention how difficult it was
to implement a new policy of recruitment. Enterprise bureaucrats frequently
came from a background of secret service activities. The dollar millionaires
doubled in the era of Putin. Kinship relations played a certain role. Some
even spoke of a ‘patrimonial sultanate’.
The weakening of the oligarchs in the first years of Putin’s presidency was
considered inevitable even by many Western scholars. Continuous conflicts
with and between the oligarchs provoked action on Putin’s part. In the Yeltsin
era, the oligarchs had still operated in a zone between economic and political
actors that was on the whole insufficiently regulated. A ‘new class’ of leaders
of the monopolistic sectors was growing.
The approach to dealing with the oligarchs typically began with accusa-
tions of tax evasion, as in the case of Vladimir Gusinsky. Although Putin
would deny that he had a close friendship with Boris Berezovsky, and claim
 Post-USSR developments 21
that it was the oligarch who had tried to become friendly with him, one may
wonder about the difference if measured as more or less close cooperation.35
Interestingly enough, when Vladimir Gusinsky began to feel pressure from
the Kremlin, his rival Berezovsky – possessing the majority of shares in the
TV channel ORT – declared solidarity with his colleague. Yet, standing no
chance of offering real resistance, they would ultimately be forced into exile.
During the first years of Putin’s presidency, emigration was an option open
not only to Gusinsky and Berezovsky but to all of the oligarchs. As the last
independent oligarch, in October 2003 Mikhail Khodorkovsky was arrested
and subsequently sentenced to prison. Given that there were many others who
at the time had committed similar crimes, if they were crimes, the conviction
of Khodorkovsky was viewed as a selective administration of justice. When he
was subsequently brought to a second trial, and eventually sentenced to an
additional eight years in prison, the charges brought against him were so
absurd that the case came to be viewed as one of selective administration of
injustice.
Russian adherents of the Rechtsstaat joined with Western observers in
condemning this trial as a something of a kangaroo court. When Putin chose
to pre-empt the court’s decision by declaring in advance that Khodorkovsky
deserved a second conviction, even President Medvedev found cause to take a
public stand of condemnation of his Prime Minister.
The anatomy of the new power structure was clearly marked by personal
networks and influence, rather than by transparent and enforceable rules.
Among the newly created structures were consultative councils of experts to
work in cooperation with the ministries. There was also the innovation of a
yearly meeting between Putin and economic representatives. The system had
more leading administrators with economic functions than ever before.
A kind of network capitalism emerged that was marked by a sharing of
power between various clans such as the ‘Petersburg clan’ against the ‘Yeltsin
family’, which originally brought Putin into power.

Streamlining federalism
Much as Putin deliberately strove to streamline the institutions of govern-
ment, he also embarked on an ambition to streamline the federal system as
such. Following the anarchy that had characterized the federal system under
Yeltsin, when some governors could simply ignore decrees from Moscow and
at times even refused to pay their appropriate shares of taxes to central gov-
ernment, some reshuffling of power in the federal system was inevitable.
Putin’s plan to restore order would entail a number of different measures.
The first step was to divide the country into seven federal districts, which
symptomatically coincided with the existing military districts. For each of
these seven districts, the President nominated a plenipotentiary who was to
serve as the Kremlin’s enforcer and overseer. Five of the seven nominees were
military generals.
22 K. von Beyme
A second step was taken in January 2002, when the Federation Council
was deprived of its effective veto power. Formerly, the heads of the country’s
88 ‘subjects of federation’ (the Russian word ‘subject’ has a distinct author-
itarian ring to it) would meet. Under the new order, the Council was to be
made up only of permanent delegates who were bound by formal instructions
from the regional executives.
A more important step was taken in 2004, when the direct election of
governors was abolished. Given the way in which many such elected officials
had served as regional oligarchs, it was clear that the Kremlin felt it had
cause for the change. The pretext that was used was quite interesting. Following
a massive terrorist event at a school in the southern Russian city of Beslan,
which resulted in the deaths of more than 300 people, half of whom were
children, Putin said that it was caused by the weakness of the local governor.
Following the abolition of gubernatorial elections, he proceeded quite skil-
fully, nominating new governors only in those areas where local elites were in
conflict with the central administration, such as in Saratov, Irkutsk, Nizhnyi
Novgorod and Kaliningrad.
As a fourth step, city managers were introduced in 2007 to replace the
former council leaders. A new reform was proposed in 2009, which aggra-
vated the dependence of the lower echelons of administration, making them
more dependent on transfers from the federal budget.
Among further steps taken to ensure better control over federal relations, it
can be mentioned that governors’ periods of office were reduced from four
terms to two. A ‘Societal Chamber’ was established with consultative func-
tions and an equally consultative ‘State Council’ was introduced where pro-
vincial governments could negotiate with the President. Some critics have
denounced the latter as ‘pompous staging’, designed to weaken the Federa-
tion Council.36 Throughout, we may see how much-needed constitutional
clarity is being diffused through the introduction of various bypasses and
complementary institutions with undefined functions.

Transforming the party system

Viewed from a perspective of democratic state-building, which has been the
official course of post-Soviet Russia, one of the most important dimensions of
the ‘authoritarian restoration’ was that of ensuring that the country’s transi-
tion from one-party rule to a multiparty democracy and open elections would
not be tantamount to granting the electorate real power over how the country
was governed. Putin would be highly successful in this aim. Looking again at
Max Weber’s previously cited account of Russian ‘sham constitutionalism’,
we may speak today of a ‘sham party system’.
The challenge again had an obvious dimension of bringing order into
chaos. At the outset of the era of radical reform, political parties proliferated
to the extent that it was difficult indeed to see any form of either structure or
ideological orientation. At the end of the Yeltsin era, the party system
 Post-USSR developments 23
remained chaotic and fluid. Only three broad groups had retained a certain
continuity, namely, the Communist Party, Yabloko (the social liberal party)
(which would lose its representation in the Duma in the 2007 election), and
Vladimir Zhirinovsky’s absurdly misnamed Liberal-Democratic Party. The
fluidity of the political situation had been evidenced in numerous ways, including
the formation of a ‘red-brown coalition’ of leftist communists and right-wing
nationalists joining forces against the centre.
Putin’s ambition to bring order into this chaos was quite deliberate.
It began with a strategic compromise with the Communist Party, and pro-
ceeded to ensure a working partnership with Zhirinovsky. In the third Duma,
elected in 2003, the Liberal Democrats approved 85 per cent of all govern-
mental proposals. Following the 2003 election, hardly any form of meaningful
opposition remained in the Duma. Access to the media was also restricted for
opposition groups.
The main thrust of the drive towards ensuring political command and
control was aimed at strengthening the presidential ‘party of power’. Having
been invented to secure victory in the 1999 Duma election, when Putin was
still Prime Minister, once he had been elected to the Presidency, United
Russia would emerge as an effective tool for executive power. In 2006, this
group had 1.15 million members; in 2008 it membership had reached 2 million,
ten times as many as the Communist Party.
In addition to securing a dominant position for United Russia, the Kremlin
also engineered a transformation of the remnants of formal opposition. Political
parties were subjected to increasing regulation and directed patronage. The
party law was amended in 2001 and 2004, and the electoral law in 2005. The
new electoral law – calling for proportional elections according to party lists –
went into operation following the Duma elections in 2007. The Kremlin also
succeeded in curtailing the number of parties. In 2005, there had still been
42 registered parties; in 2007 only 15 were left. Yeltsin had tried but failed to
win acceptance for a new electoral law. Putin was aware that the party land-
scape had to be simplified first. Yeltsin did not give recommendations for
electoral behaviour – whereas Putin did so.
The Duma was increasingly brought under presidential control, and the
presidential administration deeply influenced the behaviour of the parliamen-
tary groups. Within the Duma, changes of parliamentary groups were on-going.
In 2003–4, about 80 independent candidates migrated into the governmental
party United Russia. As a result of the concentration movement, the ‘pre-
sidential party’ commanded 304 of the 450 seats in the Duma. Completing
the picture, the Kremlin also introduced parties of its own design that were
introduced to absorb voters who might otherwise have opted for true opposition
parties. One such was the nationalistic ‘Rodina’. Another was ‘Righteous
Russia’. Formed in the autumn of 2006, out of the remnants of three small
liberal parties, it would become the smallest parliamentary group in the Duma.
There is, in conclusion, a striking anomaly in the Russian political system.
In parliamentary as well as semi-presidential systems, it is normally the case
24 K. von Beyme
that politicians emerge as party leaders and are then included in government.
In Russia, it works the other way around. Having been appointed to Cabinet
posts, politicians are persuaded to join United Russia. Again emphasizing the
highly personalized nature of the system as such, we may also note the crea-
tion of a special body of coordination designed to ensure proper outcomes of
important votes in the Duma, and the associated introduction into society of
thousands of ‘cooperation councils’ that further undermine the traditional
party structure.

Controlling the media

The final task of the ambition to achieve an ‘authoritarian restoration’ was
that of ensuring that no independent media would work to undermine the efforts
of the Executive. During the final stage of decline of Soviet power, glasnost
had contributed to an on-going weakening of the established political struc-
tures. Under Yeltsin, control over the mass media was still incomplete. This
changed under Putin. Today, one of the main criticisms against Putin’s ‘guided
democracy’ is aimed not so much against the formal organizations and the
elections but rather at the way in which the system deals with the media.
Critical print media such as Kommersant or Komsomolskaya Pravda were
gradually brought into line according to Putin’s perceptions. The fate of the
former Soviet government mouthpiece Izvestiya brought back the memory of
an old joke that was told under the communist regime. While Izvestiya, which
means ‘news’ in Russian, was held to contain no truth, the Communist Party
mouthpiece Pravda, which in turn means ‘truth’ in Russian, was said to contain
hardly any news.
Under Putin, government media policies were deliberately regulated from
above. Talk shows have increasingly been pre-recorded and edited before
being broadcast.37 Putin was able to create his image as a successful leader with
the help of what is known in modern Russian as the imidzhmeikery (image
makers). In the 2004 election, they ensured that Putin won with 64 per cent of
the votes, with a voter turnout of 71.31 per cent.
At the end of his second presidential term, Putin skilfully evaded the con-
stitutional ban on serving more than two terms by approving a temporary
replacement. Announcing that he would not run for re-election, he suggested
that Dmitry Medvedev might be a good successor and that he himself might
perhaps be offered the post of Prime Minister, and so it was. With President
Medvedev serving as a loyal puppet, new methods of image-making would
include populist conferences between citizens and Putin.
Today, the internet and the new social media present a serious challenge to
the regime that may lead to a revision of positions of influence. But although
Medvedev would prove to be more skilful in using the new media (cf. Michael
Gorham in this volume), this would not alter or even create a balance of
power between the two riders of the tandem. In September 2011, Putin could
calmly announce that he was aiming to return to the Kremlin.
 Post-USSR developments 25
Conclusion
Concluding our exposé of various aspects of Russia that have called for par-
ticular attention after the collapse of the USSR, we can refer to the
Bertelsmann Index of Transformation. In this broad compilation of indica-
tors, we find that among 128 states in transformation, Russia is in the group
of ‘strongly deficient democracies’.38 The problems that Russia has encoun-
tered on the road to democracy should, however, not be seen in isolation –
without comparing recent developments in other parts of Europe. There is
already a discussion on a movement for ‘retirement of democracy’. The sub-
jective side of this development in Russia is, however, less negative.
As a consequence of increasing economic success and improvement of the
image of the government, 70–80 per cent of the population are said to be
in favour of its political leadership, with only 25 per cent in opposition.
Forty-five per cent have some doubts over whether the system is moving
in the right direction, and 50 per cent believe that tensions are high in
Russia.39
Dmitri Trenin has called this system ‘authoritarianism with the consent of
the citizens’.40 Beginning with Juan Linz in 1975, a type of apathy and tra-
ditionalism that favours authoritarianism has already been discussed in tran-
sition studies. Every year, new labels have been created for Russia, with
‘simulated, imitated or directed democracy’ remaining as the most flattering
descriptions of the Russian system. Russia became a deficient democracy – but
this was not yet a threat to the European Union.

Notes
1 Cf. Archie Brown, The Rise and Fall of Communism (London: Bodley Head, 2009).
2 Andrej Amalrik, Kann die Sowjetunion das Jahr 1984 erleben? (Zurich:
Diagones, 1970).
3 Hélène Carrère d’Encausse, L’Empire éclaté (Paris: Flammarion, 1978).
4 Ludwig von Mises, Die Gemeinwirtschaft: Untersuchungen über den Sozialismus
(Jena: G. Fischer, 1922), p. 22.
5 Zdenek Mlynarz, Krisen und Krisenbewältigung im Sowjetblock (Cologne:
Wissenschaft und Politik, 1983), p. 166.
6 Leslie Holmes, The End of Communist Power: Anti-Corruption Campaigns and
Legitimation Crisis (Cambridge: Polity, 1993).
7 The proceedings were published in Archie Brown and Jack Gray (eds.),
Political Culture and Political Change in Communist States (London: Macmillan,
1977).
8 Cf. statistical figures from Soviet sociological studies in Klaus von Beyme,
Reformpolitik und sozialer Wandel in der Sowjetunion (1970–1988) (Baden-Baden:
Nomos, 1988), pp. 146ff.
9 Cf. Margareta Mommsen and Angelika Nussberger, Das System Putin (Munich:
Beck, 2007), p. 12.
10 Leslie White, The Evolution of Culture: The Development of Civilization to the Fall
of Rome (New York: McGraw-Hill, 1959).
11 Jutta Scherrer, Kulturologie: Rußland auf der Suche nach einer zivilisatorischen
Identität (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2003), pp. 8ff., 29, 141, 158.
26 K. von Beyme
12 Simon Weiss, Zivilgesellschaft und Governance am Beispiel des ‘Petersburger
Dialogs’ (Heidelberg: Master’s Dissertation, 2010), p. 83.
13 Gemma Pörzgen, ‘Dringend reformbedürftig: Der Petersburger Dialog auf dem
Prüfstand’, Osteuropa, no. 10 (2010), p. 81.
14 Ivan Ilyin, Pochemu my verim vo Rossiyu (Moscow: Eksmo, 2007); Ilja
Kalinin, ‘Philosophische Grundlagen der aktuellen russischen Politik in
den Reden von Putin’ (Masters Dissertation, University of Heidelberg, 2010),
pp. 40ff.
15 Margareta Mommsen and Angelika Nussberger, Das System Putin (Munich:
Beck, 2007), p. 161.
16 Max Weber, ‘Russlands Übergang zum Scheinkonstitutionalismus’, in Max Weber,
Gesammelte Politische Schriften (Tübingen: Mohr, 1958), pp. 66–108.
17 Sovetskoe gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 10 (1989), pp. 20–7.
18 Dmitri Furman, ‘Ideologicheskie stradaniia’, Nezavisimaya Gazeta,
24 November, 2006.
19 Margareta Mommsen and Angelika Nussberger, Das System Putin (Munich:
Beck, 2007), p. 27.
20 Vladimir Putin, Ot pervogo litsa (Moscow: Vagrius, 2000), p. 175.
21 Ibid.
22 Ibid., p. 161.
23 Klaus von Beyme, Russland zwischen Anarchie und Autokratie (Opladen:
Westdeutscher Verlag, 2001), p. 144.
24 Lilia Shevtsova, Putin’s Russia, 2nd ed. (Washington, DC: Carnegie Endowment
for International Peace, 2005), pp. 397ff.
25 Vladimir Tumanov, ‘Guarantees for Constitutionality of Legislation in the
USSR’, in Christine Landfried (ed.), Constitutional Review and Legislation
(Baden-Baden: Nomos, 1988), pp. 213–17. In Russian, see Vladimir Tumanov,
‘“Sudebnyi control” za konstitutsionnost’yu normativnych aktov’, Sovetskoe
gosudarstvo i pravo, no. 3 (1988), pp. 799–813.
26 Klaus von Beyme, ‘The Russian Constitutional Court in an Uneasy Triangle
between President, Parliament and Regions’, in Wojciech Sadurski (ed.),
Constitutional Justice: East and West (The Hague: Kluwer, 2002).
27 Moskovskie Novosti, May 17, 1992, p. 7.
28 Klaus von Beyme, ‘The Russian Constitutional Court in an Uneasy Triangle
between President, Parliament and Regions’, in Wojciech Sadurski (ed.),
Constitutional Justice: East and West (The Hague: Kluwer, 2002).
29 Adam Przeworski, ‘Democracy and the Market’, in Jon Elster and Rune Slagstad
(eds), Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press,
1988).
30 Giovanni Sartori, Comparative Constitutional Engineering (Basingstoke:
Macmillan, 1994).
31 Thomas F. Remington, ‘The Evolution of Executive–Legislative Relations in
Russia since 1993’, Slavic Review, vol. 59, no. 3 (2000), p. 508.
32 Olga Kryschtanowskaja, Anatomie der russischen Elite: Die Militarisierung
Russlands unter Putin (Cologne: Wissenschaft und Politik, 2005).
33 Natalia Lapina, Die Formierung der neuen russländischen Elite: Probleme der
Übergangsperiode (Cologne: BIOst, 1996), p. 19.
34 Olga Kryschtanowskaja, ‘Die Transformation der alten Nomenklatur-Kader in
die russische Elite’, in Helmut Steiner and Wladimir Jadow (eds), Russland
wohin? Russland aus der Sicht russischer Soziologen (Berlin: Trafor Verlag, 1999),
pp. 227, 242.
35 Vladimir Putin, Ot pervogo litsa (Moscow: Vagrius, 2000), p. 169.
36 Quoted in Margareta Mommsen and Angelika Nussberger, Das System Putin
(Munich: Beck, 2007), pp. 36ff.
 Post-USSR developments 27
37 Margareta Mommsen and Angelika Nussberger, Das System Putin (Munich:
Beck, 2007), p. 50.
38 Bertelsmann Stiftung, ‘Transformation Index 2010’, Bertelsmann Foundation
(2010), pp. 4ff.
39 Margareta Mommsen, ‘Oligarchie und Autokratie: Das hybride politische System
Russlands’, Osteuropa, no. 8 (2010), p. 42.
40 Ibid.
2 Never show weakness
How faking autocracy legitimates Putin’s
hold on power
Stephen Holmes

According to Alexander Lukin, ‘Putin effectively transformed a mixed and

unstable political system, which he inherited from Boris Yeltsin, into a classic
authoritarian regime’.1 But this is giving Vladimir Putin more credit than he
deserves. To understand better the trajectory of Russian politics in the two
decades since 1991, we first need to grasp that an authoritarian regime is
almost as difficult to create and consolidate as a democratic regime. This is
especially true in the absence of two key factors that buoyed up Soviet power,
first, a justifying ideology, and, second, sealed borders insulating the Russian
elite from unshielded contacts with the West.
The obstacle to recreating Muscovite autocracy today lies not in the
absence of political will but rather in the absence of political capacity. Putin
may pose as a superhero, but he cannot re-isolate Russia from the world.
Such a reversion to autarky was never on the cards, for many reasons, above
all because it would have struck directly at material interests of influential
individuals in the Russian establishment: ‘What is the point of stealing all of
that money from state coffers, stashing it away in foreign accounts or invest-
ing in expensive foreign real estate if the corrupt officials are denied access to
these assets?’2
Nor can Putin promulgate a new and persuasive theory of history with a
capital H, any more than he can issue a decree and reconvert Russia to the
Soviet economic model, reconstituting the command economy with the flick
of a switch.
The virtual impossibility of recreating a strong authoritarian regime in
post-communist Russia is rooted in the nature of the Soviet collapse. Until
1991, the country was governed by a genuine ‘power vertical’, namely the
CPSU. When this bureaucratic machine suddenly melted down and its myriad
tentacles shrivelled up and disappeared, it left behind not scorched earth but a
constellation of ‘orphans’, or highly developed but now disunited and essen-
tially autonomous fragments of a highly developed but now defunct state.
Such surviving shards of a once-mighty political system are what distinguish
post-communist Russia from most other soi-disant democratizing countries.
The arresting specificity (osobennost’) of contemporary Russia cannot be
denied, despite the valiant efforts of Daniel Treisman to lump the lot and
 Never show weakness 29
treat Russia as a ‘perfectly normal’ middle-income country.3 But neither can
the country’s political distinctiveness be traced backed to the enigmatic Russian
soul in the manner admired by Slavophiles and reviled by Westernizers.
Rather, the historical exceptionalism of Putin’s Russia, seen in comparative
perspective, appears most clearly in the bureaucratic fragmentation resulting
from the disappearance of the CPSU, the immense riches that even today
remain up-for-grabs because of the continued absence of socially legitimate
owners, the extensive interpenetration of corrupt local, regional and national
officialdom with criminal groups, and an anaemic sense of national identity
among the country’s political and economic elite.
No other country with such an undeveloped economy will be sending
American astronauts into space. In the United States, at least, the Russian
space programme is the best-known agency that was orphaned when the
CPSU passed away. More important politically, naturally, are such entities as
Gazprom, the former Soviet Ministry of Gas, now a humungous and non-
transparent corporation in which the Russian government holds a controlling
stake, and the Procuracy, which retains its formal prosecutorial and other
functions but no longer has to answer to any ranking organization in a posi-
tion to supervise its every move: ‘Prosecutors and police continue to dominate
the judiciary as they did in the Soviet era, but unrestrained by the institutions
of the old Communist system’, we are told, ‘the opportunities for abuse have
grown’.4 Oleg Gordievsky, a former KGB agent who also spied for MI6,
makes a similar point about his former employer: ‘The KGB without the
Communist Party is a gang of gangsters’.5
Putin’s attempt to restore the power vertical in post-communist Russia was
doomed not by a non-existent democratic opposition but by the conflicting
vested interests of semi-autonomous bureaucratic agencies and financial-
industrial clans: ‘For years, Putin tried to make it (Yedinaia Rossiia) the
ruling party of Russia, a modern version of the Communist Party of the
Soviet Union’.6 But his attempt was doomed to fail. ‘United Russia has suf-
fered from its lack of a real active role. It is used too much as a shield against
potential challengers: it is more of a party to protect power than a party in
power’.7 Timothy Colton and Henry Hale describe Yedinaia Rossiia in similar
terms, as ‘an administrative mechanism for elite advancement, coordination, and
control, with few real roots in the electorate’.8
Commenting on the oddity of Putin’s decision to place various popular
entertainers in the Duma as members of Yedinaia Rossiia, Boris Nemtsov is
more scathing still: ‘United Russia is not a political party. These people are
just the hired help. You know, at the king’s court, there were jokers and
singers and clowns, and the king was their master. Their job is just to raise
their hands on command and then put them down again’.9
But their task is actually a bit more serious than this. In fact, Yedinaia
Rossiia is organized and staffed for fixing elections, although certainly not for
ruling the country or imposing discipline on a swollen and incoherent
bureaucracy. It is not the central institution of a one-party state (as, to select
30 S. Holmes
a different point of comparison, Mexico’s PRI once was), because it simply
has no life independent of the current leader. The General Secretary of the
CPSU ruled the country through the Party. While still nominally the
Chairman of Yedinaia Rossiia, Putin does not rule through its cadres. Rather
than evolving toward a one-party state, therefore, Russia seems to be stuck
with a no-party state. That is an essential feature of its political weakness.
But why has Yedinaia Rossiia remained ‘an electoral project’10 rather
than becoming a genuine party of power? A good way to approach
this issue is via a comparison of the Russian and Chinese situations. In
China, where the CCP is a genuine ‘party of power’, wealth is created by
exploiting workers and by stealing land from the peasantry. Such methods of
self-enrichment are bound to create serious resistance on the part of the
exploited and expropriated, and this resistance has to be curbed by repressive
force and placated by national development. Without a well-organized and
well-armed bureaucratic machine, in other words, and without massive
investment in highly visible development projects arguably beneficial to the
nation as a whole, rich Chinese would never have gained and could not now
keep their wealth.
To create new wealth, China’s elite has been compelled to maintain a
degree of class cohesion and solidarity. In Russia, by contrast, it has proved
impossible to maintain nomenklatura solidarity while privatizing the coun-
try’s pre-existing public patrimony. After Soviet Communism collapsed, mind-
boggling wealth was basically lying around to be picked up, first come, first
served. No owners had to be expropriated. No workers had to be exploited.
(In a perverse sense, therefore, Russia today represents a Marxist utopia,
where nature alone and not mankind is exploited.) All that was necessary to
become an instant millionaire or even billionaire was, by means more foul
than fair, to secure control over the enormous cash flows associated with the
export of Russia’s immense hydrocarbon resources. There was a strong con-
stituency in Russia for privatization of state assets, therefore, but none for the
creation of a strong power vertical, just as there was no strong constituency
for transparent or accountable government, for building an efficient national
transportation system (pipelines seem to be the only infrastructure that
works), or for diversifying the Russian economy beyond the hydrocarbon
bonanza.11 Regarding this last point: ‘the incentives to escape the resource
trap are weakened by the overwhelming importance of the resource rents to
the wider political elite’.12
In sum, the historical uniqueness of Russia’s post-communist political
development is due to a combination of bureaucratic fragmentation and the
possibility of dizzying self-enrichment without resort to serious repressive
measures or lavish development projects and without the kind of elite cohesion
that both require. The disappearance of the CPSU left the political landscape
in Russia littered with highly developed fragments of a highly developed state
but deprived of the traditional system for imposing a degree of coherence and
coordination upon myriad departments and agencies with overlapping
 Never show weakness 31
jurisdictions. Domination and subjugation, in this context, were not lucrative
enough to attract freelancing officials who came to focus avariciously on the
low-hanging fruit located within easy plucking distance. Andrei Illarionov is
only half right, therefore, when he claims that Russia’s rulers today are
infused with the spirit of the Soviet KGB: ‘Their training instils in them a
feeling of being superior to the rest of populace, of being the rightful “bosses”
of everyone else’.13 Illarionov is mixing apples and oranges here. Feeling
superior to people, even if it involves treating them like dirt, has no necessary
relation to tightening the screws on people or telling the lowly masses how to
live and what to do. What we witnessed in the early 1990s, through a glass
darkly, was not the building of an authoritarian state but, on the contrary, the
despoiling of a collapsed state, that is, a grabbing by stealth and force, and a
parcelling-out among insiders, of the accumulated and buried assets of the
defunct communist system.14 The basic pattern of predatory kleptocracy has
not essentially changed. Russia’s unaccountable elite under Yeltsin managed
to morph into Russia’s unaccountable elite under Putin without any sig-
nificant social upheaval. We should therefore not be deceived by a cosmetic
rearrangement of the cushy deck chairs on Roman Abramovich’s 557-foot
yacht.
Post-communist Russia is characterized neither by repression nor by liberty
nor by half of one and half of the other. During the entire two decades from
1991 to 2011, Russia’s political system has never shaken off its essentially
corrupt nature. The powerful Soviet bureaucracy did not vanish but survived
in bits and pieces under weak Kremlin control, and that means without any
incentive to desist from anarchical forms of ‘feeding’ from the plentiful
troughs close at hand. The top-to-bottom corruption of the internally frag-
mented Russian state is one of the primary obstacles to political consolidation
in post-communist Russia. It provides as great an obstacle to authoritarian as
to democratic consolidation.
The passivity and political listlessness of the Russian public is often
explained as a product of the apparent futility of challenging the kleptocrats
currently running the country: ‘85 per cent of adults, according to a recent
poll, think they can do nothing to make an impression on their govern-
ment’.15 Opportunities shape motivations and, therefore, the perceived
impossibility of either ousting the incumbents or persuading them to put the
country’s wealth to public uses rather than into their own pockets tends to
sedate the public’s impulse to seek reform, channelling energies away from
politics and into private pursuits.
This very same line of analysis, it turns out, can be illuminatingly applied
to Russia’s rulers as well. They are routinely charged with funnelling Russia’s
petrodollar windfall into their private bank accounts abroad rather than
investing it in modernizing the country’s roads, schools, hospitals, and so
forth. However, morally justifiable, such condemnations slide over the massive
disproportion between the scale and shape of Russia’s problems and the
resources, fiscal and organizational, available to address them.
32 S. Holmes
By the vastness of its problems, I mean Russia’s distressing combination of
European birth rates with African life expectancy, ‘the collapsing Soviet-era
infrastructure’ across eleven time zones and ‘the degradation of public uti-
lities’,16 a public health disaster including a runaway HIV epidemic,17 rivers
choked by pollution, ‘the overall decrepit political and economic state of the
country’,18 many patently obsolete, value-subtracting, and inefficiently located
industries, dilapidated vestiges of Soviet isolation from world markets, that
can be shuttered only by throwing an otherwise unemployable workforce into
the streets,19 the continuing and even accelerating brain drain of ‘Russia’s
most talented and innovative people to freer and more open societies’,20 a
dangerously aging fleet of passenger aircraft that, if decommissioned for
safety reasons, would isolate hundreds of Siberian towns from the rest of
Russia,21 as well as the ‘deteriorating quality of education, low levels
of competitiveness, weak financial regulation and crude management
practices’.22 According to the billionaire owner of the New Jersey Nets,
Mikhail Prokhorov, who briefly led, with some sort of tepid blessing from on
high, the reformatted pro-business Pravoe Delo (Right Cause) party before he
was publicly neutered, ‘everything connected to human capital, education
and culture is in a state of degradation’.23 Among the many symptoms of
what regime critic Yulia Latynina calls ‘Russia’s acute necrosis’,24 I have not
even mentioned the North Caucasus, engulfed by ongoing low-intensity vio-
lence, where the Russian government is, absurdly, ‘paying for peace and
getting war’.25
These and other factors constitute the vastness of the challenges facing the
Russian government. By the weakness of tools available to it for confronting
these massive problems, I mean principally ‘the creeping paralysis within the
leadership itself ’,26 a reflection of turf warfare, factionalism and fierce com-
petition over vast cash flows inside ruling circles and the impossibility of
imposing discipline or common goals on fragmented, self-dealing bureaucrats
who feed off under-the-table payments and employ physical intimidation and
violence in a competitive scramble to seize and redistribute public and private
assets to themselves and their intimate associates. A Yedinaia Rossiia deputy
in the State Duma, trying to explain why so many national development
projects are proposed and so few are carried out, lists the following obstacles:
‘inertia, indifference, satisfaction with one’s little feeding trough’.27
It obviously is not very difficult to charge Putin and his entourage with all
manner of wickedness and depravity. But the yawning gap between the pro-
blems they face and the capacities they possess provides a completely ade-
quate explanation for much of their morally unsavoury conduct. If they tried
to fix their country, they would fail, as they surely know. In Putin’s Russia,
untended infrastructure regularly erupts in fatal disasters, as it recently did
when ‘during a cruise in a reservoir adjoining the Volga River, a ship called
the Bulgaria capsized and sank, killing more than 125 people, including
dozens of children who got trapped below deck in a playroom’.28 In
such cases, the government is guilty not of strong-state domineering but of
 Never show weakness 33
weak-state negligence: the Bulgaria ‘was allowed to sail despite a plethora of
technical malfunctions’. According to Transportation Minister Igor Levitin,
‘the problem was not lax legislation but lack of means to enforce it’,29 also
known as state weakness. What invariably happens in such incidents is that
the central government ostentatiously fires or prosecutes a few scapegoats,30
even though it cannot find competent replacements or remedy the underlying
deficiencies, which would require a reordering of budgetary allocations to
prioritize, with no pecuniary benefit to Russia’s governing elite, the replacement
of decaying Soviet-era infrastructure.

Firing people seems to be the best way out of any difficult situation in
contemporary Russia. … Russians love firing people, because it’s fast,
cheap, and easy. If you fire people, you don’t have to, say, examine the
way fire codes are implemented and clean out a cadre of corrupt fire
safety inspectors. You don’t have to overhaul the entire Interior Ministry
to punish the inspectors who first defrauded the Russian treasury of
$230 million and then put lawyer Sergei Magnitsky in jail for investigat-
ing it. And you certainly don’t, in the case of the Domodedovo bombing,
have to pursue a delicately balanced counterterrorism strategy in the
North Caucasus.31

Collapsing infrastructure and incompetent governance mean that the Russian

public always has a good reason to feel aggrieved about something. Because
going to the source and correcting the problem is either too expensive or
irrelevant to the pocketbooks of the political elite, the regime’s preferred off-
the-shelf strategy is to sacrifice a scapegoat. This helps explain why Putin
made governorships an appointed rather than elected office and why he is
doing the same for mayoralties. If he abolished elections to regional and local
executive offices in order to make sure that regional and local officials would
obey his orders and serve goals set by the central government, then it is dif-
ficult to conclude that he has had much success. On the other hand, if he did
it so that, when public grievances spill over, he can step in heroically and
remove an offending local official, giving himself an undeserved reputation as
protector of the people, well, in that case, he has achieved what he set out to
achieve.
Putin’s profiteering associates evidently believe that they have a better shot
at stealing their country’s patrimony than at repairing its roads, ships and
planes. And who can say that their calculations are inaccurate? The effort-
reward ratio is obviously more favourable for kleptocracy than for civic
virtue. Opportunities shape motivations, even if this subconscious automatism
makes those who specialize in moral exhortation wince.
The essential point to remember when thinking about the Putin system is
that libido habendi explains Moscow’s behaviour, over the past decade too,
much better than libido dominandi. Throughout history, coherent and well-
organized ruling groups, pressured by foreign enemies and mass unrest, have
34 S. Holmes
laboured to establish and maintain authoritarian discipline and domination.
But in post-Soviet Russia, a basically unthreatened country with a largely
docile population where immense wealth can be privately acquired with
little repression and no exploitation, a different pattern has emerged. Rival
financial–bureaucratic–industrial clans vie for unimaginable wealth that can
be stashed and enjoyed anywhere. In Putin’s Russia, therefore, the Party of
Cash has successfully ingested the Party of Blood. That, and not the imagin-
ary consolidation of vertical power, is the key development of the past
decade. It explains why nostalgic rumours about a restoration of Soviet-style
autocracy are so thoroughly misleading. Not electoral democracy, as a
consequence, but the fiction of a power vertical (concealing chronic bureau-
cratic insubordination) is the ‘real façade’ that prevents prying eyes from
understanding the way this semi-anarchical plutocracy works.
To say that the Party of Cash has effectively ingested the Party of Blood is not
to deny that, under Putin, blood has copiously flowed. After all, ‘He is respon-
sible for the mass murder of peaceful civilians in Chechnya’.32 Nonetheless, fears
and hopes about his iron-handed rule are greatly exaggerated.
Writing of ‘reemergence of Russian autocracy under Putin’33 and ‘his
undoubtedly authoritarian rule’,34 many well-informed commentators con-
tinue to assert not only that Putin’s system is ‘hyper-centralized’,35 but that he
has recreated a traditional Russian étatisme (derzhavnichestvo), or heavy-
handed domination of society by the organs of the state bureaucracy, espe-
cially the security services. The State Duma as well as both executive and
legislative branches of local and regional governments, we read, have become
rubber stamps. Putin is ‘the closest thing to an all-powerful czar that Russia
has known since the rule of Joseph Stalin’.36 Others speak of ‘the dirigisme
that characterized Putin’s second presidential term (2004–8), and which still
hangs like a shadow over the current political system?’37 Recalling the ‘ram-
shackle inheritance’ bequeathed by Yeltsin, Perry Anderson claims that:
‘Putin has tightened and centralized it into a more coherent structure of
power’, adding that ‘the methodical construction of a personalized author-
itarian regime with a strong domestic base is well under way’.38 Masha
Lipman writes:

After the breakup of the Soviet Union, Russia briefly attempted

competitive politics under Boris Yeltsin, but his successor, Vladimir
Putin, has drawn on the Russian pattern of the strong state as the
only force for order and achievement. He recentralized power at the
top and relies on an inner circle with backgrounds in the security
services.39

Sergei Kovalev, the renowned human-rights activist, has recently echoed these
sentiments, declaring that justice dead in Russia and ‘tyranny its only heir’.40
And here is another typical version of what has become, in some circles, the
conventional wisdom about Putinism:
 Never show weakness 35
The concentration and monopolisation of power has led on the one hand
to the creation of a fairly powerful centre consolidating the country’s
resources. On the other hand it has meant that these resources are unable
to develop anywhere but under the lead and control of the centre. In this
way Putin eliminated any political opposition and turned himself into a
political figure without any rivals.41

Although containing elements of truth, such accounts of Putin’s autocratic

turn reflect various false premises and misperceptions. For instance, the mis-
leading presumption that where there is less state there will be more freedom
has contributed greatly to misunderstandings of post-communist Russia.
Subscribers to weak-state liberalism seem unaware that, from a human-rights
perspective, anarchy is little better than tyranny. Thus, when they observe a
paucity of basic freedoms, such as freedom from police shakedowns, they
instinctively blame ‘the state’ and accuse it of oppressing civil society, espe-
cially when they can simultaneously observe that the federal bureaucracy
continues to swell42 and nothing has been done to reduce the country’s
legendary red tape. In the gangland Russia of the 1990s, state collapse
obviously did not entail more freedom in the Western sense.43 But it remains
a mistake to interpret the continuing weakness of human rights protection, in
light of Putin’s superficial papering-over of Russia’s state weakness, as a sign
that authoritarianism has risen from the grave.
Even the bloodletting under Putin is more suggestive of state weakness
than state strength:

the frequency of terrorist attacks in Russia has increased under Putin.

The two biggest terrorist attacks in Russia’s history – the Nord-Ost inci-
dent at a theatre in Moscow in 2002, in which an estimated 300 Russians
died, and the Beslan school hostage crisis, in which as many as 500 died –
occurred under Putin’s autocracy, not Yeltsin’s democracy. The number of
deaths of both military personnel and civilians in the second Chechen
war – now in its eighth year – is substantially higher than during the first
Chechen war, which lasted from 1994 to 1996. (Conflict inside Chechnya
appears to be subsiding, but conflict in the region is spreading.) The
murder rate has also increased under Putin, according to data from Russia’s
Federal State Statistics Service. In the ‘anarchic’ years of 1995–9, the
average annual number of murders was 30,200; in the ‘orderly’ years of
2000–4, the number was 32,200.44

The growth of wildcat violence by non-state actors does not prove con-
clusively that Putin has failed to assert authoritarian control of Russian ter-
ritory. But it strongly suggests that neither his boasting of having done so, nor
his critics’ laments that he has, should be accepted at face value.
Another source of the fallacious view that Putin’s Russia is now governed
in a fundamentally autocratic way is a tendency for Western commentators to
36 S. Holmes
interpret sabre-rattling hostility to the West as a symptom of internal
authoritarianism, even though it actually represents the opposite, namely a
desperate seeking for some popular support by a basically non-performing
state. Speaking to Westerners who, she fears, are losing interest in Russia as
its power to play the spoiler wanes, Lilia Shevtsova claims that ‘the current
model of Russia’s development’ is based upon ‘great power ambitions,
militarism, and imperial longings’.45 But this is strut, not reality. Neither
the Georgia War of 2008 nor the quixotic recognition of Abkhazia’s inde-
pendent statehood profited Russia materially or improved their standing
geopolitically. What both capricious gestures did was provide some evanes-
cent psychic benefits associated with scandalizing Americans. As Fyodor
Lukyanov, editor of Russia in Global Affairs, has said, Russia is not seriously
seeking a sphere of influence because it has no desire for a sphere of respon-
sibility.46 Revanchism is out of the question for another reason, too, namely
that Russia has no interest whatsoever in re-including among its citizens the
millions of Muslims who live in the now independent states along its southern
border.
Commentators seem puzzled by the official Russian position that NATO
poses an existential threat to Russia,47 given that ‘NATO is as much of an
offensive threat to Russia as Switzerland is’.48 So why do we repeatedly read
that ‘the Russian elite continues to view the West as a foe that has to be
deterred?’49 The question admits of many responses. One is to deny the pre-
mise that ruling circles genuinely view the West as a threat and to see anti-
Westernism, instead, as political stagecraft meant to prevent any breakaway
members of the elite from appealing to anti-Western swaths of the electorate.
This might explain the virulent anti-Westernism that sometimes appears in
Putin’s speeches, for instance in his TV address of September 4, 2004, in the
wake of the Beslan school tragedy. This is what Putin astonishingly said:

We showed weakness, and the weak are trampled upon. Some want to cut
off a juicy morsel from us while others are helping them. They are help-
ing because they believe that, as one of the world’s major nuclear powers,
Russia is still posing a threat to someone, and therefore this threat must
be removed. And terrorism is, of course, only a tool for achieving these
goals.50

But the idea that the West is seeking to dismantle Russia territorially by
somehow sponsoring Islamic terrorism is so wild that Putin cannot possibly
have meant what he said, which leaves us with the hypothesis that Putin was
here rubbing salt in his countrymen’s psychological wounds for political
advantage. According to Hassner: ‘Just as Russia’s leaders pretend that they
are ruling over a democracy, they also pretend that they are ruling over an
empire’.51 To this, we can add that Putin may also be faking a confronta-
tional attitude toward the West to make sure that he is not outflanked politi-
cally on the nationalist right: ‘Under the cover of nationalist rhetoric, a desire
 Never show weakness 37
was hidden to maintain the existing power structure and the financial interests
of the bureaucracy’.52
The inflation of the NATO threat seems especially perplexing when juxta-
posed to the Kremlin’s relative silence about the much more real threat to
Russian interests posed by China.53 The key to this unbalanced approach may
be that the Putin team prefers to emphasize a phantom threat that, because it
will never materialize, will never reveal Russia’s military vulnerability and to
de-emphasize a genuine threat that, if made the centre of public attention,
could expose the country’s relative lack of defences. If this hypothesis is cor-
rect, it would provide a good example of the way in which even half-baked
pokazukha can deceive experienced Russia watchers who focus excessively not
to say narcissistically on Putin’s apparent fondness for rankling the West.
Putin has ‘centralized’ Russia only in the sense that he has presided over a
depopulation of the East and an accumulation of the country’s wealth in the
area around St Petersburg and Moscow. Unlike the Soviet Union, above all,
Putin’s Russia has more bark than bite. The unsubstantiated allegation that
Putin has successfully recreated a police state is refuted by the amply docu-
mented generalization that the Russian officialdom at all levels is extra-
ordinarily corrupt: ‘By now, Russia’s reputation for corruption is a cliché, but
it is impossible to overstate how it defines public life at every level, all the way
to the Kremlin’.54 The pervasive role played by corruption in public life
makes a mockery of top-down authoritarian rule. Red tape is an opportunity
for unsanctioned bribe-taking by low-level bureaucrats, not a method for the
power vertical to impose its will on the country. There was red tape in the
USSR, too, of course, but: ‘In contrast to the Soviet leadership, the current
Russian regime is not dictatorial, but exponentially more corrupt’.55 Above
all, the depth and breadth of the corruption reveals a serious malfunction in
the so-called power vertical. The problem, it turns out, stems from a chronic
lack of verticality. Local officials easily get away with disregarding instructions
issued form the presumably commanding heights:

neither Putin, as president and prime minister, nor Medvedev has suc-
ceeded in curbing corruption. Both have proven powerless to defeat – or
even tame – a corrupt bureaucratic leviathan that, more often than not,
simply ignores instructions from above, including direct orders from the
president and prime minister. Neither Medvedev nor Putin is able to
break the existing system without radically reforming and restructuring
the entire system of governance by introducing more competition and
establishing an independent judiciary. Neither of them has the political
will – or the necessary tools – to implement such reforms.56

Similarly: ‘Despite President Dmitry Medvedev’s battle against corruption,

the problem has now reached unprecedented proportions’.57 Illuminatingly,
the size of the average bribe ‘quadrupled’ during Medvedev’s pseudo-
Presidency, and ‘many state projects are now undertaken simply to create a
38 S. Holmes
pool of money that can then be siphoned off by interested parties’.58 The fact
that ‘managers steal from all state companies’59 makes the power vertical
seem particularly ineffective at imposing its will. One example is Rosnanotech,
the state enterprise chaired by Anatoly Chubais and funded by the budget
ostensibly to catapult Russia into becoming a leader in nano technology:

because it is a government corporation, notes Troika Dialog tech analyst

Anna Lepetukhina, the money doesn’t always get where it’s supposed to
go. ‘There’s a question of the allocation of resources and it’s not totally
clear how it happens or who gets the money’, she says. ‘All of a sudden,
oops, it’s gone’.60

This vanishing-cash syndrome also surfaces in endemic stealing from the

Federal Treasury: ‘Even oil prices exceeding $120 per barrel can’t compensate
for how much has been stolen from the budget’.61 That similar embezzlement
schemes afflict local and regional governments makes the problem all the
more unsolvable: ‘the Bank of Moscow held the accounts of Moscow’s city
budget, and the deficit of the bank is now $14 billion. In essence this means
that the city’s funds have been stolen from the bank’.62
Such weaknesses of oversight and centralized control are too obvious to
deny: ‘[b]y the president’s own admission, corruption in state tenders amounts
to 1 trillion roubles ($36 billion) a year’ and ‘capital outflows in 2010 were
more than double the capital inflows’.63 Putin cannot prevent his rapacious
elite from stealing any more than he can create a business climate favourable
to foreign investment.64 Putin’s reputation for authoritarian power is therefore
richly unearned. Plentiful anecdotes exhibiting chronic state weakness con-
tradict both boasts and laments about his consolidation of vertical power. In
what sort authoritarian state will you witness ‘such scenes as police pursuing
the car of a federal official, who began to toss a million roubles out of the
window for fear that the cops would catch him with the bribe money and
arrest him’.65
Putin’s incapacity to discipline warring members of the country’s unac-
countable predatory elite is the most palpable evidence of his thwarted
authoritarian ambitions, assuming he ever had them. It should be recalled in
this context that Russia’s current rulers once lived in a house that clamorously
fell down. It is very unlikely that they will feel great confidence in the rickety
edifice they have subsequently built. As Ivan Krastev remarks: ‘The prime
minister and his men know that, at the end of the day, even the secret
police cannot save them. They were the secret police, after all, and they
could not preserve the Soviet system or keep the USSR from coming apart’.66
Their painfully acquired scepticism about the efficacy of authoritarian rule helps
explain their notable preference for looting over domination. It may also
explain what Elena Panfilova, the head of Transparency International’s Russian
operation, calls ‘the Last Day of Pompeii syndrome’, namely: ‘Everything’s
about to collapse, so grab everything you possibly can’.67
 Never show weakness 39
Cultivating an unearned reputation for power is an old political art. But it
is especially difficult accurately to gauge the power of a state in a situation
where the irritants that it combats and occasionally eliminates are intrinsically
weak and defenceless, where the plants that it plucks out have pitifully shal-
low roots. It does not take much force to rip out a rootless plant. Forcing
Vladimir Gusinsky and Boris Berezovsky into exile or yanking the satirical
puppet show Kukly from TV or politically marginalizing ‘Western media
darlings Boris Nemtsov and Garry Kasparov’68 or dispatching special
forces to Triumfalnaia Ploshchad’ to snuff out rallies by ‘about a hundred
aged liberals still clinging to the hopes of the early Yeltsin era’69 or keeping
Khodorkovsky locked up – none of these coups de main was especially
demanding. They insinuated massive power, as a consequence, without actu-
ally requiring it. That Putin can periodically use the Procuracy for private
paybacks but has not been able to discipline it into an agency serving a
national agenda is a better measure of his (very limited) power. In other
words, to estimate Putin’s success as a consolidator of power, we need to take
the measure of the resistances he has rolled over. On inspection, these resis-
tances turn out to have been noisy but essentially feeble and defenceless.
That is why we should hesitate to join the choruses of praise and blame for
his re-centralizing of formerly strewn powers.
At the beginning of his Presidency, Putin’s claim to have consolidated a
‘vertical of power’ was clearly bogus.70 So, now that Putin has re-elected
himself President 2012–18, we need to ask: How much progress has he made
in the interim? Many recent reports cast doubt that he has advanced very far.
Some commentators say this explicitly. According to Nikolai Petrov, for
example, even ‘Putin understands that his vertical power structure is highly
ineffective’.71 He knows perfectly well that his decrees are routinely flouted
and that subordinates and even random con men72 often act in his name
without his knowledge and against his wishes.
In Russia today, regime stability depends not on irresistible commands
from above but rather ‘on the rulers’ ability to incorporate and make strategic
deals with a multitude of powerful subjects’.73 His bargain with Ramzan
Kadyrov is usually mentioned in this context. Kadyrov enjoys greater free-
dom from Moscow’s micromanagement than previous Chechen leaders while
continuing to pocket massive subsidies. The bargain he has struck is fairly
harsh:

Besides giving Kadyrov full power in Chechnya and money, Moscow had
to reconcile itself with a total expulsion of ethnic Russians from Chechen
territory. Chechnya is now populated and ruled almost exclusively by
Chechens.74

And here is a complementary analysis, by the same author, of the essentially

‘negotiated’ relations between Moscow and other local authorities, including
an illuminating reference to electoral fraud:
40 S. Holmes
There is essentially no vertical of power. What exists is a contractual
relationship between the Centre and the regions: we don’t touch you, we
let you steal, we even give you federal subsidies and allow you to steal
them. You pretend that you are loyal, and ensure falsified, but correct,
election results, virtual implementation of orders from the Centre, and
say the right things on television.75

Rather than making mafia-style offers that cannot be refused, Moscow is

dishing out subsidies that, if the oil boom goes bust, may disastrously run out.
If the price of a barrel of oil dips below a certain level, it will become
impossible to continue the current policy of pacifying the population with
massive subsidies. The danger is clear: ‘These cuts in social spending will only
exacerbate public discontent. It may also provoke self-sufficient regions to
rethink their loyalty to Moscow’.76
This is a shaky basis for centralized power. And dependency on unpredictably
fluctuating commodity prices is not the only problem:

The reasons for the failures of the vertical of power as a tool for the
implementation of instructions and managing the state are numerous and
unsurprising. They comprise bureaucratic rivalries and blurred lines of
responsibility between institutions and ministries, including the White
House and Kremlin, widespread (even systematic) corruption, incompe-
tence and a bureaucracy so unwieldy that exactly where instructions fail
is unclear.77

This means, as Mikhail Khodorkovsky has argued, that the reputation of

Putin’s team as diehard ‘statists’ is undeserved:

I just have to laugh when people say that the Yukos affair has led to a
strengthening of the role of the state in the economy. The people who are
currently engaged in embezzling Yukos’s assets couldn’t care less about
the interests of the Russian state. They are unscrupulous, self-serving
bureaucrats, nothing more. The whole world knows why I was put in
prison; so as not to obstruct their plundering of the company.78

Khodorkovsky’s jailhouse deconstruction of Putin’s pose as an étatist

(gosudarstvennik) is echoed by the daredevil blogger Navalny, responding to
the presumption that he ‘is fighting a well-oiled, repressive machine’. Navalny’s
reaction is dismissive:

I disagree, because the people who work in business at a high enough

level can tell you that there’s no machine at all, he says. ‘It’s all a fiction.
That is, they can destroy a single person, like Magnitsky or me or
Khodorkovsky. But, if they try to do anything systemically against a huge
number of people, there’s no machine. It’s a ragtag group of crooks
 Never show weakness 41
unified under the portrait of Putin. There’s no super-repressive regime.
There are no mythical Cheka agents that we need to be scared of. It’s just
a bunch of crooks’. When things happened to opponents of the system,
he said, it was because they showed up individually. ‘But if tomorrow ten
businessmen spoke up directly and openly we’d live in a different country’,
he said. ‘Starting tomorrow’.79

To summarize: the vast disproportion between the Russian government’s

capacities and the problems it faces, alongside the patent uselessness of
autocratic domination for the self-enrichment of political elites, should suffice
to cast doubt on the common claim that Putin has taken Russia back to
authoritarianism. Still captured by the Cold War polarity of democracy
versus totalitarianism, much of the recent academic literature on Putinism
tries to locate the current Russian regime somewhere between the two
extremes, calling it ‘electoral authoritarianism’ or ‘soft authoritarianism’,
ostensibly ‘stuck’ on the pathway from the oppressive rule to healthy self-
government. But the very idea of ‘hybrid regimes’,80 defined as ‘political
systems that combine authoritarian and democratic features’,81 represents a
last-ditch attempt to save a dichotomy that has outlived its usefulness. The
Putin system is admittedly neither democratic nor autocratic, but that does
not necessarily imply that it can be located on continuum between these two
extremes.
Putin is not actually in control of either his government or his country.
Many of his decrees are ignored by local authorities, suggesting the illusory
nature of the hyper-centralization he is alleged to have created. He cannot
stop the scandalous looting of the national budget and of state-owned and
state-controlled companies. He cannot prevent fire-code inspectors from
extorting bribes while neglecting fire prevention. He cannot raise living stan-
dards to European levels. He cannot bring peace to the North Caucasus or
prevent its simmering violence from spilling over into the rest of the country.
He cannot solve the massive problems afflicting the economy and the society. He
cannot channel the country’s hydrocarbon wealth into Chinese-style develop-
ment projects that would help persuade the citizenry that their leaders, despite
their competitive scramble to maximize their families’ wealth, are also some-
what interested in the nation’s future. He can neither turn Yedinaia Rossiia
into a reformatted version of the CPSU nor turn back the clock on the
FSB, whose members are now irreversibly converted to the passion of perso-
nal acquisitiveness. He cannot re-impose upon these covetous and nepotistic
pseudo-Chekists the ideological discipline of the Communist-era KGB. As a
consequence, whatever his political image-makers would have us believe, he
cannot recreate a genuine power vertical.82 The best he can do is to erect a
Potemkin version, with smoke and mirrors. Potemkin Tsarism may
sound strange at first, but we must remember what the pseudo-monarchy
conceals. It helps obscure from view the most illegitimate of all regimes,
namely the misrule of an internally incoherent, self-enriching elite that takes
42 S. Holmes
essentially no interest in the fate of their country. Fake authoritarianism,
sham paternalism, and action-hero fantasies have provided the Putin system
with at least a patina of legitimacy and have thereby helped this inherently
bankrupt system to survive – so far.

Notes
1 Alexander Lukin, ‘Russia’s New Authoritarianism’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 25,
no. 1 (2009), p. 66.
2 Yulia Latynina, ‘Expanding the Cardin List to the Very Top’, The Moscow Times,
August 3, 2011.
3 Daniel Treisman, The Return: Russia’s Journey from Gorbachev to Medvedev
(New York: Free Press, 2011).
4 Philip P. Pan, ‘“Raiding” Underlines Russian Legal Dysfunction: 3 Lawyers
Targeted After Uncovering Seizure of Firms’, Washington Post, August 13, 2009.
5 Steve LeVine, Putin’s Labyrinth: Spies, Murder, and the Dark Heart of the New
Russia (New York: Random House, 2008), p. 35.
6 Konstantin Sonin, ‘Russia Rotting’, The Moscow Times, July 7, 2011.
7 Andrew Wilson, ‘“Political Technology”: Why is It Alive and Flourishing in the
Former USSR?’, Open Democracy, June 17, 2011.
8 Timothy J. Colton and Henry E. Hale, ‘The Putin Vote: Presidential Elections in a
Hybrid Regime’, Slavic Review, vol. 68, no. 3 (Fall 2009), p. 499.
9 Cited in Julia Ioffe, ‘Send in the Clowns’, Foreign Policy, January 29, 2010.
10 Nikolai Petrov, personal communication.
11 Cf. ‘the extraction of natural resources … now funds nearly two thirds of the
federal budget’. Julia Ioffe, ‘Roulette Russian’, The New Yorker, May 17, 2010.
12 Aleh Tsyvinski and Sergei Guriev, ‘That ‘70s Show in Russia’, The Moscow
Times, August 5, 2010.
13 Andrei Illarionov, ‘The Siloviki in Charge’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 20, no. 2
(April 2009), p. 71.
14 Chrystia Freeland, Sale of the Century: Russia’s Wild Ride from Communism to
Capitalism (New York: Crown, 2000).
15 Julia Ioffe, ‘A Russian-American’s Uneasy Return to Moscow’, Washington Post,
March 25, 2010.
16 Petrov, ‘A Triumph of Aimlessness’, The Moscow Times, December 2, 2010.
17
An estimated 0.9 percent of the Russian population is now infected with HIV,
and rates of infection in Russia are now the highest of any country outside
Africa, at least partly as a result of inadequate or harmful legal and policy
responses and a decrepit health-care system.
Michael McFaul and Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, ‘Mission to
Moscow: Why Authoritarian Stability is a Myth’,
Foreign Affairs, January/February 2008

18 Nikolai Petrov, ‘Matviyenko, Don’t Pack Your Bags Just Yet’, The Moscow Times,
July 5, 2011.
19 Stephen Kotkin, Armageddon Averted: The Soviet Collapse, 1970–2000 (Oxford:
Oxford University Press, 2001).
20 Sergei Petrov, ‘Can Russia Survive Through 2020?’, The Moscow Times,
August 5, 2011.
21 Alexandra Odynova, ‘Medvedev’s Impossible Airplane Ban’, The Moscow Times,
July 14, 2011.
 Never show weakness 43
22 Howard Amos, ‘Gref Borrows Question From Lenin’, The Moscow Times,
June 20, 2011.
23 Cited in Alexander Bratersky, ‘Prokhorov Eyes Foreigners and Putin’s Job’, The
Moscow Times, June 27, 2011.
24 Yulia Latynina, ‘When “E” Is Not an “E”: Another corruption scandal has hit
Russia’, The Moscow Times, June 22, 2011.
25 Andrei Piontkovsky cited in ‘Costs Rise for Kremlin’s Caucasus Policy’, Reuters,
July 19, 2011.
26 Nikolai Petrov, ‘A Triumph of Aimlessness’, The Moscow Times, December 2,
2010. Prokhorov agrees the governmental system is ‘simply exhausted’. Cited in
Howard Amos, ‘Gref Borrows Question From Lenin’, The Moscow Times,
June 20, 2011.
27 Boris Reznik, cited in Julia Ioffe, ‘Russia’s Staged State of the Nation’, Foreign
Policy, November 13, 2009.
28 Simon Shuster, ‘Living and Dying with Russia’s Soviet Legacy: Sinking Ships and
Falling Planes’, Time, July 12, 2011.
29 Alexandra Odynova, ‘Prosecutors: River Fleet “Complicated”’, The Moscow
Times, August 4, 2011.
30 For another example, see Alexander Golts, ‘Tons of Ticking Time Bombs’, The
Moscow Times, June 15, 2011.
31 Julia Ioffe, ‘Binging on Purging’, Foreign Policy, January 25, 2011.
32 Sergei Kovalev, ‘Why Putin Wins’, The New York Review of Books, November
22, 2007.
33 Michael McFaul and Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, ‘Mission to Moscow: Why
Authoritarian Stability is a Myth’, Foreign Affairs, January/February 2008.
34 Pierre Hassner, ‘Russia’s Transition to Autocracy’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 19,
no. 2 (2008), p. 7.
35 Lilia Shevtsova, ‘The Return of Personalized Power’, Journal of Democracy, vol.
20, no. 2 (April 2009), p. 61.
36 Steve LeVine, Putin’s Labyrinth: Spies, Murder, and the Dark Heart of the New
Russia (New York: Random House, 2008), p. 157.
37 Richard Sakwa, ‘Russia’s Grey Cardinal’, Open Democracy, June 14, 2011.
38 Perry Anderson, ‘Russia’s Managed Democracy’, London Review of Books,
January 25, 2007.
39 Masha Lipman, ‘Moving Lenin’s Body Won’t Cut Russia’s Ties to its Soviet Past’,
Washington Post, February 7, 2011.
40 Masha Gessen, ‘Musicians Sound Out for Russian Prisoners’, New York Times,
July 8, 2011.
41 Dmitri Oreshkin, ‘The Wheels Have Come Off the Putin Model’, Open Democracy,
August 26, 2009.
42 ‘There were almost 880,000 federal officials nationwide in 2009, up from 522,500
in 2000, the State Statistics Service reported on its web site’, in ‘Putin to Fire 5%
of Staff Within Weeks’, The St. Petersburg Times (editorial), January 19, 2011; cf.
‘The Russian state under Putin is certainly bigger than it was before. The number
of state employees has doubled to roughly 1.5 million’, in Michael McFaul and
Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, ‘Mission to Moscow: Why Authoritarian Stability is a
Myth’, Foreign Affairs, January/February 2008.
43 Stephen Holmes, ‘What Russia Teaches us Now’, The American Prospect,
July–August 1997, pp. 30–9.
44 Michael McFaul and Kathryn Stoner-Weiss, ‘Mission to Moscow: Why
Authoritarian Stability is a Myth’, Foreign Affairs, January/February 2008.
45 Lilia Shevtsova, Lonely Power: Why Russia has Failed to become the West and the
West is Weary of Russia (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International
Peace, 2010), p. 337.
44 S. Holmes
46 Fyodor Lukyanov, interview by Stephen Holmes, Moscow, May 2010.
47 Conor Sweeney, ‘Russia Names NATO Expansion as National Threat’, Reuters,
February 5, 2010.
48 Nina Khrushcheva, ‘Medvedev’s Snake Oil’, The Moscow Times, July 6, 2011.
49 Lilia Shevtsova, Lonely Power: Why Russia has Failed to Become the West and
the West is Weary of Russia (Washington: Carnegie Endowment for International
Peace, 2010), p. 336.
50 ‘Excerpts from Putin Address’, BBC News, September 4, 2004. http://news.bbc.co.
uk/2/hi/europe/3627878.stm.
51 Pierre Hassner, ‘Russia’s Transition to Autocracy’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 19,
no. 2 (2008), p. 12.
52 Alexander Lukin, ‘Russia’s New Authoritarianism’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 25,
no. 1 (2009), p. 81.
53 Andrei Piontkovsky, ‘China’s Threat to Russia’, The Guardian, August 27, 2007.
54 Julia Ioffe, ‘Net Impact: One Man’s Cyber-crusade against Russian Corruption’,
New Yorker, April 4, 2011.
55 Yulia Latynina, ‘Expanding the Cardin List to the Very Top’, The Moscow Times,
August 3, 2011.
56 Georgy Bovt, ‘Two Heads Are Better Than One’, The Moscow Times, June 10, 2011.
57 Boris Kagarlitsky, ‘Testing Russia’s Corruption Level’, The Moscow Times, June
30, 2011.
58 Julia Ioffe, ‘Net Impact: One Man’s Cyber-crusade against Russian Corruption’,
New Yorker, April 4, 2011.
59 Konstantin Sonin, ‘The Era of Diminished Expectations’, The Moscow Times,
December 2, 2010.
60 Julia Ioffe, ‘Nano Potemkin Village’, Slate, December 9, 2009.
61 Yulia Latynina, ‘The Kremlin Cuts Its Tail to Spite the Truth’, The Moscow
Times, July 20, 2011.
62 Yulia Latynina, ‘Our Own Lehman Brothers’, The Moscow Times, July 13, 2011.
63 Edward Verona and Brook Horowitz, ‘Praise for Anti-Graft Drive’, The Moscow
Times, June 8, 2011.
64 Foreign assets inside Russia continue to be seized in murky takeovers, including
physical eviction by muscular ‘bodyguards’ of Western joint owners. Roland
Oliphant, ‘Expat Airline Executives Out on Street’, Moscow Times, June 30,
2011; see also Joe Nocera, ‘How to Steal a Russian Airport’, New York Times,
June 6, 2011.
65 Julia Ioffe, ‘Net Impact: One Man’s Cyber-crusade against Russian Corruption’,
New Yorker, April 4, 2011.
66 Ivan Krastev, ‘The Rules of Survival’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 20, no. 2 (April
2009), p. 76.
67 Cited in Julia Ioffe, ‘Net Impact: One Man’s cyber-crusade against Russian
Corruption’, New Yorker, April 4, 2011.
68 Julia Ioffe, ‘So This Is What Passes for Opposition These Days’, The New
Republic, July 6, 2009.
69 Julia Ioffe, ‘The Revolution Will Definitely Not be Televised’, Foreign Policy,
February 3, 2010.
70 Stephen Holmes, ‘Simulations of Power in Putin’s Russia’, Current History, vol.
100, no. 648 (October 2001), pp. 307–12.
71 Nikolai Petrov, ‘Living From Fire to Fire’, The Moscow Times, August 10, 2010.
72 Julia Ioffe, ‘Dead Souls’, New Yorker, July 12, 2011.
73 Vitali Silitski, ‘Tools of Autocracy’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 20, no. 2 (April
2009), p. 44.
74 Dmitry Oreshkin, ‘Pleasing Everyone: The “Vertical of Power” Inherited by Medvedev
Is Not as Stable as Some Experts Believe’, Russia Profile, April 30, 2008.
 Never show weakness 45
75 Dmitri Oreshkin, ‘The Wheels Have Come off the Putin Model’, Open Democracy,
August 26, 2009.
76 Sergei Petrov, ‘Can Russia Survive Through 2020?’, The Moscow Times,
August 5, 2011.
77 Georgy Bovt, ‘Two Heads Are Better Than One’, The Moscow Times,
June 10, 2011.
78 Cited in Martin Sixsmith, Putin’s Oil: The Yukos Affair and the Struggle for
Russia (London: Continuum, 2010), p. 199.
79 Julia Ioffe, ‘Net Impact: One Man’s Cyber-crusade against Russian Corruption’,
New Yorker, April 4, 2011.
80 Steven Levitsky and Lucan A. Way, ‘The Rise of Competitive Authoritarianism’,
Journal of Democracy, vol. 13, no. 2 (2002), pp. 51–65.
81 Timothy J. Colton and Henry E. Hale, ‘The Putin Vote: Presidential Elections in a
Hybrid Regime’, Slavic Review, vol. 68, no. 3 (Fall 2009), p. 473.
82 McFaul and Stoner-Weiss read the evidence in a fundamentally different way: ‘the
data simply do not support the popular notion that by erecting autocracy Putin
has built an orderly and highly capable state that is addressing and overcoming
Russia’s rather formidable development problems’. Michael McFaul and Kathryn
Stoner-Weiss, ‘Mission to Moscow: Why Authoritarian Stability is a Myth’,
Foreign Affairs, January/February 2008. The point they want to make is that
democratic states, on balance, are more orderly and capable than autocratic states.
This may or may not be true. But in case of Russia, it seems simpler to jettison the
authoritarianism–democracy polarity and simply to admit that a government
unable to perform the most essential tasks of government has not been
consolidating power but faking it.
3 Legitimizing the Russian executive
Identity, technocracy, and performance
Eugene Huskey

Citizens comply with the orders of modern states because of the threat of
sticks, the provision of carrots, and a belief that a regime enjoys a certain
moral authority. Reflecting on the limits of coercion as an instrument of rule,
Rousseau observed more than two centuries ago that ‘the strongest is never
strong enough to be always the master, unless he transforms might into right
and obedience into duty’.1 In the language of Weber, transforming might into
right requires the development in citizens of ‘inner justifications’ for the
domination of the state.2 Unlike the more universal category of power, these
‘inner justifications’ tend to be context-specific; in other words, what works in
Egypt may not encourage compliance in Russia, and what worked in Russia
in 1936 may not assure the domination of the state in 1991.3
Besides being context-specific, the tools of legitimation are also group-specific.
That is, the carrots provided to segments of the elite will be different from
those offered to the broader populace, and even the ‘inner justifications’ that
undergird the moral authority of the regime may differ from one group to
another. This is to say that the tool-kit available for the legitimation of regime
authority is varied, and thus the sources of legitimacy may at times appear
dissonant.
Rejecting both the traditional ideology of the Soviet era and the tentative
embrace in the 1990s of Western ideas of procedural democratic and rational-
legal rule, Putin’s Russia has relied on a repertoire of legitimating devices that
operates within the framework of a neo-patrimonial regime.4 These devices
include two related narratives. First, the rejection of the ‘liberal principle of
legitimacy’ – associated with the West – is itself a means of legitimating
power in Russia. Defining Russia’s collective identity in terms of its distinc-
tiveness from the West creates a kind of ideational protectionism that dis-
courages the importation of policies, including secure property rights and
enforceable contracts, that would transform state–society relations in Russia.
Second, the legitimacy of the Russian state, and especially its executive power,
rests on Russia’s self-perception as a technocratic order. Influenced by the
legacies of scientific management from the Soviet era, the current regime
tends to view governance in terms of the administration of things rather than
the representation of interests.5 We shall argue in the conclusion that unlike
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 47
rational-legal institutions, identity and technocracy will only work as legit-
imating devices under conditions of strong regime performance, which leaves
Russia exceptionally vulnerable to instability during economic downturns.

The neo-patrimonial framework

Unlike the purely personalistic and discretionary rule characteristic of the
traditional patrimonialism outlined by Weber, neo-patrimonialism combines
elements of formal institutions found in rational-legal regimes with informal
institutions grounded in personal loyalty, which is evident in popular defer-
ence to a ‘big man’ and in the fealty of elite clients to their patron.6 Such
personal attachments remain robust today, as they did in the tsarist era,
when, as Marc Raeff observed, officials needed to cultivate a ‘special personal
relationship with the sovereign … [because] no regularized system of law and
judicial hierarchy protected them in the performance of their duties or safe-
guarded them from the consequences of even routine action’.7 However, the
relationship between the central leader(s) and their clients is based on more
than security interests alone. At the centre of the neo-patrimonial regime is a
complex bargain struck between the political leadership and strategic elites
that trades status, influence, protection, and financial rewards for loyalty.8
Because of the relative inertness of the Russian public – a product of the
de-mobilization that follows authoritarian collapse, the relative success of the
regime in providing public goods during the last decade, and the high costs of
opposition to the authorities – clientelism as an elite-oriented strategy of
legitimation has served the regime well since 2000.9 Clientelism is, in large
measure, a performance-based form of legitimation, which works when the
central political leadership is able to co-opt strategically-placed elites into
networks that provide attractive levels of political influence, status, protection,
and/or financial rewards. Unlike the sultanism found in regimes like
Qaddahifi’s Libya or Bakiev’s Kyrgyzstan, where loyalty is assured in part
through family-based networks, neo-patrimonialism in Russia rests on a web
of patron-client groups that distribute their members across political, admin-
istrative, and business organizations.10 Just as in the Soviet era, the inter-
locking nature of the contemporary Russian elite has the advantage of
diminishing traditional organizational and sectoral rivalries.
In Russia, the loyalty of strategic elites toward the political leader(s) rests
not only on relations of exchange and personalism but a Hobbesian fear that
a lack of elite solidarity will doom the country. In a context where there is
both the presence of nuclear weapons and a public viewed by many in the
elite as unprepared for self-rule, a domestic version of mutual-assured
destruction discourages defection from the ruling group. Vladislav Surkov’s
views of the potential of the Russian populace – in Sirke Makinen’s char-
acterization, ‘the Russian people as a whole are not sufficiently qualified or
educated to function as the political subject’ – appear to be widely accepted
across the country’s political class.11
48 E. Huskey
Besides personalism and elite self-interest, the stability of the neo-patrimonial
regime also depends on its limited acceptance of formal institutions asso-
ciated with a rational-legal order. These modern institutions, such as courts
and elections, are designed to infuse the state with some moral authority
without constraining unduly the freedom of manoeuvre of the leadership. In
the words of Alisher Ikhamov, the neo-patrimonial regime is based on ‘the
selective use of law and the mechanisms of the market economy in the interests
of the ruling elites’.12
In a few neo-patrimonial states, like Uzbekistan, institutions such as courts
and elections are little more than appendages of executive power and impose
no effective horizontal or vertical accountability on the executive. Their value
as a legitimating device is therefore suspect. In other countries, however,
like Russia, these institutions can at times make executive leaders squirm. In
recent months in Russia, results from some regional assembly elections and
the revelations of a judicial assistant, Natalia Vasilieva, about made-to-order
justice in the Khodorkovsky case have revealed the limits of the executive’s
ability to ‘manage’ modern institutions such as courts and elections.13 Thus,
even poorly-developed and politicized courts, markets, and elections intro-
duce a measure of unpredictability into public life. Employing democratic
‘mimicry’, to use Lilia Shevtsova’s term, can be a risky business.14

Collective identity and legitimacy

Russia has at least two sources of legitimacy that are not characteristic of
most neo-patrimonial regimes. Power can be made legitimate not only
through the classic Weberian means of traditional, charismatic, and rational-
legal authority, but also through systems of distribution – the rentier state
would be the most obvious example – and the construction and manipulation
of collective identity.15 As noted earlier, Russian identity has been bound up
with a rejection of certain Western values, most notably those associated with
the market and constitutionalism. In the words of I.K. Pantin, ‘the existence
of Russia, not only as it is but also as it should be, is a world of uniqueness,
specificity, and difference (including political difference) that cannot be ironed
out by the influence of other countries, even of the most advanced
countries’.16
The inverse of this worldview can be found in Estonia, whose embrace of
Western institutions contributes to its self-understanding as a country apart
from Russia. As Anton Steen has observed, for Estonia, democracy in the
Western sense is a means of national demarcation.17 In Valerie Bunce’s pithy
phrase, ‘The “east” … was traded for the “west”’.18 For the current Russian
regime, on the other hand, Western-style democracy is a compromise with its
national essence.
Thus, leaders argue – and much of the population appears to accept – that
to be Russian is to insist on a role for executive power and a relationship
between state and society that are different from those in the West.19
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 49
In Putin’s words, ‘Russia from the very beginning was created as a super-
centralized government. This is imbedded in its genetic code, its traditions
and in the mentality of its people’.20 Using arguments with a similar anti-
globalizing orientation, Russia’s former procurator-general, Vladimir Ustinov,
noted

There are many dilettantes who cite the experience of Western democracies.
But Russia is not the West. And the relations between ‘the state and a
concrete person’, between ‘the authorities [vlast’] and the citizen’ will
develop for a long time on traditional Russian terms [po traditsionnym
otechestvennym merkam].21

Making a similar point in the language of the academy, David McDonald

argues that ‘[t]he absolutist discourse envisions a different world than that of
doux commerce’.22 Popular support for a view of power that is ‘sacred, irra-
tional, and personal’ – a Byzantine approach, in Shevtsova’s terms – seems to
be confirmed by public opinion polls, in which respondents give high marks
to traditional institutions, like the army and the Church, and express a lack of
confidence in institutions associated with democratic rule, such as parties and
parliament.23
This reliance on a distinct Russian identity as a legitimating device con-
tinues to impede the introduction and operation in Russia of state-constraining
mechanisms such as law and the market. It also ensures that Russia’s role in
world affairs is a vital source of legitimacy for the regime. As Cheng Chen has
observed, not only was great power status, or derzhavnost’, ‘the lowest
common denominator on which elites could agree’, but the broader public
was more supportive of the revival of Russian grandeur in the world
than democratic values.24 Although the West has served as the standard
against which Russia has traditionally measured – and at the same time
distinguished – itself, the developing world is as much the Other in Russian
eyes as the West.25
This approach is very different from that of the Chinese, whose leaders, as
Robert Legvold argues, pride themselves on being ‘a leader of the developing
world. The same words could not pass from Putin’s lips, not because Russia is
obviously “not a developing country”, but because their self-effacing tone is
alien’.26 Thus, defending Russia’s exceptional position, and its moral authority,
in the world is part of an exercise in domestic legitimation.27 Lilia Shevtsova puts
the matter starkly:

Given the importance of great-power status to the self-reproduction of

the Russian political system, foreign policy will inevitably play a sig-
nificant role in maintaining the vitality of the system. Because the Russian
elite has not been able to find any other idea capable of underpinning
national consolidation, foreign policy has become the key instrument for
giving Russian society a sense of unified focus and direction.28
50 E. Huskey
For officials like Vladislav Surkov, who championed the concept of Russia as
a ‘sovereign’, as opposed to a Western-style, democracy, preserving a ‘balance
of diversity’ in the world remains an essential element of Russia’s raison
d’être.29

Technocracy and legitimacy

Despite occasional forays into ideology-creation, whether by the Yeltsin pre-
sidency in the mid-1990s or by Surkov a decade later, post-communist Russia
has refused to embrace an official worldview of the sort associated with the
late Imperial or Soviet states. As the paragraphs above indicate, however,
there are elements of the discursive environment, or ‘inner justifications’, that
serve to legitimate the existing regime. The second such legitimating device is
technocracy as a method of rule. In his discussion of East European politics
in the early post-communist era, Andrew Janos defined technocracy as both

an alternative to reliance on an unrestrained market mechanism [and] … a

political formula in which the rational calculation of economic ends and
means takes precedence over the idea of popular sovereignty, either
because people are seen as being incapable of grasping the complexities
of economics or as too weak by nature to adjust to temporary austerity
on the long road of economic development.30

The source of authority for Russian leaders is less a popular mandate

acquired through elections than the projection of technical competence and
extensive state managerial experience, which should lead to effective govern-
ance, as measured by social and economic stability. To apply the language of
the scientific socialists to contemporary Russia, governance is understood
more in terms of the administration of things rather than the representation
of interests. Thus, instead of contract theory, which views citizens as princi-
pals and political leaders as their agents, the Russian approach casts leaders
as bearers of specialized knowledge and experience, which enables them to
serve the cause of the nation as a whole rather than the interests of portions
of society.31 The very idea of interest representation has been subject to ridi-
cule by officials such as Surkov, who hold that Western-style democracy is
incapable of representing future generations, who are, as much as the living,
stakeholders in the Russian state. In Surkov’s predictably evocative phrase,
‘the nation has not given currently living generations the right to terminate
its history … ’32 The suggestion here is that only a responsible class of offi-
cials capable of understanding and defending technocratic principles and
Russia’s ‘sovereignty’ is fit for rule.
The emphasis on technocracy as a source of legitimacy is understandable
given the careers of the Russian leadership. They are not politicians in the
proper sense of the term, but high-ranking state administrators who come to
office because of their abilities to climb the bureaucratic ladder – and to
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 51
navigate an intricate web of patron-client networks – rather than to appeal to
popular constituencies.33 This is most evident in the careers of Putin and
Medvedev, whose first elective office was the presidency. Russia’s ruling class
is not, of course, a classic technocracy, if by that we mean a group of scien-
tists and engineers that governs by following scientific precepts alone. How-
ever, the socialization and skill-set of the current elite are associated more
closely with the science of bureaucratic management than the art of reconcil-
ing competing popular claims. Moreover, the recent introduction of what
I have called nomenklatura lite – a cadres reserve system that is being used to
fill some vacancies in the administrative/political/economic elite – aims to
replace the spontaneity and uncertainty of the labour market with an ‘orga-
nized and disciplined’ technique of personnel selection.34 Putin’s decision to
eliminate gubernatorial elections further impedes the rise of a genuine poli-
tical class in Russia, as does the use of political ‘technologists’ to reduce the
uncertainties associated with the remaining elections. To justify such
initiatives – which are part of the campaign to introduce a vertikal’ vlasti – as
something other than a naked grab for power, leaders will naturally gravitate
toward explanations that highlight their special knowledge and their capacity
to express the long-term national interest, both of which are features of
technocratic rule.
As Miguel Angel Centeno argued with respect to authoritarian regimes in
Latin America, technocratic leaders seek to de-ideologize and de-politicize
policy decisions by presenting them as an outgrowth of ‘instrumentally
rational techniques’.35 Such is the case in Russia, where, according to Mikhail
Remizov, ‘the authorities have felt themselves comfortable in the format of
technocratism, hiding away in it from the obsessively discussed democracy’.36
A technocratic approach allows the country’s leadership to present itself as
standing ‘above the [political] fray’ while it advances policy that is informed
by experts.37 Michael Gorham’s research on Putin’s rhetoric has illustrated
that the language of technocracy is the most dominant of the five registers in
which he speaks.38
The Russian variant of technocracy seeks to realize the country’s economic
potential primarily through the championing of statist projects, such as the
new high-tech centre at Skolkovo, instead of unleashing the ‘animal spirits’ of
entrepreneurs. According to Lev Liubimov, ‘[t]he innovation efforts of our
leaders boil down to “economic zones”, “technoparks”, Skolkovo, to techno-
cratic decisions that are linked with a cultural renaissance’.39 Where technocracy
envisions the concentration of decision-making capital, democracy and capit-
alism require its diffusion. Although Putin and Medvedev have introduced
reforms in recent years that are supposed to de-bureaucratize the state – a
policy that admittedly runs counter to the dirigisme just mentioned – there
has been very limited progress on this front, not just because of the pushback
from the bureaucracy but also because of the leadership’s continued pre-
ference for monitoring, or kontrol’, as the prime weapon in the battle against
bureaucratism and corruption. Instead of legal and market solutions to the
52 E. Huskey
problems besetting Russian business, the leadership employs administrative
tools, such as the expansion of the oversight powers of the Procuracy, an
institution whose sympathies do not lie with society.40
Whereas the technocracy associated with the Chicago Boys in Latin
America in the 1970s was a temporary method of rule designed to introduce a
regime of enforceable rules, the Russian version of technocracy envisions a
prominent and permanent role for commands.41 One of the legacies of the
command system from the Soviet era is the leader’s delivery of an author-
itative speech, on the basis of which specific marching orders are distributed
to the bureaucracy. Following the Russian president’s annual address to par-
liament [ poslanie federal’nomu sobraniiu], the presidential apparatus issues a
detailed set of assignments [ porucheniia] to the various federal executive
agencies, and in turn the governments of the subject territories devise their
own policy assignments based on the president’s annual speech. Although the
crafting of the presidential address and the formation of the policy assign-
ments are obviously deeply political exercises, involving key actors in execu-
tive institutions, this policy planning process is shielded from public view,
which allows the leadership to present the speech as a technocratic rather
than a political document, inspired by the long-term interests of the state
rather than the immediate concerns of particular constituencies.
On one level, technocracy is an attractive alternative to other sources
of legitimation. The author of a recent book on technocracy in Russia,
A.A. Kokoshin – academician, parliamentary deputy, and deputy head of
United Russia – argues that ‘foreign and domestic experience convincingly
illustrates that technocracy can successfully challenge [ protivostoiat’] liberal
fundamentalism as well as social populism’.42 Remizov revises this conclusion
slightly by adding a qualifier to technocracy: ‘Through its non-ideological
activism, the authorities [vlast’] command the respect of the people [narod ].
Its current credo is populist technocracy’, by which he seems to mean holding
out technocracy as the primary inspiration for decision-making while grant-
ing occasional concessions to anticipate, or respond to, popular disquiet on
specific issues.43 However, the attraction of technocracy is not only as a
legitimating device but as a means to restore Russia’s economy and its place
in the world. In this view, a state-led concentration of minds and resources
will help Russia catch up to the world’s leading powers without sacrificing its
sovereignty and distinctiveness.44

Conclusions
It is tempting to conclude that the emphases on technocracy and Russian
exceptionalism as sources of regime legitimacy are little more than cynical
ploys by segments of the elite to protect their own personal and organiza-
tional interests. Rulers who wish to govern with impunity clearly benefit from
references to a Russian collective mentality that requires ‘organization and
discipline’ in public life rather than the spontaneity and uncertainty
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 53
associated with free elections and market institutions, such as secure property
rights and freedom of contract. As the earlier quote by Ustinov suggests, the
power ministries have particular reason to favour a discourse of legitimation
that privileges law-enforcement solutions over the more subtle and society-
centred approaches often advanced by their traditional adversaries in the
government’s economic bloc. However, although legitimating the current
Russian regime by distinguishing it from the West benefits the ruling elite, to
see the country’s rulers as mere utility maximizers is to deny the complex
process by which power is legitimated. Elites in this case are tapping into
several deep-seated Russian traditions not just because it is useful but because
it is part of their own mental map, shaped through early socialization, their
formation professionelle, and the values of their current social and political
networks.45
Whatever the reasons for the reliance on technocracy and collective identity
as sources of legitimation, their ability to assure the normative validity of
state power appear to be limited. Whereas rational-legal institutions encou-
rage ‘the routine acceptance of state power’ in conditions of varied regime
performance,46 technocracy and exceptionalism should lose their potency as
legitimating devices in a prolonged economic or social crisis. Such a downturn
would call into question the specialized competence on which technocracy’s
claims of authority rest; moreover, the concentration of decision-making
responsibility that accompanies technocracy makes it difficult to shift blame
away from the political leadership, although both Soviet and post-communist
leaders have enjoyed some success in finding scapegoats in the bureaucracy
and in foreign powers. Writing about Putin in 2005, S. Moshin Hashim
argued that ‘the lack of horizontal accountability makes him increasingly
responsible for the successes and failures of his policies’.47 For its part,
exceptionalism taps into sentiments that may be less sensitive to changes in
economic performance; however, it would be difficult to maintain a convincing
discourse of exceptionalism if regime performance produced a sustained
decline in Russia’s military, diplomatic, and economic influence in the world.
The calls in recent years for the introduction of a new official ideology to
replace or supplement the two legitimating discourses discussed here are
reminders of Russia’s vulnerability in the face of a decline in commodity
prices and an inability to modernize its economy. For several years, the head
of the Russian Constitutional Court, Valerii Zor’kin has argued for the
development of such an ideology, the precise contours of which remain
unclear. Speaking in 2006, he noted that ‘We’re past the time when we can
say, we don’t need any debate, we don’t need any ideologies, only a technoc-
racy is necessary. Life has shown that on the basis of technocracy alone the
country won’t develop’.48
As the earlier analysis suggests, the most visible advocate of a new ideology
as a means of legitimating the Russian state has been Vladislav Surkov.
Alluding to the neo-patrimonial basis of authority, he argues that ‘a bureau-
cratic way of keeping the country together cannot last, and we will be unable
54 E. Huskey
to maintain the country’s integrity without complementing this vertical
power with an “ideology” recognized by the people’.49 These appeals for a
new ideology represent a recognition that while neo-patrimonialism may
assure the loyalties of key elites, it has limited ability on its own to guarantee
the compliance of the broader populace or the 1.5 million bureaucrats who
are now chafing under the constant barrage of attacks by the political
authorities.
The army of state officials who operate between the country’s strategic
networks and the public enjoy limited, if any, political influence or social
status, but many are able to realize significant financial rewards by self-dealing,
that is by using their public position for private gain. By receiving kickbacks
from contractors and side-payments from citizens and companies seeking
licences or relief from criminal prosecution or civil obligations, rank-and-file
state officials have incentives to accept the existing order. However, this basis
of legitimacy for officialdom is thin, if it can be called legitimacy at all, and it
raises serious questions about the prospects for anti-corruption efforts, such as
the one championed in recent years by President Medvedev. In a state
bureaucracy where law, professionalism, and administrative esprit de corps are
under-developed, campaigns to eliminate official corruption risk eroding sup-
port for the regime among chinovniki. Unless the political leadership finds a
way to increase dramatically the official remuneration of bureaucrats, or to
introduce alternative methods of legitimation in officialdom, most of which
require years to develop, these everyday agents of state will become an
increasingly restless force in Russian politics if their rent-seeking activities are
curtailed. Although it may be too early to speak of a crisis of legitimacy in
Russia, an economic downturn, coupled with a decline in the charismatic
authority of Vladimir Putin, would leave the regime with very feeble pillars of
support beyond coercion.

Notes
1 Jean-Jacques Rousseau, ‘On Social Contract’, in Alan Ritter (ed.), Rousseau’s
Political Writings (New York: W.W. Norton, 1988), p. 87.
2 Max Weber, ‘Politics as a Vocation’, in H.H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills (eds), From
Max Weber: Essays in Sociology (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1946), p. 78.
3 The latter point was a central theme in Moshe Lewin’s The Gorbachev Phenomenon:
A Historical Interpretation (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1991).
4 On the variety of ideational repertoires, see Cheng Chen, ‘Muddling Through the
Shadow of the Past(s): Post-Communist Russia’s Search for a New Regime
Ideology’, Demokratizatsiya, vol. 19, no. 1 (Winter 2011), p. 42.
5 For a fuller explication of this argument, see Eugene Huskey, ‘Elite Recruitment
and State–Society Relations in Technocratic Authoritarian Regimes: The Russian
Case’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, no. 4 (2010), pp. 363–72.
6 Shmuel Eisenstadt, Traditional Patrimonialism and Modern Neopatrimonialism
(Beverly Hills: Sage Publications, 1973).
7 Marc Raeff, ‘The Bureaucratic Phenomena of Imperial Russia, 1700–1905’,
American Historical Review, vol. 84, no. 2 (1979), p. 405. Writing 30 years ago,
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 55
Raeff was sensitive to what he termed ‘the mythology of power’ in Russia, and
he called for more research on ‘the significance of power and law in the mentalité
collective, both high and low, of the Russian people’. Ibid., pp. 409, 411.
Personalism continues to play an important role in economics as well as politics.
In Lawrence King’s language, personal ties in Russian capitalism are often
‘anterior to market activity’. Lawrence King, ‘Postcommunist Divergence:
A Comparative Analysis of the Transition to Capitalism in Poland and
Russia’, Studies in Comparative International Development, vol. 37, no. 3 (Fall
2002), p. 27.
8 On this point, see, for example, Vitalii Silitski, ‘Tools of Autocracy’, Journal of
Democracy, vol. 20, no. 2 (2009), p. 44.
9 To be sure, the Russian population has stirred on occasion during the last
decade. The most dramatic outbreak of discontent came in the summer of 2005,
when a range of groups protested the ‘monetization of benefits’ policy, which
were designed to reduce the costs of what might be termed ‘entitlements’ in an
American context.
10 On the integration of political, administrative, and business careers in Russia, see
Eugene Huskey, ‘Pantouflage a la russe: The Recruitment of Russian Political and
Business Elites’, in Stephen Fortescue (ed.), Russian Politics from Lenin to
Putin: Essays in Honour of T.H. Rigby (London: Palgrave Macmillan, 2010),
pp. 185–204. On March 31, 2011, President Medvedev announced, as part of a
larger anti-corruption initiative, a drive to remove high-ranking state adminis-
trative officials from the boards of Russia’s largest corporations. Even if this
initiative is successful, it is unlikely to untangle the close ties among political,
administrative, and business organizations.
11 Sirke Makinen, ‘Surkovian Narrative on the Future of Russia: Making Russia a
World Leader’, Journal of Communist Studies and Transition Politics, vol. 27,
no. 2 (2011), p. 149. Assessing the implications of Vladislav Surkov’s views, Sirke
Makinen writes that ‘the state’s strong role in society, manifested in the cen-
tralization of power, is … justified … by the “quality” of the citizens of Russia’.
Ibid., p. 158.
12 Alisher Ilkhamov, ‘Neopatrimonialism, interest groups and patronage networks:
the impasses of the governance system in Uzbekistan’, Central Asian Survey, vol. 26,
no. 1 (2007), p. 67.
13 Miriam Elder, ‘Mikhail Khodorkovsky Verdict Ordered From Above, Claims
Judicial Assistant’, The Guardian, 14 February 2011. http://www.guardian.co.uk/
world/2011/feb/14/mikhail-khodorkovsky-verdict-judge-assistant. Stephen Hanson
and others have noted that Putin’s decision not to pursue a third term of office in
2008 confirmed the ability of electoral rules to shape behaviour, even in a regime
not known for strict adherence to formal norms. Stephen E. Hanson, ‘Plebisci-
tarian Patrimonialism in Putin’s Russia: Legitimating Authoritarianism in a Post-
Ideological Era’, Annals of the American Academy of Political and Social Science,
vol. 636, no. 1 (2011), p. 32–48.
14 Lilia Shevtsova, ‘The Return of Personalized Power’, Journal of Democracy,
no. 20, no. 2 (2009), p. 62.
15 On the uses of coercion, distribution, and identity to legitimate the regime of
Islam Karimov in Uzbekistan, see William Fierman, ‘Political development in
Uzbekistan: democratization?’ in Karen Dawisha and Bruce Parrott, Conflict,
Cleavage, and Change in Central Asia and the Caucasus (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1997), pp. 360–408.
16 I.K. Pantin, ‘Overcoming the Split Between State and Society’, Russian Studies in
Philosophy, vol. 47, no. 4 (Spring 2009), p. 66.
17 Anton Steen, ‘The Question of Legitimacy: Elites and Political Support in
Russia’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 53, no. 5 (2001), p. 713.
56 E. Huskey
18 Valerie Bunce, ‘The National Idea: Imperial Legacies and Post-Communist
Pathways in Eastern Europe’, in East European Politics and Societies, vol. 19, no.
3 (2005), p. 436.
19 In a constructivist account of Russian (and Soviet) foreign policy, Ted Hopf finds
four discourses at work in 1999, on the eve of the Putin presidency. Of these, the
three dominant ones ‘to varying degrees and in various ways, celebrated the
uniqueness of individual states, consciously and deliberately rejected any uni-
versalizing assumptions, and desired to find a space in international society where
the writ of universalism did not run.’ Ted Hopf, Social Construction of Interna-
tional Politics: Identities and Foreign Policies, Moscow, 1955 and 1999 (Ithaca:
Cornell University Press, 2002), p. 281.
20 Nataliia Govorkian, Nataliia Timakova, and Andrei Kolesnikov, Ot pervogo litsa:
razgovory s Vladimirom Putinym (Moskva: Vagrius, 2000), pp. 167–8.
21 ‘Vladimir Ustinov: Prokuratury, k kotoroi vse privykli, uzhe ne budet’, Strana.ru,
11 February 2002.
22 David McDonald, ‘Domestic Conjunctures, the Russian State, and the World
Outside, 1700–2006’, in Robert Legvold (ed.), Russian Foreign Policy in the
Twenty-First Century and the Shadow of the Past (New York: Columbia
University Press, 2007), p. 158.
23 Lilia Shevtsova, Yeltin’s Russia: Myths and Reality (Washington, DC: Carnegie
Endowment for International Peace, 1999), p. 281, quoted by Robert Legvold,
‘Russian Foreign Policy During Periods of Great State Transformation’, in Robert
Legvold (ed.), Russian Foreign Policy in the Twenty-First Century and the Shadow
of the Past (New York: Columbia University Press, 2007), p. 84; Anton Steen,
‘The Question of Legitimacy: Elites and Political Support in Russia’, Europe-Asia
Studies, vol. 53, no. 5 (2001), pp. 712. When asked about the greatest source of
pride in their country, 83.8 per cent responded that it was Russian history. Cheng
Chen, ‘Muddling Through the Shadow of the Past(s): Post-Communist Russia’s
Search for a New Regime Ideology’, Demokratizatsiya, vol. 19, no. 1 (Winter
2011), p. 47.
24 Rudra Sil and Cheng Chen, ‘State Legitimacy and the (In)significance of
Democracy in Post-Communist Russia’, Europe-Asia Studies, vol. 56, no. 3 (May
2004), p. 361.
25 On the West as the Other in the Russian consciousness, see Ivor B. Neumann,
Russia and the Idea of Europe: A Study in Identity and International Relations
(London: Routledge, 1996).
26 Robert Legvold, ‘Russian Foreign Policy During Periods of Great State Transfor-
mation’, in Robert Legvold (ed.), Russian Foreign Policy in the Twenty-First
Century and the Shadow of the Past (New York: Columbia University Press,
2007), p. 115.
27 This is one of the central themes of Marshall T. Poe, The Russian Moment in
World History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003).
28 Lilia Shevtsova, ‘The Return of Personalized Power’, Journal of Democracy,
vol. 20, no. 2 (2009), p. 64.
29 V.I. Surkov, ‘Nationalization of the Future: Paragraphs pro Sovereign Democ-
racy’, Russian Studies in Philosophy, vol. 47, no. 4 (Spring 2009), p. 11. The reli-
ance on this form of legitimation may also result from the fact that Russia is, at
least in some respects, a new state. Valerie Bunce has argued that ‘New states tend
to be nervous states and therefore unusually jealous of their powers and their
boundaries.’ Valerie Bunce, ‘The National Idea: Imperial Legacies and Post-
Communist Pathways in Eastern Europe’, East European Politics and Societies,
vol. 19, no. 3 (2005), p. 425.
30 Andrew C. Janos, ‘Continuity and Change in Eastern Europe: Strategies of Post-
Communist Politics’, East European Politics and Societies, vol. 8, no. 1 (1994), p. 18.
 Legitimizing the Russian executive 57
31 This approach echoes the Rousseauist insistence on willing the general will rather
than the will of all.
32 V.I. Surkov, ‘Nationalization of the Future: Paragraphs pro Sovereign Democracy’,
Russian Studies in Philosophy, vol. 47, no. 4 (Spring 2009), p. 18.
33 When Putin was offered the chance in the mid-1990s to lead the bureau in the
presidency that dealt with the public, his reaction was ‘that’s not to my liking’
[‘Mne eto delo bylo sovsem ne po dushe’]. Ot pervogo litsa, p. 120.
34 Eugene Huskey, ‘Nomenklatura Lite? The Cadres Reserve in Russian Public
Administration’, Problems of Post-Communism, no. 2 (2004), pp. 30–39. As
McDonald notes,

The spontaneity of unregulated market relations also inspired suspicion among

imperial and Soviet administrators alike. Nineteenth-century conservatives feared
both the spatial movement that accompanied the market’s circulation of goods
and people as well as the market’s effect as a social solvent, encouraging people to
think beyond their station.
David McDonald, ‘Domestic Conjunctures, the Russian State,
and the World Outside, 1700–2006’, in Robert Legvold (ed.),
Russian Foreign Policy in the Twenty-First Century and
the Shadow of the Past (New York: Columbia University
Press, 2007), p. 161

On the tension between new market institutions and the state’s tutelage over the
economy in late tsarist Russia, see Thomas C. Owen, The Corporation under
Russian Law, 1800–1917: A Study in Tsarist Economic Policy (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1991).
35 Miguel Angel Centeno, ‘The New Leviathan: The Dynamics and Limits of
Technocracy’, Theory and Society, vol. 22, no. 3 (1993), pp. 311–14.
36 Mikhail Remizov, ‘Apologiia vlasti’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, September 13, 2000.
37 Ibid.
38 Gorham, Michael. ‘Putin’s Language’, Ab Imperio, no. 4 (2005), pp. 381–401. The
other registers evoke what Gorham calls the delovoi, the silovik, the muzhik, and
the patriot.
39 Lev Liubimov, ‘Dushevedenie: dukhovnyi lokomotiv’, Vedomosti, June 15, 2010.
Liubimov would prefer a ‘dukhosfera’ to a ‘tekhnosfera’. On ‘great projects’ in
general, and the Okhta Center project in St Petersburg in particular, see Anatolii
Reshetnikov, ‘“Great Projects” Politics in Russia: History’s Hardly Victorious
End’, Demokratizatsiya, vol. 19, no. 2 (Spring 2011), pp. 151–75.
40 Pantin’s comments on the state bureaucracy apply in full measure to the Procuracy:
‘civic initiative encounters furious resistance from the bureaucratic apparatus,
which does not want to leave anything to the discretion of ordinary citizens. For
this apparatus, popular participation in government means an attack on the very
“foundations of order”’. I.K. Pantin, ‘Overcoming the Split Between State and
Society’, Russian Studies in Philosophy, vol. 47, no. 4 (Spring 2009), p. 70.
41 As Stefan Hedlund observed, ‘substantially different incentive effects … are
produced by simple commands, as distinct from generally accepted and credibly
enforceable rules.’ Stefan Hedlund, Russian Path Dependence (New York:
Routledge, 2005), pp. 126–7.
42 Viktor Khudoleev, ‘O tekhnokratii i tekhnokratakh’, Krasnaia zvezda, June 3,
2008, p. 2.
43 Mikhail Remizov, ‘Apologiia vlasti’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, September 13, 2000.
44 In the words of Sergei Kurginian, ‘a technological leap is the only salvation for
Russia’. Sergei Kurginian, ‘Tekhnosfera: usloviia proryva’, Zavtra, July 11, 2007.
On this point, see also Sirke Maikinen, ‘Surkovian Narrative on the Future of
58 E. Huskey
Russia: Making Russia a World Leader’, Journal of Communist Studies and
Transition Politics, vol. 27, no. 2 (June 2011), pp. 145–53.
45 In Hopf ’s words, ‘a state’s own domestic identities constitute a social cognitive
structure that makes threats and opportunities, enemies and allies, intelligible,
thinkable, and possible.’ Ted Hopf, Social Construction of International
Politics: Identities and Foreign Policies, Moscow, 1955 and 1999 (Ithaca: Cornell
University Press, 2002), p. 13.
46 Marc Garcelon, ‘Trajectories of Institutional Disintegration in Late-Soviet Russia
and Contemporary Iraq’, Sociological Theory, vol. 24, no. 3 (2006), p. 263.
47 S. Moshin Hashim, ‘Putin’s Etatization Project and Limits to Democratic
Reforms in Russia’, Communist and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 38, issue.
1 (2005), p. 43. Anton Steen makes a related point, noting that the absence of
trust in non-state institutions means that by default the state becomes the central
legitimating device. Anton Steen, ‘The Question of Legitimacy: Elites and Political
Support in Russia’, Europe-AsiaStudies, vol. 53, no. 5 (2001), p. 716.
48 Ekaterina Dobrynina, ‘Politsovet. Prishli k soglasiiu’, Rossiiskaia gazeta,
September 6, 2006, no. 197, p. 1.
49 Cited in Cheng Chen, ‘Muddling Through the Shadow of the Past(s): Post-Communist
Russia’s Search for a New Regime Ideology’, Demokratizatsiya, vol. 19, no. 1 (Winter
2011), p. 38.
4 Legitimacy of power and security
of property
Stefan Hedlund

Speaking at the Woodrow Wilson Center in Washington, DC, in June 1997,

Federal Reserve Chairman Alan Greenspan offered the following verdict over
the then still prevailing beliefs in Russian ‘systemic change’ and in the asso-
ciated process of shock therapeutic deregulation: ‘Much of what we took for
granted in our free market system and assumed to be human nature was not
nature at all, but culture’.1
The statement was striking for one very important reason. At the time, the
world had still not felt the impact either of the Asian financial crisis or indeed
of the subsequent global financial crisis. Unregulated market economy was in
consequence still regarded as an unrivalled economic system. To hear an
economist of Greenspan’s stature publicly ascribe Russia’s failure to replace
defunct central economic planning with superior market economy to matters
relating to ‘culture’ was unprecedented.
Following the meltdown of Russia’s financial markets that took place in
August 1998, many others would join in the chorus. One of the most promi-
nent among these late arrivals would be the former Chief Economist at the
World Bank and winner of the Nobel Prize for Economics, Joseph Stiglitz.
Lashing out, in 1999, at the foreign economic advisors to the Russian gov-
ernment, who were suddenly transformed into scapegoats, he would field
accusations of a combined failure to understand both basic economics and
the institutional peculiarities of Russia.2
Given how Greenspan’s reputation would be subsequently tarnished by the
failure of the Federal Reserve to intervene in time to prevent, or at least
mitigate, the global financial crisis, it must be said to his credit that he did
speak up about Russia before it became obvious to all that something was
seriously amiss. Given, further, that he was regarded at the time as something
of an incarnation of market economy in itself, it was striking indeed that he
placed culture so squarely in focus: ‘There is a vast amount of capitalist cul-
ture and infrastructure underpinning market economies that has evolved over
generations: laws, conventions, behaviours, and a wide variety of business
professions and practices that have no important functions in a centrally
planned economy’.3
In his memoirs, written a decade later, Greenspan would return to empha-
size just how important it was for economics, and economists, to learn from
60 S. Hedlund
what happened as Russia tried to create a functioning market economy out of
the rubble of defunct central planning:

Until the wall fell and the need to develop market economies out of the
rubble of Eastern Europe’s central-planning regimes became apparent,
few economists had been thinking about the institutional foundations
that free markets need. Now, unintentionally, the Soviets were performing
an experiment for us. And some of the lessons were startling. The collapse
of central planning did not automatically establish capitalism, contrary to
the rosy predictions of many conservative-leaning politicians.4

The question that emerges here concerns not so much the role of ‘con-
servative-leaning politicians’ as the nature of the ‘lessons’ that Greenspan
refers to. What, more precisely, was it that Russia could teach economics? Let
us begin with the property rights nexus, which not only is core to any dis-
cussion of market economy but also constitutes the main dimension where
Russia is so often held up to be somehow ‘different’.

The property rights nexus

There can be no property without government. As once eminently phrased by
Mancur Olson, individuals may have possessions without government, the
way a dog possesses a bone, but that is only part of the story. It was
the introduction of the state, as an outside third party enforcer, that made all
the difference: ‘Property is a socially protected claim on an asset – a bundle of
rights enforceable in courts backed by the coercive power of government’.5
From this seemingly simple observation, we may proceed to draw a number
of important conclusions, all pointing at needs to consider inherent limits to
what government can achieve in terms of promoting better economic
performance.
First and foremost we are reminded that the core of the relation between
state and market does indeed revolve around property rights protection.
As such there is nothing essentially new in this. The heavy emphasis that is
placed by modern economics on the role of private property rights indicates
that we have here a feature of central and well known importance for the
functioning of modern market economy. At the same time, however, we also
have an accumulated experience of ambitions by the former socialist countries
to privatize state property that is rather dismal, and should lead us to
question whether markets alone may be relied upon to secure efficient
outcomes.
The reason why we have chosen to open the present discussion with Olson’s
distinction between possession and property may be derived from precisely
this latter observation. At the time when the newly emerging market econo-
mies placed privatization of state owned enterprises at the top of their agen-
das, many observers were beholden to a modern version of the classic ‘Coase
 Legitimacy of power 61
Theorem’. Assuming that re-contracting would proceed until an optimal set
of owners had been arrived at, it was believed that the initial distribution of
rights to property was of little material consequence. As we now know, this
was not an auspicious way to go about transforming basic ownership rela-
tions. Markets were quickly locked into a predatory mode, allowing assorted
oligarchs working in cahoots with government figures to wreak serious havoc
on the economy as a whole. The reason goes to the heart of the matter
at hand.
Returning to Olson, we may usefully recall his reflection on how Boris
Yeltsin’s economic reform programme could end in such failure, and his
emphatic dismissal of the implied belief, widespread at the time, in deregula-
tion as a panacea. That belief was held to be not only naïve, but also
‘unquestionably and drastically wrong’. It was all a question of erroneous
perceptions of the nature of the challenge: ‘Some enthusiasts for markets
suppose that the only problem is that governments get in the way of the
market and that private property is a natural and spontaneous creation’.6
Our ambition in the following shall not be to prove, or even suggest, that
things could have been done differently, with less deplorable outcomes.
Although there is overwhelming evidence to suggest that substantial damage
control could have been implemented, that shall have to remain a hypothe-
tical proposition, left for discussion elsewhere.7 The theoretical challenge that
we have placed before us here rests on demonstrating why it is that the role of
the state as a protector of property rights, and of contractual obligations more
generally, is fraught with such complications.
Bearing in mind that this is a huge topic, already extensively researched,
some degree of delimitation is clearly called for. We shall in consequence not
be much concerned with the direct link between private property and effi-
ciency in production, which represents the most intensely studied aspect of
private property rights. We shall rather be concerned with the ‘upstream’
dimension of how the configuration of public and private norms will impact
on the ability – indeed willingness – of the state to act in its capacity as
credible third party enforcer of contracts and of property rights. It is here, we
shall argue, that Russian experience may offer new insights that may be
helpful in understanding why the agency approach of economic policy so
often fails to achieve intended objectives.
The following argument is built on a series of five steps. The first outlines
the nature of the relationship between state and market, establishing that
regime type is clearly correlated with the security of property and thus also
with economic performance. The second delves into the microfoundations,
suggesting that beyond ambitions to model the state we must also consider
determinants of choices made by individual actors. Step three expands on the
prevailing understanding of opportunity and self-interest, indicating inherent
risks that, instead of improved governance, privatization may produce pre-
datory outcomes, as indeed was the case in Russia. Step four looks at the case
for a visible hand of the state, as opposed to the invisible hand of the market,
62 S. Hedlund
and step five expands on the role of norms, reflecting on notions of property
as theft and on legal tradition more generally.
In conclusion, the Russian experience of weak legitimacy of government is
used to suggest why the distinction between possession, which may only be
protected with private force, and property, which is protected by legitimate
government enforcement, may be helpful in creating better understanding of
the complexities both of privatization and of private property rights protection
more generally.

State and market

The textbook version of the role of government in relation to the market is
simple enough. The history of economic development begins with sponta-
neous markets that are essentially self-enforcing. While transactions that fall
into this category require little in terms of either information or outside
enforcement, they also produce little additional value and may hence not be
counted upon to serve as foundations of modern economies or indeed
societies.
The quantum leap was taken when the state entered the game as a third-
party enforcer. Normally associated with the dramatic economic upswing that
began in northern Italian city states such as Venice and Genoa, towards the
end of the twelfth century, it featured princes assuming responsibility for
maintaining balance between competing elites, for ensuring that contracts
would be honoured, and for providing protection to merchants travelling to
and trading in foreign lands. The main outcomes were an expansion in the
size of the market and a lengthening of the time limit for productive invest-
ment. Jointly, they helped produce tremendous wealth. Importantly, this
process would also be accompanied by the psychological transformations of
the Renaissance, which is generally held to have begun in Florence in the
fourteenth century.
In the ideal case, this is the way in which economic history should unfold.
Traditional societies that rely on informal social sanctions should give way to
modern societies where economic actors place their trust not in social net-
works but in anonymous government agencies. Increasing formalization of
institutions, and enhanced credibility of enforcement mechanisms, should go
hand in hand with a transformation of supporting informal norms, all leading
to improvements in economic efficiency and in the general welfare of the
population. While this may be the way it should be, it is hardly the way it is –
at least not outside the success story of the ‘Rise of the West’, which in so
many ways has become normative for social science theorizing.8
The success story rests on an implicit belief in the ability of market forces
to sort out, by way of competition, inferior institutional solutions. Noting
that this applies across the economic and political spheres, an important
challenge may be derived from the fact that we have so many remaining
holdouts, in the Third World as well as in the post-socialist space, that remain
 Legitimacy of power 63
closer to the informal institutional makeup of traditional society than to the
modern ideal. The fact that they are trapped at low levels of economic effi-
ciency, and of general welfare, reflects the presence of ‘informal’ sectors with
fuzzy property rights and low value added. In the words of the Peruvian
economist Hernando de Soto, this type of government failure is associated
with vast amounts of ‘dead capital’.9
A widely cited illustration of the staying power of inferior institutional
solutions was provided by Robert Putnam’s study of the divide between north
and south in Italy, where the root causes of underdevelopment in the
Mezzogiorno were traced back to the twelfth century.10 An equally striking
illustration of how the informal games of influence and collusion that were
so typical of the Soviet-type economies remained dominant well into the
era of transition to market economy has been provided by Richard Rose, to
the point even of branding Russia at the end of the Yeltsin era as an
‘anti-modern society’.11
That there is a link between regime type and economic performance is
beyond doubt. We may note evidence produced by J. Bradford De Long and
Andrei Shleifer on European city growth before the Industrial Revolution.
Based on regression analysis of the links between urban growth and the type
of ruler in Western Europe from 1050 until 1800, they conclude that ‘strong
princely rule is systematically associated with retarded urban commerce’.
Importantly, the line of causality is seen to run via threats to security, in the
form of ‘the possibility of arrest, ruin or execution at the command of the
ruling prince or the possibility or ruinous taxation’.12 Russian history from
the times of old Muscovy up until the trials of Mikhail Khodorkovsky
and the destruction of Yukos Oil would seem to fit sordidly into the latter
pattern.
Returning again to Olson, we may recall his much-cited account of how
states behaving like stationary bandits will find it to be in their own best
interests to optimize extraction over time and to provide public goods up to
the point where the marginal cost of doing so equals the marginal revenue
from this ‘market-augmenting’ policy.13 Contrasting this ideal rational rela-
tion between state and market against the observations of De Long and
Shleifer, we may ask under what the conditions are for the expected ideal to
emerge.
When will government act in a way that is conducive to maximizing the
common good, and what are the implications of cases where it does not? In
line with the message of methodological individualism, we shall argue that
answers must be sought in how individuals perceive their options for action.

Microfoundations
Perhaps the main complication that arises when casting the state in its role
as third party enforcer rests in the classic insight that a government that is
strong enough to protect private property rights will also be strong enough to
64 S. Hedlund
violate those rights. Real life illustrations are plentiful, ranging from
fairly benign temptations for governments to renege on commitments by
debasing the currency, to malignant cases of predatory states and of outright
kleptocracies.
Based on these insights, much effort has been devoted to a search for
mechanisms of constitutional binding that may facilitate the core task of
government in making a credible commitment to upholding the sanctity of
private property, and of contractual obligations more generally. In the fol-
lowing, we shall not revisit those efforts. Our ambition shall rather be to delve
deeper, seeking to uncover the impact of government action on the micro-
foundations that determine individual motivation to engage in behaviour that
is rule-abiding, as opposed to rule-avoiding or even rule-evasive.
As Avner Greif has pointed out, the real crux of the matter concerns how
we understand the temptation to seek private gain by violating the property
of others: ‘Understanding how property is secured requires knowing why
those who are physically able to abuse rights refrain from doing so’.14 At
stake here is a vital process of interaction between instrumental rationality in
weighing the respective costs and benefits of different paths of action, and the
norm-related dimension of whether the distribution of rights to property is
viewed as sufficiently legitimate to be respected even in the absence of formal
enforcement.
Investigating the crucial link between the two, we may return to Olson’s
emphasis on the coercive power of government. Since possessions will have to
be protected by means of private violence, economic action will be con-
strained by substantial risk and by substantial private costs in providing
security. Once we move to the ideal situation where property is protected by
government, enhanced security and reduced costs will be conducive to better
economic performance. The question that arises here concerns how the gov-
ernment may go about devising means of coercion that are sufficiently cred-
ible, and legitimate, in order to be successful in securing rule-abiding
economic behaviour.
The challenge again has to do with perceptions. As Greif puts it,
‘ … behavioural prescriptions – rules and contracts – are nothing more than
instructions that can be ignored. If prescriptive rules of behaviour are to have
an impact, individuals must be motivated to follow them’. His understanding
of ‘motivation’, moreover, goes to the very core of the matters at hand: ‘By
motivation I mean here incentives broadly defined to include expectations,
beliefs, and internalized norms’.15
What we have here may be viewed as a core dilemma in the formulation of
liberal economic policy. In the absence of restraining norms, providing
opportunity may very well result in instrumentally rational rent-seeking and
predatory behaviour that is aimed at abusing rights to property. Before we
turn to investigate how the government may seek to resolve this dilemma, we
shall have to look at how we understand the respective roles of opportunity
and self-interest, as the main driving forces in market economic development.
 Legitimacy of power 65
Opportunity and self-interest
The mainstream of the neoclassical economic tradition has long been con-
sistently beholden to a positive view of what market forces may achieve. If
only markets can be left alone, the sure outcome will be economic growth
and value added more generally. In the introduction to his provocatively titled
work The Wealth and Poverty of Nations, David Landes formulates this world
view as follows: ‘This is the classical economists’ view: increase is natural
and will occur wherever opportunity and security exist. Remove the obstacles,
and growth will take care of itself ’.16
The liberal case for deregulation and a minimal state has found ample
support in a set of simple and suggestive quotes from Adam Smith, regarding
the invisible hand and how pure self-interest causes ‘the butcher, the baker
and the brewer’ to ensure that we get our dinner. What is often neglected here
is that the case for state intervention may be just as easily supported with
some equally suggestive quotes from the same source, regarding for example
the ‘mean rapacity’ and ‘monopolizing spirit’ of greedy merchants and man-
ufacturers, who will miss no opportunity to ‘conspire against the public’.
A closer reading of Smith will reveal that he used the metaphor of the invi-
sible hand mainly to express surprise that the uncoordinated actions of so
many self-interested, and in some cases even immoral, individuals could
produce socially beneficial outcomes.17
The main challenge that is placed before economic policy makers concerns
what may be expected to happen when individuals are faced with opportunity,
say, in the form of being offered rights to private property in the means of
production. Will they then prefer to use such rights for productive purpose,
expanding capacity and adding value, or will they prefer to engage in abuse
by ways of asset stripping, transfer pricing and similar such ways of value-
subtracting personal enrichment that is socially odious? Most importantly,
can we really predict when one option will be preferred over the other?
At stake here is the role of the ubiquitous ‘laws’ of economics. While the
presumed existence of such laws is of paramount importance to the practice
of deductive modelling that constitutes the core of modern economics, and
while it does relieve some of the ‘physics envy’ that has long marked the
profession, it remains a fact that such laws will always have to proceed via
assumptions regarding the motivation for human action. They can in con-
sequence never even approximate the laws of nature, and economics will
remain distinctly different from physics. Two ‘natural experiments of history’
may serve to drive the point home.18
The first concerns the failure of attempted ‘systemic change’ to achieve a
rapid transformation of defunct central planning into a well-functioning
market economy. The broad diversity in outcomes illustrates that the rules-
and property-based market economy was after all not a societal default position
of sorts, achievable by simply removing all the restrictive rules and regulations
of the command economy. When actors were suddenly allowed a free rein for
66 S. Hedlund
self-interest seeking, which does constitute the core of the ‘market mechan-
ism’, the overwhelming choice was for redistributive over value-adding activ-
ities. The plethora of labels that emerged to describe the sordid version of
market economy that emerged in Russia in the 1990s may be taken as illus-
tration of how expectations for a positive outcome, entailing efficiency gains,
modernization and high growth, had been overly optimistic.19
The other experiment is the neoliberal drive towards privatization and
deregulation in the Western market economies that began with Milton
Friedman and that reached deep into mainstream politics under Margaret
Thatcher and Ronald Reagan. Aiming to free up presumably healthy market
forces, it would entail actions such as the repeal, in 1999, of the (Glass–Steagall)
Banking Act of 1933. The combination of thus providing opportunity for
predatory behaviour, and of having eroded sanctions against such behaviour,
served to open the sluice gates for financial market operations, the nature and
implications of which were at times opaque even to their creators. While the
early stages were marked by Wall Street movers and shakers proclaiming that
‘greed is good’, the grand finale offered us Bernard Madoff and a global
financial crisis the total cost of which is still being counted.
What all of this will serve to illustrate is that any serious discussion on the
role of self-interest seeking in promoting good economic performance must
include consideration not only of the role of the state as such. As noted
above, much effort has already been devoted to showing how mechanisms of
credible commitment may prevent states from going down the road to ruinous
taxation and expropriation. What Greif emphasizes is that our analysis must
begin at the micro level, with individual actors. Retaining his focus on the role
of internalized norms, it follows that we must take a much broader view of
the whole complex of informal norms than what normally underpins the
understanding of economic man. Above all, we must consider how various
forms of government action may impact on the translation of public into
private norms.
We may at this point usefully contrast the liberal tradition of laissez faire
and the invisible hand against an even longer tradition of emphasizing the
role of the visible hand of the legislator. Rooted in writings by Bernard
Mandeville, in the early eighteenth century, it is implicit in Smith’s Theory of
Moral Sentiment, and may be traced to modern-day critique of neoliberal
economic policy. The core of this rival tradition may be captured in Lionel
Robbins’s insight that ‘the pursuit of self-interest, unrestrained by suitable
institutions, carries no guarantee of anything but chaos’.20
The message here is that the government will have a responsibility not only
for establishing and enforcing the formal rules of the game, but also and even
more so for ensuring that individuals evolve such values, beliefs and expecta-
tions that form necessary conditions for securing outcomes in accordance
with the common good. The problem is that the understanding, across the
social sciences, of how this may be achieved is weak at best. Let us proceed to
look at the nature of the visible hand of government.
 Legitimacy of power 67
The visible hand of government
The main challenge to any government that wishes to appear as a guarantor
of contracts and of property rights rests upon upholding effective enforcement.
In general, this will be marred by what is sometimes known as ‘enforcement
swamping’. When deciding on whether or not to violate a given rule, indivi-
duals may be expected to weigh the potential benefits from rule breaking
against the size of the penalty and the risk of detection. On both counts,
government will face serious constraints that jointly increase the likelihood of
rule-breaking.
If the problem could be viewed simply as a matter of instrumental
rationality in weighing costs and benefits, it would always be possible for
government to ratchet up the penalty to a level where it will exceed the
potential benefit. This will hold irrespective of the size of the risk of detection
(for as long as it is above zero). Barring the most odiously repressive types
of regime, to whom the question of secure private property will in any case
be of little or no importance, prevailing norms concerning the proportionality
of penalties will act as a restraint. While introducing a death penalty
for speeding would surely have a dampening effect on such behaviour, it
would not be socially acceptable. If, on the other hand, the government
should attempt to raise the risk of detection, it would in turn be constrained
by a simple calculus of whether the costs of introducing truly effective
monitoring are motivated by the benefits from curbing the undesirable
behaviour. Again assuming a reasonably democratic regime, this will rarely
be the case.
Barring draconian penalties and all-intrusive surveillance, it follows that
we should expect pervasive rule-breaking. Indeed, as Douglass North once
remarked, ‘a neoclassical world would be a jungle and no society would be
viable’.21 The obvious solution to the problem again is that of internalized
norms.
The ideal case is elegant. Rules that are perceived to be legitimate will be
supported by internalized norms. As this will reduce the burden on enforce-
ment, it raises the risk of detection and as actors observe that others are not
getting away with breaking the rules, they will feel vindicated in their own
rationalization of rule-obedient behaviour as being in their own best interest.
The less happy case of ‘enforcement swamping’ will entail a process that
moves in the opposite direction. When rules are perceived to be illegitimate,
the inclination towards rule-evasion will be pervasive and as the incidence of
violations increases so will the burden on enforcement, which reduces the risk
of detection. As individuals observe others getting away with breaking the
rules, their own behaviour will be adjusted accordingly and a negative spiral
of self-reinforcement results.
Two important questions arise. The first concerns what it is, more specifi-
cally, that we understand by internalized norms, and what Robbins referred to
as ‘suitable institutions’. In order to appreciate the full complexity that is
68 S. Hedlund
involved here, we may recall what Albert Hirschman once had to say in an
exposé over ‘rival interpretations of market society’, namely that the transac-
tion as such, which forms the core of the market mechanism, is a dense cul-
tural environment, that ‘ … multiple acts of buying and selling characteristic
of advanced market societies forge all sorts of social ties of trust, friendliness,
sociability, and thus help keep society together’.22
This not only drives home why the respective understandings of homo
economicus and homo sociologicus are so far apart. By implication, it also
provides part of the answer to the second of our two questions, namely
to what extent achieving the happy outcome will be within the realm of
deliberate external agency. In his emphasis on the ‘cultural’ context of trans-
actions, Hirschman captures why economics cannot appreciate the extent to
which informal norms influence individual action:

Economists who wish the market well have been unable, or rather
have tied their own hands and denied themselves the opportunity, to
exploit the argument about the integrative effect of markets. This is so
because the argument cannot be made for the ideal market with perfect
competition.23

Returning to the visible hand of government, it will be possible by deliberate

outside agency to attempt to remove from the choice set of individual actors
such options that are against the common good. It is, however, less clear that
it will also be possible to achieve what Douglass North and Arthur Denzau
have referred to as ‘representational redescription’, namely a transformation
of internalized norms in such a direction that new rules are perceived to be
legitimate.24
Before we proceed to look at the complications that are involved here,
attempting to achieve outcomes that may not be within reach of deliberate
outside agency, we shall also look at the moral and ideological dimension of
private property. As this touches on the role of such informal norms that
surround law making, and that essentially draws the line between the rule
of law and the rule by law, it is not surprising that we have here a long
intellectual tradition of controversy.

Morality and legal tradition

From Antiquity onwards, Western cultural tradition has been marked by at
times heated debates regarding the role of private property. At the heart of
such debates lies the question of whether the right to property forms part of
man’s natural rights, or if it is determined by convention. Morally as well as
politically, we may see root causes here for strong emotions to branch out in
various directions, with diametrically opposed views regarding the
rightfulness of private property and the implications for the social order of
allowing some to own more than others.25
 Legitimacy of power 69
Is the right to property a birthright, to be protected by the state, or is it
perhaps the case, as the French nineteenth-century socialist Pierre-Joseph
Proudhon argued, that property in itself represents theft? If initial property
rights in land are vested in those who take first possession, then what about
the latecomers? And which are the moral consequences of the striving for
material possessions? Should we perhaps recall what Thorstein Veblen, the
founder of the American school of institutionalism, once said about the dif-
ference between making money and making goods?26 Is it perhaps the case
that financial market operations generate sets of beliefs and values that are
different from those generated by manufacturing activities? And, could this
explain why the task of financial market regulation is more challenging than
that of upholding contract and property law in other sectors?
The questions are legion, and answers will to a large degree depend on
ideological outlook. This said, it should be clear that questions concerning
the perceived morality of private property, and of deriving large incomes from
property, cannot be left out of the discussion. Seeking answers, we shall
pursue two separate but interwoven tracks.
The first represents the crucial influence of Roman law on the economic
development of the West. The core argument of the ancient Roman jurists
was that since the state had been created to protect the private property of its
citizens, it had no right to infringe in any way on that property. They in
consequence drew an important line between the power that is held by kings
(imperium) and the property that is held by individuals (dominium). It is when
the state fails in upholding this firm line of division that legally protected
rights to property will degenerate into possession that must be defended by
private force, with substantial implications for economic performance.
Taught in universities across the modern world, the main message of the
ancient Roman jurists has remained surprisingly constant over time. Roman
law has in consequence come to assume a normative influence. This said, it is
important to recognize that even within the same broad heritage there
emerged two distinctly different traditions, with different implications for
economic performance.
To illustrate, we may refer to a study by Rafael La Porta et al. that inves-
tigates empirically the determinants of the quality of governments in a large
cross-section of countries. Their findings are, inter alia, that countries with a
heritage of common law exhibit superior government performance. The sug-
gested rationale is that while the tradition of common law that emerged in
England was associated with an ambition to constrain government, the rival
tradition of civil law that emerged in France was designed to support gov-
ernment ambitions of state-building and of extending control over society,
and the same could be said for the tradition of socialist law that emerged in
the Soviet Union.27
The second of our two tracks concerns the parallel evolution of cultural
tradition, and of informal norms regarding the morality of the formal rules
that were being laid down. In the centuries that followed the original
70 S. Hedlund
formulation of Roman property law, the role of private property would give
rise to a series of disputes, not the least of which raged within the Christian
Church. In the general tradition, theologians would view the right to property
as distinct from more specific birthrights. In more specific cases, the wealth of
the monastic orders was hard to reconcile with the poverty of Christ. In con-
sequence, there emerged orders advocating abstention from property. The
main implication of the tradition as a whole concerns to what degree informal
norms would emerge to support the process of formal law-making on rights
to property.
Putting it more specifically, we may recall our emphasis on how the ideal
case of economic progression entails increasing formalization of rules that are
supported by internalized norms. In the English case, there is a tradition of
law-making that began with the Magna Carta in 1215, proceeding via the
separation of powers that was achieved by the Glorious Revolution of
1688–9, and is broadly supported by the psychological transformations of the
Scottish Enlightenment. Being highly conducive to market development and a
self-organizing society, the process as a whole culminated in the Industrial
Revolution.
In the case of France, it was the monarchy that prevailed, setting in motion
a long-term process of centralizing authority around the power of the French
state that was enshrined in the Code Napoleon and that undermined the
autonomy of voluntary association. In the case of Russia, finally, which was
not influenced by Roman law, a long tradition of autocracy and of weak
legitimacy for the judiciary was associated with a tendency to place morality
before the law that found a perverse culmination in Soviet socialist law.
Turning now to conclude the argument, we shall investigate what the
Russian experience may add in the form of a deeper understanding of the
problems that are associated with casting the state in its role as third party
enforcer.

The Russian experience

The main reason why the case of Russia will serve so eminently to illustrate
the points made above may be derived from the fact that in any account of
how Russia is somehow inherently ‘different’ from the rest of Europe, the
overwhelming emphasis tends to be placed on the country’s traditional patri-
monial regime. Developed by Max Weber and specifically applied to Russia
by Richard Pipes, the essence of the argument is that the absence of a clear
dividing line between power and property has provided Russia with the
distinction of being a sui generis, a regime not comparable to any other.28
Highly specific complications were added when the Bolsheviks proceeded to
introduce a formally utopian new social order, resting on nationalization of
all productive assets. What many have failed to understand is that this did not
represent an orderly transfer of well-defined legal rights to property from
private to state hands. What lurked behind the slogan of ‘people’s property’
 Legitimacy of power 71
was rather a reality where the rulers effectively suppressed the very institution
of rights to property in productive assets. As this reconnected with the old
Muscovite absence of a line of division between power and property, it effectively
erased the results of such reforms that had attempted, in the latter part of the
nineteenth century, to build institutions of property rights and due process.
The implications would come to the fore – with a vengeance – once
the time came to privatize the formally ‘state-owned’ enterprises that had
made up the core of the economy of the USSR. Over and above having to
recreate such formal rules and practices that are required for a meaningful
introduction of rights to property, it would also be necessary to recreate what
we may refer to, recalling what Greenspan had to say, as the ‘culture’ of
norms that surround and underpin such rights. The spectrum is broad,
ranging from an individual sense of respect for property in productive assets,
to a readiness to engage in productive entrepreneurship that is based on
exploiting secure property rights and in consequence requires legitimacy of
government.
In the wake of the collapse of the Soviet order, none of this was given much
consideration. Believers in the superiority of private over state property were
on the contrary prone to exude a strong sense of vindication. Since central
economic planning had rested on a complete suppression of rights to private
property in the means of production, its sudden demise was taken as con-
firmation of the liberal message of laissez faire, private property and a mini-
mal state. It was a heady brew indeed, prompting triumphant proclamations
of how the ‘grabbing hand of the state’ must be placed into the ‘velvet glove
of privatization’.29
The Russian ambition to undertake ‘systemic change’ followed in the wake
of neoliberal ambitions to promote the message of laissez faire across the
world of rules-based market economies. It was in consequence not surprising
that the project as such would be dominated by privatization of state prop-
erty. The belief in the salutary powers of private property was so strong that
the means were subordinated to the greater good of the end itself. The price
to be paid for thus placing means before ends, or for allowing private prop-
erty to become ideology, was that the whole point of the exercise, namely, that
of improving governance and efficiency in production, was lost.
What few were ready to contemplate was the fact that at times of great
dislocation accepted rules and ingrained modes of behaviour will be suddenly
suspended. Recognizing that rational choice theory has been successful in
analysing political outcomes in stable institutional settings, Robert Bates et al.
note that ‘in moments of transition, rules are ill defined, and symbols,
emotions, and rhetoric seem to count for more than do interests, calculations
and guile’.30 In a similar vein, Adam Przeworski notes that moments of
transition constitute moments of maximal uncertainty, implying that at such
times people may simply not know where their interests lie.31
Accepting that the link between private property and economic perfor-
mance must proceed via self-interest seeking, we may expand here also on
72 S. Hedlund
what Hirschman had to say about economics. The broader problem is that
social science as a whole remains poorly equipped to address and indeed
model under what circumstances the narrow pursuit of self-interest will be
conducive towards the greater good, and when it will degenerate into pure
greed, with consequences that are variously described as rent seeking, robber
capitalism, predatory states and outright kleptocracy.
The main lesson that the Russian experience may teach economics departs
from the fact that property rights protection will have characteristics of a
collective good, and that collective goods provision will in turn hinge on the
quality of social capital. As the latter cannot be divorced from cultural and
historical legacies, it follows that our previous emphasis on the link between
public and private norm formation, and the specific impact of government
action on the actual internalization of the latter, must be placed in focus.
Although sudden deregulation did allow a free rein for self-interest seeking,
the outcome would be marked not by the forward-looking instrumental
rationality of economic man but by a resurgence of legacies of distrust in the
law and in the judiciary, and of negative attitudes to self-enrichment by pri-
vate entrepreneurship, all of which may be led back to weak legitimacy of
government.
The sordid cases of how the Kremlin went about destroying Yukos, once
the country’s flagship private oil company, and how it clawed back much of
what foreign oil companies such as Shell and BP thought they had won in
Russia, may be used to illustrate the fragile role that has been played by
property rights in Russia’s ‘market’ economy, and to emphasize just how
meaningless it was to talk of placing the grabbing hand of the state into a
velvet glove of privatization. In lieu of seeking legitimacy, the Russian
government clearly viewed complicity as its best course of action.
This being the case, for all that may be said about gross violations of
property rights in the Yeltsin and Putin eras, it was also the case that never
before in Russian history had economic development been so intimately
linked to the role of private property as a driving force. Indeed, what served
to bring about the ‘oligarchs’ as a defining characteristic of the Yeltsin era
was the combination of private property and open borders. While corruption
and thievery were surely pervasive under the Soviet order as well, bureaucrats and
managers had no possibility of claiming private legal title to their loot and to
openly and brazenly stash it away in foreign bank accounts.
Thus accepting that even in its worst predatory forms, the Russian market
economy has been marked by pervasive entrepreneurship, we may round off
by recalling de Soto’s account of how the vast informal sectors that mark the
Third World emerge due to an inability or even unwillingness of the state to
extend well-functioning institutions of rights protection outside the modern
core of the economy. Perhaps the most important part of his account is the
repeated reference to Fernand Braudel’s portrayal of the early capitalist sector
of society as existing in a ‘bell jar’, cut off from and unable to expand into the
whole of society.32
 Legitimacy of power 73
While the power of self-interest seeking may be assumed to be universal,
outcomes will be determined by perceptions, and not only by whether indivi-
dual actors believe that they have secure rights to property or no more than
temporary possessions. The crucial question, for example, of who really wants
to be an entrepreneur, as opposed to remaining in state service, will be
determined by a combination of rational considerations of the security of
property, and of fundamental values regarding the legitimacy of deriving gain
from property. Unaccountable government will impact negatively on both.
What all of this would seem to indicate is that a liberal rules-based market
economy is achievable only by way of first aiming to create legitimacy and
accountability in government. Only thus may we hope for the emergence of a
public culture of respect for the golden rule that may translate into private
norms of respect for, and trust in, rights to property. Long lists can and
have been made of ways in which the visible hand of the state may undermine
the prospects for government to make credible commitments.
What still remains to be shown is how deliberate government agency
may achieve an internalization of private norms that entail perceptions of
government legitimacy and in consequence will support trust in private
property. While Hirschman has shown just how hard it is for economics to
conceptualize this problem, the Russian experience demonstrates just how
tricky it can be to achieve in practice.

Notes
1 Alan Greenspan, ‘Remarks by Chairman Alan Greenspan’, Federalreserve.
gov, June 10, 1997 (http://www.federalreserve.gov/boarddocs/speeches/1997/19970
610.htm).
2 Joseph E. Stiglitz, ‘Whither Reform? Ten Years of the Transition’, paper presented
at the Annual Bank Conference on Development Economics, Washington DC,
April 28–30, 1999 (http://siteresources.worldbank.org/INTABCDEWASHINGTON
1999/ Resources/stiglitz.pdf).
3 Alan Greenspan, ‘Remarks by Chairman Alan Greenspan’, Federalreserve.gov, June
10, 1997 (http://www.federalreserve.gov/boarddocs/speeches/1997/19970610.htm).
4 Alan Greenspan, The Age of Turbulence: Adventures in a New World (New York:
Penguin, 2008), p. 139.
5 Mancur Olson, ‘Why the Transition from Communism is so Difficult’, Eastern
Economic Journal, vol. 21, no. 4 (1995), p. 458.
6 Ibid.
7 For example Marshall Goldman, The Piratization of Russia: Russian Reform Goes
Awry (London: Routledge, 2003).
8 This argument is pursued at great length in Stefan Hedlund, Invisible Hands,
Russian Experience, and Social Science: Approaches to Understanding Systemic
Failure (Cambridge and New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011).
9 Hernando de Soto, The Mystery of Capital: Why Capitalism Triumphs in the West
and Fails Everywhere Else (New York: Basic Books, 2000).
10 Robert Putnam, Making Democracy Work: Civic Traditions in Modern Italy
(Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1993).
11 Richard Rose, ‘Living in an Anti-Modern Society’, East European Constitutional
Review, vol. 8, nos. 1–2 (1999).
74 S. Hedlund
12 J. Bradford De Long and Andrei Shleifer, ‘Princes and Merchants: European City
Growth before the Industrial Revolution’, Journal of Law and Economics, vol. 36,
no. 2 (October 1993), p. 674.
13 Mancur Olson, Power and Prosperity: Outgrowing Communist and Capitalist
Dictatorships (New York: Basic Books, 2000).
14 Avner Greif, Institutions and the Path to the Modern Economy: Lessons from
Medieval Trade (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), p. 7.
15 Ibid., pp. 7–8.
16 David Landes, The Wealth and Poverty of Nations: Why Some are so Rich and
Some so Poor (New York: Norton, 1999), p. 31.
17 See further Stefan Hedlund, Invisible Hands, Russian Experience, and Social Science:
Approaches to Understanding Systemic Failure (Cambridge and New York:
Cambridge University Press, 2011), pp. 139–44.
18 Jared Diamond and James A. Robinson (eds), Natural Experiments of History
(Cambridge: The Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 2010).
19 Stefan Hedlund, Russia’s ‘Market’ Economy: A Bad Case of Predatory Capitalism
(London: UCL Press, 1999).
20 Lionel Robbins, The Theory of Economic Policy in English Classical Political
Economy (London: Macmillan, 1952), p. 56.
21 Douglass C. North, Structure and Change in Economic History (New York:
Norton, 1981), p. 11.
22 Albert O. Hirschman, ‘Rival Interpretations of Market Society: Civilizing,
Destructive, or Feeble?’, Journal of Economic Literature, vol. 20, no. 4 (1982),
p. 1473.
23 Ibid.
24 Douglass C. North and Arthur T. Denzau, ‘Shared Mental Models: Ideologies
and Institutions’, Kyklos, vol. 47, no. 3 (1994), p. 21.
25 Richard Pipes, Property and Freedom (New York: Alfred A. Knopf, 1999).
26 Thorstein Veblen, The Theory of Business Enterprise (New York: C. Scribner’s
Sons, 1904).
27 Rafael La Porta, Florencio Lopez-de-Silanes, Andrei Shleifer and Robert Vishny,
‘The Quality of Government’, Journal of Law, Economics and Organization,
vol. 15, no. 1 (1999).
28 Richard Pipes, Russia under the Old Regime (New York: Charles Scribner’s Sons,
1974), p. 23.
29 Andrei Shleifer and Robert Vishny, The Grabbing Hand: Government Pathologies
and Their Cures (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998).
30 Robert H. Bates, Rui J.P. de Figueiredo Jr. and Barry R. Weingast, ‘The Politics
of Interpretation: Rationality, Culture, and Transition’, Politics & Society, vol. 26,
no. 2 (1998), p. 222.
31 Ibid., citing Adam Przeworski, Democracy and the Market: Political and Eco-
nomic Reforms in Eastern Europe and Latin America (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 1991).
32 Fernand Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism: 15th–18th Century, Vol. 2, The
Wheels of Commerce (Berkeley: The University of California Press, 1992).
5 Capitalism and Russian democracy
Boris Kapustin

That today’s Russian democracy is seriously unwell is an almost unanimously

endorsed contention. A major dissention from this concord consists in an
outright denial of its very existence. There is also a widely accepted list of
what Steven Fish calls ‘symptoms of the failure of democracy [in Russia]’
which includes electoral fraud, election-related coercion, arbitrary
exclusion of candidates and parties from electoral participation, constriction
of civil liberties, etc.1 The character and the causes of the malady which
befell Russian democracy, however, appear to be much more contentious
issues. This is what the present chapter intends to clarify. Our central
hypothesis is that the root of Russian democracy’s most flagrant deficiencies
can be discovered in how it has been appropriated and instrumentalized by a
kind of capitalism which entrenched itself in the post-communist Russia. The
angle from which we shall look at the failings of Russian democracy will
differ from the one typical of the dominant approaches to this subject. As
Richard Sakwa explained the latter characterizing his own approach, it focu-
ses on ‘the specific problems of Russian democracy, and not on the problems
facing democracy in Russia’, ‘let alone on what could be considered a general
crisis of democratic governance in the advanced capitalist systems’.2 Our
intention is, on the contrary, to use the ‘Russian case’ as a particularly
revealing instance, notwithstanding all its idiosyncrasy, of the general emas-
culation and profanation of democracy in the context of the headway of
financialized capitalism.

Prevailing explanations: a critique

The more conventional explanations of Russia’s democratic deficit point to
the incompatibility of its culture with democracy, to the limitations of its
democratic experiment imposed by the level of its economic development,
and to the decimation of the late-perestroika popular democracy by the mer-
cilessness of the neoliberal economic reforms of the 1990s.3 Apart from a
dubious character of the empirical evidence those theories try to rely on and
their slipperiness in the light of comparative studies, one common methodo-
logical flaw throws their weaknesses into relief – this is what contemporary
76 B. Kapustin
philosophy calls ‘essentialism’.4 None of the phenomena the aforesaid the-
ories claim to invariably interconnect, possess innate and immutable essences
which could have caused such an interconnection. Culture, democracy, whe-
ther popular or procedural, economy and its development and so on, as well
as the ways they are tied together, are constituted in and by particular his-
torical situations/contexts wherein all continuities emerge but as more or less
potent ‘variables’. If so, the ties between the said phenomena have to be
explained by their temporal and context-ridden concreteness, rather than by
their (fancied) eternal and context-independent essences. The very problématique
of the approaches mentioned above has to be reshaped. We should ask, for
example, what pitted which elements of Russian culture at the turn of the
twenty-first century against democracy, if we are to test a ‘culturalist hypoth-
esis’, rather than start out from a reified opposition between the two as
essences. Likewise, we have to enquire what exactly made the popular
democracy of the late perestroika period so defenceless before the neoliberal
onslaught and how its inglorious rout affected the profile of capitalism which
ensued hereby, rather than ascribe demonic omnipotence to neoliberalism
as such.
But this amounts to demystifying the research agendas of the approaches in
question. By no means can a culture as such resist or nurture democracy as
such. However, some social forces employing some specific elements of cul-
tural capital, alluding to Pierre Bourdieu, can combat other forces who may
try to utilize democracy as their ideological and strategic resource. The out-
comes of such confrontations, in accordance with the Scottish Enlightenment
understanding of the unintentional progression of history, can surprise both
sides and, in fact, lead to the establishment of procedural democracy as the
second-best choice of the contestants. As Dankwart Rustow showed, a full
victory of either side, regardless of its pro- or antidemocratic persuasions, is
least likely to conduce to the emergence of a well-functioning democracy.5 If
so, is not it an uninterrupted series of victories of the self-proclaimed Russian
democrats, including 1991, 1993, 1996 and onwards until the rise of Putin,
which made this very rise possible and democracy so ugly (if not defunct)?
The anti-essentialist demystification reveals politics as a fundamental practice
which determines whether, how and why a given culture resists procedural
democracy, or a backward economy cripples it, or neoliberal marketization
uproots the shoots of popular democracy. These should be seen as political-
historical contingencies, rather than as manifestations of essences and inviol-
able laws (of what not), even if those contingencies acquire the same tenacity
and relentlessness as Max Weber’s capitalism – ‘the most fateful force in our
modern life’.6
Another set of explanations believed to be alternative to those which we
have just discussed suffer from the same defect of essentialism. Does not it
manifest itself in attributing democracy’s failure in Russia to its natural
resource abundance? If the two are short-circuited without the mediation by
political struggles and structures of domination the ‘resource curse’ appears
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 77
as a natural, not a political phenomenon, which makes many important
democratic experiences, beginning with the nineteenth-century United States
and ending with today’s Norway, Botswana or Australia, look incomprehensible.
An explanation of democracy’s deficit which emphasizes insufficient liber-
alization of the Russian economy and its undue étatization does not fare
much better. Even if this is an issue in Russia, it remains to be demonstrated
theoretically that étatization understood as a direct and crude advancement of
the state into economy (and other spheres of social life) is more subversive
of/incompatible with democracy than those more sophisticated, creeping,
efficient and ineluctable forms of surveillance and management which typify
‘advanced’ Western societies and which Foucault assembled under the rubric
of ‘governmentality’.7 Moreover, there are strong reasons to believe that in
today’s Russia étatization implies excessive ‘flexibility’ of the structures of the
state, rather than their ‘rigidity’, their seizure by rival private interests and
their instrumentalization by competing rent-seeking strategies, which have
nothing to do with dirigisme and which result in the incapacity of the state to
‘regulate’ economy – in the sense of its (in-) ability to pursue any consistent
industrial, structural or social policy.8 That excessive ‘economic statism’9 may
be a flip side of a ‘collapsing state’ which at the same time undermines
democracy through its incapacity to govern, not by its overbearing and
minute regulations, can be disclosed only by a specific situation-oriented
political analysis determined to shun any ‘essentialistic’ linking of étatization
and democracy.
Another popular explanation of Russia’s democratic deficit finds its super-
presidentialism to be a culprit.10 Much of the criticism levelled at the ‘essentia-
listic’ short-circuiting of étatization and democracy equally applies to this
theory. Sometimes, however, commonsensical impressions are more edifying
than (certain) theories: Yeltsin’s superpresidentialism was a combination of
impotence and buffoonery. It made a travesty of the ‘pre-eminence of the
presidency’ in Russia. The weakness of Russia’s judiciary and the irrelevance
of its legislature can be better explained by what Karl Marx described as
bureaucracy’s ability to have the state in ‘its possession, as its private prop-
erty’11 than by the superpresidentialism’s ‘intrinsic’ propensity to hoard power
and to tread on other constitutional branches of the state. Such privatization
of the state is but a specific manifestation of the potentially boundless élan
vital of the neoliberal privatization of the human universe as well as proof
that Russia was victimized by it more severely than most other post-communist
nations. The ideological guise of Putin’s regime should not mislead us in
thinking that much has changed in this respect since Yeltsin’s grotesque
superpresidentialism. It is truly indicative that just about 20 per cent of all the
president’s errands and orders were completed on time in 2010 and this was
declared an impressive improvement over what had taken place earlier when
only 15 per cent of them had been carried out on time(!). The sociologists
aptly describe this as ‘administrative nonsense’12 and this is the reality of
Russian superpresidentialism!
78 B. Kapustin
If the theories mentioned above are recognized as unconvincing, one can
wonder if a standard liberal assumption which underlies all of them and
which maintains that freedom associated with, or embodied in, democracy
can be thwarted only by authoritarian state power still deserves to be upheld.
Perhaps the main conclusion of our critical overview of the explanations of
the Russian democratic deficit should be that the antithesis of democracy and
authoritarianism does not have any real effect on contemporary Russia
exactly because the country shows its inability to construct, or in the
Hayekian sense to ‘let grow’, either democracy or authoritarianism.13 Some-
thing in Russia has corroded and attenuated both of these political tendencies.
Moreover, they seem to be increasingly shedding their political character and
the distinction between them on practice is being blurred.
Are such things as electoral fraud, election-related coercion and so on,
really the symptoms of the malady which afflicts Russian democracy, as many
authors suppose? Those who think so often refute themselves with their own
empirical observations of the following kind:

Conditions in post-Soviet Russia, however, scarcely necessitate such sup-

pressions. From Putin’s actions, one might think that Russia resembles
Germany on the verge of Nazi takeover or Chile on the eve of the mili-
tary coup of 1973. But post-Soviet Russia has never bristled with politi-
cized, combative organizations that are deeply rooted in society and
capable of mass mobilization. Putin moves against independent groups as
if they were dangerous. Yet they posed little more than irritations.14

What transpires from this is that those repressions, which we mistook for the
symptoms of a political decease ruinous of Russian democracy, are redundant
for the self-perpetuation of the existent regime. They are not dictated by its
modus operandi. Whatever explains them, from the schizophrenia of the rulers
to the interested show of self-importance by the law/lawlessness-enforcing
agencies, we need to look for other symptoms which would reveal the true
nature of the decease Russia suffers from. One of the most worrisome
amongst them seems to be exactly that such a profoundly undemocratic,
albeit not authoritarian and highly inefficient regime15 could easily survive
without repression and falsifications, that is, it could thrive in an undeserved
social and political tranquillity. This is what begs for an explanation.
We will try to explain this through the disempowerment of democracy by
the Russian peripheral capitalism, i.e. democracy’s detachment from emanci-
patory struggles and its reduction to procedures, whether they are strictly
observed or not.16 But such disempowerment of democracy is by no means
unique for Russia. This is evidenced by an unstoppable growth of disparities
between the rich and the poor since the early 1970s across the world of
affluent capitalist democracies (the Netherlands seems to be the only excep-
tion in this respect). In some countries, like the United States, the gaps
between the rich and the poor have reached their historical peaks.17
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 79
Moreover, those escalating disparities severely discriminate against the
already underprivileged minorities thus considerably undermining the egali-
tarian achievements of the earlier phases of democratic struggles.18 If, as
Seymour Martin Lipset asserted, it is not poverty as such but the magnitudes
of inequality that breed political radicalism19 then the aforesaid looks as a
bad omen not only for Russia but for the West as well. But is it really? Where
is the politically tangible radicalism which Lipset expected to be brought
about by such tendencies, if we do not mistake it for the one those senseless
riots that shake the cities of the Western world from time to time? Does not
this prove that the capitalism which has profoundly disempowered democracy
utilizes it as its shield, as a method of squandering those ‘rage capitals’ with-
out whose accumulation and purposeful employment a transformative poli-
tical action is impossible?20 To be utilized in this fashion, democracy must be
decoupled from justice and this is a link which, theoretically speaking, makes
democracy ‘legitimate’ and, in a sense, self-sustainable. This is particularly
important for the ‘transitional’ societies in which democracy remains largely
‘unconsolidated’.21 How does capitalism, and which kind thereof, appropriate
democracy so fully as to disconnect it from justice?

On rational capitalism and irrational capitalism(s)

In this chapter, we will use Fernand Braudel’s conception of capitalism which,
in Giovanni Arrighi’s apt recapitulation, is presented as follows: ‘capitalism …
is “the top layer” of the world of trade. It consists of those individuals, net-
works, and organizations that systematically appropriate the largest profits,
regardless of the particular nature of the activities (financial, commercial,
industrial, or agricultural) in which they are involved’.22
This definition is valuable for at least two reasons. First, it judiciously
avoids lumping capitalism and the market together. For Braudel, the market
is a different layer of economic life characterized by regular buying and sell-
ing activities whose rewards are more or less proportionate to the costs and
risks involved in these activities. In history, we can observe diverse types of
the market, but what all of them have in common, except for those which
have been subdued by the ‘logic of modern capitalism’, is that they embodied
the exchange between independent producers (sometimes mediated by the
merchants) with production still serving as its basis. The conquest of the
market(s) by ‘modern capitalism’ dramatically changes this: ‘Commerce no
longer appears here as a function taking place between independent produc-
tions for the exchange of their excess, but rather as an essentially all-embracing
presupposition and moment of production itself ’.23 It is this conquest which
creates (an analytically false) appearance of the sameness of capitalism as
such and the market as such. However, the conversion of commerce into ‘an
all-embracing presupposition’ of production itself not only posits the
(uniquely capitalist) market at the very centre of the capitalistic socio-economic
formation, but it raises a daunting question about the functions of production
80 B. Kapustin
in and for capitalism. Marx still defines capitalism as a mode of production
and praises David Ricardo for a direct identification of ‘the self-realization of
capital’ with production.24 But Marx himself envisaged the possibility of
skipping the central mediating instance of the transformation of money into
commodities in his general formula of accumulation of capital {M-C-M’}
and its streamlining into {M-M’}. The latter emblematizes the movement of
‘pure capital’ which as such ceases to be productive.25 The ‘pure capital’ is
financial capital. It yearns to escape the curse of materiality, of the necessity
to produce use-values as the vessels of value and for fleeing from it to the
ether of pure speculations. The specificity of Russian peripheral capitalism has
to be understood as determined by both the (basically unrealizable) envious
craving to imitate this parasitic model of ‘hyper-capitalism’ and the immova-
bility of the curse of the crudest materiality possible, i.e. of the economy
centred around natural resources, as a function of serving the dominant
financialized capitalism of the centres of the global system. The euphemism
of ‘marketization’ of Russia stands, in fact, for the creation of this type of
subservient and peripheral capitalism.
Second, if we see the connections between capitalism and the market(s) as
historically contingent rather than intrinsic, then we can grasp much more
dramatic distinctions between different types of capitalism than those which
the methodologies of the ‘varieties of capitalism’ allow for and this is another
advantage of Braudel’s approach to capitalism (and that of Max Weber, as we
will shortly show). Whatever the differences between such methodologies may
be, they employ one or another set of institutional factors to demonstrate the
variations of the ways in which the activities of the firms are coordinated
thereby specifying the types of capitalism.26 All of them, however, rest on two
major taken-for-granted assumptions – a) that capitalisms differ in how mar-
kets are regulated, not in how they are subverted, bypassed and used as a
strategy which one group of (dominant) interests pursues against other
(subordinate) groups thereof; b) that capitalisms are, after all, about the
production of the ‘wealth of nations’, rather than about the manipulation of
consumption by means of skyrocketing sovereign and private indebtedness
which is without even a theoretical chance of being paid back and which is
propped up and ‘kept going’ by nothing other than the hegemonic position of
the OECD nations in the global system.27 These days, both assumptions look
increasingly suspicious and their critical examination makes us rethink a
classical divide between ‘rational capitalism’ and ‘irrational capitalism(s)’ as it
was explicated by Max Weber.
On the most fundamental level, rational capitalism differs from the irra-
tional one(s) by that, in the former, greed for gain is restrained in such a way
that it adopts a form of action aimed at ‘a systematic utilization of goods or
personal services as means of acquisition’, at the achievement of the excess of
the periodically estimated money value assets over the (invested) capital. This
is immediately, without any explanations or qualifications, related to material
production (capital as such is defined as ‘estimated value of the material
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 81
means of production used for acquisition in exchange’).28 Irrational capital-
ism(s), still embodying Braudel’s ‘systematic appropriation of the largest
profits’, contrariwise, operates without such restraints and without its con-
sequent channelling into productive activities. This is not to say that irrational
capitalism is bereft of that instrumental rationality which typifies any capita-
listic pursuit of gain. But in many situations, the logic of cost-benefit optimi-
zation may impel seeking favours from the rulers, or to seize power as a
means of enrichment, or to sell the national interests to anyone offering the
greatest bid, instead of toiling on ‘a systematic utilization of goods and ser-
vices’. All such moves would be impeccably instrumentally rational were it
not for Weber’s restraints which are extrinsic to them and which make them
impossible (or even unthinkable). But what if such restraints are not there?
Addressing this question, Weber outlined six types of capitalism amongst
which a ‘political’ one seems to be the most important, at least as a general-
ized antithesis to rational capitalism.29 Political capitalism embraces different
modes of fusion of property and state power, brought about either by the
private interests’ colonization of the latter or by the bureaucratic subjugation
of private capitalism along with the ‘privatization of the state’.30 The methods
of operation of those different modes of fusion of property and power vary
from outright racket and extortion (approximating what Weber called ‘booty
capitalism’) to selling and capitalizing on public goods turned into private
privileges to the joint ‘public-private’ embezzlement of state coffers to
the illegal or quasi-legal redistribution of wealth from the worse-off classes to
the best-off ones.31
As to the restraints which make capitalism rational, i.e. productive and as
compelling as the ‘fateful force’, Weber just rearticulates a venerable socio-
theoretic tradition which stretches at least from Adam Ferguson’s discussion
of ‘national objects’ as non-negotiable props of ‘commercial society’ to
Hegel’s insistence that private property can be held only ‘in virtue of my
participation in a common will’ to Schumpeter’s conception of non-capitalistic
‘flying buttresses’ of capitalism and of the impossibility of any social system
‘based exclusively upon a network of free contracts’ between self-interest
maximizers.32 However those restraints are described, they are commonly
construed as an institutional-cultural complex that is not directly subordinate
to the law of value but that secures its more or less smooth operation
unattainable as a full-blown and unimpeded realization of its inherent logic.33
Ironically, it is a vestige of the nineteenth-century evolutionism in the
Weberian sociology, whose fundamental theoretical thrust is unmaking and
overcoming of both ‘progress’ and historical determinism, that makes Weber
believe in the indestructibility of the rationalizing restraints of capitalism.
Rational capitalism is identified as modern capitalism. Its later versions may
be spiritually impoverished and pettily selfish, but they are believed to be
securely based on the ‘mechanical foundations’ which do not need cultural/
ethical commitments any longer to stand firmly. Let it be a nightmarish ‘iron
cage’ wherein modern ‘nullities’ dwell, but it will serve as a system of
82 B. Kapustin
unbreakable institutional restraints whereby unstoppable rationalization of
capitalism, and by the same token of the world, is ensured.34 But can this
‘iron cage’ be dismantled?
A prosaic explanation of how this can happen points to the refocusing of
capitalism in the centres of the global system from industrial production to
the foreign investment and commercial banking as a predominant way of
solving the profitability problems. As Robert Brenner explains,

By the end of 1970s the attempt of manufacturers especially in the US to

invest their way out of the profitability problems had failed dismally,
despite unprecedented Keynesian spending, record low real interest rates,
and huge dollar devaluation. Instead, historically unmatched public defi-
cits and loose money had brought about runaway inflation and historically
unprecedented current account deficits.35

which threatened the dollar’s status as key currency. From that time onwards,
Keynesianism, industrialism and material productivity as such were forsaken
as the key elements of capitalism’s modus operandi. It started to evolve rapidly
towards financialized capitalism. An new era was ushered in then – an era of
debt addiction, of consumption increasingly untied from production, of spec-
ulations and machinations viewed as the ‘best’ way to make money (‘casino-
capitalism’), of new forms of enmeshing of private vested interests with state
bureaucracies which directly led to that financial indiscipline and ‘soft budget
constraints’ for which the defunct socialism was castigated by neoliberal
economists,36 of pressuring working classes, and then middle classes, into
compliance with a rediscovered weapon of ‘uncertainty’ (disguised as an
inevitable outcome of entering a hyper-modern ‘risk society’), etc. Ironically,
it was the arch-conservative Ronald Reagan who presided over this unravel-
ling of Weber’s old-fashioned rational capitalism and who can be credited for
the leadership of the transition from the ‘iron cage’ to what Ernst Gellner
wittily dubbed ‘rubber cage’.37
‘Rubber cage’ is a metaphor of what Deleuze theoretically described as
‘society of control’. A transition to the society of control by no means
enhances freedom, personal or collective. But it supplants the ‘Foucauldian’
forms of inculcating disciplines within spaces of enclosure, made obsolete by
the (progressing) abandonment of the ‘productivist paradigm’, with the
‘ultrarapid forms of free-floating control’.38 The latter are more suitable for
the societies dominated by financialized capitalism in which indebtedness and
individualistic rivalries/emulations in the contexts of rationally inexpressible
anxieties and uncertainties serve as substitutes of the antiquated forms of
supervision and pressure (although the latter can never be fully discarded).39
This society and its typical forms of control look ‘ultramodern’. In fact, they
tend to restore the past order in some of its most archaic aspects – yawning
gaps between rich and poor, the latter’s disempowerment in the context of
what Mark Fisher calls the restored class warfare fought ‘only by one
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 83
side: the wealthy’,40 erosion of the public-civic dimension of political life and
its colonization by private interests, curtailment of the welfare state and the
respective subversion of social justice, ever-increasing upper-class power
threatening to ‘seize the state’ of which the scandalous bailouts of the roguish
financial behemoths is only a recent and grotesque manifestation, etc.41 Those
bailouts threw the new status of the market vis-à-vis financialized capitalism
into sharp relief. To be exempted from the dictates of the market through a
VIP access to the state’s power and coffers has become a sign of domination
and of occupancy of the ‘commanding heights’ of financialized capitalism.
Contrariwise, full exposure to the market is a stigma of inferiority and a
strategy whereby the weaklings, working classes in the first place, are segre-
gated from the goliaths of the ‘new economy’. Historically, this is nothing
new, but few anticipated that the ‘ultramodern’ capitalism would resuscitate
some of the infamous mercantilist practices of directly promoting a bunch of
handpicked crony companies and shielding them from the market. This
demonstrated that the market is no longer an ‘even’ milieu (of exchange and
competition) in which, or on the basis of which, capitalism operates. Rather,
it has become a method whereby oligopolistic financialized capitalism in
symbiosis with the apparatuses of the state (or of transnational power struc-
tures, as in the case of EU) marginalizes, oppresses and exploits the sector of
‘real economy’, its productive capacities and agencies.42
How does this type of capitalism which dominates the global system
impact that segment of its periphery which is called Russia? Raising this
question, we should be mindful of that this impact is always mediated in one
way or another by the policies, interests and class character of the wielders of
power in different segments of the global system’s periphery and, therefore, it
is never direct or automatic. Using this yardstick, Ivan Szelenyi and his
co-authors rightly distinguish between different types of capitalism arising in
the former ‘socialist’ world.43 The type of capitalism prevailing in Russia (and
some other post-communist countries) is described as a subcategory of
‘capitalism from above’ and dubbed ‘capitalists without capitalism’. Politi-
cally, it is brought about by the victory of ‘party bureaucrats’, a faction of the
late communist dominant class, over its competitors. The victors’ strategy of
accelerated and massive conversion of ‘political offices into private property’
was not in unison with, and often contravened, the construction of ‘free
market’ institutions, particularly those in labour and capital. The incon-
sistency or absence of structural policy, the underdevelopment or convolution
of legal institutions, the dismantling or neglect of welfare institutions, the
‘enthrallment of workers’, etc., are depicted as necessary implications of the
aforesaid strategy.44
‘Capitalists without capitalism’ is an awkward appellation of what is said to
be a subcategory of capitalism. It is clear, however, that it is meant to
emphasize a profoundly distorted character of the market (in error identified
with capitalism as such) from which the privileged actors are exempted and
which they use as a tool to exploit those who are not part of proper networks
84 B. Kapustin
of clientelist connections or lack necessary resources to resist state raiding and
extortions. However crude and all-pervasive such convolutions of the market
are, which makes them particularly harmful to both ‘real economy’ and
working classes, they are not totally dissimilar from how globally dominant
financialized capitalism turns the market into its instrument. There is an
important homology between the ‘ultramodern’ financialized capitalism
and what looks as a backward or immature version of the peripheral
capitalism45 – both in their specific ways remove the restraints which make
capitalism rational. This debunks the theoretically unwarranted expectations
that the ‘natural’ evolution of Russian capitalism and/or its deeper integration
into the global system will lead, through the emulation of Western patterns, to
the emergence of the ‘free market’ and liberal polity in Russia. Such an
emulation is likely to lead in the opposite direction, at least unless the cur-
rently dominant forces are overthrown. Rational capitalism, contrary to Max
Weber’s supposition, is not the highest stage of capitalism’s unwavering pro-
gression along the lines of rationalization. Rather, it is a historically con-
tingent possibility whose actualization depends on a cluster of circumstances,
including a political-economic character of those who perform the function of
‘capitalists’, which can coalesce or dissolve. It seems the times of its dissolu-
tion have come both in the centres and in the periphery (or in some segments
thereof) of global capitalism.46
Russian peripheral capitalism certainly shares the financialized capitalism’s
urge to eschew material production and this determines its fundamental
tendency to ‘delink pecuniary gain from contribution to real output’.47 Not
having to count with those (weakening) institutional, cultural-ethical, cus-
tomary restraints that still to some extent limit the cravings of financialized
capitalism in the West and having accomplished a much fuller seizure and
privatization of the state, Russian peripheral capitalism proved to be more
resolute and radical in its avoidance of contribution not only to modern
material production but to what normally accompanies it, fuels its progress
and benefits from it – modern science and education, particularly their com-
ponent of fundamental theory, public health care, promotion of culture
(irreducible to pop culture), and even minimal public safety, as the hellish
fires of 2010 or countless ‘anthropogenic’ catastrophes evidence. All this
taken together, produces a profound and multisided demodernization of
Russian society and economy, or, as Michael Burawoy calls it, their dramatic
‘involutionary degeneration’.48
Russian capitalism, however, cannot make a decisive move whereby the
dominant financialized capitalism tends to ‘unshackle’ itself from material
production, i.e. to relegate the latter to the periphery and to find itself on the
‘right side’ of a political-geographic divide between the world of consumption
increasingly based on indebtedness, speculations and financial bubbles on the
one hand and the world of production of the periphery on the other.49
Russian capitalism itself has been relegated to the peripheral world of pro-
duction and, notwithstanding all its cravings to mimic the parasitism of the
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 85
dominant financialized capitalism, it has to produce what it can to cater to
the insatiable consumption of the metropolitan centres of the global system.
But given the character of the Russian ruling class, determined by its origin
and composition, as well as its ‘involutionary-degenerative’ strategy of dom-
ination, Russia cannot produce anything exportable to the West, except for
minerals and hydrocarbons. This is Russia’s politically generated and politi-
cally targeted ‘resource curse’: it is generated by the ruling classes’ enmesh-
ment in transnational flows of finance, resources, symbolic capitals and it is
targeted at all the outsiders of the sectors of finance, commerce, natural
resources extraction: it makes such outsiders redundant from the angle of the
Russian capitalism’s modus operandi.
This introduces a new conception of domination. It becomes uncoupled
from exploitation because Russian peripheral capitalism does not need the
majority of the population even as labour force. They should be kept on the
level of bare sustenance and prevented from messing with the accumulation
of capital. This is what the domination over the redundant implies. Normally
this is achievable through more efficient means than ‘physical violence’. How
does democracy enter this equation?

On the bondage and plight of democracy

From the outset of the post-communist transitions, democracy50 had to play a
paradoxical, if not an utterly impossible role. Western capitalist societies
showed that democracy is a latecomer to the arena on which modernity
‘unfolds’. The most fundamental ‘decisions’ – those which concern, first, ‘who
we are’ (issues of identity, territorial, social, cultural boundaries of the nation-
state) and, second, basic rules and regulations determining the institutional
framework of the ‘regime’ (including property relations and the principles of
governance) – have never been made democratically. Democracy is, by far,
too weak to grapple with such ‘unyielding problems’. It appears when they get
somehow ‘settled’ and when the ways in which they were ‘settled’ are already
covered by the ‘veil of ignorance’. Democracy’s competence has always been
restricted to much milder issues of ‘who gets what, when and how’ to allude
to Harold Lasswell’s characteristic of democracy.51
In the post-communist condition, however, everything has been turned
upside down. Some crucial elements of democracy, like universal franchise,
women’s rights, etc., preceded the advent of capitalism with its regime of
property as well as the ‘final’ settlement of ‘who we are’ (in the USSR,
Yugoslavia, Czechoslovakia, the GDR) while some others (competitive elec-
tions, basic political rights, etc.) emerged simultaneously with economic
liberalization and identity redefinition. The conundrum, in terms of the
democracy-capitalism nexus, seemed to be two-sided. On the one hand, if
capitalism is not taken for granted as something ‘natural’ then its introduc-
tion, which is seen as a forthrightly political process, does call for legitimation
(as any political phenomenon does) and it can only be provided by
86 B. Kapustin
democracy just because it is already there! But this is an impossible feat. It is
exactly because of the centrality of inequalities to the very modus operandi of
capitalism that it cannot be justified by the democratic ‘public reason’.
Alternatively, capitalism can make itself acceptable, or even desirable as a
realistically most efficient method of wealth creation (even if strikingly
unequally distributed). As Joan Robinson put it, capitalism ‘is cruel, unjust,
turbulent, but it does deliver the goods, and, damn it all, it’s the goods that
you want’.52 This would be an appeal to selfish consumers indifferent to the
‘common good’ (who are the protagonists of Schumpeter’s narrative about
democracy), rather than to normatively rational citizens. Still, a sort of
democratic legitimacy, however ethically vacuous, can be garnered by capit-
alism through its economic efficiency and productivity. But this is exactly
what is uncharacteristic of many versions of post-communist capitalism and
of the Russian capitalism with its effects of demodernization in particular.
A miracle, however, occurred: democracy did not and could not legitimate
post-Soviet capitalism(s) but, against apparently reasonable predictions and
apprehensions,53 it did not offer any noticeable resistance to capitalism. And
this was enough for capitalism to flourish – even without a ‘veil of ignorance’
it could easily forgo democratic legitimacy.
But besides legitimation, democracy was expected to provide another cru-
cial service to capitalism, that is, to ensure its rationality. The collapse of the
Soviet regime and the uprooting of much of (Bourdieu’s) doxa which quasi-
automatically regulated individuals’ behaviours on the level of everyday life,
on the one hand, and, on the other, the absence of those legal and cultural
restraints which rationalized capitalism in the West led to the dearth in the
post-communist Russia of what Claus Offe calls ‘noncontingent “givens”’ that
could determine the fixed parameters of ‘liberalization’ and thereby those of
capitalism. In such a situation, only vibrant democracy, implying both active
mass participation in politics and the establishment of procedures whereby the
wielders of power could be held accountable and timely removable from their
positions, could serve as a precondition of the emergence and development of
rational capitalism which, in the context of post-communism, could be no
other than ‘democratic capitalism’. The latter in the first place means that the
connection between capitalism and democracy is mediated by the robust
welfare state which in a sense appears as a precondition of both a more or
less well-ordered democracy and rational capitalism.54
In fact, this occurred nearly nowhere in the post-communist world55 and
certainly not in Russia.56 Democracy, or whatever of it materialized in the
course of perestroika and afterwards, failed to deliver even the rudiments of
the welfare state adequate to the post-communist condition or, minimally, to
defend what deserved to be salvaged from the ‘socialist welfare state’. More-
over, democracy failed to preclude a nosedive of the living standards of the
vast majority of the population, with more than a third of it living below the
breadline, or to mitigate the terrible consequences of this social calamity.
From all practical perspectives, for the Russian demos democracy proved to
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 87
be totally useless, to say the least. This Russian experience with democracy
is by no means unique.57 How can this bitter experience be explained and
what does it tell us about the association(s) between capitalism and
democracy?
Perhaps the least promising way to grapple with this question would be to
engage in comparing capitalism and democracy in abstracto as if they were
two independent ‘principles’ or entities which can intersect in one way or
another and hence our task would be to investigate how this actually occurs.
Classically, this was demonstrated by Robert Dahl. On the abstract level, he
claims that capitalism is persistently at odds with the values (of fairness,
equality, etc.) which democracy enshrines. Our empirical observations, how-
ever, inform us that democracies exist only in conjunction with the ‘market-
oriented economies’ while the latter can do without democracies and the
‘state-owned economies’ are nowhere found in tandem with democracies.58
This approach was adopted, elaborated on, refined by many writers who
came up with neat classifications of correlations between capitalism and
democracy. Arguably the most plausible one among them pinpoints four basic
types of such correlations: 1) capitalism supports democracy; 2) capitalism
subverts democracy; 3) democracy subverts capitalism; 4) democracy fosters
capitalism.59 It is exactly because on the abstract level of values the affinity
between capitalism and democracy can be as readily demonstrated as the
discord between them60 that the examination of their correlations would never
take us anywhere beyond the survey of the existent ‘points of view’ on this
problem.
It can be said that on the level of theory, as distinguished from those of
empirical observations and normative pronouncements concerning con-
gruence/incongruence between the values of capitalism and democracy, the
problem of their correlation has not been satisfactorily solved. This, however,
does not deter many of those who are involved in studying the so-called post-
communist transitions from relying on certain assumptions which imply quite
a degree of certainty regarding how democracy and capitalism interact in
practice. The single most important assumption is that transitions to political
democracy are incompatible with even minimally palpable social and eco-
nomic transformations. The price of democracy is said to be the continuity
and integrity of all those structures of oppression and exploitation which rest
on the institution of private property and its class-based unequal distribution
(as distinguished from those oppressive-exploitative structures which utilize
distinctions unspecific to the accumulation of capital, e.g. ethnic, religious,
gender divides, etc.). Politically speaking, this means a unilateral demobiliza-
tion and unconditional surrender of the Left and, to use Przeworski’s word-
ing, a universal acceptance of the formula of transition to democracy typical
of the Right, the formula which harnesses democracy to the preservation of
private property.61 This formula is presented as universal, i.e. as explaining
all kinds of transitions to democracy no matter where and when they
took place.62
88 B. Kapustin
This is an unambiguous presentation of the relationship between capitalism
and democracy which leaves no doubt regarding the former’s capture and
subjection of the latter. This explains democracy’s decoupling from justice
with everything this implies for both63 as well as its inability to deliver any
tangible goods to the demos. Moreover, this explains a twofold mutation
which democracy underwent in capitalism’s captivity. First, democracy ceased
to mean a type of agency, i.e. demos, and a mode of its activity, i.e. practice of
its power, and started to designate exclusively a type of procedures, as if those
were operating on their own.64 Second, democracy ceased to be about
emancipation;65 it even ceased to be about ‘remedying evils’ which John
Dewey still believed to be its key function.66 In fact, the only (honestly)
thinkable criterion of its success has become its self-perpetuation. As
Schumpeter put it,

By ‘success’ I mean no more than that the democratic process

reproduce itself steadily without creating situations that enforce resort to
non-democratic methods and that it cope with current problems in a
way which all interests that count politically find acceptable in the
long run.67

Of course, a pivotal element of this formulation is that only those

interests count which can destabilize the status-quo. Majorities often cannot
do this.
A considerable demerit of the aforesaid universal formula of democratiza-
tion, however, is that it sounds as if it were a description of ‘objective’
ineluctable rules of emergence of modern democracies, rather than a desig-
nation of a common denominator of outcomes of some political struggles
which are contingent by definition, even if they leave an impression of una-
voidability. After all, a pivotal political question is as follows: is the surrender
of the Left an integral element of the ‘logic’ of the rise of modern democracy
(presented as inherently helpless regarding social and economic problems) or
does this logic spring from their failures, or probably sometimes from the
compromises they are forced to make with the dominators? What this
dilemma is really about is not whether we can have an alternative to democ-
racy as a method (with all the representativeness and proceduralism it
involves). Rather, it is about how and in whose interests this method is
employed and about whether it can serve as a tool of ‘remedying evils’ the
underprivileged suffer from.
A clue to this which we can get from history is that modern democracy
always appears on the scene of history as resistances of the underprivileged
many to the ‘evils’ they are exposed to thanks to the privileged few. Such
‘evils’ are not always, or only indirectly, attributable to capitalism, but in most
cases they are related to private property and its uneven distribution and from
the turn of the nineteenth century onwards these are increasingly turned into
capitalistic phenomena. Such resistances are always uncompromisingly
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 89
counted by the dominators, at least until they realize how costly their stub-
bornness can be due to the resolve of the dominated. General Ireton’s dis-
missal in the Putney Debates of 1647 of the Levellers’ demands to grant to
the poor the rights to participate in political life as incompatible with social
order as such,68 the nineteenth-century liberals’ diehard struggles against
enfranchising the demos which Lord Macaulay exquisitely articulated
through likening the advent of democracy to another invasion of the Huns
and Vandals, this time engendered within the ‘civilized’ countries, instead of
befalling them from without,69 the British conservatives’ lambasting of liberal
democracy (sic!) in the 1970s as both self-destructive and pernicious to the
‘market based economy’,70 which not accidentally followed the democratic
upheavals of the preceding decade – these are just some ideological milestones
of the dominators’ fight against democracy.
The gravity of such fights shows that democracy is not always as innocuous
vis-à-vis social and economic problems as one can conclude from the post-
communist transitions while their outcomes evidence that they have been very
rarely, if ever, decidedly won by the working classes and other groups of the
dominated. The most that the dominated could achieve in this respect was to
make the existent forms of oppression too costly for the upper classes to
uphold them or to credibly threaten the regime with their disloyalty71 which
would push the reluctant dominators towards compromises and concessions.
In some cases, political democratization truly led to important modifications
of the mode of operation of capitalism, of which the partial decommodifica-
tion of the labour force thanks to the evolvement of the welfare state is a
telling example. However, their magnitude and ramifications have always
remained under the dominators’ strategic control which determined that the
results of the aforesaid struggles and compromises never overstepped the
boundaries of ‘capitalist democracy’, that is, democracy plus capital’s dom-
ination.72 But this certainly does not mean that the weaker the Left is the
smoother the transition to democracy will be and the sooner it will ‘con-
solidate’ (in any other sense than just ‘another structure of domination’).
Contrariwise, the stronger the Left is the profounder the dominators’ conces-
sions will be and the more robust democracy will ensue from this. Barrington
Moore, Jr. may be perfectly right in his famous assertion ‘no bourgeois, no
democracy’,73 but this should probably mean that the bourgeois is indis-
pensable for the struggles that give birth to democracy and galvanize it in his
capacities as either its protagonist or its antagonist. Democracy, as any other
major historical phenomenon, cannot be ‘authored’ by any privileged actor
(middle classes certainly included).74 Its only workable wellspring, as Rustow
correctly observed, is a gridlock in which all political rivals are hopelessly
entrapped with democracy being nobody’s ‘original or primary aim’ (no
matter what the concomitant rhetoric may be).75 This is the only situation in
which important concessions conducive to democracy can be extorted from
the powerful through the active and relatively independent policies of the
dominated.
90 B. Kapustin
Conclusion
What do the aforementioned arguments, if they can be granted some plausi-
bility, imply for Russia? The political gridlock resulting from ‘prolonged and
inconclusive struggles’ between ‘well-entrenched forces’, which is a wellspring
of democratization according to Rustow, just never occurred in Russia (and
many other post-communist nations) during, or on the eve of, its so-called
transition. The much overblown conflict between the ‘reformist’ and ‘tradi-
tionalist’ factions of the Soviet nomenklatura never corresponded to Rustow’s
depiction of the political impasse conducive to democratization, let alone the
fact that it was a family feud between two groups of dominators. The domi-
nated had nearly nothing to do with it and very little to benefit from it.
Stephen Kotkin rightly stresses that the mainstream studies of the anti-
communist revolutions are focused ‘disproportionately, even exclusively, on
the “opposition”’ whereas it was the communist establishment itself ‘where
collapse happened’76 and which, albeit somehow institutionally reconfigured,
never ceased to be the ‘commanding height’ from which the ‘transition’ was
largely orchestrated. Instead of ‘prolonged and inconclusive struggles’, the
‘reformers’ easily outmanoeuvred the ‘hard-liners’ or co-opted them, along
with the leaders of the ‘democratic opposition’, to produce a new ruling class
of, for the lack of a better term, bureaucratic bourgeoisie. A very low level of
elites’ turnover in the processes of the post-communist ‘transitions’, typical of
all ex-socialist countries but particularly striking in Russia, is but empirical
evidence to this.77
This dominators’ unchallenged possession of economic and political power
or, more precisely, of what Bourdieu might have called a mode of conversion
of political capital into economic and cultural capital and the other way
round enabled them to relatively easily and politically inexpensively disarm
and demobilize even those popular democratic movements which once proved
their might and resilience by ramming the communist state when its elites
were yet unprepared to trade it for the advantages of the capitalistic dom-
ination.78 In Russia, where such movements have never been really robust,
their marginalization and the concomitant total concentration of the business
of politics in the hands of the bureaucratic-capitalistic elites might have been
accomplished sooner (anyway, before the crash of 1998) and more con-
sistently and thoroughly than anywhere in East-Central Europe.79 Thence-
forth, procedural democracy in Russia has been finally disconnected from
justice and has become irrelevant to whatever the demos may understand as
its interests. This is not totally dissimilar from what Tocqueville described
under the combination of ‘peaceful slavery’ with ‘some of the external forms
of freedom’ under democracy, provided that the awkward and peripheral
Russian capitalistic state is neither willing nor capable of defending and pro-
moting this characteristically modern kind of unfreedom with as much gen-
tleness, thoughtfulness and parental care as a better organized and more
affluent Western democratic state is expected to exhibit.80 In both cases,
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 91
however, ‘the external forms of freedom’ do not need to be shattered to
maintain ‘peaceful slavery’.
In the era of neoliberal supremacy, financialized capitalism and the demo-
cratically useless democracy as its auxiliary can ideologically credibly present
themselves as the only game in town in the mode of infamous but invincible
TINA. The trouble is that TINA refers to the social and economic fruitless-
ness of democracy, not just to its procedures and techniques. The ideological
justification of such a useless democracy is based exactly on shifting our
attention from what it can or should deliver to how intrinsically beautiful it is
in its own right, namely as an end- and value-in-itself. This is a particularly
efficient ideological move which the dominated are prone to fall prey to and
which ensures discounting of the actual failings of the really existing democ-
racies through their imaginary relation to a nearly Platonic eidos of taintless
(fully legitimate) democracy as such.81
This ideological move rests on an analytical distinction between two major
qualities/functions of democracy (which in different contexts may overlap
in one way or another) – effectiveness and legitimacy.82 The ideological
attraction of this distinction consists in that if democracy proves to be socially
ineffective it can be said to possess legitimacy independently of its practical
uselessness. Some writers extend this argument and turn it into a statement
that everyone (sic!) has a tendency to dislike dictatorship and prefer democ-
racy independently of the latter’s influence on the distribution of wealth
because (s)he cares about freedom associated with democracy.83 Theoretically,
such assertions are wrong on two counts. First, as has been compellingly
demonstrated, legitimacy can have an independent meaning only as a legal
principle as long as the presupposition of natural law, namely of ontological
morality whereby the actual societal institutions can be unequivocally judged,
is upheld. Volonté générale as the only thinkable political substitute for the
ontological natural law is totally impracticable under the conditions of capi-
talistic democracies and therefore legitimacy as an ‘independent variable’
should be recognized as ‘a passé theme’.84 This means that legitimacy has
become inseparable from effectiveness and stands or falls with the latter. This
is why, as we already mentioned, either democracy serves justice and therefore
is legitimate or, being severed from justice, it cannot lay claim to legitimacy.
Second, to believe that institutions as such guarantee freedom regardless
of how they are employed in the actual political practices is a clear sign of
fetishism. Freedom is, or rather can be, a characteristic of certain types of
human practices whereby we (partly) overcome some determinations inherent
in a situation in question and thus (temporarily and conditionally) turn our-
selves into ‘autonomous’ agencies and never can it be an attribute of (whatever)
institutions as such.85 In the ‘real world’ of the era of neoliberalism, the
independent legitimacy of democracy devoid of effectiveness can mean only
hopelessness – that acquiescence with the status-quo which is dictated by the
perceived closure of the future, namely the disappearance of credible alter-
natives and the transformation of capitalism into our ‘fate’ (pace Weber).
92 B. Kapustin
‘Fate’ is an antithesis of ‘modernity’, as it has been perceived since Enlight-
enment. And this is probably why in today’s Russia a widespread disregard
for democracy is combined with a no less widespread (passive and heedless)
acceptance of it which enables that feeble democracy to weather even such
catastrophes as the financial-economic collapse of 1998. Its unimportance is
its lifebelt.
Does this mean that in today’s Russia and elsewhere democracy, to use
Vladimir Lenin’s idiom, really appears to be ‘the best possible political shell
of capitalism’?86 I think it is not quite so. Whatever the structural and func-
tional ties between the state and capitalist economy whereby the latter
instrumentalizes the former, political competition amongst elites and the
concomitant vying for popular support under democracies leaves an opening
for the mobilization and articulation of the ‘rage capital’ made indissoluble in
the ‘Manufactured Will’ (Schumpeter)87 by the increasingly dysfunctional
character of capitalism which has so thoroughly subdued democracy.
Capitalism is by no means causa sui. As any other major historical phe-
nomenon, it depends for its vitality and dynamism on something which it
finds in the cultural-historical milieu of its development and appropriates for
its needs while being unable to reproduce this with the help of its own speci-
fically ‘capitalistic’ mechanisms of operation. What are such resources, vitally
important for capitalism but irreproducible by it? Trying to answer this ques-
tion, many theorists focused on what Schumpeter famously called pre-capitalist
‘flying buttresses’ of capitalism.88 It is exactly capitalism’s ‘success’, i.e. its
attainment of purity and maturity through the removal of the remnants of
pre-capitalist formations that is seen as an omen and a cause of its downfall.
It may be even more worthwhile, however, to look at some non-capitalistic
‘buttresses’ of capitalism which are coeval with capitalism. These are demo-
cratic resistances to capitalism in the first place. It is through such resistances
that, for example, capitalism had to technologically innovate to adapt itself to
shorter working hours and greater employees’ benefits, or to doggedly strug-
gle to diminish the costs of production to promote mass consumption of
affordable goods to buy the lower classes’ loyalty in the periods of deterring
the ‘danger of socialism’ when it was taken more than seriously. This is truly
a ‘hidden history’ of capitalism,89 that is, a history of how its economic
vigour and progress were supported and boosted by democratic political
resistances and credible threats to it.
Now these times are, at least for the time being, gone. A threat of socialism
has evaporated and democracy looks so profoundly tamed that no democratic
resistances of any real importance can be anticipated from it. But did not we
learn from Schumpeter that capitalism would be imperilled by its ‘success’,
rather than by its ‘failure’? ‘Financialization’ is capitalism’s ‘success’ beyond
any historical comparisons. It tends to liberate capitalism from the curse of
material production and thereby from the threats and pressures coming from
labour.90 It unshackles capitalism from political and moral restrictions and
legal regulations and it sets capitalism loose on the boundless spaces of the
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 93
‘global market’. Last but not least, it subdues and instrumentalizes democ-
racy. But this hitherto unthinkable triumph of capitalism destroys its ‘but-
tresses’ and subverts the impulses of its development. The present financial
debacles and the increasing instability of global capitalism seem to be the
harbingers of much more dramatic further developments. Will Russia with its
particularly hapless democracy and socially destructive capitalism serve as a
catalyst of such events, as a weak link in the global chain, to slightly para-
phrase Lenin’s metaphor? Or will democracy throughout the world reassert
itself as a worthy opponent of capitalism thereby saving the world from
another ‘century of wars and revolutions’?

Notes
1 See Steven Fish, Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open
Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 30ff.
2 Richard Sakwa, The Crisis of Russian Democracy: The Dual State, Factionalism
and the Medvedev Succession (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2011), p. viii.
3 See a critique of these approaches in Steven Fish, Democracy Derailed in Russia:
The Failure of Open Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 2ff.
4 For a scathing critique of ‘essentialism’ and an exposition of its harmfulness for
social sciences, see Stephan Fuchs, Against Essentialism: A Theory of Culture and
Society (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 2001).
5 See Dankwart Rustow, ‘Transitions to Democracy. Toward a Dynamic Model’,
Comparative Politics, vol. 2, no. 3 (April 1970), pp. 344–53.
6 Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism, trans. by Talcott
Parsons (London and New York: Routledge, 1992), p. xxxi.
7 See Michel Foucault, ‘Governmentality’, in Graham Burchell, Colin Gordon and Piter
Miller (eds), The Foucault Effect: Studies in Governmentality (Chicago: University of
Chicago Press, 1991). In our further reflections, we shall draw more on Gilles Deleuze’s
conception of the ‘societies of control’ (Gilles Deleuze, ‘Postscript on the Societies
of Control’, October, vol. 59 (Winter 1992)), rather than on Foucault’s ‘governmentality’,
as more befitting the reality of contemporary financialized capitalism.
8 For a good analysis of rent-seeking strategies and how they materialize in a
double phenomenon of expansion of intrusive bureaucratic apparatuses and their
inefficiency, sometimes bordering on the disintegration of the organizations in
question, see James Buchanan, Gordon Tullock and Robert Tollison (eds), Toward
a Theory of the Rent-Seeking Society (College Station: Texas A & E Press, 1980).
For how this specifically applies to Russia, see Steven L. Solnick, Stealing the
State: Control and Collapse in Soviet Institutions (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1998), especially Chapter 8 which extends the analysis to post-
communism. See also Joel S. Hellman, Geraint Jones and Daniel Kaufmann, ‘Seize
the State, Seize the Day’: State Capture, Corruption, and Influence in Transition
(Washington, DC: World Bank Institute, 2000).
9 See Steven Fish, Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open
Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), pp. 139ff.
10 Ibid., pp. 193ff.
11 Karl Marx, ‘Contribution to the Critique of Hegel’s Philosophy of Right:
Introduction’, in Robert C. Tucker (ed.), The Marx–Engels Reader (New York:
W.W. Norton, 1978), p. 24.
12 Alexei Petyaev, ‘Eto upravlencheskii Nonsens’, Slon.ru, June 21, 2010. http://slon.
ru/articles/414962.
94 B. Kapustin
13 On this, see Stephen Holmes, ‘Conclusion: The State of the State in Putin’s
Russia’, in Timothy J. Colton and Stephen Holmes (eds), The State after Com-
munism: Governance in the New Russia (Lanham, MD: Rowman & Littlefield,
2006), especially pp. 303ff.
14 Steven Fish, Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open Politics
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), p. 271. I fully agree with this
observation which explicitly rejects a once popular parallel between the post-
Soviet Russia and the disintegrating Weimar Germany; see Stephen Hanson and
Jeffrey Kopstein, ‘The Weimar/Russia Comparison’, Post-Soviet Affairs, vol. 13,
no. 3 (August 1997) and Aleksandr Yanov, Posle Yel’tsina: Weimarskaia Rossiia
(Moscow: Kruk, 1995). In a nutshell, what fundamentally opposes one to the
other is the utmost intensity of political life driven by sturdily institutionalized
forces in the latter versus progressing depoliticization ( pace Carl Schmitt) in the
former with its (often) spiritless puppet imitations of political agencies. This, in its
turn, has to be juxtaposed with the two very different types of capitalism, typical
of today’s Russia and Weimar Germany, and their dissimilar positions within the
world capitalist system.
15 By such inefficiency, I mean the regime’s inability to more or less adequately fulfil
those functions whose execution determines a state as a ‘modern state’ – from the
provision of physical security to its population to the promotion of macro-
economic stability to the maintenance of robust safety-net programs. Otherwise,
this is known as ‘state (in)capacity’. For more on this with specific focusing on
post-Soviet Russia, see Thomas Remington, ‘Democratization, Separation of
Powers, and State Capacity’, in Timothy J. Colton and Stephen Holmes (eds), The
State after Communism: Governance in the New Russia (Lanham MD: Rowman &
Littlefield, 2006), pp. 261 ff; Michael McFaul, ‘State Power, Institutional Change,
and the Politics of Privatization in Russia’, World Politics, vol. 47, no. 2 (1995),
pp. 214ff.
16 Such a procedural disempowerment of democracy clearly defies its original
meaning which emphasized the ‘power’ (of the people) as ‘capacity to do things’
and certainly not ‘majority rule’, either direct or through representation, which
was ‘intentionally pejorative diminution, urged by democracy’s Greek critics’, in
Josiah Ober, ‘The Original Meaning of “Democracy”: Capacity to Do Things,
Not Majority Rule’, Constellations, vol. 15, no. 1 (2008), p. 3.
17 See David F. Prindle, The Paradox of Democratic Capitalism (Baltimore: The
Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008), pp. 238–48; Lane Kenworthy and Jonas
Pontusson, ‘Rising Inequality and the Politics of Redistribution in Affluent
Countries’, Perspectives on Politics, vol. 3, no. 3 (2005).
18 See Pew Research Center, ‘Wealth Gaps Rise to Record Highs Between Whites,
Blacks and Hispanics’, Pew Research Center, July 26, 2011. http://pewsocialtrends.
org/files/2011/07/SDT-Wealth-Report_7-26-11_FINAL.pdf.
19 Seymour Lipset, Political Man (Garden City: Doubleday, 1960), p. 63.
20 See Slavoj Žižek, ‘From Democracy to Divine Violence’, in Giorgio Agamben, Alain
Badiou, Daniel Bensaïd, Wendy Brown, Jean-Luc Nancy, Jacques Rancière, Kristin
Ross and Slavoj Žižek, Democracy in What State? (New York: Columbia University
Press, 2011), p. 112.
21 Ian Shapiro, Democracy’s Place (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 1996), p. 108.
22 Giovanni Arrighi, ‘State, Markets, and Capitalism, East and West’, in Max Miller
(ed.), Worlds of Capitalism. Institutions, Governance and Economic Change in the
Era of Globalization (London and New York: Routledge, 2005), p. 127; Fernand
Braudel, Civilization and Capitalism, 15th–18th Century, vol. 1 (New York:
Harper & Row, 1981).
23 Karl Marx, Grundrisse, trans. by Martin Nicolaus (New York: Vintage, 1973), p. 408.
24 Ibid., p. 410.
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 95
25 On this, see Giovanni Arrighi, ‘State, Markets, and Capitalism, East and West’, in
Max Miller (ed.), Worlds of Capitalism. Institutions, Governance and Economic
Change in the Era of Globalization (London and New York: Routledge, 2005),
pp. 128ff. The so-called Marginalist Revolution, enunciated by Léon Walras, Carl
Menger, Stanley W. Jevons and others, signalled a reorientation of economic
thought from production towards the market which resulted in an unabashed
identification of the entire economy with a system of markets. See Richard
Swedberg, ‘Markets as Social Structures’, in Neil Smelser and Richard Swedberg
(eds), Handbook of Economic Sociology (New York and Princeton: Russell Sage
Foundation and Princeton University Press, 1994), pp. 259ff. No matter how
idealistically, this reorientation did reflect an initial phase of a tectonic shift from
‘productive’ to an increasingly financialized unproductive capitalism, the fruits of
which we started to reap nowadays. We should not overlook, however, that in a
broader Marxian sense even financialized capitalism remains productive: it keeps
on producing and reproducing those social relations of subordination and ‘alie-
nation’ which typify it as capital, even though this ceases to be mediated (in the
metropolitan centres of global capitalism) by the material production of commo-
dified use-values. The materially unproductive capitalism, moreover, can intensify
its production in terms of social relations, as a recent tendency of the recommo-
dification of the labour force brought about by the neoliberal (counter-)revolution
unequivocally evidences. See Albena Azmanova, ‘Capitalism Reorganised: Social
Justice after Neo-liberalism’ Constellations: An International Journal of Critical and
Democratic Theory, vol. 17, no. 3 (September 2010), pp. 391ff.
26 What seems to have become a ‘classical’ account of such factors includes a financial
system, a system of industrial relations, an education and training system, and a
system of intercompany relations. See David Soskice, ‘Divergent Production
Regimes: Coordinated and Uncoordinated Market Economies in the 1980s and
1990s’, in Herbert Kitschelt, Peter Lange, Gary Marks and John D. Stephens
(eds), Continuity and Change in Contemporary Capitalism. Cambridge Studies in
Comparative Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999), pp. 101–34.
For a compelling critique of this approach, broadening and rethinking a set of
factors which contribute to the emergence of ‘varieties of capitalism’ and refocusing
on the impact exerted on them by the ‘financialization of economics’, see Robert
Boyer, ‘How and Why Capitalisms Differ’, Economy and Society, vol. 34, no. 4 (2005).
27 Not to repeat the data on the irretrievable and constantly rising sovereign debts of
the leading capitalist democracies, which have already exceeded or are approx-
imating 100 percent of the GDP, let us compare three figures. The US sovereign
debt around mid-2011 amounted to $14.3 trillion, deficit cuts under the new plan
adopted in the same year must comprise $2.1 trillion by 2021 and the unfunded
future Social Security and Medicare obligations, according to a 2010 estimate, will
approximate $78 trillion, in Fareed Zakaria, ‘The Debt Deal’s Failure’, Time,
vol. 178, no. 6 (2011), p. 33. Either economically or politically or both, the situa-
tion will get beyond anybody’s control. This is paralleled by a dramatic upsurge of
the family debt in nearly all Western nations (for the data on Britain, see Toby
Helm and Daniel Boffey, ‘Ministers Admit Family Debt Burden Is Set to Soar’,
The Guardian, April 2, 2011) which seems to be the only way whereby the econ-
omy may hope to avoid being hit by government budget cuts. This is how living
beyond one’s means is boosted on all fronts by the logic of unproductive capitalism
having already become a social and economic norm.
28 See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York:
Routledge, 1992), pp. xxxi, xxxii. In fact, Weber writes that ‘capitalism may even
be identical with restraint … of this irrational impulse’ of greed. In Max
Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York: Routledge,
1992), p. xxxi.
96 B. Kapustin
29 Hans H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills (eds), From Max Weber: Essays in Sociology
(New York: Galaxy Books, 1946), pp. 66–7; see also David Lane, ‘Post-State
Socialism: A Diversity of Capitalisms?’, in David Lane and Martin Myant (eds),
Varieties of Capitalism in Post-Communist Countries (New York: Palgrave
Macmillan, 2007), p. 14.
30 The former method is vividly described by Hayek’s conception of ‘bargaining
democracy’, see Friedrich Hayek, Law, Legislation and Liberty, vol. 3 (Chicago:
The University of Chicago Press, 1979), pp. 99ff. The latter, with an eye on post-
communism, is captured by Jadwiga Staniszkis who usefully revived the very term
‘political capitalism’. Jadwiga Staniszkis, ‘“Political Capitalism” in Poland’, East
European Politics and Societies, vol. 5, no. 1 (1990).
31 The more violent methods of this kind are described by Vadim Volkov, in Vadim
Volkov, Violent Entrepreneurs: The Use of Force in the Making of Russian Capit-
alism (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2002) and the ‘milder’ ones are
examined by Joel Hellman and his colleagues. Joel S. Hellman, Geraint Jones and
Daniel Kaufmann, ‘Seize the State, Seize the Day’: State Capture, Corruption,
and Influence in Transition (Washington, DC: World Bank Institute, 2000).
32 See Adam Ferguson (ed.) by Fania Oz-Salzberger, An Essay on the History of
Civil Society (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1995), pp. 131ff; Georg
Hegel, Hegel’s Philosophy of Right, trans. by Thomas M. Knox (Oxford: Oxford
University Press, 1967), p. 57; Joseph Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism, and
Democracy (New York: Harper & Row, 1976), pp. 139, 417.
33 Bob Jessop, ‘Capitalism and Democracy: The Best Possible Political Shell?’, in
Gary Littlejohn, B. Smart, J. Wakeford and N. Yuval-Davis (eds), Power and the
State (New York: St. Martin’s Press, 1978), p. 17.
34 See Max Weber, The Protestant Ethic and the Spirit of Capitalism (New York:
Routledge, 1992), pp. 123, 124.
35 Robert Brenner, ‘After Boom, Bubble and Bust. Where Is the US Economy
Going?’, in Max Miller (ed.), Worlds of Capitalism. Institutions, Governance and
Economic Change in the Era of Globalization (London and New York: Routledge,
2005), pp. 208ff.
36 For some striking and increasingly salient parallels between financialized capital-
ism on the one hand and defunct Soviet economy on the other, see Oane Visser
and Don Kalb, ‘Financialised Capitalism Soviet Style? Varieties of State Capture
and Crisis’, Archives européennes de sociologie, vol. 51, no 2 (2010).
37 Ernest Gellner, ‘The Rubber Cage: Disenchantment with Disenchantment’, in Ernest
Gellner, Culture, Identity and Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1987).
38 Gilles Deleuze, ‘Postscript on the Societies of Control’, October, vol. 59 (Winter
1992), p. 4.
39 It is well-known that inexpressibility of grievances sustains the existent structures
of oppression. However, it can explode as the pure destruction of politically pur-
poseless riots leading nowhere and targeted specifically at nothing. For a discus-
sion of this in relation to the recent riots in British cities, see Harry Eyres, ‘When
Words Fail Us All’, Financial Times, August 20/21, 2011, p. 16. They tend to
become a new plague of capitalist democracies: unproductive economy cannot but
spill over into unproductive politics.
40 Mark Fisher, Capitalist Realism: Is There No Alternative? (Winchester: O Books,
2009), p. 29.
41 For the discussion of the archaic aspects of the neoliberal (counter-)revolution, see
Pierre Bourdieu, ‘For a Scholarship with Commitment’, in Pierre Bourdieu Firing
Back. Against the Tyranny of the Market (London and New York: The New
Press, 2003), pp. 22ff.
42 The parasitic domination of the sector of financialized capitalism manifested itself
most aggressively and arrogantly three years after the severest financial crisis,
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 97
which ‘Wall Street’ engendered, it is awash with riches and is as financially ‘heal-
thy’ as it has ever been while the governments which rescued it and the ‘Main
Street’ which covered all the multi-billion expenses incurred by the rescue opera-
tions are hopelessly indebted. See Richard Milne and Anousha Sakoui, ‘Rivers of
Riches’, Financial Times, May 23, 2011, p. 7.
43 See Gil Eyal, Ivan Szelenyi and Eleanor Townsley, Making Capitalism Without
Capitalists: The New Ruling Elites in Eastern Europe (London: Verso, 2000),
pp. 159–96, especially pp. 166, 184. Those types of capitalism are distinguished by
such criteria as the forms of property relations, the means and degree of the state
regulation of the economy, the levels of development of capital and labour mar-
kets, the nature of the welfare state institutions, the type of capitalist actors and
the degree of their ‘classness’, etc.; see Gil Eyal, Ivan Szelenyi and Eleanor
Townsley, ‘On Irony: An Invitation to Neo-Classical Sociology’, Thesis Eleven,
vol. 73, no.1 (May 2003), pp. 12–13.
44 Gil Eyal, Ivan Szelenyi and Eleanor Townsley, ‘On Irony: An Invitation to
Neo-Classical Sociology’, Thesis Eleven, vol. 73, no. 1 (May 2003), pp. 14–15.
There are other well elaborated conceptions of the post-communist Russian
capitalism. See David Lane, ‘What Kind of Capitalism for Russia?’, Communist
and Post-Communist Studies, vol. 33, no. 4 (2000); Stefan Hedlund, Russia’s
Market Economy: A Bad Case of Predatory Capitalism (London: University
College London Press, 2000); Alexandr Tarasov, ‘“Vtoroe Izdanie Kapitalizma” v
Rossii’, Levaia Politika, no. 7 (2008). I drew on them insofar as they helped
clarify those aspects of it which are central to my approach focused on it being
formatted by the dominant class interests and by its placement within global
capitalism.
45 Some observers still attribute the deficiencies of contemporary Russian capitalism
to its immaturity as corresponding to such an early phase of capitalism’s ‘natural’
evolution as ‘primary accumulation of capital’, see Leon Aron, ‘The Strange Case
of Russian Capitalism’, in Leon Aron, Russia’s Revolution (Washington, DC: The
American Enterprise Institute Press, 2007), p. 45. This is exactly what the argument
in this chapter opposes.
46 Talcott Parsons can be credited with probably the earliest theoretical critique of
the ‘absolute domination of the process of rationalization’ in Weber’s account of
capitalism which rests on an unfounded ‘attribution of historical reality to an
ideal type [of rational capitalism]’ then turned into a description of the modern
phase of capitalism. See Talcott Parsons, ‘“Capitalism” in Recent German
Literature: Sombart and Weber-Concluded’, Journal of Political Economy, vol. 37,
no. 1 (February 1929), p. 49.
47 James Millar, ‘Creating Perverse Incentives’, Journal of Democracy, vol. 10, no. 2
(1999), p. 88.
48 Michael Burawoy, ‘Transition without Transformation: Russia’s Involutionary
Road to Capitalism’, East European Politics and Societies, vol. 15, no. 2 (2001),
especially p. 270; see Alexandr Tarasov, ‘“Vtoroe Izdanie Kapitalizma” v Rossii’,
Levaia Politika, no. 7 (2008).
49 On the importance of this divide for the new capitalism, see Gilles Deleuze,
‘Postscript on the Societies of Control’, October, vol. 59 (Winter 1992), pp. 6–7.
Besides many other things, the establishment of such a political-geographic
separation is essential from a viewpoint of the further disempowerment of the
working classes before the neoliberal onslaught: it ensures the ‘dispersion of class
relations, alliances, antinomies across the four corners of the world’, not to men-
tion how it facilitates what Marx called the fetishism of conscience from which the
working classes suffer in the first place. See Jean Comaroff and John Comaroff,
‘Millennial Capitalism: First Thoughts on a Second Coming’, Public Culture,
vol. 12, no. 2 (2000), especially pp. 300ff.
98 B. Kapustin
50 For the purposes of this chapter, if not otherwise explicitly specified, we shall
adopt a so-called minimalist or procedural concept of democracy basically
derived from Joseph Schumpeter’s writings. It serves as a common denominator of
the mainstream interpretations of democracy in post-Soviet studies. In Schumpeter,
this concept embraces three major elements. First, democracy is a method
whereby political, legislative and administrative decisions are arrived at and by no
means an end in itself, or a ‘value’. Second, as a method, democracy is such an
institutional arrangement in which individuals acquire the power to decide by
means of a competitive struggle for the people’s vote held on the regular basis and
in an orderly manner. Third, ‘democracy is the rule of the politician’, it has
nothing to do with the ‘rule of the people’ (partly because ‘people’ as an agency
capable of volition does not and cannot exist in modern capitalistic conditions).
See Joseph Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (New York:
Harper & Row, 1976), pp. 242, 269, 284–5. Omitting some details of secondary
importance, Schumpeter’s concept of democracy is perfectly congruent with the
most recent ‘generic working definitions of democracy’, like the one put forward
by Schmitter and his colleagues: ‘Modern political democracy is a regime or
system of governance in which rulers are held accountable for their actions in the
public realm by citizens, acting indirectly through the competition and coopera-
tion of their representatives’, in Philippe C. Schmitter and Alexander H. Trechsel
(eds), The Future of Democracy in Europe. Trends, Analyses and Reforms
(Strasbourg: Council of Europe Publishing, 2004), p. 21.
51 See Claus Offe, ‘Capitalism by Democratic Design? Democratic Theory Facing
the Triple Transition in East Central Europe’, Social Research, vol. 58, no. 4
(1991), pp. 869ff; Harold Lasswell, Politics: Who Gets That, When and How (NY:
P. Smith, 1950).
52 Joan Robinson, Economic Philosophy (London: Watts, 1962), p. 139.
53 See Jon Elster, ‘When Communism Dissolves’, London Review of Books, January
25, 1990, pp. 3–6.
54 Claus Offe, ‘Capitalism by Democratic Design? Democratic Theory Facing the
Triple Transition in East Central Europe’, Social Research, vol. 58, no. 4 (1991),
pp. 877, 882, 891.
55 A nearly universal underdevelopment or outright suppression of the welfare state
in post-communist countries made Janos Kornai remark that, although the tran-
sition to capitalism has been completed in many of them, their transformation
into modern societies has not yet happened. In Janos Kornai, ‘Ten Years After
The Road to a Free Economy’, Annual World Bank Conference on Development
Economics (Washington, DC: The World Bank, 2000), p. 100. Kornai’s opposition
between capitalism and modernity roughly corresponds to my emphasis on the
failure of modern ‘democratic capitalism’ in Russia (and many other post-communist
countries) and the rise of ‘irrational capitalism’ in its stead.
56 Russia’s welfare expenditure is considerably smaller, as a percentage of GDP, than
in any Western capitalist democracy, including those representing the so-called
Anglo-American model of capitalism. Western Europe was not the only area with
record social expenditure. Social expenditure in Canada in 2001 amounted to 23.1
per cent of GDP, including education. In Australia, it was 22.5 per cent and 19.4
in the United States whereas in Russia it approximated 9 per cent, (World Bank:
http://siteresources.worldbank.org/SAFETYNETSANDTRANSFERS/Resources/
SN_Expenditures_6-30-08.xls”\t”_blank, pp. 6–7; safety net spending: http://www.
oecd.org.document/9/0,3746,en_2649_34637_38141385_1_1_1_1,00.html. Those who
accuse the current Russian regime of excessive ‘economic statism’ (see Steven Fish,
Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), pp. 139ff.), fail to distinguish between the state’s
involvement in the economy in its capacity of the state, namely as an institutional
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 99
representative and promoter of ‘public interest’ and as a tool of advancement of
some private interests which subordinated the state to their needs. The privatized
state cannot operate as a state by definition. In Paul Ricoeur’s terms, this is a
distinction between the ‘polity’ and ‘politics’ which in ‘real life’ always interact in
one way or another, but it is all-important which of them prevails in a given his-
torical context. See Paul Ricoeur, ‘The Political Paradox’, in Paul Ricoeur, His-
tory and Truth, trans. by Charles A. Kelbley (Evanston, IL: Northwestern
University Press, 1965), pp. 254–5ff. If this qualitative difference is lost, (an always
condemnable) ‘economic statism’ immediately assumes the functions of a spear-
head of neoliberal ideology.
57 For example, a recent United Nations survey found that 54.7 per cent of respon-
dents in Latin America would prefer a dictatorship to a democracy if it would
help to resolve their economic problems. In Michael Ross, ‘Is Democracy Good
for the Poor?’, American Journal of Political Science, vol. 50, no. 4 (October
2006), p. 860.
58 See Robert Dahl, After the Revolution?, rev. ed. (New Haven, CT: Yale University
Press, 1990), pp. 80–3.
59 Gabriel A. Almond, ‘Capitalism and Democracy’, PS: Political Science and
Politics, vol. 24, no. 3 (September 1991).
60 The proponents of the affinity between capitalism and democracy can always
point to such values that those ‘principles’ allegedly share as ‘freedom of choice’
(ignoring a substantive difference between political and economic choices) or
‘personal and group independence’ (bypassing how economic dependencies
caused by poverty or hiring/firing spill over into politics). See Steven Fish,
Democracy Derailed in Russia: The Failure of Open Politics (Cambridge: Cambridge
University Press, 2005), p. 140ff. Such arguments are no more and no less
compelling than those put forth by the believers in the enmity between capitalism
and democracy and neither contribute much to our understanding of actual
politics.
61 Adam Przeworski, ‘Democracy as a Contingent Outcome of Conflicts’, in Jon
Elster and Rune Slagstad (eds), Constitutionalism and Democracy (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 1988), pp. 72–80.
62 Ibid., p. 76.
63 On why their coupling is essential for putting social relations on a fairer footing
and the vibrancy of democratic life (and on how this can be accomplished), see
Ian Shapiro, Democratic Justice (New Haven, CT: Yale University Press, 1999),
especially Chapter 1. It seems that the triumph of neoliberalism was predicated on
the subversion of the link between democracy and justice.
64 See Richard Bellamy, ‘Schumpeter, and the Transformation of Capitalism,
Liberalism and Democracy’, Government and Opposition, vol. 26, no. 4 (October
1991), p. 502.
65 It is believed that democracy was deprived of ‘its former emancipatory resonance’
in the course of the Cold War when it was appropriated and employed as an
ideological weapon by the dominant forces of the West. However, some earlier
attempts by the dominators to appropriate democracy can be traced back to the
nineteenth century, including a notorious flirtation with democracy by Napoleon
III and part of his entourage. See Kristin Ross, ‘Democracy for Sale’, in Giorgio
Agamben, Alain Badiou and Wendy Brown (eds), Democracy in What State?
(New York: Columbia University Press, 2011), pp. 90ff., 97.
66 John Dewey, The Public and its Problems (New York: Holt, 1927), pp. 84–5.
67 Joseph Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (New York: Harper &
Row, 1976), p. 290.
68 David Wootton (ed.), Divine Right and Democracy (Harmondsworth: Penguin
Books, 1986), pp. 287, 296, 299ff.
100 B. Kapustin
69 Thomas Macaulay, ‘Macaulay on Democracy: Curious Letter from Lord
Macaulay on American Institutions and Prospects’, The New York Times, March
24, 1860. http://www.nytimes.com/1860/03/24/news/macaulay-democracy-curious-
letter-lord-macaulay-american-institutions-prospects.html.
70 Samuel Brittan, ‘The Economic Contradictions of Democracy’, British Journal of
Political Science, vol. 5, no. 2 (1975).
71 Historical sociologists compellingly demonstrate that the ruling classes’ conces-
sion to the extension of franchise in many cases was dictated by the necessity to
ensure the lower classes’ loyalty in the situation in which universal conscription
became a sine qua non of the military competiveness of modern capitalist states.
See Reinhard Bendix, Nation-building and Citizenship (New York: Wiley, 1964),
p. 94; Samuel E. Finer, ‘State and Nation Building in Europe: The Role of the
Military’, in Charles Tilly (ed.), Formation of National States in Europe (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 1975), p. 153.
72 See Goran Therborn, ‘The rule of capital and the rise of democracy’, New Left
Review, vol. 1, no. 103 (May–June 1977), pp. 34–5.
73 Barrington Moore, Social Origins of Dictatorship and Democracy (Boston:
Beacon Press, 1966), p. 418.
74 Harold Laski, Reflections on the Revolution of Our Time (New York: Viking Press,
1943), pp. 29–31.
75 Dankwart Rustow, ‘Transitions to Democracy. Toward a Dynamic Model’,
Comparative Politics, vol. 2, no. 3 (April 1970), pp. 344–5, 352–3.
76 Stephen Kotkin, Uncivil Society. 1989 and the Implosion of the Communist
Establishment (New York: Modern Library, 2010), pp. xivff.
77 Jacek Wasilewski, ‘Hungary, Poland, and Russia: The Fate of Nomenklatura
Elites’, in Mattei Dogan and John Higley (eds), Elites, Crisis, and the Origins of
Regimes (Lanham: MD: Rowman & Littlefield, 1998).
78 For how this was achieved in the ‘hardest case’ of Poland, see Wlodzimierz
Wesolowski, ‘The Nature of Social Ties and the Future of Postcommunist Society:
Poland after Solidarity’, in John Hall (ed.), Civil Society. Theory, History, Com-
parison (Cambridge: Polity Press, 1995); David Ost, The Defeat of Solidarity
(Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2005), especially Chapter 2.
79 It was only the extreme inaptitude of the Russian ruling class that caused its
internal rivalries to reach a climax in the bloodshed of October 1993, thus tainting
the otherwise easy process with open violence.
80 Alexis de Tocqueville, Democracy in America (New York: Harper & Row, 1966),
pp. 692–94.
81 This is what Juan Linz and his colleagues allude to by highlighting a not unusual
gap between people’s inclination to support democracy as such and their ‘serious
misgivings about how their particular democracy is actually functioning’. Cross-
country comparisons show that lower classes of different nations succumb to such
Platonism to varying degrees. See Juan J. Linz, Alfred C. Stepan and Yogedra
Yadav, ‘“Nation State” or “State Nation”? India in Comparative Perspective’, in
K. Shankar Bagpai (ed.), Democracy and Diversity: India and the American
Experience (Oxford and Delhi: Oxford University Press, 2007), pp. 86–8.
82 Seymour Lipset, Political Man (Garden City: Doubleday, 1960), pp. 77ff.
83 Jess Benhabib and Adam Przeworski, ‘The Political Economy of Redistribution
under Democracy’, Economic Theory, vol. 29, no. 2 (2006), p. 272–3.
84 Niklas Luhmann, Political Theory in the Welfare State, trans. by John Bednarz,
Jr. (New York: Walter de Gruyter, 1990), pp. 220, 222ff.
85 As Foucault appropriately reminded us, liberty is a practice; it is ‘what must be
exercised’. ‘I think that it can never be inherent in the structure of things to
guarantee the exercise of freedom’. In Michel Foucault and Paul Rabinow (ed.),
The Foucault Reader (New York: Pantheon Books, 1984), p. 245.
 Capitalism and Russian democracy 101
86 Vladimir Lenin, ‘The State and Revolution’, in Vladimir Lenin, Selected Works,
vol. 1 (Moscow: Foreign Language Publishing House, 1963), p. 296.
87 The ‘Manufactured Will’ of the electorate seems to be a crucially important out-
come of the operation of capitalist democracies as well as a key prerequisite of
their perpetuation. As Schumpeter writes, ‘What we have termed Manufactured
Will is no longer outside the theory, an aberration for the absence of which we
piously pray; it enters on the ground floor as it should’. In Joseph Schumpeter,
Capitalism, Socialism, and Democracy (New York: Harper & Row, 1976), p. 270.
88 Joseph Schumpeter, Capitalism, Socialism and Democracy (NY: Harper & Row,
1976), p. 139; see also Krishan Kumar, ‘Pre-capitalist and Non-capitalist Factors
in the Development of Capitalism: Fred Hirsch and Joseph Schumpeter’, in
Adrian Ellis and Krishan Kumar (eds), Dilemmas of Liberal Democracies
(London: Tavistock, 1983).
89 See Fred Block, ‘Towards a New Understanding of Economic Modernity’, in
Christian Joerges, Bo Straith and Peter Wagner (eds), The Economy as a Polity:
The Political Constitution of Contemporary Capitalism (London: UCL Press,
2005), pp. 14ff.
90 Such a tendency of liberation from the dependence on labour was described by the
Italian Autonomist Marxism writers as ‘the intrinsic “project” of capital’, as its
aspiration to avoid looking to ‘labor as its dynamic foundation’. In Mario Tronti,
‘The Strategy of Refusal’, Semiotext(e), no. 3 (1980), p. 32.
6 Democracy in Russia
Problems of legitimacy
Boris V. Mezhuev

In the course of a single century, Russia has lived through two revolutionary
upheavals, both of which changed its economic and social order in a funda-
mental manner. In the second decade of the twentieth century, Russia was
transformed, in the course of one year, from a monarchy with an unstable
constitutional basis and weak representative bodies, first into a democratic
republic and then into a Soviet state. The last decade of the same century
saw the collapse of a one-party regime and the advent of a presidential
republic.
Both of these political upheavals were accompanied by cries for democracy.
People who became the driving force of revolutionary process at least
initially called themselves democrats. The destruction of the old regime and
the emergence of a new order were presented as an unconditional triumph for
‘democracy’. However, the results of these transformations were disappointing
above all to those who acted in the name of ‘democratic values’.
Emerging at the beginning of the century as a result of the mobilization of
the masses (including soldiers), the revolutionary institution of power abol-
ished the Constituent Assembly. A representative body, it was legitimate from
the point of view of popular sovereignty having been elected in accordance
with rightful electoral legislation (for the first and only time in the history of
Russia prior to the 1990s). At the end of the century, the presidential regime
first disbanded the former representative institutions (the Soviets), and then
established a rigid ‘power vertical’, a system dominated by one party and
supported by practically the entire political elite. The actual path of Russia’s
political advancement contrasted sharply with the people’s aspirations for
democracy both at the beginning and at the end of the twentieth century.
Clearly, the political agendas in both periods cannot be entirely attributed
to those who called themselves ‘democrats’. Yet, democracy (variously inter-
preted) played the role of a distinctive vector of political modernization.
Departure from democracy was usually interpreted as a result of its deeper
understanding. Projected democracy and the actual outcome of democratic
development obviously did not match. However, such a mismatch indicated
that there was a certain historical logic at play, rather than merely Russia’s
imperfection and lack of longing for democracy.
 Democracy in Russia 103
Russia’s first democratic experience: factors of failure
The early twentieth century ‘democrats’ wanted to see Russia as a free and
democratic country. Yet, they also wished it to be a Socialist federal republic.
In this hypothetical country, the peasants would have been free to vote for a
party that represented their interests. Supposedly, this could have been a party
of socialist revolutionaries or some other moderate branch of revolutionary
populism, a popular socialist party. Beyond all doubt, such parties would
have carried out agrarian reform in the interests of the toiling peasantry, and
would at the same time have tried to limit the negative influence of urban
capitalism on the rural economy.
It stands to reason that the agrarian socialists were never planning to pro-
duce rapid industrial development through radical methods, by imposing
unpopular and economically unfavorable measures on the peasants if needed.
The early twentieth-century ‘democrats’ would have been very reluctant to
launch an industrialization project, which meant that by the 1930s they would
have faced the choice of becoming allies of renascent German imperialism or
becoming victims of its geopolitical ambitions. The defeat of Nazism was
possible because in Russia a group of revolutionary Marxist fanatics had
come to power by means of armed rebellion. These people were convinced
that they represented the interests of the industrial class and hence also
convinced of the necessity of rapid industrialization.
It is highly unlikely that the industrialization of Russia could have been
accomplished by strictly democratic means. It is also true that the measures
taken in the process of industrialization, such as the literacy campaign,
indirectly opened the way for a stable democratic development, in spite of all
the problems related to the excesses of collectivization and the overgrowth of
the repressive apparatus (let alone the obviously irrational and suicidal terror
of the late 1930s).
The aims of industrialization were visibly contradicted democratic prio-
rities, which dictated that the country should be ruled by representatives of
the poorest peasantry. Nevertheless, the steps that were taken in the course of
industrialization eventually served as a foundation for democratic develop-
ment in the country, as a class of educated intellectuals was created (engineers
and technicians) who, at the end of the twentieth century, were able to
challenge the communist system.

The second attempt at democratization: formative challenges

At the end of the same century, the ‘democratic’ project that was advocated
by the critics of the communist system was found not to comply with devel-
opmental priorities. ‘Democrats’ themselves were quick to retreat from the
Soviet form of ‘democracy’ that was self-proclaimed in 1989. The moment it
became clear that radical market reforms were needed, they were frightened
by the prospect of inevitable protests from the leftist opposition forces. Since
104 B. V. Mezhuev
that time, oppositional leftist forces have been denied access to real power and
to economic policy making.
A situation of tough civil confrontation was avoided by establishing a
popular leader-oriented regime, which relied on broad-based popular support.
Yet, it was also capable of providing personal safety and property guarantees
for the representatives of the new elites. However, the emergence of a leader-
oriented regime also created many new problems that hindered development.
Their resolution could only be achieved by creating new political institutions
that would provide Russian democracy with the necessary stability by mini-
mizing the influence of subjective factors in the political context, in other
words, by making this context independent of the actions of the particular
person exercising power.
While at the beginning of the twentieth century Russia faced the task of
creating an industrial foundation for civilized social development, it presently
not only needs to reactivate the industrial sector but also to revive the post-
industrial sector of the economy (fundamental and applied sciences, in parti-
cular), and to form a fully-fledged knowledge economy. Clearly, the current
developmental tasks are not the same as in early twentieth-century Russia.
What the creation of an evolved postindustrial society in Russia demands is
not market mobilization, but rather strengthening and safeguarding industrially
the democratic model of political development.
The task of transition to a ‘knowledge economy’, just as any other social
objective, influences the choice of political models of transformation. Today,
Russia should stimulate its intellectual class. Joining up with the progressive
segments in the business community and state officials, it would become the
principal target of the modernization process and, accordingly, the social
foundation of a stable democracy.
If Russia fails to strengthen its intellectual class, which during the economic
crises of the 1990s lost its influence and prestige in society along with
its best cadres and institutional resources then democracy in Russia is des-
tined to remain hostage to economic backwardness and its associated
social inequality. This developmental imperative will certainly need to be
perfected to comply with a democratic model that is less leader-oriented
and more reliant on the strength of state institutions and representative
power excluding the tyranny of oligarchic clans in the political arena.
The intellectual class should be provided with the necessary guarantees
of being able to bring its own interests to fruition and a break from
competition.
For many years, the intellectual class – scientists and the college faculties –
has not been sufficiently provided for. Salaries are below the critical mini-
mum. Natural science colleges and departments have often been denied
resources, which has greatly hampered their research.
Having experienced such conditions for many years have prompted intel-
lectuals to make a choice between seeking additional income, leaving their
professions, or leaving Russia. In the first instance, intellectuals have to
 Democracy in Russia 105
survive by ‘tutoring’ or by accepting ‘gifts’. In the second, the media, political
consultancy or the advertising PR businesses become the main source of
income. The third way, which would allow them to use their scientific
knowledge and to earn a reasonable living, is emigrating from Russia.
All three models of adaptation, chosen by droves of scientists and lecturers,
have a negative influence on the quality and quantity of scientific results pro-
duced by many different professional associations of the Russian intellectual
class. It is possible to say that the intellectual class in Russia is now at its
lowest point socially and culturally, not to mention its political power. How-
ever, it is this class that happens to be not only the creator of democracy in
contemporary Russia, leaving aside all the country’s disadvantages and faults,
but is also her most important social foundation. The erosion and frustration
of the intellectual class that is evidenced in many instances is slowing down
the transition to democracy in Russia.

Democracy as a condition for modern development

In his recent article ‘Democracy Assistance: Political vs. Developmental?’,
which appeared in an influential American publication, The Journal of
Democracy, Thomas Carothers, well-known American political scientist and
vice-president of the Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, suggested
that we distinguish between two points of view on the process of constructing
democracy. In accordance with a purely political approach (using Carothers’
terminology), the construction of democracy and any assistance in this pro-
cess should be aimed exclusively at transformations within the political
sphere.1 A major American organization that practices such an approach is
the National Endowment for Democracy, which is primarily focused on
financial assistance to oppositional forces in countries that the foundation
regards as authoritarian.
A different approach, advocated by most of the European foundations,
which to a certain degree was practiced in Russia also by USAID, focuses not
on the change of political regime but rather on the general orientation of
social development, as expressed in technological progress, level of education
and degree of openness in society with respect to new intellectual trends.
Carothers himself admits that American foundations are extremely politicized
in their choice of approach: until recently, authoritarian regimes that are
friendly with the United States have enjoyed the benefits of ‘stimulated
development’, while those viewed as less friendly have suffered the hardships
of ‘political competition support’.
In his article, Carothers reveals the sinister opportunism of this type of
‘democratic assistance’ and of its conceptualization. However, the real pro-
blem is that purely political measures do not always lead to the creation of a
stable democratic model. It also requires continuous attention to the demands
of cultural, economic and technological development that are made on the
state.
106 B. V. Mezhuev
Democracy cannot be the same in an agrarian country, in a country
undergoing industrial growth or in a country that experiences the need for
transition to a postindustrial order, to the ‘knowledge economy’.
However, this statement should not be viewed as an insignificant argument
in favor of authoritarianism and a curtailment of democratic institutions. If
the industrialization of Russia in the twentieth century had been performed
while retaining at least the rudiments of parliamentarianism, some sort of
civil control over the repressive organs, and with a less aggressive ideology, it
is likely that the price Russia had to pay for the transition to a modern society
and for the victory in the Great Patriotic War against Nazism might have
been smaller. It would have involved neither the sacrifice of qualified cadres
from the educated urban class nor the elite of the toiling peasantry.
In principle, classical democratization always involved participation on the part
of the middle-class peasantry, the self-reliant modest landowners whose pre-
sence in the political arena prevented the urban masses from sliding into
pointless radicalism. However, the preservation of representative bodies in rural
Russia was only feasible with the retention of some sort of property qualification,
which secured the victory of right-wing and liberal parties in the State Duma.
A more gradual industrialization of the state could have taken place by
preserving democratic institutions and simultaneously delaying the emergence
in Russia of an unqualified democracy, otherwise the coming into power of socia-
list revolutionaries who relied on the poorest peasantry would have become
practically inevitable. A gradual democratization of Russia might have taken the
entire century; however, the instant extension of election rights in 1917 would
have caused an immediate failure of all the institutions of competitive democracy.
In order to figure out what sort of independent path of political develop-
ment Russia may eventually take, we should analyze the major landmarks of
its post-Soviet democratic development. We should understand the main
components of this new political experience in its history (which cannot be
overlooked in the context of any sensible discussion of Russian democracy),
as well as its obvious negative aspects that to this very day prevent its transi-
tion from a leader-oriented democratic model to a stable institutional form of
democracy. The negative aspects are conditioned not only by the rather
unfavorable peculiarities of the Russian path of economic reform, but also by
the existence of a large number of the vestiges of traditional Russian political
culture with its unlimited trust in the ruling power. By singling out the basic
components of the new political experience in Russia, as well as its problems,
we will attempt to find out what kind of democratic model would be in
agreement with Russia’s current developmental tasks, and at the same time in
line with widely accepted standards of democracy.

Reasons for a democratic retreat

Considering the reasons for the failure of another democratic ‘wave’, mani-
fested in a series of so-called ‘colored revolutions’ in the middle of the 2000s,
 Democracy in Russia 107
one of the co-editors of the Journal of Democracy, Mark Plattner, in a fairly
recent article came to the conclusion that one of the reasons for ‘democracy
retreat’ (an expression coined by Plattner’s colleague, Larry Diamond) was a
fatal contradiction. It is the contradiction between two of the most important
imperatives of democracy: the demand for majority rule and the recognition
of individual and minority rights. Democracy should be founded on at least a
formal expression of the will of the majority. However, a one-man regime that
relies on the popular will while violating minority rights cannot be called
a liberal ‘democracy’. This dilemma is, according to Plattner, to blame non-
Western countries for all the difficulties of establishing democracy. Populist
regimes in South America immediately acquire leader-oriented characteristics,
while many of the regimes in, say, South-East Asia, which are proceeding
with economic reforms that inevitably increase inequality, are naturally
inclined towards authoritarianism.2
Although the populism/anti-populism dilemma – a pressing and painful
one, indeed also for Russia – is quite convincingly described in Plattner’s
article (as well as in the works of Larry Diamond or Fareed Zakaria, who are
probably more popular in Russia today), we shall argue that placing emphasis
on this ‘democratic bifurcation’ is insufficient for understanding the challenges
of political formation either in Russia or in other ‘new democracies’.
Indeed, if the problem was all about the need for a popular regime, which
would respect minority rights, then – from the point of view of democratic
ideals – we would find perfect order in a dictatorship that would manifest
tolerance with respect to all minorities, while relying on plebiscitarian popular
support. Frankly speaking, many contemporary foreign critics of the Russian
ruling power found some sort of similar ideal in the regime of Boris Yeltsin,
who was supported by the Western states when he decided to disband
representative power institutions in 1993.
In Russia, such rule is more often called ‘liberal authoritarianism’. The
main characteristics of this type of rule are the proclamation of its Western or
European nature, the emphasis on the necessity for an anti-populist economic
policy under the cover of populist rhetoric, and usually a declarative nation-
alist ideology. Many observers consider such a regime to be a ‘hybrid’ and
therefore unstable. Nevertheless it has a clear tendency in Russia to reproduce
itself constantly. Those in the West who led ‘the spread of democracy’ with
their theoretical models failed to realize that they had encouraged the rise of
unstable charismatic regimes which combined policy in favor of an elite min-
ority with rhetoric in favor of a populist majority instead of real, institution-
ally backed democracies. By applying an incorrect theoretical framework to
understand the peculiarities of the political consciousness of nations that
are moving towards democracy, the end result will be that of coming to a
dead end.
It is worth pointing here to those explicit adherents of the ‘liberal author-
itarian model’ among Western experts who, like Fareed Zakaria, have great
difficulty in classifying the post-Soviet regime in Russia, placing it among
108 B. V. Mezhuev
progressive ‘liberal autocracies’ or backward ‘illiberal democracies’. They do
not even consider the alternatives of ‘tolerant authoritarianism’ or ‘populist
elitism’ of the kind seen during Yeltsin’s first term of office.
It seems to me that the ‘democratic retreat’ in the years following 1991 was
conditioned to a great extent by precisely these serious theoretical flaws in the
dominant model of ‘democracy proliferation’. It is likely that this precise
model was employed by Western experts specializing in ‘assistance for democratic
construction’, on whose behalf Plattner speaks.
I think that the main problem of ‘democratic construction’ is somewhat
different. It was clearly manifested in Russia at the time of constitutional
confrontation between the President and the Soviets in 1992–3. Over and
above the legal aspects of this conflict, it is important to note the ethical
and political arguments that the presidential camp used to justify its stance, and
which in fact corresponded to the level of political culture and specifics of
popular awareness in post-communist Russia.
At that time, many democratically minded experts maintained that since
the presidential team was conducting reforms that were indispensable for the
country, and a nation-wide referendum had given the support of the majority
of the population for the president, he should be spared the trifling objections
of the representative bodies with significantly less legitimacy.
This line of reasoning itself reflected (albeit for conjunctural purposes) the
traditional attitude of Russians towards the supreme power, namely, limitless
confidence in its holder. In line with this reasoning, if there was a politician in
power who had the support of his people, then the minority opposition, as
well as other branches of power, does not have the right to control his actions.
Today, these same arguments can be directed against those who are calling for
democratic changes: if our Russia’s leaders are popular, on what grounds
can someone interfere with what they regard as an appropriate course of
action?
In fact, recurrences of a similar traditional (or should we call it ‘leader-
oriented’) attitude can be observed in Western countries as well, particularly
in those countries that have strong presidential systems. Proponents of this
attitude often try to relieve themselves of control on the part of representative
institutions by strengthening presidential ‘leadership’. An American historian,
Arthur Schlesinger, described this phenomenon in the United States, citing
the policies of Richard Nixon’s administration and the so-called ‘imperial
presidency’ model.3 However, the powerful institutional counterbalances that
exist in democratic countries with strong presidential rule (the United States
and France) effectively block a possible evolution towards plebiscitarian
democracy or a ‘leader-oriented’ model of power.

Democracy in Russia: the lack of legitimacy

The main challenge that Russia faces at its current stage of democratic
development lies in finding an answer to the following question: how can we
 Democracy in Russia 109
provide institutional stability for the Russian democratic model? And how can
we avoid the quite probable – in the case of economic or political crisis – slide
into a populist ‘leader-oriented’ regime that would recognize no institutional
limitations to its rule?
A major difficulty of this transition to a stable democratic model has to do
with the simplicity and general availability of the ‘leader-oriented’ model. On
the other hand, a contrary ‘model’, which is defined by institutional limita-
tions on the executive power, appears to be more difficult. It is based on a sort
of systemic distrust towards the bearer of supreme power, or to be more pre-
cise, the ruling power as such. The history of Russia presents us with recurring
instances of conflict between a ‘progressive’ leader and ‘stagnant’ institutions,
in which the leader-oriented model usually triumphs due to the predominant
mood of public consciousness. In this case, what can be the cause of systemic
distrust for a leader who enjoys the trust of the majority of people in the
country?
Before we speak about certain objective premises for the transition to a
stable institutional model, it is necessary to say why it is needed in principle
and what it is that ultimately determines its fate. The main reason or the
philosophical reason, we might say, that made this transition possible and
necessary in Europe, was the awareness of the unconditional evil of any
worldly power, which was formed during the Protestant Reformation. Max
Weber wrote about it quite convincingly in his 1905 article ‘To the Condition
of Bourgeois Democracy in Russia’. According to Weber, among the ‘ideal’
foundations of Western-European ‘political individualism’ were ‘the religious
convictions that do not recognize human authority, for such recognition
would imply an atheistic deification of man’.4 Weber regarded as a major
problem of democratic formation in Russia, as well as in other non-Western
countries, the fact that ‘in the modern form of “enlightenment” these convictions
cannot possibly be widely accepted at all’.5
Indeed, this acute and in its origins purely religious rejection of
authority as an essentially profane if not a plainly sinful principle, is
readily available in the world-view of all the figures of early bourgeois-
democratic revolutions. The contemporary American historian, Bernard
Bailyn, eloquently describes this alarmist complex towards authority as it
was expressed by pamphleteers during the American Revolution in the
eighteenth century: ‘Government was simultaneously a movement and “an
untiring, passionate and insatiable” craving, or was likened to jaws “always
open” and ready to “devour”. It permeates social life and everywhere it
threatens, pressures, seizes and often eventually destroys its invariably virtuous
victim’.6
The paradox of the ‘democratic experiment’ in non-Western countries
essentially consists in the fact that the development of a stable form of
democracy based on some systemic restriction of the ruling power, differ-
entiation of institutions and the realization of maximum possible immunity
from government surveillance for an individual, depends in many respects
110 B. V. Mezhuev
upon the availability of at least some vestiges and rudiments of ideological
convictions, which are generally not relevant for contemporary man.
Meanwhile, as we should not expect anything like European Reformation to
happen in Russia, the value basis for a stable democracy in Russia can only
be found in some ‘surrogates’ of early puritanical republicanism.

Substitutes for legitimacy

One such surrogate is the acute national consciousness, an awareness that
regards any external supremacy as unacceptable, even if it is benevolent. The
feeling of dependence upon some external force has from time immemorial
been regarded as essentially shameful, improper and sinful. It is hard to
define the anthropological nature of this feeling; an outlandish ruler may after
all be more benevolent than local satraps. Still, there is something in us that
resists the idea that it is acceptable for people to be subjects to foreign rule.
We can find various explanations for this entire complex of feelings, but one
thing is certain: whenever a breakthrough towards democracy is coupled with
national liberation and is mediated by it, then the new order acquires an
additional legitimacy in citizens’ consciousness, which is necessary for its
stability. We can see that in the example of the countries of Central Europe
and even our neighbors: Ukraine and Moldova.
National consciousness, as an indisputable imperative of national freedom,
could become the cornerstone for a process of revival in Russia of that value
complex that made it possible to establish ‘stable democracies’ in other post-
socialist countries. In the case of Eastern European countries, that ‘outer
contour’ of supremacy was Russia, which exercised its hegemony on these
territories in the guise of the Soviet Union. In the case of Russia itself, a
similar ‘outer contour’ can be found in the apparently unjust financial and
geopolitical structure of the modern world, the integration into which inevitably
involves competition for Russia.
Another potential ‘surrogate’ for a radically anti-étatist set of convictions,
which is needed as an ‘ideal’ support for a ‘stable’ democracy, could be the
spreading (as a result of political education) of the awareness of instability
and essential vulnerability of any system that is based exclusively on the
charisma or personal popularity of this or that leader. In principle, Russia has
already lived through disillusionment with the after effects of the rule of a
number of once popular leaders, and a move towards the establishment of
institutions might be based on the political experience of the last two decades.
However, the possible political evolution in this direction is neither supported
by an ample debate, nor by a robust development of political science and
statutory political philosophy.
Finally, a third ‘ideal’ substitute for the anti-étatist consciousness can the-
oretically be found in that approximate set of ideas, which eventually replaced
the puritanical and later the Enlightenment republicanism as the main driving
force of the democratic process in Western countries. I am referring here to
 Democracy in Russia 111
the protest mobilization of various cultural, social and ideological minorities
that could not hope to attain majoritarian supremacy but were nevertheless
set to defend their particular interests and to legally advance their own
agenda.
It is very important not to limit the list of such minorities to those which
are most active in the postmodernist West, that is to the representatives of
ethnic diasporas and various communities of sexual deviants. In Russia, for
example, communists could become such a minority; not as representatives of
the working class but as a community of people seeking some sort of
Renaissance of the Soviet epoch. Russian Orthodox Christians, who are
struggling for the purity of belief, could certainly become such a minority, as
well as various groups of religious dissidents. Of course, the number of poli-
tically active minorities might increase as other groups joined in, such as
proponents of gender equality and advocates of religious rights for faiths
other than Russian Orthodox Christianity. Finally, the intellectual class of
Russia is one of its most socially discriminated minorities which is still influ-
ential, and the modernization of Russia is unthinkable without its active par-
ticipation, namely, the scientific community, whose prestige hit rock bottom
in the post-socialist epoch.
The transition from a ‘leader-oriented’ model of democracy to a ‘stable’
model of democracy will become possible in the case of engagement in the
political process of those forces that are capable of accumulating the interests
of various minorities into some unified, supposedly social-liberal or social-
democratic, program. The emergence of such a meaningful oppositional
force, which would represent the interests of various minorities, and at the
same time would be ready to struggle for a nation-wide leadership, can be
regarded as an objective for the immediate future of Russia.
The question that arises is why social-democratic projects tend to fail in
post-Soviet Russia. The well-known American political scientist Arend
Lijphart emphasized that high inequality ‘implies that the democratic gov-
ernment responsible is incapable of doing its job’. In democratic states,
policies aimed at curtailing inequality have traditionally been instigated by
left-wing political parties, such as the Progressive Democrats in the United
States, Labour in the UK, and a variety of social democratic parties world-
wide. According to the well-known Lipset/Rokkan cleavage concept, a system
representing the entire political spectrum was finally established in Western
Europe after the Industrial Revolution, which is when the majority of all left-
wing and right-wing parties emerged, the former being liberal and socialist,
and the latter bourgeois and conservative. Social democratic parties or
movements have played a crucial part in virtually every political struggle that
has taken place in the democratic world since.
The political trajectory of Central European countries after they left behind
the communist yoke points further to this single fact: political democracy
only attains stability when one of the dominant factors in a given society’s
political life is a social democratic or a center-left party.
112 B. V. Mezhuev
From the very beginning, the Russian democratic government was aware of
the fact that the stability of any post-socialist regime would be heavily
dependent on a powerful social democratic counterpoise to the liberals and
the liberal conservatives. A series of attempts to construct a center-left party
capable of competing both with the right-wing liberals and with the bureau-
cratically supported party in power was founded in 1995; however, none of
these attempts was successful. Any social democratic party invariably lost out
to the communists.
Russian social democrats suffered one setback after another in a situation
where the very logic of economic and political reform appeared to render the
emergence of a leftist party in Russia impossible. Therefore, a coalition of
center-left parties that could compete with the party in power was completely
out of the question. There are a number of reasons why the Russian social
democracy project has failed.
The first was a lack of party policy definition on the part of the executive
branch of the post-Soviet government. The Russian leadership strove to keep
as far away as possible from the ideological postulates or program provisions
of any single political party – partly as a reaction to the dominance of the
Communist Party of the Soviet Union in the previous socialist model, and
partly as a result of a leader-oriented democracy that regarded every party as
a vehicle for partisan recruitment for a given leader’s cadre reserve. This
situation has considerably slowed down the definition of the Russian political
spectrum in general and the left wing in particular.
Another reason why liberal leftist and social democratic parties tend to be
comparatively weak is that the majority of left-wing intellectuals have no real
associations with the labor movement, including trade unions, and is thus
incapable of following in the footsteps of the founding fathers of European
social democracy.
The attempts by left-wing activists to interact with industrial workers have
been thwarted by the profoundly non-ideological mentality of Russian hired
labor. The communists were primarily popular in the agricultural regions,
which meant that the party was defending the interests of the conservative
farmers, who had been hard hit by the economic reforms of the democrats.
The few intellectuals who were inclined towards state-controlled technological
progress were politically marginalized, and their supporters dwindled
Yet another reason for the shortcomings of social democracy in Russia is
the ideological disorientation of the Russian intellectual class. The main
power behind the democratic reforms of the late 1980s and the early 1990s
was the Soviet intellectual class, which instantly fell prey to the radical chan-
ges that it helped instigate. The income and earnings of those who remained
in the academic world fell catastrophically after 1992. Research grants offered
by Russian and international foundations proved insufficient. Many intellec-
tuals supported the right-wing parties throughout the 1990s and the 2000s,
partly due to the lack of any clearly defined liberal alternative. The leftist
subculture that is so typical in Western academia, which instigates political
 Democracy in Russia 113
change more often than organized labor movements these days, never had a
chance to form in Russia.
Nevertheless, as the impact of the three factors mentioned above dimin-
ishes, it appears as though social democracy still has a chance to emerge and
become stronger in Russia. Russian executive power is becoming more and
more associated with the ruling party, thus bringing forth the prospect of a
party government. The formation of a non-communist opposition coalition
would be quite natural in this case, and the intellectual class would very likely
seek to regain its prestige and influence. The policy of innovation and mod-
ernization currently implemented by the Russian government is likely to play
its part here as well.
The end of social turbulence, through the recruitment of the new political
and business elite as a class separate from intellectuals, and the simultaneous
decline in the status of academics, will both prove auspicious for the future of
social democracy. The social evolution of the political and economic elite in
Russia will produce new requirements for channels of vertical mobility – mere
education will not suffice, and anyone looking to get ahead will need a good
reputation with the intelligentsia.
A growing interest in the academic world and the influx of ambitious
young specialists aiming to join the elite at some point will also likely facil-
itate the emergence of a new class conscience among Russian intellectuals,
and their sympathies are much more likely to be with the left than the right.
Social democracy in Russia is by no means a lost cause – the country will just
have to follow the political trajectory and evolution typical for most Central
European countries. However, a great deal of time is required for these
developments to come about.

Political hegemony of the majority

Unlike Central European democracies, in Russia, as well as in some other
former Soviet countries, the establishment of democratic order coincided with
the collapse of previous statehood. With the breakup of the Soviet Union,
Russia lost a part of the territories that originally belonged to its historic core
and it was simultaneously deprived of a significant segment of its industrial
potential, while its status as a global scientific power diminished sharply. The
controlling functions of the state became weaker: Chechen separatism raged
in the Northern Caucasus; there were regions where the provisions of the
Federal Constitution were not implemented, and its liberalized economy was
flooded with criminal money. Russia in consequence experienced a dramatic
setback in its level of development.
Of course, in such initial circumstances, the new Russian statehood did not
favor the success of the democratic experience itself. Democracy became
associated with the weakness of the ruling power, with economic disorder and
with a generally lamentable state of affairs in the country. In contrast, even
the most halfhearted measures aimed at strengthening the state, overcoming
114 B. V. Mezhuev
separatism, putting in order the relationship between the center and the
regions, and the decriminalization of business, came to be regarded as infrin-
gements on democracy. This fateful coupling of democracy and the weakness
of state, unnatural in itself, in fact became the main historical trauma for
Russia in the post-Soviet period!
Nevertheless, in spite of abundant talk within expert circles about the
advantages of Chinese-style authoritarian modernization Russia did not
abandon its objective of forming democratic statehood. The Beijing model
did not become the key guideline of the political process in Russia. Russia
ventured to follow its own route, exploring its own ways of strengthening the
state.
One such was to strengthen presidential power both legislatively and in
actual practice. According to the 1993 Constitution, the president became not
only the head of state but also the chief of the executive power, authorized to
change the cabinet practically single-handedly and with minimal participation
from the State Duma. The reform of 2004 had given the president the right to
dismiss leaders of regional powers and heads of federation governments. Until
2008, Russia was obviously moving towards strengthening presidential order.
However, this movement had one limitation of utmost importance: according
to the Constitution, the president was obliged to limit his tenure to two terms
of four years.
A presidential system with such a tremendous scope of authority for the
head of state created serious problems with regard to every new election, in
which, according to H. Linz and A. Stepan, ‘the winner gets it all’.7 The
empowerment evolution of the presidential order had obviously reached its
limit, and was threatening to turn that order into a one-man regime.
A new political situation emerged with the election of Dmitry Medvedev to
the presidency, the appointment of the ex-president Vladimir Putin as prime-
minister and, what is most crucial, the appearance of United Russia as a
hegemonic party headed by Vladimir Putin.
The new president constitutionally retained the entire scope of authority,
but now he had to cope with the fact that the political field was dominated by
a party led by the incumbent head of the government. A situation of factual
separation of powers was thus created, which was not in any way con-
stitutionally formalized. This separation of powers, by the way, could not be
reduced to the two riders of the so-called tandem; in fact, what we have here
is an indication of the division of political functions between the president
and the ruling party in the presence of a government relatively independent of
these two powers. This situation was and remains potentially fraught with
conflict.
That such conflict did not emerge may likely be ascribed to deep fears
within the Russian political class of the possibility of an internal split. The
memories of 1991 and 1993, when Russia found itself on the verge of violent
civil confrontation, seem to be very strong within its political class. It is for
this precise reason that part of the Russian bureaucracy maintains serious
 Democracy in Russia 115
misgivings with regard to ideologizing systemic contradictions within the
power pyramid. Thus, in the period between 2008 and 2009 there was a ten-
dency in Russian political journalism to counterpose the presidential power
and the ruling party as bearers of two opposing political ideologies: liberal
and conservative.
This tendency to ideologize the opposing poles of the political system
reached its climax in the autumn of 2009, when the President of Russia pro-
claimed a policy of modernization, while the leadership of United Russia
declared ‘Russian conservatism’ to be its ideological program. For a moment,
there was a feeling that society would inevitably split along the same numer-
ous ideological axes as in 1993, when the president gathered around himself
most of the Westernizers, liberals and anti-communists, while the Supreme
Soviet naturally became the stronghold for the main bulk of their opponents
from communists to the so-called patriotic writers.
However, no ideological demarcation of this sort emerged. The ruling
party, after certain tensions with the liberal presidential inner circles, also
adopted the slogan ‘modernization’ as one of the major components of its
ideology. The ideological unity of the Russian ruling power was thus restored.
Meanwhile, many experts ask themselves to what extent the ruling power is
capable of playing the role of the engine and the driving force of moderniza-
tion, if other visibly less powerful political forces are obviously too weak to
compete with it?
In the course of the entire post-Soviet epoch, Russia has never had a
structure capable of effectively mobilizing the electorate for the support of the
ruling power. United Russia made an important contribution to curb the
particularism of the regional elites and integrate them into the national poli-
tical system. The political reform summoned to ensure the success of moder-
nization is founded on the idea of systemic control of the activities of
bureaucracy by means of public policy institutions
The regimes of Gorbachev and Yeltsin demonstrated that betting on strong
presidential powers in the absence of party mechanisms for the consolidation
and mobilization of regional elites not only cancels out all efforts aimed at
modernization, but also causes the state system to collapse. Competition
between parties is exploited by the economic and often the criminal clans,
with the aim of obtaining corporate advantages or legalizing fortunes made
by illegal means. In this situation, it becomes impossible for the central power
to put any sort of political pressure on the regional elites, let alone exercise
effective legal control over them. The restoration of collapsing statehood is in
this case only conceivable in a super-presidential regime, with the risk of
turning the system into a one-man rule after the pattern of some developing
countries.
This is why the participation of strong party structures in the process of
formation of both regional and federal powers is a possible developmental
alternative, in the course of the modernization process that Russia is going
through right now. In this case, in order to create a counterbalance to the
116 B. V. Mezhuev
bureaucracy, it will be sufficient to expand the authority of the legislative
bodies, which will give the United Russia party an opportunity to take key
political decisions and to be controlled by state apparatus.
In his well-known book Political Order in Changing Societies, Samuel
Huntington argued that during a certain period of time, party systems play
positive roles in the process of modernization.8 By suppressing the resistance of
the agrarian elite, they provide modernization forces with an opportunity of
conducting land reform in a relatively painless manner. Finally, one-party
or one-and-a-half-party systems are most effective for the gradual removal
from politics of those groups and clans that possess the financial or power
resources for a direct (not mediated with political institutions) participation in
politics.
Of course, Huntington’s prescriptions, drawn from the study of moder-
nization in the so-called developing countries, cannot be automatically
extended to Russia. We are not facing the challenge of overcoming the legacy
of class society. The Russian military is not particularly interested in political
participation in the role of a separate corporation. Nevertheless, some aspects
of the ‘Third World’ way of life, described by Huntington, are, alas, applicable
to Russia.
The clannish structure is still dominating the political structure in Russia.
By blowing up the CPSU from within, the clans grabbed property. In the
situation of chaos and confusion that marked the 1990s, they forced their way
to regional power. In this sense, building a ‘power vertical’ was not conducive
to a total deliverance from the influence of clans, for whom power was
often merely an instrument for the redistribution of property, and profits were
merely an instrument for the redistribution of power. A multiparty system
could have put an end to this situation only in the case of some hypothetical
union of parties under the guidance of the head of the executive power.
However, taking into consideration the level of political corruption that exists
in Russia, such a coalition of parties against the forces that have money and
influence is hardly conceivable. Naturally, the task of modernization dictates
that the ruling party should sharply expand its influence within the system of
executive power. Instead of being a ‘conductor of power’, this organization
should become a ‘self-reliant force’. Otherwise, the power of the clans and
their self-interested access to politics will only increase. Time will show whe-
ther the ruling party will play this role and actually become the ruling party
in its own right.
Certainly, the majority party should encounter a strong competitor in the
political arena, and the logic of political process, common to all developed
industrial countries, indicates that such a competitor should emerge in a party
which would stand for the protection of hired labor and also represent the
intellectual class (all the more so since these social groups partially coincide).
Sooner or later, this democratic coalition will become capable of challenging
the majority party, inevitably bending under the load of its bureaucratic
commitments, and will form its own government. This is exactly what
 Democracy in Russia 117
happened in Japan in 2009, when the opposition Democratic Party came to
power, and also earlier in 2000 in Mexico, when the National Action Party
was finally able to snatch victory from the ruling Institutional Revolutionary
Party.
This said, the main obstacle to political modernization is currently not the
existence of a strong party integrating the Russian ruling class, but rather the
segmentation of society by economically powerful clans that retain their
strength and influence and yet are not subject to democratic control. If today
we take the ruling party out of the political spectrum, the question of how to
subordinate these clans to some political priorities will find no clear answer. It
is quite another matter that the ruling power itself finds it hard to simulta-
neously integrate all sorts of bureaucratic cliques and put them under political
control, which is amply demonstrated by the entire history of relations
between the United Russia party and Moscow’s utilities clan. However, this
issue deserves a separate discussion.

Notes
1 Thomas Carothers, ‘Democracy Assistance: Political vs. Developmental’, Journal
of Democracy, vol. 20, no. 1 (2009).
2 Marc Plattner, ‘Populism, Pluralism and Liberal Democracy’, Journal of Democracy,
vol. 21, no. 1 (2010).
3 Arthur M. Schlesinger, The Imperial Presidency (Boston: Houghton Mifflin,
1973).
4 Max Weber, O Rossii: Izbrannoe, trans. Aleksandr. Kustarev (Moscow: ROSSPEN,
2007), p. 25.
5 Ibid., p. 25.
6 Bernard Bailyn, The Ideological Origins of the American Revolution (Cambridge:
Belknap Press of Harvard University Press, 1992), p. 46.
7 Juan J. Linz and Alfred Stepan, Problems of Democratic Transition and
Consolidation: Southern Europe, South America and Post-communist Europe
(Baltimore: John Hopkins University Press, 1996).
8 Samuel Huntington, Political Order in Changing Societies (New Haven and
London: Yale University Press, 1968).
7 Power and society in Russia
A value approach to legitimacy
Ruben Apressyan

Among a whole variety of issues that are discussed in the literature regarding
the legitimacy of power, three seem to dominate, namely: a) the consent of the
people to the existing government as the nature of legitimacy; b) some kind of
criteria according to which this consent to the government is expressed; and
c) the means by which legitimacy is obtained. The question before us con-
cerns whether these are just issues selected from current discussions, whether
they are different aspects of the very phenomenon of legitimacy, perhaps
different research approaches or even different theories as such? It seems
that all of these interpretations might be plausible. Yet, given that they reflect
different aspects of the phenomenon, different theoretical approaches, or dif-
ferent conceptions, one should be sensitive to methodological differences
distinguishing these issues.
Considering the issues at hand as aspects of legitimacy, one should take
into account that they correlate with well-known theories of legitimacy. That
of people’s consent to the government appears in John Locke’s theory, as well
as in some aspects of Max Weber’s. What I identified as criteria, or a basis of
consent, correlates with conceptions proposed by David Beetham and
Peter Stillman, and the idea of the means of legitimation with Max Weber’s
theory.
Further, it should be noted that I analyse these aspects, remembering the
authors who elaborated them conceptually, and refer to and follow them,
although I am fully aware of my own responsibility for the theoretical synthesis
I propose in this chapter.

John Locke and Max Weber

Two of the recognized philosophers of social thought – John Locke and Max
Weber – are mentioned in almost all works dealing with the problems of
legitimacy and legitimation of power. Their conceptions are different, but not
in the sense that Locke’s conception is latent, for the very idea of legitimacy
has no terminological expression in it.1 Weber, in contrast, suggested the very
notion of legitimacy to characterize political power and public order. Locke
and Weber in consequence proposed different approaches with respect to this
 Power and society in Russia 119
phenomenon. According to Locke, legitimacy characterizes the government
in the eyes of society, and according to Weber it characterizes the government
itself, the ways it implements itself, a form through which power presents itself
to society.
Two of Locke’s statements deserve particular attention: first, a ruler’s power
(Locke is referring to King William III of England) is confirmed by ‘the
Consent of the People, which being the only one of all lawful Governments’;2
second, the acts of political power are justified by their direction towards
public good.3 Obviously, the separation of legality and legitimacy is not
apparent to Locke. In his first thesis, he talks about the basis of the legality of
government. He still does not consider the possibility of achieving public
good through illegal government, namely legitimacy under illegality. But the
criteria he selected – the consent of the people4 and the public good – are
really important, especially for the consideration of legitimacy in terms of
ethics.5
The emphasis on the differences between legitimacy and legality has
become commonplace in literature. Although this difference can already be
considered obvious in theory, its repetition and varied emphasis is still rea-
sonable, since one can rather often discover the confusion of legality and
legitimacy, explicit or implicit, in empirical, applied and case studies.
Meanwhile, in the literature, specifically in the field of law, legitimacy is often
treated as just a socio-psychological feature of power order. Thus the consent/
dissent of the people is interpreted as a more or less situational expression
of public opinion. The value foundations of the opinion are left in the back-
ground with such an approach. Meanwhile, Locke’s words, that the
consent of the people is the only basis of any lawful government, suggest that
we should speak not just about public opinion, but about somehow
justified and objectivized public opinion associated with particular public
institutions.
Unlike Locke, Weber speaks of ‘the belief in the legitimacy’ of domination.6
Some commentators argue that Weber’s legitimacy is not so much a feature of
the social system as it is the attitude of citizens to the system as such, which is
expressed in their faith.7 This observation deserves attention. Yet it is hard
not to see that even though Weber does not suggest a clear definition of
legitimacy, he considers the belief in it to be primarily influenced by domina-
tion and ultimately stresses obedience of various kinds depending on the tac-
tics of legitimization used by the power holders in order to obtain the
obedience of the people and thus become legitimized.
This does not mean that Weber underestimates the people’s consent to
domination or its recognition. Explaining the types of legitimacy – rational,
traditional and charismatic – by describing various types of domination,
Weber in fact points to a variety of possible ‘reasons’ for agreement
and, therefore, obedience, determined by the existing social order and accep-
ted ways of governance. The factors of legitimation of government based on
law and rationality, the sanctity of tradition or belief in the personality of the
120 R. Apressyan
ruler are substantially different; but this should not be a ground for doubts
about the quality of legitimacy of a particular society.
Deeper reflection on the Weberian conception of legitimacy implies
consideration of the difference between legitimacy and legitimation. The dis-
tinction seems to be evident. Legitimacy, as pointed out above, is a char-
acteristic of power and its institutions with regard to the compatibility of their
outputs to public attitudes and expectations. Legitimation is an activity aimed
at acquiring legitimacy which is undertaken by the authorities themselves.
Since the authorities are interested in obtaining and enhancing legitimacy as
such, they can seek to ensure it by all possible means. Different types of
government authorities may implement different strategies of legitimation.
Despotic rulers expect recognition of legitimacy from a rather narrow circle
of individuals and groups, namely, from other rulers, whose significance they
recognize, from the elites of their country, if they still exist, from other coun-
tries if necessary, and even from the people of their own country, albeit by
fairly uncertain representation of the latter. Bureaucratic regimes need legit-
imation not only from the elites, but also from the bureaucracy. Populist
power seeks legitimacy from the people represented by its various groups.8
Authoritative rulers imagine legitimacy to be the aim of legitimation efforts
precisely in the form of loyalty to national and local elites, interest groups or
citizens, their appreciation of the rulers and the course they steer, publicly
demonstrated support and affection, but also in the form of recognition and
disposition of the leaders of other countries. Therefore, legitimation is
achieved mainly by means of direct propaganda, PR techniques and manip-
ulation of public opinion. Hence it is clear that legitimation as a value
phenomenon is trivial and not so attractive for value analysis; but the atti-
tudes of rulers concerned about their legitimacy and striving to maintain it
are certainly different.
Legitimacy is not the only condition of power and not the only factor of
subordination. According to Weber, obedience may result either from force of
habit, material interest, emotional commitment or ideal motivation. In this
context, Weber does not mean citizens’ obedience under coercion. But what is
important is the voluntariness that legitimacy indicates. Legitimacy is a moral
feature of the government and in this capacity it directly corresponds with
Locke’s ‘consent of the people’. Voluntariness (obedience) or ‘the consent of
the people’ is an essential criterion insofar as it cautions against the assump-
tion that legitimacy may be obtained either through conviction, or through the
use of violence.9 With this assumption, legitimacy and power are likely to be
confused. Voluntary consent is a mode of exercising power, but not legitima-
tion. Another mode is coercion, which does not require any consent. Political
power can either count on the solidarity of the people or ignore their unwill-
ingness to collaborate and continue to act against their dissent. The concept
of legitimacy is needed for the identification of different political orders and
ways of governance. If some of them do not receive the people’s consent, they
may be condemned as morally irrelevant.
 Power and society in Russia 121
It is accepted that Locke speaks about the standards of legitimacy, while
Weber speaks of the socio-political conditions of legitimacy and the means of
its acquisition. Therefore the Lockean approach is considered to be normative
and the Weberian approach empirical. This is not exactly so. It is enough to
look at some chapters of the Second Treatise on Government to realize that
Locke was not only building a general political theory, but also discussing, at
the level of political experience of his time, the conditions and means of
obtaining legitimacy (also considering his own work as a contribution to the
cause of legitimation of King William’s power). And Weber introduces legit-
imate domination in a form of ‘pure types’. This is a kind of ideal repre-
sentation, which does not set up a normative standard, but certainly presents
a value model.
Such understanding of Locke and Weber makes it possible and reasonable
to consider conceptions of legitimacy proposed by Locke and Weber as
mutually complementary. This allows us to treat legitimacy as a subject of
competition between the state and society. Competitiveness is peculiar to the
relationships within both society and the state: within society – as long as it
consists of a fairly broad variety of interest groups and passions; within the
state – as long as power, if it is not absolute and not reduced to a single ver-
tical, exists not only in the form of various agencies and services, but some-
times in different personages. However, as competition is made up of
confrontation and agreement, so legitimacy appears to result in confrontation
and agreement between the state and the society.
From this point of view, seeking to understand particular images of the
legitimacy of power and their relevance to the political and social experience
of individuals it might be interesting to look at evidence from public opinion
polls in Russia regarding different aspects of political, public and private issues.

Evidence from Russian public opinion polls

In mid-March 2011, the Russian media were thrown into a flutter by news
provided independently by different polling centres: during the first three
months of the year, the index of approval for the members of the duumvirate,
President Medvedev and Premier Putin had significantly decreased and
reached a record low for the previous two-year level. According to the
Levada-Center, the number of those who approved Dmitry Medvedev as
president dropped by 9 per cent, and the number approving Vladimir Putin as
premier by 10 per cent.10
In spite of the drop, the results were quite high – 66 per cent for Medvedev
and 69 per cent for Putin, compared to stable averages for the whole of 2010
of 74 per cent for Medvedev and 78 per cent for Putin – they were visibly low
in comparative value. With regard to the government and governors, the
decrease in the level of approval was also evident, though in this case the
difference in figures was not so striking: from an average level of approval of
the government of 54 per cent and governors of 55 per cent in 2010 to 48 and
122 R. Apressyan
49 per cent respectively in March 2011.11 The difference in levels of approval
for the Head of Government and the government itself – 20 per cent during
2010 and 19 per cent in March 2011 is noteworthy. Similar changes occurred
with the citizens’ rating of the ruling party ‘United Russia’ and of both
houses of parliament.
The overall picture was complemented by the progressive dynamics of
remonstrative moods. At the end of February 2011, 49 per cent of the respon-
dents expressed their willingness to participate personally in acts of remon-
strance, which was 14 per cent above the average for 2010, with the lowest
indicator of 29 per cent for the whole of 2010 in March.12 In all the above
questions, the number of corresponding negative responses increased in
proportion to the decrease in the number of positive responses.
Could these figures be considered a sign of delegitimation of Russian
power? The question has two aspects. The first presumes the clarification of
validity of such measurements and their practical and political relevance. It is
hard to imagine that a sample of the 1,600 respondents required for Russian
conditions included representatives of those social groups, namely, the social
elites, who had a determining influence on national policy and towards whom
the rulers were ultimately oriented. The factor of political elites as the domi-
nant determinant of Russian policy is especially important against a back-
ground of the imitative nature of the Russian democratic regime and the
essentially simulative election process in the first decade of the twenty-first
century.
The second aspect of the above question concerns the method of generating
questionnaires and the evaluation of the received data. Thus, Sergey Belanovsky
and Mikhail Dmitriev, the authors of the Centre for Strategic Studies Report
on the political crisis in Russia and possible ways out of it, believed that the
three-month drops in the approval ratings of the leaders could be interpreted
as a sign that the power legitimacy was falling.13 However, and this was noted
by a number of commentators and analysts, the reduction of the index of
trust towards the state leaders, top-ranking officials and power institutions
could be interpreted as a response to significant adverse trends in the econ-
omy and the consumer sector in particular. Thus, the amount of negative
evaluation of the state of the Russian economy increased from 34 per cent in
December 2010 to 44 per cent at the end of February 2011.14 In that month,
almost one-third of the respondents witnessed the deterioration of the situa-
tion; within a month this indicator increased by 11 per cent. However, the
number of those who were optimistic about the future of their welfare fell
from 26 per cent in January to 17 per cent in February. A full 96 per cent of
the respondents reported an increase in prices of food, goods and services and
above all of utilities such as power and water.15 Although these indicators –
food prices, goods and services are surely significant, do they really represent
the public good in its entirety?
The most surprising approval/disapproval indices were relatively calm
during the whole of 2010, particularly in August–September. During July and
 Power and society in Russia 123
August, Russia suffered from an abnormal heatwave in three-quarters of its
European territory and in large parts of its Asian south-west. In many places,
this heat was accompanied by prolonged debilitating smog spreading from
forest fires. In September, the heat remained only in the southern European
part of Russia, but many people were still suffering from the hardship they
had suffered during the recent heat and smog. People spoke about little else at
the time. Fires had destroyed huge tracts of forest, wiped out dozens of vil-
lages, and left hundreds of families homeless. Extensive smog together with
searing heat claimed many lives and in the autumn and winter the situation
was aggravated by chronic diseases, prolonged colds and many untimely
deaths.
The statistics on victims of the exceptional summer of 2010 have remained
unpublished. In August, semi-official information on a doubling of the death-
rate was circulating in Moscow. However, health workers reported (whisper-
ing) much worse statistics in Moscow hospitals. The government was clearly
not responsible for the extreme weather conditions. Yet, the scale of the fires
could have been much smaller and the fire-fighting much more effective if
three years earlier the Forest Code of Russia had not been changed by a
decree of President Putin that dissolved the old system of forest management
and reduced the forest fire service to almost nothing. The old system inherited
from Soviet times was certainly not completely efficient. But dismantling it
and failing to replace it with an alternative was one of the contributing factors
to the environmental and humanitarian disaster of 2010.
In addition, during the previous decade, the policy of development and
expansion of the business and entertainment infrastructure in the capitals,
major cities and the areas around them had been conducted in a way that
systematically decimated forests and parks. According to some reports, in the
1990s the area of forests razed around Moscow for new developments was
equal to the area of Moscow itself. Large cities have in consequence been
deprived of their natural lungs. The lack of fresh air in the capital and in most
of the big cities in the country had somehow become normal, but during
the gruelling weeks of unrelenting heat in the summer of 2010 it became
unendurable.
The political aspect of the disaster was actively discussed on the Web and
in the print media; attentive viewers could discern the political component in these
misfortunes even from the newscasts of the discursively sterile television sta-
tions. And yet, this misfortune did not affect the level of approval/disapproval
of either national or regional leaders, nor of political institutions.
In August 2010, an ongoing confrontation between the authorities and
environmentalists defending the Khimki forest (near Moscow) reached a new
stage. The Khimki forest defenders were protesting against a proposed high-
way from Moscow to St Petersburg, which they had reason to believe had
been developed without consideration for the environment or the interests of
the residents of the Khimki forest area. The situation was complicated by the
fact that the project was backed by a company whose owners had close ties
124 R. Apressyan
with senior state figures. The struggle over the forest, which continued for
several years,16 included some dramatic and even tragic episodes and elo-
quently illustrated the true nature of the relationship between society and the
government. The latter frequently just ignored the messages and signals from
society, even on matters that directly affected the lives and welfare of citizens.
Although thousands of people signed an online petition in support of saving
the forest, it is evident that the confrontation, however impressive it might
have been symbolically, had very little impact nationwide and could not be
considered politically significant.
Meanwhile, at the beginning of December 2010 a sudden protest, involving
around 10,000 young people – mainly members of football fan clubs and the
like – took place in central Moscow. Some minor incidents occurred in a
number of Russian cities. The protest was provoked by police misconduct
when several young men from the Caucasus were charged with the murder of
a Russian fan; the young men who were arrested immediately after the crime
were soon to be released for (procedurally) unclear reasons. In Moscow, the
unrest provoked by extremist nationalist slogans was accompanied by violent
actions. The whole event was fully covered by the federal TV channels and
the press, not to mention the Internet. The authorities, particularly the pre-
mier, took certain steps to mitigate the intensity of public emotion. Despite
the fact that this clear and extraordinary event was in the spotlight for a
month or more, it failed to make any impact on citizens’ approval ratings.
According to opinion poll data of November–December 2010, a con-
troversial trial of former Yukos oil company leaders, Mikhail Khodorkovsky
and Platon Lebedev also had no effect on public opinion.
The public mood remained unchanged even after a tragedy in the stanitsa
(Cossack village) of Kushchevskaya in the Krasnodar region, where, in
November 2010, 12 people, including four children, were killed in a massacre.
It was an act of revenge on a businessman who refused to obey organized
criminals, who had been completely controlling life in the stanitsa for about
15 years. At the time of the crime, the businessman and his family were
entertaining visitors who were all murdered too. During the investigation, the
perpetrators of the crime and the persons behind them were identified and
arrested. It turned out that the criminal group had close ties with the local
police, and that its leader was both a member of the local legislative body and
a member of the ruling party. Some clear facts indicated broad connections of
the criminals with some state officials and it appeared that the group was part
of a vast criminal network. Commenting on the tragic event, the governor of
the region, apparently wishing to shirk his political responsibility, pointed out
that there were surely many more places like Kushchevskaya in Russia. This
statement was not questioned by anyone, including senior officials. Although
the tragedy was widely publicized in the media, neither the president nor the
prime minister made any comment. A month later, President Medvedev dis-
missed the chief interior affairs officer of the Krasnodar region without men-
tioning the tragedy in Kushchevka. Judging by approval ratings, as in
 Power and society in Russia 125
previous cases, public opinion did not consider this event significant enough
to change its attitude towards the authorities.
Some other public opinion indices are also worthy of attention. Despite the
fact that Russians in general approve the leaders of the country, they were
asked (in June 2010), to what extent they personally feared the corruption
and arbitrariness of the authorities. Ten per cent answered that they were not
worried; 34 per cent experienced some anxiety, 34 per cent experienced anxi-
ety, and 17 per cent lived in constant fear.17 Meanwhile, a little more than
half of the respondents (53 per cent) basically trusted the Russian judicial
system. Forty-three per cent did not, but at the same time 61 per cent could
not rely on the courts to resolve matters satisfactorily in the event that their
rights were violated.18 According to different surveys in 2008–11, negative
assessments of the health care system,19 education20 or, the army21 clearly
dominated. Russians demonstrated a similar attitude to almost all spheres of
public life. And at the same time they were selectively positive regarding the
leading figures of state.
However, this positive attitude of the people was not limited towards
national leaders. This was revealed in polls on a different matter, namely that
of life satisfaction.22 Compared with 2005, the number of people in 2011 who
were completely satisfied with life as a whole decreased from 17 per cent to
13 per cent. One could easily observe the same trend with some other indi-
cators: family relationships (46–41), health (24–21),23 personal contacts
(38–31), personal status in society (23–18), workplace relationships (18 per cent–
16 per cent), education (24–21), leisure time (21–19), family financial status
(8–7), family housing conditions (from 17–14), the environment (12–8). Only
job satisfaction generally had not decreased compared with 2005 (14 per cent);
but in 2007, 18 per cent were completely satisfied with their jobs and in 2009–
17 per cent; satisfaction with home diet has increased from 14 per cent to
15 per cent, but in 2007 it was 16 per cent. However, it should be noted that
these reductions occurred against the backdrop of the increasing number of
those, who were ‘rather satisfied’ with family relationships (34–44), their
health (35–44), personal contacts (50–56), personal status in society (43–47),
workplace relationships (32–37), education (38–47),24 leisure time (40–47),
family financial status (8–7), family housing conditions (39–42), the environ-
ment (34–41). Sufficient job satisfaction increased from 28 to 33 per cent
and satisfaction with home nutrition decreased from 49 to 47 per cent.
The number of people ‘entirely dissatisfied’ increased insignificantly only
regarding job satisfaction and relationships at work, while the rest have
fallen or remained unchanged and the number of people ‘rather unsatisfied’
decreased or remained unchanged for almost all indicators. The joint
numbers of people ‘entirely satisfied’ and ‘rather satisfied’ with life increased
from 63 to 69 per cent and the joint number of people ‘completely dissatisfied’
and ‘rather dissatisfied’ with life decreased from 35 to 25 per cent. At
the same time, the number of uncertain respondents increased from 3 to
6 per cent.
126 R. Apressyan
Discussion
The evidence provided by public opinion polls in Russia around 2010 provoke
some general questions regarding the meaning of consent. What does the
consent of the people to the government mean, namely the consent to what is
expected by the people such as particular policies run by the government, the
government, state institutions and to the regime as such and in what forms is
it expected to be expressed? Concerning those who may inquire about the
consent of the people is a separate issue. Are they governors, third-party
observers (interested or uninterested) or researchers? To what extent are those
who constitute the people politically and generally experienced enough to
express their consent or dissent, to understand adequately their own benefit as
a common good and for the sake of the common good to obey authority? To
what extent is their consent indeed informed? What degree of consolidation of
the people is needed to recognize dissent to be representative? What forms of
its expression are the most convincing and, again, for whom – for the rulers,
for outside observers and researchers?
The picture of Russian society that transpires here is really puzzling. People
regard their national leaders quite highly, notably more so than they do their
own class, which in general is also viewed positively. At the same time, they
have a fairly low opinion of the situation in most other spheres of public life,
which, theoretically is the result of the actions of the national leaders and,
more broadly, the regime. However, this diversity in estimation may indicate
an internal dissociation of Russians’ value awareness and incoherence in their
public and private concerns and preferences. Discrepancy in estimation on
similar issues of personal and marital conditions, on the one hand, and con-
ditions in society on the other may testify to atomization of common indivi-
dual consciousness and its social and political indifference. A relatively high
assessment of the leaders which is coupled with a relatively low evaluation of
policies and institutions shows, first, that people do not want to see the con-
nection between a politician’s status and the policies conducted during his/
her period of office, and, second, that high rank/status is seen as a basis of
respect for the person holding it. This may indicate the authoritarian nature
of contemporary Russian consciousness.
Locke can be interpreted as saying that people express their consent by
referring to their sense of public good. However, Locke’s statement that the
consent of the people is the only basis for any lawful government suggests that
we should speak not only of public opinion, but of in some way justified and
(in different aspects) well-grounded public opinion. Moreover, we need to
revise our ideas of ‘people’ and ‘consent’ to imply heterogeneity of what is
fixed by the word ‘people’, even when we speak of ‘common people’ and
internal divergence of ‘consent’ when we speak of ‘people’s consent’. It is
obvious that different social groups perceive power differently in its various
manifestations. And power, for its part, shows different degrees of sensitivity
to the opinion of ‘the people’ under different socio-political conditions. In
 Power and society in Russia 127
every society there are groups acutely in disagreement with government and
ready whenever possible to express it actively. And it does not estimate
equally the disposition for it from different social groups and hence runs dif-
ferentiated policies of legitimation. Legitimacy does not imply unanimity,
though it does not exclude it in some time periods (hardly long), even in a
democratic society. The measure of a minimum degree of consolidation of the
people concerning the issue of the public good in expressing an attitude
towards power can obviously vary depending on the type of society and its
particular conditions. Thus, the use of the concepts of ‘the consent of the
people’ and ‘the public good’ as acceptable general ethical principles of
legitimacy requires deeper specification and formalization.
Contemporary discussions on legitimacy are usually focused by default on
democratic governance and legitimacy of the rational-legal type, even in its
‘ideal’ representation. However, Weber emphasized that the types he proposed
were ‘pure’, and in this sense abstract, and that in actual political practice one
could nearly always trace mixture and ‘dilution’ of different types of legiti-
macy. In post-Weberian political science along with numerous experiments for
the empirical verification of Weber’s classification of legitimacy and largely
owing to them, the classification proposed by Weber has been rethought and
reframed.
According to Matey Dogan, the political development of the world after
World War II has rather indicated that the Weber scheme is not always
empirically supported and on this basis Dogan concludes that it has become
virtually obsolete.25 According to Dogan the main argument against the
Weber classification of legitimacy is that it ignores the deep inner connection
between legitimacy and democracy. This assertion is based on the assumption
that only democratic and soft-authoritarian countries are legitimate. In these
countries, some ‘legal-rational-bureaucratic’ legitimacy is present, in corre-
spondingly nationally specific embodiments. As to traditional or charismatic
legitimacy, it can no longer be found anywhere else. In countries dominated
by rigid-authoritarian and totalitarian regimes, especially those with poor
economic conditions, the issue of legitimacy is not even considered. Accord-
ing to Dogan, neither the rulers nor the citizens, especially when they are
oppressed by harsh economic conditions and often political repression, are
really concerned about it. Dogan very accurately observes that ‘one cannot
assert that the regime is legitimate merely because it is not openly chal-
lenged’.26 But, accordingly, the opposite should be the case: it is impossible to
recognize a regime’s illegitimacy if it is not disputed and it is impossible to
recognize the regime’s non-legitimacy if the citizens of the country it rules are
not concerned about legitimacy as such. Here, according to the principle of
the disinterested or ideal observer, any regime can be recognized as legitimate
or illegitimate, regardless of what its citizens think about it. However, this
would require a certain methodology allowing operationalization of the phe-
nomenon of legitimacy and identification of the validity of its objective indi-
cators no matter how they are perceived by the citizens of a country and
128 R. Apressyan
depend to what extent the citizens are aware of their citizenship and their
willingness to exercise it responsibly.
The traditional discourse of legitimacy referred to by Locke and Weber
could be enriched by ideas proposed in the last decades, specifically by Peter
Stillman and David Beetham. Stillman pointed to possible theoretical pre-
mises for the operationalization of the concept of legitimacy. According to
Stillman, legitimacy is a characteristic of government in which ‘the results of
governmental output are compatible with the value pattern of the society’.27
The value pattern includes a hierarchical and a specified set of core values.
Referring to the scheme of so-called ‘Lasswellean values’, Stillman indicates
power, respect, rectitude, affection, well-being, wealth, skill and enlightenment.
The configuration of the value pattern can vary, but it should be fairly stable,
at least in its core part, otherwise it will not be applicable as a criterion for
assessing government output.28 By government output Stillman means not
only the accepted and functioning laws, but also all sorts of government
actions that have any significance for a society, such as ‘declarations of war;
suppression of riots; executive fiats’,29 etc. Stillman argues that legitimacy is
determined precisely by the conformity of the government output (but not by
the government’s intentions and declarations) to the value pattern of the
society. The results of governance should be compatible not only with the
value pattern of the society as a whole, but also with value patterns of other
social systems (Stillman prefers not to speak about social groups in order to
avoid emphasizing the most relevant stakeholders in a given situation) and
individuals as well as other societies. Other societies are to be taken into
account according to how much they may suffer or benefit from the effects
(indirect and unintentional) of another government output.30 Stillman sees
the advantage of his approach in presenting legitimacy independent of sub-
jective factors, such as beliefs, individual and group opinions or public opi-
nion. At the same time Stillman shows that in any society, insofar as there
may be different value patterns correlative to one or the other social systems,
authorities may be considered legitimate for some groups and illegitimate for
others. It follows that the legitimacy of certain government policies should be
evaluated according to the value patterns of these social systems. Application
of Lasswellean values should take into account the specific configuration they
acquire in a society. It is obvious that in different societies the value content
of criteria and the level of their binding force will be different. So, legitimacy
is a feature largely contextualized in time and considering its particular iden-
tification and qualification one should take into account its retrospective and
prospective vectors.
David Beetham’s conception of legitimacy is more sophisticated. Not being
satisfied with Weber’s concept of legitimacy as an expression of people’s
beliefs, and concerned with a kind of objective criteria of legitimacy inde-
pendent of just public opinion, Beetham argues that one can analyse the
legitimacy of power in terms of three criteria. Power can be considered legit-
imate if it conforms to established rules. The rules can be justified by reference
 Power and society in Russia 129
to beliefs shared by both dominant and subordinate actors, and there is evi-
dence of consent by the subordinate to the particular power relation. So,
according to Beetham’s interpretation, the power and the people are pre-
sented as mutually oriented and cooperative actors. Promoting obedience and
cooperation, legitimacy can enhance order and stability in a society.31
It would be interesting to develop public opinion polls on these theoretical
grounds to collect more relevant and specific data regarding legitimacy and to
avoid the ambiguity revealed in the above-mentioned Russian public opinion
polls. However, an advanced survey aimed at figuring out the nature of
legitimacy of Russian power would require the clarification of – in the terms
of Stillman – a value pattern present in Russian society today. Taking into
account the revealed incoherence of public and private preferences, it may
be plausible to assume that there is no relatively common and unifying value
pattern in Russian society. To understand the kind of legitimacy of Russian
power, one would need to return to the discourse proposed by Dogan
regarding the global trend towards uniformity in configurations of legitimacy.
There is no doubt that whatever is mainstream in interpreting the legitimacy
of power, it is certainly ‘legal-rational-bureaucratic’ legitimacy, according to
Dogan. But there is no reason to abandon the idea of typological diversity in
the phenomenon of legitimacy for the sake of a more complete and distinct
understanding of various political processes in different countries. Thus,
the rule of President Yeltsin in 1991–3 rested on charismatic legitimacy, as
did the rule of President Putin during his first years in office. However, as
Putin had been ‘appointed’ to the Russian presidency by Boris Yeltsin who
left his post ahead of time, he was legitimized in the traditional way too.
Likewise President Medvedev, who, having no charisma, became legitimate
due not only to the legal procedure of his election, but to the tradition of
succession to the presidency from Putin. Meanwhile, while Vladimir Putin
quickly gained points according to the standards of rational legitimacy, most
notably for his policies aimed at the stabilization of the socio-political situa-
tion in the country, increasing the role of the central government, fighting
crime, while at the same time strengthening his personal charisma by diverse
political activity (especially impressive when compared with Boris Yeltsin
during his last term of office), Medvedev did not manage to win any real
points. So, the Russian political landscape at the beginning of 2010 is peculiar
for its mixed, amorphous type of legitimacy. There are, in Weber’s terms,
some elements of rational legitimacy, but it is dominated by the traditional
type of fluttering charismatic legitimacy.
Still, who is concerned with the legitimacy of state power in Russia?
Legitimacy does not seem to be a tool of value justification of state power
in Russia. Because of the simulative character of the election process, limited
means of expression of public opinion, opacity of decision-making procedures
at all levels, the lack of transparency of power to society and in this sense the
lack of ‘openness’ in public, the issue of legitimacy of Russian power may still
be considered irrelevant. There is an even broader issue of applicability and
130 R. Apressyan
discursive (not to be confused with theoretical) relevance of the concept of
legitimacy. This term is certainly not from the vocabulary of living language.
It seems that News journalists do not need it. It is apparently not required by
analytical journalists either. It might be interesting for PR-analysts and spin
doctors (the so called ‘political technologists’), but the fact that this concept
has not yet been operationalized rather testifies that there is no place for it in
such activity either.
So, although the phenomenon marked by the term ‘legitimacy’ is sig-
nificant, PR-analysts and spin doctors manage to deal with it by using a dif-
ferent dictionary. Meanwhile, it seems that the term is used to some extent by
intellectual journalists but mostly they use it quite broadly and therefore not
restrictively. So, coming from the vocabulary of political science and political
history, only the term ‘legitimacy’ requires further careful conceptual ela-
boration. Clarification of the value aspects of legitimacy, the value analysis of
the mechanisms of legitimation and operationalization of this concept would
enrich the political discourse and provide the public, especially media profes-
sionals and political activists, with a, hopefully, significant tool for the value
analysis of power and public control over it.

Notes
1 In Two Treatises of Government John Locke seems to use the term ‘legitimacy’
only once, namely in §123 of the First Treatise, speaking on the rights of a wife
and of a concubine to inheritance. John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed.
by Peter Laslett (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 231.
2 Ibid., p. 137.
3 Locke says the following:

Political power, then, I take to be a right of making laws, with penalties of

death, and consequently all less penalties for the regulating and preserving
of property, and of employing the force of the community in the execution of
such laws, and in the defence of the commonwealth from foreign injury, and
all this only for the public good.
John Locke, Two Treatises of Government, ed. by Peter Laslett
(Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003), p. 268

In his own way, Locke develops the idea proposed by the fifteenth-century English
lawyer John Fortescue, who argued that the legitimacy of royal power ensured its
compliance with the interests of his subjects. In this very form, this idea was later
embraced by David Hume, who believed that ‘the immediate sanction of govern-
ment’ is in the people’s interest ‘in the security and protection’. David Hume, A
Treatise of Human Nature, ed. by L. A. Selby-Bigge (Oxford: Clarendon Press,
1960), p. 550.
4 The indicators of legitimacy reflected in contemporary literature, such as recog-
nition of authority, recognition of its power as authoritative, rightful and fair are
redundant. The idea of the consent of the people signifies exactly the recognition
of authority, its credibility and its political efforts as rightful and fair.
5 Apparently it is worth selecting different types of legitimacy according to the
relevant matter. Political–legal interpretation of legitimacy corresponds to the
 Power and society in Russia 131
governance, to the constitution and international instruments, checking them for
compliance with the rule of law (a close understanding is suggested in Konstantin
Zavershinsky, ‘“Legitimnost”: genesis, stanovlenie razvitie kontsepta’, Polis, no. 2
(2001), p. 130.) The ethical interpretation of legitimacy associates it with people’s
attitudes towards governance and its policies in regard to compatibility with the
shared ideas on the public and private good.
6 Max Weber, Economy and Society, ed. by Gunther Roth and Claus Wittich
(Berkeley: University of California Press, 1978), p. 213.
7 Arild Wæraas, ‘On Weber: Legitimacy and Legitimation in the Public Relations’,
in Øyvind Ihlen, Betteke van Ruler, and Magnus Fredriksson (eds), Public
Relations and Social Theory: Key Figures and Concepts (New York: Routledge,
2009), p. 308.
8 On heterogeneity of the ‘target groups’ of legitimation see: Rodney Barker, Legit-
imating Identities: The Self-Presentations of Rulers and Subjects (Cambridge:
Cambridge University Press, 2001), pp. 70–1.
9 Nikolai Baranov, Politicheskie otnoshenija i politicheskii protsess v sovremennoi
Rossii (St Petersburg: BGTU Press, 2003), p. 52.
10 Levada-Center, ‘Martovskie reitingi odobreniia i doveriia’, Levada-Center,
March 24, 2011.
11 Ibid.
12 FOM, ‘Uroven’ protestnykh nastroenii’, Dominanty, no. 8 (2011).
13 Sergei Belanovsky and Mikhail Dmitriev, Politicheskij krizis v Rossii i vozmozhnye
mekhanismy ego razvitiia (Moscow: CSR), p. 6. The authors then developed their
conclusion on the basis of the data of the Center for Strategic Studies research,
public opinion polls (mainly at regional level) and focus-groups, which proved the
decreasing electoral ratings of the president and the premier and what’s more, the
president’s average rating was 2–2.5 times lower than the premier’s. See Sergei
Belanovsky and Mikhail Dmitriev, Politicheskii kriis v Rossii i vozmozhnye
mekhanismy ego razvitiia (Moscow: CSR), p. 9.
14 FOM, ‘Sostoianie rossijskoi ekonomiki”, Dominanty, no. 10 (2011).
15 FOM, ‘Dinamika tsen’, Dominanty, no. 13 (2011).
16 For a case study of this strike, see Ruben Apressyan and Marina Kolty-
pina, ‘Bor’ba za Khimkinsii Les: Situatsionno-analiticheskii ocherk’, Ekolo-
gicheskaia Etika (2010). http://www.econet.mrsu.ru/file/151/ Борьба за Химки
нский лес.doc.
17 WCIOM, ‘Vserossiiskii Opros WCIOM’, WCIOM, June 5, 2010.
18 Lev Gudkov (ed.), Otnoshenie rossiian k sudebnoi sisteme: Pervaia volna oprosa
naseleniia (Moscow: Levada-Center), pp. 14–15, 22.
19 Levada-Center, ‘Zdravookhranenie’, Levada-Center (2011); Aleksandr Sinelnikov,
‘Vliianie demograficheskogo statusa i semeinogo polozheniia na obshchestvennoe
mnenie o sisteme zdravoohraneniia’, Sotsialnye Aspekty Zdorov’ia Naseleniia,
February 28, 2011. http://vestnik.mednet.ru/content/view/256/27.
20 Levada-Center Press-bulletin, ‘Otsenka rossiianami kachestva otechestvennogo
obrazovaniia’, Levada-Center, August 10, 2010.
21 WCIOM Press-bulletin, ‘Sostoianie armii: monitoring’, WCIOM, no. 1694,
February 21, 2011.
22 Levada-Center Press-bulletin, ‘Rossiiane ob udovletvorennost’iu zhizn’iu’,
Levada-Center, February 18, 2011.
23 In 2000 – 27%.
24 In 2000 – 27%.
25 Matey Dogan, ‘Regimes, Legitimacy and the Crisis of Trust’, Polis, no. 6
(1994), p. 148.
26 Ibid., p.149.
27 Peter Stillman, ‘The Concept of Legitimacy’, Polity, vol. 7, no. 1 (1974), p. 39.
132 R. Apressyan
28 Stillman seems to be appealing to Lasswellean values as an example. Looking at
this set one can easily imagine its incompleteness. It needs to be complemented
with some political, civic, environmental and international values.
29 Peter Stillman, ‘The Concept of Legitimacy’, Polity, vol. 7, no. 1 (1974), p. 40.
30 An example concerning Mikhail Gorbachev is quite interesting in this regard. As
an initiator of Perestroika and New Thinking he has been differently perceived in
the world and in Russia, which was evident from how his eightieth birthday was
celebrated in Russia (with an informal, almost private party, although not con-
fined to a narrow circle. He was awarded a state honour by the president, but his
birthday party was virtually ignored by state officials) and abroad (by a charity
world-class concert at the Royal Albert Hall in London) in spring 2011. The
outputs of Gorbachev’s supreme rule in the USSR are compatible with the
expectations and values of the elite and the public in the West. And, vice versa,
what he achieved for the USSR and, specifically, Russia have been evaluated in
Russia as mainly negative. In 2010, 25 years after Perestroika had been launched,
41 per cent of respondents believed that it would have been better had there been
no Perestroika begun; 38 per cent did not agree with them, and 20 per cent were
undecided (in 2000 opinions were distributed accordingly: 50 per cent, 40 per cent,
10 per cent and in 1996 – 52 per cent, 41 per cent, 7 per cent). See WCIOM Press-
bulletin, ‘Rossiiane o perestroike: negativnye otsenki teriaiut aktual’nost’?’,
WCIOM, no. 1445, March 9, 2010.
31 David Beetham, The Legitimation of Power (Atlantic Highlands: Humanities
Press International, 1991), p. 35.
8 Powerful rationality or rationality
of power?
Reflections on Russian scepticism towards
human rights
Elena Namli

Human rights constitutes one of the most influential and attractive moral and
political ideas of modern times. It has an almost unquestioned status and
is often seen as an uncontroversial component of the public discourse. There
is at the same time a substantial risk attached to a discourse like human
rights, namely the risk of becoming dominant and therefore excluding other
moral and political traditions. For some time now, we have been hearing
different critical voices claiming that the human rights discourse, being a
Western historical heritage, is often used in order to dominate other cultures
and traditions.1 Some politicians and scholars dismiss the critique, saying that
it comes from those who are simply trying to keep their power unchallenged
by the instruments of human rights. The discourse on Asian values used to be
ignored on this ground. However, a closer examination of the critique against
human rights shows that there is a need for further critical reflection on
how human rights are connected to the Western cultural, political and ideo-
logical heritage and how this connection can be dealt with. The aim of this
chapter is to elaborate on one special feature of the human rights discourse,
namely its rationalism. It will be analysed in relation to the scepticism
towards human rights in contemporary Russia.
Rationalism of the human rights discourse has various dimensions and can
therefore be defined in a number of ways. The first aspect of rationalism
worth mentioning is represented by the idea that human dignity and rights
are connected to the human capacity for reasoning. The Universal Declara-
tion of Human Rights stipulates in its Article 1, ‘All human beings are born
free and equal in dignity and rights. They are endowed with reason and con-
science and should act towards one another in a spirit of brotherhood’, thus
pointing out the importance of this kind of rationalism for the whole system
of human rights. Another meaning of rationalism is an attempt to define
human rights as a special kind of claim. As parties to human rights agree-
ments, states promise not to use their power to violate reasonable claims of
individuals to freedom, security and so on. Further, these two dimensions of
rationalism are related to the strong Western tradition of social contract,
which in itself can be viewed as a form of rationalism. Thinkers from Kant to
Rawls and Habermas have been defending the rationalism of contractarian
134 E. Namli
theory as a strategy for human liberation by means of reason. According to
this tradition, no law or policy is legitimate unless approved by reason.
Lastly, rationalism can be regarded as a paradigm for moral discourse.
Human rights are often understood as a (rational) discourse which can be
related to other (less rational, non-rational) moral discourses. Although
both the justification of human rights as based upon human capacity for
reasoning and the idea of rights as reasonable claims are important and
broadly discussed, this chapter will deal with the rationalism of social con-
tract and the expectation that human rights will serve as a rational paradigm
for morality.
While rationalism of human rights is often taken for granted in the
West, its importance and meaning has been exposed to serious criticism in
other cultures. Like the very notion of rationalism, the criticism of it takes
many forms. In this chapter I will elaborate on the critique which views
rationalism as embedded in the exercise of power by being strongly connected
to Western liberalism as a dominant cultural and ideological tradition. The
discussion will be limited to the context of present-day Russia. There are two
main arguments behind this choice. The first is the need to understand con-
textual critique of human rights in order to improve their implementation.
Russia, as many other countries, represents ‘the other’ within the traditional
Western politics of human rights and must therefore be heard in order to
strengthen the legitimacy of human rights. The second argument concerns the
need to draw a distinction between the constructive and justified critique of
Western rationalism on the one hand and the critique as an instrument for
governments resisting any demand of accountability in terms of political
morality on the other. Both types of critique are easy to find in present-day
Russia but difficult to discriminate between, at least with a higher degree of
certainty.
The starting point of my analysis is a common interpretation of human
rights as an instrument for restriction of political power. Rawls’s theory of
social contract and his principle of legitimacy will be viewed as a representa-
tive model of rationalism. This interpretation of rationalism will be related to
Russian suspicion of human rights. One specific form of it, namely the ethics
of radical responsibility, will be discussed. This kind of ethics can be found in
the philosophical writings of Mikhail Bakhtin, the novels of Dostoevsky, the
Russian Orthodox Church’s documents as well as in the reasoning of many
respondents to recent sociological studies. The ethics of radical responsibility
will be analysed as an ambiguous challenge to human rights rationalism. On
the one hand, the ethics of responsibility is a thought-provoking way of
understanding morality; on the other hand, it is unclear whether a sustainable
social morality can be built upon this kind of ethics. In order to present the
ethics of responsibility as fairly as possible I will use theoretical texts dealing
with this ethics as well as policy documents relying on it. Lastly, I will discuss
some strategies for responding to the Russian critique of human rights
rationalism. The liberal response, or rather the lack of it, will be related to
 Scepticism towards human rights 135
Jürgen Habermas’s and Gianni Vattimo’s discussions of the shortcomings of
modern rationalism.

The liberal principle of legitimacy and rationalism

There is a tension within human rights discourse which has a great sig-
nificance for the issue of rationalism. Namely, human rights politics as well as
human rights law aspires to universal legitimacy while being a historical pro-
duct of Western liberal cultures. Those who recognize the tension tend to
either see it as a huge challenge for the universal system of human rights or
argue that the genealogy of human rights must not be an obstacle to their
universal applicability. One strong argument in favour of the latter position is
rationalistic and states that people from different classes, societies and tradi-
tions value human rights if they may exercise their capacity for judgment
freely. This belief presupposes that all human beings have the same ration-
ality, at least potentially. Critics maintain that this is not the case and state
that human rights discourse, as formulated nowadays, is bound by a specific
Western-liberal understanding of rationality. Other types of rationality are at
risk of being marginalized and the reason which was supposed to be a means
for liberation can itself become oppressive. What can be said about this
controversy by applying it to the current challenges from Russia?
Before elaborating on this question I will shortly recapitulate and discuss
eventually the most influential form of liberal rationalism, namely that of
John Rawls. My presumption is that it can be seen as a theoretical transcrip-
tion of the moral rationales of human rights as understood within the main-
stream Western discourse. In his Political Liberalism, Rawls suggests the
following formulation of what he calls the liberal principle of legitimacy:

Our exercise of political power is fully proper only when it is exercised

in accordance with a constitution the essentials of which all citizens as
free and equal may reasonably be expected to endorse in the light of
principles and ideals acceptable to their common human reason.2

This notion of legitimacy is well known and has been broadly discussed.
Nevertheless, let me emphasize its main components. The first is the idea of
moral legitimization of political power. Following a distinctive tradition of
Western thought, Rawls believes that political morality can and must be
used in order to evaluate and control the use of political power. His own
theory of justice is constructed as a means for the evaluation of politics. Then,
Rawls assumes that some principles of political morality (of justice in his
case) can and must be incorporated into the law on the constitutional level
and thus both guide and restrict the use of political power. And lastly,
according to Rawls, it is possible to reach an agreement on the issue of which
principles of political morality must be chosen as constitutional principles.
Such agreement is described by Rawls as an agreement among ‘reasonable
136 E. Namli
and rational, as well as free and equal citizens’3 and one of the most important
outcomes of the agreement is the human rights law.
It is possible to accept or to reject Rawls’s ideas all together or selectively.
For example, it is possible to claim that though it is plausible to judge politics
on moral grounds it is not possible to find one notion of social justice that the
whole society can agree upon. It is also thinkable to suggest that although we
can find some common rational principles of morality, it is hard to expect
that they can be effectively used within the realm of the political.
To recapitulate all the arguments for, as well as against, Rawls’s principle of
legitimacy is beyond the scope of this chapter. For my purpose here, I will
focus on the idea that legitimate power is grounded in a special kind of social
contract. As is known, John Rawls discriminates between the notion of
rationality and the notion of reasonableness. Both are needed in order to
build a principle of legitimacy as an outcome of social contract. ‘Rational’
‘applies to a single, unified agent (either an individual or corporate person)
with the powers of judgement and deliberation in seeking ends and interests
peculiarly its own’. Reasonable persons, according to Rawls, ‘desire for its
own sake a social world in which they, as free and equal, can cooperate with
others on terms all can accept’.4 What Rawls describes as liberal legitimacy
refers to power as ‘always coercive’5 but restricted by the contract which is
grounded on principles acceptable to rational and reasonable citizens. They
are rational by adopting different reasonable comprehensive ideas of good
and they are reasonable by adopting one common political view of justice.
The last one is minimal and aims at a social contract which can be sustained
in a pluralistic democratic society.
The rationalism of Rawls’s principle of legitimacy is explicitly connected to
Western liberal ideology. A norm of political morality is not justified if it
views its subject or its object as either unfree or subordinated. A justified
social contract must be a contract between rational and reasonable as well as
free and equal individuals.6 One important question arises here. What kind of
practical rationality, if any, is possible when liberal freedom and equality
are not present? Can a sustainable and just social contract be reached in a
non-liberal society?
While Rawls is aware of the liberal framework of his principle of legiti-
macy, the most powerful agents of the current human rights discourse are
not. Like international politics and international law, the human rights dis-
course has incorporated the view of rationality as per se connected to liber-
alism and at the same time expects this view to be accepted and even
implemented all over the world. As many critics have pointed out, such an
approach is often experienced as imperialistic in that it fails to recognize other
forms of practical rationality.
The ignorance of the historical particularity of liberal values (including the
liberal understanding of rationalism) demonstrated by the majority of
Western proponents of human rights leads to different reactions against
human rights. From being acknowledged as an instrument for restriction of
 Scepticism towards human rights 137
the coercive power of the state, human rights are now often experienced as
one more instrument of the liberal cultures seeking domination over other
cultures. Some forms of Russian scepticism towards human rights illustrate
this kind of reaction. Political agents and theorists, who differ in many other
senses, agree that Western liberalism is under significant suspicion in Russia.
Rather often, Russian critics express their distrust of human rights explicitly
in terms of rights being a product of Western rationalism. Let us look at some
examples in order to understand why Russian critics do not approve of liberal
rationalism and what alternative they suggest.

Karamazov’s guilt and the ethics of radical responsibility

One of the most influential voices among those who oppose ‘Western ration-
alism’ is that of Fyodor Dostoevsky (1821–81). Disappointed with the socialist
ideals of his youth, Dostoevsky looked for an alternative way for Russia, a
way which would be free from the disadvantages of the European develop-
ment and lead to real human liberation. Such liberation, according to
Dostoevsky, cannot be achieved by means of reason. Revealing the mentality
of a human being revolting against rationalism understood as adaptation to
necessity and law, the famous hero of Dostoevsky’s Notes from Underground
bursts out: ‘Well, gentlemen, why do not we reduce all this reasonableness to
dust with one good kick, for the sole purpose of sending all these logarithms
to the devil and living once more according to our stupid will!’7
Real human freedom, according to the hero, is not the Kantian will which
is bound by reason alone. Instead, it is the will powerful enough to transcend
necessity as such. Interestingly, recent sociological studies indicate that this
kind of ‘Russian voluntarism’ which considers unbound will (volia) to be the
very essence of human freedom is still rather prevalent among ordinary
Russians.8 To some extent, the phenomenon can be explained as an under-
standable reaction to the historical experiences of political and social oppres-
sion as well as a consequence of negative experiences of contact with the
‘rationalistic West’. Nevertheless, in order to comprehend and handle this
form of Russian scepticism towards rationalism it is important to look into it
in more detail.
Dostoevsky’s critique of rationalism is ambiguous. On the one hand,
Dostoevsky is critical of Western liberalism because it is Western, thus
demonstrating a strong and, without doubt, problematic nationalism. On the
other hand, Dostoevsky has developed another, philosophically, most inter-
esting critique of rationalism, which leads to a comprehensive re-evaluation
of the content and meaning of moral responsibility, thus radically challenging
Kantian understanding of practical rationality.
In both his novels and his journalism, Dostoevsky distanced himself from
rationalism, which he interpreted as a central feature of the liberal culture. It
is almost impossible to find any sympathetic, rational person in the works of
Dostoevsky. Lawyers, doctors and writers of the liberal sort are accused of
138 E. Namli
being false and foreign in relation to the Russian people. Probably one of the
most telling scenes in this regard is the trial of Dmitri Karamazov in The
Brothers Karamazov. Dmitri is found guilty of a murder he did not commit.
The decision is made by a jury of ordinary Russian men who, in the novel, are
contrasted with the professionals of the court (except for the prosecutor) as
well as with the noble public at the trial. Ordinary Russian people reason and
judge in a distinctively different way from the noble public.
As is known, Dostoevsky was interested in the liberal reform of criminal
justice procedure introduced by Tsar Alexander II in 1864. This reform
‘made trial by jury obligatory in criminal proceedings. Judges were given the
opportunity to establish real independence, in part by freeing them of the
duty to gather evidence, and enabling them to act as a free arbitrator between
the parties’.9 Some scholars argue that the inspiration for the technical details
of the trial in The Brothers Karamazov was the trial of Vera Zasulich which
Dostoevsky attended as a journalist in March 1878.10 Zasulich, who attempted
to murder the governor of St Petersburg, was acquitted, while Dostoevsky’s
Dmitri, who was not guilty, was sent to Siberia. Why was that?
As already mentioned, Dostoevsky creates a sharp contrast between the
ordinary Russian people’s way of experiencing Dmitri’s guilt and that of the
Westernized noble public. There is also a line between ‘ours’ and ‘those from
outside’, for example the defence lawyer from St Petersburg. The narrator of
the novel tells us that:

Everyone was excited by the coming of the famous Fetiukovich. His

talent was known everywhere, and this was not the first time he had come
to the provinces to defend a celebrated criminal case. And after his
defence such cases always became famous all over Russia and were
remembered for a long time.11

The lawyer is described as very talented and ambitious. He appeals to the

jury’s sense of ‘truth and sensible ideas’12 and he declares that he has a for-
mula as follows: ‘the overwhelming totality of the facts is against the defen-
dant, and at the same time there is not one fact that will stand up to criticism,
if it is considered separately, on its own!’13 Most of the public watching the
process is convinced by Fetiukovich and expects the jury to free Dmitri from
the charge. However, for some reason the famous lawyer fails to convince the
jury, which finds Dmitri guilty on every count of the charge. The narrator of
the novel ends the story by letting people comment that ‘our peasants stood
up for themselves’, alluding to the members of the jury who did not approve
of the arguments of the lawyer from St Petersburg.
The trial of Dmitri Karamazov is the creation of an artist. This is impor-
tant to keep in mind while interpreting the episode. The narrator of the story
is ironic, which deters the reader from identifying his comments with the
voice of the writer. Further, it would be a simplification to interpret the story
as Dostoevsky’s complete dissatisfaction with the legal reform of 1864. The
 Scepticism towards human rights 139
behaviour of the jury appears voluntaristic because they do not consider the
arguments of the defence lawyer. Does Dostoevsky want the reader to admire
this behaviour? On the one hand, the narrator tells us that the jury members
demonstrated their own sense of justice. On the other hand, the reader knows
that Dmitri did not kill his father and therefore he knows that the decision of
the jury is wrong. The verdict of the jury is wrong and yet it is just at the
same time. What does it mean?
The famous chorus of The Brothers Karamazov reveals, according to my
understanding, the main message of the story of Dmitri’s trial. In light of the
statement ‘each of us is guilty in everything before everyone, and I most of
all’,14 the sentence of the ‘irrational’ jury becomes meaningful. It seems that
the jury’s decision is right in another sphere of justice and thus of practical
rationality than that of the law. Dmitri is guilty ‘of his father’s blood’ even if
he did not try to kill him. Dmitri himself came to accept the verdict as a
moral condemnation of his previous life and, like Raskol’nikov in Crime and
Punishment, looked forward to becoming a new man in Siberia.
There is one striking similarity between the trial of Dmitri and that of the
Khodorkovsky trial of 2010. It seems that, for many Russians today, as for
Dostoevsky more than 100 years ago, the miscarriage of legal justice unveils
the distinctiveness of moral justice. For most proponents of human rights, this
is absolutely unacceptable. The right to a fair and impartial trial is funda-
mental and every violation of it must be condemned. But if we really want to
understand the culture where not just possessors of power but even ordinary
people underestimate the importance of the rule of law, we need more than a
loud condemnation. It is of crucial importance to analyse the particular
complexity of the situation in Russia. Both in the fictional case of Dmitri’s
trial and in that of Khodorkovsky there is a dramatic lack of trust in the
capacity of the judicial system to sustain justice. This famous Russian legal
nihilism is, of course, a result of a long history of abuse of judicial and poli-
tical power. At the same time, the term ‘nihilism’ captures just one aspect of
the phenomenon. Namely, it demonstrates hopelessness or even cynicism in
regard to the legal system. Another aspect of the same phenomenon is a belief
that, despite the lack of legal justice, moral justice is still possible. Evaluated
from a traditional logic of social contract, this understanding must be seen as
non-reasonable. Legal justice is viewed as a minimum of moral justice, which
makes it hard to speak of the latter if the former is absent. Why then have so
many Russians not adopted the contractarian view on justice?
As stated above, there is a special sense of practical rationality in The
Brothers Karamazov. It says that everyone is guilty in everything and before
everyone. This means that the very essence of morality is understood as
everyone’s radical responsibility rather than rights. Dmitri did not kill his
father but by denying his responsibility for the father and focusing on his own
interests Dmitri made the murder possible. Khodorkovsky is most likely
not guilty of all the crimes he has been sentenced for, but he is responsible
for the situation in the country and thus for the fact that people are subjected
140 E. Namli
to an unfair trial system. Khodorkovksy’s appeal to human rights does not
get much sympathy from ordinary Russians, precisely as Dmitri did not
get the jury’s sympathy in the novel. Within the logic of the ethics of radical
responsibility, guilt is seen as a point of departure rather than a consequence
of human deeds. According to a legalistic (contractual) understanding
of guilt, someone is guilty or not guilty as a result of what he has done
(or has not done). The ethics of responsibility claims that a moral human
act starts by accepting responsibility. There is no expectation of proportion-
ality either. Responsibility for the other overrules one’s own interests (or
rights).
The ethics of radical responsibility is most interesting philosophically. At
the same time there is a conflict between this kind of ethics and the very
rationale of human rights. The latter sees every human being as a possessor of
some alienable rights while the former stresses personal responsibility. Is the
ethics of radical responsibility incompatible with human rights? Russian his-
tory has shown that emphasizing responsibility rather than rights makes it
easier to misuse political power and to violate human dignity and freedom. In
spite of this, the ethics of responsibility remains an important part of Russian
culture and almost all attempts to replace it with rights language fail. There-
fore it might be more productive to look for a way to combine the ethics of
responsibility with the rationales of human rights.
Rather unexpectedly I find a model for how to understand the relation
between the ethics of radical responsibility and the contractarian ratio-
nality in the early writings of the Russian philosopher and literary scholar
Mikhail Bakhtin (1895–1975). Bakhtin was looking for a new concept of
practical reason, a concept which would be distinct from the concept of the-
oretical reason. He starts by establishing a sharp contrast between rationalis-
tic Kantian ethics and the ethics of radical responsibility. The former states
that a justified norm must be ‘capable of becoming a norm of universal con-
duct’.15 The core of the latter is recognition of the uniqueness of personal
responsibility. According to Bakhtin, it is not possible to generalize moral
norms understood in this way and therefore not possible to create a moral law
(general by definition). If we remember the famous sentence from the novel of
Dostoevsky, it says that everyone is guilty of everything and I most of all.
Bakhtin emphasizes this and argues that it is crucial to separate the unique
position of I and all other positions within the discourse of radical responsi-
bility. Only from a first person’s perspective is it meaningful to claim such a
responsibility. Bakhtin states:

I occupy a place in once-occurrent Being that is unique and never-repeatable,

a place that cannot be taken by anyone else and is impenetrable for
anyone else. In the given once-occurrent point where I am now located,
no one else has ever been located in the once-occurrent space and once-
occurrent Being. [ … ] That which can be done by me can never be done
by anyone else.16
 Scepticism towards human rights 141
As is known, Bakhtin calls this unique position of the ‘I’ ‘my non-alibi in
Being’ and maintains that no one can argue for someone else’s (radical)
responsibility without limiting his own, thus breaking the logic of radical
responsibility.17 That is why Dmitri becomes a moral person when he accepts
his responsibility for the murder, while the verdict of the court is morally
wrong. Ivan, Dmitri’s brother, shows the same ethical insight when he con-
fesses that he is responsible for the murder. The judge dismisses his confession
as the confession of a madman. The episode is interesting because it marks
the difference between the madness of radical responsibility of Ivan, Dmitri
and Aleosha on the one hand and the logic of the law on the other.
Law, at least the law of modern times, is the same for everyone. It is general
and abstract. The implementation of law, as well as legislation, must trans-
cend personal perspectives in order to maintain the mutuality of a social
contract. Philosophically it means that justification of the law demands rea-
soning acceptable to all rational individuals. Sociologically it means that legal
nihilism appears in situations where too many individuals and collectives
ignore the law. In contrast, the ethics of radical responsibility rejects the
rationality of mutuality and generalization. Philosophically speaking it means
that rationalistic morality of general norms has been replaced by phenomen-
ological morality of unique personal responsibility. In a sociological perspec-
tive, the ethics of radical responsibility is crucial when a society is in crisis
and individuals need motivation for moral behaviour in absence of a func-
tioning social contract. Not surprisingly, the ethics of responsibility is an
ethics of self-sacrifice. It is even possible to suggest that for a society in crisis
to survive, it is crucial to sustain the mentality of radical responsibility and
self-sacrifice.
Is it possible to combine these two ethical paradigms and two different
senses of practical rationality? As already mentioned, I believe it is possible if
we realize that the ethics of radical responsibility does not allow general-
izations, while the rationality of law and social morality as a result of social
contract demands it. The former says that within the realm of morality there
is only one legitimate question for a person to ask, namely, what I should do.
The ethics of radical responsibility creates no law because the very question of
what (all) other people should do is not moral and must be replaced with
personal responsibility. That is why it is both possible and desirable to com-
plement the ethics of radical responsibility with a morality of social contract
when it comes to the exercising of institutional political and legal power.
Within the realm of the political, the rationality of human rights guarantees
that those with power do not use it in order to abuse those with less power.
While Dmitri should recognize his moral responsibility for the murder, the
jury should recognize its responsibility for Dmitri and society. The jury must
either leave the ethics of radical responsibility and acquit Dmitri, or claim
that it is itself guilty of the murder.
I believe that those who claim an incompatibility between traditional mor-
alities of self-sacrifice and the contract-based ethics of human rights overlook
142 E. Namli
the difference between the ethics of responsibility inspiring people to moral
actions and the misuse of this kind of ethics by those with power. Later I will
give some examples of such a misuse from contemporary Russian society. But
in order for the ethics of radical responsibility to function genuinely it must
be used exclusively from a first-person perspective. While the rationality of
social contract demands reciprocity of every moral and legal norm, the
rationality of the ethics of responsibility rejects it. While the former creates
institutional norms, the latter radicalizes personal responsibility. In The
Brothers Karamazov, there are Aleosha and the elder Zosima who practise the
ethics of responsibility. None of them ever judges another person. They
always seek to share responsibility with others.
Summing up the discussion so far, we can say that within the Russian
context there is a strong cultural tradition of the ethics of responsibility, the
rationality of which is different from the rationality of a social contract. The
rationality of radical responsibility does not include reciprocity of a social
contract and therefore does not create any law. It is of vital importance in situa-
tions of crisis while motivating people to solidarity and even self-sacrifice beyond
the scope of institutionalized protection. At the same time, this rationality does
not function properly if used in institutional (not least legal) domains. It is
impossible to judge someone else by the rationality of radical responsibility.
No claims towards the other can be made within the logic of the ethics of respon-
sibility. That is why I believe that the rationality of human rights law must be
used as a complement to the ethics of radical responsibility. The very condition
for such compatibility must be outlining the unique profile and domain of each.

Rationality of responsibility and responsibility of power

One of the most important elements of human rights law is an expectation of
accountability. Everyone must be guaranteed an opportunity to claim his
rights. Both Dmitri and Khodorkovsky are expected to be heard because they
are human beings and therefore have rights. However, for Dostoevsky, as well
as for many Russians following the trial of Khodorkovsky, the very mention
of rights appears as a sign of a person not taking moral responsibility. Instead
of focusing on the unjust procedure of the courts, people discuss the moral
guilt of the accused.
I believe that one historical explanation for this phenomenon is the strong
Orthodox heritage. Orthodox moral theology differs from Catholic and
Lutheran theology in the way it views the relation between social and perso-
nal morality. Both Catholic and Lutheran ethics used to separate social mor-
ality from personal morality; the former is discussed in terms of social justice
and the latter in terms of personal responsibility and self-sacrifice.18 The
Russian Orthodox tradition has not incorporated the distinction and still
views social morality as a sphere where self-sacrifice functions as a prime
category. It is even possible to claim that no social ethics can be found within
Russian Orthodox theology.
 Scepticism towards human rights 143
As far as human rights are concerned, the Russian Orthodox Church
states openly that it sees redemption from sin as the most important goal
for human beings.19 The very stress on redemption is peculiar in the context
of human rights. Instead of discussing human rights in terms of the
state’s responsibility to respect and protect people, the Church chooses to
elaborate on human rights in terms of personal morality and salvation.
Instead of looking for mechanisms to protect human beings from the institu-
tional abuse of power, the Church worries that people become egoistic when
using the rationality of human rights. The Church, or at least its leaders
voting for the document on human rights, keeps on contrasting the ‘egoistic’
rationality of human rights with the Christian value of self-sacrifice through-
out the document. Arguing for a need to harmonize Christian values
with human rights, the Church interprets human rights as a matter of perso-
nal morality rather than an instrument for constraining the use of political
power:

The Word of God teaches that giving one’s earthly life for Christ and the
gospel (cf. Mk. 8:35) and for other people will not hamper one’s salvation
but, quite to the contrary, will lead one to the Kingdom of Heaven
(cf. Jn. 15:13). The Church honours the feat of martyrs who served God
even to death and the feat of confessors who refused to renounce Him in
face of persecutions and threats. Orthodox Christians also honour the
heroism of those who gave their lives in battlefield fighting for their
homeland and neighbours.20

In this quotation, as in many other paragraphs of the document, the

Church interprets the politics of human rights from a perspective of personal
morality, thus underestimating such a central dimension of human rights as
institutionalized restriction of power. At the same time, the document uses
the language of power analysis when it states (part III, 4) that human
rights are often used in order ‘to impose one civilisation’s values upon others’.
Unfortunately, the insight into the political within the discourse is not
utilized in order to illuminate the structure of domination in a domestic
perspective.
The document on human rights can be analysed as a statement of the
Church allying itself with the state and thus looking for arguments against
human rights.21 Nevertheless, the document illustrates the ambivalence pre-
sented in Russian culture in general. Recognizing the risk of using human
rights as either an excuse for a person not taking responsibility or a means for
Western cultural domination, it underestimates the potential of human rights
as an instrument for restricting the use of power. The Russian Orthodox
Church’s document on human rights states that human rights must not con-
tradict Christian morality (part III, 5). However, the very understanding of
Christian morality is reduced to the personal morality of responsibility. This
leads to a severe devaluation of human rights as an instrument of political
144 E. Namli
and social accountability. An alternative approach could be to adopt the view
on human rights as a framework of social (institutional) morality while seeing
the traditional Christian morality of self-sacrifice as a domain of personal22
moral choice. This would allow the continued criticism of human rights’
individualism while recognizing it as an instrument for the restriction of
power.
In the Russian context, as in many other non-liberal contexts, there is a
need for a reinterpretation of the dialectics of right and responsibility. The
current approach of the Church is not acceptable because it totally replaces
the human rights discourse with the discourse of personal responsibility.
Instead of focusing on actual and potential violations of human life and dig-
nity by the institutions of power the Church reclaims ‘the traditional’ Christian
value of self-sacrifice. However, it is possible to construct a human rights
language by using responsibility as the base category. This responsibility must
be linked to possession of power within the realm of the political. As, for
example Robert M. Cover has claimed with regard to the traditional ethics of
Judaism, a responsibility of the powerful can create a corresponding right of
the powerless.23 What is important here is the recognition of the fact that
duty (responsibility) and right have different subjects. A more powerful sub-
ject has a duty towards a powerless subject regardless of what kind of duties
the powerless subject has in his own moral space. Within this logic the very
possession of power creates a responsibility and therefore a corresponding
right. In the logic of a liberal human rights culture, there is a right of human
individuals that creates a corresponding duty.
In a culture with a traditionally strong emphasis on responsibility, an ana-
lysis of power is of great significance. Namely, it can be used to combine a
discourse of responsibility with a right discourse. The belief that Dmitri
Karamazov is guilty of his father’s blood is meaningful but not in relation to
the decision of the jury. The trial is an exercising of institutional power and
therefore the court must approach Dmitri’s situation with a clear recognition
of its power and Dmitri’s dependence on it. The same must be said of the case
of Khodorkovsky. His human rights can be recognized if the state admits
its obligations as a possessor of power.
Can a human rights discourse focusing on the responsibility of the
state (power-possessor) rather than individuals’ rights become an effective
mechanism for protection? It is hard to say. Maybe it is unavoidable that
the traditional liberal idea of human rights remains a stronger platform for
the protection of human beings. At the same time it is crucial to listen to the
critique of human rights as a Western and therefore potentially colonial
paradigm. The document of the Russian Orthodox Church demonstrates how
a bad critique of human rights can be legitimized by referring to the broadly
recognized circumstance of Western cultural domination. The Church is right
in claiming that liberal cultures use human rights in order to dominate other
cultures. But the document of the Church does not suggest any reasonable
alternative to the liberal tradition of human rights.
 Scepticism towards human rights 145
Addressing the challenge of the ethics of responsibility
How can we find out whether there is a sustainable alternative to the
liberal understanding of human rights, and whether the rationality of radical
responsibility can be combined with the rationality of social contract?
I believe that there is a way. The situation in Russia is characterized by the
fact that many Russians are familiar with both kinds of reasoning. Addition-
ally, there are movements advocating either the traditional ethics of responsi-
bility or the liberal ethics of human rights. To engage them in a dialogue
would be an important step towards a deeper understanding of these two
types of rationality and their potential compatibility. As far as I know, there
is at the moment a profound deficit of dialogue between those who promote
‘the traditional’ reasoning of responsibility and those who advocate liberal
rationality and institutional rights. One symptom of the deficit is the way
parties talk about each other. While the Church describes liberal culture as
egoistic and foreign, the liberals often describe the Church as well as ordinary
Russian people as lacking any insight into political culture and as being in
need of enlightenment. I have already quoted the Church. Let me now give an
example from ‘the other side’.
In November 2009, the foundation ‘Liberal Mission’ (Liberal’naia Missiia)
organized a conference on the issue of Russia’s political culture in relation to
Europe. The documents of the conference are now published in a volume with
the title Evropeiskii vybor ili snova ‘osobyi put’?24 The conference aimed at
discussing Alexander Yanov’s monograph Russia and Europe: 1462–1921.
What struck me while I was reading the documents was the sense of super-
iority of the liberal tradition demonstrated by the participants. Arguing for
the need for Russia to adopt European political liberalism, they describe their
opponents, as well as ordinary people showing sympathy for the opponents,
as lacking any critical rationality. The task of introducing the rationality of
democracy and liberalism is seen as exclusively the intelligentsia’s mission.
While talking about Russian youth and its massive support for the official
idea of sovereign democracy, Evgeny Yasin uses the term ‘ethical deafness’;25
Igor Kliamkin, while regretting that Russian liberals do not succeed in
addressing Russian society, says that ‘in order to enter their conscience we
must convince them [millions of people] that democracy is better for them
than the lack of it’.26 I could not find any opposition to this way of under-
standing the liberal intelligentsia as an exclusive subject of rational mind in
the 446 page document of the conference. Even Vadim Mezhuev, the philo-
sopher who used to argue for a dialogue, stated that only intellectuals can
recognize the value of democracy and freedom and that ordinary people in
Russia are conservative by the nature of their minds.27
There are two points that need comment here. One is of a communicative
character. If Russian liberals really want people to listen to them and to
prefer a democratic discourse over vertical communication from a strong
state, they must learn to handle a situation in which people actually reason in
146 E. Namli
many different ways. By stating that ordinary Russians lack political ration-
ality, liberals once again in Russian history give the impression of being for-
eign to their own people. This can be exploited and in fact is exploited by
different nationalistic ideologies including that of the Russian Orthodox
Church. Therefore the liberals must recognize that even if it were easier to
build a liberal democratic society without listening to the people, it would not
be possible.
The second point of my concern has to do with the content of differences
between the rationality advocated by liberals and that of the Church and ‘the
traditionalists’. It seems that both sides continue to view these rationalities as
incompatible alternatives. So far I have been arguing that this need not be the
case. But even if I am wrong, and these two alternatives cannot be combined
within one and the same political space, it is reasonable to suggest that while
engaged in a dialogue the alternatives can be developed and/or transformed.
The situation in Russia is not unique; the revival of political Islam and poli-
tical theology within Christianity poses a similar challenge to other European
countries. Due to the new circumstances, many European philosophers as well
as politicians are looking for an alternative to the traditional modern
approach of ‘enlightening’ the less-rational opponents. Different strategies
have been suggested and it is impossible to say which of them will prove to be
more productive. Nevertheless, what is broadly acknowledged is the very need
of a dialogue between proponents of various traditions of reasoning. Unfor-
tunately, the culture of political dialogue is weak in Russia. Commenting on
the issue of how to form a dialogue between liberals and ‘the others’, Vadim
Mezhuev admits that ‘nobody knows how to do it, while its absence is a his-
torical blind alley’.28 Further, he complains that instead of a dialogue
between liberals and proponents of ‘the Russian way’, there is just a militant
confrontation.29 This confrontation has materialistic explanations as both
sides seek access to power. Still, Mezhuev is right in claiming that Russia’s
political future is dependent on its capacity to establish a culture of dialogue.

From universal reason to weak rationality

What strategy can be used to strengthen a dialogue on such an issue of social
morality as human rights? The issue unveils differences in the ways people
reason. Let me give two examples of approaching the question of practical
rationality which can be applied to the situation in Russia. The first is Jürgen
Habermas’s view of rationality as essentially communicative and the other is
Gianni Vattimo’s idea of weak rationality.
In 1989 Jürgen Habermas visited Russia and gave three lectures on dis-
course ethics and rationality. The lectures were published in a Russian trans-
lation with the title Democracy, Reason, Morality.30 In his third lecture,
Habermas discussed how a society might organize a public discourse in order
to balance the sovereign power of people and rationality. The task of forming
a reasonable will of a democratic society demands, according to Habermas,
 Scepticism towards human rights 147
an open discourse where people’s (non-rational, less-rational) will is expressed
and discussed.31 Commenting on the role of the intelligentsia in creating a
democratic political culture, Habermas stressed its ability for open political
communication built upon the recognition of its own fallibility.32 The very
acceptance of the fact that no one can be justified in claiming a monopoly on
the truth opens up the political discourse according to Habermas. In another
context, he pointed out that his theory of communicative rationality to some
extent is a result of the encounter with different approaches to practical
rationality. In an interview with Torben Hviid Nielsen Habermas says:

And since the mid-1970s I have felt the pressure of the neoconservative
and the poststructuralist critiques of reason, to which I responded with
the concept of communicative rationality. This constellation remained
unchanged in the 1980s, and it was for this reason that I continued to
work on a critique of the philosophy of consciousness and sought to lend
it greater philosophical precision. In Der Philosophische Diskurs der
Moderne (1985) I tried to show that ‘representational thinking’ can be
replaced by something other than the defeatism of the deconstructionists
or the contextualism of the neo-Aristotelians.33

The German philosopher develops his theory of communicative action and

looks for new possibilities for reinterpretation of the Kantian concept of
practical reason in order to handle the challenges of the present situation. To
discuss the content of Habermas’s theory is beyond the scope of this chapter.
What I would like to point out is the well-known fact that Habermas con-
stantly and consciously transforms his theory of practical rationality with
regard to the ongoing political process. Still believing in the universality of
practical reason, Habermas seems to place it in the very capacity of human
beings to reason in an open, communicative way. This kind of openness
demands a great deal of tolerance and generosity towards such ways of reasoning
that at first sight look unfamiliar, provocative or non-rational.
I am not inclined to overestimate human ability to communicate across
substantial differences. The current critique of theories of deliberative
democracy influenced by Habermas shows serious shortcomings in the com-
municative approach, not least when applied to actual conflicts of interests.
Many critics think that conflicts of interests cannot be resolved by means of
dialogue. What it takes is a redistribution of institutional power.34 However,
in the present context of Russia, it would be helpful to stress the importance
of communicative rationality in order to encourage people to reason with
each other instead of dogmatically claiming superiority for familiar ways of
reasoning. Rather symbolically, Habermas held his Moscow lectures in 1989.
The period of the early 1990s was marked by the hope for an open demo-
cratic dialogue as the main political instrument of transformation. The situa-
tion is different today. The naive optimism of the 1990s has been replaced by
the loss of trust in the possibility of democratic transformation and even a
148 E. Namli
great deal of cynicism in regard to political dialogue as such. Therefore, it is
of considerable importance to look for strategies of communication that will
acknowledge the complexity of the current situation.
There are some Russian voices advocating the high priority of building a
culture of political dialogue. In several articles, Tatiana Vorozheikina claims
that one important challenge Russian liberals must face is that of an extended
cynicism in relation to morality within the realm of the political. Engaging in
political activities on a macro-level, the liberals prioritize those strategies
which seem to give access to power. For many ordinary Russians, this appears
to be proof of ‘the sameness’ of all political actors. Ideological and moral
differences between parties and movements remain insufficient when related
to the fact that they are all seeking power. Instead of fighting for political
power, thereby entering the logic of vertical discourse, liberals should focus on
creating a social space where morality would be recognized as an important
dimension of politics. By vertical discourse, Vorozheikina seems to mean the
already-mentioned tradition of talking to people rather than discussing with
people, something liberals share with other political agents in Russia.
Vorozheikina believes that in order to change political culture, it is crucial to
engage in discussions where the interests and thoughts of ordinary people are
at least as important as their votes.35
Gianni Vattimo approaches the issue of practical rationality and the poli-
tical from a different perspective than Habermas. While the latter is looking
for a modified Kantian ethics, the former argues in favour of nihilism towards
every form of ‘ultimate foundations’. Such foundations, or rather beliefs in
them, create what Vattimo calls ‘violent reasoning’, reasoning ensured of its
own rightness. Such reasoning has no need to listen to others, seeking instead
to persuade them of the already proved truth. I believe that Vattimo’s
description of violent reasoning articulates experiences of marginalized
groups and traditions and many Russians can easily associate the rationalism
of modern times as well as that of liberal traditions of human rights with such
‘violent reasoning’. Applied to the human rights discourse, this can mean that
the more liberal proponents of human rights become convinced of the uni-
versal applicability of their ‘rational’ beliefs, the more arrogant they appear to
people who do not consider liberalism to be a self-evident universal form of
political morality. Maybe even more important is that while investing all our
energy in the task of convincing people of the superiority of the practical
reasoning of the West, we miss sustainable cultural alternatives for the
positive development of people and societies.
What alternative does Vattimo suggest? He encourages us to think (and
act) in categories of weak rationality ( pensiero debole). What we are ‘left
with’, after abandoning the security of foundational rationality, are different
forms of cultural heritage, heritage we have to interpret. This weak rationality
of Vattimo’s is not an advocacy of moral relativism. Vattimo seems to believe
that although it is impossible to reason beyond one’s own tradition, it is both
possible and necessary to interpret it in a responsible way. This means that
 Scepticism towards human rights 149
some ways of reasoning can and must be rejected as irresponsible. In Nihilism
and Emancipation, commenting on criteria of the responsible interpretation of
cultural legacy, Vattimo states:

If we find this criterion in nihilism, in the dissolution of ultimate

foundations and their unverifiability (the violent refusal to have them
questioned), then the choice between what holds good and what does
not in the cultural heritage from which we come will be made on the
basis of the reduction of violence and under the sign of rationality
understood as discourse-dialogue between defenders of finite positions
who recognize that that is what they are and who shun the temptation to
impose their position on others legitimately (through validation by first
principles).36

Nihilism in relation to ultimate foundations is regarded by Vattimo to be an

instrument against the violent superiority of one historical kind of rationality
over others. I believe that Vattimo’s approach can be productive in the current
Russian situation. It allows combining the legitimate critique of Western cul-
tural domination with the clear expectation of a self-critical approach towards
any interpretation of Russian cultural heritage. Previously in this chapter,
I have commented on the Russian Orthodox Church trying to reduce the
scope of human rights discourse by means of the ethics of personal responsi-
bility. According to my understanding, there are two main reasons for such a
reduction. The first is the already-mentioned fact that the leaders of the
Church choose not to confront the state. Once again in its history, the Church
accepts the role of loyal servant of the state. The risks of such a strategy are
well known. The second reason is an unfortunate incapability of viewing the
Orthodox tradition as living and developing. The Moscow Patriarchate often
states that the Orthodox tradition must be preserved, and that there is no
need for any changes. This position is problematic theologically as well as
practically. Most of those who created the tradition of the Church (Fathers of
the Church in Orthodox terminology) were independent minds who dared to
challenge the norms of society and the Church. Moreover, the belief that it is
possible to refrain from interpretation and development of a tradition has
very little support in theological theory. In a practical perspective, the posi-
tion of the Church is problematic in that it does not allow much of a choice.
An individual considering whether to join the Russian Orthodox Church can
either accept the whole (pre-modern) tradition or reject it. Therefore, I believe
that there is a need for new and, in Vattimo’s words, responsible interpretation
of the Russian cultural heritage in order to find contextual ways of articula-
tion of such important norms of social morality as human rights. The dis-
course on responsibility can be developed in order to meet the challenge. As
argued in this chapter, it requires a clear distinction between radical respon-
sibility seen from the first-person perspective and rights constituted by the
duties of the possessor of power.
150 E. Namli
Habermas’s theory of communicative rationality and Vattimo’s idea of
weak rationality are two different examples of approaches to the issue of
rationality which might be applied within the Russian discourse. Other
methods for handling conflicts of reasoning can be suggested. What I find to
be of great importance is the very need for vitalization of the discussion on
practical rationality. Vorozheikina is right in claiming that in order to create a
sustainable political culture, Russian proponents of human rights and
democracy must prioritize practical discourse even at the price of immediate
access to political power. To articulate a sustainable form of human rights
discourse in Russia is a task for Russians. However, it can be facilitated by the
West if those scholars and practicians who are engaged in the situation try to
be receptive towards Russian traditions. This requires a clear recognition of
the fact that Western liberal theories and policies are as much contextual and
embodied in power relations as any others.
To engage in a dialogue with ‘traditional’ reasoning is time consuming. It
takes great effort to find ways of political communication which do not pre-
suppose a consensus on the superiority of liberal rationality. However, the Russian
development indicates that there is no fast track from the traditional way of
moral reasoning to a society with an inherent recognition of individual rights.

Notes
1 Post-colonial critique of human rights is probably the most important part of the
ongoing reevaluation of human rights history and practice. Even among Western
scholars there is a growing insight into the colonial heritage of the history and
politics of human rights. See, for example, Mark Mazower, No Enchanted Palace.
The End of Empire and the Ideological Origins of the United Nations (Princeton:
Princeton University Press, 2009).
2 John Rawls, Political Liberalism, expanded edition (New York: Columbia
University Press, 2005), p. 137.
3 Ibid., p. 136.
4 Ibid., p. 50.
5 Ibid., p. 136.
6 Ronald Dworkin has already argued that Rawls presupposes equality as a fundamental
right in his theory of justice. Ronald Dworkin, ‘Justice and Rights’, in Ronald
Dworkin, Taking Rights Seriously (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1978).
7 Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa
Volokhonsky (New York: Vintage Books, 1994), p. 25.
8 According to a sociological study from 2010 almost 60 per cent of the respondents
understood freedom as volia, the possibility ‘to be one’s own master’. Mikhail
Gorshkov, Reinhard Krumm and Nataliya Tikhonova (eds), Gotovo li rossiiskoe
obshchestvo k modernizatsii (Moscow: Ves’ mir; Institut sotsiologii RAN, 2010),
pp. 167–8.
9 Bill Bowring, ‘Russia and Human Rights: Incompatible Opposites?’, Göttingen
Journal of International Law, vol. 1, no. 2 (2009), p. 262.
10 Fyodor Dostoevsky, Polnoe Sobranie Sochinenii, vol. 15 (Leningrad: Nauka,
1976), p. 596.
11 Fyodor Dostoevsky, The Brothers Karamazov, trans. Richard Pevear and Larissa
Volokhonsky (New York: Farrar, Straus and Giroux, 1990), p. 658.
 Scepticism towards human rights 151
12 Ibid., p. 746.
13 Ibid., p. 726.
14 Ibid., p. 289.
15 Mikhail Bakhtin, Toward a Philosophy of the Act, trans. Vadim Liapunov (Austin:
University of Texas Press, 1993), p. 26.
16 Ibid., p. 40.
17 My interpretation of Bakhtin is built upon his early writings such as Toward a
Philosophy of the Act and Dostoevsky’s Poetics.
18 There is even a strong trend to extend the discourse of justice into the domain of
what traditionally has been seen as personal morality. Some feminist theologians
oppose the distinction between social and private morality due to the risk of the
survival of patriarchates within the domain of ‘the private’.
19 Russian Orthodox Church, ‘Introduction’, in The Russian Orthodox Church’s
Basic Teaching on Human Dignity, Freedom and Rights (Russian Orthodox
Church) http://www.mospat.ru/en/documents/dignity-freedom-rights/introduction/.
20 Russian Orthodox Church, ‘Human Dignity and Freedom in the System of
Human Rights’, in The Russian Orthodox Church’s Basic Teaching on Human
Dignity, Freedom and Rights (Russian Orthodox Church) http://www.mospat.ru/
en/documents/dignity-freedom-rights/iv/.
21 There is here a similarity with the discourse on Asian values which has been
rejected by many Western scholars who claim that some governments use ‘Asian
values’ in order to refuse any accountability for the protection of human rights.
I believe that this is often the case, but at the same time it is not just governments
that refer to Asian values. Some NGOs, activists and scholars use the concept in
order to articulate cultural differences of importance for human rights discourse.
See, for example, Joanne Bauer and Daniel Bell (eds), The East Asian Challenge
for Human Rights (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999).
22 By personal, I mean a choice made from a first-person perspective, not a choice in
a private domain.
23 Robert M. Cover, ‘Obligation: A Jewish Jurisprudence of the Social Order’, in
Michael Walzer (ed.), Law, Politics, and Morality in Judaism (Princeton: Princeton
University Press, 2006), pp. 3–33.
24 Igor Kliamkin (ed.), Evropeiskii vybor ili snova ‘osobyi put’? (Moscow: Liberal’naia
Missiia, 2010).
25 Ibid., p. 350.
26 Ibid., p. 383.
27 Ibid., p. 400.
28 Vadim Mezhuev, ‘O tsivilizatsionnoi identichnosti Rossii’, Indeks/Dos’e na tsenzuru,
no. 25 (2007), p. 5.
29 Ibid., p. 8.
30 Jürgen Habermas, Demokratiia, razum, nravstvennost’ (Moscow: Academia, 1995).
31 Ibid., p. 71.
32 Ibid., p. 99.
33 Jürgen Habermas, Justification and Application (Cambridge: Polity Press,
1993), p. 146.
34 For such a critique see, for example, Chantal Mouffe, The Democratic Paradox
(London: Verso, 2000).
35 Olga Gulenok, ‘Inogo vykhoda net’, Kasparov.ru, July 8, 2010. http://www.kas
parov.ru/material.php?id=4C35C34EC2C52.
36 Gianni Vattimo, Nihilism and Emancipation. Ethics, Politics and Law (New York:
Columbia University Press, 2004), p. 46.
9 The ‘cultural/civilizational turn’
in post-Soviet identity building
Jutta Scherrer

For almost twenty years, bookstores across Russia (as well as in different
post-Soviet states like Ukraine, Belarus and Kazakhstan) have been filled with
metre-long shelves with textbooks, anthologies, encyclopaedias and diction-
aries of kul’turologiia. Kul’turologiia (translated here as culturology) was
introduced in 1992 as an obligatory general education course for students in
every discipline at all institutions of higher education (vuzy) in Russia during
their first year of studies. Two years later, kul’turologiia was also introduced as
part of the senior-grade curriculum at all state high schools. This explains at
least partially the enormous number, as well as variety, of culturology text-
books produced not only in Moscow and St Petersburg, but also in Rostov,
Ryazan, Yekaterinburg, Voronezh and other regional cities. But does this
explain the boom of culturological literature, its social role and the sudden
popularity of this rather strange term? Kul’turologiia, which in the last two
decades has made its entry into all sorts of public discourses, could not, until
very recently, be found in any dictionary of the Russian language. The same
can be said of the latest edition of the Concise Oxford Russian Dictionary
published in 1998. One of the first Russian dictionaries which mentioned
kul’turologiia in 2006 defines it as a ‘scientific discipline which studies the
spiritual culture of people and nations and the general laws (zakonomernosti)
of the evolution of culture’.1
When kul’turologiia was officially introduced into the post-Soviet education
curricula, it was by no means conceived as a scientific theory of culture.
Neither was it a neutral designation for a value-free study of culture com-
parable to cultural studies in Western academia. ‘Kul’turologiia was institu-
tionalized before it was conceptualized’ is the bitter criticism of Sergei
Serebrianii, director of the M. E. Meletinskii Institute for Higher Humani-
tarian Research at the RGGU in Moscow, who calls kul’turologiia an
‘unfortunate post-Soviet discipline’ (gore-distsiplina).2 Kul’turologiia, which at
the moment of its creation had no intellectual project, was called upon to
reorient the post-communist Russian youth by filling the ideological vacuum
left after the disintegration of the Soviet system: cultural values and norms,
searched for in pre-revolutionary Russian history and culture, should be
re-evaluated as a new source of meaning and a tool which will help build up a
 Post-Soviet identity building 153
post-Soviet identity and a usable past. Until today, booklets which prepare
students for examinations define culturology as a national development
resource.
The term kul’turologiia existed well before the fall of the Soviet Union and
the abolition of its basic ideology – historical materialism. Jurij Lotman and
the linguistic-semiotic school of Tartu and Moscow adopted the term already
in the late 1960s, followed by the Byzantinist Sergei Averintsev, the mediev-
alists Aron Gurevich and Iurii Bessmertnii, the ethnologists Eleazar Meletinskii
and Vladimir Toporov, and some other outstanding non-conformist Soviet
scholars. They refused to relegate culture to the Marxist ‘superstructure’,
because they considered culture (and not economics) as the driving force
of social change. However, they abandoned the use of this term as soon as
kul’turologiia became the paradigm of former instructors of Marxism–Leninism
who used kul’turologiia as a new tool of post-Soviet civic education. The
English term culturology was, by the way, coined by the American anthro-
pologist Leslie A. White (1900–75) in the context of his theory of cultural
evolutionism. His book The Science of Culture: A Study of Man and Civili-
zation (1949) was already known in the Soviet Union and other Eastern
European countries.3 His empirical approach of ethnological comparisons
was interpreted as being close to Marxism. But both the meaning and the
contextual significance of White’s use of the term culturology have been
overlooked in its current post-Soviet usage.
One of the educational standards set by the Russian Federation’s Ministry
of Education for the institutionalization of the discipline of kul’turologiia in
1995 stipulates the task of teaching ‘Russia’s place and role in world history,
world culture and in world society’.4 After the break-up of the Soviet Union
and the ensuing paradigm shift, the new discipline of kul’turologiia was first
conceived as an alternative to the (until the end of 1991) obligatory study of
Marxism–Leninism and its related disciplines such as ‘Historical materi-
alism’, ‘Scientific atheism’, ‘History of the Communist Party of the Soviet
Union’, ‘Political Economy of Socialism’, etc. Indeed, chairs in these dis-
ciplines were renamed overnight as ‘History of Religion’, ‘History of World
Culture’, ‘History of Russia’, ‘History of Philosophy’, ‘History of Economics’
and covered by the new and general designation of kul’turologiia. Obviously,
the instructors of these newly converted disciplines were the same who used to
teach Marxism–Leninism. After 1991, many thousands of them were needed
to find a new function within the university. The former Marxism–Leninism
instructors were retrained as culturologists through crash courses. The first
textbooks of kul’turologiia which appeared from 1993/1994 were character-
istically authored by such converts who simply reversed the Marxist theorem
on the role of economic structure in determining social being and history by
substituting culture or civilization for the economy (A. I. Arnol’dov, G. V. Drach,
P. S. Gurevich and many others). Thus, economic determinism was replaced
by a cultural-civilizational determinism: economy-centred explanations were
exchanged for culture-centred ones. The reference to the Marxist category of
154 J. Scherrer
zakonomernost’ (regularity determined by a (natural) law; conformity to a
natural law), however, was preserved.
Until this day, one does not know who was the driving force behind the
introduction of culturology as an obligatory discipline and the accompanying
conversion of former Marxism–Leninism instructors to culturologists. The
name of Gennadii Eduardovich Burbulis is often mentioned, himself a former
instructor of Marxism–Leninism at the University of Sverdlovsk (today
Yekaterinburg) who had become an adviser to President Yeltsin. It was,
however, impossible to verify this at the time of writing.
In 1995, independent of this obligatory basic course of kul’turologiia, which
was supposed to play a role akin to civic education, an entirely new academic
discipline was created, officially called kul’turologicheskie nauki (obviously
derived from the German Kulturwissenschaften), but since its beginning
abbreviated to kul’turologiia. The regulations of the Ministry of Education
divided the new discipline into four specializations: Culture Theory, Histor-
ical Culturology, Museology and preservation of historical-cultural objects;
and Applied Culturology. Studies in each specialization can lead to a PhD.
Whereas the general education course on kul’turologiia forms part of the
curriculum at all state institutions of higher education (and was obligatory
until recently), the creation of kul’turologiia as a separate academic discipline
depended during the first years on the ability of each university to find qua-
lified faculty for teaching this new discipline. It was called upon to fill the gap
in studies of culture, especially since any theory of culture per se was virtually
absent in Soviet times and the study of culture as an independent discipline
had not been taught at Soviet universities. Some of these new chairs of
kul’turologicheskie nauki as, for instance, the one at the Russian State Uni-
versity of Humanities (RGGU) in Moscow, developed curricula of cultural
studies relatively quickly employing Western theories, methodologies and
concepts of cultural studies, and the philosophy and history of culture com-
bining them in some way with the strong Russian philological tradition.
Representatives of these faculties whom I interviewed denied categorically all
links to the ‘other’ kul’turologiia being taught in compulsory courses and
replacing the former obligatory courses on Marxism–Leninism. All of them
emphasized that they never used culturological textbooks, not even those
recommended by the Ministry of Education, and that they totally ignored the
vulgar culturological literature available in dozens of versions in libraries and
bookshops. However, a closer look at their own – more specialized and more
learned – publications quite often reveals that they also see culture as a value
system, a definition which clearly plays into the hands of Russian identity
construction. Here, too, a certain essentialism is apparent as, for example, in
the books of I. N. Kondakov, who occupies one of the first established chairs
of ‘historical kul’turologiia’ at the RGGU, and who calls for an ‘inter-
disciplinary world-view-oriented methodology’5 into the study of the history
of culture. Most importantly, the definition of kul’turologiia as a ‘discipline
which conceives culture as wholeness’ (as stipulated by the regulations of the
 Post-Soviet identity building 155
Ministry of Education) leaves the door open for all kinds of approaches which
remind one of Marxist interpretations, only of a different modality. The
national congresses of kul’turologiia which took place in 2006 and 2008 in St
Petersburg (and were mainly organized by the St Petersburg section of the
Rossiiskii institut kul’turologii in Moscow) featured an impressive number of
papers which were devoted to the search for identity and meaning in Russian
culture. Given the importance of a search for self-identification of Russian
society, essentialism is the dominant component of this kind of kul’turologiia.
In these papers, kul’turologiia seems to function as a substitute worldview or
ideology, or as a philosophy of life – Lebensphilosophie.
In what follows, my main concern will not be how the kul’turologicheskie
nauki (which also include the history of culture, theory of literature, museology,
and especially discussions of methodological problems) are taught at the
kafedry which were created since the mid-1990s. Neither will I compare
academic culturology with Anglo-American ‘cultural studies’, German
Kulturwissenschaften or French histoire culturelle and discuss the Russian
cultural turn in the broader context of culturalism which can be observed
in many other countries too. Instead, I will focus on Russia’s recent cultur-
ological discourse and its driving force in textbooks of kul’turologiia. As
building blocks of national consciousness and memory, these textbooks are
important sources for historians interested in the long-term process of identity
construction of post-Soviet Russian society and the function and public use of
history and culture as a political tool to build a nation.6 Put into the larger
perspective of the politics of history or politics of memory, kul’turologiia,
whose task – as stipulated by the Ministry of Education – consists in trans-
mitting values, norms and orientations for the formation of the post-Soviet
citizen, is an extremely valuable indicator for changes advocated by the state
authorities for transforming post-Soviet society. In this respect, it is revealing
to see which textbooks bear the official stamp ‘recommended by the Ministry
of Education’. Incidentally, most textbooks do not state whether they are
intended for use in general and civic education curricula in culturology or as
introductions to the academic discipline of culturology. Here, as in many
other respects, the fact that both educational orientations are designated by
the same term of kul’turologiia is rather unfortunate and leads to confusion.

The production of textbooks

There is no doubt that textbooks on kul’turologiia have evolved from
the middle of the 1990s to the present day. By the very end of the 1990s, the
textbooks and most of all the culturological encyclopaedias became more
differentiated and the all too simplistic reversion of the old Marxist-Leninist
paradigm in favour of the cultural or civilizational paradigm became more
sophisticated. Instead of focusing entirely on Russia’s uniqueness and the self-
sufficiency of Russian culture (the ‘Russian idea’), one of the latest textbooks
of kul’turologiia describes its fundamental goal as ‘directing the youth
156 J. Scherrer
towards the cultural acquisitions of humanity in order to work out personal
guidelines for the quickly changing world of today’.7 Some culturologists also
allow for the interactions of cultures and speak, following Mikhail Bakhtin
and Vladimir Bibler, of a ‘dialogue of cultures’.8 But the conception of cul-
ture as a holistic system and the assumption of kul’turologiia to present a
unifying, integrating method, a holistic science and an all-embracing system
of knowledge of culture still reminds one of the Marxist holistic scheme of
explanation, with its claim to explain everything, notwithstanding the fact
that the ideological parameters have changed.
One of the primary goals of kul’turologiia, the ‘culturologization of educa-
tion’ (kul’turologizatsiia obrazovaniia) also remained the same: to provide
knowledge about ‘what man is, in what world he lives, what he should do,
what he can hope for and what his means of communication with his envir-
onment are’.9 The first textbooks of kul’turologiia were quite obviously
intended to fill the ideological vacuum caused by the collapse of the Soviet
Union and the abolition of Marxism–Leninism as the official ideology and
theory. The underlying questions of textbooks written during the 1990s were
rather general: ‘Who are we?’ and ‘Where is Russia going?’ Culturology’s
mission was called upon to overcome the crisis of values which followed the
break-up of 1991 with the help of new norms and value systems. In most
recent textbooks, the answers to the questions concerning the value crisis in
Russia are still mostly taken from the Russian thinkers of the nineteenth and
beginning of the twentiethth century and the post-1917 emigration. What is
called ‘Russian culturological thought’ finds its incarnation in Nikolai
Berdjaev, Vladimir Solov’ev, Nikolai Danilevskii, Ivan Il’in, but also in the
Eurasianism of the philosophers Nikolai Trubeckoi and Lev Karsavin, the
historians Georgii Vernadskii and Pietr Savitskii, in the Russian cosmism of
Vladimir Vernadskii and his concept of noosphere, in Lev Gumilev’s synthesis
of ethnology and biology, his theory of the genesis and evolution of ethnoses
and his concept of ethnogenesis. Among Western thinkers kul’turologiia
refers most of all to Oswald Spengler, Arnold Toynbee and Samuel Huntington,
but also to Erich Fromm, Friedrich Nietzsche, Ernst Cassirer, Sigmund
Freud, Carl Jung, Ortega y Gasset, Teilhard de Chardin and Albert Schweitzer’s
considerations on culture and ethics, to Paul Tillich’s ‘theology of culture’,
etc. A few methodologically rather advanced textbooks (whose authors
obviously occupy academic chairs of kul’turologiia) refer to Jacques Derrida,
Jean Baudrillard and Jean-François Lyotard for whom the distinction
between material and spiritual culture did not exist any longer. Significantly
enough, the Russian tradition of Lotman’s semiotic school is only rarely
mentioned in textbooks and, if so, rarely understood.
The Russian as well as the Western authors to whom kul’turologiia refers,
are selected exclusively in view of their utility for the theses or assumptions
which kul’turologiia wants to prove. They are not analysed critically, but used
in order to create an integrative national identity. The culturologists’ reading
of the works of the great forerunners of their discipline is until this day
 Post-Soviet identity building 157
eclectic, syncretistic, unsystematic and dilettante. Whereas at the beginning of
this century academic kul’turologiia underwent important changes in opening
itself to new topics and methods of cultural analysis, culturological textbooks
reflect very little change of topics and orientations. Quite a few textbooks
from the 1990s (e.g. Drach, Gurevich) are reissued again and again. Hardly
any of the authors of culturological textbooks have a scholarly reputation,
with the exception of some editors of encyclopaedic dictionaries such as
Iu. S. Stepanov, I. Ia. Leviash or M. S. Kagan. Those who feel attracted by
the boom of culturology today come to the field from literature, history or
philosophy. They are certainly better prepared than the former instructors of
Marxism–Leninism, but they, too, demonstrate a certain dilettantism and
selectivity in the way they accumulate or re-appropriate knowledge.
Kulturologiia’s key words from the first to the most recent textbooks
are Russian samobytnost’ (specificity, self-sufficiency), sobornost’ (communal
spirit), dukhovnost’ (spirituality), tselostnost’ (wholeness), russkaia ideia
(Russian idea), russkii put’ (Russian way) and most of all russkost’ (Russian-
ness). These concepts, which are almost never defined, are taken out of the
particular historical and cultural context of the time in which they were con-
ceived (mostly in the nineteenthth century by Slavophile thinkers) to be
mechanically transposed or transferred into the Russian reality of today.
Connoted as specifically Russian idealistic values, they are very often opposed
to Western individualism and materialism. Some textbooks regard them as
the Russian contribution to universal or global culture.
The terms culture and civilization are almost never defined and used mostly
synonymously or interchangeably. However, the underlying basis of many
textbooks is very often the classical German distinction between culture as
the inner, the spiritual realm of man, and civilization as the externally
acquired material, technological and utilitarian way of life. This distinction,
going back to Kant and Wilhelm von Humboldt, no longer plays a role in
contemporary German human and social sciences. Interestingly enough, the
Russian culturologists borrowed it from Oswald Spengler, for whom every
culture, upon its culmination, is condemned to decline into a civilization,
which is in some way the beginning of the end of a great culture. I refer here
to Spengler’s Decline of the West whose first volume was published in summer
1918, the second in 1923. Spengler, along with Ferdinand Tönnies and other
social thinkers of this period, opposed culture and civilization because they
believed that the impact of the great technological innovations in the Western
world had destroyed the traditional spiritual–cultural relations among men
and thus led to a materialistic and utilitarian form of life. To transpose these
concepts into the Russian reality of the twenty-first century may seem ahis-
toric, unless the existential ‘Angst’ of the German thinkers in their time and
the existential needs of the Russian culturologists today can be compared.
As already mentioned, almost all textbooks underline kul’turologiia’s claim
to represent a holistic system with a unifying, all embracing integrating
method. Kul’turologiia is supposed to be a meta-discipline unifying the
158 J. Scherrer
different disciplines of the newly rediscovered humanities such as literature,
philosophy, linguistics, anthropology, history, etc. Kul’turologiia sees its task
in creating meaning and sense (Sinnstiftung) for the post-Soviet society and
for this purpose it brings the heritage of the national culture to life again.
Material problems of the present, such as those found in the assumption of
the first kul’turologiia textbooks, should be overcome thanks to the memory
of cultural and historical heritage. This memory is however restricted to
pre-Soviet Russian times. If Soviet ideology is rejected in a few sentences,
the cultural heritage of the Soviet epoch is in most textbooks simply left out
as if Russian culture ended with the ‘Silver age’ in 1917 or 1921. Bakhtin’s,
Gumilov’s or Lotman’s theories, if at all mentioned, are discussed outside
the Soviet context as if they had nothing to do with it. But not only Soviet
culture lacks attention, also the Marxist understanding of culture which
prevailed for over seventy years is ignored as one of the more comprehensive
culturological textbooks written for university students in recent times tes-
tifies.10 ‘With the collapse of the Soviet communist social system its culture
also disappeared. A total denial of the cultural values of the Soviet period
took place’11 – statements of this kind reflect the general orientation of
kul’turologiia towards the Soviet past. A remarkable exception is the collec-
tion of articles by Aleksandr Etkind and Pavel Lysakov under the title
Kul’tural’nye issledovaniia (a direct translation from the Anglo-American
‘cultural studies’). Here, in open opposition to the ‘methods’ of post-Soviet
kul’turologiia, cultural materials from the Soviet period are analysed from an
empirical (and not exclusively political) point of view and seen in relation to
the present.12
Kul’turologiia ignores the concept of Kulturkritik or cultural critique since
its rather dogmatic absolutizing of culture excludes any critical approach to
culture itself (or parts of it) as an object of research. Kul’turologiia as it is
proposed in textbooks is not based on specific empirical studies, and cultural
practices are not taken into consideration. Kul’turologiia’s orientation is
exclusively on ‘high culture’, since culture is defined as spiritual par excel-
lence. Society – the consumer of culture – simply does not appear in these
textbooks. In a more recent textbook where an entire chapter of almost thirty
pages is entitled ‘Culture and society’, socio-cultural processes are exclusively
discussed in abstract terms of time and space and evolutionism as opposed to
cyclical theories of culture.13 Mass, popular and folk cultures, subcultures and
countercultural movements do not enter the realm of culturological text-
books. Kul’turologiia textbooks open their doors almost exclusively to the
Russian cultural heritage. Other cultural components of the multinational,
multicultural and multi-ethnic Russian state, such as Islamic or Jewish con-
tributions to Russian culture, are not taken into consideration. The same is
true for the different ethnic groups living on Russian territory, which never
appear in culturological textbooks.
The culturologists’ understanding of ‘spiritual culture’ (dukhovnaia
kul’tura) goes far beyond the classical Marxist distinction between material
 Post-Soviet identity building 159
and spiritual (in the sense of intellectual) culture; the use of ‘spiritual’ by
culturologists refers to a much narrower sense of spirituality: that of religion,
morals, myths and mythology. If religion is in general considered as a major
component of culture, Orthodox Christianity is presented as the main source
of Russian culture and mentality. ‘Orthodox ethics’ and ‘Orthodox culture’,
linked to the idea of an ‘Orthodox space’ of Russian culture and civilization,
occupy a prominent place in kul’turologiia’s identification strategy. Explicitly
drawing on Samuel Huntington, whose theses on the ‘clash of civilizations’
have found a particularly strong echo in Russia, some culturologists claim it is
Russia’ s duty – by virtue of its leading role within Orthodox Christianity –
‘to preserve order and stability amongst Orthodox states and nations’ (for
instance, Serbia). Quite a few culturologists such as the former Marxist A. I.
Arnol’dov refer to the religious philosophers Berdiaev and Florenskii, for
whom the origins of the term culture are to be found in ‘cult’ (kul’t), in other
words – religion.
History is also being considered a phenomenon of culture. But what
culturologists call ‘historical culturology’ has little to do with historical
facts and empirical research. Culturologists rediscovered the old concept of
istoriosofiia which does not at all identify with the more general concept of
philosophy of history.14 Istoriosofiia, sometimes also called kul’turosofiia,15
puts Russia’s destiny or fate at the centre of its reflections and introduces
the notion of sud’ba (fate) as a philosophical category. Istoriosofiia is almost
uniquely concerned with Russian identity whose roots it sees mainly in
Russian religious philosophy of the fin de siècle for which oduhotvorennost’
was the main factor of the historical process. It is this kind of thinking which
istoriosofiia wants to revive. The historiosophical approach to history
that dominates many of the new representations of ‘history of culture’
centres on Russian native culture as a unique phenomenon in the world. The
historiosophical approach is purposely directed against the social history
of culture, which even more serious culturologists, such as A. Ia. Flier, the
director of the Moscow State University of Culturology, refuse to accept as
‘sociological’ – for culturologists ‘sociological’ is very often synonymous with
‘Marxist’.
Intimately linked to the culturalist interpretation of history, even a more or
less direct outgrowth of kul’turologiia, is the civilizational paradigm or the so
called ‘civilizational approach to history’. The approach in terms of economic
formations that explained history through reference to social and economic
structures is rejected as Marxist legacy. As opposed to this, the new ‘civiliza-
tional approach to history’ conceptualizes history in the framework of
large ‘local’ civilizational areas in their longue durée or long term evolution. It
wants to restitute to ‘local’ civilizations the universal importance of their
traditions, values, and norms. This approach is also an opposition to, or at
least delimitation from, the understanding of a single universal civilization.
The civilizational approach or paradigm sees Russia as an independent
civilization sui generis (samobytnyi).
160 J. Scherrer
Civilizational turn
In fact, only some years after the introduction of kul’turologiia as an
independent discipline, the Ministry of Education declared the study of
civilizations in general, and the study of Russia as a civilization in particular,
an independent topic to be taught in history classes at high schools and
universities. Interestingly enough, hardly any of the new ‘civilizationists’ are
historians by training, but rather philologists, philosophers or economists.
The characteristic mix of istoriosofiia, geopolitics (sometimes called geosofiia
following the Eurasianist Piotr Savitskii), Lev Gumilev’s theory of ethnogen-
esis and Russian religious philosophy gives this new field of study a markedly
existentialist and essentialist dimension comparable to kul’turologiia. And as
kul’turologiia it is also characterized by a remarkable eclecticism and dilet-
tantism. In the case of the Russian ‘civilizational turn’, it is impossible to
speak of a methodological renewal comparable to the ‘linguistic turn’ in
Western cultural studies. On the contrary: the civilizational approach to
explaining and interpreting history makes use of long-forgotten theories
of history associated with Nikolai Danilevskii (who, in his book Rossiia i
Evropa, 1869, had stressed the independence of Russian history), Oswald
Spengler and Arnold Toynbee. The advocates of the civilizational approach
rediscovered historical cycles, historico-cultural typologies and local civiliza-
tions. Samuel Huntington is another crucial author for those seeking to elevate
the comprehension of civilizations, based on big religious areas (Christian
Western-Atlantic, Slavic-Orthodox, Arabic-Islamist, Asiatic-Buddhist), to a
full-fledged category of historical science. On the one hand, representing the
world as being made up of several ‘cultural types’ is to prove that ‘the multi-
ple civilizations and cultures exist independently of each other and do not
derive from one another’.16 On the other hand, the ‘creation of an integrated
conception of civilization’ (sozdanie tselostnoi kontseptsii tsivilizatsii) should
allow for a ‘systemic cognition of historical objects’, while comparing civili-
zations, based on a combination of the universal and the specific, is to solve
the problem of historical synthesis.17 The publishers of the Tsivilizatsii book
series founded at the Institute of World History in 1992 wish to resume the
strand in Russia’s national cultural tradition that combines a tendency towards
‘historical synthesis’ with an intuitive feeling (oshchushchenie) for the ‘all-unity’
(vseedinstvo) of the world.18 They invoke pre-revolutionary Russian religious
philosophy and one of its main representatives, Semen Liudvigovich Frank:
‘A striving for integrity and all-embracing concrete totality, for the ultimate
and highest value and foundation, is inherent in the Russian spirit.’19
The renewed use of ‘civilizations’ is, however, not limited to conceptualiz-
ing a historical synthesis and constructing Russia’s self-consciousness
(samosoznanie) – a concept which has come to be synonymous with that of
identichnost’. Thinking in terms of civilizations and representing Russia or the
Russian cultural space as a cultural-historical type is an approach that is
consciously directed against a Eurocentric view of history and seeks to help
 Post-Soviet identity building 161
integrate Russia into a globalized world. For this purpose, the universal sig-
nificance of Russia’s traditions, values and norms, and above all of Ortho-
doxy, is to be restored. What is thus constructed is a cultural space whose
trademark is the ‘Russian idea’ (russkaia ideia, more rarely rossiiskaia ideia
and sometimes evraziiskaia ideia), which is to enrich the West and lead it
towards a universal civilization. The ‘Russian idea’ combined with the West’s
‘Roman idea’ would create an all-human, universal and transnational civili-
zation guided by cultural priorities, to quote the former Marxist philosopher
V. M. Mezhuev.20
Russia’s otherness and autonomy are mainly being deduced from a certain
understanding of ‘space’. The pre-revolutionary historian Vasilii Kliuchevskii
is considered an expert in the new ‘science of civilization’ or ‘tsivilografiia’, as
it is called in some textbooks. Unlike Kliuchevskii, however, the new civilizational
paradigm does not perceive Russia as a social or even a geographical space,
but almost exclusively as a cultural space whose sole purpose seems to be its
own self-identification. Consequently, the ‘historiosophical’ speculations based
on this principle are concerned first and foremost with Russia’s fate. Equally,
cultural space, sometimes called ‘cultural landscape’ (kul’turnii landshaft)21 or
even noosphere (noosfera), occupies the place of the lost empire. In other
words, the idea of a great cultural space has become a substitute for the idea
of the USSR as a great power.
A reference to the ‘spaces or expanses ( prostory) of East European and
North Asian Russian (rossiiskaia) civilization’ has come to replace the Soviet
identity or consciousness and the Soviet people, states another former Marxist
philosopher, Mikhail Mchedlov.22 Igor’ Ionov, a civilizationist at the Institute
of Universal History at the Russian Academy of Sciences, even speaks of
recovering an ‘imperial consciousness’.23 His idea of empire embraces both
the Soviet and the Tsarist domain: this understanding of space is to provide
for historical and cultural continuity.
The civilizational approach to history views Russia as a self-contained
‘organism’ following its own laws of development (zakonomernosti). Russia is
a special type of civilization with a cultural-historical and moral-ethical tra-
dition of its own, which is contrasted with the ‘Western’ understanding of
progress and modernity. Ideals such as Gemeinschaft (always quoted in
German), communitarianism and collectivity (denoted by the term sobor-
nost’), wholeness and integrity (tselostnost’), spirituality (dukhovnost’), mean-
ingfulness, cosmism, but above all a morally-oriented form of cognition (as
opposed to the technical and applied ‘Western’ knowledge) are all part of the
conceptual vocabulary of civilizational discourse. However, its meta-terms
such as ‘Russianness’ (russkost’ ) and ‘political self-determination’ imply ideas
of the nation-state and state power, national culture, empire and Orthodoxy.
Hedged by another new post-Soviet discipline, geopolitics (which some of its
representatives, inspired by culturology, have converted into ‘geoculture’),24
these concepts provide basic patterns for a re-interpretation of the ‘entirety’ of
the historical process in Russia.
162 J. Scherrer
The revival of the doctrine of Eurasianism, which has its roots in the
Russian emigration of the 1920s, comes as no surprise in this context. Due to
the cultural unity of Russia/Eurasia which it postulates and the perspective of
a common future for all the peoples inhabiting this space, Eurasianism has
become the interpretive pattern par excellence for many ‘civilizationists’. The
reference to Eurasianism and Neo-Eurasianism (Lev Gumilev, Aleksandr
Panarin, Aleksandr Dugin) is the only case where the ‘other’ ethnic groups
populating the ‘civilizationist’ universe – Russian (rossiiskii) space – are taken
into account. Some ideologists of Eurasianism consider the longue durée of
mixing Finno-Ugric, Turkic and Slavic populations to be enriching and pro-
viding a unique chance of integration and multicultural development. For the
majority of ‘civilizationists’ however, whose thinking in spatial categories is
purely speculative, the reference to the Eurasian ‘continent’ is nothing but a
‘reminder’ to the territories of the former USSR. Former Marxist Mchedlov,
already mentioned above, is one of the few ‘civilizationists’ to take into con-
sideration the ‘numerous peoples and their different religions on the Eurasian
territory’, making up Russian civilization.25
The ethnic variety in this gigantic area is held together, and also covered, if
not concealed, by the all-embracing ‘Russian idea’. It is not debated whether
the ‘Russian idea’ is appropriate to the way of life (byt) of the Tatars, Chechens,
Chuvash or other peoples. The ‘civilizationists’ assume that, due to the moral
and cultural superiority of Russian culture and its state-building capacity, the
‘Russian idea’ has been exercising an integrating function over the entire
Eurasian space for a millennium. It was supported therein by Russian Orthodoxy
and its capacity to integrate the peoples of this entire area into an ‘Orthodox
culture’ based on the principle of sobornost’ (signifying here Christian community)
and more recently on the notion of ‘canonic territory’.
The fact that many of these peoples in the Eurasian space practise different
religions is of little concern to most ‘civilizationists’. Russian culture’s all-
human (vsechelovecheskii) universalism, which unites everyone on the basis of
moral aims and spiritual life, is fundamentally Christian. ‘The Orthodox and
the national fused in a single understanding’, confirms Mezhuev, who views
‘Orthodox ethics’ and ‘collective salvation’ as a defining element common to
the entire Russian cultural space.26
It is difficult to judge to what extent the ‘civilizational turn’ in Russia is just
a reaction to the crisis of the Marxist conception of history and therefore
might fade out after a while. Despite the impressive popularity of the ‘civili-
zational turn’, judging by the book market, it is not part of the mainstream of
historical research: historians with academic credentials take no notice of it or
sneer at the unprofessional converted culturologists and civilizationists. The
‘civilizational turn’, with its rehabilitation of the great Russian space, is rather
an ideological Weltanschauung which responds to the break-up of the unified
Soviet space by building a theory of all-encompassing ‘civilization’, which
finds its most prominent expression in the concept of Eurasian civilization.
The reference to Eurasia seems to compensate for the loss of state continuity
 Post-Soviet identity building 163
in the post-Soviet space, at least on the speculative-ideological level of geo-
politics and philosophy of history. The idea of a Eurasian space further serves
to compensate for the humiliation felt by the apologists for an imperial con-
sciousness as a result of the break-up of the Soviet Union and the reduction
of Russia to its historical borders of the second half of the seventeenth cen-
tury. The 25 million Russians living in the ‘near abroad’ can easily be brought
into the fold of the fatherland, at least on the level of ideology, with the help
of the civilizational paradigm.
It is therefore imperative not to ignore the social demand served by the
‘civilizational turn’. It testifies to certain nostalgia for the ‘Soviet space’ and is
current in political discourse. Suffice it to recall president Putin’s address to
the Federal Assembly of the Russian Federation of April 25, 2005, where he
described the collapse of the Soviet Union as ‘the biggest geopolitical cata-
strophe of the [twentieth] century’.27 The term ‘Eurasia’ is constantly used in
political discourses synonymously with the territory of the former Soviet
Union, as a kind of substitute. The civilizational paradigm with its long term
typological and cyclical theories (for Danilevskii and Spengler a cultural type
needs about 1,000 years for its formation) is also the best means for evading
the short Soviet period which simply does not fit into its great themes as cul-
tural genesis and morphology or the cultural production of meaning. Instead
of coming to terms with the heritage of the socialist and in particular Stalinist
past, it is in their view a quantité négligeable.

Functions and future

What kul’turologiia and the civilizational paradigm have in common is their
search for and in some cases even their principle of a ‘synthesis’. A. S. Akhiezer,
a former economist who converted to the history of civilizations and a fore-
runner of the actual civilizational discourse,28 declared Russia’s need of a
philosophic synthesis as ‘a necessary condition for societal identity, for a way
that will lead out of its present fragmentation of culture, social relationships,
political and social life’.29 The weaker the coherence of socio-cultural groups
in a society, argues Akhiezer, the stronger the need for unity, integration and
synthesis of the fragmented aspects of its culture.
For the purpose of a synthesis, culturologists and civilizationists are mobi-
lizing a culturological or civilizational ‘smysl’ (purpose) of Russia’s existence.
In doing so, some like the former Marxist G. V. Drach, do not hesitate to put
themselves in the philosophical continuity of Vladimir Solov’ev who was
looking for ‘the purpose of Russia’s existence in world history’ or Petr Chaadaev
who wanted to find ‘Russia’s role and place in the general world order’. Both
quotations are taken as references for the primordial ‘theme of culture in
Russian thinking’.30
In conclusion, let us ask ‘how serious all this is’. Kul’turologiia as it is
taught in high schools and universities as well as the civilizational paradigm
in historiography has primarily an identity-building function. After the
164 J. Scherrer
disintegration of the Soviet Union, Russia’s identity construction was quite
naturally based on the idea of the singularity (samobytnost’) of its culture or
civilization. For this purpose, nothing was more suitable than to revitalize or
rediscover pre-revolutionary and formerly forbidden authors and concepts.
The culturological and civilizational production boom and commercialization
is certainly also due to the need to catch up with all those ‘bourgeois’ and
‘decadent’ cultural studies in the West that used to be condemned by official
historical materialism. In fact, Kul’turologiia brought many authors back to
Russian readers who were deprived of them for decades: not only the names
of Russian émigré authors, but also Western philosophers and writers who
were known in small intelligentsia circles have now found a bigger audience
thanks to culturological anthologies and encyclopaedias. The enormous
number of translations of philosophical, historical and anthropological lit-
erature which appeared in Russia during the last twenty years and very often
figures under the category kul’turologiia testifies to this big Nachholbedarf
(backlog) which Russians refer to as their ‘deficit’.
Many culturological textbooks mention the need for a state cultural policy
and urge a revival of national values and cultural-political traditions for pur-
poses of legitimating the power of the state. In fact, politicians and political
parties of the most diverse colours use the value perspectives of kul’turologiia
and the civilizational paradigm when they speak as advocates of Russia’s
patriotic past and otherness. In 1996 Yeltsin launched a competition for the
best ‘national idea’. A ‘Russian idea’ should bridge the separation between
state and society. For Putin, who evoked the ‘Russian idea’ in numerous dis-
courses when he was president, it should be equally valuable for Tatars,
Bashkirs and Chechens. Putin’s ‘Government program for the Patriotic Education
of the Citizens of the Russian Federation’ (of March 2001) draws heavily on
the identity discourse of kul’turologiia. The public proclamation by the
Russian Orthodox Church of its commitment to the service of ‘civilization’
goes in the same direction. In 2008 Metropolitan Kirill (today the Patriarch of
the Russian Orthodox Church) called for Russia’s ‘civilizational identity’,
oriented towards traditional spiritual and moral values in the face of the
world of globalism. At the same time, he called upon the representatives of
state bodies in education to implement religious education in the schools.31
The introduction of the ‘Foundations of Orthodox culture’ as a compulsory
culturological course into the primary and secondary state school curriculum,
disputed since 1997, links Russian ethnicity and Orthodox religion. This
course also aims to reach out to ‘those who are not really believers’ with an
Orthodox Christian system of values and ‘its integral or holistic approach’.32
The Orthodox Church’s notion of ‘canonical territory’ covers the civilizational
space which culturologists and civilizationists take as their territory: Eurasia.
It is not only the leaders of the communist and liberal democratic parties,
Ziuganov and Zhirinovskii, who use culturological explanatory schemes for
their particular purposes of compensating for the humiliations dealt to the
sense of national pride. The kul’turologicheskii jargon entered all kinds of
 Post-Soviet identity building 165
public discourses and media. It became a quasi-natural component of Russia’s
new political culture and is reflected by politologists, political philosophers
and political theorists. Some of them turn the cultural differences separating
Russia from Europe and the rest of the world into a political issue based on
the dichotomy ‘Russia and the West’ taken up by culturology from nine-
teenth-century thinkers. Other parameters of culturology play a role in the
context of the globalization debate insofar as its comprehensive civilizational
approach promises to yield global and post-modern explanatory schemes.33
The Russian Institute for Culturology in Moscow with branches in St Petersburg
and Omsk (dependent on the Ministry of Culture and focused on museology)
has a whole section devoted to the ‘State Policy in the domain of culture’.
A. Ia. Flier, director of the Moscow State University of Culturology (also
dependent on the Ministry of Culture) lists among the future tasks of cultur-
ology the ‘management of society by means of culture’ consisting among
other things of the formation and regulation of the system of identity.34
For the Western historian, one of the most questionable assumptions of
kul’turologiia is its postulate of scientificity. Some textbook authors do not
hesitate to define kul’turologiia as a ‘Russian science’. Another problem is
the dilettantism and unprofessionalism of culturologists as well as of civiliza-
tionists who quite often are converts from economics (Akhiezer), mathe-
matics (Fomenko), philosophy (Igor’ Ionov, Aleksandr Dugin), philology
(Khachaturian), politology and ethnology. The fact that these disciplines did
not exist in Soviet Russia serves as an alibi for all sorts of self-appointed
culturologists and civilizationalists. Renowned Russian philosophers, histor-
ians and literature specialists condemn kul’turologiia as pseudoscience (lzhenauka,
paranauka) and ‘discursive mimicry’.35 In particular, philosophers demanded
repeatedly and publicly the abolishment of the obligatory teaching of
kul’turologiia36 since it has neither methodological nor social relevance.
Identity construction as propagated by culturological textbooks is for them a
political slogan or even a political manoeuvre and has nothing in common
with objective science. For the sociologist Aleksandr Etkind, the philosophical
reflection on culture, civilization and man by culturology is not able to base
its assumptions on empirical research of concrete sciences.37
Many Russian colleagues, however, overlook the fact that kul’turologiia, as
well as the civilizational paradigm, glosses over the Soviet past and its cul-
tural legacy (with the exception of the above-mentioned collection of articles
edited by Aleksandr Etkind). This significant omission may be explained by
pointing out that the time that had passed since the fall of the Soviet regime
was too short for a critical assessment of the past. It seems, however, that
kul’turologiia, by virtue of its approach and methods (in particular the typo-
logical and cyclical theories) is the best means for evading the Soviet period
that simply does not fit the culturological framework constituted by the great
themes of culture and civilization, cultural morphology, and the cultural
production of meaning. It is not by mere chance that kul’turologiia enjoys
such popularity in recent times. It appeals to the values of ‘Russianness’ that
166 J. Scherrer
lie beyond and above precisely those realities of history and their tangible
cultural manifestations that one prefers not to remember.
Notwithstanding one’s critical attitude towards kul’turologiia, one would
want to hope that its identity component is only a transitory phenomenon.
Russia’s fragility after the dissolution of the Soviet Union understandably
called for a new identity, a new national and cultural self-identification –
‘Russianness’. It is against this background of a country in transformation
that kul’turologiia and the civilizational turn and its sotsial’nyi zakaz can be
understood and, to a certain degree, justified. It is to be hoped that the new
‘disciplines’ or ideological–essentialist orientations such as kul’turologiia or
the civilizational paradigm will, in time, either vanish or be transformed by a
new, better-educated generation into an epistemologically and methodologi-
cally solid and value-free academic analysis of the highly important cultural
and civilizational factors, which characterize all societies and their evolutions
and whose study is a universal issue.

Notes
1 Tat’iana Efremova, Sovremennyi tolkovyi slovar’ russkogo iazyka (Moscow: AST,
2006). The dictionary Novye slova i znacheniia defines the term kul’turologiia as
‘the domain of knowledge which is linked with the spiritual culture of society’.
In Novye slova i znacheniia (Moscow: Russkii Iazyk, 1984), p. 311.
2 Sergei Serebrianyi, ‘Est’ li takaia nauka – “kul’turologiia”?’, in Filologiia,
Iskusstvoznanie, Kul’turologiia: novye vodorazdely i perspektivy vzaimodeistviia.
Materialy Mezhdunarodnoi nauchnoi konferentsii (St Petersburg: Nestor-Istoriia,
2009), pp. 141–54.
3 See also Leslie A. White, ‘The Concept of Culture’, American Anthropologist, vol.
61, no. 2 (April 1959), pp. 227–51.
4 ‘Gosudarstvennyi obrazovatel’nyi standart vysshego professional’nogo obrazova-
niia’ and ‘Gosudarstvennye trebovaniia k minimumu soderzaniia i urovniu podgotovki
bakalavra po napravleniiu 520130 kul’turologiia’, in Gosudarstvennyi komitet
Rossiiskoi Federatsii po vysshemu obrazovaniiu, no. 3 (1995). The standards for
kul’turologiia were regularly adapted in 1997, 2000 and later years. The last standard
for the teaching of kul’turologiia in professional schools dates from 2011.
5 Igor’ Kondakov, Vvedenie v istoriiu russkoi kul’tury (Moscow: Aspekt Press,
1997), p. 6.
6 For a more detailed analysis of culturology as a quest for national identity see
Jutta Scherrer, Kulturologie. Russland auf der Suche nach einer zivilisatorischen
Identität (Göttingen: Wallstein, 2004). See also Jutta Scherrer, ‘Kul’turologiia i
uchebniki po kul’turologii v Rossii glazami zapadnogo istorika’, Vestnik Instituta
Kennana v Rossii, no. 6 (2004), pp. 20–31.
7 Gennadii Drach, Oleg Shtompel’ and Vladimir Korolev (eds), Kul’turologiia.
Standart tret’ego pokoleniia (St Petersburg: Piter, 2011).
8 See Tsivilizatsii. Vypusk 7. Dialog kul’tur i tsivilizatsii (Moscow: Nauka, 2006).
9 Viktoriia Bobakho and Svetlana Levikova, Kul’turologiia (Moscow: Grand,
2000), p. 352.
10 Tat’iana Grushevitskaia and Aleksandr Sakhodin, Kul’turologiia (Moscow:
Unity, 2007).
11 Tamara Tolpykina and Viktor Tolpykin, Kul’turologiia (Moscow: Gardariki,
2005), p. 135.
 Post-Soviet identity building 167
12 Aleksandr Etkind and Pavel Lysakov (eds), Kul’tural’nye issledovaniia (St Petersburg
and Moscow: Letnii sad, 2006). See in particular Boris Firsov, ‘Sovetskaia i
postsovetskaia kul’tura v istoricheskoi dinamike: modernizatsiia i kul’turnaia
differentsiatsiia’, in Aleksandr Etkind and Pavel Lysakov (eds), Kul’tural’nye
issledovaniia (St Petersburg and Moscow: Letnii sad, 2006), pp. 29–90.
13 Tamara Tolpykina and Viktor Tolpykin, Kul’turologiia (Moscow: Gardariki,
2005), pp. 119–46.
14 August von Cieszkowski in his Prolegomena zur Historiographie (1838) was one of
the first who used the concept of ‘Historiosophie’, defined by him as the prophetic
character of historiography and ‘Zukunftsgestaltung der Geschichte’.
15 Iurii Asoian and A. Malafeev, Otkrytie idei kul’tury (Moscow: Ogi, 2000), pp. 34,
137–8.
16 Svetlana Neretina and Aleksandr Ogurov, Vremia kul’tury (St Petersburg: Russkii
Hristianskii Gumanitarnyi Universitet, 2000), p. 53.
17 Igor’ Ionov, ‘Na puti k teorii tsivilizatsii’, Tsivilizatsii, vol. 3 (Moscow: Nauka,
1995), p. 15. Ionov refers to the historian Mikhail Barg, who died in 1991.
Already in Soviet times, Barg had tried to integrate the traditions of Russian
civilizational theories into a larger context of universal theories of history and had
attempted to establish a comparative history of civilizations.
18 Tsivilizatsii, vol. 3 (Moscow: Nauka, 1995), p. 6.
19 Ibid., p. 6. The source for this quote is not given. Another author frequently
quoted in this context is Nikolai Berdiaev, especially his essay, ‘O vlasti pros-
transtva nad russkoi dushoi’. See Nikolai Berdiaev, ‘O vlasti prostranstva nad
russkoi dushoi’, in Nikolai Berdiaev, Sud’ba Rossii (Moscow: G. A. Leman, 1918),
pp. 62–8.
20 Vadim Mezhuev, ‘Rossiiskaia tsivilizatsiia – utopiia ili real’nost’?’, Rossiia XXI,
vol. 1 (2000), pp. 44–69.
21 Vladimir Kaganskii, Kul’turnyi landhsaft i sovetskoe obitaemoe prostranstvo
(Moskva: Novoe literaturnoe obozrenie, 2001). Kaganskii attempts to provide
here what he calls a ‘hermeneutics of Soviet and post-Soviet space’.
22 Mikhail Mchedlov (ed.), Rossiiskaia tsivilizatsiia (Moscow: Akademicheskii
Proekt, 2003), p. 5.
23 Igor’ Ionov, Rossiiskaia tsivilizatsiia XIX – nachala XX veka (Moscow: Prosveshchenie,
1998).
24 For one of the first textbooks on geopolitics accentuating ‘spiritual, civilizational
and cultural factors’ as it presents itself see Irina Vasilenko, Geopolitika (Moscow:
Logos, 2003).
25 Mikhail Mchedlov (ed.), Rossiiskaia tsivilizatsiia (Moscow: Akademicheskii
Proekt, 2003), p. 5. For an overview of different aspects of Eurasianism see Sergei
Panarin, Evraziia. Liudi i mify (Moscow: Natalis, 2003).
26 See especially Vadim Mezhuev, ‘Rossiiskaia tsivilizatsiia – utopiia ili real’nost’?’,
Rossiia XXI, vol. 1 (2000), p. 59. Drach and Esaulov also argue that Orthodoxy
has determined the ‘uniform order’ of norms and values valid for all of Russia,
which is why it may be considered to be the dominant element of the specifically
Russian type of culture. See Gennadii Drach (ed.), Kul’turologiia (Rostov-na-
Donu: Fenix, 1998), p. 367; Ivan Esaulov, Kategoriia sobornosti v russkoi literature
(Petrozavodsk: Izdatel’stvo Petrozavodskogo Universiteta, 1995), pp. 11f, 24,
267ff.
27 Vladimir Putin, ‘Poslanie Federal’nomu Sobraniiu Rossiiskoi Federatsii’, Kremlin.ru
(April 25, 2005). http://www.kremlin.ru/text/appears/2005/04/87049.shtml.
28 Akhiezer’s main opus, a critical analysis of the civilizational experiment of the
Soviet Union, circulated among the intelligentsia during Brezhnev’s time until it
was confiscated by the KGB. In Aleksandr Akhiezer, Rossiia: kritika istor-
icheskogo opyta (Moscow: Filosofskoe obshchestvo SSSR, 1991) and Aleksandr
168 J. Scherrer
Akhiezer, Rossiia: kritika istoricheskogo opyta, rev. ed. (Novosibirsk: Sibirskii
khronograf, 1998).
29 Aleksandr Akhiezer, ‘Ot naukoucheniia k logike kul’tury’; ‘Ob osobennostiakh
sovremennogo filosofovaniia. Vzgliad iz Rossii’, Voprosy filosofii, no. 12 (1995).
30 Gennadii Drach (ed.), Kul’turologiia (Rostov/Don: Fenix, 1995), p. 342.
31 Kirill Metropolitan, ‘Pravoslavie i obrazovanie’, Politicheskie issledovaniia, no. 2
(2008), pp. 9–16.
32 Ibid.
33 Igor’ Kondakov, ‘Rossiia v kontekste globalizatsii’, in Igor’ Kondakov, Kul’turologiia.
Istoriia kul’tury Rossii (Moskva: Omega, 2003), pp. 559–68.
34 ‘Sotsiokul’turnoe razvitie: analitika, prognostika, assotsiatsiia kul’turnykh kafedr
i nauchnykh tsentrov. Flier Andrei Yakovlevich’. www.highschool.ru/flier_andrei_
yakovlevich.
35 See in particular Sergei Serebrianyi, ‘Est’ li takaia nauka – “kul’turologiia”?’, in
Filologiia, Iskusstvoznanie, Kul’turologiia: novye vodorazdely i perspektivy vzai-
modeistviia. Materialy Mezhdunarodnoi nauchnoi konferentsii (St Petersburg:
Nestor-Istoriia, 2009). Almira Ousmanova, ‘Crossing Borders, Shifting Paradigms:
The Perspective of American Studies/Cultural Studies in Eastern Europe’, American
Studies International, vol. 41, no. 1–2 (2003).
36 Significantly, the Novaia Filosofskaia Entsiklopediia edited in Moscow in 2001,
has no particular entry on ‘kult’turologiia’, but interesting articles on material and
spiritual culture, cultural-historical types, elite culture, political culture, etc.
37 Aleksandr Etkind, ‘Introduction’, in Aleksandr Etkind and Pavel Lysakov (eds),
Kul’tural’nye issledovaniia (St Petersburg and Moscow: Letnii sad, 2006), p. 15.
10 Conservative political romanticism
in post-Soviet Russia
Andrey Medushevsky

Romanticism as a complex intellectual movement originated in the second

half of the eighteenth century. It was a product of intellectual protest against
the French revolution, the Enlightenment and rationalism, as well as indus-
trial development and modernization. Political romanticism as a part of this
intellectual tradition was embodied not only in art, but in theory and practice
which rejected the possibility of any ultimate rational frame of mind, social
organization or behaviour. This movement proclaimed the concept of irra-
tional political action based on notions of good and evil, justice and injustice,
rational and intuitive behaviour, passive and active participation, the magic
hand of chance and the cult of romantic heroes. This body of ideas has
reproduced itself many times in periods of revolution and counterrevolution
and has survived until now in various forms.
The main prerequisites of romantic thought are the contradiction between
social reality and social ideal, psychological disappointment and deep frus-
tration in the face of this reality, and the search for ways to overcome it
through emotional and voluntary activity. As a matter of fact, revolutionary
romanticism prevailed in periods of the destruction of the Ancien Régime and
conservative romanticism – in periods of restoration, counter-revolution or
post-revolutionary stabilization. Both forms of romantic approach are similar
in their heuristic grounds – the rejection of rationalism, scientific knowledge
and empirical studies in favour of emotional exaggeration and an idealized
picture of reality – but they differ dramatically in concepts of the future and
the methods of its creation. The phenomenon of conservative political
romanticism gained strength in post-Soviet Russia as a reaction to rapid and
convulsive changes following the collapse of communism and the Soviet
Union.
The idea of this chapter is to reconsider theoretical backgrounds, political
and constitutional implications of this movement in current Russian political
thought as well as its possible influence upon Russian and post-Soviet reality
in the future along the following lines: the place of this intellectual movement
in the creation of a post-Soviet global vision of reality, social and cognitive
adaptation of Russian society; systematization of proposals for the solution of
modern conflicts and challenges; the reconstruction of the national historical
170 A. Medushevsky
memory; a programme of proposed political and constitutional reforms; the
impact of conservative romanticism in the social construction of reality; con-
tradictions and potential consequences of this doctrine in practical imple-
mentation; the challenge of romanticism to knowledge and the ethical choice
of the professional community. To reconstruct an ideal type of this mental
aberration means to propose alternative explanations of phenomena.
At the core of our analysis, therefore, there is no description of the indivi-
dual impact of different representatives of this theoretical movement (who are
often in strong disagreement with each other on many important items and
practical issues) but the reconsideration of the ideological phenomenon of
post-Soviet political romanticism as such in its theoretical background,
conceptual instruments, social initiatives and potential political outcomes.

Political romanticism and the creation of a post-Soviet vision

of reality
The new phenomenon of global communications separated the individual
from original sources of information. That resulted in two principal con-
sequences: the progressive, and unprecedented, quantitative growth of the
information resources of society, on the one hand, and a decline in the quality
of reliable information which is necessary for self-orientation and decision-
making processes on an individual level – on the other.1 The manipulative
technologies, based on the selection of facts and the creation of artificial
images of reality could be effective if they provided some combination of
reliable knowledge elements and emotional substitutes. The result of this
separation of mass consciousness from reliable knowledge is the growth of
alienation and frustration in society, channelled in new forms of social and
cognitive adaptation, which becomes a basis for new forms of individual or
mass mobilization. In this way, historical memory and the cognitive map of
reality could be transformed spontaneously without any visible changes.
Romanticism as a simplified explanatory instrument and at the same time as
an emotional reaction to the frustration of the transitional period is a princi-
pal cognitive answer to this social demand. The problem of the quality of
information and manipulation is the essence of this phenomenon. From this
point of view, the irritation of romantics at conventional scientific terminol-
ogy, the idea of creating a principally new cognitive orientation and even a
new system of notions and definitions (in the form of ‘Orthodox sociology’,
‘Russian political sciences’, a new language of the humanities as opposed to
international ones) are quite explicable. The romantic approach is required by
mass society not for constructive work, but for reconciliation with the
unpleasant circumstances of life. As Karl Schmitt pointed out, historically the
political theology of romanticism tended toward discussion without decision
instead of decision without discussion.2
The specific features of conservative thought have not changed radically
from de Maistre, Chateaubriand and Burke to the German romantics of the
 Conservative political romanticism 171
Sturm und Drang period and Russian philosophers and writers like
Dostoevsky, Berdyaev or Solzhenitsyn. In a similar way, contemporary
Russian neo-conservative political ideology, as opposed to revolutionary
romanticism, has the following guiding principles: historicism (retrospective
orientation) versus rationalism (prospective orientation); a concrete approach
versus an abstract, logical approach; the emotional and partisan approach
versus the neutral, disinterested and value-free interpretation of reality; the
religious and moral vs. the secular and rational type of values; the hierarchic
vs. the homogeneous structure of society; historical pessimism vs. optimism,
scepticism regarding social changes provoked by globalization, modernization
and Westernization.
At the same time, neo-conservative romanticism is not equal to traditional
conservatism in terms of ideology (a combination of different elements of
other doctrines) and social priorities (not only theoretical concepts but a
programme of radical social transformation based on emotional exaggeration
and mobilization, formation of new cognitive orientation in social space and
time, art and science, culture and politics). The plurality of forms of con-
servative romanticism makes it difficult to represent an ideal or ‘pure’ form of
conservative political romanticism in the Russian historical context.3 At the
current stage of Russian historiography and political sciences, we have a
detailed interpretation of all trends of historical conservatism4 in its relation
to liberalism5 and Russian post-revolutionary émigré thought.6 All political
projects of Russian conservatives are reconstructed as well as their practical
implementation in the period of limited constitutional monarchy (1905–17)
and the Russian Revolution.7 Programmatic documents of conservative parties
are also under intensive investigation.8 At the same time, current conservative
political romanticism is not a direct continuation of classic conservative con-
cepts, but rather a new ‘remake’ of them in the changed social situation of the
post-Soviet era.9
The remarkable tendency in the current situation is a combination of con-
servative romanticism with other ideological trends (like liberalism, socialism
and nationalism) and an amalgamation of different ideological principles in
order to bridge the gap between reality and an ideal. Right- and left-wing
trends of romanticism are combined in a special and very explosive form of
social protest (‘red-brown’ coalition and a new interpretation of communism
as the essence of Russian traditionalism). The idea of ‘conservative revolu-
tion’ as a reflection of this controversial post-Soviet phenomenon is a contra-
dictio in adjecto according to the logic of classic conservative thought.
Aggressive forms of conservative romanticism could be interpreted as being a
result of the absence of any real exchange of information, alienation of the
individual and the search for simple decisions in a complex situation, the
form of sublimation of actual social neuroses. The following series of ques-
tions arises: what is the real substance of new romantic concepts, why are
such concepts so influential, which political strategies, legal and institutional
innovations could be associated with this type of mentality, and what possible
172 A. Medushevsky
outcomes does conservative political romanticism provide in the short term?
This is indeed a Gordian knot of the current Russian politics of national
identification.

The concept of civilization: modern conflicts and challenges

Modern challenges such as rationalism, nationalism, democracy, information
and modernization are all under consideration and critique by Russian con-
servative romantics in the framework of the ‘Russian civilization’ concept.
Schematically formulated, this concept is perhaps the starting point of the
romantic rescheduling of post-Soviet intellectual debate. This concept of civi-
lization is very unclear in modern historiography. There are many typologies
of civilization based on different criteria – religion (Orthodox, Islamic, Buddhist
and other faiths); regionalization in a global framework (European, Asian,
African or Eurasian civilizations); place in a global system of communica-
tions and distribution of technologies (central and peripheral civilizations);
racial divergences (‘white race’ or ‘black race’ civilizations, for example);
national divergences (also varied in the context of ethnic or cultural inter-
pretation of the term); states or empires (‘Russian civilization’, ‘European’ or
‘American civilization’); stages of development (civilization in the process of
formation or decline); main functional principles (religion, ideology, war,
trade); or psychological orientations (hedonistic, paranoid etc.).
The vagueness of the term provides the possibility of different approaches
to and conclusions about ‘Russian civilization’: is it religious par excellence or
are there some other (ideological, national, political) criteria for it, and how
could permanent features of this civilization be found and described? The
possibility of combining different criteria is a basis for opposed notions of
‘Russian civilization’ – as part of a European, a global (‘Eurasian civilization’),
or a unique civilization (‘Russian civilization’ as such).
The civilization-conflict approach to globalization is used by romantics as
the interpretation of Russian cultural and geostrategic uniqueness. Russia is
represented not as a part of European civilization but as a self-sustained
civilization which is not comparable with others. Having recognized that
geopolitics and geostrategic interests are the crucial factors for the inter-
pretation of historical political development, it should also be acknowledged
that they acquire even greater importance for the exploration of political
and military conflicts – from the First and Second World Wars and the ‘Cold
War’ to wars in the Persian Gulf and Iraq and conflicts in Eastern Europe
following the collapse of the Soviet Union, such as Kosovo, or the recent
conflict with Georgia. The logic of this approach includes three main pre-
mises, namely, that there are permanent and, in principle, unchangeable
interests of civilizations (or empires); the main conflict is between the ‘global
West’ (Western Europe, USA and their allies) and the ‘global East’ (all other
countries); this conflict reached its peak after the collapse of the Soviet Union
and the destruction of the bipolar construction of international security. The
 Conservative political romanticism 173
historical mission of Russian civilization, therefore, is to protect itself against
permanent geopolitical enemies such as Western Europe and the USA, while
ignoring previous periods of stability and strategic partnership.
The popular concept of empire as another explanatory tool is used for the
interpretation of this struggle in terms of competition between the Russian or
Soviet Empire and the empires of the West from the Varangian invasion
(a subject of a long, unproductive and unfinished debate in Russian historio-
graphy) through military conflicts in the past (a subject of patriotic feelings in
mass consciousness) to current political upheavals (‘coloured revolutions’ as
inspired by the West). Russia, according to this logic, has no permanent allies,
only permanent rivals which should be neutralized by preventive actions of
the state. According to this approach, destructive ideologies like imperialism,
fascism, communism or Westernization and globalization are not to be
viewed as products of global development but rather as sophisticated tools for
the destruction of Russian identity in the past and present.
The background to this approach is a very simplified version of the West
and East without any differentiation between nations, states and their respec-
tive interests.10 Anti-Americanism is a paramount part of this system of ideas.
The defence of conflicts and wars in history is the main conclusion: if the
history of the world was the history of wars – the same would be true for the
future. Today, this permanent war has not stopped, but has only changed in
character – digital warfare has the same destructive political impact as
conventional warfare. The most important example for the proponents of this
outlook is the destruction of the Soviet Union and the Eastern bloc not by
force, but by the use of intelligent soft-power technologies. The forms of
competition between nations are changed, not the substance – from the direct
dictates of the superpower to the idea of a hidden world government, global
financial oligarchy or macabre international conspiracy against Russian civi-
lization. The real answer to this challenge would be to create a new empire – the
third one, or the fifth one in a broader historical retrospective.

The eternal return to archetypes: Russia’s place between

West and East
The question of Russia’s place between West and East has a long history of
debate. It was the central issue in all discussions about Russian modernization
between Slavophiles and Westernizers, Populists and Marxists, liberals and
conservatives in post-Soviet Russia. This debate significantly influenced inter-
national historiography11 and became a part of current political controversies
in post-Soviet countries of Central and Eastern Europe in their search for
identity and stable relationships with a new Russia.12
The problem involves a typology of modernization-types – endogenous and
exogenous forms, organic or catch-up modernization, modernization in legal
contractual forms, or oriented to rupture legal continuity. Questions arise
concerning the diffusion of European innovations and their positive and
174 A. Medushevsky
negative consequences in the general context of Russian culture.13 The crucial
aspect of this debate seems to be the relationship between cognitive and
technological aspects of modernization on the level of central and local culture.14
The conservative romantic vision of the problem is the adoption of the tech-
nological aspect of modernization by excluding the cognitive and value aspect
of it. That means that modernization does not include Westernization and
should be realized in a conservative form in order to protect traditional values
of society.
A vicious circle in conservative romantic thought could be illustrated by
proposed reform addenda – to provide changes without real shift of values
and consciousness like the fundamentalist Iran of the Ayatollahs, Communist
China, Cuba, North Korea or in Venezuela – countries which conserved their
proper national ‘identity’ and equal allocation, ‘in proportion’, of authentic
ideas in a globalized world.
Three main prerequisites of this conclusion should be taken into con-
sideration: first, the metaphysical idea of permanent values and specificities of
every civilization which could not be changed voluntarily without danger of
destruction to the whole system of communications; second, the rigid divorce
between moral and legal modes of social existence – the childish idea that the
Russian people are the bearers of the eternal virtues of fairness (collectivism,
mutual aid and general joyousness) as opposed to Western formal legal culture,
based on civil law and justice (individualist and egoist capitalist culture, the
cult of personal individual success and private property); third, the holistic or
integrative approach to state–society relations in Russia (as opposed to the
West) which is based not on legal contract (or formal Constitution) but on a
special informal (and religious in nature) mechanism of self-regulation and
self-stabilization – ‘symphony’ between the main social actors and the state
power. The basic premise of this construction is of religious origin and is
interpreted in terms of the Russian Orthodox tradition, moral values, humi-
lity and collective salvation instead of Catholic or Protestant personal salva-
tion via contract with God. Thus the undisputed merit of Orthodox solutions
is fairness in the representation of traditional values.
The romantic idealization of Russian specificity in such aspects as the
religious beliefs of the traditional population (which does not exist today),
statehood (legitimacy and the special system of power), universal beliefs and
ethics is not only a form of nostalgia. New political theology under con-
struction absorbed archaic ideas as a form of quasi-scientific explanation. The
idea of shielding Russian society and the state from the destructive compo-
nents of globalization has practical implications: the rejection of constructive
dialogue, legal forms of conflict solution, the exploitation of ancient stereo-
types, and the defence of the autarkic (closed) state and the use of filtration of
information or different concepts of censorship. The same kind of ideas sym-
bolized a cultural conflict of modernity everywhere. This body of ideas is of
course not typical for Russia; it was taken by romantics from the Western
conservative heritage and can be found in all modernized states of Europe,
 Conservative political romanticism 175
Latin America or Asia that have experimented with guided democracy or
authoritarian modernization.

Reconsideration of the national historical memory

Romantic reconstruction of historical memory today includes three guiding
ideas: relativist social epistemology – interpretation of history and society as
‘historical narrative’ in a framework of postmodernist concepts; nationalism
as the main value orientation; and the concept of historicism as a key instrument
of analysis and deep anthropological scepticism.
The first idea is that historical memory would not necessarily be based on
reliable knowledge or experience, but could be an artificially created con-
struction, easily changed if necessary. Historical memory is thus an area of
permanent competition between different ‘narratives’ or ‘projects’. Some of
them are appropriate to the national consciousness; others are inappropriate
and unacceptable to it. Such ‘projects’ as Enlightenment, capitalism, globali-
zation, and human rights theory are products of Western civilization and
could not be transported to other parts of the world. As a result, this
romantic type of cognitive adaptation is based predominantly on negative
premises (zero-sum game between civilizations), not on positive ones (bilat-
eral cooperation and mutual enrichment). It is possible in the form of
aggressive obscurantism towards other cultures and militant subjectivism as a
principal method of self-identification. The search for a ‘national idea’ is an
example of such conservative reaction to globalization.
The national idea as an important romantic cliché is interpreted broadly as
the self-identification of the nation,15 but on what grounds and priorities? The
national idea in this interpretation is not a phenomenon of historical experi-
ence, or a result of academic investigations, but rather a phenomenon of mass
culture, ‘collective unconsciousness’, an artificially created project – a combi-
nation of images of past and future. It is rather the alchemy of power – not
power of knowledge. Nobody knows how this idea could be formulated and
by whom. The construction of the nation and the proper interpretation of
nationalistic feelings are another main preoccupation of this intellectual
movement and a key element of current debate between its different branches.
The concept of the nation and ‘national interest’ is very controversial and
involves different definitions of the term – civic nation, ethnic nation, a com-
bination of both, or some supranational identity; nation as embodiment of a
state (or an empire) or a rival of uneven state; nation as a real historical
phenomenon or sociological fiction. The items of ‘uneven nation’, ‘state-
building nation’, ‘national priorities’ are in the debate concerning Russian
identity. But how should be the Russian factor considered without harming
the national integrity of the country? How do nationalism and democracy
correlate with one another, and how should the proper national policy be
conducted and centrifugal tendency be fought?16 There are no relevant
answers: proposed solutions are based on oversimplification of national
176 A. Medushevsky
reality in the past and present, the schematically postulated opposition between
integration and disintegration without any special attention to federalism,
regionalism, devolution or cultural and administrative autonomy as different
forms of compromise in centre–periphery relations in complex multi-cultural,
multi-national and multi–linguistic communities.
The concept of a ‘separate way’ proposed by contemporary conservative
romantics as the main explanatory tool has much in common with German
metaphysics of the nineteenth and the beginning of the twentieth centuries
with such metaphysical ideas as ‘Sonderweg’, the ‘Blut und Boden’ ideology
of the Nazi era, ‘uneven nation’, ‘will of the state’, state as ‘juridical person’,
etc.17 In a similar way, Russia as an ‘Orthodox civilization’ cannot be inter-
preted with rational arguments created by Western thought for another social
reality and measured by comparable criteria. That means the necessity of
returning to authentic Russian tradition, which had been lost in the twentieth
century or even earlier – during the period of Peter the Great’s and Catherine
the Great’s reforms during the eighteenth century, or after the liberal reforms
of Alexander II in the second half of the nineteenth century.18 The analytic
potential of this approach is based on geopolitics (the idea of permanent
political interest, based on geography, climate or a system of maritime com-
munications), social Darwinism and social biology (the idea of the ‘ethnic
code’ of the Russian civilization), psychoanalysis (the idea of the archetype as
an unchangeable unit) and nationalism (the intention to protect autoch-
thonous Russian national culture from ‘soulless Western culture’ by a closed
authoritarian state).19
In obvious contradiction to the general conservative postmodernist philo-
sophy, historicism is proclaimed as another key method of argumentation
regarding not only general retrospective orientation of sociological theory but
romantic idealization of the future as a return to the past. That means the
search for an explanation of current social events in the framework of the
so-called ‘national spirit’ just as in the sense of the German historical school
of law of the nineteenth century or in the archaic theoretical constructions of
N. Danilevsky, N. Berdyaev, G. Fedotov, I. Ilyin, ‘Signposts’, etc.20 The
‘Providence’, ‘Holy Russia’, ‘Russian soul’, ‘Messianic impetus’, ‘the empire’
and other metaphysical constructions of an old conventional wisdom
are recollected, updated and reproduced by neo-romantics. For many scho-
lars, even of academic status, it became obvious that the ‘main ideologems’ of
Russian history – ‘Moscow – the Third Rome’; ‘Orthodoxy’, ‘Autocracy’,
‘Populism’ and ‘Marxism–Leninism’ – are similar in structure, spirit and
social functions. The conclusion is that the ‘Russian idea’ is profoundly anti-
modern and anti-Western.21 This interpretation involves some sort of fatalism –
the idea of national predestination or a world mission which is based on
history and cannot be changed. From this angle, alternative paths as well as
other historical forms are impossible.22 European alternatives in the form of
feudalism, enlightened absolutism, and representative government have not
been realized in Russia. Russian statehood could not be compared with
 Conservative political romanticism 177
European statehood or that of Asian countries. The idea of historical mission
correlates with the idea of the ‘separate way’ of historical development,
predetermined by some invariants of Russian political culture.23
Among them are the following: geography of the country (the poor soil and
climate as an explanation for extensive forms of agriculture), unstable borders
(external invasions and colonization), the unique type of social organization
(peasant community and serfdom), permanent state–society struggle, combi-
nation of property rights and administrative control in the hands of the
bureaucracy, special social functions of a despotic state. These historical
trends probably really determined the formation of Russian statehood in the
past, but as it was shown by classic Russian historiography, they lost
their absolute character in the modern period and should definitely not be
exaggerated in contemporary history.24

The ‘Russian system’ and its rivals in the past and present
This exaggeration of a very schematic or even caricatured nature is repre-
sented in the concept of a special ‘Russian system’, formed as a result of the
unique synthesis of Byzantine and Eastern (Mongol yoke) forms but not
identical to them. The most characteristic features of this system as opposed
to Western forms are: central concentration of property and power – the
ruling elite, enslavement of all estates, absolute despotic control of a state
power over society which cannot be limited by representative institutes and
positive law. In contrast to Western experience, this type of power is based not
on the balance of conflicting social interests but on interests of power itself
which ipso facto could not be transformed into a normal law-based state. The
state was not created by law – on the contrary, the law is an epiphenomenon
of the state, which can control society via religious and moral obligations and
the ‘dictatorship of law’.
Ignoring the possibility of comparing this historical ‘Russian system’ with
other theocracies and despotic traditional states of the world, on the one
hand, and its similarities with European absolutist monarchies, on the other,
this concept rejects even the fact of its evolution in modern history and
variability of the current transformation process. The whole of Russian his-
tory appeared to be a cyclical dynamic of mechanical stability in the form of
authoritarianism (when power is stable) and spontaneous disintegration in the
form of turbulences – ‘times of troubles’ (with the state losing its control over
society and the ruling elite).25
This vague term, the ‘Time of Troubles’, is taken from historical lexicon of
the seventeenth century and is used especially to mark the principal differ-
ences of this kind of disintegration from ‘normal’ bourgeois revolutions of the
Western type, which created the civil society and law-based state. The Russian
Revolution of 1917, in contrast to the French revolution, was in this sense not
a ‘real’ one but social turmoil caused by the collision of traditional (pre-modern)
social relations and mental stereotypes with external destructive influences.
178 A. Medushevsky
This primitive stability–destruction dynamic is represented as an ‘iron law’ of
Russian history, based on a very special type of property–power relationships.
The nature of stability is, thus, the effective and overwhelming control of the
state over property; the nature of instability – the erosion of this control by
capitalist reforms or Western-type modernization tended towards social dif-
ferentiation and the creation of a financial oligarchy. This quasi-Marxist
approach combined with psychoanalytic terminology is used by conservative
romantics for the interpretation of state destabilization at the beginning of the
seventeenth century, its collapse in the period of the Russian Revolution and
Civil War at the beginning of the twentieth century and the collapse of the
Soviet Union at the end of the twentieth century. When property and power
were separated, the degeneration of the Russian system was inevitable.26
This approach is crucial for the romantic rejection of historical reforms
aimed at modernization according to Western standards (from Peter the
Great to Sergei Witte and Piotr Stolypin). The emancipation of the serfs by
Alexander II is a subject of intensive current debates between conservative
and liberal historians.27 The conservative outlook is represented in very par-
tisan and emotional criticism of the liberal strategy of social and political
transformation proposed by the Russian reformers – the ‘enlightened
bureaucrats’ of the nineteenth century and the constitutional democrats at the
beginning of the twentieth century which is described as inorganic, unpro-
ductive and destructive for the destiny of Russia – the main cause of the col-
lapse of the Russian Empire and the establishment of Bolshevik rule. In a
similar way, Perestroika, as proclaimed by Mikhail Gorbachev and the radi-
cal reforms of Boris Yeltsin are interpreted not as a natural sequence of Soviet
system dysfunction and the search for freedom and democracy in order to
overcome one-party dictatorship, but as a true ‘national catastrophe’, orga-
nized mainly by Western enemies and Russian traitors. By contrast, positive
symbols of national identity are represented for conservative romantics
by such personalities as Ivan the Terrible (as a real founder of the autocratic
system), Alexander III (who reversed the liberal reforms of his father) and
Stalin (who restored the system of absolute power after the revolution,
destroyed opposition to the system and combined Bolshevism with Russian
national patriotism). The progressive apology of Stalinism is a crucial element
and important part of this radical rethinking of history and rescheduling
of the national historical memory.28 This reinterpretation of the past involves
a new construction of the social landscape, temporal aspects of historical
consciousness and the very essence of being for the post-Soviet population.

The idea of post-Soviet restoration: content and political impact

The proposed conservative programme of restoration includes three main
parts, namely, cultural and national renaissance; social and economic trans-
formation of society; political and constitutional changes. The main target of
the first part of the romantic programme is the moral revival of the nation.
 Conservative political romanticism 179
This would be possible by curbing the psychological disorientation and influ-
ence of destructive anti-Russian propaganda and Hollywood-style cultural
influences: the glorification of evildoing and the cult of money and violence,
value relativism, national separatism, individualism, the deviation of young
people, egoism and sexual misconduct, as well as such ‘hypocritical ideas’ as
tolerance, human and minority rights doctrines and anti-patriotic feelings.29
Positive social values should according to this outlook be based on traditional
religions, support for the establishment of Russian national cultural identity,
patriotism – ‘heroic traditions of our fathers and grandfathers’, purification of
language and restoration of traditional collectivist virtues, rewriting of
national history (first of all of national history books), a new system of edu-
cation (based not on Bologna-process constructions but on the traditional
system), the reorganization of science (the rejection of the American-style
grant system of financial support) and the reorientation from this angle of the
whole system of registration and validation of specialists. The profound
changes of psychological condition involve not only ideological, but also
semiotic aspects – reform of the Russian language in order to cleanse it of
foreign words and symbols by discovering adequate equivalents in Russian or
even from the ancient Greek-Slavic tradition. Some amazing exercises in her-
meneutics were realized with the intention of creating a special Russian theo-
retical language in the humanities in order to avoid the use of international
terminology (which is ‘Western’ by definition) and to reflect special features of
Russian culture and ‘senses’ (in plural form). The whole programme has a
deeply nationalistic and ecclesiastical flavour.
The romantic social reform addenda are in many respects similar to
European conservative movements: revitalization of traditional religious and
social values as a true basis for moral economy, the support of the Russian
nation – demographic changes, family building and the restoration of its
reproductive functions, the limitation of migration and deep concern and
scepticism over the possibility of assimilating people into a multi-cultural
framework. The economic doctrine is based on the conservative ideology of
solidarism (solidarity as mutual aid), protectionism and industrialism versus
market economy, monetarism and financial speculations. The criticism of virtual
economics, actualized by the world crisis, covers such items as the structure of
the banking system, the governmental (‘monetarist’) politics of financial sta-
bilization and stimulation and the growing integration of the national econ-
omy into the international market which is interpreted as growing dependence
on such institutes as the World Bank, or WTO. Private property as such is not
rejected (as was the case in the transitional period) but presumed to come
under strict social control in a framework of partnership between society and
big business and a progressive schedule of taxes. The land-property debate
which reached its climax after the adoption of the Land Code of 2001 is still
important in the context of controversial relations between positive law and
the traditional spirit of justice.30 The appeal to the traditional values of the
Orthodox Church, the ancient traditions of peasant communities and the
180 A. Medushevsky
Soviet kolkhoz-system, the collectivist mentality and distributive justice are
the principal arguments of the private land-property opponents.
The political reform agenda concentrates on such aspects as constitutional
changes, structure of power, and legitimacy of the political regime. Proposed
constitutional transformation includes such principal changes as the elimina-
tion of the value-free character of positive law, the secular character of the
state and education, the reinterpretation and limitation of human rights and
liberal freedoms. A long debate took place on the constitutional incorporation
of norms for state ideology or national doctrine principles. Legal changes
were proposed according to these guiding principles in constitutional, inter-
national, civil, criminal, family and administrative law as well as the mass-media
and Internet-law regulations and procedures.31 Among important proposed
innovations were: repressive anti-corruption measures, the restoration of
capital punishment, limitation of the role of international humanitarian law
and the European Court of Human Rights in national affairs, enforcement of
state security services in terms of their prerogatives and even new tourism
legislation to minimize the popularity of tourism abroad. All such initiatives
by different conservative think tanks were presented in the proposed projects
of state sovereignty, state security and information security doctrines.32
The legitimacy of the regime under construction according to this approach
should be based not on democratic choice but on the idea of the loyalty of
the subjects to the sovereign – the state power. The distaste for parties and the
disrepute of politicians in the mass consciousness inevitably reflect on the
institutions in which they are housed. And if representative institutions
themselves are generally perceived as inadequate instruments of democracy,
then saving the situation becomes quite a task. Invectives against politicians
abound in the so-called anti-parliamentary literature of the late nineteenth
century, and have recurred ever since.33
In Russia, the idea of paternalism, loyal behaviour and humility (or
even servility) to supreme power is the mainstream of right-wing ideological
doctrines such as the ‘Manifesto of enlightened conservatism;’ ‘The Project
of Russia’, ‘Russian doctrine’ – an eclectic mixture of ancient conservatism,
socialism, nationalism, Slavophile and Eurasian concepts of a new Empire.
Occasionalism as ‘the magic hand of chance’, and belief in providential
political leaders is another side of anti-parliamentary and anti-party romantic
feelings. The language of such documents is similar to the lexicon of con-
servative romantics from the era of Otto von Bismarck or Napoleon III. It
reproduces many ideological clichés from Weimar Germany, Italy, Spain,
Portugal or France under Mussolini, Franco, Salazar and Pétain, but not
from the books of contemporary historians or political scientists.

The programme of conservative constitutional transformation

The central part of the conservative programme is constitutional amendments
aimed at reconsideration of the political structure of the state regarding such
 Conservative political romanticism 181
principles as constitutionalism, federalism, parliamentary democracy and
separation of power as represented in the Russian Constitution of 1993. Three
main strategies of political modernization were proposed in the transitional
period: the liberal idea to transform this system into the ‘normal’ law-based
state of Western-type democracy (in the form of a parliamentary, or mixed
parliamentary-presidential regime); the pragmatic opinion to keep the system
of limited pluralism for the transitional period with subsequent liberalization,
and the conservative idea of restoring a full-scale authoritarian system con-
genial to the historical form of unlimited power in monarchical or dictatorial
form.34 This debate is important in the context of the separation of ways
between different countries of the post-Soviet era: for one group, the search
for political alternatives to the Russian model was found in ‘coloured revolu-
tions’; for the second – in the legal modernization of existing systems, for the
third – in total rejection of constitutional and political reforms in order to
conserve stability and the ‘vertical of power’, even by conservation of the
most archaic elements of political regimes in power.
In the post-Soviet context, the conservative trend is embodied in the trans-
formation of the political system from an uneven democracy to a guided
democracy, constitutional parallelism and important changes in symbolic
attributes of power and the style of government.35 The Russian constitutional
evolution since 2000 included a reshaping of the political process along the
following lines: limitation of political participation (new electoral law, reg-
ulation of political parties and non-governmental organizations, restrictions
on participation in national parties and elimination of regional parties, special
interest parties in national elections); transition from the contractual theory of
federalism to the constitutional and subsequent reinterpretation of federalism
as a more centralized one (the creation of a parallel system of administrative
regions under the intermediate control of the president’s representatives in
federal districts and the presidential appointment of governors in lieu of
popular election and a new process for the selection of governors – pre-
sidential nomination, confirmation by regional legislature); increasing correc-
tion of the mechanism of the separation of powers (by the creation of a
powerful governmental party majority in central and local parliaments and
the upholding of pro-governmental conservative movements); systematic
changes in the formation of the upper chamber of parliament – the Council
of the Federation according to a centralized model of federalism; the creation
of new extra-constitutional bodies like the State Council and the Public
Chamber as a para-legislative collective ombudsman which could be used for
the selection of social initiatives; the transformation of the judicial system and
the process of nomination of the Chair of the Constitutional Court.36
According to constitutional amendments adopted in 2008, the president’s
mandate was extended from four to six years. Conservative reforms con-
ducted in the period after 2000 resulted in the creation of the system of limited
pluralism with ‘monarchical’ presidential prerogatives similar to the historical
phenomenon of sham constitutionalism that existed in Russia during the
182 A. Medushevsky
period of limited constitutional monarchy – 1905–17. The official concept of
‘sovereign democracy’ which appeared as an answer to this ideological demand,
was criticized by right-wing conservatives as insufficient and contradictory.
Romantics obviously aimed to create a sovereign state without adjectives.
In order to restore ‘symphony’ to society-state relations, the restoration of
historical institutions is recommended as more appropriate to mass con-
sciousness in the form of the ‘Land Assembly’ (Zemskii Sobor) or a system of
Soviets as surrogate forms of social representation. Some authors go so far as
to present arguments in favour of the restoration of the estate system, the
aristocracy or even the monarchy. The idea of convoking a Constitutional
Assembly in order to adopt a new constitution recently became popular in
these circles. The Russian Orthodox Church played an important role in this
debate, arguing for the prevalence of the collective spirit of fairness over
individual human rights and the need to incorporate the individual into a
traditional religion-based system of values. Authoritarianism is represented as
a unique means of preventing the destruction of the ‘national identity’. Con-
stitutionalism as such is blamed by many conservative romantics for being an
artificial product of uncritical Westernization. They applauded recent gov-
ernmental decisions to regulate and restrict non-governmental organizations,
supported measures against ‘aggressive introduction of Western liberal poli-
tical culture’ in other parts of the world and proclaimed that authentic Russian
civilization is based on the predominance of the national state and charismatic
leadership of any kind (religious or secular ideology).
The rise of nationalism in the post-Soviet period originated mainly in the
conflict between Russian and Soviet identity in the former Soviet Union.37
The natural form of future conservative statehood should thus be the new
empire – the supra-national form of the ruling class and government (also in
artificially recreated archaic forms). The predominant role of the Russian
nation as a ‘state-building nation’ must be ensured in this empire by fixed
legal norms incorporated into the constitution, or constitutional laws. The
highest principles of Russian statehood should be formulated and officially
declared as a national doctrine. The possible result of this programme of
constitutional transformation seems to be the rebirth of social utopianism –
the idea of restructuring global political addenda in terms of conservative values,
national interests and authoritarianism, the export of conservative messianic
culture to other countries of the world in order to stop the ‘humanitarian
imperialism of the West’ and the subversive activity of a hidden ‘global
government’.

Les infortunes de la vertu: doctrinal contradictions and practical

disadvantages of political romanticism
New political romanticism, like its earlier modifications,38 is not homo-
geneous philosophy or social practice and is represented in the current
Russian political context by three main trends:
 Conservative political romanticism 183
First, the ‘pure form’ of old-fashioned romanticism as an embodiment of
authentic Russian pre-revolutionary conservatism or conservative liberalism
which was definitely opposed to the revolution and looked for the cultural
and political alternative in national spirit, historical identity and general
nostalgia for historical forms of social and political organization.
Second, the ‘new romanticism’, oriented towards an active solution of
contemporary problems such as globalization, nationalism and the search for
identity. The social theory of this movement is an eclectic combination of
postmodernist philosophical relativism, Christian democracy, conventional
anti-Americanism, solidarism and authoritarian ideas of European origin
combined with home-grown ideas. Solidarism as a European intellectual and
social movement originated in the ideas of Léon Duguit and other theorists of
social cooperation. Historically it was used by the corporativist regimes of the
inter-war period (Italy and Portugal) as the main alternative to liberalism and
communism and the ideological instrument for the ‘organic’ integration of
society on traditional religious and moral values, resolution of national and
social conflicts, criticism of parliamentary democracy, limitation of political
pluralism and individual human rights, reinstallation of paternalism in
political culture. Elements of this theoretical tradition were represented in
Russian post-revolutionary émigré thought, and also became a source of
inspiration to contemporary conservative romantics. The main ideas are taken
from the ideological heritage of European nationalism: solidarism, corpora-
tive organization, ‘work and order’, religion and personal devotion, the sacred
character of the supreme power of the state and the search for the national
identity in a multi-national state.
Third, radical political romanticism which in many respects is similar to
early fascist doctrines combined with ideas of social justice and socialism. The
basic ideas are extreme nationalism (even in racist form), interpretation of
politics in terms of the friend-enemy paradigm, authoritarianism as the his-
torically determined destiny of Russia. The main political target is a ‘con-
servative revolution’ – a radical transformation of the political regime in
order to realize a ‘national mission’ in the world and create a national (ethnic
‘Russian’) empire with a state ideology by the crude oppression of opponents
(liberals, migrants, different minorities).
The main disagreements between these three trends cover the most vital
themes of a new romantic political theology under construction:

the concept of Russian civilization (whether it should be based on religious,

national or ethnic priorities); of the Russian nation (its cultural, civil or ethnic
interpretation and different visions of historical stages of development and
future prospects in the light of these criteria); the concept of the state (whether
it should be multi-national, national or ethnic) and of sovereignty (opposing
visions of democracy and empire or their reconciliation in hybrid forms);

the impact of historical tradition (the possibility of using it in passive and
active forms); the nature of justice and fairness in the Russian context
184 A. Medushevsky
(legal, distributive and traditional forms of arguing); the concept of
development (the quest of exogenous and endogenous forms);

the notion of a future restoration (as a gradual return to historical forms
or as a radical conservative revolution); the nature of the ‘Russian system’
and ways to transform it in the future (archaic and modernized versions of
state–society interpretation); the concept of a closed state (different opi-
nions about integration of the country in a globalized world); moderate or
radical programmes of cultural, social and legal reforms.

The problem of democratic consolidation is at the same time a problem of

cognitive dissonance in society – the emotional situation in which the indivi-
dual simultaneously has different frames of behaviour or knowledge which
cannot be combined or be reconciled with reality. The outcome from this
situation means the active search of new cognitive frames and adequate
standards of behaviour.39 The cognitive dissonance situation is typical for
transitional societies. This concept is useful for the interpretation of a clear
divorce between social ideal and rational choice; between the idea of social
justice and effective governance and between traditional legal consciousness
and positive law and institutes, created, implanted or oppressively installed by
political power in the process of catch-up modernization. Every fully-exploded
constitutional cycle involves three phases: the rejection of an old constitution
of society; the establishment of a new one, and the complex process of
reconciliation between the new normative system and the old social and
mental reality.40 The third phase is very ambivalent in terms of interpretation
and outcomes: it could be achieved by some combination of tradition and
novelty or in a full-scale restoration under the slogan of ‘return to reality’ and
the extermination of all new institutes (in a direct or indirect manner). That
means the collapse of democratic transition, restoration of an old system,
perhaps in a modified form of sham constitutionalism and the creation of
the basis for the new constitutional cycle in future. In such a situation of
unstable balance, the political choice of the elite and intellectuals is of acute
importance because it could dramatically change the whole strategy of the
transformation of society.
The ‘legal dualism’ or conflict between established positive law and legal
consciousness is a reflection of this cognitive dissonance. Different trends of
conservative political romanticism could be interpreted as varied strategies for
overcoming of this conflict. The social function of the romantic intellectual
movement (in both moderate and radical forms) is primarily psychological
therapy of social neuroses, emotional adaptation of the traditional mind to
the changed society. Romanticism as an artificial, simplified and illusory
construction of reality is, thus, the legitimization of the conservative phase of
the post-Soviet constitutional cycle. As a political doctrine, conservative
romanticism could be used for different purposes: to create a new system of
values and for the establishment of a schedule of negative and positive legal
criteria (constitutional modernization or constitutional retreat); to consolidate
 Conservative political romanticism 185
society, the ruling elite and a number of intellectuals around the idea of sta-
bility, solidarity and counter-revolutionary mentality; to legitimize author-
itarian political power as the embodiment of Russian historical specifics and
minimize criticism of undemocratic political initiatives at home and in foreign
policy; to oppose ‘subversive’ national separatism, liberalism and Westernization
projects; and to create for the government the means for flexible manoeuvring
between different ideologies and programmes.

Romanticism, knowledge and the ethical choice of the professional

community
The new romantic ‘political theology’ obviously appeared to be in a sharp
contradiction to modern science. The postmodernist logic of romantic
visionaries is, in principle, opposed to the logic of modern scientists, which is
based on empirical research and verification, scientific forecast instead of
prophecy, intuitive prevision or metaphysical speculations. The eclectic
romantic amalgamation of abstract moral imperatives, art theories and occa-
sional social practices cannot be proved or falsified in terms of scientific
knowledge. The apocalyptic vision of modern civilization, the idea of national
salvation or preservation in the form of self-isolation, excludes the effective
integration of Russian society to the global reality and tends towards aliena-
tion, stagnation and the destruction of social integrity in terms of national or
political priorities.
The crucial contradiction of post-Soviet conservative political roman-
ticism, as well as for historical forms of this phenomenon, is of a cognitive
character: a clear divorce between the romantic ideal of the stable homo-
geneous society and the closed state with indoctrinated subjects, on the one
hand, and new trends of globalization, modernization and free information
exchange, on the other. The concept of post-Soviet restoration in the form of
an eternal return to traditional forms of commonwealth and authoritarianism
or in the form of conservative revolution is an artificial ideological construc-
tion and is opposed to new forms of social and cognitive adaptation. Namely,
the rigorous moral doctrine of conservative romanticism appeared to be in
sharp conflict with the new reality invoked by post-industrial social
conditions.
The problem of the ethical choice of the professional community in such
circumstances is of paramount importance. Do we need to accept and tolerate
all surrogate products of quasi-sociological methods of interpretation and
naïve, romantic stories about the past and future as a special form of ‘art-
therapy’, or should we rather break the silence and subject them to intensive
social criticism, in terms of the professional criteria of reliable knowledge and
political disadvantages, regarding the notably aggressive and illiberal impli-
cations of romantic political theology? The possible outcome of this cognitive
impasse of conservative romanticism seems to be a radical reform of higher
education – the formation of a new creative type of personality, capable of
186 A. Medushevsky
critical analysis of social data, self-orientation and the decision-making pro-
cess in a dynamically changed world and ready to reject old-fashioned social
stereotypes, mental prejudices and intractable cognitive frames.

Notes
1 ‘Rossiiskaia Istoriia, Teoriia i Metodologiia Kognitivnoi Istorii: “Kruglyi Stol”’,
Rossiiskaia istoriia, no. 1 (2010).
2 Karl Schmitt, Politische Theologie (Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 2004).
3 Obshchestvennaia mysl’ Rosii XVIII – nachala XX veka. Entsiklopediia (Moscow:
Rosspan, 2005).
4 Rossiiskii konservatizm. Entsiklopediia (Moscow: Rosspan, 2010).
5 Rossiiskii liberalism serediny XVIII – nachala XX veka. Entsiklopediia (Moscow:
Rosspan, 2010).
6 Obshchestvennaia mysl’ Russkogo Zarubezh’ia. Entsiklopediia (Moscow: Rosspen,
2009).
7 Gosudarstvennaia Duma Rossiiskoi imperii. 1906–1917. Entsiklopediia (Moscow:
Rosspen, 2006).
8 Programmy politicheskih partii Rossii kontsa XIX–XX veka (Moscow: Rosspan,
1995).
9 Valentin Shelohaev (ed.), Modeli obshchestvennogo pereustroistva Rossii. XX vek
(Moscow: Rosspan, 2004).
10 Vladimir Iakunin and Dugin Alexander (eds), Rossiia i Zapad: Chto razdeliaet?
Materialy nauchnogo seminara, no. 7 (Moscow: Nauchnyi expert, 2009).
11 Gyula Szvak (ed.), Mesto Rossii v Evrope i Azii (Moscow: INION RAN, 2010).
12 Gyula Szvak and Ilona Kiss (eds), Obraz Rossii s tsentralno-evropeiskim aktsen-
tom. Materialy mezhdunarodnoi konferentsii (Budapest: Russica Pannonicana,
2010).
13 Elena Alekseeva (ed.), Diffuziia evropeiskih innovatsii v Rossiiskoi imperii.
Materialy Vserossiiskoi nauchnoi konferentsii (Ekaterinburg: URO RAN, 2009).
14 Iurii Varfolomeev and Larisa Chernova (eds), Rossia-Vostok v istoricheskoi nauke
XXI veka. Materialy mezhdunarodnoi Konferentsii (Saratov: Nauka, 2011).
15 Vladimir Iakunin et al. (eds), Natsional’naia ideia i zhiznesposobnost’ gosudarstva.
Materialy nauchnogo seminara, issue no. 2 (Moscow: Nauchnyi expert, 2009).
16 Valery Tishkov and Viktor Shnirelman (eds), Natsionalizm v mirovoi istorii
(Moscow: Nauka, 2008).
17 Alexander Haardt und Nikolaj Plotnikov (eds), Diskurse der Personalität. Die
Begriffsgeschichte der ‘Person’ aus Deutscher und Russischer Perspective (Munich:
Wilhelm Fink, 2008), pp. 207–23.
18 Lindsey Hughes (ed.), Peter the Great and the West. New Perspectives (London:
Palgrave, 2001).
19 Emil’ Pain (ed.), Ideologiia ‘osobogo puti’ v Rossii i Germanii: istoki, soderzhanie,
posledstviia (Moscow: Tri kvadrata, 2010).
20 ‘100-letie “Vekhi”: Intelligentsia i vlast’ v Rossii. 1909–2009: “Kruglyi stol”’,
Rossiiskaia istoriia, no. 6 (2009).
21 Gyula Szvak (ed.), Gosudarstvo i natsiia v Rossii i Tsentralno-Vostochnoi Evrope.
Materialy mezhdunarodnoi nauchnoi konferentsii (Budapest: Russica Pannonicana,
2008).
22 Rational vision of the problem involves a search of alternative models which
should be analyzed in comparative perspective. See ‘K 90-letiiu Fevral’skoi
Revolutsii’, Otechestvennaia Istoriia, no. 6 (2007); ‘K 90-letiju pervoi Rossiiskoi
Konstituanty’, Otechestvennaia Istoriia, no. 2 (2008).
 Conservative political romanticism 187
23 James H. Billington, Russia in Search of Itself (Baltimore and London: John
Hopkins University Press, 2004).
24 Aleksandr Aksenov (ed.), Rossiiskaia imperia: ot istokov do nachala XIX veka.
Ocherki social’no-politicheskoi i ekonomicheskoi istorii (Moscow: Russkaia panor-
ama, 2011).
25 See current debates on the origins of Russian Revolution, in ‘Oktiabrskaia revo-
lutsia i razgon Uchreditelnogo sobrania: “Kruglyi stol”’, Otechestvennaia istoriia,
no. 6 (2008).
26 About land property conflict in Russian history as well as in Post-Soviet debates,
see: Dmitry Aiatskov (ed.), Sobstvennost’ na zemlu v Rossii: istoriia i sovremennost’
(Moscow: Rosspan, 2002).
27 ‘Velikaia reforma i modernizatsiia Rossii’, Rossiiskaia istoriia, no. 1 (2011).
28 The nature of this historiographical trend is a part of general Post-Soviet debate.
See ‘Stalinism kak model sotsialnogo konstruirovaniia’, Rossiiskaia istoriia, no. 6
(2010).
29 Vladimir Iakunin et al. (eds), Budushchie ugrozy chelovechestvu i Rossii. Materialy
nauchnogo seminara, no. 5 (Moscow: Nauchnyi expert, 2009).
30 Andrey Medushevsky, ‘Power and Property in Russia: The Adoption of the Land
Code’, East European Constitutional Review, vol. 2, no. 3 (Summer 2002).
31 Vladimir Iakunin and Dugin Alexander (eds), Novye technologii bor’by s Rossiiskoi
gosudarstvennost’iu (Moscow: Nauchnyi expert, 2009).
32 Vladimir Iakunin and Dugin Alexander (eds), Ideia suvereniteta v rossiiskom,
sovetskom i postsovetskom kontexte. Materialy nauchnogo seminara, no. 4
(Moscow: Nauchnyi expert, 2009).
33 Giovanni Sartori, Comparative Constitutional Engineering. An Inquiry into Structures,
Incentives and Outcomes (London: Palgrave, 2002), pp. 145–7.
34 ‘15 let Rossiiskoi Konstitutsii’, Otechestvennaia Istoriia, no. 6 (2008).
35 Gregory Freeze (ed.), Russia. A History (Oxford: Oxford University Press,
2009), p. 503.
36 Nina Beliaeva (ed.), Konstitutsionnoe razvitie. Zadachi institutsional’nogo proek-
tirovaniia. Sbornik statei (Moscow: Higher School of Economics, 2007); ‘Istoriia
Rossiiskogo Konstitutsionalizma’, Rossiiskaia istoriia, no. 1 (2010).
37 Geoffrey Hosking, Rulers and Victims. The Russians in the Soviet Union
(Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2006).
38 Karl Schmitt, Politische Romantik (Berlin: Duncker und Humblot, 1998).
39 On the definition of cognitive dissonance, see Arthur S. Reber, The Penguin
Dictionary of Psychology, 2nd ed. (London: Penguin Books, 1995).
40 Andrey Medushevsky, Russian Constitutionalism. Historical and Contemporary
Development (London: Routledge, 2006).
11 ‘Bez stali i leni ’
Aesopian language and legitimacy
Irina Sandomirskaia

In this chapter, I propose to approach the problem of Russia and legitimacy

from the point of view of language, power, and politics. I will concentrate on
the problem of legitimate language and its ‘illegitimate’ opponent as it devel-
oped among the Soviet intelligentsia of the Stalinist period, the so-called
Aesopian language, or the euphemization of politically sensitive moments in
conversation and writing. The quotation below comes from Nadezhda Man-
delstam’s memoirs and serves as a good illustration of how Aesopian language
was used by its speaker during the purges:

[ … ] the word ‘writing’ acquired an additional meaning. Referring to a group

of successful candidates [of sciences], an old scholar … told me: ‘They all
write’. … When Usacheva and I worked at the university in Tashkent, we
did not [have to] look for snitches because everyone was ‘writing’. And we
would exercise our skills in Aesopian language. In the presence of the doctoral
students, we would raise the first toast to those who had given us our happy
life, and then both the initiated [in the secrets of Aesopian language. – I.S.]
and the doctoral students would invest it with correct meaning.

[ … ] слово ‘писать’ приобрело добавочный смысл. Старый ученый …

сказал мне про группу преуспевающих кандидатов: ‘Все они пишут’ …
Работая с Усачевой в Ташкенте в университете, мы не искали стукачей,
потому что ‘писали’ все. И мы упражнялись в эзоповом языке. В при-
сутствии аспирантов мы поднимали первый тост за тех, кто дал нам
такую счастливую жизнь, и посвященные, и аспиранты вкладывали в
него нужный смысл.1

Later on, Aesopian language also became popular in the speech practices of
the Thaw period when the critically-minded referred to the Soviet power as
Soph’ia Vlas’evna, to Lenin as Lukich, to Khruschev’s destalinization as
vegetarian times, or as a life bez stali i leni,2 as in the title of this chapter.
As dissatisfaction with the Soviet regime grew after Stalin’s death, Soviet
popular culture was inventing Aesopian language games which spread from
mouth to mouth, in the form of winged words and anecdotes, otherwise from
 Aesopian language and legitimacy 189
one tape recorder to another, as, for instance, Bulat Okudzhava’s Black Cat or
Van’ka Morozov.3 Among the anecdotes, one could quote for hours on end,
but I will only refer to one, my favourite joke which probably dates as far back
as the 1920s, about a telegram containing news about a certain Rabinovich
who, as the telegram says, ‘is not standing nor lying’ [ne stoit i ne lezhit],
indicating that Rabinovich must be ‘sitting’, i.e. sidit, ‘imprisoned’. Innumer-
able forms of euphemization can be found in memoirs, and nowadays even in
dictionaries. Apparently, throughout the history of Soviet society, there existed
a widespread and a deeply-embedded language culture of lying that was based
on a certain form of critical attention among the speakers towards the official
language and resulted in incessant critical commenting of this official language
in semi-legitimate or wholly illegitimate, and punishable, speech practices.
It is this language culture that can roughly be described as Aesopian
language. Now, given the Soviet intelligentsia’s rich auto-mythology, can
we really believe that Aesopian language was a reality of Soviet linguistic
practices, or is it simply a self-constituting fiction? Another question is: Can
one really believe that such linguistic practices possessed a power to under-
mine the legitimacy of the legitimate language, as the memoirs tell us, and
that undermining was actually the purpose?
Theoretically, the euphemism is supposed to conceal what cannot be
named directly. However, the effect of euphemization, instead of concealing,
is that the euphemism (as any poetic device) destroys the order of discourse in
which what it names – or rather what it refuses to name – appears natural
and normal. The unnamable thus re-emerges, no longer normal and neutral,
but expressly political (e.g. piatyi punkt, in the meaning of the state dis-
crimination of the Jews, or golubye, in the meaning of criminalized homo-
sexuality). By concealing, – or should one say, instead of concealing, – the
euphemism emphasizes what is forbidden and thus de-normalizes the neutral.
An opposite viewpoint, especially among the critics of the liberal mythol-
ogy of the Soviet intelligentsia, maintains that Aesopian language with its
oblique nominations and tropes merely serves as an alibi for an intellectual
who is involved in collaboration with the regime, a safety device in adaptation
to the dominant language. According to this view, instead of politicizing,
Aesopian language ‘aestheticizes the political’ (term by Walter Benjamin) as
it conceals the critical message behind a poetic circumlocution and thus
eliminates whatever critical meaning was intended. From this point of view,
Aesopian language is a way of avoiding the ethical requirement for an honest
individual to live under the sign of truth. The poetic euphemism is lost for
political resistance, because it drowns in its own aestheticism, its euphemia
(literally, the use of words of good omen, beautiful speech), and beats about
the bush instead of calling a spade a spade.
Even in the way people explain the term itself, ‘Aesopian language’, one
can follow the same dilemma. Some say that it refers to Aesop’s way of expres-
sing his viewpoints on sensitive matters through allegories, a way of speaking
politically without using openly political language. Others emphasize
190 I. Sandomirskaia
that Aesop was a slave, and Aesopian language is therefore merely a secret
code for slaves to share their fears, powerless, cowardly, and incapable as they
are of an open expression of protest. It is in this latter meaning that Aesopian
language was ridiculed by Saltykov-Shchedrin (to whom, nevertheless, the
invention of Aesopian language is attributed). Saltykov-Shchedrin himself does
not call it ‘Aesopian’, but ‘the language of the slave’ (rabii iazyk). In his
Pis’ma k teten’ke (‘Letters to My Aunt’), he criticizes contemporary literature
for its claims to be able to achieve a political goal through the use of euphemism,
while, in the meantime, the popular masses fail to master the skill of reading
between the lines, and thus the intention invested in the euphemism fails to
achieve its purpose.

To this, one could object: And what about the euphemistic language of
the slaves! What about the skill of speaking between the lines? – Yes,
I would answer, indeed, both of those peculiarities of literature were
developed while literature was in captivity [under censorship. – I.S.], and
both undoubtedly witness to literature’s attempts at breaking through the
enemy’s ranks. But whatever you say, the language of the slave is the
language of the slave, and nothing more. [People in] the street have never
known how to read between the lines, and in relation to it the language of
the slave did not have, and couldn’t have, any enlightening significance.
So if it was a victory, it was a very insignificant one.

Мне могут возразить здесь; а иносказательный рабий язык! а уменье

говорить между строками? – Да, отвечу я, действительно, обе эти
характерные особенности выработались во время пребывания литера-
туры в плену и обе несомненно свидетельствуют о ее попытках про-
рваться сквозь неприятельскую цепь. Но ведь как ни говори, а рабий
язык все-таки рабий язык, и ничего больше. Улица никогда между строк
читать не умела, и по отношению к ней рабий язык не имел и не мог
иметь воспитательного значения. Так что если тут и была победа, то
очень и очень небольшая.4

Lenin was also critical, since he saw in euphemism a strategy of adapting to,
and thus confirming, political censorship. In his article Party Organization
and Party Literature, Lenin accuses the legal press of betraying the interests
of the proletariat and using ‘Aesopian speech’ instead of assuming a principled
position in support of the RSDRP:

An accursed period of Aesopian language, literary servility, slavish

speech, and ideological serfdom! The proletariat has put an end to this
infamy which stifled everything living and fresh in Russia.5

Проклятая пора эзоповских речей, литературного холопства, рабьего

языка, идейного крепостничества! Пролетариат положил конец этой
гнусности, от которой задыхалось, все живое и свежее на Руси.6
 Aesopian language and legitimacy 191
Each of the two opposing views – for and against Aesopian language – has
a respective linguistic utopia underlying its ideas of political language. One
declares an undermining critical potential in the power of a poetic trope. The
other does not believe in revolution through poetics, but believes in the exis-
tence (somewhere) of a pure language without any tropeic ambiguity at all, by
means of which things can be called what they are – and thus undermined by
the directness of nomination.
The dilemma of Aesopian language directly concerns the problem of
legitimacy, or, to be precise, that of language and legitimacy, or the means of
establishing or undermining legitimacy. In the social sciences, this problem
was formulated by Pierre Bourdieu in Language and Symbolic Power.7
Legitimacy (of language), according to Bourdieu, is the result of the double
process of production and reproduction. As production, legitimate language
results from the specifically linguistic policy of the state. As reproduction,
legitimacy resides in the recognition of the language as legitimate by the user.
All subjects involved in the political economy of symbolic domination adapt
to it, and thus contribute, even though euphemisms, to the further legitima-
tion of the legitimate language. This universal collaboration also involves the
‘euphemism’, the linguistic practices of Aesopian language:

[ … ] Dominated subjects strive desperately to correctness, consciously or

unconsciously, subject the stigmatized aspects … of their dictum (invol-
ving various forms of euphemism) … or in the disarray which leaves
them ‘speechless’, ‘tongue-tied’, ‘at a loss for words’, as if they were suddenly
dispossessed of their own language.8

This is because, Bourdieu continues,

[ … ] symbolic domination presupposes, on the part of those who submit

to it, a form of complicity which is neither passive submission to external
constraint nor a free adherence to values. The recognition of the legiti-
macy of the official language has nothing in common with an explicitly
professed, deliberate and revocable belief, or with an intentional act of
accepting a ‘norm’. It is inscribed, in a practical state, in dispositions
which are impalpably inculcated, through a long and slow process of
acquisition, by the sanctions of the linguistic market, and which are
therefore adjusted, without any cynical calculation or consciously experi-
enced constraints, to the chances of material and symbolic profit which
the laws of price formation characteristic of a given market objectively
offer to the holders of a given linguistic capital.9

Bourdieu’s schematization deserves a separate discussion, especially as it

seems to be confirmed by the actual practitioners of Aesopian language
games, including Lidiia Ginzburg (I will return to this latter’s relevant frag-
ment containing a crushing critique of her own attempts at Aesopian
192 I. Sandomirskaia
language in her professional writing as a literary historian). There remain,
however, unanswered questions. First, given this tight fit between the dom-
inating (legitimate) language and the collaborating speaker, what is it, then,
that makes possible eventual landslides of language, as Roman Jakobson once
called catastrophic linguistic change as in Russia in the 1920s, or in the 1990s?
Second, Bourdieu does not seem to take into account the difference between
policies and politics (of language). He explains legitimacy (a political category)
in terms of administrative control, as a matter of feedback (‘recognition’). His
legitimacy does not belong to the political, but to the administrative domain,
and thus disregards the political in the subject of speech. This is how all
Bourdieu’s speakers, irrespective of the poetics and politics of their speech,
whether conforming or resisting, become collaborators under the auspices of
the regime.
Compared to Bourdieu’s pessimism, another piece of French theory from
the same period is overly optimistic while dealing with matters of linguistic
strategies. In Kafka: Towards a Minor Literature,10 Deleuze and Guattari
discuss linguistic practices that lie very close to the practices of Aesopian
language. The language of ‘minor literature’ is not some alien language that
invades the dominant one from the outside, but it reactivates the critical
potential of the dominant language by giving its words a different meaning.
Just like the language of ‘minor literature’, Aesopian language is the one that
‘a minority constructs within a major language’.11 This is a notion that is
broader than the legitimate language of Bourdieu. The language of ‘minor
literature’ ‘is a deterritorialized language, appropriated for strange and minor
uses’.12 Another important feature in common between ‘minor literature’ and
the Aesopian language of the Soviet intelligentsia is that

everything in them is political’.13 Like ‘minor literature’, Aesopian language

is ‘a collective enunciation … positively charged with the role and func-
tion of collective, even revolutionary, enunciation. [It] produces an active
solidarity in spite of skepticism … the possibility to express another pos-
sible community and to forge the means for another consciousness and
another sensibility.14

This is a conclusion radically opposed to that of Bourdieu and confirming the

belief of the users of Aesopian language in its potential transformative power.
So, yes or no? The question of whether Aesopian language undermines the
regime or confirms it, also remains unresolved in the testimonies of two con-
temporary witnesses from the USSR whom I would like to address for an
answer. One of them is the already cited Nadezhda Mandelstam, who seems
to say that Aesopian language does exist and is efficient as a strategy of
resistance. The other is Lidiia Ginzburg, and her message is sceptical, but also
her conceptualization of Aesopian language is more complex than Mandelstam’s.
I will now return to Mandelstam’s fragment, which I quoted in the beginning,
to look more closely at how she construes Aesopian language:
 Aesopian language and legitimacy 193
the word ‘writing’ acquired an additional meaning. Referring to a group
of successful candidates [of sciences], an old scholar … told me: ‘They all
write’. … When Usacheva and I worked at the university in Tashkent, we
did not [have to] look for snitches because everyone was ‘writing’.

… слово ‘писать’ приобрело добавочный смысл. Старый ученый …

сказал мне про группу преуспевающих кандидатов: ‘Все они пишут’. …
Работая с Усачевой в Ташкенте в университете, мы не искали стукачей,
потому что ‘писали’ все.

To begin with, this fragment contains a beautiful sample of Aesopian cir-

cumlocution, vse pishut, meaning, everyone writing denunciations, everyone
being a secret informer. This intransitive pishut (cf. Roland Barthes’ ‘writing
degree zero’, i.e. without an object, to whom, what, and about what) sounds
especially provocative in the speech of the ‘old scholar’, in fact Viktor
Zhirmunskii, the former formalist, the author of Poetics, and the friend of
many great authors, an eminent member in that group of the early Soviet
intelligentsia for whom the intransitive pisat’ would mean creative literary
work. Writing without attributes – absolute and intransitive writing – is a
sign of total dedication to literary work. The irony in this pishut is that
it signifies an equally total dedication to the regime and its secret police.
When Mandelstam’s students pishut, what they produce is ideologically
acceptable scholarship (they are all preuspevaiushchie kandidaty) or secret
reports denouncing their teachers. The example demonstrates the extra-
ordinary semantic capacity of Aesopian language, its ability to capture very
complex situations and histories with very economical linguistic means. Given
its minimal economy, the irony of this pishut is immense. Mandelstam
continues:

And we would exercise our skills in Aesopian language. In the presence of

doctoral students, we would raise the first toast to those who had given us
our happy life, and then both the initiated [in the secrets of Aesopian
language] and the doctoral students would invest it with the meaning they
needed.

И мы упражнялись в эзоповом языке. В присутствии аспирантов мы

поднимали первый тост за тех, кто дал нам такую счастливую жизнь, и
посвященные, и аспиранты вкладывали в него нужный смысл.

Aesopian language is very poor in its linguistic mechanisms, and the poorer it
is, the more efficient the euphemism. Mandelstam demonstrates a case in
which euphemization practically reaches its limit in irony, when every word
implies not simply something different, but something directly opposite to its
legitimate meaning. By saying I drink to the health of someone, the speaker
actually means, I wish him death; by saying He gave us a happy life, he
194 I. Sandomirskaia
actually says, Our life is miserable, and so on. She does not say if, and
how, the speakers of Aesopian language concealed the irony in their speech –
maybe they hoped that it was only the words that were reported by the
spies and not the intonation?15 In any case, this strategy, when the euphe-
mistic enunciation no longer seeks to re-phrase, but, on the contrary, to blend
with, and to become indistinguishable from, the legitimate one, is also dis-
cussed by my other witness, Lidiia Ginzburg delivering her testament from a
comparable context of philological studies. Ginzburg’s dictum is opposite to
that of Mandelstam: in her experience, the hope of sneaking an illegitimate
thought into the environment of a legitimate language by using its own means
and thus blend with the environment, is a vain self-delusion. In the 1980s, she
re-reads her scholarly writing from Stalinist times, when using Aesopian lan-
guage was for her a necessity. This re-reading gives her a bitter feeling of
defeat.

Now my book about [Herzen’s] ‘My Past and Thoughts’ is the hardest for
me to re-read. I wrote it during the years (late forties and early fifties)
when literary science (as well as literature itself) for the most part already
consisted merely of exclamations of loyalty. Yet this book contained
thoughts, and therefore to me it seemed fabulously free (it had been lying
at the publisher’s for six years). In the meantime, non-freedom was the
deeply ingrained non-freedom of what went without saying and was not
subject to doubt.

Труднее всего мне сейчас перечитывать книгу о ‘Былом и думах’.16

Писалась она в годы (рубеж сороковых – пятидесятых), когда литера-
туроведение (как и литература) по большей части состояло уже из одних
возгласов преданности. В этой же книге были мысли, поэтому она
казалась сказочно свободной (шесть лет она провалялась в изда-
тельстве); а несвобода была глубоко сидящей несвободой само собой
разумеющегося, непроверяемого.17

Thus, the ‘non-freedom’ was connected with the circumstances of the

regime and could not be subjected to doubt, but there were also ‘thoughts’.
There was a freedom of independent thinking in an atmosphere of unending
‘exclamations of loyalty’ that had come to replace scholarly values. To
illustrate how ‘thoughts’ interrupted ‘loyalty’, Ginzburg quotes from the
Herzen book:

The central idea of the chapter ‘Venezia la bella’ is that genuine (popular,
social) content has already withered in the Italian national movement,
which adapts itself to the European bourgeois order. [Herzen’s] dis-
illusionment in the Italian bourgeois-national movement leads [him] to a
sceptical and, of course, mistaken opinion that at the present stage reaction
is the only real force of the capitalist Western world.
 Aesopian language and legitimacy 195
Основная мысль главы ‘Venezia la bella’ – это мысль о том, что подлинное
(народное, социальное) содержание уже выветрилось из итальянского
национального движения, вживающегося в общеевропейский буржуазный
порядок. Разочарование в итальянском буржуазно-национальном
движении ведет за собой скептическую и, конечно, ошибочную мысль о
том, что на данном этапе реакция – единственная реальная сила западного
капиталистического мира.18

It would be completely impossible for the present-day reader to understand

where exactly in this fragment is that heretical thought whose enunciation
required such a complicated work of creating linguistic decoys. It is probably
the observation about ‘reaction being nowadays the only efficient force’, a
statement, ‘of course, mistaken’, because according to the Stalinist version of
history, ‘the only efficient force of the time’ would be the proletariat, and it
could never be reactionary. Herzen was never forgiven in the USSR for his
skepticism concerning the Marxist theory of proletarian revolution. Ginzburg’s
cautious commentary provides an alibi for Herzen by subtly introducing the
reason for his scepticism, which is not his opposition to Stalinist history, but
merely ‘disillusionment’. The ‘of course’ in her commentary is almost openly
ironic, probably the only element that gives away the presence of euphemiza-
tion. A critical thought has created a whole system of insincere quotations
from the legitimate language and thus achieved a total blending with the
surrounding environment of legitimate language.
Has this intricate work of camouflage led to any palpable result? Has it
awakened any critical thought in response to the author’s critical thought, so
carefully concealed by means of that very language that is subject to criticism?
No, Ginzburg answers, on the contrary. Instead of attacking the dominant lan-
guage, it only led to ‘necrosis’ (omertvenie tkanei) in her own language. The
practices of producing ‘necrotic’ legitimate language when working on a com-
mission from the state and making acceptable statements without any bona fide
commitment dates back to the 1930s and flourishes in the late 1940s – early 1950s.
Reflecting on the destinies of her like-minded colleagues, the practitioners of
Aesopian language inside Stalinist literary institutions, Ginzburg continues:

Whether true or not, this was necrosis that invaded the living flesh of the
book. During the 1930s, this mechanism already existed, but it operated
then in an environment of healthy tissues of the letters. In the atmosphere
of frenetic servility during the last Stalinist years, we thought that we had
retained our purity. That was not only our impression, but also that of
the publishers, who either refused to publish our lot, or published us with
gnashing of teeth. But now it is so hard to re-read. The sight of intellectual
force wasted like this is painful.

Правда это или не правда, – это омертвение ткани, поражавшее живую

плоть книги. В тридцатых годах механизм уже существовал, но работал
196 I. Sandomirskaia
еще в здоровой словесной ткани. Среди исступленного раболепия
последних сталинских лет казалось, что мы чистые. Это казалось не
только нам, но и редакциям, которые нашу разновидность не печатали
или печатали, скрипя зубами. А теперь перечитывать тяжко. Мучителен
вид растраченной умственной силы.19

The dvuiazychie (bilingualism, Ginzburg’s term) of the late 1920s and early
30s, when Stalinization in literature and literary studies had just begun, in
the late 1940s, gives place to the petrified monolingualism of late Stalinism.
The result is that euphemization, as carefully crafted as it is, is wasted on the
reader, who gradually loses the skills of Aesopian interpretation. At the same
time, the less obvious it thus becomes, the stronger it is experienced as critical
and undermining by the author herself who so carefully manufactured it. It
is a waste, indeed: what was conceived as a language for critique has lost its
reader and grown fully narcissistic. This is why, re-reading such passages
afterwards, the writer is ashamed. At the time of writing, engrossed in the
contemplation of her own ingenuity in producing acceptable expression for
unacceptable thoughts, she did not realize that she was stepping into a trap.
As opposed to the optimistic program of ‘minor literature’, it is not the lan-
guage of minority, in Ginzburg’s experience, that undermines and questions
the language of majority, but, on the contrary, this latter that eats up its
minor opponent and digests its minor meanings. When the euphemism
mimics its dominant language, it opens up an access for this latter into the
language of critique. This is how legitimate language re-expropriates its own
terms, cleanses them from Aesopian irony, and makes itself at home in the
Aesopian world, reclaiming its dominance inside the euphemism:

At that time, it seemed to us, that there was just one language left, in
which everything speaks. That it is our only given language and that there
is no other besides. We therefore had an acute sense of every deviation
from its laws, we experienced emotionally the courage and the joy of our
own language that we preserved without noticing how the common language
infiltrated and populated our own discourse.

Тогда казалось, что остался один язык, на котором всё говорит. Что он
наша данность и ничего нет, кроме него. Мы резко ощущали поэтому
отклонения от его законов, переживали смелость и радость своего
сохраненного слова, не замечая, как всеобщий язык проникает и распо-
лагается в нашем слове.20

This happens when Aesopian language loses the listener, the reader, the one
who knows how to practise its ironic hermeneutic and who believes in its
mythology. The correct critical meaning in euphemism, Mandelstam says,
could only be invested by the hearers, ‘the initiated ones’. According to
Ginzburg, however, even ‘the initiated’ finally gave up. The defeat of the
 Aesopian language and legitimacy 197
Aesopian language results from the disappearance of ‘the initiated’: the one
who is capable of receiving the euphemism, recognizing it as euphemism, and
identifying with its hidden meaning. The only ‘initiated’ listeners left are
the informers and the instance they report to. When the community of those
initiated into the secrets of Aesopian language dissolves (or gives up), then, by
the same token, the euphemism’s undermining potential also evaporates,
whether real or imaginary.
The power, but also the ultimate vulnerability, of Aesopian language lies in
its indivisible belonging to the immediate situation of speaking and its
dependence on the images and concepts of the dominant language, the object
of its critique. As any camouflage, Aesopian language is site-specific. Its poe-
tics and politics are restricted by the circumstances of place and time and
depend on the understanding of the sympathetic reader and listener. Aesopian
language dies when the legitimate language it seeks to undermine loses its
legitimacy. It flourishes under the gaze of the censor, but becomes impene-
trable, dull and mute, irrelevant and forgotten, when the censor disappears – or
is imagined to have disappeared.

Notes
1 Nadezhda Mandelstam, Vospominaniia (New York: Izdatel’stvo imeni Chekhova,
1970), p. 40; translated by the author.
2 Literally, ‘without steel and laziness’, this absurd phrase implies ‘without Stalin
and Lenin’, a popular joke of the Thaw.
3 Rumour has it that Van’ka Morozov, the character in the song who falls in
love with a faithless and dangerous circus girl, had a prototype in Grigorii
Morozov, Stalin’s first son-in-law. The moustachioed black cat from the other song,
that lives in darkness on the staircase and terrorizes the residents of the house, was
widely believed to represent Stalin himself. Aesopian language thus cannot be
considered in isolation from its mythic interpretations, as I will argue further.
4 Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin, ‘Za rubezhom’; ‘Pis’ma k teten’ke’, in Mikhail
Saltykov-Shchedrin, Sobranie sochinenii v dvadtsati tomakh, vol. 14 (Moscow:
Khudozhestvennaia literatura, 1972), p. 402; translated by the author.
5 Vladimir Lenin, ‘Party Organization and Party Literature’, Lenin Internet Archive,
2001; translation modified. http://www.marxists.org/archive/lenin/works/1905/nov/
13.htm.
6 Vladimir Lenin, ‘Partiinaia organizatsiia i partiinaia literatura’, in Vladimir
Lenin, Polnoe Sobranie Sochinenii, vol. 12 (Moscow: Izdatel’stvo Politicheskoi
Literatury, 1960), p. 100.
7 Pierre Bourdieu, Language and Symbolic Power (Cambridge, MA: Harvard
University Press, 1991). Separate chapters originally published in French in the
late 1970s–early 1980s.
8 Ibid., p. 52.
9 Ibid., pp. 50–1.
10 Gilles Deleuze and Felix Guattari, Kafka: Towards a Minor Literature (Minnea-
polis and London: University of Minnesota Press, 1986).
11 Ibid., p. 16.
12 Ibid., p. 17.
13 Ibid., p. 17.
14 Ibid., p. 17.
198 I. Sandomirskaia
15 And, indeed, secret NKVD documents that are published nowadays seem to
confirm this idea. As the NKVD collected and analysed the speech by people
under secret surveillance, they seem to have been mostly interested in what public
opinion experts nowadays call content analysis. See, for instance, massive quota-
tions from the NKVD’s reporting about the attitudes (nastroeniia) among the
civilian population in Leningrad under the siege in Nikita Lomagin, Leningrad v
blokade (Moscow: EKSMO, 2005). Hopefully, instructions for the procedures and
techniques of such content analysis will be found and published some time in
future, to confirm or disprove this conjecture.
16 Lidiia Ginzburg, ‘“Byloe i dumy” Gercena’ (Leningrad: Khudozhestvennaia
literatura, 1957).
17 Lidiia Ginzburg, Zapisnye knizhki. Vospominaniia. Esse (St Petersburg: Iskusstvo-SPB,
2002), p. 294 (fragment dating to the 1970s–1980s); translated by the author.
18 Aleksandr Gertsen, Byloe i dumy, vol. 2 (Minsk: Gosudarstvennoe uchebno-
pedagogicheskoe izdatel’stvo Ministerstva prosveshcheniia BSSR, 1947), pp. 604–15.
19 Ibid., pp. 604–5.
20 Ibid., pp. 604–5.
12 Medvedev’s new media gambit
The language of power in 140 characters
or less
Michael S. Gorham

Search engines and social networks are becoming the finest and most powerful
instruments of manipulation. Due to its inertia the state has been slow in
mastering them, but when it does a lot of interesting things will happen.
–Vladislav Surkov1

With the dramatic events of the ‘Arab Spring’ still unfolding, much ink
has been spilled over social media’s role in fostering democratic change.
Cyber-optimists pronounce the onset of a new participatory democracy that
challenges more centralized methods of mass communication in the age of
print and television media and brings about what one specialist has called the
‘desacralization of authority’ (desakralizatsiia vlasti).2 Cyber-pessimists insist
that platforms such as Facebook and Twitter are not likely to bring about the
next revolution, and may even serve as more refined means of government
control.3 In Russia, the blogger activist and lawyer Aleksei Navalnyi stands
out as one of the more prominent cases of the blogosphere’s ability to influ-
ence government operations – through his exposés of embezzlement within
the oil giant Transneft and other major multinational corporations, his efforts
at exposing misspending of government funds through the ‘Rospil’ project,
and his ability to influence public discourse itself – as in his infamous labeling
of the pro-Kremlin United Russia Party as the ‘Party of swindlers and thieves’
(Partiia zhulikov i vorov) – a phrase that has broken from the relatively closed
environment of the Russian internet to become a ‘“meme” adopted by
broader swaths of society’.4
Less attention has been devoted to an equally intriguing, though less
dramatic phenomenon – the new trend of government officials themselves
embracing new technology as a means of communicating with their con-
stituents. Here, too, ambiguity tends to be the dominant key in assessing the
impact of the trend. Writing as early as 2002, Sara Bentivegna pointed out,
for example, that ‘the creation of an arena made possible by the Internet,
where everyone has a voice, together with the possibility of activating direct
relations between politicians and citizens, leads to the development of an
electronic marketplace’ and the ‘eradication of the gap dividing political life
from the daily life of citizens’, creating greater ‘equality among members
200 M. S. Gorham
engaged in a discussion’ and the ‘absence of preconceived positions of
“power” in the management of communication’. At the same time, however,
she readily acknowledged the possibility that new media presented yet
another ‘form of technological dominion over individuals, capable of con-
trolling and manipulating opinions, decisions and behavior to an extent never
before possible’.5 Writing nearly ten years later, the more pessimistic Evgeny
Morozov warns that ‘not all social capital created by the Internet is bound to
produce “social goods”; “social bads” are inevitable as well’.6
So the fact that a growing number of political leaders, from Barack Obama
and Nikolas Sarkozy to Hugo Chávez and Kim Jong Il, have embraced
social networking tools for communicating with their constituents says little
about the inherently democratic nature of the tools themselves; but it does
invite further investigation into the potential for such media to influence
the nature and balance of political power and legitimacy.7 In this chapter I do
just this in the Russian context, focusing on the phenomenon of Russia’s first
blogger-in-chief, Dmitry Medvedev. Examining more closely his recent foray
into the microblogging world of Twitter, I discuss the potential benefits and
pitfalls of the platform as an alternative medium for communication in a
polity traditionally known for hierarchical and paternalistic structures of
authority.

Legacies of authoritative language

The Russian bureaucracy, perhaps even more so than most, is notorious for
its aloofness and inaccessibility, to the extent where common citizens perceive
the relationship as one between ‘us’ and ‘them’, ‘them’ often represented
symbolically by the abstract vlast’ (lit. ‘power’ or ‘authority’; but here,
‘authorities’). The clichéd, convoluted style of Russian officialese is legendary –
the stuff of parody dating back to Aleksandr Griboedov, Nikolai Gogol and
Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin. The bureaucratic sediment accumulated all the
more rapidly through the middle part of the twentieth century, when thick
bureaucratic layers intertwined with the ‘wooden’ and clichéd language of the
Soviet language of state. With the onset of glasnost in the late 1980s, however,
the verbal sediment began to loosen, particularly in political discourse as
suddenly the art of persuasion took on new relevance. Mikhail Gorbachev
famously shunned prepared remarks in his first speech on perestroika, deliv-
ered to a surprised audience of Krasnodar Party members in 1986, then took
to the streets for spirited oral engagement with the narod in TV-friendly
photo-ops.8
While the Putin era has seen a decline in the free flow of alternative opinion
over the television airwaves and what some have called a return to Soviet-style
newspaper language, it has at the same time featured the internet’s rapid
emergence as space for political and civic exchange. Few public figures have
embraced this trend as publicly and enthusiastically as President Dmitry
Medvedev, who has invoked ‘direct internet democracy’ as a primary means
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 201
of battling corruption and fostering modernization, and has vocally cajoled
the heirs to the chinovniki and apparatchiki into establishing verbal presence
in new media and thereby bringing vlast’ closer to the people. The proximity
is aided in part by the greater level of orality distinguishing blogging and
microblogging as a mode of communication. As the new media scholar
Danah Boyd puts it, ‘Blogs blur the line between orality and textuality,
altering both the mechanisms for performance and the power dynamics
between performer(s) and audience’.9 But how exactly does the new blogging
and microblogging political culture add to this evolutionary process? In what
ways do Medvedev’s own blogging practices buttress his authority as pre-
sident, modernizer and corruption fighter and in what ways do they undercut
that authority? And what sort of new model of communication between
citizens and political elite might this portend for the future?
Medvedev’s predecessor proved more cautious in his direct engagement
with the Russian population, opting for the highly orchestrated ‘conversations
with Vladimir Putin’ (previously called ‘Conversations with the President of
the RF’), where carefully selected audiences from around the nation are
invited to a public forum at which they ask questions of the president that
are themselves carefully screened.10 The event is designed to create a ‘direct
line’ to the president and serves the dual function of providing at least tem-
porary relief from poorly functioning channels of communication with vlast’
(and particularly local authorities) and of boosting Putin’s image as a benign
tsar who is in a position above the bureaucratic fray and capable of solving
people’s problems despite the entrenched and resistant apparatus. While the
public, multimedia enactment of this ‘conversation’ gives the impression of a
two-way channel between citizen and vlast’, the project is little more than a
simulation of town-hall democracy, where in fact the agenda is quite com-
fortably controlled at the top. In the communications strategies of Medvedev,
we see a similar effort to cut through the bureaucratic web of convoluted
communication, but through the use of new technology – blogging and social
media in particular.

Dmitry Medvedev – Russia’s first web 2.0 president

New technology has figured centrally into Dmitry Medvedev’s political per-
sona since well before he became president. As deputy prime minister he
hosted an online forum, where he spoke competently on issues ranging from
fidonet to Olbanskii iazyk.11 His love for all things digital quickly became one
of the defining features of his presidential profile. Well before the start of his
‘modernization’ campaign, his biography at Kremlin.ru made it clear he viewed
internet proficiency to be a base requirement of the modern politician:
‘Anyone who wants to be a part of modern life simply has to know this technol-
ogy and use it actively’.12 Six months into his presidency, Medvedev launched
the presidential video blog, where to date he has published over 160 posts,
many of them self-authored. His stated rationale for the launch was ‘to speak
202 M. S. Gorham
about some pressing problems the world is facing today’, but on occasion he
uses the medium as a more autobiographical outlet – sharing his views on
photography or memories of his school days.13 In later posts, he elaborated
on the opportunity the internet provided for enabling direct access to citizens:
It is important that this kind of information comes directly from the ori-
ginal source and actually ends up on my desk, or rather in my computer.
I can simply see for myself what citizens who visit the site and react to my
performances in the blog are writing. … It’s a kind of direct and very
effective channel of information linking the president, on the one hand, and
all those who wish and who have computers on their desks, on the other.14

In January 2010 Medvedev prodded fellow chinovniki to start their own blogs
and master social networking as a means of improving communication and
earning the trust of their constituents, warning that bureaucrats unable to use
a computer or the internet could be relieved of their duties.15 In March he
chastised Nizhnii Novgorod Governor, Valerii Shantsev, for not getting with
the plan: ‘Those who can do it are modern managers; those who cannot, with
all due respect, are not quite prepared’.16 In a formal speech to United Russia
activists in May of 2010 he boldly predicted the return of an ‘era of direct
democracy’ due to the way the internet allows citizens to engage in the poli-
tical process.17 And that fall, in his now annual ‘World political forum’ in
Iaroslavl’, he reiterated the idea with a warning to all foot-draggers: ‘The
world is so open that no politician can hide; we are simply obligated to syn-
chronize our watches with the people, with civil society, and first and foremost
on such sensitive issues as the level of civic freedoms’.18 Or, as he put it more
laconically in a September 2010 tweet, ‘At times it may be unpleasant for me
to read something. But the very fact that people are writing about it is useful’.19
Given this consistent integration of new media into his political life, one
can hardly question the legitimacy of his status as Russia’s first web 2.0 president.
Vladimir Putin certainly offers no competition as one who has written off the
internet as consisting of 50 percent pornography (although one poll showed
Putin to be the second most popular politician-blogger in the country, despite the
fact that he has never bothered keeping one).20 What one can and should
question is the impact of that mutual infusion – not only on the public perception
of the president and, by extension, officialdom, but also on the trend’s
potential for facilitating a ‘new era of direct democracy’. As one of the more
minimalist forms of social networking, Twitter presents a stark contrast to the
traditionally cumbersome communicative styles and hierarchies of Russian
officialdom. In this very contrast, I would like to suggest, rests the medium’s
potential as both a linguistic and political game changer, for better or for worse.

Elements of microblogging style

The common description of Twitter as a ‘microblog’ underscores the affinities
of the platform with the regular blog. Although generally shorter in length, it
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 203
shares the blog’s function as a kind of public diary, author-generated and
immediately and freely accessible to all those who elect to become a ‘fol-
lower’. It is bidirectional to the extent that ‘followers’ can reply to tweets, and
at least with the most recent version of Twitter these comments can be
accessed by other followers and viewers of the presidential account (although
only the most recent replies appear). A more comprehensive reply feed
appears below photos posted on Twitter-friendly parallel platforms, such
as Twitpic.com. Messages, or ‘tweets’ can be ‘re-tweeted’ should they be
deemed worthy of further dissemination, and ‘tweeters’ can use the platform
as a means of sharing links to other noteworthy material. So while it might
serve as a space for a politician to offer and receive feedback on ideas, Twitter
can only claim more limited functionality as a virtual agora that a normal
blog provides. For the most part, it shows only the author’s side of the
conversation.
The forced brevity marks the other distinguishing feature of the Twitter
platform. Originally intended for the SMS environment, it limits all posts to a
maximum of 140 characters. In fact, its evolutionary link to text messaging
accounts for tweeting’s other primary intended function – that of a status
report. ‘What’s happening?’ reads the main prompt at the top of a tweeter’s
home page (or Chto proiskhodit? in the new, Russian-language interface),
accompanied by a character counter set at 140 that drops by one with each
stroke of the keyboard or touchpad. The difference is that, unlike text mes-
saging, posts here are open for the entire world to see. In this sense it is certainly
vulnerable to the cries of new-tech skeptics such Nicholas Carr, who writes:
‘Twitter is the telegraph of Narcissus. Not only are you the star of the show,
but everything that happens to you, no matter how trifling, is a headline, a
media event, a stop-the-presses bulletin’.21
Often times the space restriction produces greater proclivity for laconic
style and shortcuts in grammar, spelling and punctuation. Although such short-
cuts are less noticeable in Medvedev’s Twitter feeds (@KremlinRussia and
later @MedvedevRussia), the immediacy and forced brevity of the genre have
an enormous impact on the communication style, at times enhancing his
image as a decisive head-of-state and anti-bureaucratic man of the people,
while at times casting him in the less flattering light of a shallow, distracted
gadget-crazed or star-struck neophyte. In general he comes off better in
microblogging mode and less flatteringly in status-update mode.

Всем привет! Я в Твиттере и это мое6 первое сообщение! (23 June 2010)

[Hi to everyone! I’m in Twitter and this is myb (sic) first message!]

Tweeting the political

On policy matters, the countdown from 140 inspires a blunt, decisive,
tough-talking tone:
204 M. S. Gorham
Наградил сегодня моряков-тихоокеанцев за мужество в борьбе с пир-
атами. С этой угрозой Россия будет бороться и дальше. Отсиживаться не
будем. (4 July 2010)

[Awarded Pacific sailors today for valor in the struggle against piracy.
Russia will battle with this threat in the future as well. We will not sit on
our hands.]

Дал поручение Генпрокуратуре и МВД взять на особый контроль дело о

покушении на журналиста Кашина. Преступники должны быть найдены
и наказаны. (6 November 2010)

[Gave orders to the Prosecutor General and MVD (Ministry of Internal

Affairs) to take under special control the case of the attack on the journalist
Kashin. The criminals must be found and punished.]

At times, the brevity bestows on the posts an aphoristic, monologic quality

that defies contestation:

Чем экономика умнее, тем она эффективней. Чем она эффективней, тем
выше благосостояние. Чем оно выше, тем свободнее политическая система.
(10 September 2010)

[The smarter the economy, the more effective it is. The more effective it is,
the greater the prosperity. The greater it is, the freer the political system.]

Могут ссориться руководители, но не братские государства. (4 October

2010)

[Leaders can bicker, but fraternal states cannot.]

Осознание ответственности даёт смысл делу и свободу человеку.

Вопрос свободы и ответственности – вечный, одного без другого не
бывает. (10 September 2010)

[The awareness of responsibility gives sense to the work and freedom of

man. The question of freedom and responsibility is eternal: you can’t
have one without the other.]

At times, especially when railing against incompetent or corrupt officials, it

casts him in the populist image of a no-nonsense CEO:

Депутаты должны следить за явкой на заседаниях парламента. Просто

стыдно смотреть на пустые кресла. На работу надо ходить. (29 June
2010)
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 205
[Deputies must watch their attendance at parliament sessions. It is simply
shameful to look at empty seats. You have to show up for work.]

Проблема МВД – это вопрос доверия, доверия людей к милиции и, что

не менее важно, доверия самих сотрудников к своей службе. (22 July
2010)

[The problem of the MVD is an issue of trust, the trust of the people for
the police and, no less important, the trust of the employees themselves
for their work.]

And in the occasional tweet Medvedev directly engages his follower audience,
inviting them to provide feedback on draft laws (Ваше слово здесь очень
важно. Сегодня открывается сайт http://zakonoproekt2010.ru, где можно
прочитать и обсудить проект закона (7 August 2010) [Your word here is very
important. Today the zakonoproekt2010.ru site is opening where you can
read and discuss the draft law]), thanking them for input and expressing his
intent of using it. (@garipov_radik Читаю. За предложения – спасибо Вам и
всем, кто пишет @MedvedevRussia. Думаю использовать ряд идей в посла-
нии Фед.Собранию (24 November 2010) [To @garipov_radik: I read (the
tweets I receive). For the proposals, thanks to you and everyone who writes
@MedvedevRussia. I’m thinking of using several ideas in my address to the
Federal Assembly]), and even surprising those not anticipating a response by
providing one.22 In addition to serving a mobilizing function, Twitter allows
Medvedev to publish promptly and directly clear statements on a wide range
of important policy issues. And while they resemble soundbites in their suc-
cinctness, his posts quite often show the thoughtful, self-reflective aspects one
might expect from a micro-blogging genre. And it is in this microblogging
mode @KremlinRussia is at its best.

Tweeting the personal

Beyond adding a dimension to his political technological toolbox, the
Twitter feed gives Medvedev and other official-microbloggers a unique self-
fashioning device. In this mode from a PR perspective he may be taking
greater risks, but the payoffs may be greater as well. In today’s glossy culture
citizens may well look favorably on tidbits of information about their leaders’
personal travels, hobbies, eating habits, and so on. Coming directly from the
leader himself the ‘up-close-and-personal’ post has the capacity to cast him
in a more human light, particularly in his occasional autobiographical
reflections:

Побывал на могилах моих прабабушки и прадедушки. С детства много

слышал об этих местах от своей бабушки. Приехал 1й раз. Как всегда по
работе. (13 July 2010)
206 M. S. Gorham
[I visited the graves of my great-grandmother and great-grandfather.
Since childhood I’ve heard much about these places from my grandmother.
I was there for the 1st time. As always, for work.]

Свою школу помню и люблю до сих пор Стараюсь её навещать-правда,

получается нечасто.В прошлый раз был там 1,5 года назад http://bit.ly/
cKBMWN. (5 October 2010)

[I remember and love my school to this day. I try to visit, though, it’s
true, not often. The last time I was there was 1.5 years ago.]

It can give followers a better sense of his passions, be they for photography or
football:

Вчера вечером была возможность немного поснимать Ханой. http://

twitpic.com/32j5cq http://twitpic.com/32j5se http://twitpic.com/32j5xt
(31 October 2010)

[I had a little time to take shots of Hanoi last night.]

Наши продули в футбол. Плохо. И играли … (7 September 2010)

[Our guys got blown out at football. That’s bad. And the way they
played …]

Here, even more so than in his policy reflections, Medvedev projects a broadly
accessible image in language and style far removed from the official press-release
mode many other national leaders employ in the micro-blogosphere.
As appealing and effective as this can be in some contexts, however, in
others it can make him look preoccupied and terribly trivial. One subgenre of
his Twitter feed, for instance, which might aptly be called ‘Encounters with
the Rich and Famous’, features Medvedev’s interactions with world politi-
cians and high-society types. They for the most part fall into the ‘What’s
happening?’ class of tweets that, as such, tend to be more narcissistic in
nature, and collectively project a less flattering image of the young Russian
president as a star-struck newbie:

Давно не ел гамбургеров. Завтрак с Бараком Обамой в. Ray’s Hell

Burger: http://news.kremlin.ru/photo/1066 (24 June 2010)

[It’s been a long time since I had a hamburger. Breakfast with Barack
Obama at Ray’s Hell Burger:]

Ангела Меркель призналась, что очень любит гамбургеры. Даже

больше, чем мы с Бараком Обамой. (15 July 2010)
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 207
[Angela Merkel admitted that she really loves hamburgers. Even more
than Barack Obama and I.]
Сильвио Берлускони любезно показал мне свой родной город – Милан.
‘Тайная вечеря’ Леонардо – настоящий шедевр. http://twitpic.com/
284wft. (24 July 2010)
[Silvio Berlusconi kindly showed me his home town of Milan. Leonardo’s
‘Last Supper’ is a true masterpiece.]

C@Schwarzenegger говорили не только об инвестициях, но и о спорте/

http://twitpic.com/2wpnrt (11 October 2010)
[I talked with @Schwarzenegger not just about investments, but about
sports as well.]
Провели хороший вечер с Саркози и Меркель. Поговорили обо всем.
Пьем кофе с федеральным канцлером. (18 October 2010)

[I spent a nice evening with Sarkozy and Merkel. We talked a bit about
everything. Drinking coffee with the federal chancellor.]

Curiously, it is in this generic subgroup the only mentions of Putin appear.

Вчера вечером с Владимиром Путиным посмотрели «Брестскую крепость».

Неплохое кино о Великой Отечественной войне. http://twitpic.com/3cr473
(4 December 2010)

[Last night I and Vladimir Putin watched ‘The Fortress in Brest’. Not a
bad movie about the Great Patriotic War.]

Carr’s characterization of Twitter as a simulation device for everyday users to

prove their usefulness in the world seems applicable to Medvedev’s accounts
of his rubbing elbows with world leaders: by publishing the tweets and
accompanying photos, he is at once attempting to authenticate his status as a co-
equal.23 The attempt to project a familiarity with his mentor Putin comes
across particularly awkwardly, from the marked use of first name plus sur-
name (omitting the traditional patronymic) to the unnatural, stilted poses that
both men assume in the photograph.
Other tweets combining the political with the mundane project an image of
a distracted leader with a short attention span.
Возвращаюсь из Туркменистана. Визит был полезным. А это – первый
tweet из самолета. Прошло? October 22, 2010 11:50:31 AM EDT via web
(22 October 2010)

[I’m returning from Turkmenistan. The trip was useful. And this is my
first tweet from an airplane. Did it go through?]
208 M. S. Gorham
Улетел в Довиль на саммит. По поездке напишу позже. Хочу сказать
большое спасибо всем, кто меня читает! Это уже больше 100 000
человек. October 18, 2010 10:29:06 AM EDT via web (18 October 2010)

[I left for the summit in Deauville. I’ll write about the trip later. I want to
say thanks a lot to everyone who is reading me! It’s now more than
100,000 people.]

In other instances, he runs into trouble as a result of the temporal demarca-

tion of the posts. The inclusion of the time and reverse chronological
sequencing invite a coherent ‘narrative’ that can make incongruous posts jar-
ring. The most egregious of these, his report on an Elton John concert in the
wake of skinhead attacks in downtown Moscow, make him appear aloof,
superficial and unserious, and largely undermine the tough talk and reassurance
he offers forty minutes later:

Был на концерте Элтона Джона. Очень серьезная, качественная работа –

почти три часа живой музыки. Фото-iphone http://twitpic.com/3fd0yt
(12 December 2010)

[I was at the Elton John concert. Very serious, quality work – nearly three
hours of live music. Photo-iphone.]

[40 minutes later] И последнее – на сегодня. По Манежной. В стране и в

Москве – все под контролем. Со всеми, кто гадил, разберемся. Со
всеми. Не сомневайтесь. (12 December 2010)

[And the last thing for today. About Manezh (Sq.). Everything is under
control – in the country and in Moscow. We’ll settle accounts with all
those who did harm. Have no doubt.]

Unfortunately for Medvedev, including the photo in the post also created a
forum for comments, many (but not all) of which came down hard on his
mixed-up priorities:

Дмитрий Нанотольевич! Вы когда в последний раз в России то были?

Вернитесь в реальность, уважаемый! При Петре Великом тоже воровали,
он в отличие от вашей компании делал великое дело, в то время как вы
ходите по концертам и фоткаете что-то там. (‘cochegar13’, http://twitpic.
com/3fd0yt)

[Dmitry Nanotol’evich! When was the last time you were in Russia, for
crying out loud? Get back to reality, most esteemed! They stole under
Peter the First, too, but in contrast to your crowd he did a great deed,
whereas you are going around to concerts taking snapshots.]
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 209
Кого волнуют твои фотки, когда крыша у страны горит … ты чё? Ты
президент великой державы … а в ней уже сколько лет бардак и без-
властие … ты чмо и знай, что так думают 90% россиян. (‘rebellino’,
http://twitpic.com/3fd0yt)

[Who the hell cares about your snapshots when the country’s roof is
burning … WTF? You’re president of a superpower … , but how many
years has it been full of disorder and anarchy … you are a schnook know
that 90 percent of Russians think that way.]24

In addition to exposing his virtual presidential persona to this more blunt,

even vulgar, side of ‘direct internet democracy’ (clearly unfiltered feedback that
would never be permitted in Putin’s TV town-hall simulations), the Tweeter-
in-Chief also leaves himself prone to criticism when, after establishing the
practice of offering public reflections for mass consumption he remains
conspicuously silent in the wake of more controversial events. He opts not
to comment on his decision to fire Yurii Luzhkov, for instance, arguably
the biggest independent decision he has made as president, nor does he
comment in the wake of the December 2010 guilty verdict against Mikhail
Khodorkovsky.
The silence of @KremlinRussia did not keep his parodic alter ego,
@KermlinRussia, from chiming in, wasting no time in offering a public
declaration from the ‘Official Twitter Account of the Persident of Ruissa’:

[alluding to Yurii Luzhkov’s beekeeping hobby]: Это был неправильный

мэр и он делал какой-то неправильный мед. (28 September 2010)

[It was the wrong mayor and he was making some wrong sort of honey.]

Сегодня я добавил @Schwarzenegger в список кандидатов на пост мэра

Москвы. (10 October 2010)

[Today I added @Schwarzenegger to the list of Moscow mayoral

candidates.]

[alluding to Vladimir Putin’s public declaration, in advance of the judge’s

ruling, of Khodorkovskii’s guilt]: Никто не должен высказываться до
вынесения несправедливого приговора. Тем более – после. (27 December
2010)

[No one should express an opinion before the rendering of an unfair

verdict. And all the more so afterwards.]

In the wake of the Wiki-leaked telegram in which a U.S. State Depart-

ment official likened Russia’s ruling tandem to popular comic-book action
heroes, @KermlinRussia borrowed the photo from its namesake to tweet:
210 M. S. Gorham
Вчера вечером с Владимиром Путиным посмотрели «Бэтмен и
Робин». Неплохое кино, но нифига не похоже. http://twitpic.com/3d9ify
(5 December 2010)

[I watched ‘Batman and Robin’ with Vladimir Putin last night. Not a bad
movie, but there’s no resemblance in the least.]

And in the wake the December 2010 race riots in downtown Moscow:

Мы не допустим роста ксенофобии. Человек любой национальности

может безнаказанно убить другого, если у него достаточно денег.
(13 December 2010)

[We will not tolerate a rise in xenophobia. A person of any nationality

can kill another with impunity if he has enough money.]

Хорошо, что Россия – многонациональная страна. Всегда можно

найти меньшинство, на которое можно перенаправить народный гнев.
(16 December 2010)

[How nice that Russia is a multinational country. You can always find a
minority on which to redirect popular vengeance.]

One might argue that @KermlinRussia does for Medvedev what the parodic
‘Vladimir VladimirovichTM’ blog did for Putin – serve as a light, humorous
means of generating a more sympathetic image of the commander in chief.25
The anonymous co-authors of @KermlinRussia offer a somewhat similar
explanation, though more in terms of the nation’s wishes for its leader than a
sophisticated political technology device:

What people really want is for Medvedev himself to be writing it. …

People still have this hope that our president is actually a witty, discerning,
thinking person. Everyone’s constantly writing to us that KermlinRussia
is just his alter ego, that these are his real thoughts, and that what he
writes in the official Twitter is just PR.26

Whatever the reason, it is unlikely by pure coincidence that, as @KermlinRussia

grew in notoriety (it finished in first place in ROTOR’s ‘Microblog of the
Year’ award competition and has to date amassed over 93,000 followers), the
Kremlin split Medvedev’s Twitter account off from @KremlinRussia in
November 2010, leaving the latter for more anodyne official posts and giving
Medvedev full reign at the newly created @MedvedevRussia.27 It may simply
have been a desire, as Kremlin Press Secretary Natal’ia Timakova put it, to
separate the more official posts from Medvedev’s personal observations –
thereby giving freer reign to the latter.28 But the greater nominal distance
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 211
between the blogger-in-chief and that parodic imposter, whether intentionally
created or not, certainly provided Medvedev with a greater buffer from
belittlement.

Measuring impact
Even with the shift to @MedvedevRussia, however, the president remains the
number one followed Russian tweeter today with over 300 thousand followers.
That @KermlinRussia ranks right up there with him suggests the platform
has provided an outlet for democratic expression and exchange.29 Medvedev’s
efforts to convert fellow bureaucrats to his new-media ways also seem to be
bearing fruit. According to a recent article in Izvestiia, over 80 percent of
regional leaders have followed Medvedev’s lead, although this figure does
not measure levels of enthusiasm or blogging style of the leaders.30 In her
article, ‘Bureaucrats and the Blogosphere’, Vedomosti reporter Elena Miazina
divides blogging bureaucrats into different categories: the ‘vanguard’,
‘formalists’, who have initiated blogs but not followed up on them in any
meaningful way, those who outsource composition of their blogs to their
political/PR handlers, and finally the ‘conservatives’, who opt not to enter the
new communications sphere at all.31 Those among the bureaucratic elite who
have embraced it willingly, such as Kaluga Oblast governor, Anatolii Artamonov,
point to the informality, brevity and immediacy of the medium to explain
its benefits: ‘business communication has become more mobile and less
formal. … It also sharpens style; the Tweet-dialogue has to be short, but
pithy’.32 Even Nizhnii Governor Valerii Shantsev, who earlier served as the
impetus for Medvedev’s public chastisement of Luddite governors, seems to
have embraced the blogging medium, offering regular posts at his LiveJournal
blog, including such personal gems as the 20 June 2011 entry, ‘I love to
sing’.33 Both Miazhina’s and other coverage of the phenomenon suggest,
however, that most bureaucrat bloggers at this stage in the evolution of new
technology and the blogosphere fall into the middle ‘formalist’ category. Be
that as it may, with overall internet usage in Russia steadily on the rise, there
is some evidence to suggest that, with or without Medvedev’s bully pulpit,
microblogging in some form or another will persist and may even eclipse
‘traditional’ blogging as a means of public self-expression.34
The more precise impact of the twitterization of the Russian bureaucracy is
more difficult to gauge. Fifty-seven percent of those polled believe it is ‘a
great idea thanks to which every citizen can address his representative directly
and publically’, but much fewer (36 percent), according to the same poll, actually
pay attention to political tweets.35 The founder and chairman of Twitter, Jack
Dorsey, is himself skeptical about any sort of inherent ability on the part of the
platform to promote democracy, commenting during a February 2010 visit to
Russia that ‘the technology will always be a neutral body. I think the impor-
tant question is how is Russia going to adapt the technology, how is Russia going
to use it, not just as a country but as individuals and that has yet to be defined’.36
212 M. S. Gorham
To the extent that it represents a public official ruminating on less formal
terms in a forum that provides direct and immediate access to citizens in a
language they can understand, Twitter has the potential for creating more
glasnost in a political culture that has traditionally remained remote from the
public eye. But the success here will depend largely on those bureaucrats
actually treating the new medium as a forum for fostering direct democracy,
rather than merely another mode of self-promotion political technology, or
replication of the traditional hierarchies of bureaucratic discourse. The fact
that Medvedev’s directive has created a veritable cottage industry of public
relations firms offering their services to bureaucrats keen on establishing and
maintaining a web presence suggests a good number of them will be content
in using virtual modes of communication as a mere extension of traditional
top-down methods of communicating with the populace.37 Even in the rela-
tively ideal case of @MedvedevRussia, the pitfalls to the genre still abound.
A poorly timed post could lead people to question their leaders’ focus and
authority. The brevity of the medium could turn Medvedev and the new
generation of tech-savvy politicos into a Russian case study for Nicholas
Carr’s latest critique, The Shallows: What the Internet is Doing to Our Brains,
which argues that ‘technologies numb the very faculties they amplify’ and
envisions a constantly networked world plagued by a ‘permanent state of
distractedness’.38 The anecdotal feel of the genre makes it particularly sus-
ceptible to satire. And the immediacy of the publishing platform could lead to
PR distractions and embarrassment, such as the ‘wormgate’ episode in
October 2010, when the former Governor of Tver region, Dmitry Zelenin,
tweeted a photo of a worm allegedly appearing on his salad plate at a
Kremlin state dinner.39 Internet skeptics might argue that it is precisely this
sort of distraction – whether it be intentionally orchestrated or not – that
gives cause for doubt, as Malcolm Gladwell put it, that the next ‘revolution
will be tweeted’.40 Rather than ‘direct internet democracy’, the internet
observer Aleksei Sidorenko writes, we may see the scenario preferred by the
United Russia Party – ‘internet instead of democracy’, where democracy is
largely a state-orchestrated affair, little more than a web-based version of the
‘national dialogue’ performed annually by Vladimir Putin on television.41 It is
also not too uncommon to read opinions from non-official bloggers that link
the rise in bureaucratic blogging to the very corruption of the genre. In a
May 2011 interview, journalist-blogger Oleg Kashin argued that, as the
blogosphere goes more mainstream, with bureaucrats entering its midst in
increasing numbers, that space would also come under more pressure in terms
of government controls of freedom of speech.42 Other purists express concerns
more along stylistic lines, fearing a devaluation of the genre as more white-
collared dilettantes take it up. In an open satirical letter to Medvedev (‘as one
blogger to another’), Anna Vrazhina encourages him to drop the blogging as
he risks spoiling the medium by dragging the vast Russian bureaucracy in
there with him: ‘Tell me this: have you ever actually read (former Federation
Council President) Sergei Mironov’s LiveJournal page?’43
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 213
Insider protests such as these exemplify but one reason why Medvedev,
despite the rapid growth of new media technologies in Russia, might be facing
an uphill battle. The politician-blogger represents something of a generic
contradiction as a symbolically central authority embracing a medium that is
by definition decentered and mistrusting of conventional hierarchies. As Stephen
Coleman puts it,

The problem facing politicians who blog is that they are professionally
implicated in the very culture that blogging seeks to transcend. … Blogging
politicians are always going to be seen as a little bit like those old Com-
munist apparatchiks who had to sit in the front row at rock concerts and
pretend to swing to the beat.44

In the context of the United Russia Party’s effort to boost its social network-
ing presence in months leading up to the 2011 parliamentary elections, party
member and active blogger Aleksandr Khinshtein echoes these sentiments by
noting that establishing a presence in and of itself will not have much of an
impact:

In order to be popular on the internet, one needs to have a certain free-

dom of actions. What attracts my Twitter subscribers is a free manner of
expressing thought (svobodnoe myslevyrazhenie) that is not really cared
for by the party leadership.45

Generic contradictions aside, a second challenge lies in the real possibility

that the more traditional, top-down approach enjoys greater popularity, or at
least familiarity, among the population at large anyway. The positive impres-
sion of this more archaic, paternalistic style of government stems, in the
sociologist Lev Gudkov’s opinion, from lack of information and knowledge
about effectively-run democratic systems in the West:

It is for this reason that an old and very primitive construct of paternal-
istic authority (otecheskaia vlast’) is retained in the heads [of Russians] –
a bureaucracy that is authoritarian in its design, undifferentiated, unac-
countable and patrimonial. The hope for a kind tsar is very much alive. It
is always construed with a weak impression of democracy as an alternative
to the old Soviet system.46

So while from a linguistic and communicative standpoint Twitter and other

decentralized media of public communication show unique potential for
desacralizing traditional hierarchies of power and authority in Russia by
offering a more informal and interactive forum for political leaders to connect
to the electorate, the challenges to their viability in this regard are still for-
midable. In addition to deep-set traditions that may incline politicians to use
it as yet another means of PR or propaganda-style self-promotion and an
214 M. S. Gorham
electorate to see such behavior as normal and appropriate (even if, as a con-
sequence, they are tuning such voices out), the medium itself poses pitfalls
that, rather than demystifying political authority, demean and trivialize it
altogether. Medvedev himself appears somewhat aware of this danger, and
has adopted a more cautious approach to his Twitter production over the
course of the year it has existed. The more measured approach manifests itself
quantitatively in the slow but consistent reduction in the sheer number of personal
posts since the inception of @MedvedevRussia, paralleled by a rapid increase
in press-release style posts at the official @KremlinRussia (see Figure 12.1).
Medvedev’s refined approach also manifests itself in the gradual dis-
appearance of the less flattering posts such as those falling into the category
of ‘Encounters with the Rich and Famous’ (the last one appearing on
23 March 2011, marking his meeting with Deep Purple band members, Ian
Gillian and Ian Paice).
What has changed is the frequency with which the president actually takes
the time to respond to posts of readers, as well as the frequency with which he
makes a point of singling out his social networking accounts as a source of
feedback straight from the people, bypassing the normal channels of infor-
mation filtration, be they the traditional media or his staff. This second,
rhetorical shift suggests that, rather than abandoning the medium altogether,
Medvedev may well be refining his use of the networking tool as a means of
‘direct internet democracy’ that he has regularly embraced in his policy posi-
tions. As one observer correctly noted, the split accounts also allow him to

Figure 12.1 Frequency of Medvedev’s personal Twitter posts (in black) before and after
the November 2010 bifurcation of the president’s account into personal
(@MedvedevRussia) and official (@KremlinRussia). (Medvedev used
@KremlinRussia from its inception on 23 June 2010 until 29 November 2010.)
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 215
more effectively address two different audiences – fellow bureaucrats and
internet savvy youth – in languages they understand and appreciate.47 This
clearly sincere embrace of new media communication on his part will unlikely
in itself secure him a second term as Russian President. But if granted that
opportunity, the additional six years of a ‘kind tsar’ dictating direct internet
democracy to a bureaucracy inclined toward authoritarian paternalism, toge-
ther with the independently rapid growth of the Russian internet itself, will
significantly shift the communicative landscape and legitimacy of vlast’ in
Russia.48 There is no question there is trade-off: while it may make govern-
ment officials more human-looking and accessible, it may also deprive them
of the veneer of authority once afforded by their relative discursive distance.
The question is, in this new media age of free-flowing criticism and access to
information, to what extent can the distance be sustained in any meaningful
way? In this sense, Medvedev’s embrace of the new forms of communication
seems a risky, but necessary gambit. Better position oneself toward the front
end of the trend, than risk being swept into irrelevancy by it.

Notes
1 Sergei Leskov and Aleksandr Sadchikov, ‘Vladislav Surkov: Genii vsegda v
men’shinstve’, Izvestiia, December 16, 2010.
2 In April 2011 Izvestiia interview the Higher School of Economics political scien-
tist, Leonid Poliakov, also noted that, ‘with the help of the internet, we’ve mana-
ged to shorten the distance between the authorities (vlast’) and society’.
Aleksandra Beluza, ‘Politicheskaia volia ushla v internet’, Izvestiia, April 5, 2011,
p. 3. For a representative voice of cyber-optimism in the American context, see
Clay Shirky, Cognitive Surplus: Creativity and Generosity in a Connected Age
(New York: Penguin Press, 2010).
3 Malcolm Gladwell, ‘Small Change: Why the Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted’,
New Yorker, October 4, 2010. http://www.newyorker.com/reporting/2010/10/04/
101004fa_fact_gladwell. Evgeny Morozov, The Net Delusion: The Dark Side of
the Internet Freedom (New York: Public Affairs, 2011).
4 For Navalny’s expose of Transneft misdeeds, see ‘Truboedy. Kak piliat v Transnefti’,
YouTube, November 20, 2010. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9L4w7aODdnQ.
For his internet project, ‘Rospil’, aimed at publicizing, tracking and reversing
cases of mismanaging federal funds, see RosPil at http://rospil.info/. It was the
journalist Oleg Kashin who observed that ‘Party of swindlers and thieves’ had
become a recognizable meme well beyond the internet. See Gregory Asmolov,
‘Attack Survivor Journalist Oleg Kashin on Internet Freedom’, trans. Sian Sinnott,
Global Voices, May 24, 2011. http://globalvoicesonline.org/2011/05/24/russia-attack-
survivor-journalist-oleg-kashin-on-internet-freedom/.
5 Sara Bentigevna, ‘Politics and New Media’, in Leah A. Lievrouw and Sonia
Livingstone (eds), Handbook of New Media: Social Shaping and Consequences of
ICTs (London: Sage Publications, 2002), pp. 50–1, 53.
6 Evgeny Morozov, ‘The Digital Dictatorship’, Wall Street Journal, February 20, 2010.
Morozov has since expanded on this thesis in his book, Evgeny Morozov, The Net
Delusion: The Dark Side of Internet Freedom (New York: Public Affairs, 2010).
7 Ben Rooney, ‘World Leaders Love Twitter’, Tech Europe/Wall Street Journal,
December 8, 2010. http://blogs.wsj.com/tech-europe/2010/12/08/leweb10-world-
leaders-love-twitter/.
216 M. S. Gorham
8 ‘Through discussion, debate (diskussiia) – at times, perhaps, heated, even
overly heated – through the juxtaposition of outlooks (vzgliady) and points of
view, through reflection (razdum’e), perestroika penetrates people’s thinking (myshle-
nie) as well as the psychology of understanding the uniqueness of the contemporary
moment’. Izbrannye rechi i stat’i, vol. 4 (Moscow: Izdanie politicheskoi literatury,
1987), p. 88.
9 Danah Boyd, ‘A Blogger’s Blog: Exploring the Definition of a Medium’, Recon-
struction: Studies in Contemporary Culture, vol. 6, no. 4 (2006). http://reconstruction.
eserver.org/064/boyd.shtml.
10 OLO.Ru, ‘Eto priamo Putin kakoi-to’, OLO.Ru, October 22, 2007. http://10–07.
olo.ru/news/politic/96897.html.
11 NEWSru.com, ‘Medvedev v internete: pervyi vitse-prem’er otvetil za natsproekty’,
NEWSru.com, March 5, 2007. http://www.newsru.com/russia/05mar2007/medved_
online.html.
12 Kremlin.ru, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev: About Myself,’ Kremlin.ru. http://archive.kremlin.
ru/eng/articles/article200253.shtml.
13 Francesca Mereu, ‘Medvedev Rides Video into the Blogosphere’, Moscow Times,
October 8, 2008.
14 BaltInfo.ru, ‘Medvedev: Internet – veshch’ perspektivnaia’, BaltInfo.ru, June 15,
2009. http://www.baltinfo.ru/2009/06/15/Medvedev-Internet – vesch’-perspektivnaya.
Medvedev is on record as having declared the openness of state authority on the
internet as one of the two main goals of his internet policy (along with boosting
high-speed access). See Dmitry Medvedev, ‘O razvitii interneta v Rossii’, Videoblog
Dmitriia Medvedeva, April 22, 2009. http://blog.kremlin.ru/post/10. More recently,
Medvedev has credited Twitter and social networking in general with allowing him
to get beyond the daily news compilations prepared for him by his staff and tap into
public sentiments more directly. See RIA Novosti, ‘Medvedev rasskazal, chto po
utram chitaet otzyvy o Rossii v internete’, RIA Novosti, January 26, 2011. http://
www.rian.ru/society/20110126/326725259.html.
15 Elina Bilevskaia, ‘On-line politika’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, 21 January 21, 2010. http://
www.ng.ru/printed/235987; and Valentin Mal’tsev, ‘Internetizatsiia chinovnikov’,
Ekspert Online 2.0, November 22, 2010. http://expert.ru/2010/11/22/nternetizatsiya-
chinovnikov/.
16 Quoted from Pavel Kanygin, ‘Beregis’! Dorogu! Gubernatory vykhodiat v Internet’,
Novaia Gazeta, March 19, 2010. http://novayagazeta.ru/data/2010/028/01.html.
17 Dmitry Medvedev, ‘Griadet epokha vozvrashcheniia neposredstvennoi demokratii’,
Videoblog Dmitriia Medvedeva, May 31, 2010. http://blog.kremlin.ru/post/81.
18 Dmitry Medvedev, ‘Prostranstvo priamoi demokratii budet rasshiriat’sia’, Videoblog
Dmitriia Medvedeva, September 16, 2010. http://blog.kremlin.ru/post/106.
19 Dmitry Medvedev, ‘@MedvedevRussia’, Twitter, September 10, 2010. http://twitter.
com/#!/medvedevRussia.
20 Viktor Lastochkin, ‘Putin skazal vsiu pravdu ob Internete: 50% – eto pornografiia’,
UralDaily.ru, January 25, 2010. http://uraldaily.ru/politika/381.html. Profi Online
Research, ‘Rezul’taty issledovaniia: otnoshenie bloggerov k setevomu obshcheniiu s
gosudarstvennymi deiateliami’, Profi Online Research, October 11, 2010. http://
profiresearch.ru/files/pr111010.pdf.
21 Nicholas Carr, ‘Twitter dot dash’, Rough Type, April 14, 2009.http://www.roughtype.
com/archives/2009/04/dot_dash_dot_da.php.
22 Dmitry Medvedev, ‘@MedvedevRussia’, Twitter, August 7, 2010; Dmitry Medvedev,
‘@MedvedevRussia’, Twitter, November 24, 2011; Dmitry Medvedev, ‘@Medvedev
Russia’, Twitter, January 26, 2011. http://twitter.com/#!/medvedevRussia.
23 ‘As I walk down the street with thin white cords hanging from my ears, as I look
at the display of khakis in the window of the Gap, as I sit in a Starbucks sipping a
chai served up by a barista, I can’t quite bring myself to believe that I’m real. But
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 217
if I send out to a theoretical audience of my peers 140 characters of text saying
that I’m walking down the street, looking in a shop window, drinking tea, suddenly
I become real. I have a voice. I exist, if only as a symbol speaking of symbols to
other symbols’. In Nicholas Carr, ‘Twitter dot dash’, Rough Type, April 14, 2009.
http://www.roughtype.com/archives/2009/04/dot_dash_dot_da.php.
24 The sense of misguided presidential priorities goes beyond poorly timed posts to
the very act of engaging in Twitter and other high-tech ‘gadgets’ in the first place.
As one blogger disparagingly put it,

It looks like a child’s dreams come true. The way it was when Deep Purple were
brought to Russia. Putin likes to drive [military vehicles] and ride horses, while
Dmitry Anatolievich [Medvedev] is more into gadgets. I don’t blame him, you
know, I also like to drive, and I like gadgets, presents, etc. I just feel that it’s
totally not necessary to become a president for all this.
Gregory Asmolov, ‘Bloggers React to President Medvedev’s Silicon
Valley Tour’, Global Voices Online, RuNet Echo, June 26, 2010.
http://globalvoicesonline.org/2010/06/26/russia-bloggers-react-to-
president-medvedevs-silicon-valley-tour/

25 As Henrike Schmidt and Katy Teubener have suggested in their discussion of the
popular blog authored by Maksim Kononenko (also known as ‘Mr. Parker’),
Henrike Schmidt and Katy Teubener, ‘(Counter) Public Sphere(s) on the Russian
Internet’, in Henrike Schmidt, Katy Teubener and Natal’ia Konradova (eds),
Control + Shift. Public and Private Usages of the Russian Internet (Norderstedt:
Books on Demand, 2006). http://www.ruhr-uni-bochum.de/russ-cyb/library/texts/
en/control_shift/Schmidt_Teubener_Public.pdf.
26 Julia Ioffe, ‘Meet the President’, Foreign Policy (editorial), January–February 2011.
http://www.foreignpolicy.com/articles/2011/01/02/meet_the_persident. For further
discussion of the growing phenomenon of Twitter pretender accounts of well-known
politicians, see ‘Perepishis’, skotina!’, Nezavisimaia gazeta, December 7, 2010.
27 ROTOR, ‘Mikroblog goda’, ROTOR, 2010. http://ezhe.ru/POTOP/results.html?do=res;
28 RIA Novosti, ‘Medvedev renames Twitter account to make it more informal’, RIA
Novosti (editorial), November 19, 2010. http://en.rian.ru/russia/20101119/161413322.
html. ‘Mikroblog Medvedeva razdvoilsia’, Moskovskii komsomolets, November 20,
2010.
29 @MedvedevRussia outstrips @KermlinRussia in number of followers, but
according to Yandex’s more complicated ‘authority’ ranking (which takes into
account the number of times a tweet has been retweeted), the parody feed ranks
first among Russian accounts, with Medvedev’s in the fourth position over all.
Yandex, ‘Reiting blogov Twitter’, Yandex.ru, June 14, 2011. http://blogs.yandex.
ru/top/twitter/.
30 Aleksandra Beluza, ‘Vertikal’ blogosfery’, Izvestiia, January 22, 2011. http://www.
izvestia.ru/obshestvo/article3150041/.
31 Elena Miazina, ‘Chinovniki i blogosfera’, Vedomosti, December 13, 2010. http://
www.vedomosti.ru/politics/news/1161162/chinovniki_i_blogosfera_ot_vylazok_k_
masshtabnomu_osvoeniyu. Pavel Kanygin of Novaia Gazeta, offers a slightly
modified typology, identifying three groups of governor-bloggers – ‘advanced
users’, ‘enthusiasts’ and ‘internet hicks’ (internet-lokhi). Pavel Kanygin, ‘Beregis’!
Dorogu! Gubernatory vykhodiat v Internet,’ Novaia Gazeta, March 19, 2010.
http://www.novayagazeta.ru/data/2010/028/01.html.
32 Aleksandra Beluza, ‘Vertikal’ blogosfery’, Izvestiia, January 22, 2011. http://www.
izvestia.ru/obshestvo/article3150041/.
33 Valerii Shantsev, ‘Shantsevvp.livejournal.com’, Livejournal.com, 20 June 2011.
http://shantsevvp.livejournal.com/.
218 M. S. Gorham
34 The trend has been widely discussed in Western context. According to blogging
historian, Scott Rosenberg, ‘Blogging, which had once been the quick-and-dirty
method for publishing a thought to the Web, now began to look like a lumbering
old beast next to its lithe offspring’. In Scott Rosenberg, Say Everything: how
blogging began, what it’s becoming, and why it matters (New York: Three Rivers
Press, 2009), p. 334. Wired magazine correspondent, Paul Boutin, attributes the
shift to a professionalization of the traditional blogosphere:

Twitter … is to 2008 what the blogosphere was to 2004. … Bloggers today are
expected to write clever, insightful, witty prose to compete with Huffington
and The New York Times. Twitter’s character limit puts everyone back on equal
footing. It lets amateurs quit agonizing over their writing and cut to the chase.
Paul Boutin, ‘Twitter, Flickr, Facebook Make Blogs Look So 2004’,
Wired, November 2008. http://www.wired.com/entertainment/
theweb/magazine/16–11/st_essay

35 Profi Online Research, ‘Rezul’taty issledovaniia: otnoshenie bloggerov k setevomu

obshcheniiu s gosudarstvennymi deiateliami’, Profi Online Research, October 11,
2010. http://profiresearch.ru/files/pr111010.pdf. The ‘marginal’ status of web-based
political engagement is also assumed by some of Medvedev’s closest advisors,
including Vladislav Surkov, who, in an interview with Izvestiia noted, ‘We need to
understand, and I emphasize this, that the majority of groups speaking out in the
politicized segment of the internet today are, nevertheless, marginal’. Sergei
Leskov and Aleksandr Sadchikov, ‘Vladislav Surkov: Genii vsegda v men’shinstve’,
Izvestiia, December 16, 2010. http://www.izvestia.ru/politic/article3149592/.
36 Conor Sweeney, ‘Ashton Kutcher tells Russia of social web power’, Reuters,
February 18, 2010. http://www.reuters.com/article/2010/02/18/us-russia-usa-twitter-
idUSTRE61H52C20100218.
37 In his own actively self-maintained blog, Kirov Oblast’ Governor Nikita Belykh
posted a copy of a proposal he received from a PR firm, FPG-Media, which
alluded to Medvedev’s threat to state representatives and offered to set up a
LiveJournal blog for 163,000 rubles, maintain it for 84,000 and promote it to the
level of a 1000-follower blog for 199,900 rubles. Oleg Sal’manov, ‘Pochem blog
dlia gubernatora’, Vedomosti, February 1, 2010. http://www.vedomosti.ru/politics/
news/2010/02/01/937123.
38 Nicholas Carr, The Shallows: What the Internet Is Doing to Our Brains
(New York: W. W. Norton & Company, 2010), pp. 112, 212.
39 Yelena Osipova, ‘The Twitter Craze: This Time, It’s a Worm’, Global Voices,
October 14, 2010. http://globalvoicesonline.org/2010/10/14/russia-the-twitter-craz/.
Duma member Il’ia Ponamarev ironically addresses the new conundrum faced by
officials during state functions and presidential addresses: ‘What is the proper
thing to do (during the president’s annual address to the parliament), write inno-
vatively or listen conservatively?’ Aleksandra Beluza, ‘“Tvitter” is bubbling over’,
Izvestiia, December 1, 2010. http://www.izvestia.ru/news/368641.
40 Malcolm Gladwell, ‘Small Change: Why the Revolution Will Not Be Tweeted’,
New Yorker, October 4, 2010. In contrast to Gladwell’s cyber-pessimism, Hu
Yong, writing on the effect of microblogging in China, argues that Twitter could
be a game-changer on the ‘micro-political’ level:

Macro-politics is structural, whereas micro-politics is daily. Changes in the

micro-political system do not necessarily lead to an adjustment in the macro
structure, particularly in hyper-controlled political systems like China’s. But if
small units are well organized, they can greatly improve the well-being of
 Medvedev’s new media gambit 219
society as a whole, bit by bit, by working at the micro level. ‘Micro-information’
and ‘micro-exchange’ can push forward real change.
Hu Yong, ‘The Revolt of China’s Twittering Class’,
Project Syndicate: A World of Ideas, October 14,
2010. http://www.project-syndicate.org/
commentary/hu2/English

41 Alexei Sidorenko, ‘Competing Models of Internet Politics’, Global Voices,

November 30, 2010. http://globalvoicesonline.org/2010/11/30/russia-competing-
models-of-internet-politics.
42 Gregory Asmolov, ‘Attack Survivor Journalist Oleg Kashin on Internet Freedom’,
Global Voices, May 24, 2011. http://globalvoicesonline.org/2011/05/24/russia-
attack-survivor-journalist-oleg-kashin-on-internet-freedom/.
43 Anna Vrazhina, ‘Dezavuiruite eto: Pis’mo Dmitriiu Medvedevu’, February 5,
2010. http://www.lenta.ru/columns/2010/02/05/blogs/.
44 Stephen Coleman, ‘Blogs as listening posts rather than soapboxes’, in Rose Ferguson
and Milica Howell (eds), Political Blogs: Craze or Convention? (London: Hansard
Society, 2004), p. 27.
45 Maria-Luiza Tirmaste, ‘“Edinaia Rossiia” vpletaetsia v sotsial’nye seti’, Kommersant,
May 6, 2011. http://www.kommersant.ru/doc-y/1635547.
46 Danila Galperovich, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev prinial chelobitnye’, Radio Svoboda,
November 22, 2010. http://www.svobodanews.ru/content/article/2227244.html.
47 ‘Bureaucrats like an official style (kazennyi iazyk), while the youth audience needs
a completely different language of communication. So why mix them up in a pile, when
you can speak to each audience in its own language?’ Mikhail Zubov, ‘Mikroblog
Medvedeva razdvoilsia’, Moskovskii komsomolets, November 20, 2010.
48 Time, of course, will also allow President Medvedev to make further inroads into
replenishing that bureaucracy with younger, more internet-savvy associates – a
process already visible in the final year of his first term.
13 Legitimacy and symphony
On the relationship between state and
Church in post-Soviet Russia
Per-Arne Bodin

One very difficult question to answer, in my view, is the character of the

relationship between the Russian Orthodox Church and Russian statehood
both historically and at the present time. This is a crucial question for
understanding both Russian history and the Russia of today. I will try to
contribute to the answer pertaining to the situation today by using the two
terms legitimacy and symphony in parallel. Both terms have a somewhat
loose meaning which aptly describes the ambiguity between legality and
practice, which seems to characterize this relationship. On one hand, con-
temporary Russia, like imperial Russia or the Soviet Union, is a multi-ethnic
and multi-confessional state; on the other, the Orthodox Church plays an
important or at times a decisive role in the formation of its ideology.
Much has already been written and discussed on this issue, especially on
the practical implications of this fact, but I will approach the question from a
somewhat different angle and undertake a discourse analysis of the most
authoritative statements from both the Church and the state and also turn to
the field of event studies to try to cope with this aporia. Here I will study this
question on the basis of some examples of official encounters between Church
and state, between the patriarch and the president, first in the constitution
and in the law on religion on the one hand and in ‘Bases of the Social Concept
of the Russian Orthodox Church’ on the other. I shall continue my investi-
gation into the special encounter between them both in the interpretation of
the national symbol, the double headed eagle and, in the second half of my
chapter, I shall analyse the inauguration of the president and the enthrone-
ment of the patriarch. The purpose of the study is to pinpoint how the rela-
tionship between the two is negotiated in these highly official arenas. In the
conclusion, a reflection will be made on the reasons for the importance given
by the Russian state to Church–state relations in spite of the fact that the
state is par definition secular and the majority of the population rather
indifferent towards religion.

Constitution and law

In the first Russian constitution of 1906 it was clear that the Orthodox
Church had the role of state ideology:
 Legitimacy and symphony 221
Статья 62 Первенствующая и господствующая в Российской Империи
вера есть Христианская Православная Кафолическая Восточного
исповедания.1

Article 62. The established and ruling faith of the Russian Empire is the
Christian, Orthodox Catholic, Eastern faith.2

In the Soviet constitutions of 1936 and 1977 the Communist Party took on
the role which the Church had had in the 1906 text. In the famous paragraph
six in the Brezhnev constitution concerning the leading role of the Communist
Party, it was formulated in the following way:

Статья 6. Руководящей и направляющей силой советского общества,

ядром его политической системы, государственных и общественных
организаций является Коммунистическая партия Советского Союза.
КПСС существует для народа и служит народу.3

Article 6. The leading and guiding force of Soviet society and the nucleus
of its political system, of all state organisations and public organisations,
is the Communist Party of the Soviet Union. The CPSU exists for the
people and serves the people.4

In the Yeltsin constitution of 1993, it was of primary importance not to

designate any such specific ideological foundation to the state:

Статья 14. 1. Российская Федерация – светское государство. Никакая

религия не может устанавливаться в качестве государственной или
обязательной.

2. Религиозные объединения отделены от государства и равны перед

законом.5

Article 14. 1. The Russian Federation shall be a secular state. No religion

may be established as the state religion or as obligatory.

2. Religious associations shall be separate from the state and shall be

equal before the law.6

There is no mention of God in the present Russian constitution in contrast

to, for example the German fundamental law (‘Im Bewußtsein seiner
Verantwortung vor Gott und den Menschen’ [conscious of their responsibility
before God and man]). Yet there is, in my view, one passage in the preamble
suggesting a divine intrusion. It is in the word destiny [sud’ba], qualifying the
reason for the contemporary borders of the new state and its composition:
‘Мы, многонациональный народ Российской Федерации, соединенные
222 P.-A. Bodin
общей судьбой на своей земле’,7 ‘We, the multinational people of the Russian
Federation, united by a common destiny on our land’. The Russian word has
the lexical meaning of ‘lot’, of Schicksal, suggesting a messianic common
destiny as in the ‘Schicksalsgemeinschaft’ in Germany between the wars. This
seems to be an awkward association. Another meaning would be ‘not
depending on human power’, in which case we are talking about a sort of
indirect divine legitimation of the new Russian state.8 The word can then also
have a connotation of ‘providence’ ( providenie).9 The use of this word in
constitutional discourse in other countries usually refers to the future as a
common responsibility for the destiny of the country, and not as an historical
fact as it does here.10 The use of the word in the Russian constitution seems
even more remarkable in view of this fact. But the application of the word is
ambiguous and it could also be interpreted the other way round, which would
be a way of evading the idea of divine intrusion, of stressing some sort of
randomness and stating a fact. Still, I would claim that the thought of divine
intrusion seems linguistically more plausible.
This divine legitimation is stronger and is overtly expressed in the current
national anthem, with the text written originally by Sergei Mikhalkov in 1942.
The mention of Stalin in the original version is now replaced by that of God:

Одна ты на свете! Одна ты такая!

Хранимая Богом родная земля.

You are unique in the world, one of a kind–

Native land protected by God!

Russia is preserved by God, but no reference to any particular confession is

made. This use of a divine legitimation for the state is a parallel to the ‘In
God we trust’ in the United States, for example on banknotes, which was
decided on as late as 1956.
In the 1997 law on religion not only destiny or God, but more precisely
Orthodoxy is given a special role, not only from a historical point of view (as
destiny in the constitution), but also in the establishment and development of
Russia’s spirituality and culture. The whole ambiguity in the Church–state
relationship is expressed here in one sentence. The state is secular, yet Ortho-
doxy plays a special role and at the end of the sentence other religious
denominations are also assigned a place, albeit secondary:

… основываясь на том, что Российская Федерация является светским

государством, признавая особую роль православия в истории России, в
становлении и развитии ее духовности и культуры, уважая христианство,
ислам, буддизм, иудаизм и другие религии, составляющие неотъемлемую
часть исторического наследия народов России.11

Basing itself on the fact that the Russian Federation is a secular state;
recognizing the special contribution of Orthodoxy to the history of
 Legitimacy and symphony 223
Russia and to the establishment and development of Russia’s spirituality
and culture; respecting Christianity, Islam, Buddhism, Judaism and other
religions which constitute an inseparable part of the historical heritage of
Russia’s peoples.12

These are the defining official documents of the state in its relation to the
Church and other confessions.

Symphony
In a lengthy text of the year 2000, ‘Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian
Orthodox Church’, the Church defines its view of its relationship to the
state. This text functions as its fundamental document, outlining the role of
the Church in society in the new situation after the fall of the Soviet Union.
The word used to describe the ideal relationship between Church and state is
‘symphony’, [simfoniia].

В своей совокупности эти принципы получили название симфонии

Церкви и государства. Суть ее составляет обоюдное сотрудничество,
взаимная поддержка и взаимная ответственность, без вторжения одной
стороны в сферу исключительной компетенции другой. Епископ
подчиняется государственной власти как подданный, а не потому, что
епископская власть его исходит от представителя государственной
власти. Точно так же и представитель государственной власти пови-
нуется епископу как член Церкви, ищущий в ней спасения, а не потому,
что власть его происходит от власти епископа. Государство
присимфонических отношениях с Церковью ищет у нее духовной под-
держки, ищет молитвы за себя и благословения на деятельность,
направленную на достижение целей, служащих благополучию граждан,
а Церковь получает от государства помощь в создании условий,
благоприятных для проповеди и для духовного окормления своих чад,
являющихся одновременно гражданами государства.13

In their totality, these principles were described as symphony between

Church and state. It is essentially co-operation, mutual support and
mutual responsibility without one side intruding into the exclusive
domain of the other. The bishop obeys the government as a subject, not
because his episcopal power comes from a government official. Similarly,
a government official obeys his bishop as a member of the Church seek-
ing salvation and not because his power comes from the power of the
bishop. The state in such a symphonic relationship with the Church seeks
her spiritual support, prayer for itself and blessing its work of achieving
the goal of its citizens’ welfare, while the Church enjoys support from the
state in creating conditions favourable for preaching and for the spiritual
care of her children who are at the same time citizens of the state.14
224 P.-A. Bodin
The term symphony – coined by the Byzantine emperor Justinian (sixth century)
in his sixth novella – is thus the key word used in this document to define the
ideal relationship between Church and state as below. These novellae are
considered by historians to be precisely a way of strengthening legitimacy
and, in this case, Justinian’s rule.15 The sixth novella expresses the relationship
between Church and state as below. The text is also partially quoted in the
‘Bases of the Social Concept’. The exact wording of the novella runs as fol-
lows:

The greatest blessings granted to human beings by God’s ultimate grace

are priesthood and kingdom, the former taking care of divine affairs,
while the latter guiding and taking care of human affairs, and both come
from the same source, embellishing human life.

Therefore, nothing lies so heavy on the hearts of kings as the honour of

priests, who on their part serve them, praying continuously for them to
God. And if the priesthood is well ordered in everything and is pleasing
to God, then there will be full symphony (συμφωνία τις άγαθή) between
them in everything that serves the good and benefit of the human race.

Therefore, we exert the greatest possible effort to guard the true dogmas
of God and the honour of the priesthood, hoping to receive through it
great blessings from God and to hold fast to the ones which we have.16

This special term from Byzantine jurisprudence is thus a key word today in
the self-image of the Orthodox Church in mapping its relationship with the
state.
The frequent use of the word ‘symphony’ by the new patriarch, Kirill,
shows a development in the relationship between Church and state. It was
used more historically in the social document of 2000, but, since then, it has
been regarded more or less as the current or future relationship between
Church and state. I would argue that this term has been internalized in the
discourse on the relationship between Church and state: earlier scholars of
Church history used it only rarely. The word is absent from extensive hand-
books on the Byzantine Empire from earlier times as well as from Kazdan’s
new three-volume encyclopaedia of Byzantium.17 It was, however, used in
some cases by Church historians, such as Anton Kartashev in his History of
the Russian Church from the 1930s, but most other books on Byzantium and
the Orthodox Church do not mention it at all. The term existed and has its
origin in Justinian, but has been revived for use in the special context of post-
Soviet Russia. It is used as if it has always been the common notion to depict
an ideal relationship between Church and state. It is a word found in the
lexicon of historical Church terms to be used and loaded with new meanings
in a very different context from that in which it was originally used. Nowadays,
it can even be seen in a newspaper headline, as in this rather witty example
 Legitimacy and symphony 225
from Izvestiia about the president’s reception for the new patriarch, playing
on the two meanings of the word: ‘Дмитрий Медведев и Патриарх Кирилл
исполнили симфонию’, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev and Patriarch Kirill performed a
symphony’.18

The double-headed eagle

A similar development can be seen in the symbolism of the double-headed
eagle, which was reinstated as Russias coat of arms in 1993. Traditionally its
two heads have been interpreted as the Byzantine state and its geographic
dimension both to West and East or as the Russian realm stretching likewise
from Europe to Asia.19 It has also been seen as a symbol of the vigilance of
the Byzantine or alternatively the Russian state. These interpretations are,
however, rather late, as they date from the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies. Another meaning has been added and emphasized recently: the two
dimensions of the Church and the state. The state symbol is on the point of
being appropriated by the ecclesiastical powers. For a secular state, it is of
course rather precarious to have a symbol that is seemingly interpreted more
and more as a symphony between the secular and the ecclesiastical power, as
in this statement on a popular right-wing Orthodox website:

Он имеет принципиальное значение с точки зрения православного

Священного Предания и символики, олицетворяя идею ‘симфонии’ –
взаимодействия и соработничества духовной и государственной власти.
Он также является важнейшим символом преемственности власти от
православных российских императоров, от императоров ромейских,
олицетворение цели и предназначения государства Российского, создан-
ного Вселенской Православной Церковью для хранения и распространения
Истины Православия. В этом и заключается ‘Русская национальная
идея’. Не принимающий двуглавого орла, таким образом, не принимает
сам феномен России.20

It is of fundamental importance from the standpoint of the Orthodox

Holy Tradition and symbolism, embodying the idea of ‘symphony’ –
interaction and co-operation between the spiritual and the governmental
powers. It is also an important symbol of the continuity of power
from the Russian Orthodox emperors, from the Roman emperors, the
personification of the goals and destiny of the Russian state, created by
the Orthodox Church for the preservation and dissemination of the Truth
of Orthodoxy. This is the ‘Russian national idea’. Those who do not
accept the double-headed eagle, do not accept the phenomenon of
Russia.

This association is also enforced by the use of an eagle (but with only one
head) as an emblem for a Russian bishop, especially on the small circular rugs
226 P.-A. Bodin
used to mark the place where he would stand during the divine liturgy. In
Greece, a double-headed eagle is always depicted on these rugs.
There has been debate over the small crosses on the three crowns on the
eagle in the coat of arms. Muslims have complained, demanding that this
cross be removed. The present chief heraldic officer, Georgii Vilinbakhov, has
denied any such connection between the eagle and the Christian faith even in
this case.21 On the contrary, Orthodox fundamentalists have understood that
the three crowns with their crosses are a symbol of the Trinity, which is a
strong symbol of Orthodoxy in the history of Russian culture.
An extremist interpretation of the eagle can be noticed in a new type of
icon [Samoderzhavnaia] (the Autocratic Mother of God), showing the Mother
of God with the Child not sitting on a throne, but enclosed in the double-
headed eagle. It is an icon which originated around 1917, and has become
popular in extremist circles in recent decades.
The crux is that there was no such idea of symphony in late imperial times.
On the contrary – and this is the opinion of the Church – Peter the Great
destroyed all ideas of a symphony by creating a state Church partly on the
Swedish concept of the relationship between Church and state. The symbolism
given to the double-eagle is in all aspects unhistorical.

The inauguration of the president

My first examples were thus the most official statements of the relationship
between Church and state expressed in fundamental laws, in the ecclesiastical
document expressing the Church’s relationship to the state and in the national
symbol per se. My next example is the inauguration of President Medvedev
on 7 May 2008. The patriarch of that time, Aleksii II, stood in the front row
during the ceremony, but did not participate in any way. During Boris Yelt-
sin’s inauguration as president, the patriarch even stood at the front with the
president during the ceremony.
During a service the next day in the Cathedral of the Annunciation in the
Kremlin, the patriarch blessed the newly inaugurated president, saying a prayer
in Church Slavonic for him. The president was thus included in the sacral sphere
through the use of a prayer in Church Slavonic pertaining to his official capacity:

Призри и ныне на усердное моление наше и благослови благое правле-

ние Президента страны нашея Димитрия, полагающего начало правле-
ния хранимою Тобою страною Российскою. Укрепи и настави его
непреткновенно проходити великое сие служение, подаждь ему разуме-
ние и премудрость, во еже в тишине и без печали люди российския
сохраняти, подчиненными же ему управляти на путь истины и правды и
от лицеприятия и мздоимства ограждати.22

Look down also now on our fervent prayer and bless the good govern-
ance of the President of our country, setting the ground for the Russian
 Legitimacy and symphony 227
land shielded by You. Strengthen and guide him to accomplish this great
task without hindrance, give him understanding and wisdom, in peace
and without sorrow protect the Russian people, guide his subordinates on
the path of truth and righteousness, and protect them from partiality and
corruption.

Some of the words were identical to those in the prayer read at the coronation
of Tsar Nicholas II on 14 May 1896. At the same time, the Church stressed
that the ceremony was the usual one for ‘beginning any good action’. Further-
more, the president is never mentioned in the prayers of the Church, in the
same way as in the Soviet period only the word ‘powers’ is used in the prayers
for the secular leaders of the country. Before 1917, the Tsar as well as other
members of the imperial family were frequently mentioned in the litanies of the
Church.

The Holy Synod and beyond

Before the time of Peter the Great, the patriarchate was an independent
organization. From Peter’s reign up to 1917, a governmental organ – the Holy
Synod – ruled the Church as it is declared in the constitution of 1906:

Статья 65. В управлении Церковном Самодержавная Власть действует

посредством Святейшего Правительствующего Синода.23

Article 65. In the administration of the Church the autocratic power acts
through the Holy Directorial Synod, which it has created.24

In late Soviet times, contact with the Church was maintained through the
Council for Religious Affairs. Today there is no such organization. This is a
token of the independence of the Church in its relationship to the state. The
Holy Synod is now, as in Soviet times, the name of the decision-making body
of the Church itself without any secular participation. The lack of a Church
ministry is one more real and symbolic fact demonstrating the symphony
between Church and state, in the meaning of non-intervention in each other’s
affairs. The election and enthronement of a new patriarch without any state
intrusion reflects more importantly an independent Church.

The enthronement
My last example showing relationship between Church and state today is the
enthronement of Patriarch Kirill as patriarch of Moscow and all Rus’ on
1 February 2009. The existence of a ruling patriarch is the most important
token of an independent Church in relation to the state. From the time of
Peter the Great up to 1917 and from 1925 up to 1943 the state bluntly denied
the Church that right.
228 P.-A. Bodin
The ceremony took place in the Cathedral of Christ the Saviour in the
presence of President Dmitrii Medvedev and Prime Minister Vladimir Putin.
It is also noteworthy that Medvedev and the new Patriarch Kirill came to
power less than a year apart. Their experience of each other and of the
highest power is somewhat short.
The president and the prime minister stood in the most prestigious place of
honour for a layman – in the right kliros, which is at the front of the Church
on the right-hand side. During the enthronement, the president and prime
minister were both invited to go behind the iconastasis to the sanctuary, but
not the female guests of honour, because traditionally women of child-bearing
age are not allowed to enter the holiest part of the Church. At the enthrone-
ment of Kirill, the president and the prime minister thus had the same access
to the sanctuary which the Byzantine emperor and the Russian tsar once
had.25 The position of president and prime minister inside the sanctuary
however was completely peripheral because they stood furthest away from the
patriarch’s throne. In principle, males are allowed to enter the sanctuary, but
the invitation to enter it was something very special.
In imperial times, the tsar together with one metropolitan (archbishop)
performed the enthronement ceremony of a patriarch placing the elected
patriarch on the throne. Now, the ceremony is carried out by two senior
metropolitans. Moreover, the TV commentator did not mention the president
and prime minister’s presence until well into the broadcast and the cameras
focused on them rarely. A shot of the president and the prime minister was
always followed by one of ordinary believers. One can see that this is at the
same time an important and significant role of the civil power from two per-
spectives. It is a semiotic marker of the relationship between Church and state
with a Church wanting to be both loyal and independent in relation to the
civil power. This broadcast seemed to show symphony in practice in the new
way. It differed from those of the Byzantine, imperiale and Soviet eras.
On the other hand, the assigned role of the secular power emanates from
the constitution: the Russian state is secular, while the Orthodox Church has
a special historical role, as evidenced by the preamble to the constitution, as
we have noted. It is this complexity of Church–state relationship that is por-
trayed in the intricate relationships between the president and prime minister
on the one hand, and the patriarch on the other.
The president’s wife, Svetlana, was the first layperson to receive commu-
nion from the patriarch. This again demonstrates the very special role of
symphony between Church and state in Russia today.

The canonical borders

One of the points which the patriarch made in his speech was his role in
defending the canonical borders of the Church. Here he made a political
statement similar to those made by the secular power usually as one of its
principal tasks:26
 Legitimacy and symphony 229
Патриарх – защитник внешних канонических рубежей Церкви. Это
служение приобретает особое значение в той ситуации, которая возникла
после образования независимых государств на пространстве «истор-
ической Руси». Уважая их суверенитет и радея о благе каждого из этих
государств, Патриарх в то же время призван заботиться о сохранении и
укреплении духовных связей между населяющими их народами во имя
сбережения той системы ценностей, которую являет миру единая
православная цивилизация Святой Руси.27

The Patriarch is the defender of the canonical borders of the Church.

This ministry becomes particularly significant in the situation that
emerged after the independent states had been formed in the territory of
‘historic Russia’. While respecting their sovereignty and caring for
their well-being, the Patriarch is called, at the same time, to be conc-
erned with maintaining and strengthening of spiritual ties between
people living in these countries for the sake of preserving the system of
values which the Orthodox civilization of Holy Russia reveals to the
world.

In a speech at the beginning of 2011, the president took up this very thread:
the president and the patriarch have a common task for the strengthening of
the ‘Russian world’ which is more or less the same as Rus’ in the title of the
patriarch, a title for the patriarch dating from 1943 after consulting Stalin
himself. Sometimes it is used in the sense of all Russians including those
scattered throughout the world. This double meaning can be understood in
the following extract:

Надо признаться, что в этом направлении государство пока не преуспело.

Если говорить откровенно и прямо – государство не очень хорошо умеет
работать с диаспорой. И в этом плане мы очень рассчитываем на помощь
Русской православной церкви в целях активизации многочисленных
контактов с Русским миром:28

I must admit that in this direction the state has not yet succeeded. If we
speak openly and directly – the state is not very good at working with the
diaspora. In this regard, we very much rely on the help of the Russian
Orthodox Church in order to enhance the numerous contacts with the
Russian world.

One important component of the notion of symphony, as understood in

the contemporary world is the identification of the borders of the state and
the borders of the Church.29 After the fall of the Soviet Union, the Church
preserved its borders but the state did not. This gave the state the opportunity
for strengthening its influence in the former Soviet republics with the aid of
the Church, which still keeps its pre-1991 borders.
230 P.-A. Bodin
The reception given for the patriarch
One main point stressed by the president during a reception given in
honour of the new patriarch after the enthronement was the importance of
the Church in creating Russian statehood. It was a further contribution to the
history, spirituality and culture mentioned in the law on religion. This is
the most precise way of how the Church could be used for the legitimation of
the existence of Russia in its contemporary form:

Я рад еще раз поздравить вас, Ваше Святейшество, – произнес, заняв

свое место за столом, Дмитрий Медведев. – В обновленной России
отношения государства и церкви строятся на основе невмешательства
государственных органов в деятельность религиозных организаций и в
то же время на основе признания государством огромного вклада
церкви в становление государственности.30

I am pleased to once again congratulate you, Your Holiness [said Dmitrii

Medvedev, taking his seat at the table]. In the new Russia relations of
Church and state are based on non-interference of state bodies in the
activities of religious organizations and at the same time recognizing the
enormous contribution of the Church in the establishment of statehood.

The president combines ecclesiastical and political language, as can be

noticed in the following quotation. A cross can hardly be ‘complicated’ but
political tasks can be. He is using semi-religious discourse while the patriarch
uses semi-state language. The parties even exchange languages:

Служение патриарха – действительно исключительно сложный, великий

крест. И подвиг патриаршества, который свершался на Руси до этого,
был свидетельством исключительно внимательного, особого отношения
Патриарха к своему народу, его защиты в очень сложных, порою
трагических обстоятельствах.
И сегодня, когда Россия развивается, когда мир остаётся столь же
противоречивым и когда он несёт на себе такую же печать проблем, как
и многие века назад, такого рода совместная работа, работа между
государством и Русской православной церковью, будет обязательно
востребована во имя развития нашей страны, во имя развития всех
православных народов. Россия – сложное государство, где живут люди
разных народов, разных верований, и в этом смысле миссия Патриарха
Московского и всея Руси также является весьма особенной.31

The ministry of the patriarch is in fact, extremely complex, a Grand

Cross. And the feat of the patriarchate, which is accomplished in Russia
until now, was evidence of a very close, special relationship of the Patri-
arch to his people, his protection in very difficult and sometimes tragic
circumstances.
 Legitimacy and symphony 231
Today, when Russia develops, when the world remains as contradictory
and when it carries the same impending problems as it did many cen-
turies ago, this kind of collaboration between the state and the Russian
Orthodox Church will always be demanded for the development of our
country and of all Orthodox peoples. Russia is a complex state, where
different peoples and different faiths live together. In this sense, the mission
of the Patriarch of Moscow and all Rus’ is very special.

The patriarch stressed in his speech the importance of ‘symphony’, thus again
focusing on the Church–state relationship. This term has journeyed from
Church history books to the language used in a speech to the President of the
Russian Federation.

Благодарю вас сердечно за слова, которые вы сейчас произнесли. Как в

капле воды отражается солнце, так в этих словах отражен весь наш опыт
церковно-государственных отношений. В Византии использовали слово
‘симфония’ – с ударением на предпоследнем слоге. То есть ‘гармоническое
сочетание ответственности и распределение ответственности. Mы сознаем
необходимость, чтобы дух симфонии направлял наши мысли и дела.32

Thank you warmly for the words you have just uttered. As a drop
of water reflects the sun, so these words reflect our entire experience of
Church–state relations. In Byzantium it was used to describe a model of
this relationship, the word ‘symphony’ – with the accent on the penulti-
mate syllable. That is ‘a harmonious combination of accountability and
responsibility’. We need to recognize that the spirit of the symphony
ought to direct our thoughts and deeds.

Conclusion
Thus the relationship between Church and state illustrated in these three cases
is utterly ambivalent and can only be so. There is tension between the con-
stitution, the law on religion and its practice which is impossible to resolve,
but possible to describe using these abstruse terms of legitimacy and symph-
ony. This ambivalence also permeates all practical relations between Church
and state on issues such as the Principles of Orthodox Culture lessons for
schools, icons at military units and permission to use a blue light on the
patriarch’s limousine. At the same time, the situation differs not only from
that of the Soviet era, but also that of pre-1917 Russia and also from the
Byzantine time, although seen by the Church as an ideal. There is in every
case a reservation showing the secularity of the state, and this reservation is in
every case overruled. This is one important part in understanding the
relationship between Church and state in today’s Russia.
Why is the Church needed when only a few attend services? Why is so
much energy expended in staging these very elaborate rituals modelling the
232 P.-A. Bodin
relationship between state and Church? Let us acknowledge that some or
many of the people in power are sincere in their devotion to Orthodoxy. Still,
there is a strong wish on the part of the politicians to create historical con-
tinuity and legitimation through the use of the Orthodox Church as we have
already observed. Yet there is also the problem of guilt on the part of the
secular power. Many of its representatives still were brought up during the old
regime and have in their youth talked derisively about the Church and reli-
gion. Thus both a personal and collective guilt is the reason why the Orthodox
Church is treated benevolently. One further factor is the longing for an
ideology to fill the vacuum after communism ceased to be the state ideology.
The situation is not at all as unique as it seems: similar discussions take place
in Sweden, where the relationship between the Swedish Church and the state
is also rather ambiguous. Still the Orthodox faith and what I would call a
living traditional religion insisting on a strong transcendental and mystical
element is a considerably complicated component in modern state-building.
This component cannot be denied or forgotten when trying to understand
these questions, something much more difficult than understanding the notion
of ‘destiny’ in the preamble of the Russian constitution.
For the state the Church is needed to create legitimacy in a situation where
the state is new and its foundations somewhat weak. The Church stands, as
we have noted, for a cultural, historical continuity and as a basis for Russia’s
statehood. Both the Church and the state talk with two tongues on this question,
perhaps it is with the two tongues of the two beaks on the double-headed
eagle.

Notes
1 ‘Iz svoda osnovnykh gosudarstvennykh zakonov (1906 g.)’, Istoriia Rossii:
Mul 0 timedia-uchebnik. http://www.history.ru/content/view/1223/87/.
2 James Harvey Robinson and Charles Beard (eds), Readings in Modern European
History, vol. 2 (Boston: Ginn and Company, 1909), p. 380.
3 ‘Osnovy obshchestvennogo stroia i politiki SSSR’, Konstitutsiia (Osnovnoi
Zakon) Soiuza Sovetskikh Sotsialisticheskikh Respublik: Priniata na vneocherednoi
sed 0 moi sessii Verkhovnogo Soveta SSSR deviatogo sozyva 7 oktiabria 1977 g.
http://www.hist.msu.ru/ER/Etext/cnst1977.htm#i.
4 ‘Principles of the Social Structure and Policy of the USSR’, Constitution (Funda-
mental Law) of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics: Adopted at the Seventh (Spe-
cial) Session of the Supreme Soviet of the USSR Ninth Convocation On October 7,
1977. http://www.departments.bucknell.edu/russian/const/77cons01.html#chap01.
5 Kremlin.ru, ‘Konstitutsiia Rossiiskoi Federatsii: Priniata vsenarodnym golosovaniem
12 dekabria 1993 g.’, Kremlin.ru. http://constitution.kremlin.ru/.
6 Kremlin.ru, ‘The Constitution of Russia’, Kremlin.ru. http://archive.kremlin.ru/
eng/articles/ConstEng1.shtml.
7 Kremlin.ru, ‘Konstitutsiia Rossiiskoi Federatsii: Priniata vsenarodnym golosovaniem
12 dekabria 1993 g.’, Kremlin.ru. http://constitution.kremlin.ru/.
8 СУДЬБА́ ,-ы́ , мн. су́ дьбы, су́ деб и (устар.) суде́ б, су́ дьбам и (устар.) судьба́ м, ж
1. Складывающийся независимо от воли человека ход событий, стечение
обстоятельств (по суеверным представлениям – сила, предопределяющая
всё, что происходит в жизни).
 Legitimacy and symphony 233
2. Участь, доля, жизненный путь. Жаловаться на свою судьбу.
In Malyi Akademicheskii slovar’. http://dic.academic.ru/dic.nsf/mas/68137/.
9 ‘Although in present-day Russian sud’ba, as mentioned earlier, is no longer felt to
be necessarily a religious concept referring to God’s judgement, it is still compatible
with such an interpretation (and some of my informants find the expression sle-
paia sud’ba, “blind sud’ba”, unacceptable)’. In Anna Wierzbicka, Semantics, Culture,
and Cognition Universal Human Concepts in Culture-Specific Configurations
(New York: Oxford University Press, 1992), p. 74.
10 As in the EU Constitution: ‘PERSUADÉS que les peuples d’Europe, tout en
restant fiers de leur identité et de leur histoire nationale, sont résolus à dépasser
leurs anciennes divisions et, unis d’une manière sans cesse plus étroite, à forger
leur destin commun’. In ‘Preambule’, Constitution Europeenne. http://lexinter.net/
UE/preambule.htm.
11 Konsul’tant Plius, ‘Rossiiskaia federatsiia: Federal’nyi zakon: O svobode sovesti
i o religiioznykh ob’edineniiakh: Priniat Gosudarstvennoi Dumoi 19 sentiabria
1997 goda’, Konsul 0 tant Plius – nadëiezhnaia pravovaia podderzhka, 1997. http://base.
consultant.ru/cons/cgi/online.cgi?req=doc;base=LAW;n=78684.
12 ‘Russian Federation Federal Law, “On freedom of Conscience and on Religious
Associations”’, The Church Law Society, September 19, 1997. http://spcp.prf.cuni.
cz/dokument/rusko1.htm.
13 Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov’, ‘Osnovy Sotsial’noi kontseptsii Russkoi Pra-
voslavnoi Tserkvi’, Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov’: Ofitsial’nyi sait Moskovskogo
Patriarkhata, September 12, 2005. http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/141422.html.
14 Moscow Patriarchate, ‘Bases of the Social Concept of the Russian Orthodox
Church’, Department for External Church Relations of the Moscow Patriarchate.
http://orthodoxeurope.org/page/3/14.aspx.
15 Aleksandr Kazhdan (ed.), The Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (New York:
Oxford University Press, 1991).
16 ‘The Times of Emperor Justinianus’, The Rise of Church–State Alliances: Imperial
Edicts and Church Councils: 306–565. http://community-2.webtv.net/tales_of_the_
western_world/RLJUSTINIAN/.
17 The word ‘symphony’ is for example not used in Aleksandr Vasil’ev, Istoriia
Vizantiiskoi imperii (Peterburg, Petrograd, Leningrad, 1923–5), or in Vladimir
Beneshevich, Ocherki po Istorii Vizantii (S. Peterburg: Izdatel’stvo komiteta pri
istoriko-filologicheskom fakul’tete SPU, 1912) or in Aleksandr Kazhdan (ed.), The
Oxford Dictionary of Byzantium (New York: Oxford University Press, 1991);
Anton Kartashev, Ocherki po istorii russkoi tserkvi (Paris: YMCA-press, 1959).
18 Ekaterina Grigor’eva, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev i Patriarkh Kirill ispolnili simfoniiu’,
Izvestia.Ru, February 3, 2009. http://www.izvestia.ru/russia/article3124979/.
19 Georgii Vilinbakhov, Gosudarstvennyi gerb Rossii: 500 let = The State Coat of
Arms of Russia: 500 years (St Peterburg: AO ‘Slaviia’, 1997), p. 35.
20 Pravoslavie.ru, ‘K voprosu o gosudarstvennoi simvolike Rosii’, Voskresnaia shkola
Sretenskogo monastyria: Pravoslavie.ru. http://www.pravoslavie.ru/analit/rusideo/
simvolika.htm.
21 Argumenty i fakty, ‘Korona znachit “svoboda”’, Argumenty i fakty, no. 50 (2005).
22 Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov’, ‘V Blagoveshchenskom sobore Kremlia sostoialsia
moleben po sluchaiu vstupleniia v dolzhnost’ Prezidenta Rosii Dmitriia Medve-
deva’, Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov0 : Ofitsial0 nyi sait Moskovskogo Patriarkhata.
http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/403877.html.
23 ‘Iz svoda osnovnykh gosudarstvennykh zakonov (1906 g.)’, Istoriia Rossii:
Mul0 timedia-uchebnik. http://www.history.ru/content/view/1223/87/.
24 James Harvey Robinson and Charles Beard (eds), Readings in Modern European
History, vol. 2 (Boston: Ginn and Company, 1909).
25 What is sometimes called ‘the liturgical privilege’ of the Byzantine emperor.
234 P.-A. Bodin
26 Cf. the wording in the constitution: ‘определение статуса и защита государственной
границы, территориального моря, воздушного пространства, исключительной
экономической зоны и континентального шельфа Российской Федерации’ [‘defining
the status and protection of the state border, territorial waters, the air space, the
exclusive economic zone and the continental shelf of the Russian Federation’].
27 Argumenty i Fakty, ‘Polnyi tekst rechi Patriarkha Kirilla posle intronizatsii’,
Argumenty i Fakty online, February 2, 2009. http://www.aif.ru/society/article/
24292.
28 Russkaia Pravoslavnaia Tserkov’, ‘Slovo Prezidenta Rossii D.A. Medvedeva na
vstreche s uchastnikami Arkhiereiskogo Sobora Russkoi Pravoslavnoi Tserkvi’,
Russkaia Pravolavnaia Tserkov0 : Ofitsial0 nyi sait Moskovskogo Patriarkhata,
February 3, 2011. http://www.patriarchia.ru/db/text/1401190.html.
29 John Meyendorff, Byzantium and the Rise of Russia: a Study of Byzantino-Russian
Relations in the Fourteenth Century (New York: Crestwood, 1989), pp. 86–7.
30 Ekaterina Grigor’eva, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev i Patriarkh Kirill ispolnili simfoniiu’,
Izvestia.Ru, February 3, 2009. http://www.izvestia.ru/russia/article3124979/.
31 Deita.ru, ‘Mitropolit Kirill vstupil na patriarshii prestol’, Deita.ru, February 2,
2009. http://deita.ru/society/v-rossii_02.02.2009;122388;mitropolit-kirill-vstupil-na-
patriarshij-prestol.html.
32 Ekaterina Grigor’eva, ‘Dmitrii Medvedev i Patriarkh Kirill ispolnili simfoniiu’,
Izvestia.Ru, February 3, 2009. http://www.izvestia.ru/russia/article3124979/.
Concluding remarks
Per-Arne Bodin, Stefan Hedlund and Elena Namli

The sudden collapse of the Soviet order was a momentous event, with a set of
rather obvious practical geopolitical implications. The latter are still being
played out and need no further mention here. More important, from an
analytical point of view, was the set of expectations that were formed within
the scholarly community. Celebrated book titles from the time – such as The
End of History and The Coming Russian Boom – reflected broadly held beliefs
that the end of communism in Europe entailed also the end of ideology as a
driving force, and the beginning of a spectacular economic surge in the
‘transition economies’.
There are good reasons why it may be worth recalling these early days of
post-Soviet transformation, reasons that are very different from seeking to
rekindle old debates about the wisdom of the way in which reform policies
were being formulated. Looking back at what actually happened during the
first two decades after the Soviet collapse, it is imperative not only to seek to
understand why so much turned out so differently from initial expectations.
Even more important is the question of how the early expectations for great
and speedy success were formed.
As was outlined in the introduction, the original ambition to produce the
present volume emerged out of discussions amongst the editors concerning
what lessons may be drawn for Western scholarship from a closer considera-
tion of the Russian experience of attempting to emulate Western society. On
the one hand, we have an unfortunate set of preconceptions regarding ‘the
nature of Russia’ that portray the country as being somehow inherently unfit
for liberalism. On the other, we have an equally unfortunate set of pre-
conceptions that portray all countries as being identical and in consequence
equally well suited for liberalism.
We use the word ‘unfortunate’ here in the sense of preconceived notions
serving as obstacles to the furthering of serious scholarship and under-
standing. While few if any would seriously argue that Russia actually is
inherently ‘unfit for democracy’, it will remain the case that a strong tendency
to think in such terms will cause attention to be deflected from what may be
viewed as the ‘true’ causes of things going awry. Similarly, while few if any
would seriously argue that all countries really are identical, the presence of a
236 P.-A. Bodin, S. Hedlund and E. Namli
strong tendency to think in such terms will again cause attention to be
deflected from the ‘true’ causes of divergence.
Our underlying assumption has been that Western scholarship in general,
and social science in particular, has evolved on a firmly normative liberal basis.
This is reflected in a set of strong values that are held to be universal and that
should be the stated goals of any country seeking to emerge out of various
forms of authoritarian rule. And it is reflected in a set of equally strong beliefs
that Western-style democracy and market economy, not to mention the rule
of law, constitute superior role models that all countries surely must wish to
emulate.
Based on such preconceptions, it was somehow preordained that emerging
out of the rubble of the Soviet order Russia would be bound to disappoint. Its
various legacies from the past would not only make it difficult to implement a
speedy ‘transition’ to the established role model. Such legacies would also
make it uncertain if there really was a broad consensus about the wisdom of
the suggested course.
By calling on all the participating authors to focus on problems relating to
power and legitimacy, which arguably constitute the very core features in any
process of state building, we have sought to challenge readers into thinking
about how Russia is different and what the implications may be. Few, if any,
would dispute that Russian tradition to date has evolved in a way that in
many respects has been objectively different from that of the ‘common’
European tradition. Yet, there is little agreement on how such differences may
be held to influence current decision making. We view this very disagreement
as a useful point of departure for a new approach seeking to understand the
landscape of power in Russia.
What has come out of the efforts presented here to understand and criti-
cally analyse the interrelated issues of power and legitimacy is a kaleidoscope
of questions and approaches. The participating authors focus on different
aspects of power and legitimacy, and they use different theoretical constructs.
They are, however, united in a search for a set of tools that would enable a
structural analysis not only of economic, political and cultural power, but also
of those processes that legitimize or delegitimize such power.
Russia’s internal power discourse is unique and must be studied on its own
terms. But this discourse is not exclusive. It is, on the contrary, grounded in
economic, political and social structures that can and must be understood as
such. This is important not the least in order to avoid the frequently heavy
focus on the personalities of different Russian political leaders. When actual
developments fail to conform to preconceived notions of what should be
taking place, we are faced with a vacuum of explanation and understanding.
It will then be tempting to look for explanations in terms of political leader-
ship, such as the transition of power from Boris Yeltsin to Vladimir Putin, or
the formal sharing of power between Putin and his stand-in Dmitri Medvedev.
A structural approach will help filter out the noise that is generated by at
times erratic and seemingly puzzling behaviour by individual leaders.
 Concluding remarks 237
Similarly, we shall argue that history matters, but not in isolation.
The world of today looks very different from what it did at the time when the
Western liberal democracies once emerged. When studying legacies from the
past, this must be taken into account. Russia’s preconditions for successful
development in the present are determined as much by current changes in
global communication, global politics and the global market place, as by
trends and patterns out of the country’s own history. Seeking to establish regime
legitimacy within Russia may in consequence not be divorced from changing
global trends, but will rather in many respects constitute responses to such
trends. In studying the Russian power discourse, we are thus simultaneously
questioning current views on the global situation.
Perhaps the most important conclusion that we wish to pass on to the
readers is that widespread expectations that globalization would bring simi-
larity have been ill-founded. What has emerged out of the global financial
crisis is rather the beginning of a new world order, one where the long-
standing role of the West as a role model for all others to emulate is coming
into question. The rise of China combined with the declining role and influ-
ence both of the United States and of the European Union, is bringing into
focus a need to consider what will come instead.
Viewed in this context, it is no longer controversial to state that Russia is
different. As the pieces in a new jigsaw are beginning to fall into place, it is,
on the contrary, essential to focus on difference rather than on similarity.
China is different. As is Turkey, and Indonesia, and Brazil, to mention but a
few. It is only by abandoning the long-standing belief in a superior Western
role model that we may begin to understand how such differences will pan
out. What, for example, will be the roles of ‘market economy with Chinese
characteristics’, of Russian ‘sovereign democracy’, and of Turkey’s agenda of
modernization based on moderate Islam?
An understanding of these and other related phenomena calls for a critical
method that is free from the two most common manifestations of what we
may refer to as Western cultural imperialism, namely, on the one hand the
liberal urge to eliminate the otherness of the ‘other’, and on the other hand
the opposite urge to proclaim it to be beyond understanding and therefore
also beyond critique. If we fail to remove such blinkers, then we will not be
able to discern what is really at stake in broad systemic transformations.
Then, for example, the diverse outcomes of the ‘Arab Spring’ are simply
bound to end up as disappointments.
In all those cases that may presently be viewed as emerging challenges to
the traditional domination of Western Europe and of North America, the key
features of development are closely related to the topics of the present
volume, namely, the configuration of power and ambitions to seek legitimacy.
Countries that show impressive economic growth records will emerge as new
role models, displacing the crisis-ridden American and European economies,
and they will not by necessity adhere to the allegedly universal ideals of
democracy and human rights. Governments in such emerging nations will
238 P.-A. Bodin, S. Hedlund and E. Namli
attempt modernization without Westernization. They will evolve national
ideologies that place other factors in focus, ranging from religious Orthodoxy
in Russia and moderate Islam in Turkey, and to national unity in China.
This, then, is the message. Russia is different, and by being different in a
time of great and widening divergence it may offer valuable impetus to
advancing scholarship. Yet, Russia is far from alone in being thus different.
Volumes comparable to the present could surely be written about numerous
other countries that no longer conform to accepted stereotypes. It only
remains to hope that others will take up this challenge, and that we may
jointly move towards a better understanding both of the roots of difference
and of the causes of divergence.
Index

accountable government 30 Brezhnev, L. 8, 16

Aesopian circumlocution 193 bureaucracy 200, 212, 219;
Aesopian language 6, 188, 189, 191, see also nomenklatura; vertical
196, 197n3; as alibi 189; dilemma of power
191; and major language 192; and bureaucratic regime(s) 120
minor literature 192; and power 192;
power and vulnerability of 197; as canonical territory 164
protest 189–90; semantic capacity of capital 80, 83; cultural 76; ‘project’ of
193; during Thaw period 188; see also 101n90
euphemization; language capitalism 75, 86, 97; without capitalists
Aleksii II 226 83; conception of 79; and democracy
Alexander II 138, 176, 178 5, 79, 88, 92, 99n60; democratic
Alexander III 178 98n55; and democratic values 87;
alienation 95n25, 170 global 93, 97n44; and inequality 86;
anarchy 35 irrational 80, 81, 98n55; markets 80;
Arab Spring 199 modern 79, 81; against modernity
authoritarian: collapse 47; developments 98n55; rational 80, 81, 97n46; robber
14; discipline 34; nature 126; 9, 72; Schumpeter on 92; against
regime 28; rule 37; stability 42; technocracy 51; transition to 98n55;
state 31 unproductive 95n25; ‘varieties of ’
authoritarian restoration 2, 22; see also 95n26; Western civilization 175; see
autocracy also democracy; financialized
authoritarianism 25, 35, 78, 182; capitalism; Russian peripheral
electoral 41; fake 42; internal 36; and capitalism; Weber
romanticism 183 capitalist democracy 89, 96n39
authoritative rulers 120 Catherine the Great 176
autocracy 34, 45; Muscovite 28; Putin Chechen war 35; see also Chechnya
35; restoration of 34 Chechnya 16–17, 34, 35, 39
autocratic domination 41 Chernyshevsky,n9
autocratic government 2 Church: administration of 227;
autocratic turn 35 Christian 70; in public opinion 49;
autonomy 176; see also federalism relationship with state 231; during
Soviet times 227; see also Russian
Bakhtin, M. 134, 140, 151n17 Orthodox Church; symphony
Beetham, D. 118, 128 Church–state relations 226, 228, 231; see
Berdyaev, N. 171 also symphony
blogosphere 199 civic freedoms 202
Bolshevism 178 civil law 174
Braudel, F. 72 civil society 12
240 Index
civilization(s) 160, 185; clash of 159; culturologists 159
concept of 172; definition of 157; culturology 11, 152, 166; academic 155;
Eurasian 162; Orthodox 176, 229; historical 159; Russia and the West
Russian 161, 172, 173, 176; universal 165; textbooks on 155, 157–8; see also
161; Western 175 kul’turologiia
civilizational discourse 164
civilizational paradigm 159, 164; Dahl, R. 87
discipline of 166; function of 163; and delegitimation 122
kul’turologiia 164; and Soviet cultural democracy 75–6, 85–6, 106, 110, 150,
legacy 165 172; associations with 113; bargaining
civilizational space 164 96n30; concept of 98n50; and
civilizational turn 152, 160, 162–3, 166 capitalism 88, 99; criticism of 183;
clientelism 47 deliberative 147; direct 202, 212;
Coase Theorem 60–1 disempowerment of 78, 94n16;
cognitive adaptation 170 economic fruitlessness of 91; and
Cold War 14, 41, 172 Habermas 146; internet for 212; and
collectivism 174 legitimacy 127; liberal 89; modern
collectivization 103 political 98n50; and nationalism 175;
coloured revolution(s) 106, 173 parliamentary 181; procedural 76, 90;
conservatism, pre-revolutionary 183 rationality of 145; and representative
conservative programme 180 institutions 180; and revolution 102;
conservative romanticism 169, 170–1, and Russia 235; Russian 75, 78, 104;
184; current trends 171; impasse of social 112, 113; and social economic
185; see also romanticism conditions 105; sovereign 181, 182;
conservative romantics 172 town-hall 201; transition to 89;
conservative thought 174 Western-style 236; Western-type 181;
conservative vision 174 see also autocracy; capitalism; direct
conservatives 173 internet democracy; legitimacy; Putin
consolidation 126, 127; democratic 184; democratic deficit 78
authoritarian 31 democratic mimicry 48
Constitution: of 1906 220; of 1936 221; democratic society 136, 146
of 1977 221; of 1993 114; Brezhnev democratic transition 184
16, 221; divine intrusion in 221; on democratization 89, 90, 103, 106
religion 221 demodernization 84, 86
Constitutional Court 15, 16, 18, 53, 181; derzhavnost’ 49
and Russian Rechtsstaat 14; see also direct internet democracy 209, 212,
Tumanov; Zor’kin, V. 214–15
constitutional reforms 170 divine intrusion 221
constitutional transformation divine legitimation 222
180 division of power see separation of
constitutionalism 181, 182 power
Council of Federation see Federation Dostoevsky, F. 134, 137, 138, 142, 171;
Council critique of rationalism 137; and
cultural evolutionism 153 justice 139; legal nihilism of 5
cultural space 160–2 double-headed eagle 225–6, 232
cultural studies 155, 158; see also dukhovnost’ 157
culturology; kul’turologiia Duma 13, 14, 29, 32, 106; control of 23;
cultural values 152 criticism by 16; powers of 114; as
cultural-civilizational determinism 153 rubber stamp 34; in Yeltsin’s era 23
culture: history of 159; legal 174; liberal Dworkin, R. 150n6
137, 145, 182; messianic 182;
non-liberal 5; orthodox 159; Russian electoral legislation 102
76; 143, 174; spiritual 158; see also electronic marketplace 199
political culture enlightened absolutism 176
 Index 241
enlightenment 109, 128 Holy Synod 227; see also Peter the
Enlightenment 92, 169, 175 Great; Russian Orthodox Church
essentialism 76, 154 human reason 135
étatization 77 human rights 136, 150, 183; culture 144;
ethics 134, 144; Kantian 140, 148; discourse 135; ethics of 141, 145; law
liberal 145; Lutheran 142; nature of 5 135, 142; liberal tradition of 148;
euphemism 189, 191, 196 Orthodox Church on 143–4;
euphemization 188–9, 193, 195; see also propaganda on 14; and radical
Aesopian language responsibility 140; as restriction on
Eurasian space 163 power 134, 135, 143; in romantic
Eurasianism 162 political agenda 180; and Russian
Eurocentric view 160 Orthodox Church 143; scepticism
towards 5, 133; theory 175
federalism 21, 176, 181; and human-rights activist 34
conservatism 181; see also Chechnya; human-rights perspective 35
Tatarstan Hume, D. 130n3
Federation Council 22; see also Duma Huntington, S. 116, 156, 159,
feudalism 176 160
financial capital 80 hybrid regimes 41
financialized capitalism 5, 75, 82, 84, 91;
and bailouts 83; domination of identichnost’ 160
96n42; shift to 95n25; and ‘societies identity: building 152; civilizational 164;
of control’ 93n7; and Soviet economy collective 4, 48, 53; construction 155;
96n36 as contemporary problem 183;
Forest Code 123 cultural 179; discourse 164; national
Foucault, M. 77, 93n7, 100n85 2, 166; redefinition 85; Russian 175;
Soviet 161
Gazprom 29 ideological vacuum 152, 156
Georgia War 36 ideology 53–4, 115; as driving force 235;
glasnost’ 9, 24 liberal 136; national 238; nationalistic
global communication 237 146; neo-conservative 171; of
global market place 237 Orthodox Church 220; state 220;
global politics 237 of USSR 153, 156; see also
globalization 172, 174–5; and Marxism–Leninism; sovereign
romanticism 183 democracy
Glorious Revolution 70 Industrial Revolution 103, 111
Gorbachev, M. 9, 14, 20, 178; era 13; industrialization 103, 106
perception of 132n30; and property intellectual class 104, 105, 112
rights 9; regime of 115; and Yeltsin 9 international law 136
governance: political 4; democratic 127 istoriosofiia 159, 160
Greenspan, A. 59, 71
guided democracy 17, 181; see also justice 135–6, 79, 99n63, 139,
sovereign democracy 169, 174; legal 139; moral 139;
social 136, 184
Habermas, J. 135, 146, 147; approach of
148; theory of 150 Kant, I. 133
Hegel, G. 81 Kantian concept of practical reason 147
Herzen, A. 9 Keynesianism 82
historical materialism 153; see also Khimki forest 123
Marxism–Leninism Khodorkosky, M. 19, 39, 139; case 48,
historical memory 169–70, 175, 144; and Medvedev 209; on Putin 40;
178 sentence of 21; trial of 5, 63, 124, 139,
historical narrative 175 142; see also capitalism; oligarchs;
Hobbesian fear 47 Putin
242 Index
Khrushchev, N. 8 Lenin, V. 9, 92, 93, 197n2; on Aesopian
Kirill 164, 224; enthronement of 227; language 190
and Medvedev 225; and Putin 228; Levada-Center 121
see also Russian Orthodox Church ‘liberal authoritarian model’ 107
kleptocracy 31, 33, 64, 72 liberal basis 236
kleptocrats 31 liberal freedoms 180
Kulturkritik 158 liberal idea 181
kul’turologia 6, 11, 152–3, 155; as Liberal Mission (foundation) 145
academic discipline 154; and liberal parties 111
civilizational paradigm 164; concepts liberal strategy 178
of 157; course of 154; discipline of liberal theories 150
166; and education 156; essentialism liberal tradition(s) 1, 2, 148
in 154; function of 163; as holistic liberal understanding of human
system 157; identity discourse of 164; rights 145
kul’turologiia 154; and Marxism– liberalism 171; political 145; and Russia
Leninism 153; orientation of 158; as 235; Western 134, 137; Western in
pseudoscience 165; and religion 159; Russia 137
and Soviet cultural legacy 165; and liberals 148, 173; and conservative
Soviet past 158; textbooks 158; see revolution 183; Russian 148
also culturology linguistic decoy 195
Kulturologie 11 Locke, J. 5, 120, 128, 130n3; and
consent 126; on legitimacy 118
language: and legitimacy 191; minor
196; of power 6; of state 200; of slave Magna Carta 70
190; see also Aesopian language; market 79–80; and bailouts 83;
euphemization mobilization 104; relations 57n34
law on religion 220, 222, 230, 231 Marx, K. 80, 97n49; on bureaucracy 77
law-based state 10; see also Rechtsstaat Marxism 101n90; see also
legal dualism 184 Marxism–Leninism; ideology
legal nihilism 13, 14, 139; and Russian Marxism–Leninism 11, 153, 176
Constitution 14 Marxist fanatics 103
legalism 13 Marxists 173
legality 119 materialism 157
legitimacy 4–5, 7, 72, 118, 220, 224, 237; Medvedev, D. 20, 24, 124, 209; approval
charismatic 119, 127; and Church rating of 121; blogger-in-chief 200;
231, 232; crisis of 3, 8; and language and blogging 201; and bureaucracy
191; of leadership 5; liberal 136; 212, 219n48; career of 51;
liberal principle of 135; Locke on 118; communication of 201; and
and media 200; of Medvedev 129; corruption 37, 55n10; election of 114;
political 5; of power 3, 236; principle image of 206; inauguration of 226;
of 136; and property rights 62; of and internet democracy 200; and
Putin system 42; rational 119; as Kirill 225; and Kirill’s enthronement
recognition of language 191–2; 228; legitimacy of 129; and media 6,
sources of 48; substitutes for 110; 199; media gambit of 199, 215; and
traditional 119, 127; of vlast’ 215; new technology 202; and PR 210; and
Weber on 120 Putin 236; on relations with Church
legitimate language 188, 189, 191, 194, 230; and social networking 214,
195, 196, 197; necrotic 195 216n14; and twitter 207, 217n24; in
legitimating device 47, 52, 58n47; courts twitter 203–5, 211, 214; see also
and election as 48 democracy; modernization; power
legitimation 56n29, 230; and legitimacy vertical; Putin; technocracy
120; through Orthodoxy 232; tools Mezzogiorno 63
of 46 military–industrial complex 10
legitimization 6, 119, 135, 184 minority rights 107; doctrine 179
 Index 243
modern state 94n15 patrimony, stealing of 33
modernization 102, 172–3, 178; Perestroika 9, 15, 86, 132n30, 178; see
catch–up 194; legal 181 and also glastnost’; Gorbachev
Medvedev 201; political 181; without Peter the Great 176, 226, 227
Westernization 174, 238; see also Pipes, R. 70
demodernization; Medvedev Plato 3
monarchy 102; absolutist 177 plutocracy 34
moral discourse 134 political culture 4, 106, 145, 150, 177,
Moscow Patriarchate 149; see also 212; liberal 182; microblogging 201; role
Russian Orthodox Church of 10–11
multi-confessional state 220 political Islam 146
Political Liberalism 135
national idea 164, 175, 225 political morality 135
nationalism 171, 172, 175 populism 103, 176
Navalny, A. 40, 199 Populists 173
neo-conservative discourse 6 postindustrial society 104
neoliberal economic policy 66 power 121; authoritarian 4, 38;
neoliberal economic reforms 75 centralization of 55n11; illegitimate 2;
neo-liberal theory 5 landscape of 236; legitimate 3, 6;
neoliberalism 91, 99n63 legitimizing 4; legitimizing of 6;
neo-patrimonial basis 53 mythology of 55n7; political 148 and
neo-patrimonial framework 47 property 177, 178; rationality of 133;
neo-patrimonial regime 4, 46, 48 and society 118; and subordination 120;
neo-patrimonialism 47 transparency of 129; see also power
nihilism 149; see also legal nihilism vertical; Putin; vertical of power
nomenklatura 10, 20, 30; lite 51; Soviet power vertical 8, 29, 30, 102; and
90; see also bureaucracy corruption 37; as façade 34; and
non-liberal society 136 Putin 41; in USSR 28
non-rational will 147 practical reason 140
North, D. 67, 68 private property 69, 77, 88; and
economic performance 71; Hegel on
odukhotvorennost’ 159 81; and market institutions 83; rights
oligarchs 20, 21, 72; see also to 65, 71; in romantic social reform
Khodorkovsky agenda 179
opinion polls 121, 126, 129 privatization 18, 30; of state
Orthodox Christianity 111, 159 77, 81
Orthodox Christians 111, 143 privatized state 98n56
Orthodox Church 6, 12, 179, 232; as property: appropriation of 20;
state ideology 220; in Constitution guarantees 104; land 187n26;
228; ethics 162; heritage 142; space institution of 4; and power 177–8;
159; see also Russian Orthodox rights to 4, 64, 68, 71, 73; state 20; see
Church also private property; privatization;
Orthodoxy 167n26 property rights.
property rights 9, 46, 60, 67;
‘Party of swindlers and thieves’ 199, enforcement of 61; fuzzy 63; in
215n4; see also Navalny; Putin; modern economics 60; violations
United Russia of 72
paternalism 183; authoritarian 215; Proudhon, P.-J. 69
sham 42 public discourse 133
paternalistic authority 213 public good 119, 127
patriarch, mission of 231; public opinion 119, 125, 128
see also Kirill public reason 86
patrimonial regime 70 Putin, V. 11, 13, 19, 28, 76;
patrimonial sultanate 20 anti-Westernism of 36; approval
244 Index
rating of 121; autocracy of 45; Russian Constitution 7, 181; see also
autocratic turn of 35; and capitalism Constitution; legal nihilism
20; and centralization 37; and Russian cosmism 156
Chechnya 34; on collapse of the Russian culturological thought 156
Soviet Union 163; conduct of 32; and Russian idea 155, 157, 161–2, 164
crime rate35; and electoral reform 33; Russian idealistic values 157
and forest management 123; and Russian Orthodox Church 143,
guided democracy 17; hobby of 149, 164; documents of 220; ethics of
217n24; image of 201; on internet 134; ideology of 146; on human rights
202; on Khodorkovsky’s guilt 209; 143, 144, 182; relation to the state
and Kirill’s enthronement 228; and 223; and Russian statehood 220; and
kul’turologiia 164; legitimacy of 129; state 231; tradition of 149; see also
and market society 14; and media 24, Church–state relations; Kirill;
210; and Medvedev 207; model of Medvedev; symphony
communication of 201, 209, 212; and Russian Orthodox tradition 142
oligarchs 20, 21; and party system 22; Russian peripheral capitalism 78, 80,
and power vertical 29; as prime 84–5
minister 114; regime of 77; and Russian political thought 169
Russian idea 164; system of 29; and Russian space 162
Yeltsin 236; see also Medvedev; Russian spirit 160
power vertical; United Russia Russian statehood 113, 220
Putinism 34 Russian way 157, 161, 165–6

rational capitalism 80–1, 97n46 samobytnost’ 157, 164

rational choice 17, 184; theory 71 Schmitt, C. 94n14, 170
rational individuals 141 Schumpeter, J. 81, 86, 88, 92
rationalism 133, 136, 148, 169, 172; secular state 221–2
and Dostoevsky 137; and separation of power 181
Enlightenment 169; and legitimacy sham constitutionalism 13,
135; v. historicism 171; Western 5, 22, 181
134, 137 Shevtsova, L. 14, 36, 48, 49
rationality 5, 119, 136–7, 145, 149; of Skolkovo 51
democracy 145; of human rights law Slavophile(s) 11, 29, 157, 173, 180
142; liberal 150; of power 133; Smith, A. 65, 66
practical 141; of responsibility 142; of smuta 177
social contract 142; weak 146, 148 sobornost’ 157
Rawls, J. 133, 135 social contract 134, 136, 141
Rechtsstaat 4, 13, 17, 21 social media 199
Reformation 109, 110 social networking 200, 213
rent sharing 20 social networks 199
rentier state 48 social values 179
rent-seeking 64, 77, 93n8 socialdemocratization 8
revolution: coloured 106, 173; socialism 171
conservative 171, 183, 185; Glorious socialist 111
70; Industrial 111; neoliberal 96n41; Solzhenitsyn, A. 171
Russian 177 sovereign democracy 182
Ricardo, D. 80 Spengler, O. 157, 160
robber capitalism 9, 72 Stalin, J. 8, 34, 197n2, 229
romanticism 169–71, 183, 184; political Stalinism 178
169, 170, 182; revolutionary 169 Stalinization 196
Rousseau, J.-J. 18, 46 stationary bandits 63
rule of law 236; see also Stillman, P. 118, 128, 131n28
Rechtsstaat symphony 174, 220, 223–4, 228, 231;
Russian capitalism 84, 97n44 between Church and state 223–4; idea
 Index 245
of 225–6; and legitimacy 6; vlast’ 49, 52, 200; communication with
between Medvedev and Kirill 225; 201; legitimacy of 215; otecheskaia
Patriarch on 231; state–Church 213; and society 215n2
relations 229; state–society voluntarism 137
relations 182 vseedinstvo 160

Tatarstan 16, 17 Weber, M. 5, 13, 46–7, 70, 82, 117, 128;

technocracy 46, 50, 52–3; as approach to capitalism 80;
instrument 4; language of 51; capitalism of 76; on capitalism 80,
as legitimating device 47; as 97n46; concept of legitimacy 128;
legitimizing 4; as source of on democracy in Russia 109; Dogan
legitimacy 50 on 127; on legitimacy 118–19,
theology: Lutheran 142; political 185; legitimate domination 121; restraints
Russian Orthodox 142 on capitalism 81; sham
theoretical reason 140 constitutionalism 22;
Time of Troubles 177 theory of 118
Tocqueville, A. de 90 Weberian means 48
Tolstoy, L. 13 Westernization 174, 182, 185, 238
tsivilographiia 161 Westernizers 173
Tumanov 13–4, 15, 16 women’s rights 85
twitterization 211
Yedinaia Rossiia 41; see also United
United Russia 29, 202; and democracy Russia
212; emergence of 23; ideological Yeltsin, B. 14, 16, 19, 20, 22, 28, 178;
program of 115; and Navalny 199; and constitution 14; Constitution of
relation with Moscow utilities’ 221; democracy of 35; and
clan 117; and social Gorbachev 9; inauguration of 226;
networking 213; inheritance of 34; and
Universal Declaration of institution-building 18; legitimacy of
Human Rights 133; see also 129; and mass media 24; and national
bureaucracy; Putin idea 164; and Putin 236; regime
of 115; superpresindentialism 77
value(s): approach 118; Asian 133, Yukos 40, 63, 72; see also
151n21; core 128; system 156; Khodorkovsky
universality of 2
Vattimo, G. 135, 146, 148, 149; zakonomernost’ 154, 161
approach of 148 Zasulich, V. 138
Veblen, T. 69 Zhirinovsky, V. 23
vertical of power 19, 39, 40; see also Zor’kin, V. 14, 17; on technocracy 53
Putin; power vertical Zyuganov, G. 19