The heavy burden of the presidency
Closely observing Vladimir Putin’s actions, I continued to give him my support, not unconditional but unwavering. He had, after all, assumed the presidency in very difficult circumstances. Quite apart from major national problems and tasks, the president is immersed in a torrent of day-by-day events that require his constant attention, and these often take a heavy psychological toll. He was not able to bring rampant terrorism instantly under control and organize effective resistance to this inhuman, blatant evil. In August 2000, Russia was shocked by the terrible loss of the submarine Kursk. As the result of an explosion, all 118 members of the crew perished. This was a major psychological trauma for the country and a severe test for the president.
The tragedy unfolded in full view of the populace. It seemed at first that some of the crew might be saved, but soon people began getting the impression the sailors had been abandoned to their fate. There was strongly worded criticism of how the military authorities behaved, and criticism also of the president, who was on holiday and did not immediately abandon his vacation. The papers printed photos of Putin waterskiing, which gave the impression that he was either not fully informed or failing to appreciate the seriousness of the situation. It was a blow to the public’s trust in the young president. He did subsequently try to put matters right by visiting Vidyaevo, where the submarine was based, meeting the widows and families of those who had died, and enduring a long, difficult, draining session with them.
At that time I was asked a lot of questions about what was happening. Parallels were drawn with the Chernobyl nuclear disaster. I answered these questions in an interview with Natella Boltyanskaya at Echo of Moscow radio. I said:
The president bears responsibility for everything, in just the same way that nobody can absolve me of at least moral responsibility for everything that happened. The president cannot, however, be held to account for every incident and disaster. His job, his duty and foremost responsibility, is to learn the lessons from every incident and make sure it does not happen again. It is a matter here of the survival and security of the country and the state.
I added: ‘I repeat, what is vital is Glasnost, information, a free, independent, responsible press. That is crucial, and we need to give due credit to our media on this occasion.’
I was sure that the president and the public would respond constructively to this tragedy. In Russia, disasters always bring people together, I said, and I see that happening in this case too. ‘I hope the government will act now in a way that ensures this sense of common cause leads to greater mutual understanding between society and the government.’
Subsequent events showed that was indeed the crux of the matter.
The main issue during that first year, and indeed of the following years of Putin’s presidency, was the matter of democracy. It seemed to me that, overall, Putin was committed to it, and I said as much both to my friends and to Russian and foreign journalists. In a situation where the first priority had to be restoring the standing of the state and stabilizing the economy, tough measures were unavoidable, but what I opposed was moves towards authoritarianism affecting state and public institutions.
Under the constitution, the president of Russia was already endowed with immense power, which made it all the more important not to weaken and undermine those other branches of government, the legislature and judiciary, as well as local authorities in the provinces. Unfortunately, measures adopted by the federal centre were increasingly aiming to do just that.
First, plenipotentiary representatives of the president were appointed for seven federal territories. This move was not properly explained to the public, and the powers and responsibilities of these representatives of the head of state were not clearly defined.
Next, the composition of the Federation Council was modified. It had previously consisted of the popularly elected governors and chairmen of the legislative assemblies of the regions of Russia. Under new arrangements, the Federation Council was to consist of appointed representatives of the governor and legislative body, and it very soon became clear that these people often had no roots in the region and were in effect being appointed by Moscow. As a result, the political standing of the Federation Council, which even before had not been particularly great, was further weakened, and the State Council, set up seemingly by way of compensation and in which the governors sit alternately, never has acquired political weight or any significant role. Its functions are unclear and it meets infrequently.
As regards the lower house of parliament, the State Duma, it was ‘tamed’ by other methods. Even under Yeltsin it could not play a substantial role in the taking of decisions on the main issues affecting the country. It was hobbled by the lack of strong political parties, without which all the other institutions can be little more than sham democracy.
The political parties in the early 2000s made a dismal impression. There was the ‘party of government’, whose name was changed periodically but which invariably represented the interests of the bureaucracy and big business; the Communist Party of the Russian Federation, which chose not to reject the legacy of Stalinism; the ‘Liberal Democratic’ Party of Russia headed by Vladimir Zhirinovsky, which pretended to fulfil the role of a shrill opposition; the Yabloko Party, which seemed to have lost the will to live; and the Union of Right Forces, irredeemably stigmatized by its association with the ‘reforms’ of the 1990s which had forced tens of millions of Russians into penury. It was clear to me that, with this kind of political line-up, Russia had little prospect of escaping the clutches of the old, discredited politics.
My social democratic choice
Russia needs the ideas and policies of social democracy. Both in the 1990s and later, I was certain that what was missing from Russia’s political spectrum was a strong social democratic party. It would be disingenuous of me to claim that before Perestroika I had the appreciation of social democracy that I ultimately developed.
At first I looked very tentatively at social democracy, trying to gain a better understanding of the philosophy, the political convictions and moral standpoint of people who had devoted their lives to it. I had, first and foremost, a practical question, which was whether it might be possible to begin a dialogue and interact politically with social democrats abroad.
In June 1993 I gave a lecture in Stockholm in memory of the Swedish prime minister Olof Palme, and told my audience about an episode that had occurred during the Twenty-Eighth Congress of the CPSU. During the congress we received news of the assassination of Palme. Opening the next session, the chairman proposed we should honour the memory of this remarkable man with a minute’s silence. All the delegates rose to their feet. I believe that minute’s silence was an important milestone on the road of our spiritual emancipation, of our recognition of the significance of shared humane values.
In the ideas and experience of international social democracy, we were seeking something that could be used to reform Soviet society. It was impossible not to see the contribution of social democracy to the policies of social reform that had genuinely improved the lives of workers in many Western countries.