These facts all belie any deep equivalency between Yeltsinism and Bolshevism. Lenin and the revolutionaries of 1917 were violent utopians, hellbent on building a brave new world on universalist precepts inimical to those of the capitalist democracies. On Soviet territory, they were monopolists, centralizers, and annihilators of the tsarist ruling stratum and of lesser social groups, such as the kulaks, whom they saw as uncongenial to the new order. On the international stage, they were a disruptive force. In sum, the Bolsheviks sought to make a Great Leap Forward, blazing the trail for others to follow. Yeltsin sought a Great Leap Outward. He meant for his de-monopolizing revolution to make Russia more similar to the rest of Europe and mankind by affording it the ABCs of a market economy and of a democratic social and political order, as he conceptualized them. Russia, in his mind’s eye, needed “to catch up, to strain every nerve, and to make super efforts in order to become like the rest.”86 He parceled out power and had nothing against old-timers from the previous regime going into politics (like Yegor Ligachëv, who was elected to parliament in 1993, and Nikolai Ryzhkov, elected in 1995) or into business. In foreign policy, he was a joiner of transnational organizations and a realistic taker of terms from stronger powers.87
In the political realm, Yeltsin after 1991 infracted democratic principles more than once and resorted to military force to quell opponents in 1993 against the Congress of People’s Deputies and in 1994 against the separatist rebels in Chechnya. However, there were extenuating circumstances in both these cases, as we shall see. Viktor Sheinis, a distinguished foreign-policy scholar and legislator, who took strong issue with him on specifics, strikes an appropriate balance in his memoirs on the things Yeltsin did right:
Now that Boris Yeltsin’s career is completed and the sternest accusations have been made against him, I would like to underscore something opposite: that the undeniable authoritarianism in his style of behavior and rule had its limits. It was limited by his recognition of certain democratic values, far from all but very important ones, which he did not drink in with his mother’s milk but to which, once he had assimilated them, he remained loyal. These would include the right of people to have and express their opinions, freedom of the press and freedom to criticize the government, and the free movement of citizens. Curbs on political pluralism and straightforward suppression of opposition, unless it itself had moved to violent actions, were in a forbidden zone for him. It is impossible not to take into the perspective one other noteworthy factor. From the earliest phase of his ascent to power, starting in 1990, Yeltsin displayed a quality exceptional for a person of his age and circle—an aptitude for educating himself and for intellectual growth.88
As president, Yeltsin confined himself by and large to pacific means of realizing his goals. Unlike the Bolsheviks, he did not put his opponents before an execution squad or behind razor wire. He would slough off powers and revenues to the provinces, enlarge media freedoms, and win mass consent through election. For the first sustained period in modern times, Yeltsin’s Russia was to be a land without political censors, political exiles, or political prisoners—a museum was built in 1994 at the last camp, Perm-36, which Gorbachev had closed in 1987. Both Peter the Great and the early communists made a cultural revolution in Russia. Peter ordered his subjects to shave their beards, forsake traditional clothing, and take communion once a year. Lenin and Stalin prescribed atheism, discipline on the factory floor, and reverence for the party and backed them up with terror and cradle-tograve indoctrination. Yeltsin had no stomach for interventions in matters of manners and morals and would continue the trend under perestroika away from state controls over the individual.
A facile parallel with Bolshevism would overrate the mercilessness and consistency of Yeltsin’s conduct over the full course of his presidency. Overrigorous design of the reforms, while sometimes a factor, was to be far from the only cause of the agonies associated with them. Policies that prolonged the needed changes, lacked cohesion, and spared the cost did as much harm, especially but not exclusively in the economic area.89 As Reddaway and Glinski note—and as flies in the face of the postulate of messianism—Yeltsin and successive subleaders to him adjusted their economic and other policies as they proceeded and seldom behaved as though they had a stepby-step scheme: “Their ruling passion was political pragmatism.”90
Pragmatism in policy generated neither mere opportunism nor an even flow of decisions. Instead, the reality in the Russia Yeltsin remade was a perplexing blend of types. Reform would be a long footslog—down a winding road, against a headwind. Its political history was studded with acts of statesmanship but also with wasted chances and spells of inaction. As will become apparent in subsequent chapters, when this discombobulated country forged ahead, as it surely did on Yeltsin’s watch, it was in fits and starts and not in a steady beat. So it went because of rearing uncertainty, institutional and coalitional politics, and what Oleg Poptsov called “swings in the social temperature.” And so it went because of the person whose hand was at the tiller. “Political arrhythmia,” as Poptsov colorfully put it, was to be a lasting ingredient of Yeltsin’s style as national leader.91
CHAPTER TEN
Resistances
Conscious beliefs and intuitions planted Yeltsin’s feet on the “civilized path” of radical reformation. They came forth intermingled from disenchantment with communism and a search for a better future. One has to wonder in wide angle why this effort accomplished what it did and why it did not accomplish more, and why not less painfully.
Post-communism as a milieu ought to have offered scope for statecraft. Above, a commanding leader promised fundamental change and was liberated from the roles and rules of the now-vanished civilization of the USSR. In so protean a medium, “The room for individual impact—that is, the impact of such things as intelligence, emotions, personality, aggressiveness, skill, timing, connections, and ambitions—is enormous.”1 Yeltsin had all these qualities, from brainpower to timing to ambition. Below, in a time of exigency, a “rescue-hungry people” might have been receptive to charismatic inspiration and guidance.2 The angst attendant upon the decease of a tyranny, an empire, or a failed social project—and the Soviet Union was all three—should have attracted the populace to a person who acted with dispatch, calmed nerves, and said he knew of a new way. Russia after the convulsions of 1985 to 1991 looked ripe for a season of “extraordinary politics” in which claimants would temper their ordinary demands and think in terms of the common good.3 The man in the best position to identify the common good and act as rescuer was Boris Yeltsin.
As the post-Soviet reforms got under way, this was the uplifting prospect before him and his colleagues. They faced, Yegor Gaidar has written, incalculable risks but also a freedom of maneuver few governments ever have. The Communist Party, its ideology, and its organizational transmission belts were gone. The army, the KGB, and the military-industrial and agricultural lobbies were paralytic, some of their chiefs moldering in prison for their participation in the August coup. Many Russians who had qualms about Western models held their fire: They were “interested in the most ungrateful [tasks] being undertaken by someone else’s hand” so that they could later profit at the reformers’ expense.4