December. James Steel
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the point for our little expedition is that there are many different security services: FSB, GRU—military intelligence, MVD—Interior Ministry, OMON—riot police. They all have their own troops. Then there’s the Spetsnaz—Special Forces—army, airforce, navy and marines. Each has its little networks of politicians and companies that it controls.
‘Putin removed the constitutional checks and balances on the executive, and once you’ve done that you’re back to the law of the jungle. I’m telling you, the factions in the Kremlin are like lions fighting over a kill. Putin and Medvedev divided power between themselves and then fell out, so Krymov was put in place supposedly because he was so boring that he wouldn’t threaten anyone. But he was more cunning than they thought, was able to rally a faction behind him and spring a coup against both of them.
‘So, we have gone back to a situation more like the court of a tsar, with competing factional groups of boyars—the nobles. The Tsar divided the assets of the country between them. That used to be land and serfs but now it’s political parties, government ministries, oil and gas resources, mines and companies. Because of this, the leader of Russia appears to outsiders as an autocrat but only because of the support of élite factions behind him. They support him because he suits their interests. As soon as they are not getting what they want, then they’ll turn on him.
‘You can get a stable political system if you have an intelligent guy like Putin who can actually balance factions, but Krymov is so stupid he can’t write two words without making five mistakes. So now we have a fight between the various branches of the security services for the spoils of the economy.’
Alex nodded; he could see what Sergey was saying and how it would open up conflict at an élite level.
‘OK, so who’s on your faction?’
Sergey grinned. ‘Well, officially I’m on no one’s. Krymov thinks he’s my best friend and,’ he made an equivocating gesture with his hand, ‘despite what I said, I like him. We’re drinking buddies and he laughs at my jokes, so he doesn’t take me seriously and just lets me drift around making money. I don’t harm anyone. I’m safely neutral, you see, plus I am a businessman—I started out on a market stall—so I can actually run businesses, which the siloviki can’t, so sometimes it’s helpful for them to put a strategic sector in neutral hands. That’s why I’ve got ownership of all the TV stations—it was easier to give them to a fool like me than start a huge fight between different groups.’
Alex saw a contradiction in Sergey’s motivation and looked at him quizzically. ‘But you’re making a lot of money out of all this?’
‘Yes, I am,’ Sergey nodded, unashamed.
‘So why are you starting a coup?’
‘Because Russia deserves better than this,’ he smiled, ‘Alexander…’ He frowned. ‘What’s your father’s name?’
Alex was momentarily wrong-footed. ‘Nicholas.’
Sergey started again in the correct respectful Russian manner. ‘Alexander Nikolayevich,’ he gave a self-deprecating smile and held up a hand, ‘all in good time. I will explain my motives later and you’ll meet our team tomorrow.’
He carried on along his former line of thought. ‘So, anyway, as I was saying, that’s the weakness at an élite level. On a popular level it’s the same. Russia looks strong but in fact things are not so good if you look under the surface. Our main problem is the curse of abundant natural resources: we’ve got so much oil and gas that we don’t have to go through the tiresome business of actually developing a functioning economy—we just dig a hole in the ground and the money pours out. Basically we’re just a petro-state in the same way as any other Third World dictatorship. It leads to what I call the gangsterisation of the economy. You have an FSB man sitting on the board of all major companies. Now these guys are good at wiretaps, surveillance, hits—they can do that—but can they read a balance sheet? Do they have a feel for a market? Can they organise a supply chain? The fuck they can! They’re hoods, spooks! And they have successfully screwed the economy as a result!’
Sergey grew more animated, jabbing his finger at Alex, his diamond earring flashing. ‘Do we have a thriving industrial sector? Do we export any manufactured goods at all apart from weapons? No! Do we have a service sector? No! Can you name one fucking Russian company that isn’t Gazprom, Lukoil or some other natural resources producer? A software company? A clothing brand? No! Because we are a fucking banana republic run by goons! Do I want that for my country? The fuck I do!’
Sergey was suddenly disturbed by how carried away he had got, and poured out two small teas to calm himself down. He did this with a thin stream of liquid from a height above the cups, and then neatly snapped off the stream with a flick of his wrist. He put the ornate pot down and continued.
‘So, we are what you call a one-trick pony. Over half of all government revenue comes from oil taxes but they make money only when the price is over seventy bucks a barrel. When prices hit one forty-seven we were laughing, but now they’ve crashed we’re screwed. We didn’t share out the proceeds of the wealth when we did have it, so bastards like me are rich, but if you look at the provinces and the working class, they are desperately poor. I mean, the population is actually shrinking by seven hundred thousand people a year because of alcoholism, suicide, drugs and AIDS. We’ll lose a third of our population in the next fifty years. That’s not a healthy country! And those stupid fucking sheep signed all their freedoms away in the good times!’
Alex frowned, unsure whom Sergey was talking about.
‘I mean the Russian people. Don’t get me wrong, I’m one of them, but Russians have never had much respect for democracy. They call it shit-ocracy!’
Alex recognised the Russian pun on the words demokratia and dermokratia.
‘So, they effectively signed a non-participation pact with the government that said: “You let us enjoy the material benefits of the oil price boom, and we’ll turn a blind eye to whatever political violence you want to use.” It’s exactly like that thing about “When they came for the Jews, I did not protest because I was not a Jew”, blah-blah-blah.’ Sergey waved a hand to indicate the rest. ‘So now that times are hard, there’s no one left to protest for them.
‘Now Krymov has spent all the Stabilisation Fund on rearmament so we have twenty per cent inflation—that has really pissed a lot of ordinary people off!’
Sergey was nearing the end of his tea ceremony now, adding salt in little dashes to the cups. He stopped to jab the tiny spoon at Alex.
‘And the final issue that will help our operation the most is the way that they have driven out foreign companies. Those are the guys that actually do know how to run a factory, a refinery, whatever.’
He grinned lopsidedly. ‘Have you heard my joke about foreign investment in Russia?’
Alex shook his head.
Sergey smiled. ‘Well, at the beginning of the process the foreigners have all the money and the experience and the Russians have nothing.’ He paused and looked at Alex with a twinkle in his eye. ‘But by the end of the process the Russians have all the money and the foreigners have had an experience.’
Alex couldn’t help grinning as Sergey bobbed his head about happily.
‘It’s good, yeah? So the siloviki get greedy and drive out ExxonMobil, Total, BP—all of them—so now there is no one left to run the oil refineries and we can’t even produce enough petrol for ourselves, in the largest oil-producing country on Earth!’ He was laughing now. ‘I mean, it would be funny but…’
‘You know, the same thing happened in Iran. We both had to introduce petrol rationing. Krymov used the OMON to suppress the riots when it was introduced but, believe me, with rationing and inflation, there are a lot of fucked-off ordinary people out there who want to see Krymov dead.’
He finished making the tea and put the spoon down.
‘So,