The emperor and the robber barons
Simon Sebag Montefiore
MIDNIGHT DIARIES by Boris Yeltsin Weidenfeld, £20, pp. 398 Boris Yeltsin is the leader who ruled Russia between 1991 and 2000 with the dis- tant caprice and the contradictory, some- times irrational, instincts of a tsar. He saved Russia from communism in 1991 but oversaw the dismantlement of its imperium, introduced democracy yet crushed his elect- ed though communist parliament with tanks, championed a free press yet ordered two unnecessary, slaughterous Chechen wars, and created a westernised free mar- ket yet sold off Russia's crown jewels to the robber barons known as the 'oligarchs'. Yeltsin's third book on his political career is the story of his troubled second term. It is as contradictory as its creator: on the one hand it is a ghost-written, self-justifying political memoir, but on the other it rings with the whimsical, passionate, distant, mercurial, protean, unreliable, Machiavel- lian imperial voice of this extraordinary sur- vivor. While his accounts of meetings with foreign leaders are tedious, and his claim that Russian intelligence learned that the Republicans were going to plant a Mata Had in the White House and that she turned out to be Monica Lewinsky is unconvincing, the fascinating parts cover internal politics. Having seen this white- haired giant with the gait of a ruined basketball player at Kremlin summits and having sat on one of his tanks that bom- barded his parliament in 1993, I was sur- prised how much I enjoyed this book; apart from the turgid bluster characteristic of retired leaders, it is rich in the nuances, hints and shadows of Russia past and future.
Yeltsin believes that nothing became his holding of office like his statesmanlike manner of leaving it. He begins at the end with his secret and unexpected decision to resign prematurely and elevate his unknown prime minister, a shadowy securi- ty official named Vladimir Putin, into the elected presidency. Then he backtracks to 1995 to tell how he won his second term with the support of his camarilla of sinister plutocrats led by the oligarch of oligarchs, Boris Berezovsky. Yeltsin explains how his daughter Tania became his effective chief- of-staff — he is totally open about her influence, and his love for her is rather charming. But as with every Russian emperor, this is a story about favouritism — nothing changes. The Russian presidency was so powerful that Yeltsin's powers were cer- tainly equal to those of the Kaiser in pre- first-world-war Germany. He admits that his favourite aides became a sort of family, and he reveals details that are compelling. For example, he says that Anatoly Chubais, architect of much of the privatisation poli- cies and the most influential of his officials, was a capitalist Bolshevik, meaning possi- bly that the ends always justified the means. General Alexander Korzhakov, the overpromoted bodyguard who betrayed his master, comes across as a bluff secret policeman corrupted by power: but who granted him this vast power other than Yeltsin? Yeltsin probably correctly describes General Alexander Lebed, the gruff Napoleonic pretender who ended the first war in Chechnya, as a vivid, ambitious, talented but essentially shallow showman who lacked confidence and self-discipline. But the real favourite of his era, Bere- zovsky, the Rasputin to his Nicholas II, the Potemkin to his Catherine, remains a mys- tery. Yeltsin admits he admires his vibrant mind, betrays no unease with his vast fortune, but claims he never liked The election won, we see Yeltsin become increasingly distant from government, but We cannot but sympathise with his fight for health against overwhelming odds while Berezovsky, Chubais, Korzhakov and his daughter struggle for power. Some omis- sions are particularly interesting: there is little detail, for example, on the privatisa- tions in which the empire was given away to the oligarchs, but this is just an indica- tion of how distant Yeltsin was from the actual government at this time. He claims that he did not have a drink problem and that his zany conducting of a band in Berlin was just a way of letting off steam. In fact Yeltsin revels in his own character and reveals what was less apparent in public the depression, insomnia and the nerves, tempered with a genius for power and a vision of a free Russia, two tendencies not always compatible. The combination of las- situde, eccentricity, passion, inconsistency and ruthlessness puts him in the tradition of Peter the Great and Prince Potemkin.
A more serious omission is an appraisal of the two appalling Chechen wars, except for denouncing the entire Chechen nation as bandit killers. He appears to be unable to admit that while half his legacy will be the towering achievement of the end of communism and the creation of capitalist, democratic Russia, the other half is made up of billionaire robber barons, alcoholic buffoonery and pits full of murdered women and children in the villages of Chechnya.
The last part of the book is devoted to the bewildering changes of prime minister in the late Nineties. Here Yeltsin is at his best, openly explaining his gambles and cal- culations in his effort to destroy threats to his power from prime ministers like Cher- nomyrdin and Primakov and the mayor of Moscow, Luzhkov, while moving his appointees around like a chess-player. His impulsive daring at this Machiavellian game for huge stakes shows his talent for the unexpected move to throw off his ene- mies. He says his staff were used to his capriciousness. I bet they were. And then finally he finds Putin. He implies that Putin was the only man strong enough to protect democracy, capitalism the Yeltsin legacy — and win the people's respect. This book is fascinating for many reasons but none more so than the clues it contains to Putin's character. Yeltsin first notices his future successor when Putin secretly spirits his fallen patron, ex-Peters- burg Mayor Sobchak, out of Russia. When he meets Putin, now on his presidential staff, he is impressed because the young man makes no attempt to butter up the president, or even to make polite chit-chat. He just speaks with spare, cold clarity. This authority impresses Yeltsin even though Putin is his opposite. But Yeltsin gives hints, perhaps unconsciously, that are wor- rying. He says he wanted Putin to protect his democratic legacy, then adds, 'And 1 wanted to do this through victory in the elections, the sort of public politics he dis- liked.'
He thereby suggests Putin's distaste for the very thing he is supposed to be protect- ing. Yeltsin also claims that it was Putin's idea to wage the second Chechen war, that highly popular campaign that won him the 2000 elections. So the old president does little to reassure us about the new except for his love of order and strength, never encouraging notions in Russia.
Yeltsin's last success is as ambiguous as his life: in order to protect his democratic legacy, he hoists his own candidate onto the throne, backed by near-media monopoly, aided by incumbency and a short election that effectively prevents his opponents running an opposition cam- paign, and promoted by a victorious war hardly in democratic spirit. It's classic Yeltsin and he has indeed prevented the return of the communists, who surely still represent a threat to Russia. But the essence of the Yeltsin story is found in this last toss of the dice: until after 1796, when Emperor Paul established a Law of Succes- sion, Russian tsars simply chose their suc- cessors. This old tsar sees himself clearly in that imperial tradition, for as the ailing magician arranges Putin's succession with a last brilliant flash of political dexterity, he mentions specifically the fir-and-diamond- stuffed crown of Great Prince Vladimir Monomakh: 'I was not just offering him promotion after all. I wanted to hand him the crown of Monomakh.'
Yeltsin's Russia was still very much a land of emperors and favourites.
Prince of Princes: The Life of Potemkin by Simon Sebag Montefiore is published by Weidenfeld & Nicolson.
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