November 24, 2012
Putin’s Circle: Corruption, Connections, and Adultery?
Earlier this month, the Russian defense minister Anatoly Serdyukov was fired. The stated cause was allegations of corruption related to his agency, but this may not have been the only, or even the main factor. According to several Russian media reports, there may also have been a woman involved. The minister was reportedly estranged from his wife and had close relations with a female employee.
Adam Gopnik observed recently, in connection with the case of General David Petraeus, that American generals are also human. It shouldn’t be a surprise that the Russian defense minister, even without the benefit of military discipline—Serdyukov’s earlier background is in furniture trade—might also find it hard to resist desire.
But if the Russian and the American dismissals of high-ranking officials have something in common, there are divergences. For one thing, corruption has not been an issue in the Petraeus case. And as adulteries commonly go, Petraeus’s story is mostly about four people: the general, his wife, his mistress, and her husband, along with a supporting cast—the Tampa hostess, the shirtless F.B.I. agent, the e-mailing second general. But the rumor about the Russian minister’s adultery persistently mentions another central character: the minister’s father-in-law.
Serdyukov’s wife is the daughter of a former Prime Minister who used to be a colleague of Vladimir Putin in early nineties when both worked in the Saint Petersburg mayor’s office, and is believed to be a member of Putin’s current inner circle. Serdyukov’s father-in-law was arguably a key driving force in his career. As a Russian observer wrote this week, Serdyukov owes to his marriage “his dashing transformation from an owner of a furniture business to a cabinet minister.” As Putin appointed him in charge of the defense ministry, Serdyukov launched an ambitious reform of the armed forces; the reform encroached on important interests of the military establishment, but staunch support of the President enabled Serdyukov to move on. Serdyukov’s dismissal looked like a most unusual move for Putin, who has a reputation of a leader who “never gives in his own”, corrupt or not. A possible explanation that the Russian rumor mill is suggesting: in the adultery scenario, Putin’s loyalty would have been to the father-in-law.
In Russia we don’t have the American transparency, leaving these rumors only rumors; it’s inconceivable that the minister would make statements apologizing to his family for his “poor judgment,” or that the media would quote flirtatious email exchanges. (Boris Yeltsin’s Russia was much less discreet: in 1999 a state-run national TV network showed a man who “looked a lot like the prosecutor general” frolicking naked with two young women who also happened to be unclad. Nobody had the slightest doubt that it was indeed the prosecutor general, and his career was effectively over after the secretly filmed episode was broadcast.) Unlike the intimate affairs, allegations of corruption, however, can be public and formal; these days the state-controlled television savors stories about the luxurious life styles of arrested officials. One of those currently under prosecution is the same lady who is rumored to be the cause of the abrupt end of Serdyukov’s ministerial career. The Russian audience was informed that Evgenia Vasilieva lives in a 13-room apartment worth about ten million dollars filled with expensive jewelry and art masterpieces. She is currently under house arrest, an unusually soft pre-trial treatment for the Russian legal practices.
Putin didn’t give up on Serdyukov entirely, saying that he dismissed him in order “to ensure necessary conditions for an objective investigation.” But as the investigation unfolded the President strongly suggested that the minister was clean: the investigation, and the courts, “lay no claims on Serdyukov personally,” Putin said. Such statements can be decisive in an environment where the rulings of the judiciary are commonly bent in favor of the more powerful. Prior to the sentencing in the second trial of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, once Russia’s wealthiest tycoon, Putin said, “A thief belongs in jail.” The case against Khodorkovsky had the appearance of an egregious and absurd fabrication, but the judge ruled that he would be locked in a labor camp until 2017.
Corruption may be as human as adultery is, and in Russia it is easily no less common. Corruption is often described to have become the very texture of Russian life. (In 2011, according to the Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index, Russia ranked a hundred and forty-third out of a hundred and eighty-two countries).
Yet the mechanisms and driving forces of the anti-corruption campaign recently launched by the government (In addition to the defense ministry, several other high-profile investigations of corruption are currently underway.) are hardly more transparent than the love life of the minister of defense.
Anti-corruption campaigns are generally a product of political competition: newly elected leadership come with clean hands to investigate the wrongdoings of their defeated predecessors. Yet in Russia we don’t have either political competition or a new leadership. The same leader in whose tenure graft and kickbacks have reached abominable proportions now sets out to expose corruption. It is speculated that the purpose of the current campaign is to boost Putin’s somewhat eroded popularity or to intimidate his elites into loyalty or both. Since the law-enforcement and the judiciary are under control it is up to the most powerful to decide who will be “sacrificed” so others be kept in fear. The choice of Serdyukov may have a special goal of tempering the discontent over the minister’s reforms caused among the military. And this choice was probably easier to make if the theory of the vengeful father-in-law is true.
But whatever the ultimate goal of the anti-corruption campaign, in the Russian political system built on informal client-patron ties, one should make sure that the investigations do not go in the “wrong ” direction so those who deserve to be covered up would not be affected.
In early November, the police announced a theft related to the development of GLONASS, a Russian-made equivalent of the G.P.S. navigation system; the stolen funds allegedly amounted to six-and-a-half-billion rubles, or over two hundred million dollars. The man who had been in charge of the GLONASS project is Sergey Ivanov, who is broadly seen as very close to Putin. The two men served together in the Soviet foreign intelligence in the nineteen-seventies; during Putin’s leadership Ivanov held a number of high-ranking government offices, and about a year ago he was appointed to the position of Putin’s chief of staff.
A couple of weeks ago, Ivanov was interviewed by a polite and sympathetic TV reporter about the corruption allegations related to GLONASS. Ivanov said that he had “a sense, suspicions that something was not right” as far back as two or three years ago. In the interview he presented himself as a shocked bystander.
Apparently, this explanation was persuasive—at any rate, there are no reports that Sergey Ivanov’s role in GLONASS-related embezzlement is under scrutiny. Just as with the defense minister, the investigation will likely spare the person close to Putin.
Photograph by Platon. Read David Remnick on the resistance to Putin.
Serdyukov’s wife is the daughter of a former Prime Minister who used to be a colleague of Vladimir Putin in early nineties when both worked in the Saint Petersburg mayor’s office, and is believed to be a member of Putin’s current inner circle. Serdyukov’s father-in-law was arguably a key driving force in his career. As a Russian observer wrote this week, Serdyukov owes to his marriage “his dashing transformation from an owner of a furniture business to a cabinet minister.” As Putin appointed him in charge of the defense ministry, Serdyukov launched an ambitious reform of the armed forces; the reform encroached on important interests of the military establishment, but staunch support of the President enabled Serdyukov to move on. Serdyukov’s dismissal looked like a most unusual move for Putin, who has a reputation of a leader who “never gives in his own”, corrupt or not. A possible explanation that the Russian rumor mill is suggesting: in the adultery scenario, Putin’s loyalty would have been to the father-in-law.
In Russia we don’t have the American transparency, leaving these rumors only rumors; it’s inconceivable that the minister would make statements apologizing to his family for his “poor judgment,” or that the media would quote flirtatious email exchanges. (Boris Yeltsin’s Russia was much less discreet: in 1999 a state-run national TV network showed a man who “looked a lot like the prosecutor general” frolicking naked with two young women who also happened to be unclad. Nobody had the slightest doubt that it was indeed the prosecutor general, and his career was effectively over after the secretly filmed episode was broadcast.) Unlike the intimate affairs, allegations of corruption, however, can be public and formal; these days the state-controlled television savors stories about the luxurious life styles of arrested officials. One of those currently under prosecution is the same lady who is rumored to be the cause of the abrupt end of Serdyukov’s ministerial career. The Russian audience was informed that Evgenia Vasilieva lives in a 13-room apartment worth about ten million dollars filled with expensive jewelry and art masterpieces. She is currently under house arrest, an unusually soft pre-trial treatment for the Russian legal practices.
Putin didn’t give up on Serdyukov entirely, saying that he dismissed him in order “to ensure necessary conditions for an objective investigation.” But as the investigation unfolded the President strongly suggested that the minister was clean: the investigation, and the courts, “lay no claims on Serdyukov personally,” Putin said. Such statements can be decisive in an environment where the rulings of the judiciary are commonly bent in favor of the more powerful. Prior to the sentencing in the second trial of Mikhail Khodorkovsky, once Russia’s wealthiest tycoon, Putin said, “A thief belongs in jail.” The case against Khodorkovsky had the appearance of an egregious and absurd fabrication, but the judge ruled that he would be locked in a labor camp until 2017.
Corruption may be as human as adultery is, and in Russia it is easily no less common. Corruption is often described to have become the very texture of Russian life. (In 2011, according to the Transparency International Corruption Perceptions Index, Russia ranked a hundred and forty-third out of a hundred and eighty-two countries).
Yet the mechanisms and driving forces of the anti-corruption campaign recently launched by the government (In addition to the defense ministry, several other high-profile investigations of corruption are currently underway.) are hardly more transparent than the love life of the minister of defense.
Anti-corruption campaigns are generally a product of political competition: newly elected leadership come with clean hands to investigate the wrongdoings of their defeated predecessors. Yet in Russia we don’t have either political competition or a new leadership. The same leader in whose tenure graft and kickbacks have reached abominable proportions now sets out to expose corruption. It is speculated that the purpose of the current campaign is to boost Putin’s somewhat eroded popularity or to intimidate his elites into loyalty or both. Since the law-enforcement and the judiciary are under control it is up to the most powerful to decide who will be “sacrificed” so others be kept in fear. The choice of Serdyukov may have a special goal of tempering the discontent over the minister’s reforms caused among the military. And this choice was probably easier to make if the theory of the vengeful father-in-law is true.
But whatever the ultimate goal of the anti-corruption campaign, in the Russian political system built on informal client-patron ties, one should make sure that the investigations do not go in the “wrong ” direction so those who deserve to be covered up would not be affected.
In early November, the police announced a theft related to the development of GLONASS, a Russian-made equivalent of the G.P.S. navigation system; the stolen funds allegedly amounted to six-and-a-half-billion rubles, or over two hundred million dollars. The man who had been in charge of the GLONASS project is Sergey Ivanov, who is broadly seen as very close to Putin. The two men served together in the Soviet foreign intelligence in the nineteen-seventies; during Putin’s leadership Ivanov held a number of high-ranking government offices, and about a year ago he was appointed to the position of Putin’s chief of staff.
A couple of weeks ago, Ivanov was interviewed by a polite and sympathetic TV reporter about the corruption allegations related to GLONASS. Ivanov said that he had “a sense, suspicions that something was not right” as far back as two or three years ago. In the interview he presented himself as a shocked bystander.
“I worked in foreign intelligence most of my life. The worst thing that can happen there is betrayal. It’s the same here. For when you see that people whom you trusted, whom the government trusted after all and allocated huge funds for certain purposes, and they are used, mildly speaking, not for the purpose they were allocated for, well how can you treat such a person? How can you treat such people? But I endured. Endured. I didn’t show it because I understood that if I show it, this would simply drive these people wary and they will try to cover up their tracks.”
Apparently, this explanation was persuasive—at any rate, there are no reports that Sergey Ivanov’s role in GLONASS-related embezzlement is under scrutiny. Just as with the defense minister, the investigation will likely spare the person close to Putin.
Photograph by Platon. Read David Remnick on the resistance to Putin.
Read more: http://www.newyorker.com/online/blogs/newsdesk/2012/11/putin-inner-circle.html#ixzz2DFonrCmZ
