A Russian Diary Read online

  The number of those to whom the state is now indebted runs into millions, which is why we find Putin and Zurabov saying the number of people with privileges in Russia is artificially high. No other country has so many claimants (happily) and accordingly “something needs to be done.” The number is artificially high, of course, because of the constant aggressive policies of our state, which produce casualties of war like mushrooms after rain.

  “Many of our people end up in jail,” Vitalii Volkov tells me. He is the chairman of the Verkhnyaya Salda Association of Ex-Servicemen of Chechnya. He has 200 members. “We are penniless. We can't get work. Many who have come back from Chechnya start thieving, and the next stop is prison. Who is going to come out of our prisons still a human being? If before prison you were in Chechnya, and before Chechnya you were a schoolkid?”

  These associations run by Lyudmila Polymova, Vitalii Volkov, and Vy-acheslav Zykov have been set up when misfortune befell their founders personally. They admit they never dreamed they would become involved in welfare activities or start fighting the state machine. Their organizations have no political aims. They are a product of despair and exist purely to help people survive. Surviving is so hard it leaves no time for anything else.

  How long will people put up with this? That is the decisive question for Russia, as it is also for Ukraine.

  August 29

  In Chechnya the election of Putin's next president has gone ahead. Needless to say, the Kremlin's candidate came in with an “overwhelming majority of votes.” Alu Alkhanov may nominally be the new president, but the real boss is the deranged Ramzan Kadyrov, the twenty-seven-year-old son of Alkhanov's assassinated predecessor, who in his time was, of course, also elected with an “overwhelming majority of votes.”

  Who is Ramzan? For the past year and a half he ran his father's security detail. After the president's assassination he was, perhaps surprisingly, not dismissed for this lapse, but promoted by Putin personally to the exalted post of first deputy prime minister of the Chechen government with special responsibility for security. He is now in charge of the militia, all manner of special operations subdivisions, and the Chechen OMON. Although he has no education, he does hold the rank of captain in the militia. This is surprising, because he is not a militiaman, and higher education is required in Russia before you can become a captain. Be that as it may, he now has the right to give orders to career colonels and generals, which he does. They do as they are commanded, because they know that Ramzan is Putin's favorite.

  What kind of person is Ramzan? What kind of qualifications do you need to be a favorite of Putin? To have ground Chechnya beneath your heel, and forced the entire republic to pay you tribute like an Asiatic bey, is evidently a plus.

  Ramzan is rarely seen outside his village of Tsentoroy, one of the unsightliest of Chechen villages, unfriendly, ugly and swarming with murderous-looking armed men. The village is a collection of narrow, winding, dusty streets hemmed in by enormous fences, behind most of which live members of the Kadyrov family and the families of Kadyrov's most trusted bodyguards and soldiers of the “presidential security service.”

  Two or three years ago, those villagers of Tsentoroy whom Kadyrov didn't trust were simply expelled and their houses given to the bruisers of the security service. The security service is illegal, but well provided with federal armaments. As it is not formally attached to any of the security ministries, it is an “illegal armed formation,” its status no different from that of Basaev's troops, except that it is led by a favorite of Putin. So that's all right.

  Kadyrov's men take part in combat operations as if they were soldiers with the Ministry of Defense; they arrest and interrogate people as if they were agents of the Interior Ministry; and they hold people prisoner in their cellars in Tsentoroy, and torture them like gangsters.

  No procurator challenges any of this. It is all hushed up. They know better than to poke their noses in. Tsentoroy is above the law, by Putin's will. The rules that apply to other people do not apply to Ramzan. He can do as he pleases because he is said to be fighting terrorists using his own methods. In fact he's fighting nobody. He is in the business of robbery and extortion, disguised as “the fight against terrorism.”

  The capital of Chechnya has effectively moved to Ramzan's estate. Pro-Russian Chechen officials come here to bow down before his fatuous, degenerate countenance either to seek whatever permission they need or when they are summoned. All of them come, including even Sergey Abramov, the young prime minister of Chechnya who is supposed to report directly to the prime minister of Russia, and who is not supposed to report to Ramzan Kadyrov.

  The reality is, however, that Tsentoroy is where the decisions are made. It was here that the decision was made to nominate Alkhanov for the presidency, and now he is president.

  Ramzan rarely travels to Grozny because he fears assassination. The journey takes one and a half hours. That is why Tsentoroy is such a fortress, with a security filtration system on its approaches that would do credit to the Kremlin: a series of control posts, one after the other. I get through them all and find myself in what the armed men surrounding me describe as “the guesthouse.” I am held there for six or seven hours. Evening falls. In Chechnya this means you should lose no time in finding shelter. Anyone who wants to live hides away in their burrow.

  “Where is Ramzan?” I ask. He has agreed to meet me.

  “Soon, soon,” the guardian of the guesthouse, and now of me, mutters.

  There is always somebody with me. Vakha Visaev introduces himself as the director of Yugoilprodukt, the new oil refinery at Gudermes, the second largest city in Chechnya. He offers to show me around the guesthouse. It is not badly set out. There is a fountain in the courtyard, ugly, but a fountain nevertheless. Bamboo furniture graces an open terrace with pillars. Vakha makes a great point of showing me the labels, which indicate that it was made in Hong Kong. Most likely, he paid for it. People fall over themselves to give gifts to Ramzan, to buy him off. Everybody remembers that the head of the nearby Shali Region, Akhmed Gutiev, didn't pay the required tribute to Ramzan. He was abducted, tortured, and his family had to ransom him for $100,000. Akhmed promptly emigrated, and a new would-be suicide was appointed to govern the Shali Region. I met Gutiev. He was a promising, clever young man who respected Putin and thought his choice of Ramzan was right in the circumstances, given that the first priority must be to drive out the Wahhabis.* I wonder whether he still thinks that.

  But back to Ramzan's estate. Opposite the main entrance he has a gray-green marble fireplace. To the right are a sauna, a Jacuzzi, and a swimming pool. The highlight, however, is the two cavernous bedrooms endowed with stadium-sized beds. One is in blue, the other pink.

  Everywhere there is massive, dark, oppressive furniture, all with the price tags in full view, denominated in thousands of “conventional units” (in effect, dollars). There is a price tag on the mirror in the bathroom, on the toilet pedestal, on the towel holder. This is evidently the fashion in Tsentoroy

  The excursion takes in a viewing of Ramzan's modest and very dark study adjoining one of the bedrooms. Its chief decoration is a Dagestani wall rug depicting, in the style of socialist realism, the deceased Akhmed-hadji Kadyrov wearing an astrakhan papakha on his head, against a black background. He is portrayed with a seraphic expression on his face, his chin jutting forward.

  After dark, Ramzan appears, surrounded by armed men. They are everywhere: in the courtyard, on the balcony, in the rooms. Some of them subsequently involve themselves in our conversation, commenting loudly and aggressively. Ramzan sprawls in an armchair crossing his legs, his foot, in a sock, almost level with my face. He doesn't appear to notice. He is taking it easy.

  “We want to restore order not only in Chechnya, but throughout the North Caucasus,” Ramzan begins. “So that we can go any time to Stavropol, or Leningrad. We will fight anywhere in Russia. I have a directive to operate throughout the North Caucasus. Against the bandits.”

&nbs
p; “Whom do you call bandits?”

  “Maskhadov, Basaev, and the like.”

  “You see the mission of your troops as being to find Maskhadov and Basaev?”

  “Yes. That is the main thing, to destroy them.”

  “Everything that has been done so far in your name has been about destroying and liquidating. Don't you think perhaps there's been enough fighting already?”

  “Of course there has. Seven hundred people have already surrendered to us and are living a normal life. We have asked the others to stop their senseless resistance, but they carry on fighting. That is why we have to exterminate them. Today we took three. We exterminated two. One of them was a big emir, Nashkho from Doku Umarov's group. He was a big man there. Anyway, we killed him. In Ingushetia. They all rest up there.”

  “But what right do you have to kill anyone? Let alone in Ingushetia, when formally you are the security service of the president of Chechnya?”

  “We have every right. We carried out this operation jointly with the Ingush FSB. We have all the necessary official permissions.” (This later proved to be a lie.)

  “Currently, within the territory of Chechnya, apart from your troops, there are Kokiev's troops operating, Yamadaev's, etc.”

  “You shouldn't name these troops by their leaders.”

  “Why not? Don't you think there are rather a lot of them?”

  “What, of troops?! The Chechen OMON is only 300 men. In other regions the OMON number 700 to 800. Kokiev's time is nearly up. His are army men. They will be withdrawn.”

  “In March, just before Putin was reelected, Khambiev [the minister of defense of Ichkeria] surrendered to you. What is he doing now? Is he mustering troops too?”

  “You want me to have him brought here? If I give the word, he will be brought here.”

  “Isn't it rather late? He's probably asleep.”

  “If I give the word, he will be woken. We use him as a negotiator with the bandits. They know him. He was good at that before, with Turlaev, for example. You want me to have Turlaev brought here as well? [Shaa Turlaev was the head of Maskhadov's personal bodyguard. He also surrendered when he was seriously wounded. His leg was later amputated.] Khambiev will not have troops of his own. We will be the only people with troops.”

  “In the press Khambiev admitted he was a traitor.”

  “That is a lie. They just wrote that. He is not a traitor.”

  “How do you personally picture the surrender of Maskhadov: will he come to you and say, ‘Here I am’?”

  “Yes.”

  “He can't possibly. The age difference between you is too great. You are a boy compared to him.”

  “Perhaps. What choice does he have? If he doesn't come of his own accord, we will bring him in. We are definitely going to put him in a cage.”

  “Recently you issued an ultimatum to those who had not surrendered. Was that addressed to Maskhadov?”

  “No, that was for seventeen- and eighteen-year-old kids who don't know better. They were tricked by Maskhadov and have gone into the forests. Their mothers are weeping, begging me, ‘Help us, Ramzan, to get our sons back.’ They curse Maskhadov. So this is an ultimatum to women to keep a closer eye on their children. I am telling the women to find their children quickly, or else not to blame us … Those who do not surrender we shall exterminate. Of course. There are no two ways about that.”

  “But perhaps it's time to stop exterminating people and sit down to negotiate?”

  “Who with?”

  “With all Chechens who are fighting.”

  “With Maskhadov? Maskhadov is nobody here. Nobody obeys his orders. The main figure is Basaev. He is a mighty warrior. He knows how to fight. He is a good strategist. And a good Chechen. But Maskhadov is a pathetic old man who is incapable of doing anything.” (He guffaws, neighing like a horse. All present follow suit.) “He's only got a couple of boys following him. I can prove that. I write everything down. At present Maskhadov has women. I know those women. They told me, ‘If we refused, we would be killed. We had no work and he gave us money’ ”

  “Are you saying Maskhadov has a women's battalion?”

  “No. We have broken Maskhadov. He has other people now.”

  “I hear disrespect for Maskhadov in what you are saying, but also clear respect for Basaev.”

  “I respect Basaev as a warrior. He is not a coward. I pray to Allah that Basaev and I may meet in open combat. One man dreams of being a president, another of being a pilot, another a tractor driver—but my dream is to fight Basaev in the open. My troops against his troops, with no outsiders. With him in command, and with me in command.”

  “What if Basaev won?”

  “No way. I will. In battle I always win.”

  “In Chechnya there is a lot of talk about your rivalry with the Ya-madaevs.” (Brothers from Gudermes. Khalid is a United Russia deputy in the Duma, while Salim is deputy military commandant of the Chechen Republic. They control powerful troops. Ramzan is thought to work for the FSB, while the Yamadaevs work for the GRU Central Intelligence Directorate of the army.)

  “It isn't a good idea to be one of my rivals. It isn't good for your health.”

  “What do you consider to be the strongest aspect of your personality?”

  “What do you mean? I don't understand the question.”

  “What are your strengths? And your weaknesses?”

  “I consider that I have no weaknesses. I am strong. Alu Alkhanov was made president because I consider he is strong and I trust him one hundred percent. Do you think the Kremlin decides that? The people choose. It's the first time anyone has told me the Kremlin has a say in anything.”

  Odd, but that's what he said.

  No more than an hour later, Ramzan was saying that absolutely everything was decided by the Kremlin, that the people were just cattle, and that he had been offered the presidency of Chechnya in the Kremlin immediately after his father's assassination, but had turned it down because he wanted to fight.

  “If you left us in peace, we Chechens would have reunited long ago.”

  “Who do you mean by ‘you’?”

  “Journalists, people like you. Russian politicians. You don't let us sort things out. You divide us. You come between Chechens. You personally are the enemy. You are worse than Basaev.”

  “Who else are your enemies?”

  “I don't have enemies. Only bandits to fight.”

  “Do you intend to become president of Chechnya yourself?”

  “No.”

  “What do you most enjoy doing?”

  “Fighting. I am a warrior.”

  “Have you ever killed anyone yourself?”

  “No. I've always been in command.”

  “But you're too young always to have been in command. Somebody must have given you orders.”

  “Only my father. Nobody else ever gave me orders, or ever will.”

  “Have you given orders to kill?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is that not terrible?”

  “It is not I, but Allah. The Prophet said the Wahhabis must be destroyed.”

  “Did he really say that? When there are no more Wahhabis left, who will you fight?”

  “I will take up bee farming. Already I have bees, and bullocks, and fighting dogs.”

  “Don't you feel sorry when dogs kill each other?”

  “Not at all. I like it. I respect my dog Tarzan as much as a human being. He's a Caucasian sheepdog. Those are the most fair-minded dogs there are.”

  “What other hobbies do you have? Dogs, bees, fighting … and?”

  “I very much like women…”

  “Doesn't your wife mind?”

  “I don't tell her.”

  “What education have you had?”

  “Higher education, law. I'm just finishing it. I am taking my exams.”

  “What exams?”

  “What do you mean, ‘What exams?’ The exams, that's all.”

  “What's the institute called
where you are studying?”

  “It's a branch of the Moscow Institute of Business. In Gudermes. It's a law college.”

  “What are you specializing in?”

  “Law.”

  “But what kind of law? Criminal? Civil?”

  “I can't remember. Someone wrote the topic down for me on a piece of paper, but I've forgotten. There's a lot going on at the moment.”

  At this moment Shaa Turlaev is brought to Ramzan, the former head of Maskhadov's security, a major of the presidential guard who had been awarded the Chechen orders “Pride of the Nation” and “Hero of the Nation.” He is a completely gray-haired man of thirty-two, his left leg amputated to the thigh. He is kept in Tsentoroy under guard, a hostage, but he is not being beaten or tortured. Later, Mahomed Khambiev also appears. Mahomed speaks Russian to me, but Shaa has apparently been forbidden to talk to a journalist in Russian. Ramzan says he can't speak Russian, but, later, people who knew Shaa told me he used to speak excellent Russian.

  Khambiev is brazen and smug, while Shaa seems haunted but dignified. Khambiev keeps agreeing with Ramzan, while Shaa remains proudly silent. As translated, his words are: “I fought from 1991. Until 2003 I was in Maskhadov's personal security detail. I haven't seen Maskhadov for a year and a half now. I had a wound in my leg for two years. There was a doctor there and an operating theater. I could have stayed, but didn't want to, even before the wound, because Ramzan and I had fought together in the past. When Ramzan sent people to me from my village they said, ‘Follow Ramzan. His is the correct path. Maskhadov is weak. You cannot see any strength in him. He is on his own. He only has twenty to thirty people.’ ”

  “Does he have a women's battalion?”

  Shaa does not reply. He lowers his head and shakes it. It is not clear whether this means yes or no. The general conversation is unfocused and edgy. Shortly after Shaa's arrival, an older person with a round tyu-beteika cap on his head appears and sits at Ramzan's right hand. He introduces himself as Nikolai Ivanovich, at which everybody smirks, indicating that whatever else his name may be, it is not Nikolai Ivanovich. Ramzan orders him to translate Shaa's words into Russian. It soon becomes clear that when Shaa says two or three words, “Nikolai Ivanovich” spins them into several sentences about how Shaa recognized the ruinous nature of Maskhadov's war.