Aron:
Such claims have often heralded aggression abroad and harsh crackdowns at home.
In the
winter of 2012, something surprising happened to Vladimir Putin: He discovered,
as he wrote in a government newspaper, that Russia isn’t just an ordinary
country but a unique “state civilization,” bound together by the ethnic
Russians who form its “cultural nucleus.” This was something new. In his
previous 12 years in office, first as Russia’s president and then as prime
minister, Mr. Putin had generally stayed away from grand pronouncements on
culture and ideology.
And Mr.
Putin wasn’t done with this theme. Elected in March 2012 to a third term as
president—in the face of massive anti-regime protests, replete with banners and
posters scorning him personally—he told the Russian Federal Assembly the
following year that it was “absolutely objective and understandable” for the
Russian people, with their “great history and culture,” to establish their own “independence
and identity.”
What
was this identity? For Mr. Putin, it was apparently easier to say what it was not: It was not, he continued, “so-called
tolerance, neutered and barren,” in which “ethnic traditions and differences”
are eroded and “the equality of good and evil” had to be accepted “without
question.”
To Mr.
Putin, in short, Russia was exceptional because it was emphatically not like
the modern West—or not, in any event, like his caricature of a corrupt, morally
benighted Europe and U.S. This was a bad omen, presaging the foreign policy
gambits against Ukraine that now have the whole world guessing about Mr. Putin’s
intentions.
There
is ample precedent for this sort of rhetoric about Russian exceptionalism,
which has been a staple of Kremlin propaganda since 2012. In Russian history,
the assertion of cultural uniqueness and civilizational mission has often served
the cause of political, cultural and social reaction—for war and imperial
expansion, as a diversion from economic hardship and as a cover for the
venality and incompetence of officials. As the great 19th-century Russian
satirist Mikhail Saltykov-Shchedrin wrote: “They [the powers that be] are
talking a lot about patriotism—must have stolen again.”
The
pedigree of Russian exceptionalism stretches back to a 16th-century monk,
Philotheus of Pskov, a city about 400 miles northwest of Moscow. Constantinople
had fallen to the Turks a century earlier and Rome was possessed by the “heresy”
of Catholicism, so it fell to the Grand Duchy of Muscovy, Philotheus averred,
to preserve, strengthen and expand the only real and pure Christianity: the
Russian Orthodox faith.
Muscovy
wasn’t just a growing principality but, Philotheus wrote, a “Third Rome,”
endowed by God with a sacred mission to redeem humanity. Such ideas were
ready-made for the centralizing ambitions of the founders of the modern Russian
state, Vasily III and his son, Ivan IV, known as “The Terrible.” This is how
Ivan became “czar,” the first Russian sovereign to be so crowned—a title
derived from Caesar and, in the new state mythology, a ruler whose authority
could be traced back to Augustus himself.
“Two
Romes have fallen. The Third [Rome] stands, and there shall be no Fourth,”
Philotheus declared with a literary flourish, which has inspired Russian
messianism ever since. Ivan the Terrible, for his part, responded during his
reign (1547-84) with incessant wars in the West and the East, imperial
expansion and sadistic purges.
These
are the seeds of Mr. Putin’s newly adopted worldview. But Russians themselves
have often rejected this notion of national uniqueness. In particular, a number
of Russian leaders have tried time and again to bring their country into the
orbit of the “civilized world.”
In the
early 18th century, the brutal modernizer Peter the Great forced his nobles to
shave off their traditional beards, to swap their Byzantine robes for stockings,
breeches and wigs, and to send their sons to Europe to learn navigation,
engineering and the modern sciences. Catherine the Great's effort at
Westernizing Russia during her own rule (1762-96) was incomparably milder, but
she was just as determined. Nor was the “Third Rome” to be found in the
discourse of Russia’s three greatest liberalizers: Czar Alexander II, who freed
the serfs in 1861, and Mikhail Gorbachev and Boris Yeltsin, who brought the
Soviet Union to an end and explicitly sought what they called a “road to the
European home.”
By
contrast, Mr. Putin’s recent rhetoric harks back to Russia’s two most
reactionary rulers: the 19th-century czars Nicholas I and his grandson,
Alexander III. These are the sovereigns who made Russia’s secret political police
a key state institution, with Alexander giving it virtually unlimited powers by
declaring, in effect, a perennial state of emergency. At the same time, Russia’s
allegedly distinctive identity was crystallized in the official state ideology
of “Orthodoxy, Autocracy and Nationality.” With minor linguistic adjustments,
this slogan of Nicholas I and Alexander III seems now to have been adopted by
Mr. Putin.
One of
the most troubling aspects of this concept of Russian uniqueness is that it is
has been defined largely in opposition to an allegedly hostile and predatory
West. According to Mr. Putin’s favorite philosopher, the émigré Ivan Ilyin
(1883-1954), “Western nations don’t understand and don’t tolerate Russian
identity . . . They are going to divide the united Russian ‘broom’ into twigs
to break those twigs one by one and rekindle with them the fading light of
their own civilization.” Mr. Putin often quotes Ilyin and recently assigned his
works to regional governors.
One can
hear distinct echoes of Ilyin’s views in the fiery speech that Mr. Putin
delivered this past March after Russia’s annexation of Crimea. The West, Mr.
Putin said, “preferred to be guided not by international law in its practical
policies but by the rule of the gun” and wished to “drive Russia into the
corner.” He traced this hostility as far back as the 18th century and said
that, in the post-Soviet era, Russia “has always been deceived, has always been
[confronted with] decisions made behind its back.”
In Mr.
Putin’s view, it is the West’s intention to interfere with Russia’s historic
mission and to thwart the rightful “integration of the Eurasian space.” As for
those in Ukraine who resisted this effort, he described them as boeviki (fighters), a term that, until
then, had been used only to designate Muslim militants fighting in Russia’s
North Caucasus. Mr. Putin’s other innovation was to label the critics of his regime
not just as “fifth columnists” but as “national-traitors,” natsional-predateli—a precise Russian equivalent of Nationalverräter, the term used by
Hitler in Mein Kampf to refer to the
German leaders who signed the treaty of Versailles after Germany was defeated
in World War I.
Mr.
Putin’s approval ratings, which fell to the low point of his career at the end
of 2013, are now sky-high. How could they not be? Russian government propaganda
about the Ukraine crisis goes completely unchallenged on state-owned and
state-controlled national television networks, where 94% of Russians get their
news. In this coverage, Mr. Putin is presented as the defender of the
motherland and his ethnic Russian brethren in Ukraine, who are said to suffer
assault, torture and butchery at the hands of the “junta of fascists” in Kiev.
To Russian ears, “fascist” inevitably recalls the Nazi invaders of World War
II.
Russians
are hardly the only people in modern history to be intoxicated by the
ideological cocktail of national victimhood and triumphalism, by the vision of
a heroic nation-on-a-mission, abused by foreigners yet always ultimately
victorious. Over the past century, Germans, Italians, Japanese and, more
recently, Serbs have embraced such narratives, once their regimes silenced
critics through censorship, harassment, forced exile, jail and murder. These
and other histories of state-sponsored campaigns of national “uniqueness”
suggest that the regimes and leaders that flatter their peoples most
shamelessly are precisely the ones that end up decimating them with the
greatest indifference and in the largest numbers, whether through war,
starvation, concentration camps or firing squads.
It is
hard, then, not to be troubled by Mr. Putin’s suddenly opining, at the end of
his four-hour call-in television show last month, about the “generous Russian
soul” and the “heroism and self-sacrifice” that allegedly sets ethnic Russians
apart from “the other peoples.” The last time Russians were praised in similar
terms was in Stalin’s famous toast at the May 24, 1945, victory reception in
the Kremlin for the commanders of the Red Army. The dictator extolled ethnic
Russians as “the leading people,” blessed with “steadfast character” and “patience”
and, most of all, an unshakable “trust in the government.”
As he
spoke, Stalin was putting hundreds of thousands of those very same Russians
through the hell of “filtration camps” and in cattle cars on the way to even
greater suffering in the Gulag, where many of them died. The toast also
presaged the end of wartime cooperation with the West, still greater repression
at home and a campaign of aggressive, exclusionary patriotism, including the
hunt for “rootless cosmopolitans” and “Zionists” in the service of American
imperialism.
But
today’s Russia isn’t the Russia of old. The period of highly imperfect but real
democratization under Gorbachev and Yeltsin, as well as the protest and open
discussion of recent years, has made Mr. Putin’s assertions of Russian
exceptionalism even more transparently self-serving. Leonid Kaganov, one of
Russia’s most influential bloggers, recently posted what he labeled the “Ten
Commandments of the New Russian State.” It opens, in pitch-perfect parody of
the regime’s latest line, with the statement: “Russia is [the country] biggest
in size, population, level of development, culture, intelligence, modesty,
honesty and justice.” It goes on to lament that “We are completely surrounded
by Gayropa and its whores on all sides,” who “falsely worship a notion of
liberty deeply alien to us.”
Or maybe
not so “alien.”
Asked
in a 2012 poll if their country needs to have a political opposition, more
Russians agreed than disagreed. In polls over the past six months, a majority
also endorsed the propositions that a state should be under society’s control
and that power should be distributed among different political institutions,
rather than being concentrated under one entity.
Russians
also have abiding doubts about Mr. Putin. In a 2013 poll by the Levada Center,
Russia’s most credible independent polling firm, Mr. Putin was “admired” by 2%
of Russians and “liked” by 18% (the corresponding numbers in 2008 were 9% and
40%), while 23% were either “wary” of him, could say “nothing good” about him
or disliked him, and 22% were either “neutral” or “indifferent.”
Asked
if they thought that Mr. Putin was guilty of the abuse of power, 52% answered “undoubtedly”
or “probably” (13% were convinced that it wasn’t true, while 18% thought that
it didn’t matter, even if true). Perhaps most alarmingly for Mr. Putin, more
than 50% of Russians in another Levada poll in April 2013 didn’t want him to
remain president after 2018. In the words of Lev Gudkov, director of the Levada
Center, by January of 2014, “Putin stopped being a ‘Teflon’ [president].”
In
today’s Russia, these sentiments have been drowned in a wave of patriotic
euphoria and anti-Western paranoia. But Mr. Putin may soon find that the
effects of such strong and fast-acting stimulants are only temporary, with a
heavy hangover to follow. In the short term, he is likely to continue
manufacturing external hostility and “saving” ethnic Russians in Ukraine (and
possibly in other regions as well). He will blame the inevitable economic
hardship on the machinations and sanctions of the West, thus making it a
patriotic duty to bear the deprivation stoically.
But the
country’s patriotic rapture will eventually cool as the economy declines even
more sharply. After all, as Mr. Putin lamented a few years ago, almost half of
Russia’s food is imported (up to 85% in some of the largest cities), most of it
from the EU countries. And this year the ruble has hit record lows against the
euro.
Terror,
censorship and indoctrination have long allowed dictators to maintain power
even amid deprivation. Just look at Cuba and Zimbabwe, not to mention North
Korea and Stalin’s Soviet Union.
Mr.
Putin’s appeals to the unique ways of Russia and Russian civilization may not
be enough, however, to force the country back toward dictatorship, especially
after the brilliant moral explosion of glasnost
and a decade and a half of liberty. Russia’s fate will be determined by how
much repression he is prepared to deploy—and by the wishes of the Russian
people, who now face a choice between living in a normal country or in one that
is aggressively and chauvinistically exceptional.
