I was on vacation last week, so I'm still getting caught up
on things that I missed while I was away.
One of those things was the inauguration of Russian President Vladimir
Putin, though I don't feel so bad since most Muscovites missed out on that
event as well.
Putin's inaugural was carefully crafted to impress.
Gilt-covered doors were opened by uniformed
Kremlin guards to allow Putin to stride across a gleaming white marble floor,
in front of a gathering of decked-out dignitaries, all under a vaulted golden
ceiling to take the oath of office.
But
there was something missing: minutes earlier, aerial shots on television showed
Putin's limousine, guarded by a phalanx of motorcycle police, speeding through
Moscow streets utterly devoid of people.
It had the eerie feeling of one of those post-apocalypse that are all
the rage today.
Where were the people?
(One Russian satirist even noted there were
no birds in the TV shots and asked
how did they drive away the birds?)
Crowds turned out for the inaugural of Francois Hollande in
economically-depressed France just days later, so where were the Russians to
celebrate the biggest political event of the year in Russia?
The truth is that the crowds were kept away from the
celebration by design, and that for all of his alpha-male bluster, Putin is, at
heart, deeply afraid of the people he pledged to lead for the next six
years.
The fear isn't that someone in
the crowd will try to assassinate Putin or commit some act of terrorism, but
rather that they'll do something far more subversive, like boo, or wear a white
ribbon.
The Putin team learned just how troublesome the general
public could be last November.
Putin
stepped into the ring of a mixed martial arts event being broadcast live across
Russia on the NTV network to congratulate the winning fighter Fedor
Emelianenko.
For Putin, a martial arts
enthusiast, it seemed a quick way to score a few points and burnish his he-man
image.
But the crowd of 20,000
started booing once Putin hit the ring, a public scolding broadcast live to the nation
that would later become a staple on Russian social network Internet sites.
The Kremlin tried to spin the event as an
unruly crowd jeering defeated American fighter Jeff Monson, though
Internet-savvy Russians would later flood Monson's Facebook page with messages
of support for Monson and to confirm that Putin was the target of their ire.
It's not a coincidence that just a month later, previously
politically-apathetic Russians would take to the streets in the tens and
hundreds of thousands to protest allegations of fraud in December's
parliamentary elections; protests against the rule of Putin that have continued
through to today (the white ribbon has become the de facto symbol of
anti-Putin protesters, though the Boss, with typical Putin bravado, said the
ribbons looked like used condoms).
Team Putin has learned the lesson that many other autocrats
have: once the people lose their fear of speaking out against the leadership,
they tend to keep on speaking. That is
why we had the odd visuals of motorcycle police escorting Putin's motorcade
though deserted Moscow streets, there to protect Putin from no one, apparently. This puts Putin in an odd position. He has spent the past 12 years carefully
crafting an image of himself as not only a Russian superman, but also as a
Russian everyman, a true man of the people; yet now he fears the people for
their unruliness and their unpleasant demands that he actually make good on the
promises he's offered for the past decade about tackling corruption and turning
Russia's legal and political systems into something more than vehicles to
simply make the oligarch class richer.
In his third term in office, Putin will likely find that
actually serving as the leader of a nation is much more difficult than just
playing one on TV.