Chechnya Remakes Russian Politics

A subtle but significant change of government has occurred here. The dispatch of Russian soldiers and security forces into Chechnya, the breakaway republic, and the protest it has caused among supporters of reform and “democrats,” has realigned the political forces in Russia, more so than did the disbanding of the Parliament in October, 1993. Authoritarian rule may be gaining momentum.

However distasteful many democrats might have found President Boris N. Yeltsin’s decision to shell the Parliament building more than a year ago, they, by and large, closed ranks behind him. Indeed, the confrontation between Yeltsin and the retrograde Parliament was the basis for a renewal of the alliance between him and the Western-oriented intellectuals who entered Russia’s political fray in the days of perestroika . It was this alliance that helped bring Yeltsin to power as the first president of Russia in June, 1991. And it was this alliance that gave full meaning to Yeltsin’s fledgling presidency during the failed coup in August, 1991.

But this political marriage has been irreparably damaged by Yelstin’s Chechen adventure. “The party of war has won,” declared Nikolai N. Vorontsov, a prominent member of Russia’s Choice, the main reformist party, and one of the few politicians with a deep understanding of the Northern Caucasus region, where Chechnya is located. His expression hearkened back to the years of Mikhail S. Gorbachev, when the “party of war” referred to those who advocated the use of brute force against republics wishing to secede from the Soviet Union. Those “party” actions--like the assault on the television studios in Vilnius, Lithuania, in December, 1991--made Gorbachev the hostage of authoritarian forces. A similar drama is now unfolding around Yeltsin. The only difference between his situation and Gorbachev’s is that the latter never relied politically on the “democrats.”

The sense of bitterness and betrayal felt by democrats is almost palpable. It could be heard, for example, in Yegor T. Gaidar’s frustration in failing to reach Yeltsin in order to talk him out of the Chechen invasion. Gaidar’s bitterness was especially poignant, since he was one of the few to stand by Yeltsin in October, 1993, when everybody in the government, including the security forces and the army, appeared to have deserted the president. Bitterness, mixed with restrained satisfaction, could also be heard in liberal economist Grigory A. Yavlinsky’s “I told you so,” which recalled his year-old warning that by endorsing the “lesser evil” of the constitution, the democrats were inviting the greater evil of a presidency run amok.

Yeltsin, no doubt, must feel equally bitter about being abandoned by the democrats. To him, their stinging criticisms, coming as they do at his moment of crisis, is proof positive that they are ill-suited to become the stewards of the Russian state.

Even before Chechnya, Yeltsin was growing more receptive to other voices in his entourage, notably those who share his history in the Communist Party apparatus and who possess a far greater tolerance for authoritarian methods. It should also be remembered that at the height of his love fest with the democrats, Yeltsin included among his inner circle his old party friends. Over the years, their presence, along with Yeltsin’s gradual move toward Russia’s political center--and sometimes farther to the right--has made many of the reformers feel uneasy about the president. Add the gradual elimination of the most visible reformists from the government, following their failure to win a majority in Parliament, and you have the makings for a strained alliance with the democrats.

Yeltsin’s low standing in the polls and the resulting political, perhaps even psychological, need to shake off the lethargy that periodically overcomes Russia’s first elected President, made the decisive, contrarian move in Chechnya all the more irresistible.

Whether the occupation of Chechnya is calculated to lend legitimacy to what may be a coming shift toward greater authoritarian rule; whether it was a trap laid by anti-democratic functionaries around Yeltsin to alienate the president’s democratic supporters, or whether it was merely an impulsive decision made by a man known for his “decisiveness”--all are beside the point. Whatever the case, the outcome is bound to be the same: a presidency held hostage to what the Russians call the “power ministries”--defense, the federal counterintelligence service and, recently, the Main Administration for Protection of the Russian Federation, the rough equivalent of the U.S. Secret Service.

With 40,000--and counting--soldiers from these power ministries digging themselves in in Chechnya, their influence on policy will be growing. From now on, it seems, elected officials will be playing an ever diminishing role in Yeltsin’s thinking. The bill for the rushed and mishandled elections, and the referendum on the hastily compiled constitution, last December has come due, and much of it will be charged to the reformers’ failure to win a majority in Parliament. They will now be relegated to the status of a disloyal opposition.

There are two likely outcomes of this emerging political realignment:

* The strengthening of what is already increasingly authoritarian rule, with Yeltsin relying more and more on the administrative infrastructure, including the Federation Council, which is staffed with top provincial administrators, and the power ministries.

* Or some form of the above combined with an alliance with the “center-right” majority in Parliament. Parliamentary elections are scheduled for December, 1995. If they take place, Yeltsin may be able to get the kind of legislators he thinks Russia needs: pragmatists tolerant of “forceful” solutions to the problems faced by the state.

Much the same can be said of Yeltsin’s possible successor, if the presidential elections, scheduled for 1996, are held. The present lineup of the more electable candidates offers a glimpse of this future leader: He looks a little like a Jimmy Hoffa--earthy, clever, pragmatic, very, very strong--or, more exactly, like a sturdy and head-strong merchant, a khoziain , out of a play by the 19th-Century Russian playwright Nikolai Ostrovsky. Their time has come.