Some would argue that the power vacuum, political immaturity anda divided society in the wake of the USSR’s implosion made italmost inevitable that a “genius schemer” (as Berezovsky describedhimself) with no respect for legal formalities would find himselfin a position of unregulated power.
But that would be to take responsibility from Berezovskyhimself, and to overlook just how profound and damaging the effectof his very specific brand of meddling was on new Russia’sincipient institutions.
Between Berezovsky first entering the Kremlin’s most hallowedoffices in 1993 and his precautionary flight from the country sixyears later, there were few areas of public life that he did nottry to bend to his will. At the height of his influence, BorisBerezovsky was buying oil companies on the cheap, nominating seniorofficials, sponsoring literary awards ceremonies, andsingle-handedly conducting diplomatic missions in an armed conflicton behalf of the entire country. All through this time he neveravoided the cameras, brandishing his wiliness with the glee of aBond villain.
And for any short-term gains he achieved for himself and thosehe supported (his allegiances switched often), the long-term lossesfor Russia can still be felt.
Freed from the shackles of a control economy, Russia wassupposed to deliver the consumer goods Soviet planners failed to.But Boris Berezovsky’s business dealings brought the country noperceptible economic benefit. He made his fortune buying Ladas atbelow-cost prices from the state-owned factory, before selling themat market prices – defrauding taxpayers who had to foot the billfor the money-leaking carmaker. He later repeated the trick atnational air carrier Aeroflot, but also made that corporation takeloans it did not need at unfavorable rates from his own financialservices company. He purchased Sibneft, an oil company worthbillions of dollars at fraction of the price in a series of insiderauctions, his position secured by close links with President BorisYeltsin.
In the minds of Russians, he solidified the image of“businessmen” (of whom Berezovsky was the unquestionable primusinter pares) as merely asset-grabbers with the right connections.Berezovsky was not the only fraudster, nor did he pump the mostmoney out of the country to spend on foreign chateaus, but thecountry’s financial losses numbered in the billions, and the damageto Russia’s development as a functioning market economy was greaterstill.
Journalists in a state with no history of press freedom wereill-prepared to walk the fine line between maintaining editorialindependence, answering to owners and reporting responsibly evenbefore Berezovsky. But when the tycoon was allowed to take controlof Channel One, Russia’s national broadcaster in 1995, he made it apropaganda weapon that would change editorial policies at hispersonal behest. Political and business rivals would be submergedunder character assassinations and smear campaigns, with newsbroadcasts, documentaries and analytical programs all tailored ondemand to fit the message. A typical report ahead of the 1999parliamentary elections took a tour of the chic Swiss clinic whereanti-Kremlin party leader Evgeniy Primakov was receiving hipsurgery, as a voiceover insinuated that he was both decrepit andpaid for the procedure with dirty money. The right to speak freely– one indisputable gain of the end of totalitarianism – became inthe minds of many, the right of a rich oligarch to sling mud as hepleased. As independent journalism was squeezed in subsequentyears, few bothered to defend it, and most did not believe such athing ever existed.
Throughout the 1990s, Russia’s future as a democracy hung in thebalance, as revanchist Communists dominated the parliament. WhenBerezovsky and six other tycoons banded together and used all theirdubiously-acquired financial and media power to help there-election of ailing Boris Yeltsin against the Communistchallenger Gennady Zyuganov in 1996, they disregarded the sanctityof democratic choice. At the time, for many it seemed like therewas no other option, but in going all out to manipulate thepolitical process the so-called Seven Bankers (and the incumbent’sadministrative machine, ordered to stop Zyuganov at all cost)mortgaged the future of Russian democracy. Inevitably, in the nextpolitical cycle, Berezovsky’s tampering became only more brazen. Bymultiple accounts, the previously low-profile security chiefVladimir Putin, who had never run in any previous election orengaged in overtly political activity, was handpicked personally byBerezovsky, who persuaded Boris Yeltsin to endorse him as asuccessor, and financed a party that would support his views, evenas it had no ideology and barely had time to meet the candidate(the party Unity, later went on to become United Russia, whichstill holds the majority vote in the Russian Duma to this day).
Of course, little of this would have been possible if Boris Yeltsinhadn’t made Berezovsky his éminence grise. As the head of a weak,poor central authority flailing against the chaos and hostility ofbureaucrats, rampant criminals and citizens who quickly lostappetite for reform, Yeltsin saw the tycoon as the only man whocould help the government regain some control. But in blurring thelines between business, politics and media, and making them allslaves to his own masterplans, Berezovsky helped corrupt Russia'simmature institutions and hampered the country's chances ofbecoming a law-based state. The concept of conflict of interest wasbarely understood even by the oligarchs themselves, and the meansappeared to justify the ends. But Russia’s corruption (it is ranked133rd in the world according to Transparency International) lack ofindependent media (ranked 148th by Reporters without Borders) andpolitical freedom (it is classified as Not Free by Freedom House)would suggest otherwise. Berezovsky's narcissism and tacticaluntruths make it hard to decipher the precise weight of his input,and it is harder still to know what would have happened without himin such an unusual period in history. Yet, each of the abovedevelopments can be attributed at least partly either to Berezovskyhimself, or those he helped push onto the national scene, and theexiled oligarch admitted as much in a mea culpa he published a yearbefore his death.
The charm of a sociopath
Even those who disparage the historical role Berezovsky played,often cannot bring themselves to dislike him whole-heartedly. Evenin his pomp he seemed more like a picaresque protagonist than acriminal kingpin, an impression helped by his demeanor of a busy,small-time schemer crossed with a university professor (which, ofcourse, he was). As he was left to observe Russian politics fromthe exile of his Ascot mansion, his plotting grew more frantic andineffectual, his fortune shrank in a series of wrong-headedbusiness deals and a reckless lawsuit, and his search for attentionbecame more desperate, Berezovsky’s character acquired a newlytragic hue. He became what he seemed to fear the most:irrelevant. With his death, the fall appears complete. OnceRussia's kingmaker, Berezovsky died entirely alone, possiblybankrupt, and thousands miles away from home (where he allegedlybegged to return). Thus, much of the media coverage and words fromthose who knew him two decades ago have become tinged with a vaguenostalgia and unmistakable sympathy.
Yet, this soft focus sits uncomfortablt next to some of thegristlier aspects of being an oligarch in early-90s Russia. Duringhis car dealer years, the magnate sponsored an armed securityservice that had to fend off mafia attacks, with fatal losses onboth sides. Berezovsky was linked with a string of contractkillings, and during his stint as a peace negotiator in separatistChechnya, opponents accused him of encouraging terrorists to kidnapRussian citizens, only for him to save the day with a timelyransom, sometimes paid out of his own pocket. He also illegallyspied on dozens of business associates and even secretly tapedconversations with Boris Yeltsin’s daughter. And while the nicknameof the “Godfather of the Kremlin”, once given to him by Forbesjournalist Paul Klebnikov (who was later assassinated himself) isbased on innuendo and criminal cases that will never beinvestigated, there is no doubt that the tycoon was happy to make afortune off a factory where staff on average wages of $50 a weekwould often go without pay for months.
It has become fashionable for non-professionals to diagnosevarious ruthless and successful men – Lance Armstrong, SilvioBerlusconi – as sociopaths, but looking from the outside, perhapsthis is a description that genuinely fit Berezovsky better thanalmost any public figure. Among the diagnostic criteria aresuperficial charm (that much is undeniable) a grandiose sense ofself-worth (Berezovsky reportedly seriously considered that hemight be awarded the Nobel Peace Prize for his work in Chechnya) aflair for manipulation (the essence of his political career) andpathological lying (the judge in his court case against RomanAbramovich last year called him “an unimpressive, and inherentlyunreliable, witness, who regarded truth as a transitory, flexibleconcept, which could be moulded to suit his currentpurposes").
In view of this, to reduce Boris Berezovsky to an innocuouscaricature would be a disservice to his personality, not to mentionthe impact he exerted on his homeland. In the aforementioned meaculpa Berezovsky apologizes for “greed that harmed Russiancitizens”, “destroying democratic values” and“undermining freedom of speech”. That time Boris Berezovskywas telling the truth.
Igor Ogorodnev, RT
