KRASNOYARSK, 6 December 2003 — In the rogue’s gallery that is Russia’s political class, Anatoly Bykov, a former hardman, turned aluminum entrepreneur, turned local politician, was something of a popular hero.
Despite his involvement in the bloody aluminum wars that tore apart the Siberian industrial nerve center of Krasnoyarsk in the early 90s, and a six-and-a-half-year suspended sentence in June last year for plotting the attempted murder of a business rival, he had been predicted to become MP for one of the city’s more remote districts in parliamentary elections tomorrow.
“He is no Robin Hood,” said Elena Viktorova, the executive secretary of the opposing Yabloko party, one of several political rivals who recognized his persistent philanthropy. “But a friend of mine’s son lost his foot on a mine in Chechnya, and Bykov paid for a prosthetic. People are still afraid of him, but he is a local hero.”
Yet local heroes have little place in Russia’s controlled democracy, particularly if they are — as Bykov was expected to be — about to beat the candidate for the pro-Putin party, United Russia. At the last minute and with an almost comical respect for the minutiae of the law, the courts discovered that his passport had been stamped at the Azerbaijani and Uzbek borders — something forbidden by the Ministry of Foreign Affairs. His passport was declared “deficient”, and his candidacy annulled last Sunday. Bykov’s voters have little choice but to make a protest vote or vote for United Russia.
The popularity of a convicted criminal in this bitter local election exposes the limited choices for the Russian electorate in the third such elections in their history.
Krasnoyarsk epitomizes the divide tearing apart Russia’s frail democracy. It is the capital of the vast Krasnoyarsk region, which covers 13 percent of Russia, and whose massive metal and energy resources make up more than 3.5 percent of the country’s GDP.
On the left bank of the Yenisey River that splits the city, lie the aluminum and energy plants which, for those associated with them, have brought quick and easy wealth and comfortable lives. On the right bank are the Soviet-era factories whose impoverished workers — discarded by Russia’s new energy-rich elite — live in the surrounding, tiny Brezhnev-era flats.
The river, artificially warmed by the hydroelectric plant, steams amid the sheet ice and raises a white curtain between the two sides of town, a fittingly surreal backdrop to the city’s electoral races.
Yet both sides of the river are have only one real choice for their MP: The local candidate for United Russia, the pro-Kremlin party set to win handsomely across Russia. Big business loyal to Moscow dominates; the governor of the region is the owner of its major metal plants, Alexander Khloponin. Opposition parties such as the Communists are hamstrung by the Kremlin’s dominance, and rare, independent candidates are either quashed or have a hidden allegiance to business or higher powers, analysts say.
Sunday’s elections are about more than the staffing of a parliament largely neutered by the overpowering strength of the Kremlin in Russian politics. The future of Vladimir Putin’s administration and its reforms are at stake. If the pro-Putin bloc has a majority of more than two-thirds, it can change the constitution, and perhaps permit the president to have a third term after 2008. Yet indifference rules.
Viktor Ivanov, 54, is a typical Krasnoyarsk voter, with an atypical grudge. He blames the bitter wars fuelled by Bykov about the city’s aluminum factories for the 1994 shooting dead of his close friend Viktor Semik.
The former chief engineer at a car factory, whose name has been changed, has been out of work for a year, surviving by trading retail goods. The murder of his friend exacts the only sign of passion from Ivanov before this election, typifying the discontent rife among much of the electorate in this massively influential town.
“There is nobody running in our region I want to vote for, so I won’t vote,” he said, wearing a T-shirt and shorts amid the tropical temperatures of his flat, overheated in winter temperatures of -25C. “We have so many amateurs in Parliament already — people seeking to build their image or business interests.”
He sees his vote as a chance to bolster his region’s status with the Kremlin. “If I vote for a party, it will be for United Russia, the president’s party. The Duma (Parliament) cannot do anything unless the president and his party are strong,” said Ivanov. “But if the president is too strong ... If you look at the history of Russia there is no insurance against a big personality (like Putin) getting out of hand.”
Professor Sergei Peregudov, from the political department of Moscow Institute of World Economy, said the inevitability of victory for United Russia had warped democracy in Russia. “The vote becomes pragmatic: they vote for the MP candidates and governors they consider can most ‘effectively’ improve the situation in their region through good relations with the Kremlin. This is far from a real democratic choice, but a major part of the electorate accepts it as it has no alternative.”
Bykov’s candidacy was a rare wild card in an otherwise foregone conclusion. Sergei Komaritsyn, the editor of the seemingly independent local newspaper Vechernii Krasnoyarsk, said: “These are the most boring and uninteresting elections yet. The percentage of spoiled ballots — an active protest — will also be very big; about 7 percent.” He added that the most optimistic projection for turnout was 45 percent.
That would be high; in St Petersburg, Putin’s hometown, fears are growing that the turnout could slip nine points below the 25 percent needed to validate the vote. Such apathy may be perceived as revenge for the “fixed” local elections this year, in which the Kremlin’s choice became governor.