Get the power back. How many times before has Yeltsin risen from what seems like near-death experiences and made it plain that only one man matters politically in Russia? Once it was the tsar; today, in the country’s post-communist chaos, it is Yeltsin, the only democratically elected president the nation has ever known. Last week he did it again. On the eve of an impeachment vote in a hostile legislature–and just two days after a wobbly Yeltsin had to be helped up a step at a wreath-laying ceremony in Moscow–Russia’s president fired his third prime minister in 14 months. Former intelligence operative and Foreign Minister Yevgeny Primakov was out; in was Sergei Stepashin, 47, the intensely loyal Interior minister (box), who will seek to win the Duma’s approval this Wednesday.
The move had been telegraphed for weeks, but it was stunning nonetheless. Coming just before the impeachment vote, it briefly raised the specter of another bitter constitutional standoff between the president and the legislature (in 1993 Yeltsin ordered tanks to fire on the Parliament). But Saturday afternoon the legislators, perhaps realizing just how weary the Russian people have grown of Moscow’s political wars, stepped back from the brink. The impeachment motion thought most likely to pass–condemning the president for the war in Chechnya–failed. “There are more vital issues facing us today,” Vladimir Ryzhkov, the young leader of the centrist Our Home Is Russia party, said accurately. “This is not the time to indulge in selfish scoring of political points.”
Yeltsin’s victory in turn made it more likely that Stepashin will be approved as Primakov’s successor. But there’s no mistaking that Boris Yeltsin, not Sergei Stepashin, is the dominant force in Russian politics. For better or worse–and most Russians by far believe it’s the latter–the decision to bounce Primakov last week had almost nothing to do with the Kremlin’s stated reason (to kick-start economic reform) and everything to do with the man in the Kremlin.
Yeltsin is an ailing, isolated 68-year-old with just more than a year left in office. He works only occasionally, and sees regularly a diminishing number of associates and advisers. He has just three things on his mind, aides say: maintaining his grip on power through the end of his term next year, ensuring that the communists do not come to power when he leaves and–if they do–protecting himself and his family from political retribution. If he manages all that, Yeltsin believes his place in history–as Russia’s father of democracy–will be secure.
But during Yeltsin’s second term, his erratic rule and obsession with power have become an increasingly heavy burden for Russia to bear. The country drifts from crisis to crisis, largely because the president is so out of touch. The story behind Primakov’s dismissal illustrates that vividly. Yeltsin acceded to Primakov’s nomination last September only reluctantly–when the communists who dominate the Duma made it clear that they would rather see the legislature dissolved than approve Chernomyrdin as prime minister. An engaged president would have known that before nominating Chernomyrdin, some former aides concede, but Yeltsin didn’t. Instead, he ended up with Primakov. The former spy was a soothing figure for the left, a fact that made his nomination acceptable at the time–but that quickly made him suspect in Yeltsin’s eyes.
Yeltsin promptly disappeared again, his health keeping him away from work for long stretches between September of last year and this February. Most current and former aides remain reluctant to discuss just how ill Yeltsin is, but as one puts it: “What you see is what you get. There are no mysteries here. This is not a well man.” Patients with a history of severe heart trouble like Yeltsin typically suffer from symptoms that jibe precisely with the sort of behavior he routinely displays: disorientation, a short attention span, slurring of words and short-term memory loss.
In Yeltsin’s absence, Primakov went to work. He sought a so-called peace pact between the Duma and the Kremlin that would have ensured no major government shake-ups through the scheduled Duma elections this December and the presidential vote next summer. Primakov was dealing mainly with Yeltsin’s chief of staff, Nikolai Bordyuzha, who the prime minister assumed had the presi-dent’s blessing. He assumed wrong. Bordyuzha was one of the few who had regu-lar access to Yeltsin, but he didn’t necessarily have influence.
Real influence, particularly on political questions, is limited to Yeltsin’s daughter 39-year-old Tatyana Dyachenko, and two former chiefs of staff, Valentin Yumashev and Anatoly Chubais. Yumashev, in turn, is close both to Dyachenko and to the controversial businessman Boris Berezovsky. Kremlin sources say Yeltsin apparently became convinced that the peace pact was intended to make him a figurehead while Primakov and the Duma ran the country, and they believe that it was the trio of Dyachenko, Yumashev and Berezovsky who convinced him of that.
Primakov further alienated the Yeltsin inner circle by allowing prosecutors to pursue politically popular corruption investigations against the Kremlin’s own property-management company and against Berezovsky. The prosecutor’s office even issued a warrant for Berezovsky’s arrest. But Stepashin, the Interior minister and now prime minister presumptive, quickly made it clear how the president felt about the warrants: Stepashin announced that Berezovsky would not face arrest. From late February on, sources have told NEWSWEEK, it was only a matter of time before Primakov was gone.
In early March, Yeltsin began emerging from his long winter’s slumber. Within weeks he was making his disgust for Primakov obvious. During the past month a chronic back ailment began to pain Primakov greatly. In one meeting in late April, a rebounding Yeltsin needled him cruelly: “Yevgeny Maksimovich,” he asked, “how are you feeling? Make sure to follow your doctor’s advice. If you like, I can recommend you my doctor.” Thank you, Primakov responded icily, “mine’s fine.”
Exactly when Yeltsin made up his mind to sack Primakov is not clear. But it’s obvious it was his idea; the inner circle was divided. Chubais, who now has no official role in the Kremlin, cautioned Yeltsin about risking a new political crisis while a desperately needed new IMF loan was on the table. But he failed to budge the president, and later was alarmed to learn that the man Yeltsin wanted to nominate was not Stepashin but the obscure–and undistinguished–railways minister, Nikolai Aksyonenko.
Chubais recognized Berezovsky’s handiwork. Aksyonenko has been linked closely to Berezovsky, and vague charges of corruption trailed in his wake. On May 12 Chubais had an early-morning meeting with Yeltsin. He made his case for Stepashin, saying he knew him from St. Petersburg, thought him more honest and capable than Aksyonenko and more likely to tackle Russia’s economic problems with urgency. But it was still unclear what the president was going to do. At noon that same day, Yeltsin telephoned the speaker of the Duma and told him Aksyonenko would replace Primakov. Some time later Aleksandr Kotenkov, Yeltsin’s representative in the Duma chamber, took the microphone and said, “There must be some kind of mistake. From the beginning, the information I had was of Stepashin’s candidacy.” The members burst into laughter.
It was Stepashin. And now the Duma–having removed the impeachment threat–will take up his nomination. “We are ready for the Devil if need be,” said communist deputy Gennady Benov last Saturday, conceding that Stepashin would probably be approved. Chalk up another victory for Yeltsin. But if the past is any guide, this will be followed by more drift, inattention–and Russia’s next crisis.
