#14
Moscow Times
November 15, 2000
ESSAY: The School Where Putin's People Learn to Rule
By Gleb Pyanykh
Gleb Pyanykh is a correspondent for the magazine Vlast, for which he wrote
this essay.
There can be no doubt that in order to survive in today's rough-and-tumble
political arena, one needs the highest level of professionalism. Finally,
someone has appeared on the scene who understands this problem. A few weeks
ago, a notice appeared on the Internet announcing the creation of a new
institute of higher learning for would-be politicians, to go by the
mysterious Russian acronym VPSh. I decided to check it out and see exactly
who studies there and what they are learning.
I was immediately disappointed to learn that the VPSh, or Advanced Political
School, is not really called VPSh anymore. Instead, it is now the ShPP, or
School of Professional Politics. School administrators explained to me
vaguely that "difficulties arose when we tried to register the name 'Advanced
Political School.'" Nonetheless, this pseudonym is still widely used there
and obviously much beloved.
The school rents two floors of a modern business center on Balakirevsky Lane
in Moscow. Its rector, Arkady Shvartser, told me that the school has already
enrolled two groups of 20 students each, two-thirds of them being Muscovites
and the rest coming from the regions. The school offers dormitory space to
students from other cities, but most of them prefer to live in hotels.
Tuition at the school ranges from $5,000 to $8,000 for a two-month course.
The average age of the students is 28.
When I asked what, concretely, the students study there, the rector answered
that such information was "a commercial secret." He explained that students
are required to sign a "confidentiality agreement" that obligates them not to
reveal what they learned at the school. And, indeed, I found out that this is
true when I approached a pair of perfectly decent-looking students and asked
them about the school. Both politely refused to answer, citing the
confidentiality agreement.
A third student, who identified himself as Sergei, agreed to talk. Sergei
works in the press office of a regional governor and was sent to the school
on a "voluntary/mandatory" basis. He explained that the school holds lessons
three days a week for three hours a day. Plus there is one full-day session
devoted to "practical work."
"Our teachers don't have a very high opinion of the Russian people," Sergei
explained to me. "The people are just pagans who can only think one step
ahead. Their brains are dominated by myths and theatrics. For the Russian
electorate, politics is nothing but theater and a politician is just an actor
who is giving a performance here and now. He has no past and he has no
future. Therefore, if Boris Berezovsky or the Family stands behind a
particular politician f as they did for instance with Putin f that doesn't
mean that the people won't vote for him."
"Putin, for instance, performed a miracle," Sergei continued. "He won the war
in Chechnya in 1999. And the people believed in this miracle. They'll believe
in any other miracle as well. So, here they teach us how to manage the
choices of such a people."
After talking to Sergei, I was able to lay my hands on a copy of the school
curriculum dated Sept. 2. It bore the signature of Sergei Markov, a
well-known political scientist and the director of the Institute of Political
Research. The school's two-month program bears the ominous title, "Managing
Human Choice." The curriculum carefully laid out how many hours students
would spend studying each topic, which ranged widely and included things like
"The Nature of Power," "Managing a Politician's Reputation," "Information and
Psychological Wars" and "Story Therapy."
I took this paper directly to Markov who, for some reason, agreed to meet me
not at the school itself but in the office of the Internet newspaper
Strana.ru (which, incidentally, is where I first learned about the school).
We met in the office of Gleb Pavlovsky.
"Pavlovsky is allowing me to use his office while I am working on a special
project for him f a foreign-language version of Strana.ru. It doesn't have
anything to do with the school," Markov explained. "The school was founded by
a group of private individuals who have been working in the field of
political technology for a long time now. However, I can't tell you precisely
who they are."
Markov talked quite openly about what, in his opinion, the school's program
should be. In his opinion, society now badly needs a trained and qualified
new generation of politicians. Putin's elite is now coming in to replace the
old Yeltsin elite. Markov said that deputies and politicians who were
hurriedly thrown together into the Unity party for the State Duma elections
last winter particularly need training now.
"And did the Kremlin play a role in the creation of the school?" I asked.
"No," Markov answered sincerely and then immediately added, "and our school
has its enemies. You most likely understand that there are many factions
within the Kremlin. Of course, if you ask me specifically who our enemies
are, I won't answer you."
I showed Markov the curriculum that I had found. "That is not my signature,"
he said. He grabbed a scrap of paper, scribbled something on it and said,
"That's my signature."
But then he read the paper I'd given him and began speaking carefully. "But,
by the way, what is written here ... yes, this is one of the working
documents and it is quite close to the final version. Are you surprised by
its cynicism? It isn't really that cynical. Machiavelli was right about a lot
of things, but not about everything. Politicians can't do whatever they want.
For example, if a Russian politician criticizes the Orthodox Church, he is
committing a fatal mistake."
And then Markov began reading me a long lecture on politics. He focused
mostly on "political technologies," the most interesting of which was
something called "story therapy." In this course, students are asked to write
a story featuring themselves as the protagonist. Then the stories are studied
carefully by an experienced psychologist, who uncovers in them a wealth of
hidden complexes. The psychologist then helps the student rewrite the story
and thus to create for himself a new "life myth." "If you change the myth,
you change fate," is something that they teach at the school.
As I left Markov, I couldn't help but wonder whether one can really grasp
fate like that. But in Russia it is pretty easy to find people who think that
by spending two months and $8,000 one can rewrite one's fate and learn how to
manage the choice of the people. But it is hard for me to believe that it is
so easy. It seems to me that thinking this way is about the same as thinking
that one can take a two-month judo course and then be ready for an
international competition. Or for a hard-hitting job in the Federal Security
Service.
Back to the Top