RIA Novosti was the prime mover behind another image-making innovation – the Valdai International Discussion Club which began its work in Putin’s second term. The Valdai Club brings together about 50 foreign ‘Russia watchers’ (mainly journalists and academics) each September for ten days of debates with Russian specialists, combined with sightseeing (every year a more exotic location) and meetings with top Kremlin officials (every year a better, more senior crop). The first session, in 2004, was at Lake Valdai, north of Moscow, from which the Club derived its name, and the surprise guest of honour was President Putin himself – fuming in the aftermath of the Beslan tragedy – who was willing to spend several hours with the group, letting off steam and answering their questions. Since then the itinerary has included trips to Kazan, Chechnya, Siberia and St Petersburg, and featured lavish lunches with Putin and Medvedev (separately) at their dachas outside Moscow or in Sochi. In 2009 Medvedev apparently decided that Valdai was too closely associated with Putin; he held his own event for foreign experts, the ‘Yaroslavl Global Policy Forum’, instead.
Valdai was a brand-new way of influencing outsiders – much more subtle than giving an interview on CNN or the BBC, or trying to steer Moscow correspondents towards giving more favourable coverage. This was soft propaganda – quite a risk, since hosting 50 foreigners in five-star hotels for ten days is not cheap and certainly not guaranteed to change perceptions overnight. The idea was that the guests – experienced Kremlin-watchers who write in academic journals, advise governments, and appear as pundits in the media – would become better disposed towards Putin if they were given the opportunity to meet him over a long lunch and spend a week or so debating issues with friendly Russian experts and officials.
Critics in the Moscow intelligentsia are utterly dismissive of the project, claiming that the majority of participants are ‘useful idiots’ who have the wool pulled over their eyes and go home parroting the propaganda that’s served up to them with the lobster terrine and fine wines.
Lilia Shevtsova of the Carnegie Endowment, for example, says the Kremlin uses Valdai to ‘co-opt’ and manipulate Western commentators: ‘Foreign guests come to the Valdai meetings to absorb the opinions of Russia’s leaders and then transmit them to the rest of the world.’ 6 I would agree entirely that this is what the Kremlin wants to happen. Otherwise they would not spend so much time and money on it. But having attended three Valdai conferences, I think she overestimates the effect. Maybe some participants become less critical – and it is certainly true that almost everyone, Valdai member or not, tends to be mesmerised by personal contact with Vladimir Putin (Margaret Thatcher used to have a similar effect, even on her critics). But the coverage that spills out from these weeks is not all sycophantic. Ariel Cohen of the conservative Heritage Foundation and the experienced Marshal Goldman are hardly Kremlin stooges.
Meeting officials is always better than not meeting them, and most of the Valdai participants are experienced enough to be able to separate the propaganda from the truth. By and large those who arrive well disposed leave well disposed, and those who arrive believing Putin is crooked and undemocratic rarely change their minds. Most journalists and scholars would welcome the opportunity to meet so many government officials in any country; it does not mean you automatically accept their views, far less ‘transmit’ them. Spending several hours listening to Putin, for example, does not necessarily make one fall in love with him, because one has a chance to scrutinise his mannerisms and obsessions, even at times his anger, and for a democrat the experience is far from comforting. My criticism of the participants is not that they fall for the propaganda, but that few of them – perhaps being too much in awe of him – take this unique opportunity to argue with Putin: it’s a case of asking a (usually soft) question, and patiently listening to the interminable answer – and never daring to follow up or interrupt, or tell him why he is wrong. Too many of the questions – even from the ‘nasty’ crowd – come larded with flattery and compliments. I know privately from Dmitry Peskov that Putin himself (who quite clearly enjoys an argument) despairs at the lack of combative questioning.
Putin also appears to doubt the efficacy of the Valdai effort. At his fourth meeting with the group, in 2007, he kicked off with a rather caustic comment that underlined his apparent belief that the Western media follow some kind of ‘instructions’: ‘In recent years I’ve become convinced that the media in Europe and North America are very disciplined. I don’t see any obvious results from our meetings in your publications, though I’m sure that you personally are getting to understand our country better. We’d be glad if you would transmit something of what you learn to your readers and viewers, to combat the strong stereotypes that exist in the West.’
Much more pernicious than the Valdai Club (at least in intent, if not in reality) is the Institute for Democracy and Cooperation – yet another innovation of the second Putin term. With offices in New York and Paris, it is the ultimate Soviet-style revival in today’s Russia: a think-tank that aims to prove that human rights and democracy are trampled on in the West rather than in Russia. According to its mission statement, the Institute hopes to ‘improve the reputation of Russia in the US’ and to provide ‘analysis’ of US democracy. Its New York office is run by Andranik Migranian, an Armenian by birth but a fierce supporter of Russia’s alleged right to interfere in neighbouring states; its Paris office is run by Natalia Narochnitskaya, a Russian nationalist and apologist for Slobodan Milosevic. Having given them both media training before they were deployed to the front, I could say with some confidence that the West had little to fear from their mission to undermine faith in Western democracy, but I was sure they would both enjoy their sinecures in America and France.
Munich
In February 2007 I was asked by the Kremlin to travel to Germany, where President Putin was due to make a speech at the prestigious Munich Security Conference, held each year in the Bavarian capital. His press team was anticipating a strong reaction and wanted some help in arranging interviews for Dmitry Peskov afterwards. As usual, we were not given any details about the content of the speech, but Peskov and his deputy, Alex Smirnov, were excited: ‘This will be very tough!’ they said. ‘We’ll want to speak to journalists to make sure they’ve understood.’ They needn’t have worried: it was the bluntest, most powerful speech of Putin’s career.
The Bayerischer Hof hotel was ringed with security officers and teeming with senior world figures – not only dozens of defence ministers and generals but parliamentarians, politicians and eminent journalists. None of them was expecting the tongue-lashing Putin was about to deliver. Early in 2007, according to those in the know, the Russian president had finally lost patience with the Americans. ‘Dostali!’ he told his aides: ‘I’ve had enough!’ The immediate cause of frustration was Washington’s decision to push ahead with its plans for a national anti-missile defence system based in Europe. It had just begun talks with Poland about the possibility of basing ten interceptor missiles on its territory, and with the Czech Republic about building a state-of-the-art missile-tracking radar station there. Early in his presidency Putin had reluctantly acquiesced in Bush’s decision to abandon the Anti-Ballistic Missile treaty, but he had no intention of being so lame when it came to the new defensive system that the Americans wanted to deploy. Russia was convinced that this could neutralise its own nuclear deterrent.