[Reader-list] power on the streets of Moscow
Rana Dasgupta
rana at ranadasgupta.com
Thu Aug 10 23:55:36 IST 2006
extract from my BBC blog
http://www.bbc.co.uk/blogs/freethinkingworld/2006/08/naked_power.shtml
In Andrew Meier's fascinating Russian travelogue, Black Earth, we find
the following vignette from Moscow:
"Beyond lust and fear, Moscow breeds power. You cannot help feeling that
you are trespassing in its path. Every effort is made to impress upon
the populace its privileged proximity to the unlimited power of the
state. This is not just state power as in other countries. This is not
merely the pomp of officialdom, but the deliberate demonstration of the
state’s power over the people, an ever-present slap in their face.
"It is mid-morning. You walk through the cold, dank underpass, lit by
long fluorescent lamps. At one end stand two grandmothers, selling
cigarettes, hand-knit caps, dried flowers. The underground walkway fills
with the sounds of an accordion. A mournful Russian ballad. Every day
the accordion player, a Moldovan refugee, is here busking. Every day he
squeezes out the same song. It is a long underpass. When at last you
emerge and climb the stairs up into the cold wind of the far side of the
street, you suddenly hear it: the silence. Nothing announces power like
the silence.
"Kutuzovsky Prospekt may well be the broadest street in Moscow. At its
widest it has seven lanes in each direction. In its center the road is
divided by a lane reserved for the political and financial elite, or at
least any Russian sufficiently well moneyed or well connected to procure
the coveted migalka, a little flashing blue light that, once affixed to
a car roof, announces the right of the faceless passenger hidden behind
the curtained, smoked windows, to break any traffic rule or regulation.
In the morning as the city’s bankers and bureaucrats rush toward their
offices, the road is filled with cars and heavy trucks trying to tack
their way into the center. The roar of the traffic, with all fifteen
lanes fully loaded, is deafening. Walking the sidewalks of Kutuzovsky,
as I did nearly every morning, can be unpleasant.
"Until the silence comes. It happens at least twice a day, usually in
mid-morning and just before the sun sets. You are walking down the
sidewalk, and then in a single moment, you realize something has
changed, something is amiss. All you hear is the crunch of your boots on
the hard snow. On the street, the slow-moving river of cars has not
simply stopped; it has disappeared (In minutes a road as wide as a
highway is completely cleared.) he trolley buses have pulled over and
stand along the edge of the prospekt. The citizens too, waiting at the
bus stops, stand still. Everyone waits. Hundreds of poor souls, trapped
in the stilled traffic, sit mute in their parked cars. The street has
frozen into a photograph, and you are the only one moving through it.
"For several minutes nothing stirs. Then suddenly a black Volga, an
illuminated migalka fixed to its roof, speeds down the middle of the
prospect. Then another, and a third, a fourth. And then the chorus of
sirens accompanying the flashing lights. A convoy of automobiles, a
dozen in all, each duly impressing the motionless citizenry with its
size, speed and cleanliness. As men, women and schoolchildren (and the
secret policemen in plain clothes sprinkled among them) stand and watch,
a squadron of BMW militsiya sedans sweeps past, followed by an extended
black Mercedes limousine and a quartet of oversize Mercedes jeeps. As
the convey passes, the cars leave a ripple of turned faces on the sidewalks.
"A visitor might imagine the world had stopped because of a dire
emergency. But the Muscovites frozen in place along this vast slate gray
avenue recognize the scene for what it is: their president, the leader
of all Russia, making his way to work. More than twenty miles of roadway
in the Russian capital are closed in this fashion every day. In a city
already paralyzed by too much snow and too many cars. And still no one
complains, ever. It is the essence of power, Moscow style. It is
naglost. In general, naglost is an unseemly blend of arrogance,
shamelessness and rudeness. In this instance it is the contemptuous
disdain of the rights of ordinary Russians."
The only word of this fantastic description that jars with me is the
word "rights" in the last sentence. This is a piousness creeping in, as
if rights were naturally existing entities that "ordinary Russians"
possessed.
To people living in Delhi, this description would not seem exotic or
strange. The reality of power in the streets is very clear, and the
invocation of "rights" in this context a pure anomaly.
R
--
Rana Dasgupta
www.ranadasgupta.com
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