Vladimir Putin Time’s Person of the Year 2007 Tuesday, Dec. 18, 2007

Choosing Order Before Freedom By Richard Stengel In a year when Al Gore won the Nobel Peace Prize and green became the new red, white and blue; when the combat in Iraq showed signs of cooling but Baghdad's politicians showed no signs of statesmanship; when China, the rising superpower, juggled its pride in hosting next summer's Olympic Games with its embarrassment at shipping toxic toys around the world; and when J.K. Rowling set millions of minds and hearts on fire with the final volume of her 17-year saga—one nation that had fallen off our mental map, led by one steely and determined man, emerged as a critical linchpin of the 21st century. Russia lives in history—and history lives in Russia. Throughout much of the 20th century, the Soviet Union cast an ominous shadow over the world. It was the U.S.'s dark twin. But after the fall of the Berlin Wall, Russia receded from the American consciousness as we became mired in our own polarized politics. And it lost its place in the great game of geopolitics, its significance dwarfed not just by the U.S. but also by the rising giants of China and India. That view was always naive. Russia is central to our world—and the new world that is being born. It is the largest country on earth; it shares a 2,600-mile (4,200 km) border with China; it has a significant and restive Islamic population; it has the world's largest stockpile of weapons of mass destruction and a lethal nuclear arsenal; it is the world's second largest oil producer after Saudi Arabia; and it is an indispensable player in whatever happens in the Middle East. For all these reasons, if Russia fails, all bets are off for the 21st century. And if Russia succeeds as a nation-state in the family of nations, it will owe much of that success to one man, Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. No one would label Putin a child of destiny. The only surviving son of a Leningrad factory worker, he was born after what the Russians call the Great Patriotic War, in which they lost more than 26 million people. The only evidence that fate played a part in Putin's story comes from his grandfather's job: he cooked for Joseph Stalin, the dictator who inflicted ungodly terrors on his nation. When this intense and brooding KGB agent took over as President of Russia in 2000, he found a country on the verge of becoming a failed state. With dauntless persistence, a sharp vision of what Russia should become and a sense that he embodied the spirit of Mother Russia, Putin has put his country back on the map. And he intends to redraw it himself. Though he will step down as Russia's President in March, he will continue to lead his country as its Prime Minister and attempt to transform it into a new kind of nation, beholden to neither East nor West.

TIME's Person of the Year is not and never has been an honor. It is not an endorsement. It is not a popularity contest. At its best, it is a clear-eyed recognition of the world as it is and of the most powerful individuals and forces shaping that world—for better or for worse. It is ultimately about leadership—bold, earth-changing leadership. Putin is not a boy scout. He is not a democrat in any way that the West would define it. He is not a paragon of free speech. He stands, above all, for stability—stability before freedom, stability before choice, stability in a country that has hardly seen it for a hundred years. Whether he becomes more like the man for whom his grandfather prepared blinis—who himself was twice TIME's Person of the Year—or like Peter the Great, the historical figure he most admires; whether he proves to be a reformer or an autocrat who takes Russia back to an era of repression—this we will know only over the next decade. At significant cost to the principles and ideas that free nations prize, he has performed an extraordinary feat of leadership in imposing stability on a nation that has rarely known it and brought Russia back to the table of world power. For that reason, Vladimir Putin is TIME's 2007 Person of the Year. Click to Print Find this article at: http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/personoftheyear/article/ 0,28804,1690753_1690757_1696150,00.html Copyright ? 2007 Time Inc. All rights reserved. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, Dec. 04, 2007

A Tsar Is Born By Adi Ignatius

An Excerpt from this article Up from the Ruins How do Russians see Putin? For generations they have defined their leaders through political jokes. It's partly a coping mechanism, partly a glimpse into the Russian soul. In the oft told anecdotes, Leonid Brezhnev was always the dolt, Gorbachev the bumbling reformer, Yeltsin the drunk. Putin, in current punch lines, is the despot. Here's an example: Stalin's ghost appears to Putin in a dream, and Putin asks for his help running the country. Stalin says, "Round up and shoot all the democrats, and then paint the inside of the Kremlin blue." "Why blue?" Putin asks. "Ha!" says Stalin. "I knew you wouldn't ask me about the first part." Putin himself is sardonic but humorless. In our hours together, he didn't attempt a joke, and he misread several of our attempts at playfulness. As Henry Kissinger, who has met and interacted with Russian leaders since Brezhnev, puts it, "He does not rely on personal charm. It is a

combination of aloofness, considerable intelligence, strategic grasp and Russian nationalism" (see Kissinger interview). To fully understand Putin's accomplishments and his appeal, one has to step back into the tumult of the 1990s. At the end of 1991, just a few months after Yeltsin dramatically stood on a tank outside the parliament in Moscow to denounce—and deflate—a coup attempt by hard-liners, the Soviet Union simply ceased to exist. Yeltsin took the reins in Russia and, amid great hope and pledges of help from around the world, promised to launch an era of democracy and economic freedom. I arrived in Moscow a week later, beginning a three-year stint as a Russia correspondent. I retain three indelible images from that time. The first: the legions of Ivy League—and other Western-educated "experts" who roamed the halls of the Kremlin and the government, offering advice, all ultimately ineffective, on everything from conducting free elections to using "shock therapy" to juice the economy to privatizing state-owned assets. The second: the long lines of impoverished old women standing in the Moscow cold, selling whatever they could scrounge from their homes—a silver candleholder, perhaps, or just a pair of socks. The third, more familiar image: a discouraged and embattled Yeltsin in 1993 calling in Russian-army tanks to shell his own parliament to break a deadlock with the defiant legislature when everything he was trying to do was going wrong. Yeltsin bombed his way out of the threat of civil war and managed to hang on to power, but Russia was left hobbled. Virtually every significant asset—oil, banks, the media—ended up in the hands of a few "oligarchs" close to the President. Corruption and crime were rampant; the cities became violent. Paychecks weren't issued; pensions were ignored. Russia in 1998 defaulted on its foreign debt. The ruble and the financial markets collapsed, and Yeltsin was a spent force. "The '90s sucked," says Stephen Sestanovich, a Columbia University professor who was the State Department's special adviser for the new Independent States of the former Soviet Union under President Bill Clinton. "Putin managed to play on the resentment that Russians everywere were feeling." Indeed, by the time Putin took over in late 1999, there was nowhere to fall but up. Path to Power That Russia needed fixing was acknowledged by all. But how was it that Putin got the call? What was it that lifted him to power, and to the dacha in Novo-Ogarevo? Putin's rise continues to perplex even devoted Kremlin observers. He was born into humble circumstances in St. Petersburg in 1952. His father had fought in World War II and later labored in a train-car factory. Putin's mother, a devout Orthodox Christian, had little education and took on a series of menial jobs. The family lived in a drab fifth-floor walk-up in St. Petersburg; Putin had to step over swarms of rats occupying the entranceway on his way to school. Putin's only ancestor of note was his paternal grandfather, who had served as a cook for both Lenin and Stalin, though there's no sign that this gave his family any special status or connections.

Putin describes his younger self as a poor student and a "hooligan." Small for his age, he got roughed up by his contemporaries. So he took up sambo—a Soviet-era blend of judo and wrestling—and later just judo. From all accounts, he devoted himself to the martial art, attracted by both its physical demands and its contemplative philosophical core. "It's respect for your elders and opponents," he says in First Person, his question-and-answer memoir published in 2000. "It's not for weaklings." It was the KGB that rescued Putin from obscurity—and turned the child into the man. Putin had begun to apply himself to schoolwork, and in 1975, during his senior year at Leningrad State University, he was approached by an impressive stranger who said, "I need to talk to you about your career assignment. I wouldn't like to specify exactly what it is yet." Putin, who had dreamed of becoming a spy, was intrigued. Within months he was being trained in counterintelligence. By the mid-1980s he was assigned to East Germany, where he worked undercover, pursuing intelligence on NATO and German politicians. He was in Dresden, not Berlin where the action was, and probably would have been only a bit player in the Le Carré version of the cold war. But when the Berlin Wall came down in 1989, so did Putin's KGB career. As angry crowds moved on the local KGB headquarters, Putin and his colleagues feverishly burned files that detailed agents' names and networks—so much paper, he recalls in the memoir, that "the furnace burst." Then he slipped into the crowd and watched as the newly liberated mobs sacked the detested building. Within two years, he left the KGB altogether. Putin's big break was a friend's introduction to Anatoli Sobchak, the liberal mayor of St. Petersburg, who was happy to bring in an intelligent, no-nonsense outsider to help push his reformist agenda. Putin ran the office that registered businesses and promoted foreign investment. He was responsible for ensuring that President Clinton's visit to the city in 1996 went smoothly—it was the first time American officials saw Putin in action. But later that year, Sobchak, damaged by a perception of ineffectiveness and rumors of corruption, lost his re-election bid. As Putin tells us at the dacha, as a member of the losing team, he was suddenly untouchable. "Nobody would hire me there," he says. So Putin headed to Moscow. What transpired next seemed to Kremlin watchers as unlikely as Chauncey Gardiner's unwitting rise to power in the Jerzy Kosinski novel Being There. Although Putin often says that he had no connections when he arrived in the capital in mid-1996, he had several powerful allies who landed him work in the Kremlin. He became deputy to the head of Yeltsin's general-affairs department. Within two years he was asked to head the FSB, the spy-agency successor to the disbanded KGB. Putin, in his memoir, says he received a call out of the blue asking him to head to the airport to meet Russia's Prime Minister, Sergei Kirienko. Kirienko offered congratulations. When Putin asked why, he replied, "The decree is signed. You have been appointed director of the FSB." Then, in August 1999, Putin was named Prime Minister. It's a grand title, but it doesn't come with much security: Putin was Yeltsin's fifth Prime Minister in 17 months. But Putin did far better than survive; within four months a declining Yeltsin asked Putin to take over as acting President. Putin tells us he initially declined but that Yeltsin raised it again, saying, "Don't say no." By the last day of 1999 Putin was running the country.

We ask if it had ever occurred to Putin that history would place him in such a role. "It never occurred to me," he says. "It still surprises me." Experts generally believe that Putin won Yeltsin's endorsement because he was competent, because he wasn't part of any of the major Moscow factions competing for power and because his KGB past gave him a source of authority. But they also widely assume that he made a deal with Yeltsin and his family: in return for Yeltsin's endorsement, Putin would not pursue corruption charges against the outgoing President and his relatives, despite the rumors that surrounded the family's dealings. It's impossible to verify, but neither Yeltsin, who died this year, nor his well-connected daughter Tatyana Dyachenko was ever a subject of public investigation (though Putin quickly fired her from her position as a Kremlin image consultant). Indeed, Putin's first decree guaranteed Yeltsin and his family immunity from such probes. Putin explains things to us this way: "Mr. Yeltsin realized that I would be totally sincere and would spare no effort to fulfill my duties and would be honest and see that the interest of the country could be secured." Eight years on, one can't help seeing a parallel with the latest maneuverings in the Kremlin: just as Yeltsin rewarded Putin for his loyalty, now Putin is doing the same for his anointed successor, Medvedev. There is already a new Putin joke: Putin goes to a restaurant with Medvedev and orders a steak. The waiter asks, "And what about the vegetable?" Putin answers, "The vegetable will have steak too." Find this article at: http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/personoftheyear/article/ 0,28804,1690753_1690757_1690766,00.html Copyright ? 2007 Time Inc. All rights reserved -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------Tuesday, Dec. 18, 2007

His Place in History By Simon Sebag Montefiore The more successful a russian leader becomes, the more insecure he feels. When Emperor Alexander I had taken Napoleonic Paris and when Marshal Stalin had conquered Hitlerite Berlin, they were the arbiters of Europe, yet both had to resist strong tides of liberal expectation not so much from their people as from their élite grandees. In Russian politics, it is not the ordinary people who matter most of the time. The ruler truly fears the dangerous, treacherous and greedy clique closest to him. Russian leaders are most often removed in palace coups; even the tsarist system was once described as an "autocracy tempered by assassination." Peter III and Paul I were murdered by those closest to them; Lavrenti Beria, the strongman for three months after Stalin's death, was arrested and then executed; when Nikita Khrushchev was overthrown in 1964, some key plotters close to Leonid Brezhnev discussed having him killed; and a failed 1991 coup by security bosses undermined Mikhail Gorbachev. That is why Tsar Ivan the Terrible, Peter the

Great and Stalin turned on their élites, killing many and trying to create new inner circles of their own. Putin is subtler than that. We may never know all the details of what is happening behind the scenes today, but it is clear that Putin is deftly managing the struggle for power and spoils among the factions that swirl around him. Throughout Russian history, the ruler has never been able to simply leave power, for fear of exposing himself and his henchmen to vengeance from their rivals. Thus, even at his most powerful, Putin could not afford to walk away, even if he really wanted to. Putin has worked hard to emasculate the Duma, press and opposition, but in a sense this makes him more vulnerable because his system is so rigid that only something like the Rose Revolution in Georgia or the Orange one in Ukraine could destroy it. This explains his cultivation of xenophobic paranoia and use of clumsy repression even when he is so popular, they hardly seem necessary. Another reason for this vulnerability is that his success is based on oil: prices could fall one day and leave him an emperor with no clothes. When he steps down as President, he has said he will become Prime Minister. He will probably keep overseeing the "power ministries"—defense, security and foreign affairs—by controlling his puppet President and protégé, Dmitri Medvedev. But this is a dangerous maneuver: What if the puppet turns on his master, as Putin turned on the Yeltsin "Family" of billionaires and bureaucrats who created him? Putin's cult of personality is his best protection: it is a shield that gives an invulnerable prestige that would be hard for an understudy like Medvedev to ignore, even if he planned a creeping palace coup. Putin is a unique combination of styles: he projects the sumptuous majesty of the Tsars and the distant power of the Soviet General Secretaries, combined with a nationalist populism. When he allowed himself to be photographed shirtless on a fishing trip, he could have been channeling Peter the Great, who projected a virile style by posing as an ordinary sailor, or Catherine the Great's favorite, Prince Potemkin, who wore a caftan without trousers to receive ambassadors. Putin started his presidency projecting himself as absolutist but liberal along the lines of Catherine. These days he presents himself as a tough, nationalistic authoritarian. He is not a Stalinist or a Marxist; Russia's "sovereign democracy" is much freer than Soviet rule, and there is no mass terror, but he has made the security organs as powerful as they were in the 1920s through the 1950s or during the 15-month-long reign of the ailing former KGB boss and Soviet leader Yuri Andropov. This should be no surprise: the Soviet secret police was never designed as a discrete institution—it was the backbone of state power, the knighthood of the revolution, qualified to protect and purify Russia. History lives in Russia. Stalin was obsessed with history and based part of his style on the brutal Ivan the Terrible and Peter the Great. "The Russian people need tsardom," Stalin said. When he walked around the Kremlin, he reflected, "Ivan once walked here." Now Stalin has become the best barometer of Russian leadership style. New state textbooks hail Stalin as "the most

successful Russian leader ever" and a state builder along the lines of Peter the Great and Bismarck. Putin has one unexpected connection to the past: his grandfather was a chef who cooked for Rasputin, Lenin and Stalin. Half of Stalin's huge library, with marginal notes in his red crayon, remains in Putin's office, and when he is bored, it is said, he takes down a book and discusses the notes with his visitors. Ironically, Stalin the Marxist—born a Georgian cobbler's son—has become the icon and prototype of the strong Russian Tsar, the hero of a resurgent, capitalist Russia.

Montefiore is the author of Young Stalin and Catherine the Great and Potemkin

Click to Print Find this article at: http://www.time.com/time/specials/2007/personoftheyear/article/ 0,28804,1690753_1690757_1695993,00.html Copyright ? 2007 Time Inc. All rights reserved.