El lector ruso: El asalto a Grozni treinta años después

Una refugiada chechena frente al edificio destruido en donde se encontraba su apartamento, en el centro de Grozni, 17 de febrero de 1995. Foto: Reuters (via Julia Jazagaeva)

En el trigésimo aniversario del asalto a Grozni, los medios liberales rusos recuerdan a la audiencia rusófona que la guerra chechena ocurrió alguna vez. En cuanto veo ese titular en algún video, ni siquiera pienso en hacerle clic, simplemente lo ignoro. Un par de sumarios son suficiente para convencerme de que esa gente no ha entendido nada, aún después de tres décadas. Incluso con tres años de la reciente, absolutamente desleal guerra imperialista en Ucrania, los obvios acontecimientos de lo que Chechenia significa para Rusia no han sido tan obvios para ellos.

Casi cualquier ruso decente podría decirnos, por supuesto, que bombardear ciudades atestadas de civiles fue incorrecto y sucio. Que llevar a cabo “operaciones de limpieza” en poblados y enterrar a las víctimas en fosas comunes fue también terrible. Mas, con seguridad, exclamarán “¡pero…!”. Nos hablarán de delincuentes chechenos, de cartas de crédito falsificadas y del intransigente Dudáyev. Sí, fue un error destruir un tercio de la población chechena, se lamentará el ruso especulativo, pero, agregará, los chechenos eran manzanas podridas y tuvieron lo que se merecían.

Si, alguna vez, observamos un filme (documental) ruso que repase los hechos ocurridos en Chechenia hace treinta años, advertiremos que es acerca de los tipos que se enlistaron y que el año nuevo de 1994 fueron lanzados al epicentro del infierno. Sin entrenamiento adecuado para disparar o conducir tanques, esos fueron los desafortunados hijos de la madre patria: que su memoria viva para siempre. Este recurso artístico es usado, por ejemplo, en el proyecto asociado a Maxim Katz “Minuto a minuto”. Los canales (de Youtube) Tiempo actual (Current Time) y Política popular (Popular Politics) han repetido esa fórmula de “la guerra chechena”.

Minuto a minuto, “La víspera del año nuevo del asalto a Grozni: una reconstrucción minuto a minuto” (31 de diciembre del 2024).

Semánticamente, la construcción “guerra chechena” opera de la misma forma que la invención de “El prisionero del Cáucaso”. Al esconder al agresor, se nos sugiere que nos enfoquemos en el agredido, como si este fuese la causa de la agresión. En esta artimaña lógica, Chechenia parece haberse incendiado a sí misma, que fueron sus habitantes quienes estúpidamente se bombardearon entre ellos. Que no fue Rusia la que invadió el Cáucaso, sino que fue el Cáucaso, el que por algún motivo, retuvo soldados rusos como prisioneros. No es sin motivo, que cuando alguien dice “tal persona fue asesinada en Chechenia”, es el lugar el que parece ser el malhechor. Quien escuche eso no tiene motivo para preguntarse qué hacía ese soldado armado en una tierra foránea. Es como si Chechenia hubiera aparecido en Samara y hubiese asesinado a un inocente conductor de tanques.

Cuando pensamos, escribimos y decimos “guerra chechena”, automáticamente la interpretamos desde el punto de vista del colonizador y agresor. Aceptamos la interpretación impuesta por Moscú, que insiste que Chechenia es parte de Rusia, en lugar de un estado soberano al que atacó. Si Rusia no es nombrada en la nómina de este evento histórico, Chechenia es identificada como parte indiscutible del imperio y el conflicto se compara con el levantamiento de noviembre o la rebelión de Tambov.

Lo cierto es que fue la guerra ruso-chechena la que comenzó el 11 de diciembre de 1994. La guerra merece ser identificada como tal, tanto en términos de la naturaleza de las hostilidades, como por el estatus de las partes en conflicto, porque en el momento en que la República Chechena de Ichkeria fue invadida por las tropas rusas, se había declarado legalmente independiente por voto popular en una declaración de independencia hacía ya tres años, separándose de la URSS y bajo el mismo principio, de la RSFS. Los chechenos NO habían sido parte de la, entonces recientemente creada, Federación Rusa, ni tan solo por un día.

El periodista independiente Vadym Zaydman ha escrito más y mejor que nadie al respecto. No hay necesidad de parafrasearle cuando, en cambio, puedo citarle:

“Al momento del colapso/muerte de la URSS, Chechenia no tenía ningún vínculo legal ni con el difunto imperio soviético ni con la RSFS. En ese momento la RASS (República autónoma de la Unión soviética) de Chechenia Ingusetia llevaba existiendo como República de la Unión más de un año. Es más, por definición no podía ser parte de la Federación Rusa, como se proclamó el 25 de diciembre de 1991. Cuando la Federación Rusa nació, Chechenia no era parte de esta.

Ni siquiera Rusia consideraba a Chechenia como parte de Rusia durante ese período. El 31 de marzo de 1992, se incorporó el tratado de la Federación a la constitución rusa. Este hecho cambió el estatus de las repúblicas autónomas a repúblicas soberanas dentro de la Federación Rusa.

Fue solo a raíz de los conocidos eventos de octubre de 1993, cuando Yeltsin adoptó la nueva constitución rusa, que él, unilateralmente, incorporó a Chechenia en la Federación. De hecho, Yeltsin cometió un fraude como el que las autoridades rusas habían cometido cuando, tras el colapso de la Unión soviética, declararon a Rusia miembro del consejo de seguridad de la ONU como sucesor legal de la URSS, aún cuando Rusia no era ni siquiera miembro base de la ONU. Ucrania y Belarusia eran ya miembros de la ONU, pero Rusia, alias la República Socialista Federativa Soviética de Rusia, ¡no lo era! Al incorporar a Chechenia, un año después, Rusia inició el establecimiento del “orden constitucional” en Chechenia como en su propio feudo. Ingenioso ¿verdad?”

Fin de la cita.

El término “guerra chechena” es, como la expresión “guerra de Ucrania”, ilegítimo e inaceptable. Los ucranianos no admitirían este término y el mundo civilizado no debería hacerlo tampoco. Para todos, la guerra actual es la guerra ruso-ucraniana. Lo mismo deberíamos hacer al describir la guerra en Chechenia: es la guerra ruso-chechena.

Muchos rusos obviamente preferirían que esto quedara en la historia de una forma más modesta, idealmente no como una guerra sino como una “operación militar especial” o una “operación contraterrorista”, porque fueron fuerzas de seguridad, no gente común, los responsables de tales operaciones. “OME” y “OCT” parecen términos triviales y restringidos, como una “alerta amarilla” de la policía, no produce temor ni culpa colectiva ni responsabilidad. Más importante, si se hace una correlación con estos términos putinistas, las sanciones occidentales serían consideradas como un castigo injustificado y desmedido, ya que hacen “sufrir a la gente común y corriente”.

¿Por qué, entonces, diferentes instituciones, putinistas y anti putinistas, se han pasado los últimos tres años sin descanso, evaluando la opinión pública para saber si los rusos apoyan la guerra? Sí, es simple: por las sanciones, y por la ligeramente empañada imagen de Rusia a ojos de la comunidad internacional. Si se muestran esas encuestas relevantes a Occidente con frecuencia y se le recuerda que “las encuestas públicas no funcionan en una sociedad totalitaria”, se hará eco de ese mantra por encanto la milésima vez. Sería entonces mucho más sencillo para los oficiales de Bruselas explicarse a ellos mismos y al electorado por qué levantar tales restricciones: porque oprimen a una sociedad civil que ya está de por sí oprimida, que no desea la guerra de ninguna forma, pero que fue forzada a ella por Putin.

Mientras tanto, para responder a la pregunta acerca de la cantidad de la población rusa que comparte la mentalidad imperial de sus líderes, es suficiente tomar el caso de la guerra ruso-chechena. Desde un punto de vista sociológico, este es un experimento científicamente transparente. En 1994 (como en 1999, cuando la segunda fase de la guerra comenzó) no había totalitarismo en Rusia. No hubo sanciones occidentales y no hubo emigrados rusos criticando al régimen desde el extranjero. El presidente norteamericano Bill Clinton expresó su “preocupación” cuando se enteró del asesinato de civiles en Chechenia. Francia apoyó el establecimiento del orden constitucional en el territorio propio de Rusia. Todos pensaron que el nuevo zar ruso, Yeltsin, era mejor que cualquier comunista, aún si combatía como uno.

Disfrutando del apoyo total de la comunidad internacional, Rusia arrasó Grozni hasta sus cimientos, y con ellos, a los remanentes de su población civil en la víspera del año nuevo de 1994. Esto no ocasionó lamento alguno en la sociedad rusa. La primera protesta ocurrida en Moscú tomó lugar el 10 de enero de 1995, organizada por Yegor Gaidar: fue una actividad partidaria con escasa asistencia. No fue sino hasta el 2001, esto es, cinco años más tarde que se dieron protestas civiles importantes contra la guerra en Chechenia (Mi camarada, Antti Rautiainen, quien, cuando las cosas quemaban en esos años, fue coorganizador de la primera protesta callejera contra la guerra, en Moscú en noviembre de 1999, me señaló –en un comentario a Jazagaeva, originalmente en ruso– que la manifestación más grande, en Moscú, contra la guerra en Chechenia, tomó lugar en enero del 2000, no el 2001 – TRR). Como fuera, incluso entonces, de acuerdo a Radio Svoboda (Libertad), en entrevistas a transeúntes, “los moscovitas no tenían ningún apuro en unirse a las protestas: todos estaban ocupados con sus propios asuntos”.

Las manifestaciones durante la primera fase de la guerra ruso-chechena fueron aisladas y, bien podría decirse, de carácter personal. Desde los primeros días de la invasión, el disidente soviético y activista ruso de derechos humanos, Serguei Kovaliov, se trasladó a Grozni. Intentó impedir el bombardeo de la ciudad. En marzo de 1995 fue removido de su cargo de comisionado de derechos humanos por apoyar al lado “incorrecto”. La presentadora de televisión Svetlana Sorokina se tomó, al aire, la libertad de remarcar, consternada, tras una pausa comercial, que “ningún detergente podría lavar la conciencia de los generales rusos”. La Chechenia independiente y sus presidentes electos legalmente, Dzhojar Dudáyev y Aslán Masjádov, recibieron, consecuentemente, el apoyo de Valeria Novodvórskaya. Boris Nemtsov intentó detener la guerra haciendo circular una petición (que, supuestamente, fue firmada por un millón de rusos – TRR). Pero no hubo quejas de las masas populares en Rusia, más allá de las campañas lideradas por las madres de los conscriptos, ni en la primera fase de la guerra ni mucho menos en la segunda.

El sociólogo Yuri Levada describió así, el 2001, la actitud hacia la guerra en Chechenia: “El sentimiento contra la guerra es fuerte (en Rusia), pero desafortunadamente no podemos sobreestimar su relevancia. Lo cierto es que mucha gente cree que las acciones cruciales, con gran pérdida de vidas humanas, son, quizás, las más exitosas. La desaprobación de la guerra no excluye, por ejemplo, la aprobación de medidas salvajes como las “limpiezas” que son realmente difíciles de afrontar para las autoridades en Chechenia y Rusia. Entonces, el deseo de no continuar la guerra es una expresión de la fatiga, no una expresión de una protesta consciente y directa”.

El sociólogo Lev Gudkov describió a los rusos que apoyaban el retorno de Chechenia al seno del imperio, de la siguiente manera: “son los rusos más jóvenes y mejor educados quienes argumentan que los chechenos deben ser aplastados a cualquier costo y que este problema debe solucionarse por la fuerza, que ninguna negociación con Masjádov es posible, que sólo existe una solución, la derrota total y definitiva (de los chechenos). Por otro lado, quienes alegan que es necesario encontrar una salida pacífica como fuese, aún negociando con Masjádov, son personas mayores, con más conocimiento y experiencia, y en este sentido, más tolerantes e inclinadas a reconocer la independencia de Chechenia si con ello la guerra acaba”.

Así que, cuando los rusos liberales, la crema y nata de la sociedad, escribe y habla de la “guerra chechena”, ya sabemos de su actitud hacia el imperio y sus conquistas. Si no hubiese sido por las sanciones ante la invasión de un país europeo, Ucrania, nos sorprendería encontrar lo que los rusos realmente piensan acerca de la guerra. Como cierto caballero que dejó Rusia hace veinte años me dijo en una conversación privada: “todavía siento lástima por nuestros muchachos. Después de todo, los ucranianos han matado más rusos que rusos a ucranianos en esta guerra”.

Fuente: Julia Jazagaeva (Facebook), 4 de enero del 2025. Traducción al español por Hugo Palomino para The Russian Reader.

The Storming of Grozny: Thirty Years Later

A Chechen refugee in front of her destroyed apartment building
in downtown Grozny, February 17, 1995. Photo: Reuters (via Julia Khazagaeva)

On the thirtieth anniversary of the storming of Grozny, the liberal Russian media reminded the Russophone audience that there had been such a war—the Chechen War. When I see this title, I don’t even open the movie, I flip through it. A couple of excerpts are basically enough for me to be convinced that these people have still understood nothing after three decades. Even over the three years of the recent, utterly treacherous imperial war in Ukraine, the obvious facts about what Chechnya means to Russia have not became obvious to them.

Almost any decent Russian would point out to you, of course, that bombing towns chockablock with civilians was a bad thing to do and foul play. Carrying out mop-ups in villages and burying the victims in mass graves was also outrageous. But then the exclamation “but!” is sure to follow. They will tell you about Chechen bandits, forged letters of credit, and the intransigent Dudayev. Yes, it was wrong to destroy a third of Chechnya’s population, this notional Russian would lament, but the Chechens were bad eggs themselves and were asking for it.

If you ever do open a Russian [documentary] film reconstructing the events in Chechnya thirty years ago, you will find that it is about the enlisted lads who on New Year’s Eve 1994 were thrown into the epicenter of hell. Not properly trained to shoot or drive a tank, alone against hordes of heavily armed rebels, they were unfortunate sons of the Motherland: may their memory live forever. This artistic device is deployed, for example, by the Maxim Katz-affiliated project Minute by Minute. The [YouTube] channels Current Time and Popular Politics have also recalled this selfsame “Chechen War.”

Minute by Minute, “The New Year’s Eve Storming of Grozny: A Minute by Minute Reconstruction” (December 31, 2024)

Semantically, the construction “Chechen War” operates the same way as the coinage “captive of the Caucasus.” It conceals the aggressor, suggesting we look at the object of the aggression as the aggression’s cause. In this logical trap, Chechnya seems to have gone up in flames by itself. It was its inhabitants who shelled and bombed themselves silly. It was not Russia that invaded the Caucasus, it was the Caucasus which for some reason held Russia’s soldiers in captivity. It is not without reason that when people say “he was killed in Chechnya,” it is the place where he was killed that appears to be the malefactor. The listener is not prompted to wonder what this soldier was doing under arms in a foreign land. It is as if Chechnya had shown up in Samara and killed an innocent tanker.

When we think, write and say “Chechen War,” we automatically interpret it from the point of view of the colonizer and the aggressor. We accept the interpretation imposed by Moscow, which insists that Chechnya is part of Russia, not a sovereign country it attacked. If Russia is not mentioned in the nomenclaturee of this historical event, Chechnya is automatically read as an undeniable part of the empire, and the conflict itself sounds akin to the November Uprising or the Tambov Rebellion.

In fact, it was the Russo-Chechen War which began on December 11, 1994. The war deserves to be identified as such both in terms of the nature of the hostilities and the status of the warring parties, because by the time the Chechen Republic of Ichkeria was invaded by Russian troops, it had been three years since it had legally, by popular vote and a declaration of independence, withdrawn from the USSR on an equal footing with the RSFSR. The Chechens had NOT been part of the newly minted Russian Federation for a single day.

The independent journalist Vadym Zaydman has written about this better and more clearly than anyone else. There is no need to paraphrase him when I can instead quote what he has written:

“At the time of the USSR’s death/colllapse, Chechnya was no longer legally related either to the defunct Soviet empire or to the RSFSR. By that time the Chechen-Ingush ASSR had existed as a Union Republic for over a year. Thus, by definition it could not be a part of the Russian Federation, as proclaimed on December 25, 1991. When the Russian Federation was born, Chechnya was initially not a part of it.

“Russia itself did not regard Chechnya as part of Russia during this period. On March 31, 1992, the Federation Treaty was incorporated into the Russian Constitution. It changed the status of autonomous republics to sovereign republics within the Russian Federation. The treaty was signed by representatives of twenty federal subjects of the Russian Federation. Neither the Chechen-Ingush Republic nor Chechnya was involved in the treaty.

“It was only in the wake of the notorious events of October 1993, when Yeltsin was adopting a new Russian constitution, that he unilaterally incorporated Chechnya into the Russian Federation. In fact, Yeltsin committed a fraud like the one committed by the Russian authorities when, after the Soviet Union’s collapse, they declared Russia a member of the UN Security Council as the USSR’s legal successor, although Russia was not even a rank-and-file member of the UN. Ukraine and Belarus were members of the UN, but Russia aka the Russian Soviet Federative Socialist Republic was not! Having incorporated Chechnya, a year later Russia started to establish ‘constitutional order’ in Chechnya as its own fiefdom! Clever, isn’t it?!”

End quote.

The term “Chechen War” is thus as illegitimate as the use of the term “Ukrainian War” is unacceptable. Ukrainians would not allow the latter, and the entire civilized world would not agree to it. For everyone, the current war is the Russo-Ukrainian War. But the same thing should happen in our minds when describing the war in Chechnya. It is the Russo-Chechen War.

Many Russians would understandably prefer it go down in history in a more modest way—ideally, not as a war at all, but as a “special military operation,” or a “counter-terrorist operation,” for it is the security forces, not the simple folk, who are responsible for such operations. “SMO” and “CTO” sound mundane and localized, like a police “amber alert,” nor are they freighted with collective guilt and responsibility. Most vitally, if correlated with these Putinist terms, western sanctions come to be regarded as an exorbitant and unwarranted punishment, since they make “ordinary people suffer.”

Why do you think various Putinist and anti-Putinist institutions have spent the last three years relentlessly measuring public opinion on whether Russians want war? Yes, it’s simple: because of the sanctions—and Russia’s slightly tarnished image in the eyes of the international community. But if the West is shown the relevant polls quite often and reminded that “public opinion polls don’t work in a totalitarian society,” this mantra will work like a charm the thousandth time. It will then be much easier for Brussels officials to explain to themselves and their electorate why they are lifting restrictions: because they oppress an already “downtrodden” civil society, which in no way wanted war, but which was forced by Putin to want it.

Meanwhile, to answer the question of how much the Russian populace shares its leadership’s imperial mindset, it is enough to take the case of the Russo-Chechen War. From the sociological viewpoint, it is a scientifically pristine experiment. In 1994 (as in 1999, when the second phase of the war began) there was no totalitarianism in Russia. There were no western sanctions, and there were no Russian émigrés criticizing the regime from abroad. U.S. President Bill Clinton expressed “concern” when he learned that civilians were being killed in Chechnya. France supported the establishment of constitutional order on Russia’s own territory. They all thought that the new Russian Czar Yeltsin was better than any Communist, even if he fought like one.

Enjoying the full favor of the international community, Russia razed Grozny to the ground along with the remnants of its civilian population on New Year’s Eve 1994. This did not cause any outcry in Russian society. The first protest rally in Moscow took place on January 10, 1995: organized by Yegor Gaidar, it was a partisan affair and sparsely attended. Noticeable civil protests against the war in Chechnya would not begin until 2001—that is, five years later. [My comrade Antti Rautiainen, who was very much in the thick of things in those years (he was a co-organizer of the first antiwar street protest in Moscow, in November 1999), has pointed out to me (in a comment to Ms. Khazagaeva’s original post in Russian) that the biggest protest in Moscow against the Second Chechen War took place in January 2000, not in 2001 — TRR.] However, even then, according to Radio Svoboda, which interviewed passersby, “Muscovites were in no hurry to join the protesters: everyone was rushing about their business.”

Protests during the first phase of the Russo-Chechen War were isolated and (one might say) personal in nature. From the very first days of the invasion, the Soviet dissident, Russian human rights activist and Russian human rights commissioner Sergei Kovalev traveled to Grozny. He tried to stop the bombing of the city. In March 1995, he was removed from the post of human rights commissioner for supporting the “wrong” side. TV news presenter Svetlana Sorokina took liberties on air: after a commercial break she emotionally remarked that “no laundry detergent can wash clean the conscience of the Russian generals.” Independent Chechnya and its legally elected presidents Dzhokhar Dudayev and Aslan Maskhadov were subsequently supported by Valeria Novodvorskaya. Boris Nemtsov tried to stop the war by circulating a petition [which was allegedly signed by a million Russians—TRR]. But there was no grassroots public outrage in Russia, apart from the campaign led by the mothers of the conscripts, neither in the first phase of the war, much less in the second.

This was how sociologist Yuri Levada described attitudes to the war in Chechnya in 2001: “Sentiments against the war are strong in [Russia], but unfortunately we cannot overestimate their significance. The fact is that many people think that more decisive actions, with greater loss of life, perhaps could have led to success. Disavowing the war does not exclude, for example, approving such savage measures as ‘mop-ups,’ which are now quite difficult for the authorities in Chechnya and Russia to cope with. So, an unwillingness to continue the war is an expression of fatigue, not an expression of conscious, directed protest.”

Sociologist Lev Gudkov described Russians who supported Chechnya’s return to the bosom of the empire as follows: “They are younger and better educated Russians who argue that the Chechens must be crushed at any cost and this problem must be solved by force, that no negotiations with Maskhadov are possible, that he represents no one, and that there is only one solution—the total, crushing defeat [of the Chechens]. On the contrary, those who argue that it is necessary to seek a peaceful resolution however possible, including entering into negotiations with Maskhadov, are people of an older age, somewhat wiser and more experienced, and in this sense more tolerant, inclined to recognize Chechnya’s independence as long as the war is brought an end.”

So when Russian liberals, society’s cream of the crop, write and talk about the “Chechen War,” you now know their attitude toward the empire and its conquests. Were it not for the unprecedented western sanctions for invading the European country of Ukraine, you would be surprised to learn what Russians really think about the war. As a gentleman who left Russia twenty years ago once told me in a private conversation: “I still feel sorry for our guys. After all, the Ukrainians have killed more Russians in this war than the Russians have killed Ukrainians.”

Source: Julia Khazagaeva (Facebook), 4 January 2025. Translated by the Russian Reader

Kadyrov Is Not Chechnya

Kadyrov Is Not Chechnya
Grigory Tumanov
Snob
January 26, 2015

Kommersant newspaper correspondent Grigory Tumanov has returned from a trip to Grozny and reports everything you hear about modern Chechnya and its bloodlust is a myth invented by Ramzan Kadyrov

Фото: Дмитрий Коротаев/Коммерсантъ — Photo: Dmitry Korotayev/Kommersant

If you said the pro-Ramzan Kadyrov rally, held last Friday in Grozny, was a kind of vote for Kadyrov, you would have to admit it was a failure. It has long been argued the event was meant to hide some of the Chechen leader’s deeper problems, and he had begun to haggle with Moscow not by offering stability in exchange for a free hand, but by offering the explosive situation in the region. But on the ground it turned out all the stories about how, as soon as Kadyrov resigns and loosens his grip, the entire republic would secede from Russia, immediately impose sharia law, and establish a free Ichkeria are a myth.

I remember January 19, 2015, in Grozny: the rally for the Prophet, which had also been organized not without the involvement of the local authorities, to put it mildly. The vast majority of the people at the rally had, of course, never seen any Charlie Hebdo cartoons on the web, the cartoons that sparked the brutal murders of the magazine’s journalists. Despite this, however, from early morning there was a huge traffic jam even on Chechnya’s border with the neighboring republics of Ingushetia and Dagestan. Yes, there were state employees. Yes, ralliers were bussed into Grozny. Yes, there were quotas and roll calls, and prototype placards imposed by the higher-ups, and campaigning in dean’s offices. It is odd, of course, to try and assess the degree to which those people went involuntarily to the Heart of Chechnya Mosque that day, but it should be said they stayed on the square both at twelve o’clock to perform the midday prayer and afterwards.

Several days later, every other car was still sporting a “We Support the Prophet!” placard. It made sense. How, in a Muslim region, would you say no to the question, “Are you going to the rally for the Prophet?” You wouldn’t say it, of course.

“I have not seen the cartoons, but I am a Muslim, so I have no choice but to come out. Rally or no rally, how could I not come out? For some reason you all say we should not be offended by cartoons about something that matters to us. But why should you decide for us? You don’t believe in it!” one rally attendee told me.

It was a conclusive victory for Kadyrov. People really did come out for the rally, driven not only by official lobbying but also by their own indignation. So it was a great way for Kadyrov to announce his candidacy for the post of chief defender of Muslims in Russia.

Фото: Саид Царнаев/РИА Новости — Photo: Said Tsarnayev/RIA Novosti

Contrary to the official Instagrams posted by Chechen officials and Kadyrov himself, it turned out that the personal pull exerted by the head of the republic was still not comparable to that of Muhammad. The Chechen Interior Ministry reported that over a million people gathered on the squares of Grozny last Friday. This is not true. I stood on the roof of the judicial department of the republic’s Supreme Court and saw with my own eyes that there were hardly 100,000 people in attendance. And as soon as the officials moderating the rally announced it was over, all those one hundred thousand people literally evaporated from the square. It was impressive. I was especially touched by the way that people who were not employed in the state sector proudly said they would not be going to the rally.

“Oh no, I am going to stock up on potato chips and sunflower seeds and plop down on the sofa. If it is a day off, then let it be a day off. No one is going to force me to come out for the tsar,” a private entrepreneur in Grozny told me.

“Maybe we will not be allowed to work on this day, but we are not going anywhere, so if you suddenly feel like some tea, stop by,” the proprietors of a kebab place near the hotel where I stayed told me on the eve of the rally.

While it was true there was no smoke coming from their grills the next morning, all the place’s employees were in fact at work, watching with curiosity as state-sector workers carrying placards shuffled by them on their way to the Heart of Chechnya Mosque.

Yes, everyone with whom I spoke in the crowd on the square spouted off rote phrases about how Kadyrov had raised the republic from ruins, and that he needed support, since Ilya Yashin had launched a real vilification campaign against him. But it was no less impressive to see how people squinted and smiled ironically as they said this, to see placards embossed with slogans about Kadyrov and against Navalny just lying in the flowerbeds after the rally, and how policemen quickly tried to clean them up when they noticed the interest they aroused among photojournalists.

All of today’s Chechnya is a myth invented by Kadyrov. The bloody seriousness and the obsession with sports and Islam are a myth. Another such myth is the stability Kadyrov provides, thus reining in the unbearable craving of Chechens for secession from Russia and terrorism. Talking about politics in the republic frightens everyone, especially talking about politics with reporters. There is the risk you will find yourself on a treadmill with your pants pulled down. Both critics and supporters of the regime agree on the main point, however: the wars are over, the bombing has stopped. However, if you get both critics and supporters to talk, all of them will admit that the choice between nocturnal visits by men in cars with KRA license plates [i.e., marked with Kadyrov’s initials] and Russian bombing raids is not great.

Ruslan has a cafe. If you walk down Putin Avenue and then turn into the courtyards, walk past the houses, go down into a basement, and push the door with a yellow sign featuring a guitar, inside you will find something resembling the Mos Eisley Cantina in the first Star Wars movie. The place is terribly smoky, and there are strange groups of people sitting all round it. Only the drum kit is empty. The alien band that produced the whimsical sounds in the movie has been replaced by a young boy now quite long-windedly showing his support for FC Bayern Munich, whose match is on the telly.

Ruslan was a physical education teacher and was about to get housing in a dormitory when the first Chechen campaign started. On the day Russian forces stormed Minutka Square, he was trying to find bread. Ruslan says he cannot eat supper without bread.

Ruslan also cannot live without the blues. While he never has learned to play the guitar, he knows so many artists by heart it would blow your mind. The cafe is not even a business to him but the chance to live as he likes. Sometimes, friends come to the bar and perform jam sessions, and a bottle of cognac can always be found for regulars.

“Around the New Year it was totally excellent here. Everyone would dance until dawn to Pink Floyd, and they were barely standing when they would go home early in the morning,” says Ruslan.

He understands that even in Moscow a blues cafe is a very niche establishment, not to mention Grozny, but this is how he wants to live.

“I would have long ago earned money from the cafe by showing football matches and letting customers make bets. It is quite profitable, but in Chechnya you are not allowed to engage in bookmaking. It is permitted all over Russia, but here it is forbidden. It is forbidden, and that is that. Why should I regard this as normal?” he says, incensed.

Here it is not the custom to say out loud that there is anything wrong with Kadyrov, but the cafe owner does not like having to choose between war and autocracy.

“Look, no one here has any illusions. By all means, let it be Ramzan and Ramzan. But could they just leave us in peace? I want to work in peace, not to be hassled by anyone. People have nothing to eat, but all day long they show on the telly how Kadyrov went for a sleigh ride, what car he drove and where. It is like a reality show,” says another resident of Chechnya, who has a small business.

For him, the pro-Kadyrov rally was an additional irritant. I do not know whether some good people in Moscow actually explained to the Chechen leader he should not appear before his happy people on Friday or maybe he figured it out himself, but I heard a fair number of jokes about the big theatrical production without the main character on stage.

On the eve of the rally, there were rumors in Grozny that now as never before Kadyrov had to demonstrate people’s gratitude to him, and so the presence of media at the rally that were not subordinate to local authorities was undesirable. Allegedly, the nervousness of the local government had reached such levels that members of patriotic youth clubs had been instructed to seek out federal and foreign journalists in the crowd and prevent them from doing their jobs any way they could.

Ultimately, this did not happen, but such a nervous atmosphere could hardly have arisen if the leader were confident if not in the people’s absolute loyalty then at least in its absolute fear.

Some wonder what to do with the republic’s zombified population when Kadyrov goes. But it turns out that nothing in particular has to be done at all. Kadyrov is not Chechnya, and the Chechens are not the pumped men in camouflage you see in the Instagrams, signed with nicknames ending with the number 95 [i.e., the regional code for Chechnya on Russian license plates].

These are people who are insulted to hear they are wasting Moscow’s money. These are people who are afraid men will come for them in the night. These are people who want to open the kinds of cafes they want to open, and who do not want to stand holding identical placards at eight in the morning instead of going to work, and who do not want war. And what sets them apart from the vast majority of Russian citizens (it has become all the rage lately to oppose the two groups) is that they remember war quite well.

Translated by the Russian Reader. Thanks to Comrade AK for the heads-up. See Sergey Abashin’s recent comment on the same topic, as posted on this website.