Our
Struggle Against Tyranny in Russia
By GARRY KASPAROV
December 1, 2007; Page A13
For years the governments of the U.S. and Europe have
tried to accept Vladimir Putin's Russia as an equal.
Western diplomats now acknowledge that there are
differences between Russia and the West, but say these
differences are minor, and -- in the words of one
European Union official -- within an "acceptable
range."
For me and for a dozen of my associates this week, that
"acceptable range" was 120 square feet. That's
the size of the jail cell I occupied for five days as
punishment for "disobeying the orders of a police
officer" at an opposition rally in Moscow last
Saturday. That's the charge a Moscow district court added
after the fact, a charge not mentioned in the handwritten
testimony of the arresting officers.
This was the least conspicuous of the many curious
aspects of my arrest and trial. After our rally of
several thousand people, we attempted to meet up with
another group led by well-known human rights leader Lev
Ponomarev. From there we intended to deliver a petition
of protest to the office of the Central Election
Committee.
The police had blocked the underground pedestrian
passageways, so we had to cross the broad street instead
and were soon blocked by more police. When they moved in
close, I spoke with commanding officer Maj. Gen.
Vyacheslav Kozlov, whom I had met previously. He warned
us to turn back, saying we would not be allowed to
approach the CEC offices. I offered to send a small
delegation of 20 people to present the petition. He again
told us to turn back, which we did.
Of course it is inaccurate to say that the police
commander was the one in command. KGB officers in plain
clothes were clearly in charge even at the police
station, and the arrest itself was as choreographed as
the trial to come. When the special security forces known
as OMON pushed in past everyone else to arrest me, we
could all hear "make sure you get Kasparov" on
their walkie-talkies.
From the moment of our detention, we were not allowed to
see our lawyers, even when charged at the police station.
Three hours into the trial, the judge said it would be
adjourned to the following day. But the judge then left
the bench and returned to say that we had misheard her,
and that my trial would go forward. No doubt another
example of what we call "telephone justice."
As in the street and at the police station, the KGB and
the OMON forces were in control. The defense was not
allowed to call any witnesses or to present any
materials, such as the videos and photos journalists had
taken of the march and the arrests.
After the show trial was over, I was taken to the police
jail at Petrovka 38 in Moscow, and here the procedural
violations continued. Not with regard to my treatment,
which was respectful and as hospitable as a small box
with metal furnishings and a hole in the floor for a
toilet can be. I wasn't allowed a phone call and all
visitors were refused access. Even my lawyer Olga
Mikhailova and Duma member Vladimir Ryzhkov were
forbidden to visit me, despite having the legal right to
do so. My world chess champion predecessor, Anatoly
Karpov, for years my great rival, generously attempted to
pay me a visit but was also turned away.
My other concern was food, since it was out of the
question to consume anything provided by the staff. (Nor
do I fly Aeroflot. "Paranoia" long ago became
an obsolete concept among those in opposition to the
Putin regime.) On Sunday, thanks to growing external
pressure, they allowed me to receive food packages from
home.
In a fitting conclusion, even my release was handled
illegally. Instead of letting me out at the jail into the
crowd of media and supporters, many of whom had
themselves been arrested and harassed while picketing, I
was secretly taken to the police station where I was
first charged. From there I was taken in a colonel's
automobile all the way to my home. This may sound like
good service, but it was obvious the authorities wanted
to avoid the festive scene that would have occurred
outside the jail.
When I was arrested last April and fined $40, some poked
fun at the trivial amount. And five days in a Moscow jail
is not the worst fate that can be imagined. Some
commentators even suspected I wanted to provoke my own
arrest for publicity, a chess player's far-sighted
strategy.
First off, the penalty is not the point; the principle
is. Are we to have the rule of law in Russia or not?
Second, I have no intention of becoming a martyr, or in
leading an opposition movement from prison. I had no
illusions and now I can confirm it is not a pleasant
place to be. And this is not chess, with its cold-blooded
calculations. This is about honor and morality. I cannot
ask people to protest in the streets if I am not there
with them. At the rally on Saturday, I said our slogan
must be "We must overcome our fear," and I am
obliged to stand by these words.
It is also essential to point out that these arrests are
only the tip of the iceberg. Such things are taking place
all over Russia on a daily basis. Opposition activists --
or just those who happen to be in the way of the
administration -- are harassed and arrested on false
charges of drug possession, extremism, or the latest
trend, for owning illegal software.
There is little doubt tomorrow's parliamentary elections
will be as fixed as my trial. The presidential elections
on March 2 will be a different sort of performance, more
improvised, since even now Mr. Putin and his gang are not
sure how to resolve their dilemma. The loss of power
could mean the loss of fortune and freedom. Outright
dictatorship would endanger their lucrative ties with the
West.
The campaign rhetoric of Mr. Putin and his supporters is
genuinely frightening. Here we have an allegedly popular
president who dominates the media, the parliament and the
judiciary. He and his closest allies are in total control
of the nation's wealth. And yet his recent speeches are
hysterical rants about "enemies within" and
"foreign antagonists" trying to weaken Russia
-- language characteristic of totalitarian states.
So far this campaign has been largely ineffective, at
least in my case. During my five days in jail I had the
chance to speak to many of the ordinary consumers of
Kremlin propaganda. They were generally sympathetic, and
showed no signs of believing the many lies the Kremlin
and the youth groups it sponsors have spread about the
opposition. For them I was still the Soviet chess
champion and the idea that I was an "American
agent" sounded as ludicrous as it is.
So why is Mr. Putin so scared if things are going so
well? He is a rational and pragmatic person, not prone to
melodrama. He knows the numbers, so why the heavy and
heavy-handed campaigning if he knows he and United Russia
are going to win? The answer is that he is very aware of
how brittle his power structure has become. Instead of
sounding like a Tsar, high above the crowd, he's
beginning to sound like just another nervous autocrat. As
George Bernard Shaw wrote, "The most anxious man in
a prison is the governor."
So demagoguery it is and demagoguery it will be. A
violent pro-Putin youth group, Nashi, has already
released a poster celebrating Mr. Putin's "crushing
victory" on December 2. It also warns against the
"enemies of the people of Russia," myself
included, attempting to disqualify the results. These
terms jibe nicely with Mr. Putin's own rhetoric of
threats and fear. The ground is being prepared for
greater oppression.
The Other Russia will continue our activities because,
simply, some things are worth fighting for and will not
come without being fought for. All of the "minor
differences" between Mr. Putin's Russia and the
nations of the free world add up to one very large
difference: that between democracy and tyranny.
--
Mr. Kasparov, a leader of the Other
Russia coalition, is the former world chess champion and
a contributing editor of The Wall Street Journal.
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