Discussions about Russia’s future generally focus on elections, the constitution and a possible change of power, but the most acute conflict could arise over who actually holds the greatest power to determine the country’s future. Will it be the resistance fighters who have risked everything, including their homes and closest ties? Or those who, even in times of war and dictatorship, have sought to preserve their lives and property in Russia?
Journalist Maksim Trudoljubov explains the different types of citizenship, based on moral service and private property, and how a post-Putin and post-war transition might be organised on the basis of these principles, in the book *People Behind the Fence: Private Space, Power and the Redistribution of Property in Russia*, published by Meduza.
One of the main unresolved issues that will arise during the transition period concerns the property of the current elite, which is rather heterogeneous.
Some assets were confiscated from their previous owners during wartime redistribution; there are companies and estates that grew as a result of the war; and there are also properties created long before the war – honestly acquired and built – and companies that have developed over decades.
The groups of those who have left and those who have stayed behind are not the same, and this is not merely a question of their numbers; far more important is the difference in the extent to which they are rooted in, and the depth of their involvement in, the life of the state.
It seems that everything possible has already been said about Russian society, and in particular about the resource rich elite: it is self-centred, fragmented, and indifferent to the misfortunes of its neighbours. It conforms to the authorities, goes along with them, depends on them, remains silent, and refuses to act, even when it disagrees with the state’s decisions, including the war of aggression against Ukraine.
Various groups remain silent in different ways, for different reasons, but they have one thing in common: they all have something to lose. They have interests at stake in what is happening to the country.
They remain silent because they do not want to lose a plot of land, a property or a house, which formed the basis for obtaining the rights of a free citizen in the ancient city-states: “a house, in a sense, was a passport, and in some cases even a representative and delegate of its owner, and if a politician were exiled, his house might be destroyed”, writes Trudoljubov in his book.
Russian culture also has another conception of citizenship, complementary to the traditionally republican one described above: the distinctive feature of an autocratic state is that it reduces citizenship to registration, tax collection and conscription.
It is prepared to revoke citizenship as a punishment for disloyalty, and throughout Russian history, in all its periods, there have been – and continue to be – many holders of a higher form of citizenship, understood as ‘moral service’.
Supporters of the idea of moral citizenship, from the 18th-century liberal philosopher Aleksandr Radishchev to the martyred dissident Aleksey Navalny, testify that this is not a set of rights and obligations enshrined in documents, but rather the vocation and duty of a conscientious individual.
Moral citizenship, according to Nikolai Nekrasov, who articulated these ideas in the mid-19th century in his poem ‘The Poet and the Citizen’, is a sentiment that can be awakened within oneself by rising above momentary interests and shaking off apathy. It is a noble familial bond in which the motherland is a mother in distress, and the citizen is one who recognises himself as a ‘worthy son of the motherland’.
The poet, whom the citizen denounces and calls to action in the poems by Nekrasov cited by the journalist, must ‘awaken and courageously destroy vices’; this is his ‘duty’ to ‘be a citizen’.
From the context, it is clear that this is not a contractual obligation, but a moral one. It is a duty towards one’s mother, as Nekrasov describes in his verses: A son cannot look on with equanimity / At his mother’s pain; / a worthy citizen will not / be cold-hearted towards his homeland.
Over the course of a century and a half, this language has become so steeped in academic rhetoric, Soviet pathos and subsequent parodies that it is difficult to read Nekrasov; yet if one temporarily sets aside the tone and observes the structure itself, one discovers that it aptly describes current debates about Russia – or rather, the categorisation of social roles within these debates.
The divide between the two notions of citizenship described is a constant feature of Russian culture. This conflict is evident today: the state restricts access to elections for those who consider themselves moral citizens – not merely passport holders – deprives independent organisations of the ability to operate, and punishes citizens for protests and public dissent against the war.
Consequently, Nekrasov’s conception of citizenship as moral resistance – as the ability to prioritise moral duty over personal well-being – is gaining greater legitimacy today.
The problem is that each side tends to deny the legitimacy of the other: for some, a moral stance not backed by the personal risk of losing business or property appears irresponsible and too easy.
For others, having deep roots in the country becomes almost synonymous with moral compromise, and silence a sign of complicity. Consequently, both sides easily discredit one another, even though each expresses only one facet of citizenship.
Meanwhile, a political community cannot be built if only moral impeccability or only a ‘share’ in the country is recognised as legitimate, Trudoljubov emphasises: “Both sides have the right to express themselves, and if Russia wishes to establish itself as a political community, it would be advisable to combine these two historically established notions of citizenship.”
There are, moreover, other potential lines of conflict: whilst the first issue concerns the moral aspect of citizenship, the second concerns the practical realisation of citizens’ rights following the end of the dictatorship.
A similar distinction was recently proposed by an anonymous Moscow-based author in the article ‘The Second Anti-Putin Front’, according to which there are two conceptions of politics: on the one hand, politics as a struggle to realise a social ideal; on the other, as a struggle to create the broadest possible coalition capable of seizing and retaining power.
This conflict is already underway within the country, between the order of the opričnina, the ‘imperial guard’ that Putin has built around the war, and the zemstvo, the ‘power of the land’, that is, the rest of Russia.
Between them lie numerous intermediate groups, engaged in various compromises with the authorities; but on the whole, there is a significant difference between those whose position, influence and property have arisen thanks to the war, state subsidies and proximity to the political centre, and those who are far less tied to this centre and have built up their own businesses, professional reputations and property under different circumstances.
This is why the most important players in the future transition will not only be the regime’s most staunch opponents, but also those who have so far preferred political silence.
A significant section of the Russian elite has already realised that Putin is no longer the guarantor of the established order, and as the author of the anonymous article observes, to these people Putin appears increasingly not as a guardian of the status quo, but as someone who is destroying it.
For decades, the loyalty of the Russian elite has been based less on personal devotion to Putin than on the conviction that the existing regime offered predictability, property security and the opportunity to pass on accumulated wealth to their children. The war is eroding – and may already have eroded – this foundation of loyalty.
The nature of the coalition that will come to power in post-Putin Russia will depend on how dramatic and turbulent the transition proves to be; a more critical transition is more likely to produce a radical coalition, whilst a more controlled and negotiated one could prevent a redistribution of wealth.
But the temptation to exploit the transition period for a new redistribution of property will be extremely strong, ultimately resulting in the implementation of an anti-Putin policy using the very means of Putin’s war, by relying on the unpredictability of social norms.
RUSSIAN WORLD IS THE ASIANEWS NEWSLETTER DEDICATED TO RUSSIA.TO RECEIVE IT EVERY SATURDAY CLICK HERE.
