Strongman (27 page)

Over the years I tried to be as candid as possible in my advice, even if it went beyond the normal bounds of ‘public-relations advice’. This was a period when the authorities began
to break up demonstrations staged by a new opposition coalition known as The Other Russia, led by the chess champion Garry Kasparov. I explained to my Kremlin colleagues that no amount of PR would
lessen the damage done by a photograph of riot police beating up old ladies. But of course my comments were misdirected. I have little doubt that Dmitry Peskov agreed with me wholeheartedly: but it
was not his job to change the police tactics.

I was once asked to comment on an article drafted in Russian for President Medvedev, with a view to having it published in the prestigious
Foreign Affairs
magazine. This was in 2008,
following the war against Georgia. The article was so badly written (as though at least three people with divergent views had contributed to it) that I sent back an excoriating review, suggesting
that unless they wanted their president to be seen as a crazy schizophrenic they should tear the article up. The eyebrows of my professional PR colleagues shot up, concerned about upsetting their
employers. But Peskov thanked me for my advice.

However much Peskov came to trust my judgement, I came to realise that it made little difference. The Kremlin wanted us to help distribute the message, not change it. They did not entrust us
with anything at all in advance. We would ask for advance copies (or at least extracts) of important speeches, for example, so that we could prime the early morning news bulletins, whet the
appetite for more, and ensure maximum effect by the end of the day. This is standard practice in Western government press offices. But the Kremlin did not trust its media advisers. We received the
texts of Putin’s speeches at the same time as the journalists. As for the public-relations efforts that received attention in the West – Putin’s macho photo-shoots, for example
– they had nothing to do with us. We always learned about them after the event.

Ketchum won a prestigious public relations award for its efforts in 2007, but I know the Kremlin wanted its PR consultants to be ‘pushier’ – not just arranging press
conferences and interviews, or providing them with briefing materials and analytical papers, but actually trying to manipulate journalists into painting a more positive picture of Russia. I
remember a conversation with Peskov’s deputy in which he criticised us for failing to follow up an interview given by a government minister to ensure that the journalist wrote it up in
‘the right way’. Newspapers would describe us as spin-doctors, endeavouring to play down Putin’s human rights record – and, indeed, perhaps that is what the Kremlin wished
for. But in fact, Ketchum’s principal role was to inform the Kremlin about how they were being perceived, and to encourage them to take the initiative to change things. What really needed
changing, of course, was the message, not the way it was conveyed – but that was a political challenge far beyond Ketchum’s remit.

Other Western approaches

The Ketchum project was not the only ‘propaganda tool’ employed by the Kremlin at this time. Russia Today (later rebranded RT) was set up at the end of 2005 as a
24-hour satellite television station, aiming to give a ‘Russian take’ on world events and to inform worldwide audiences about Russian politics and life. With a budget of $60 million in
its first year, it employed Russians with first-class English and also foreign nationals as presenters, and looked as professional as many of its competitors in the global television market. Unlike
rivals such as BBC World News, CNN or newcomers like France-24, however, it did not set out to be a dispassionate news source, covering stories on their merits. RT’s mission is to explain
Russia to the world, so there is an emphasis on domestic political stories and little attempt to provide comprehensive coverage from other countries. The method used is much less crude than its
Soviet precursors, which painted a black-and-white picture of a West riven by class struggle and poverty, contrasted with a Soviet Union free of problems. RT – understanding that viewers also
have other sources of information – does not shrink from covering opposition activities and even criticism of Russian policies. It thereby manages to create an illusion of plurality in the
Russian media which in fact belies the truth: RT is the exception in Russia’s television system, because it is aimed at a foreign audience. It showed its true colours and purpose during the
2008 war with Georgia, when all pretence at balance was dropped and Russia Today became a full-blooded propagandist for the Kremlin.

The station was founded by a state-owned news agency, RIA Novosti, which grew out of the Soviet-era Novosti Press Agency (APN) and like it combines two separate roles: firstly, it is a
news-gathering organisation which provides news reports primarily to foreign audiences (APN’s network of foreign correspondents also included a large number of undercover KGB spies);
secondly, its foreign bureaus serve as hubs for the propagation of Russian government information. The latter function overlapped greatly with the role Ketchum and GPlus were expected to play, and
this led to a certain amount of friction. I got the impression that RIA Novosti was none too happy about its role as official Kremlin propagandist being usurped by foreigners. Occasionally GPlus,
for example, would be asked to set up a press briefing with the Russian envoy to Brussels, Yevgeny Chizhov, only to find that the ambassador was already working with RIA Novosti on the same project
– except that RIA, with its enormous resources, was doing it in style, with a video link to Moscow.

RIA Novosti was the prime mover behind another image-making innovation – the Valdai International Discussion Club which began its work in Putin’s second term. The Valdai Club brings
together about 50 foreign ‘Russia watchers’ (mainly journalists and academics) each September for ten days of debates with Russian specialists, combined with sightseeing (every year a
more exotic location) and meetings with top Kremlin officials (every year a better, more senior crop). The first session, in 2004, was at Lake Valdai, north of Moscow, from which the Club derived
its name, and the surprise guest of honour was President Putin himself – fuming in the aftermath of the Beslan tragedy – who was willing to spend several hours with the group, letting
off steam and answering their questions. Since then the itinerary has included trips to Kazan, Chechnya, Siberia and St Petersburg, and featured lavish lunches with Putin and Medvedev (separately)
at their dachas outside Moscow or in Sochi. In 2009 Medvedev apparently decided that Valdai was too closely associated with Putin; he held his own event for foreign experts, the ‘Yaroslavl
Global Policy Forum’, instead.

Valdai was a brand-new way of influencing outsiders – much more subtle than giving an interview on CNN or the BBC, or trying to steer Moscow correspondents towards giving more favourable
coverage. This was soft propaganda – quite a risk, since hosting 50 foreigners in five-star hotels for ten days is not cheap and certainly not guaranteed to change perceptions overnight. The
idea was that the guests – experienced Kremlin-watchers who write in academic journals, advise governments, and appear as pundits in the media – would become better disposed towards
Putin if they were given the opportunity to meet him over a long lunch and spend a week or so debating issues with friendly Russian experts and officials.

Critics in the Moscow intelligentsia are utterly dismissive of the project, claiming that the majority of participants are ‘useful idiots’ who have the wool pulled over their eyes
and go home parroting the propaganda that’s served up to them with the lobster terrine and fine wines.

Lilia Shevtsova of the Carnegie Endowment, for example, says the Kremlin uses Valdai to ‘co-opt’ and manipulate Western commentators: ‘Foreign guests come to the Valdai
meetings to absorb the opinions of Russia’s leaders and then transmit them to the rest of the world.’
⁶
I would agree entirely that this is
what the Kremlin wants to happen. Otherwise they would not spend so much time and money on it. But having attended three Valdai conferences, I think she overestimates the effect. Maybe some
participants become less critical – and it is certainly true that almost everyone, Valdai member or not, tends to be mesmerised by personal contact with Vladimir Putin (Margaret Thatcher used
to have a similar effect, even on her critics). But the coverage that spills out from these weeks is not all sycophantic. Ariel Cohen of the conservative Heritage Foundation and the experienced
Marshal Goldman are hardly Kremlin stooges.

Meeting officials is always better than not meeting them, and most of the Valdai participants are experienced enough to be able to separate the propaganda from the truth. By and large those who
arrive well disposed leave well disposed, and those who arrive believing Putin is crooked and undemocratic rarely change their minds. Most journalists and scholars would welcome the opportunity to
meet so many government officials in any country; it does not mean you automatically accept their views, far less ‘transmit’ them. Spending several hours listening to Putin, for
example, does not necessarily make one fall in love with him, because one has a chance to scrutinise his mannerisms and obsessions, even at times his anger, and for a democrat the experience is far
from comforting. My criticism of the participants is not that they fall for the propaganda, but that few of them – perhaps being too much in awe of him – take this unique opportunity to
argue
with Putin: it’s a case of asking a (usually soft) question, and patiently listening to the interminable answer – and never daring to follow up or interrupt, or tell him
why he is wrong. Too many of the questions – even from the ‘nasty’ crowd – come larded with flattery and compliments. I know privately from Dmitry Peskov that Putin himself
(who quite clearly enjoys an argument) despairs at the lack of combative questioning.

Putin also appears to doubt the efficacy of the Valdai effort. At his fourth meeting with the group, in 2007, he kicked off with a rather caustic comment that underlined his apparent belief that
the Western media follow some kind of ‘instructions’: ‘In recent years I’ve become convinced that the media in Europe and North America are very disciplined. I don’t
see any obvious results from our meetings in your publications, though I’m sure that you personally are getting to understand our country better. We’d be glad if you would transmit
something of what you learn to your readers and viewers, to combat the strong stereotypes that exist in the West.’

Much more pernicious than the Valdai Club (at least in intent, if not in reality) is the Institute for Democracy and Cooperation – yet another innovation of the second Putin term. With
offices in New York and Paris, it is the ultimate Soviet-style revival in today’s Russia: a think-tank that aims to prove that human rights and democracy are trampled on in the West rather
than in Russia. According to its mission statement, the Institute hopes to ‘improve the reputation of Russia in the US’ and to provide ‘analysis’ of US democracy. Its New
York office is run by Andranik Migranian, an Armenian by birth but a fierce supporter of Russia’s alleged right to interfere in neighbouring states; its Paris office is run by Natalia
Narochnitskaya, a Russian nationalist and apologist for Slobodan Milosevic. Having given them both media training before they were deployed to the front, I could say with some confidence that the
West had little to fear from their mission to undermine faith in Western democracy, but I was sure they would both enjoy their sinecures in America and France.

Munich

In February 2007 I was asked by the Kremlin to travel to Germany, where President Putin was due to make a speech at the prestigious Munich Security Conference, held each year
in the Bavarian capital. His press team was anticipating a strong reaction and wanted some help in arranging interviews for Dmitry Peskov afterwards. As usual, we were not given any details about
the content of the speech, but Peskov and his deputy, Alex Smirnov, were excited: ‘This will be very tough!’ they said. ‘We’ll want to speak to journalists to make sure
they’ve understood.’ They needn’t have worried: it was the bluntest, most powerful speech of Putin’s career.

The Bayerischer Hof hotel was ringed with security officers and teeming with senior world figures – not only dozens of defence ministers and generals but parliamentarians, politicians and
eminent journalists. None of them was expecting the tongue-lashing Putin was about to deliver. Early in 2007, according to those in the know, the Russian president had finally lost patience with
the Americans. ‘
Dostali
!’ he told his aides: ‘I’ve had enough!’ The immediate cause of frustration was Washington’s decision to push ahead with its plans
for a national anti-missile defence system based in Europe. It had just begun talks with Poland about the possibility of basing ten interceptor missiles on its territory, and with the Czech
Republic about building a state-of-the-art missile-tracking radar station there. Early in his presidency Putin had reluctantly acquiesced in Bush’s decision to abandon the Anti-Ballistic
Missile treaty, but he had no intention of being so lame when it came to the new defensive system that the Americans wanted to deploy. Russia was convinced that this could neutralise its own
nuclear deterrent.

Putin strode into the conference hall armed with more than just the usual grievance cards. He began with a jocular warning to his audience: