No one is
born with a
stare like
Vladimir
Putin's. The
Russian
President's
pale blue
eyes are so
cool, so
devoid of
emotion that
the stare
must have
begun as an
affect, the
gesture of
someone who
understood
that power
might be
achieved by
the
suppression
of ordinary
needs, like
blinking.
The affect
is now
seamless,
which makes
talking to
the Russian
President
not just
exhausting
but often
chilling.
It's a gaze
that says,
I'm in
charge.
This may
explain why
there is so
little
visible
security at
Putin's
dacha,
Novo-Ogarevo,
the grand
Russian
presidential
retreat set
inside a
birch- and
fir-forested
compound
west of
Moscow. To
get there
from the
capital
requires a
25-minute
drive
through the
soul of
modern
Russia, past
decrepit
Soviet-era
apartment
blocks, the
mashed-up
French
Tudor-villa
McMansions
of the new
oligarchs
and a
shopping
mall that
boasts not
just the
routine
spoils of
affluence
like Prada
and Gucci
but
Lamborghinis
and Ferraris
too.
When you
arrive at
the dacha's
faux-neoclassical
gate, you
have to
leave your
car and hop
into one of
the
Kremlin's
vehicles
that slowly
wind their
way through
a silent
forest of
snow-tipped
firs. Aides
warn you not
to stray,
lest you
tempt the
snipers
positioned
in the
shadows
around the
compound.
This is
where Putin,
55, works.
(He lives
with his
wife and two
twentysomething
daughters in
another
mansion
deeper in
the woods.)
The rooms
feel vast,
newly redone
and mostly
empty. As we
prepare to
enter his
spacious but
spartan
office, out
walk some of
Russia's
most
powerful
men: Putin's
chief of
staff, his
ideologist,
the speaker
of
parliament—all
of them
wearing
expensive
bespoke
suits and
carrying
sleek black
briefcases.
Putin, who
rarely meets
with the
foreign
press, then
gives us 3
1/2 hours of
his time,
first in a
formal
interview in
his office
and then
upstairs
over an
elaborate
dinner of
lobster-and-shiitake-mushroom
salad, "crab
fingers with
hot sauce"
and
impressive
vintages of
Puligny-Montrachet
and a
Chilean
Cabernet.
Vladimir
Putin gives
a first
impression
of contained
power: he is
compact and
moves
stiffly but
efficiently.
He is fit,
thanks to
years spent
honing his
black-belt
judo skills
and, these
days,
early-morning
swims of an
hour or
more. And
while he is
diminutive—5
ft. 6 in.
(about 1.7
m) seems a
reasonable
guess—he
projects
steely
confidence
and
strength.
Putin is
unmistakably
Russian,
with
chiseled
facial
features and
those
penetrating
eyes. Charm
is not part
of his
presentation
of self—he
makes no
effort to be
ingratiating.
One senses
that he pays
constant
obeisance to
a determined
inner
discipline.
The
successor to
the boozy
and
ultimately
tragic Boris
Yeltsin,
Putin is
temperate,
sipping his
wine only
when the
protocol of
toasts and
greetings
requires it;
mostly he
just twirls
the
Montrachet
in his
glass. He
eats little,
though he
twitchily
picks the
crusts off
the bread
rolls on his
plate.
Putin
grudgingly
reveals a
few personal
details
between
intermittent
bites of
food: He
relaxes, he
says, by
listening to
classical
composers
like Brahms,
Mozart,
Tchaikovsky.
His favorite
Beatles song
is
Yesterday.
He has never
sent an
e-mail in
his life.
And while he
grew up in
an
officially
atheist
country, he
is a
believer and
often reads
from a Bible
that he
keeps on his
state plane.
He is
impatient to
the point of
rudeness
with small
talk, and he
is in
complete
control of
his own
message.
He is clear
about
Russia's
role in the
world. He is
passionate
in his
belief that
the
dissolution
of the
Soviet Union
was a
tragedy,
particularly
since
overnight it
stranded 25
million
ethnic
Russians in
"foreign"
lands. But
he says he
has no
intention of
trying to
rebuild the
U.S.S.R. or
re-establish
military or
political
blocs. And
he praises
his
predecessors
Yeltsin and
Mikhail
Gorbachev
for
destroying a
system that
had lost the
people's
support.
"I'm not
sure I could
have had the
guts to do
that
myself," he
tells us.
Putin is,
above all, a
pragmatist,
and has
cobbled
together a
system—not
unlike
China's—that
embraces the
free market
(albeit with
a heavy dose
of
corruption)
but relies
on a strong
state hand
to keep
order.
Like
President
George W.
Bush, he
sees
terrorism as
one of the
most
profound
threats of
the new
century, but
he is wary
of labeling
it Islamic.
"Radicals,"
he says,
"can be
found in any
environment."
Putin
reveals that
Russian
intelligence
recently
uncovered a
"specific"
terrorist
threat
against both
Russia and
the U.S. and
that he
spoke by
phone with
Bush about
it.
What gets
Putin
agitated—and
he was
frequently
agitated
during our
talk—is his
perception
that
Americans
are out to
interfere in
Russia's
affairs. He
says he
wants Russia
and America
to be
partners but
feels the
U.S. treats
Russia like
the
uninvited
guest at a
party. "We
want to be a
friend of
America," he
says.
"Sometimes
we get the
impression
that America
does not
need
friends" but
only
"auxiliary
subjects to
command."
Asked if
he'd like to
correct any
American
misconceptions
about
Russia,
Putin leans
forward and
says, "I
don't
believe
these are
misconceptions.
I think this
is a
purposeful
attempt by
some to
create an
image of
Russia based
on which one
could
influence
our internal
and foreign
policies.
This is the
reason why
everybody is
made to
believe...[Russians]
are a little
bit savage
still or
they just
climbed down
from the
trees, you
know, and
probably
need to
have...the
dirt washed
out of their
beards and
hair." The
veins on his
forehead
seem ready
to pop.
