Putin and I

If the reports are true that the Slovak Prime Minister had to circle around Europe on his way to the military parade in Moscow because the Poles and the Baltics didn’t let him pass through their airspace, he can at least take comfort in the fact that it was probably the longest flight in history without jet lag. During the long flight, he also had plenty of time to prepare for Putin’s military extravaganza. Roses are red, violets are blue, Russia is sweet and so are you.

I personally met with the Russian president twice, back in the days when one didn’t need to travel around their ass to get to their pocket just to reach Moscow. The first time was twenty-five years ago, in mid-January 2000, just a little over two weeks after Yeltsin named Putin as his successor. I was part of the first foreign delegation he met with after arriving in the Kremlin. Along with a group of European parliamentarians, we were on our way to Chechnya. The Second Chechen War was underway, and many claimed it was Putin himself who orchestrated terrorist attacks on his own citizens to seize power.

As would later become his habit, Putin was already an hour and a half late for his very first meeting with a foreign delegation. When he finally showed up, the head of our delegation, good old Russell Johnston, scolded him like a misbehaving brat. Putin blushed, stammered, and promised to stay with us until we had exhausted all our questions. That took quite a while, mostly because Putin responded to every criticism by saying we had the wrong information and that we would see with our own eyes that the Russian Federation was firmly on the path to peace, democracy, rule of law, and human rights.

The next day, we headed for the Caucasus. Before departure, the Russian Interior Minister suggested we wear Russian uniforms for our own safety, as Chechnya was teeming with snipers allegedly waiting just for us. Russell wasn’t convinced. “With all due respect, Mr. Minister, I think they’ll be aiming at you, not me.” In the end, only an older Turkish MP accepted the offer. Being of smaller stature, he looked in the oversized Russian uniform like the tiniest dwarf from the Disney cartoon Snow White—you know, the one with big ears with sleeves dragging to his feet.

On our way to Chechnya, we first stopped in Makhachkala, the capital of Dagestan, where the local garrison commander hosted us at the Primorskoje Hotel. No Caucasian hospitality would be complete without traditional toasts. Those of us who understood at least some Russian were horrified when the drunkest of the already very drunk Russian officers stood up and toasted to the death of all Chechens.

The next morning, we finally flew to Chechnya in several MI-8 helicopters. The one I was in had engine trouble, but the pilot responded to it with a few well-placed hammer blows. During the flight, Chechen rebels responded to our presence in their airspace with bursts of automatic gunfire. The pilot responded to the bullets by flying in zigzags. We responded to the shooting and zigzagging by drinking vodka, generously shared by a Reuters journalist flying with us.

In Chechnya, we spoke with local residents who, under the watchful eye of heavily armed Spetsnaz gorillas, expressed their appreciation for the attention shown by the Russian army. We also visited a school where the Interior Minister had delivered a truckload of new computers. After the obligatory speech, the principal’s thanks, and a photo op with confused students, the computers were loaded back onto the truck and taken away. “Of course,” the principal said in response to my raised eyebrow, “we don’t have electricity.” As Putin had promised, we were able to see for ourselves the strength of Russia’s commitment to peace, democracy, rule of law, and human rights.

My second meeting with the Russian president took place nearly three years later, in late November 2002. This time the delegation was smaller: just four of us, including the new president of the Parliamentary Assembly, its Secretary General, and my colleague Petr from Prague, who had studied in Moscow and insisted—despite our late arrival—on showing me the highlights of Moscow's nightlife. I’ll spare you the details but suffice it to say that Petr and I arrived the next morning at Putin’s suburban dacha in Volynskoye in less-than-optimal condition.

This time, Putin no longer bothered pretending to be committed to anything. He received us in the company of two snarling Dobermans. It was like Lassie, but for psychopaths. After the meeting, we were invited to a nearby dacha by Dmitry Rogozin, then the future—and now former—Deputy Foreign Minister and Russian Ambassador to NATO. During the visit, Rogozin proudly showed us a Serbian Republic army general’s cap gifted to him by his close friend Ratko Mladić. At that moment, I had to step outside for air—I felt sick. And not because of the hangover.

Rogozin made headlines in December 2022 when, during his birthday party at a hotel in occupied Donetsk, a Ukrainian rocket shrapnel hit him in the ass. I couldn’t find out what he was wearing on his head at that moment but hope springs eternal.

Since then, I haven't met Putin again and doubt I ever will. But in my professional capacity, I’ve continued to deal extensively with Russia and observe its steadfast “commitment” to peace, democracy, rule of law, and human rights. In that time, we’ve seen everything imaginable—and unimaginable. From constitutional changes that abolished regional autonomy and strengthened the “vertical axis of power,” to the invasion of Georgia, laws branding NGOs as “foreign agents” to crush civil society, persecution of LGBTI individuals, the annexation of Crimea, and three years ago, the attempt to conquer all of Ukraine.

In between, Putin solidified his power with murders of journalists and political opponents, imprisoned anyone who dared criticize his wars, and tossed out windows plenty of people who got on his nerves. He even found time to have the Duma decriminalize domestic violence. Putin’s Russia is a paradise for real men who can beat their wives whenever they “deserve” it. You can accuse Putin of many things—but wokeness isn’t one of them.

Over the years, I’ve met many Russian citizens, activists, artists, and human rights defenders whom I deeply respect for their courage and commitment to democratic values. Sadly, most were forced to leave Russia, though some still persist, despite the risks. A year ago, I met someone organizing support for LGBTI people in Grozny, the capital of Chechnya. In Chechnya. Where bands of Kadyrov’s thugs amuse themselves by lynching gay people. To the so-called “peaceniks” who love to brand critics of Russian policy as Russophobes, I would remind them that no one has brought more suffering to Russian citizens than their own president.

A quarter of a century ago, at my first meeting with Putin, the Russian president still pretended to be committed to European democratic values. Today, many in Europe are increasingly open about their admiration—or at least tolerance—for Putin’s ideas and actions, which are fundamentally at odds with the values of peaceful coexistence, international law, humanity, democracy, freedom, and human rights. All this determines whether Europe will face more war—or whether peace and reason will prevail.

We all want peace. Only some of us doubt that we’ll get there by sending roses and violets to a deranged brute, hoping he won’t unleash his Dobermans on us too.