The Russia of the 1990s is remembered with fondness in the west. The country was emerging from 70 years of totalitarianism, enjoying new freedoms of speech and travel, even if it was all a bit chaotic. By many of its own people, the Russia of the 1990s is remembered with anger. This was a once-proud nation humiliated into supplication by long-time enemies.
This difference in the collective memory is vital to any reading of more recent events: from the Kremlin's threats to its neighbours, Georgia and Ukraine, to the imprisonment of industrialists, and to a spate of murders and poisonings - the latest, of KGB dissident Alexander Litvinenko in London - the Russia of this present decade appears to be moving in an alarming direction.
What went wrong? It is worth noting how apparently sophisticated diplomatic and intelligence services were consistently mistaken in their analyses. The west's approach to post-Soviet Russia in the early years of Boris Yeltsin was naive. Economists and consultants, welcomed amid fanfare and at great expense, lectured ministers in Moscow about the marvels of the market. Privatisation was deemed the panacea, even where structures were such that it seemed inevitable that resources would be syphoned off by a privileged few. Russia, and the republics that once formed the USSR, were designated test beds for these experiments. Some succeeded, many did not; but the propagators had scuttled off before their work could be properly judged.
By the time Yeltsin announced his retirement, having groomed Vladimir Putin as his successor, Russia had both blossomed and disintegrated. A new democracy had emerged - fragile, but vibrant. The media had diversified, and some newspapers and television channels were as outspoken as any in the world. And yet corruption was rife. Organised crime was booming. State employees were often not paid. Resentment grew, particularly in the provinces where the limited fruits of economic liberalisation had not reached.
After consolidating his power, Putin took the only path he believed was possible. He centralised power (by destroying the political ambitions of the oligarchs, and bringing their oil and gas corporations more closely into state hands), clamped down on dissent, and asserted Russia's national interest more forcibly on the world stage.
It was not a straight line to confrontation. Immediately after the terrorist attacks on New York, Putin allowed the Americans to establish bases in the nominally independent states of central Asia. He also played a major role in the Middle East. However, the US-UK invasion of Iraq changed his thinking: Russian policy-makers retreated into a default position of wondering about western motives.
But Iraq was not the only factor, economics played the more important role. Coming from a point of virtual bankruptcy during the crash of 1998, Russia now enjoys large budget surpluses. As the world's biggest producer of oil and natural gas, it has benefited from soaring prices on world markets. This has allowed Russia to regain a sense of pride and sovereignty, even if its sudden wealth is dependent entirely on one sector. Russia has already turned off and then on the taps to its neighbours, in its first demonstration of energy blackmail which could be extended across a dependent EU.
This, and possibly this alone, has persuaded European governments to tread lightly over the increasing internal repression in Russia. Even though Russian foreign and domestic policy are still in flux, it seems that our leaders have concluded that its flirtation with democracy was just that, and economic and political stability are what matters most. In effect, what is right for China is right for Russia, too.
That would be an understandable, but unnecessarily bleak conclusion. The new generation of Russians are well-travelled and open-minded. And while the country may be too large and diverse to fit a western model, there is no reason why, in time, it cannot find a more pluralistic path that fits its needs. Our task should be to encourage that process, with far greater subtlety and humility than we showed last time around.
When a geek becomes chic
After years of self-imposed exile, Jarvis Cocker has made a triumphant return with his eponymous new solo album. And we are delighted for our old hero that it has been warmly received. But are we alone in feeling a little disillusioned with the man who once championed misfits and sang: "You want to sleep with common people, like me."
Cocker (though we're now supposed to call him simply "Jarvis") still sports nerdy glasses, but the lenses come in designer frames (Cutler and Gross of Knightsbridge, if you need to know). His watch is Cartier, his tweed jacket of excellent cut. The geek is now definitely chic.
Worse, Cocker - who once bared his bottom on live TV to protest at Michael Jackson's self-importance - is himself displaying alarming signs of smugness. Guest-editing an issue of the Observer's Music Monthly magazine, he diva-like ran a five-star review of his own album.
One longs to know what the scathing, insightful Nineties Cocker would have made of A A Gill's recent portrait in the Sunday Times of the new Jarvis hobnobbing with fellow 'slebs over tea and cakes at the Wolseley. He can't be held responsible for Gill's florid prose: "He takes a scone and puts on cream, then jam. It's the final evocation of cool and utter rightness - and it could so easily have gone the other way. Jam then cream, a dainty disaster."
But we do hope that at some stage he dropped his trousers.
