In September 2004, Vladimir Putin summoned the then political editor, now editor, of the NS to his official residence. The meeting, in conjunction with visiting US and European academics and policy-makers, lasted for four hours, until after midnight. That it went on so long was remarkable - which world leader would indulge an audience in that way? That it took place at all was more remarkable still. Four days earlier Russia had been rocked by the massacre of schoolchildren in Beslan.

Putin seemed to have several motives for his performance that evening. He was determined to set out his position on issues from Nato and EU expansion to economic reform, terrorism and freedom of speech. He did so fluently, icily so. He banished any lingering suspicion that he was anyone's tool, not the oligarchs', not the army's. He knew what he wanted to do and was open about it. Putin seemed to crave understanding. The bottom line for him was the restoration of order after what he repeatedly called the "chaos" of the 1990s.

As Boris Yeltsin is laid to rest, to what extent can the excesses of his period be seen as responsible for the clampdown that has followed? To what extent could Russia have followed a different, more gradual course out of communism? The two questions are interlinked. They tend to be posed by many Russians now in order to elicit a derogatory response to the late president and his record. Yeltsin allowed a nation's assets to fall into the hands of the largest modern-day kleptocracy. That much is undeniable. But perhaps those most at fault were the foreign advisers who took over the Kremlin, pursuing "shock therapy" privatisation without heed to the peculiarities of the country in which they were experimenting. They not only failed to appreciate the need to build a new form of civil society first, but sent millions of Russians into abject poverty. They undermined confidence in western economic and political remedies.

And yet, it is still not clear whether the outcome would have been significantly better if a more wary path had been pursued. Such were the structures of the former USSR that it was almost inevitable that those who enjoyed political power would seek to grab for themselves and their friends the riches of a newly marketised economy. Putin has restored a semblance of order to economic dealings, but this is superficial. The corruption and cronyism that reached a peak in Yeltsin's second term have simply become more discreet.

Despite the surprisingly fond farewell for Yeltsin, most of what he built is being systematically dismantled by his successor. A crusading press has withered. Parliament and television stations have regained their puppet status and dissent is again a parlous occupation. The deaths of Anna Politkovskaya and Alexander Litvinenko attest to that. Other journalists and activists have given in to threats and silenced themselves. Those who do not, such as Garry Kasparov's "Other Russia" group, meet violence from police even where their rallies have been notionally sanctioned by city authorities. Those who wish to make money keep their heads down.

Putin is more confident than he was three years ago. He presides over not a return to the dictatorship of Soviet communism but a form of Latin American autocracy. Only the most outspoken get into trouble. Meanwhile, rich Russians go skiing and eat sushi, and the poor seek to make ends meet. (At least state salaries are being paid now.) It was not wrong for western leaders to seek to woo Putin when he came to power in 2000. It is right that they continue to engage with him, albeit more cautiously. Attention will soon turn to the next succession when the incumbent's two-term tenure runs out in 2008. Will Putin do what Yeltsin did and go quietly? The prospects are not encouraging.

Putin's popularity remains consistently high, but there are signs that the economic boom based on high oil and gas prices might come to an abrupt end. Russians need, on their own, to find a new direction that combines the order they yearn for with many of the freedoms they briefly savoured. In their contrasting ways, Yeltsin and Putin epitomise a painful transition, one from which their country has not yet emerged.

Open politics and hypocrisy

The transition to open government was a solemn undertaking by new Labour. Its freedom of information legislation, which has been operating for two years, is one of its great achievements; we have defended it in these pages against efforts to undermine it by the many enemies of an open society. But, increasingly, it is the architects of the legislation themselves whom we must watch.

On 20 April, the Tory MP David Maclean tabled his Freedom of Information (Amendment) Bill in an attempt to exempt MPs from major provisions of the FoI act. The government kept silent, hoping it could murder its baby and keep its hands clean. On this occasion, opponents from both sides of the house talked out the bill. It should not have required a filibuster.

Now, unexpectedly, the bill is to get a further hearing. Theoretically, this gives Labour a chance to redeem itself, but we are not holding our breath. First to disappoint is Lord Falconer, the Lord Chancellor, who, far from defending the original reform, has abandoned it with the pusillanimous cry that MPs should have a free vote.

Can we expect better from Gordon Brown? Not if the behaviour of his allies is anything to go by. Here we name and shame Nick Brown, John Spellar, Kevan Jones and Tom Watson, MPs who have all backed the Maclean motion. The Chancellor should publicly repudiate their actions. Anything less would render professions to a more open style of politics a sham.

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