#17 - JRL 9014 - JRL Home
Moscow Times
January 13, 2005
The Revenge of the Special Agent
By Yulia Latynina
In the Soviet Union, the crap tended to rise to the top.
Think of Afghanistan, of arms caravans moving across the dunes. Now imagine a little battalion of Russian special forces blowing the caravans to smithereens. Soldiers are tossed from helicopters, and they burrow into the sand along dry riverbeds, waiting until a caravan passes or their water runs out. They lay there for a day, for two, for four, only to have their throats cut.
This is dangerous work. Tough on the nerves. The men have only one source of comfort: Sometimes the caravans have a tape player or some money, just enough to buy some contraband vodka. The guys can get drunk and relax before the next operation. You're probably thinking the man in charge in this situation is the company commander. Or the battalion commander. The guy giving the orders to hide in the sand. You'd be wrong. The one in charge is the special agent or osobist.
Special agents don't go to war. They sit in Kandahar protected by minefields. When special agents are brought in, they are treated as if they were worth their weight in gold. The special agent guzzles his vodka along with everyone else, when the guys are kicking back and relaxing, or on somebody's birthday. Then, on the next day, he calls the birthday boy into his office, saying, "That vodka of yours was contraband. Tell me who bought it."
Or say, for example, some soldier tries hashish, and the platoon commander doesn't just beat him up, but reports to his superiors. They send the soldier to the special agent, who asks, "So, do you want to go to jail? Or maybe there's someone you want to rat on?"
The soldier tells him what he wants to know. When someone steals a tape player, the soldier turns him in right away. The tape player winds up on the special agent's desk, and he gives it to his boss's wife. When the guys drink vodka, the soldier turns them in. The special agent takes the vodka and drinks it himself. If a commander refuses to take the soldier on a mission, the special agent comes and asks, "Why aren't you taking him?" "Well, he's a weakling." "Stop showing off! Take him!"
This is why special agents never leave base. They'd be shot immediately. The other men don't shoot the soldier who ratted, however. It's not his fault. He has parents and loved ones, after all. The special agent only has his career.
In normal countries, those who are smarter, cooler, craftier or braver than everyone else get ahead in their careers. Only in the Soviet Union did the nastiest have all the career advantages. These were the kind of people who rub officers' noses in the sand as if they were naughty puppies, but would wet themselves if you stuck a grenade in their hands.
Why have I brought all this up?
Not long ago in Russia, from around 1990 to 2000, this rule ceased to function. Various people rose to the top. Some of them were smarter, some tougher, some more thuggish and desperate. But there was not a single special agent among them because special agents can't risk anything and can't earn anything. They can only take things away in the name of the higher state powers. "You bastards, you betrayed socialist law and order! You spent three days lying in the sand and hit a caravan, but then you go and snag a tape player! You should return the tape player to the state, and I'll give it to the general's wife."
Nowadays, the special agents are everywhere you look. One agent is arresting veterinarians while supposedly battling the drug trade. Another is dragging "those balalaika players" -- his term for concert violinists -- into the army. Perhaps he had heard Pol Pot's famous pronouncement that a ballerina's legs are only good for mixing clay. A third special agent is out there founding companies like Baikal Finance Group. In strict accordance with Russian law, as the Head Special Agent noted.
Yulia Latynina hosts a political talk show on Ekho Moskvy radio.