Stephan Orth: Behind Putin's Curtain: Friendships and Misadventures Inside Russia [aka Couchsurfing in Russia]

Every other national leader probably would have rejected accusations of influencing the U.S. election in a matter-of-fact, diplomatic manner. Putin, in contrast, didn’t repudiate the claims but countered with a rhetorical question: “Is the U.S. a banana republic? America is a superpower. Correct me if I’m wrong.”

In career advice books you sometimes read that people who want to get to the top should begin by dressing and acting like their superiors; this increases their chances of reaching the boardroom. Other criteria, such as their aptitude, their actual power, or the objective quality of their work are then no longer so decisive, as all their colleagues will see that this person has the right stuff to be a leader.

The same principle works in world politics. A small test of how much resonance state propaganda can have in one’s own country is to ask a Russian which country has a similar GDP to theirs. The correct answer usually results in disbelief. The countries near Russia in the global rankings are South Korea, Australia, Canada, and Mexico. But what role do South Korea or Mexico have in geopolitical questions or in influencing international opinion?

Is anyone still surprised that Putin has given his countrymen back their pride?

“ OF COURSE THERussian TV shows propaganda,” says Yuri from Vladivostok. “The foreign media does exactly the same. But I’m convinced that our propaganda is good for the country.”

We’re sitting in a small one-room apartment in the north of the city. The tiny kitchen is in the hall, between sea-blue walls with golden stars. A mountain bike, which is more expensive than all the furniture, rests against the windowsill in the living room. Yuri is fifty-seven and works as in marine research for a state-run institute associated with the Ministry of Fisheries. There he leads a team of twenty people whose main task is to monitor fish stocks and analyze any irregularities.

“Which propaganda is good for Russia?” I ask.

“The media mostly stresses one central idea: people’s living standards should improve.”

“And are they?”

“In the last fifteen years much has changed for the better. I’m not a fan of Putin but I see no one with a better vision for the country.”

He goes to the kitchen and returns with two mugs of tea.

“But didn’t things deteriorate for people after the Crimean crisis? And still Putin’s approval ratings rocketed afterward.”

“I admit, since then things have not gotten better. But they haven’t gotten worse. I think 80 percent of people here don’t notice the sanctions in their everyday lives.”

Five minutes later he tells me that at the moment there’s nothing that would induce him to sell the empty apartment in which we’re now sitting, because the ruble is so low. Well then, some things have gotten worse in recent years.

“How can you be so sure that the government means well with the propaganda? Would it not make more sense for them to focus on their own interests and gains in power?”

“That depends on the government. If the government’s actions are good for people then their propaganda is also good for people.”

Yuri is an alert guy, a highly educated scientist, someone who in his professional life is always searching for data that can be substantiated. I’m a bit bewildered by his good faith, which reminds me of the Vissarion followers in Siberia. I can sense that he’s not an out-and-out Putin admirer, but that he’s just pragmatic.

But maybe the explanation is not that complicated. He was born in 1959 and in his whole life he has never experienced an independent news media. Isn’t it then quite logical to differentiate between mendacious and slightly less mendacious propaganda? The desire to subordinate to a strong leader who is felt to be just seems to be much stronger in Russia than in the West.

“I do compare to other media sources,” he says. “I receive BBC, Fox News, Belarusian, Ukrainian, and even Vietnamese channels. Every morning at breakfast I watch Euronews.”

“And what are the differences to Russian channels?”

“Generally you have the same basic facts. The ranking and the additional information are different.”

“Can you give me an example?”

“Today it was about the bombing of an aid convoy in Syria. It was broadcast everywhere, none of them ignored it. Euronews added that American sources suspected Russia was behind the airstrike. Channel One also mentioned that, but added that Russian officials had denied responsibility.”

“What do you think about talk shows? Sometimes there’s the impression that people with anti-Russian viewpoints are only invited so they can be shouted down.”

“There are different shows, I prefer watching the STS channel. But I have my doubts about whether foreign politicians are real or actors. For years I’ve been seeing the same faces of apparently Ukrainian politicians. They must live permanently in Moscow; how can they do politics from there?”

A short while later he thanks me for the talk and says goodbye as he has to get back to his wife. Once again I have an apartment all to myself.

IN THE MIDDLEof Vladivostok there is a huge plastic goalpost with the word Finish emblazoned on the crossbar. Hundreds of spectators are there; in the Square of Fighters for the Revolution, a stage has been erected for dance performances, and Svetlanskaya Street has been cordoned off. TV crews are out and about; someone is making excited loudspeaker announcements; excessively beautiful cheerleaders are waving pom-poms.

It really wasn’t really necessary to make such a fuss about my arrival at my final destination, but still, it’s a nice gesture. Although I’m not quite sure why there are so many sweaty people wandering around with numbers and “Vladivostok International Marathon” printed on their T-shirts.

I climb over the barriers, run across the finish line, and quickly disappear toward the Tokyo Sushi Bar. Vladivostok has many Japanese and Chinese restaurants offering authentic nigiri, jiaozi dumplings, and kung pao chicken. There’s even a North Korean restaurant called Pyongyang. The waitresses wear snappy uniforms, and every evening at the stroke of eight, they perform a couple of karaoke songs oozing with corniness (the duck with paprika also oozes, but with fat).

It’s only eighty miles from here to the Friendship Bridge at the border to North Korea; China is even nearer, and the Eastern Dream ferry takes passengers to South Korea and on to Japan.

Most of the cars in the city are right-hand drive because of the massive amounts of secondhand Toyotas and Hondas that were imported, at least until 2009, when the government in Moscow began slapping a hefty tax on Japanese cars. Many small importers had to give up their businesses; there were angry demonstrations, but they had no effect.

Vladivostok, seven time zones away from Moscow and lying on the hills at the head of Golden Horn Bay, seems as if someone has flung some Far Eastern and Russian culture into a blender and pressed the button; the resulting mixture turns out to be one of the few attractive cities in the country. Stylish pubs and baroque cafés line the side streets; young couples stroll along the crumbling promenade.

One of the many Russian words relating to alcohol for which there is no corresponding term in other languages. It describes a person who spends a number of days in continuous drunkenness. The terms suchnyak and nedoperepil are thematically related. The former describes the rough feeling in the throat after a boozy night. The latter refers to someone who is certainly drunker than is good for him, but not as drunk as he theoretically could be.