TIME: Almanac 1993/TIME Almanac 1993.iso/time/121090/1210005.000

Text File | 1992-08-28 | 6.0 KB | 123 lines

                                                                                WORLD, Page 62

"Wrapped in Cotton Wool"


Faced with shortages and squabbling reformers, the mayor of
Leningrad discovers the difficulty of getting things done

By JOHN KOHAN/LENINGRAD


    By 5 p.m., streetlamps flicker on in front of Leningrad's
palatial city hall and a blanket of luminescent mist settles
over the gilded dome of St. Isaac's Cathedral, just across the
square. Night and fog come early now to the far northern city,
built on islands in the Neva River. But the workday is far from
over for Leningrad Mayor Anatoli Sobchak. In his elegant
second-floor office, once used by the Czars, he reflects on the
problems of this metropolis of 5 million, famed as the cradle
of the 1917 Bolshevik Revolution. "I feel as if I am wrapped
in cotton wool," he says. "I try to get things done and find
I cannot move."

    The man who wields power in the country's second largest
city is the classic political outsider. Sobchak was a
little-known professor of economic law at Leningrad State
University until he was elected last year to the Soviet
parliament. Then almost overnight, his witty and acerbic
exchanges with Mikhail Gorbachev on legal fine points won him
national prominence. When Sobchak became chairman of the
Leningrad city council last May, the move was hailed as a
victory for radical democrats opposed to the Communist Party's
monopoly on power. Sobchak is still the most admired politician
in his native city -- with a popularity rating of almost 70%
-- but his new job has not proved easy. Says he: "I seem to
have two personalities. In Moscow I am a radical who makes the
government cringe. In Leningrad I am viewed as a conservative
viceroy of Gorbachev."

    Sobchak's troubles illustrate what has gone wrong with the
grass-roots revolution last March that swept Communists out of
power in industrial centers across the U.S.S.R. He took office
eager to press ahead with plans to create a free economic zone
in Leningrad that would attract Western capital. But the
mayor's initial enthusiasm has been tempered by bruising
battles with an unruly city council and entrenched bureaucrats,
who are unwilling to let go of the real levers of power.

    The major obsession in this city, haunted by memories of a
grim 900-day Nazi blockade in World War II, is how to store
food supplies for the coming winter. Rationing was imposed last
week on meat products, sausage, butter and cooking oil to
provide Leningrad residents with what city officials called a
"guaranteed minimum" of scarce staples. In one downtown meat
store, a middle-aged woman surveys refrigerator cases, empty
of everything but boxes of sugared cranberries. "It's
unbelievable!" she exclaims. "People continue to produce things,
but there is nothing to buy. It's those democrats on the city
council. All they do is organize rallies and hold debates."

    The problem is not that simple. Evidence has surfaced of
sabotage aimed at discrediting the local democrats:
conservative-controlled rural regions have been holding back
produce from Leningrad, and some train cars crammed with scarce
goods have been left standing for months without being
unloaded. But the 382-member city council deserves some of the
blame for the economic mess. Even the most ardent reformers are
growing exasperated with inexperienced, often incompetent
deputies, who spend more time squabbling over plans to
confiscate Communist property and change the name of the city
back to St. Petersburg than debating bread-and-butter issues.
Sobchak's efforts to crack the whip have provoked complaints
of "authoritarianism." He in turn claims that "many of those
who call themselves democrats have no notion of democracy."

    The spectacle has been closely watched at Smolny Institute,
headquarters of the deposed Communist Party. Ideology secretary
Yuri Belov criticizes the radicals for "repeating our mistakes"
and claims that they have created a "wild and barbaric"
multiparty system. Despite the Communists' disastrous showing
in local elections, Belov believes the party has the only
effective organizational structure to prevent the city -- and
nation -- from plunging into anarchy. The party, for example,
has carefully maintained its ties to Leningrad's powerful
network of military factories.

    Armaments remain a touchy issue. Gorbachev's plan to convert
weapons assembly lines to the production of consumer goods will
have major economic repercussions, since 70% of the city's
industries work on military orders. In fact, Leningrad's future
may be decided in large part by local defense-industry chiefs,
who have banded together to form the Association of Directors
of Industrial Enterprises. Although city-council radicals fear
that the group's members are determined to restore Communist
rule, Sobchak has made efforts to win these technocrats over
to his side. As he acidly notes, "Unlike most of our deputies,
these are professionals of high caliber, real managers who are
capable of handling virtually every problem the city has --
including the food supply."

    Leningrad's dynamic mayor does not claim that he can solve
all the city's problems by himself. Sobchak believes it is up
to Gorbachev to exercise his presidential powers and ensure
that republics and regions make scheduled deliveries of food
to the country's cities. He also wants the national Congress
of the People's Deputies to take urgent measures to untangle
the confusion that reigns in local government. In his view, the
concentration of legislative, executive and oversight powers
into the hands of city councils has become a "minefield of
exploding booby traps." But he does nurture his own dream for
the city that Peter the Great built in the 18th century out of
frozen wasteland on the western edge of Russia. "We want to be
more than a window to Europe," says Sobchak. "We want to open
a door to the whole world." But first Sobchak must worry about
more prosaic matters, like finding enough potatoes to keep his
city fed.