So, yesterday we learned that after prolonged moral agonizing, perfectly captured by the remark of “Open Government” “expert” and “political scientist” Diskin: I’m against sending the bill to the Duma, but what are we supposed to tell people? — Open Government decided to reject our anti-corruption initiative to combat illicit enrichment.
I won’t lie—there’s nothing especially surprising about it, although I thought they would be more likely to bury the initiative in empty talk and send it off for endless “revision” to various “working groups.” Apparently, though, the very discussion of criminal liability for illicit enrichment is considered so dangerous that the fallout from a negative public reaction seems preferable.
The statement by Deputy Interior Minister Zubov that the 100,000 people who voted for the initiative are Trojan horses looks absolutely central here.
This should not be dismissed as just another bureaucratic blunder or an awkward turn of phrase. The deputy minister expressed the essence of the relationship between us and them: anyone who asks inconvenient questions about oversized dachas (country estates), excessively high fences, and bloated Swiss bank accounts is an enemy, a fifth columnist. Such people should have no rights, their bills should not even be considered, and they should be denied political representation as well—even if 100,000 people are effectively acting as their deputy in the State Duma.
Of course, Open Government’s refusal is infuriating, but above all because of the way it was done: all this secrecy around the minutes, the exclusion of journalists, and so on. From a more substantive, political point of view, Open Government’s refusal was expected—more than that, it was part of the plan.
It is very important that one of the key dividing lines between us and the current authorities runs along the issue of illicit enrichment.
Let me remind you once again that it is not just 100,000 people who are with us here, but 87% of citizens. It is critically important to keep hammering the authorities in general, Putin, and every local official with this initiative. In a sense, it needs to become part of the “us-or-them” test. If you support introducing criminal liability for illicit enrichment, then you are in the opposition. If you support the authorities, then by yesterday’s Open Government decision you automatically place yourself among the supporters of the Sosny dacha cooperative and admirers of fur vaults (a mocking reference to lavish luxury storage associated with corrupt officials).
We intend to keep doing what we planned to do.
As I said, the #TWENTY campaign is open-ended—we will continue it until liability for illicit enrichment is added to the Criminal Code of the Russian Federation. Our next step is to submit this bill to the legislative assemblies of every federal subject (region), as has already happened in St. Petersburg.
I thank all the members of the expert group who supported our proposal—there were two of them—and those who offered constructive criticism.
Let me answer the question right away: yes, I still believe that collecting 100,000 signatures was the right thing to do.
Try, for example, to recall any opposition bill that was discussed this actively and received this much media attention.
In that sense, we did not overdo it by collecting signatures online, and the impact of this work has been greater than that of any opposition faction in the State Duma—not to mention individual deputies—whose sensible bills simply “sink” in committees in total obscurity.
A couple of million people definitely know about our bill by now, and we will make sure that the majority of citizens hear about it.
Obviously, a corrupt government will not pass a law against itself. That is precisely why it is so important for us to put forward #Twenty as a major political demand.
This is one of the fundamental dividing lines that separates our vision of Russia’s future—where government is transparent, accountable, and uncorrupt—from their murky present and the even murkier future they are offering, where officials with palaces and billions are not expected to account for the sources of their income.
To conclude, a little postcard for the active opponent of our bill, Deputy Interior Minister Igor Zubov—the very same man widely quoted for saying that fighting corruption can lead to “color revolutions”, and who at this meeting called the Russians who voted Trojan horses.
Our hero’s biography tells us that he has been “in the organs” (i.e., in the Soviet/Russian security and law-enforcement apparatus) since 1973, with a break to teach at the Interior Ministry university.
But his asset declaration looks highly atypical for someone who has supposedly spent “his whole life in public service.” Two Range Rovers, one Land Rover, and a Yukon.
His wife’s income is 8 million rubles (about the equivalent of a high six-figure sum in U.S. dollars at the time). Apparently, following a common tradition, the spouse suddenly became an entrepreneur.
Yes, my dear Igor Nikolaevich Zubov, Deputy Interior Minister. We want to know where the income comes from for an official who owns passenger cars alone worth about 6 million rubles. We want to know what kind of business his wife has and whether it is real. We want to know the sources of income, subtract the expenses from them, and see what remains.
And that is not a “color revolution.” It is a normal state, where law-abiding citizens grow rich—not corrupt officials.
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