by Marcello Foa
Hooded, sad and humbled like hostages not worth
the ransom, their destiny preordained. These being the historical buildings
of Moscow, the town of Mayor Luzhkov. The hangman? It looks to be an
enormous, relentless bulldozer. Six to twelve hours is all it takes
to do the job. Within six months to a year, upon the ruins of the ancient
houses will stand 10-storey condos of mostly kitsch and seldom if any
architectonic value.
It is a grave problem, especially in a town that seems to find no peace.
There's no trace left of the wooden houses that characterised Moscow
until the mid 19th century: they all burned down. From the ashes, between
1870 and 1914, arose what is today known as the "historical"
Moscow: two- or three-storey buildings with large facades in pastel
hues (light blue, pale yellow and beige). They lend the city a joyful
appearance, especially in winter time, and stand worthy enough to surround
the magnificent Kremlin. Not even in those times was Moscow as fascinating
as San Petersburg (capital of the tsarist empire), but there's no doubt
that in the early 20th century Moscow was a handsome city.
Then, in 1918 Lenin proclaims it "the capital". To honour
this event he begins its destruction. In the late 20s Stalin orders
the demolition of hundreds of buildings, only to replace them with dreary,
monumental palaces, designed by frightful soviet architects directly
executing the unobjectionable inspirations of the Georgian dictator.
Then Khrushchev comes to power and is credited with developing the Novy
Arbat (one of the most hideous quarters of Moscow city centre), building
skyscrapers (imitating American hi-rises of the 60s) and the constructing
the "Rossia" hotel at the extremity of Red Square. Lastly,
it is Brezhnev's turn ordering non-descript, gargantuan palaces to be
built.
When Gorbatchev took office at the Kremlin, Moscow was a city profaned:
just few areas and streets retained the Moscow style of the late 19th
century. The periods of "perestroika" and "glasnost"
put an end to that. Enter Eltsin: money begins to circulate and with
it newfound hope. Then Moscow citizens take to a largely unknown official,
short and bald, one sporting a dictatorial disposition, and a dynamic
and enterprising character. He says that his 'heart is with the common
folk'. And is determined to bring the city back to its grandeur. In
the beginning he indeed seems to succeed in it. Mayor Luzhkov polishes
up the capital: Eltsin starts it off by restructuring the Kremlin and
Luzhkov continues on from this, exploiting the value of those magnificent
orthodox churches that survived the bolshevist iconoclastic rage. In
1997 the world celebrated the city's 850th anniversary, Moscow's jubilee:
there was coverage on "Time" and "Newsweek" and
television programs. Praise over the cities rebirth came from everywhere.
The plan seems to have worked. But the popularity gets to Luzhkov's
head and he begins to cultivate a dream: that of leaving a tangible
sign of his passing. "We've seen the Stalinist and the Brezhnevian
Architectures, so why not a "Luzhkovian" one?" the Mayor
asks himself. The fact is that in the plan there is considerable economic
value: Luzhkov does not just do it for the glory. He is attending to
his personal wealth, and if not his to that of his strange entourage
of loyal and ambiguous middlemen and entrepreneurs.
The final period of the Eltsin era is really favourable: suffering from
a serious hear condition, Tsar Boris spends most of his time in clinics
or at his "dacha" rather than at the Kremlin. So, the reins
of government are in the hands of the oligarchs loyal to the President's
family. Mayor Luzhkov easily finds a compromise with them: everybody
out for himself.
So, Moscow's "father-master" eases into his work. According
to a "metropolitan legend", Luzhkov decides which houses to
demolish and which to preserve while driving through town: the ones
he doesn't like come down. In reality the situation is much more articulated,
but not any less squalid. The Mayor is crafty: he establishes "excellent"
relationships with the orthodox Patriarchate (by generously funding
their church restructuring plan). He also enacts a spectacular lighting
scheme of the city (Moscow by night is now indeed fascinating and romantic),
winning in this way the affection of Moscow citizens and visitors alike.
They all agree in stating: "Moscow has never been this beautiful".
Having dazzled and silenced people, the Mayor can set the bulldozers
to work, boasting his merit in re-launching the city's economy. Testimony
to this are the enormous construction sites opened over the last two
years.
Can't anybody stop him? Luzhkov can count on a formidable instrument.
The law. It allows for property of the flats but not of the building
walls, nor the land they are built on, which remain with State. This
gives him enormous decisional power. In theory, a government building
committee should approve each public works project, especially in the
case of buildings of historical value. "But Luzhkov couldn't care
less and opens new building sites even without official permission,
bereft of any architectonic survey, not to mention a call for bids",
remarks a disheartened Alexsei Klimenko, member of that government committee.
Not even Putin interferes, although he has the power to do it: the federal
government, owning 35-40% of the buildings in the Moscow metro area,
could in fact oppose the Mayor. "But, since Moscow secures 50%
of the State's fiscal income - explains Sergey Zagraevsky, a painter
involved in the struggle to safeguard Moscow - to oppose Luzhkov would
mean running the risk of financial retaliation that the Kremlin has
neither the will nor the inclination to begin". So, even if Putin
is not crazy about the Mayor, he has come to accept a tacit agreement
of non-belligerence.
Political pundits agree in thinking that this truce will not last long
and, sooner or later, Putin will try to take control of the capital.
But in the meanwhile Luzhkov has a free hand and, in the true style
of a feudal prince, he has chosen his court artists, among whom Shilov,
a painter, is worth mentioning. The Mayor as a present gave him an art
gallery located in a nice villa (next to the Kremlin walls) and on its
facade he had Shilov's profile carved. Above all, there is Zeriteli,
the Georgian born sculptor, who happens to be Luzhkov's in-law. He has
authored many of the art works spread all over the Moscow city centre,
as well as what is considered the ugliest statue that the capital, if
not all of Europe, has to offer: that of Peter the Great on the Moscow
river. The truth being that Moscow's demolition companies, given the
load of work they are enjoying, would gladly erect a monument to hail
their Mayor. Their signboards are posted all along the city block at
the beginning of old Arbat, in Myasnitskaya road (the old merchant street),
along the riverside in front of the Kremlin and so on. The entire city
is littered with buildings dating back to the last century cloaked with
green or cellophane tarps. These are sometimes made of a loose-mesh,
and let you barely glimpse through at the beautiful yet sad facades.
Other times they are made of tight woven-mesh, and block out all sunlight.
Like the blindfolds applied to those about to face the firing squad.
Hundreds of houses have been already "killed off". Others
await execution in the tens, resigned. Luzhkov the executioner grants
no mercy.
per gentile concessione de "Il Giornale"
translation by Silvia Casale, Marco Roncari
