The title of this article echoes the title theme of a 1924 issue of the formalist journal LEF, the critical section of which was entirely dedicated to studies of Lenin’s language.^[1] Putin, of course, is no Lenin and the differences go far beyond language styles, but his stature in the public eye has come to assume proportions, by contemporary standards, not unlike that of Lenin. While it would be difficult to make the case for a full-blown personality cult (though some have), there is little doubt that something of a cottage industry of Putiniana has emerged since he became president in 2000.^[2] Most of these manifestations focus on visual representations of the leader; I would like to argue here that his growing symbolic prominence has a linguistic dimension as well.^[3] Part of Putin’s success and popularity stems from his ability to speak in terms that resonate with Russian citizens.
It is not that he distinguishes himself with exceptional oratorical prowess. On the contrary, most would argue that Putin’s rhetoric pales compared to that of his Petersburg mentor Anatolii Sobchak or Vladimir Zhirinovskii (to take two examples from very different regions of the political landscape). His effectiveness, instead, stems from an ability to speak in a variety of voices depending on the context of his utterance, to shift in and out of language registers or speech styles to reflect the broader ideological and political sentiments of his immediate interlocutors and broader listening and viewing audience – most importantly, his domestic constituency. Putin’s description of himself in his former KGB days as “a specialist in human relations” finds resonance in his communication style today.^[4] Even his detractors have admired this trait in him, formulated perhaps in greatest detail by the kiss-and-tell journalist, Elena Tregubova:

“I was sincerely impressed by what a brilliant communicator Putin was. Although all of his professional receptions [and] interaction with interlocutors were relatively textbook and easily readable, their performances were nevertheless virtuoso. I don’t know how – through mimicry, intonation, or looks – but in the course of a conversation he would force me to subconsciously feel like he was someone who shared the same circle of interests as me. Although there were absolutely no logical reason to suppose this. On the contrary – all the facts showed that we were totally incompatible.
I figured out that he was simply an ingenious “reflector” (otrazhatel’), who like a mirror copied his interlocutor so as to force you to believe that he was the same as you (svoi). I subsequently had numerous opportunities to observe this phenomenal gift of his during meetings with leaders of other countries, whom he had wanted to warm up to him. It is impressive even in several official photographs that successfully capture the moment – the Russian and the American president there sitting and smiling, two Bushes. Or two Shroeders. For some kind of split second Putin manages to copy mimicry with frightening precision, the pursing of the eyes, the bend in the neck, the double chin, and even the facial features of his vis-а-vis, and literally mimics them. And he does it so smoothly that his interlocutor doesn’t notice it at all, just catches a high.”^[5]

Beyond this unique chameleon-like communication style, one finds through closer examination of Putin’s unscripted public performances (for the purposes of this study, mainly press conferences, interviews, and publicly broadcasted “conversations” with the Russian people) a short-list of high-frequency speech profiles that help give linguistic shape to the president’s public persona.^[6] These profiles, which I label here technocrat, delovoi, silovik, muzhik, and patriot, not only provide insight into the linguistic underpinnings of Putin’s political success. To the extent that popular political leaders can be seen as reflections of national sentiments, the voices outlined here also suggest some of the dominant linguistic identities that currently compete for symbolic authority in Russia today. As Pavel Shirov, the co-director of “Comrade President,” a television documentary of Putin, puts it, “Each of us has our own Putin that has formed in our heads. Someone sees him as a person who will bring back the younger, and happier, days. Someone sees him as a man who wants to turn Russia into a great, developed power. Someone sees him as a father figure who will provide everything, as is usual in this country.”^[7] The president, in other words, can be seen as both a source and mirror (or otrazhatel’, as Tregubova puts it) of effective models of political discourse.^[8]

TECHNOCRAT

As might be expected, the vast majority of Putin’s language can be categorized as the relative neutral discourse of a competent, if not eloquent, functionary or technocrat. This in and of itself is noteworthy, as he is arguably the first Russian president to display such competency. The hundreds of pages of transcripts I have looked at document Putin’s mastery of both bureaucratic and diplomatic jargon in a manner that does not draw negative attention for its deficiencies. He is as proficient with the terms, facts and figures that serve as the verbal framework for the normal day-to-day functioning of the state as he is with the more refined language of international diplomacy. In contrast to the later Yeltsin years, in particular, his proficiency stands out in the eyes of the Russian population, who finally have a leader of whom they can be proud (or at least not be ashamed). “He’s normal! He’s not an embarrassment,” the sociologist Olga Kryshtanovskaia remarks in describing the public sentiment as reflected in public opinion polls.^[9] Respondents to a focus-group study of Putin’s popularity offer similar praise for his oratorical skills: “He speaks well,” “He talks normally, concisely, strictly,” “He speaks without notes,” “He speaks well and knows how to speak.”^[10]
An excerpt from Putin’s response to a question about tax reform offers a representative sample of what might be called Putin’s linguistic “default setting,” this one noteworthy for its display of an ability to actually pause midstream and translate the technocratic into layman’s terms:

“Что касается перераспределения налоговой нагрузки, то это – одна из основных задач Правительства в текущем году и в следующем, потому что нам нужно создавать лучшие экономические условия для развития перерабатывающих отраслей производства и высокотехнологичных отраслей. В этой связи Правительство планирует ряд осмысленных, на мой взгляд, действий, пока очень скромных и, наверное, недостаточных, но осмысленных. Они заключаются в том, что с 1 января следующего года планируется понизить, как я уже говорил, налог на добавленную стоимость на два процента, отменить налог с продаж, который будет иметь значение не только для торгующих организаций, но в конечном итоге должен сказаться и на производстве. Будут улучшены структура НДПИ (налог на добычу полезных ископаемых), структура ряда других налогов, в том числе и налогообложение физических лиц. В частности, предполагается изъять из налогооблагаемой базы сумму, которая будет истрачена гражданами на приобретение недвижимости: квартир, домов, земельных участков. Поскольку Вы так наморщили лоб, я понял, что я выражаюсь туманно. Я поясню. [emphasis mine – MSG] Если Вы в течение года из ваших доходов истратили определенную сумму на приобретение жилья, скажем, дома, квартиры, то когда Вы будете заполнять налоговую декларацию, Вы сумму, которую истратили, не будете учитывать при налогообложении. У Вас налоги не будут вычитать из этой суммы. В общем и целом запланирован и ряд других осмысленных, повторяю, действий в сфере налогообложения.”^[11]

From the string of nominal phrases (pereraspredelenie nalogovoi nagruzki, razvitie pererabatyvaiushchikh otraslei proizvodstva), technical jargon (nalog na dobavlennuiu stoimost’, struktura NDPI, nalogooblagaemaia baza fizicheskikh lits), and frequent use of the passive voice (planirovat’sia, skazat’sia, budut uluchsheny, predpologaetsia, budet istrachena), the passage bulges with bureaucratese. And yet it does show a mastery his predecessor lacked and likewise demonstrates his ability to recalibrate his language to fit the perceived proficiency level of his audience (here, reporters at his traditional end-of-the-political-season press conference).
As proficient as Putin is in the languages of bureaucracy, however, and as relieved as his countrymen may be about this elemental mastery, it is not for this language he is most renowned. It is not the fluid discourse of the functionary that distinguishes him or his linguistic identity as a leader. Despite their proportionally infrequent occurrences, it is the more stylistically marked, colorful, popular, and even vulgar voices of Vladimir Putin that give full shape to his linguistic persona (in Russian, iazykovaia lichnost’) and provide insight into the sorts of speech genres that enjoy particular authority in the language culture of Russia today. And it to these I now turn, starting with the delovoi.^[12]

DELOVOI

The “doer” linguistic profile can be understood as a more actively positive alternative to the technocrat, built off of the age-old preference for deeds over words. Action words and metaphors dominate, as do references that privilege deeds over words. Putin’s responses to the frequent questions about his political biography (particularly in his early tenure as president) more often than not redirect attention from any sort of political ideology or philosophy to the concrete actions he has taken as president:

“А по сути, мне кажется, о человеке нужно судить не по тому, что он сам о себе говорит, а по тому, что он делает. Давайте посмотрим и проанализируем, что происходило в сфере политической, экономической, в сфере строительства государства. [Followed by a 9 paragraph list of accomplishments. – MSG] …Все это реальные факты из российской политической действительности последних полутора лет, а из этого вы, пожалуйста, сделайте сами вывод: кто такой господин Путин.”^[13]

On a more pragmatic level, this impression translates into a heightened level of trust on the part of a populace tired of empty political promises. Respondents to a 2004 focus-group session on the president’s performance give Putin high marks for matching deeds to words: “He’s done everything he promised”; “He doesn’t toss around words errantly – if he promises to do something, he does it”; “He doesn’t make empty promises”; “He doesn’t waggle his tongue – he does what he says…”^[14] On the surface, the “doer” sees language and public speaking at best as a necessary evil, as words, more often than not, have a tendency to veil or complicate meeting. Particularly in Russia, as one political commentator notes, where the word has either been used infamously (in politics) as a smoke screen for abhorrent behavior, or sacredly (in literature) as a conduit for higher truths, the direct, one-to-one correspondence between signifier and signified in Putin’s speech is joltingly alien:

“How can you pronounce concrete words and leave the simultaneous impression of clarity and ambiguity (nedoskazannost’)? He is an oddball (chuzhak) in the traditional political culture of Russia, where people are accustomed to catching a pile of meaning behind the words and looks of bossdom. With him, it is just the opposite: a word means no more than it means. In our civilization, where a poet is more than a poet and a plumber is more than a plumber, where there’s too much informality, Putin prefers to act, rather than interact.”^[15]

Over this cultural level of interpretation, the presidential biographer (and Putin apologist) Roy Medvedev adds a sociological one that is no less relevant for understanding Putin’s speech practices. According to Medvedev, Putin’s penchant for deeds over words represents a pronounced shift from a charismatic, revolutionary mode of political discourse to one oriented more toward national rebirth:

“But there have been leaders (vozhdi) who have given birth not to words, but action. These are people who have manifested colossal internal energy, an extraordinary concentration of will, decisiveness, and indefatigability. It appears that precisely this huge internal energy and indefatigability, as well as the call for the rebirth and lifting up of Russia, have engendered a special relationship today among many Russian citizens for Vladimir Putin.”^[16]

If the Weberian charismatic leader uses spoken language to override written law and incite the populace to revolution, the post-revolutionary voice of restoration eschews such divisive actions, taking action instead to restore some modicum of authority and legitimacy to institutions of state power. Revolutionary speech was entirely appropriate for Putin’s former boss, Anatolii Sobchak, who delivered eloquent and spontaneous lectures on parliamentary democracy during the riveting live broadcasts of the First Congress of People’s Deputies in 1989, or for the populist Boris Yeltsin, who stood atop tanks to declaim the legitimacy of Gorbachev’s kidnappers; but not so for Russia’s second president.^[17] Putin is concerned not with tearing down past systems and institutions, but rather with lifting up a nation from the rubble of revolution – a mission that is reflected linguistically through the revival and melding of the three more organically Russian speech styles discussed below: silovik, muzhik, and patriot.^[18]

SILOVIK

Putin’s strong-man persona finds linguistic substantiation in his tough talk primarily centered around issues of Chechnia, terror, and crime. Substandard, often vulgar lexicon peppers his language on these themes and ratchets up rhetoric of violence, confrontation, and aggression. Consider, for example, the single most notorious speech replica to this day associated with Putin, uttered during a September 1999 press conference in Astana, Kazakhstan, when he was still Prime Minister to Yeltsin: “Мы будем преследовать террористов всюду. Если в туалете поймаем, то и в сортире их замочим.”^[19]
This more than any of Putin’s utterances demonstrates the profound impact an off-color comment (sortir being a vulgar synonym for toilet along the lines of “shithouse,” zamochit’ a verb from criminal slang roughly equivalent to “bump off”) can have on the career of a public official and even the mindset of a nation. Public response to it was immediate and strong; while some purists took the president to task for littering the great and mighty national tongue, others viewed it as the ideal campaign slogan for the 2000 presidential elections.^[20] According to the sociologist Yurii Levada, “with that comment he enchanted (obaial) the people, showed his decisiveness, his approachability. And many people believed that he would really be able to achieve what nobody else thus far had been able to do.”^[21] In the six-year period following the pronouncement, despite Putin’s failure to bring an end either to the Chechen conflict or terrorism in general, mochit’ v sortire has earned a place in the standard lexicon of the national press, appearing in headlines of articles on topics totally unrelated to the original. A 1999 article on aggressive advertising strategies in Delovoi Peterburg appeared under the title “Рекламодатель замочит потребителя даже в автобусе и сортире” (“The advertiser will bump off the consumer even in the bus and the shithouse”); the title of a 2000 Literaturnaia gazeta article uncovering local government corruption in Sochi announced, “‘Замочили в сортире’ бедного пенсионера сочинские власти” (“A poor pensioner is ‘bumped off in the shithouse’ by Sochi authorities”).^[22]
Putin’s encounters with terror only worsened from the time he assumed the presidency, and while he never repeated his infamous phrase about bumping off terrorists, his discourse on terror still relied selectively on substandard slang and metaphors of violence to frame the issue. “С этими людьми,” he commented in a government meeting from 2003, “бесполезно проводить профилактическую работу, их нужно выковыривать из подвалов и пещер, где они до сих пор прячутся, и уничтожать.”^[23]
In a 2002 press conference in Brussels, Putin invokes a different but equally graphic prophylactic procedure in response to a question from a French journalist who apparently demonstrated excessive sympathy for Islamic radicals: “Если вы хотите совсем уж стать исламским радикалом и пойти на то, чтобы сделать себе обрезание, то я вас приглашаю в Москву. У нас многоконфессиональная страна, у нас есть специалисты и по этому ‘вопросу’, и я рекомендую сделать эту операцию таким образом, чтобы у вас уже больше ничего не выросло.”^[24] Be it a sign of a castration complex or simply a juvenile sort of jocularity, Putin’s preoccupation with the male organ is clearly linked to notions of violence and punishment. And it is not reserved for external enemies. Putin invoked similar imagery when commenting to the Italian media in November 2003 about Mikhail Khodorkovskii’s belated attempt to settle back taxes: “Вот сейчас ему предъявили конкретное обвинение. Он говорит: ‘Ну ладно, согласен, давайте сейчас заплачу.’ Вот такая торговля, такой сговор, он недопустим. Все должны раз и навсегда для себя понять: надо исполнять закон всегда, а не только тогда, когда схватили за одно место.”^[25]
Be it bumping off, castrating, or grabbing someone by the groin, all actions involve physical violence meted out to the enemy, be it internal or external. More generically violent pronouncements predominate as well. In less ethnically charged instances involving criminal justice, Putin employs tough talk as a means of casting himself as superhero and cop, as in his reference to the death penalty as “a gift to me, since it makes it easy to keep score.”^[26] At times this voice spills over into a populist mode more reminiscent of the muzhik speech genre, where he lets his personal emotions show through (“Когда смотришь на это, кажется, что своими руками бы задушил. Но это эмоции”).^[27]
This sort of rhetorical allusion to the active suppression of more base emotions and impulses appears quite frequently in the president’s tough talk, the speech-act equivalent to what in boxing is known as “pulling a punch,” or restraining oneself at the last minute from following through with full force. If, on the surface, such utterances reject a certain primitive and brutal approach to resolving crime, terror, or government inefficacy or corruption, their very mention gives them some degree of legitimacy. It appears, for example, in his comment on George W. Bush’s characterization of Osama Bin Laden as a “villain” (zlodei) (“Я думаю, что он еще очень интеллигентно выражается. У меня есть другие определения, но я не могу в средствах массовой информации их использовать”^[28]), and even spills over on occasion into comments of leadership style within the state apparatus itself: “Самое простое – махать шашкой, рубить головы и выглядеть на этом фоне крутым руководителем.”^[29] In the case of the mochit’ v sortire comment, Russian reading audiences actually saw the rhetorical gesture brought to life in the form of Aleksandr Olbik’s action-adventure novel, Prezident, which features Putin as president, secretly joining a division of special forces to root out Chechen leaders in a remote mountain hideaway in the Caucasus. The book’s climax describes the president face-to-face with one of the leading Chechen warlords, Garaev, in the very locale invoked in his 1999 threat:

“Swiftly retreating along the corridor, he adjusted the barrel of his submachine gun and ‘inscribed’ a large portion of its contents into Garaev’s stomach. Garaev was not able to grab onto the ringlet with his teeth, as he had no more strength left for the extraction of a pin. He took several steps, his muddied consciousness leading him to the side, into an open doorway where he fell to his knees and, losing his balance, collapsed face forward, stretched out, exhaled a mix of air with bloody ichor, and froze in perpetuity.
When the president stepped through doorway of the room, he realized that he had come upon a bathroom.”^[30]

That a single sound bite can serve as the premise for an entire action novel attests to the power of language not through frequency of usage but through the expressiveness of the metaphors employed even a single time.

MUZHIK

Arguably Putin’s most expressive marked voice, the language of the muzhik bears some resemblances to that of the silovik in its penchant for colloquialisms and substandard slang. But if the latter invokes images of violence and toughness with the intent of sending a strong message to ones enemies, the former is softer and folksier in tone, geared more toward speaking to the common sense of the people, or narod. Proverbs, aphorisms, and metalinguistic references along the lines of “kak v narode govoriat” (“as they say among the common folk”), pepper Putin’s speech, as do folksy witticisms and good-natured irony. The voice of the muzhik appears in a number of contexts, but most markedly in discussions of domestic issues of everyday popular concern – public health, salaries, jobs, education, pension reform. To cite only a few:

[On the need for education and hope for a better future to combat alcoholism:] И тогда он будет стремиться к их реализации и “слезет”, как в народе говорят, со стакана.^[31]

[On the need for a cautious approach to agricultural trade and reform:] Аккуратненько, но будем дальше эту политику продолжать. Почему говорю “аккуратненько” – различные сектора экономики должны находиться примерно в равном положении, чтобы все развивалось. Мы не должны действовать по примеру, когда хвост вытащили – нос увяз, а нос вытащили – хвост оказался в грязи.^[32]

[On the distinction between proper and improper forms of privatization:] Вопрос в том: что приватизировано и то, что будет приватизироваться, – все должно происходить в рамках единого федерального закона, по единым правилам, а не так, как это было до сих пор – через пень колоду. Если мы помним, был принят соответствующий Указ Президента Бориса Николаевича Ельцина по этому вопросу. На основе этого указа, который просто продекларировал приватизацию сельхозугодий, на местах начали принимать свои законы – кто в лес, кто по дрова.^[33]

[Justifying Russian protectionism by alluding to protectionist trade practices in other countries:] Это не значит, что я против этой либеральной экономики. Но это значит, что во многих других странах часто руководствуются русской поговоркой “своя рубашка ближе к телу.”^[34]

[On accusations regarding arms sales to rogue states:] Вы знаете, у нас есть такая поговорка, может быть, она не очень хорошо звучит, но, наверное, будет к месту: мы считаем, что котлеты и мухи должны находиться друг от друга в разных местах. Вот давайте мы мух от котлет будем отделять.^[35]

By citing proverbs, Putin injects a tone of common-sense folk justice that at once brings him closer to the mentality of the narod and gives his views a legitimacy based on a seemingly unassailable domain of the Russian national tradition.^[36] Ingrained as they are in the lexicon of the national tongue, proverbs, or truisms, enjoy a greater degree of permanence that makes them less open to question.
Given that antipathy toward the new rich in Russia today is concentrated among those with lower levels of income and education, it is of no surprise that this voice of time-honored folk justice that dominates Putin’s comments on the so-called “oligarchs” and their shady involvement in privatization and the mass media. Here one also finds considerable overlap with the discourse of the silovik – particularly in references to corruption, thievery, and enforcement. One of the folksier assessments of the crimes perpetrated by the oligarchs, delivered in a 2002 joint press conference with French President Jacque Chirac, invokes a level of village thievery and hooliganism that cannot help but resonate with most any Russian:

“Знаете…, когда у нас человек украдет мешок картошки либо водки напьется и с соседом подерется, он или хулиган, или вор. Его сажают в тюрьму. А если человек украдет сотни миллионов долларов, он уже политический деятель, его трогать нельзя. Вот у нас таких деятелей оказалось в ходе перестройки экономики и перехода к рыночным отношениям очень много…”^[37]

If anything, the oligarch comes away looking far worse than the local village hooligan, not only because he is beyond the reach of justice, but because the object of his lust, cold hard currency (and foreign, at that), has far less sentimental value to the average Russian listener than vodka or potatoes. Putin plays off of this corrupt passion for excessive amounts of cash in his use of colloquial intensifiers with the stem verb “vorovat’” (“to rob”) in the following dictionary-like definition he offers of the oligarch in a 2003 Kremlin press conference: “Олигарх в том смысле, в каком мы обычно употребляем это слово, это человек с наворованными деньгами, который и дальше продолжает разворовывать национальное богатство, используя свой особый доступ к органам власти и управления.”^[38]
In a Kremlin press conference that same year he goes one step further to offer a derogatory impersonation of oligarchs (and their representatives in the media), which, through his use of substandard, even criminal slang, underscores the morally destitute nature of their activities.

“Несколько губернаторов уже приходили ко мне. Рассказывают, что представители СМИ приходят и говорят: “Гони 250 тысяч долларов, слова плохого не услышишь в ходе предвыборной кампании, правда, и хорошего не напишу, но гарантирую тебе, что не поддамся на уговоры, провокации, меня никто не купит зато”. Это что такое? Это шантаж называется.”^[39]

The use of the slang “Goni” (“Put up 250,000 dollars”), the fact that the sum is in dollars rather than rubles, the use of the informal ty in addressing a regional governor, the mere invocation of shady notions of “persuasion” and “provocation,” and the use of colloquial word order (“slova plokhogo”, “nikto ne kupit zato”), when combined, create a distinct if not direct link to the language and practices of a crime boss. At times, in fact, the godfatherly voice of ironic contempt, family allegiances, veiled threats, and retribution are detectible in Putin’s own direct speech, as in the following commentary on Vladimir Gusinskii given in a 2001 interview with representatives of the American media:

“[Г]осподин Гусинский получил почти миллиард и не отдал, и не собирается. Бегает между Израилем и Вашингтоном и чувствует себя хорошо, и покупает группы влияния в Соединенных Штатах, с тем чтобы осуществлять, разворачивать деятельность против нас. Деньги пусть отдаст. Много других вопросов подобного рода.”^[40]

Here the rhetoric does more than portray the oligarch in question as an alien and fugitive crime boss (underscored by the derogatory use of “Gospodin,” “Begaet,” and “chuvstvuet sebia khorosho”); Putin casts himself (and either his “family” or Russia, by extension) as an opposing clan through his use of the personal pronoun in “deiatel”nost’ protiv nas,” through the implication that he and his clan have limited ability to bring Gusinskii to justice themselves (“Den’gi pust’ otdast”), and finally through the elliptical suggestion that scores on several counts nevertheless need to be settled (“Mnogo drugikh voprosov podobnogo roda”). In this context, Putin’s colorful reference to Khodorkovskii seeking compromise only when “they’ve grabbed him by the balls” (“skhvatili za odno mesto”) comes across as the logical next step – the violent execution of the settling of scores.
In all cases, the voice of the muzhik functions to delineate Putin as “one of us” (svoi chelovek) who is cognizant of the concerns of the people and shares their common-sense (albeit masculine) perspectives. That folk wisdom often appears in conjunction with a discourse of folk justice, however tough, is but a logical extension of that affinity, particularly in a time when the population yearns most of all for a strong leader capable of bringing order to chaos. As one analyst put it, “According to sociological studies, the ‘strong government’ promised by Vladimir Putin is interpreted in mass consciousness first and foremost as ‘fair government.’ …This is a concrete peculiarity of our social psychology: the growth of trust in power (vlast’) is accompanied by a growth in paternalistic attitudes.” In contrast to the late Yeltsin, whose authority was perceived to be weak and thus everyone fended for themselves, under the “strong statist” Putin, “more and more people have begun to depend on state patronage.”^[41] Muzhik is to silovik, then, as batiushka is to tsar.

PATRIOT

In a sense, Putin’s patriotic voice manifests this melding of strength, fairness, and populist affinities into the area of national identity and in so doing brings another set of emotions into play – pride and shame – with the intent of restoring the dominance of the former over the latter. Given the degree to which Russia’s image has suffered in the 1990s, the restoration process begins with a direct and forceful confrontation and rejection of images of Russia as an impoverished beggar or has-been superpower: “В отличие от прежних времен Россия сегодня сотрудничает с Западом не потому, что хочет понравиться или что-то получить взамен за свою позицию. Мы не стоим с протянутой рукой и ни у кого за это ничего не просим. Я провожу эту политику только потому, что считаю, что это полностью соответствует национальным интересам России, а не для того, чтобы кому-то понравиться….”^[42]
Parallel to this metaphorical rejection of weakness, Putin offers a positive image of a virile Russia (“Должен заметить, руки у России все крепче и крепче. Их не выкрутить даже таким крепким партнером, как Евросоюз”^[43]) and at times takes on a more aggressively defiant tone, as in his verbally invoked non-verbal gesture (“giving the finger”) in response to the idea that Russia would give Kaliningrad to Germany to pay off debt (“Вы знаете, совершенно неожиданная постановка вопроса. Всем, кто хочет такого развития событий, мне бы очень хотелось прямо в камеру показать фигуру из трех пальцев, но не могу это сделать в силу воспитания”^[44]) – again, a rhetorical strategy that has the effect of extending the very gesture he proclaims to be suppressing.
Putin strikes a more cautious note in his remarks at the opening ceremony of the Civic Forum in 2001, but draws the direct connection between citizenship and a gradual restoration of national pride: “Еще пока трудно признаться самим себе, что у нас кое-что, говорю специально очень аккуратно, кое-что начинает получаться. Наступает время, когда жизнь в России постепенно становится более или менее достойной. Быть гражданином России становится престижно, тем более что в России понятие “гражданин” всегда значило гораздо больше, чем юридически оформленная связь с государством. И потому гражданственность и патриотизм от одной лишь записи в документе не появляются.”^[45]
Attempts at restoring a sense of national pride prove more difficult in the face of more shameful events and indicators, such as national disasters and poverty. We see Putin making such an attempt in a televised interview in the wake of the Kursk submarine explosion, where he draws an associative link between the military, the narod, and the nation: “Никаких огульных расправ под влиянием эмоциональных всплесков и под влиянием стечения обстоятельств не будет. Я буду с армией, буду с флотом и буду с народом. И вместе мы восстановим и армию, и флот, и страну. Нисколько в этом не сомневаюсь.”^[46]
When discussing the perception of Russian’s toward themselves and their own nation, Putin’s patriotism assumes more of a moralistic tone than a pugilistic one, with maternal and familiar metaphors taking the fore. In a 2003 speech to a domestic audience he speaks directly to the issue of national pride and shame, placing it in moral terms akin to the attitude and loyalty one has toward one’s own mother: “Я считаю, что мы всегда имеем право гордиться своей страной, а стыдиться своей страны – все равно, что стыдиться своей матери. У меня родители были простыми людьми, у мамы не было даже среднего образования. Я ее очень люблю. Никогда их не стыдился, потому что знал, что они делали для меня все, что могли, и даже больше. Я это видел. У меня не было никаких сомнений. Отношение к стране должно быть такое же. Если чего-то не нравится – нужно исправлять. Это не от страны зависит, а от нас. Нечего на зеркало пенять, коли рожа крива – помните? Так что если и должно быть стыдно, то только за самих себя.”^[47]
Given the metaphorical ties to the people, family, and maternal and paternal bonds, the voice of the patriot often emerges in autobiographical contexts, as in his declaration of affinity with the “rank-and-file Russian citizen,” given his having grown up in a communal apartment and his extended service in the KGB (“все-таки в органах безопасности, в разведке культивировалось самое главное – это патриотизм и любовь к Родине”).^[48] It is not coincidental that we should see the greatest degree of intersection of his two most positively marked voices – the muzhik and the patriot – in these autobiographical contexts, linking mother to motherland (rodina), citizenship to state. In the following extended excerpt from an interview with the French press, Putin the philosopher considers the paradox of his having been a baptized KGB agent. The commentary combines the colloquial voice of the muzhik and humble Christian with the patriotic verve of a Soviet citizen, sprinkled generously with organic metaphors of national identity:

“Вся жизнь состоит из противоречий. Там, где кончается противоречие, там наступает небытие. Это говорит о том, что Россия так же, как и другие части Европы, не порождение чего-то искусственного, а страна со своей историей, со своим настоящим и будущим. Это говорит о том, что сохраняются исторические культурные корни народа, и истребить их невозможно. Они, если образно выразиться, как трава в крупном мегаполисе, пробиваются через асфальт.
У меня мама была верующая. Это было не то, чтобы не модно, как сейчас, это было даже опасно в бывшем Советском Союзе. И она не то, чтобы тайно, но не афишируя это, окрестила меня в церкви. И нет ничего удивительного в том, что она дала мне крест с собой, чтобы освятить его на Гробе Господнем в Иерусалиме.
У нас не было никакого другого государства, кроме коммунистического. Каждое государство имеет набор инструментов, набор каких-то механизмов, которые делают его государством. Один из этих инструментов – Служба внешней разведки, где я имел честь работать. Это была интересная работа. Это ничуть не мешало мне. И то, что меня мама крестила в церкви, когда мне был примерно год, я даже не знаю точно, сколько мне было тогда, ничуть не мешало мне выполнять обязанности офицера внешней разведки.”^[49]

In one of his more contemplative statements on the nature of Soviet and post-Soviet identity, Putin taps into the essential “contradiction” that all law-abiding (if not card-carrying) Soviet citizens faced after the collapse. He maneuvers through it rhetorically by shifting the issue of contradictory lifestyles into the realm of the existential (in the well-established tradition of discussion of the enigma of Russianness and the Russian soul), and by characterizing this state in terms of a tension between parallel metaphors – pitting an organic, maternal, popular, and Christian identity, on the one hand, against one that is mechanical, paternal, state, and Soviet, on the other. Putin, as an offshoot of the weed that pushed through the pavement of the Soviet metropolis and thrives in that environment without rejecting his roots, offers a model of reconciliation and rebirth for those who share his existential predicament in the post-Soviet era.^[50]
But lest we begin to view him as the sort of philosopher-intelligent that likes to ponder larger issues of the sort that arguably led to the disappearance of the Russian democrats from the political (and linguistic) radar screen, let us remember the one voice that quantitatively stands out far more than the others – that of the technocrat. Tellingly, in the context of the most philosophical and identity-laden question of all (“What should the national state idea be in Russia?”), it is to this voice Putin so mundanely reverts:

“А я уже говорил по этому поводу. Что является главным на сегодняшний момент? Развитие экономики, обеспечение высоких темпов ее развития. […] Самая главная идея – обеспечение темпов роста экономики. От этого зависит будущее страны в прямом смысле этого слова. Обеспечение конкурентоспособности страны во всех сферах, во всех областях.”^[51]

While there is certainly no mistaking him for Berdiaev, he is true to his linguistic identity: a verbal functionary proficient in the primary tools of the technocratic trade; willing to stand up to the rogues that threaten the security and integrity of the nation; able to speak to the people in their own language and appeal to their need for stability and justice; and not adverse to invoking tried and true patriotic images of the past and linking them with the prospect of economic hope and national pride.

* * *

A leader’s linguistic identity emerges not so much from some formula of proportional frequency of the various voices or speech genres he or she employs, but rather from those voices and genres that listeners and readers come to most readily identify with that leader. The vast majority of Lenin’s pronouncements were anything but innovative, and the Lef-critic analyses come from a relatively small selection of his speeches – but the prominence of their analysis went far to contribute to his linguistic identity of an innovator.
In Putin’s case, while the vast majority of his utterances are stylistically unimpressionable (though basic competence and minimal eloquence are not to be underrated, given the shoes he filled), it seems to be the genres of the delovoi, muzhik, silovik, and patriot that are most often invoked in commentaries on his speech practices. Each of these locutionary functions, which in reality often appear intermingled with one another, finds strong resonance among the majority of a population that is tired of both the perception and reality of a passive, weak, and corrupt Russia. According to a 2004 public opinion survey, over fifty percent of the Russian population believed life in Russia had improved over the course of Putin’s first term. When asked to list the strongest virtues of the president, respondents singled out three: twenty three percent noted his “strong persona” (silnaia lichnost’); seventeen percent noted his “style of public behavior” (stil’ publichnogo povedeniia); and fifteen percent noted his “deed-oriented” nature (chelovek dela). When asked to elaborate, those attributing his success to his style most often singled out the fact that he is “a good orator, his ability to express his thoughts well.”^[52] This, from a linguistic perspective, helps account for Putin’s popularity and success – even when his actual actions and policies garner less support and appeal.^[53] By integrating the main profiles discussed here, he symbolically enables the sort of national revival of identities, both organic and instrumental, that had suffered during the destructive, revolutionary years of the Yeltsin era.
It should be noted, in conclusion, that the maxim underlying the delovoi profile could and should apply to my analysis itself: there is no question that a leader’s action with regard to language- and speech-related issues are as important, if not more important than the actual speech practices that leader exhibits. Gorbachev was widely panned for his mispronounced words and “southern” accent, but he arguably “did” more for the cause of “freedom of speech” than either of his predecessors. Putin’s record as far as issues of free speech go is spotty at best, and there actually has been a noticeable decline in the number of unrehearsed public interviews and press conferences he has given since his reelection in the spring of 2004 – suggesting the possibility of a newly emerging dominant speech genre of silence (particularly glaring in politically charged cases such as the Khodorkovskii affair and increased state pressure on Eduard Limonov and his National Bolshevik Party).^[54] Nevertheless, the two are not mutually exclusive: presidential speech practices carry significant symbolic weight – both in the nature of the persona transmitted and in the means and terms in which any given issue is framed. Notwithstanding deed-oriented rhetoric (which is itself, in the end, only rhetoric), modern political technologies place a high premium in the art and science of “spin” and Putin has proven himself a competent study.^[55]