CHAPTER TWO
THE MAKING OF
THE MAN
In the year that Abraraovich entered the world of
work Russia was a very different place from the country we know today. In 1983,
it was still part of the Soviet Union, then headed by Yuri Andropov, a
68-year-old former head of the KGB too strongly attached to the ideals of
communism to cope with the challenges presented by a rapidly changing world.
Private enterprise remained illegal and, in such an environment, a university
degree was one of the few passports to self-improvement. But while the
17-year-old Abramovich was keen to go to university, competition was stiff and
his undistinguished academic record would not have helped. Nor was his
predicament eased by his obvious Jewishness.
Russia's distrust of its Jewish minority - put at
around 2 per cent of the population - stretches back to the tsars and even
earlier, when the Russian Orthodox Church held sway. Stalin condemned
lews as 'rootless parasites' and encouraged them to set up home in the Russian
Jewish homeland in eastern Siberia called Birobidzhan. This had been set up in 1934 to give Jews an
alternative focus to Palestine, and although
a somewhat inhospitable area, many had
been attracted to the idea of living in a place where they were able to give free expression to their culture.
At the
time Abramovich was looking for a university place, Jews were still regarded as
too ideologically unreliable and suspect patriotically to be admitted to
certain academic institutions, including the Institute of International
Relations and the University of Foreign Languages. Ideologically neutral
specialisms, such as medicine and the sciences, presented no such obstacles,
however, and this fact, along with an eye for the main chance, may have
contributed to Abramovich's decision to opt for highway engineering.
But at
this point his career history becomes difficult to follow. Over the years, a
number of different versions of what happened next have been given by
Abramovich himself, members of his family and his spokesmen. A brief curriculum
vitae posted on the website of the government of Chukotka
— the
region of which Abramovich is now governor - states that he entered the Ukhta
Industrial Institute after leaving middle school in 1983. In the mid-Eighties,
his Uncle Leib told his neighbours in Ukhta that his nephew had transferred
from the Ukhta institute to the prestigious Gubkin Oil and Gas Institute in
Moscow.
It
appears that his Uncle Lieb must have got his information from someone other
than his nephew. According to the evidence available, the following is about as
authoritative a chronology of this period as anyone but the man himself could
provide. Having failed to gain a place at the Gubkin
a spokesman for the
Institute insists that 'Abramovich has never set foot in this place' - Abramovich
apparently de to return to Ukhta to attend what was then known at ^
Ukhta Industrial Institute. This notion is supported by childhood friend Dmitri
Sakovich, who sometimes used sec him there. What is not in doubt is that
Abramovich up his course at some point in his second year when his took a
decisive turn. At the age of 18, he was called up rigorous, if not traumatic,
is national service in the Russia army (then the Red Army) that it is seen as
one of those rites of passage to be avoided if at all possible. People
attending more prestigious centres of learning, such as Moscow University,
were entitled to postpone their two-year stint but a place at the Ukhta
institute offered no such right. And while many children of the elite escaped
the ordeal by getting one of their relatives to bribe the appropriate official,
Abraraovich's family lacked the resources or the contacts to pull off such a
deal. The result was that, at the beginning of 1985, he was posted to Kirzach,
a town about fifty miles northeast of Moscow, to serve in an artillery unit.
If life with his uncles Leib and Abram provided him
with a foundation course in commerce, his time as a soldier turned him into a
man. Harassment of junior ranks by their superiors is so rife in the army that
there is even a specific word for it, dedovshchina. Those in their
second and final year of service were known as the dedy — literally,
'grandads' - and the first years were known as the salagy, a type of
small fish but best translated as small fry. The dedy made it their
business to ensure that they exploited the salagy just as harshly as
they themselves had been treated the year before. New recruits were made aware
of the order of things from the moment they got to the camp. They would be
searched on arrival and have all their money taken off them. A similar process occurred when people got parcels from home. They were forced to open
them in front of everyone else and
share whatever they had been sent.
As the
days and weeks went by, Abramovich would have become increasingly aware that
his role as one of the salagy was to
make life easier for the dedy. If a second-year was assigned a ten-hour shift
standing guard over a munitions dump or the regimental banner, for example, he
would pass on the task to one of the first years. At meal times, the salagy often
went hungry as the best food and the biggest rations were always given to the dedy. But
the most unpleasant, humiliating and character-forming task was to clean the
latrines. These were little more than holes in the ground surrounded by
porcelain with wedged foot-rests. 'We had no rubber gloves, just our hands, a
piece of cloth and some chlorine powder,' says Dmitri Sakovich. 'We would use a
knife to scratch away at the encrusted patches of shit.'
These
privations were supplemented by a regime of systematic bullying. The trick
here was to project an image of being a 'tough nut'. Anyone who betrayed any
weakness would be picked on mercilessly. Apart from petty humiliations, beatings
were not uncommon and these would be conducted with some precision in a bid to
avoid leaving any obvious bruises. The bullies would avoid hitting people in
the face, opting instead for less visible places such as the kidney area.
According to Sakovich:
Muscovites were the most
hated because they were
seen as wimps and mummy's boys. People
from the Caucasus were disliked because
they were often from mountain villages and very uncultured.
Intellectuals were looked down on because in the army you have to be macho. You
were expected to swear a lot - and cultured Muscovites found that difficult -
be physically strong and willing to exercisc your will. You wouldn't say,
"Could you please do this" you would say. "Do this!" It was
the law of the jungle. The stronger ones got the upper hand.
Morale was not helped by the accommodation arrange,
ments. In some units, conscripts would be packed into dormitories lined with
bunk beds housing up to 150 soldiers. The washing facilities were often basic -
the shower consisting of a pipe with holes at intervals emitting small streams
of water - and the stench of grime and sweat was ever present.
Edil Aitnazarov served with
Abramovich in Kirzach for almost two years. Indeed, Abramovich was the man
ordered to show him to the canteen when he arrived from Moscow at two in the
morning, tired and hungry, to start his tour of duty. He remembers 'Romka' as
being very sociable and sensitive towards others, and 'never in conflict either
with senior soldiers, or with junior ones when he became senior himself'
Friends from the start, Aitnazarov and Abramovich's relationship grew stronger
as time passed. Aitnazarov, who was from a small village in Kyrgyzstan, spoke
only rudimentary Russian and Abramovich took the time to help him improve his
language skills.
At the time he was very careful about his health,
went in for sports, did not drink and did not smoke. He seemed to be highly
valuing every minute of his life. He managed to organize a football team and a
group of amateur artists. He had
wonderful organizing abilities. He even
organized mass excursions to pick mushrooms. When we went to the forest to pick mushrooms for the first time, I was astonished. I had
never seen so many mushrooms in my life and had never eaten them. Roman brought
a cauldron from the kitchen to the workshop and cooked mushrooms like a real
connoisseur. The funniest thing is that there were no spoons or forks to eat
the mushrooms with but Roman was not at a loss and we ended up eating them with
spanners.
Aitnazarov has not seen Abramovich since 18 October 1986, the day their
commanding officer took Aitnazarov
aside to tell him he would be going home two months early. After a short hesitation, he told him why: his mother had died. Aitnazarov
has fond memories of Abramovich's
reaction. Not only did
his friend give him all the money he
had but he collected more from
other members of their unit. Despite his obvious initiative, Private Abramovich never made sergeant but he did make
friends. Dmitri Sakovich reckons this ability to charm others enabled him to
withstand the trauma of national service. But Abramovich's stint in the army
may well have been a key phase in the formation of his character. Apart from
strengthening him by forcing him to confront and survive so many hardships, the
experience would have refined him socially and made him more self- reliant and
independent. And, if Sakovich's experience is anything to go by, the effects
may have stayed with him for many years afterwards: After 1 was
mobilized I had nightmares for three or fou years about being called
up again. The recurring dream was set in the call-up centre. I have been told
to report for duty and I'm trying to explain that this is the second time I've
been conscripted, but they say I must do it again because they are short of
men. In an even worse nightmare I have been called up for the third time and
they want me to do it yet again. Then I wake up with relief.
Still, both Abramovich and Sakovich can console
themselves with the thought that they could not have been conscripted at a
better time. They were lucky enough to miss out on Russia's two major conflicts
of the last quarter of the twentieth century: Afghanistan (the decision to
withdraw Soviet forces was made in 1985) and Chechnya (the first Chechen war
began in December 1994).
While Abramovich had been working
on his square- bashing, however, the political landscape of Russia had changed
out of all recognition. On his death, Andropov had been replaced by Konstantin
Chernenko, another dinosaur. By the time Abramovich was demobbed, Chernenko too
had died in office and a radical reformer was running the country. Mikhail
Gorbachev and his two most bold initiatives, glasnost ('openness') and
perestroika ('restructuring'), were in the process of transforming society
and the economy. While private enterprise had once been illegal, now small
businesses were sprouting up everywhere. Many students, terrified of missing
out on this commercial Klondike, abandoned their courses in a desperate bid to
stake their claim to a place in the brave new world. One who did - and failed -
was Sergei Lagoda, Abramovich's neighbour as a child in Ukhta.
Perhaps surprisingly, given his
Ijter daring. Abramovich, who
patently did have the skills to make
it, initially resisted the temptation to abandon his studies and join the mad dash for cash. After
he was demobilized at the end of
1986, he was seen at college
discos at the Ulchta institute and the local trendy hang-out, Bar Trojan —
where Stalker, now one
of Russia's most popular bands,
began their career. But army life had clearly robbed Abramovich of none of his self- discipline. 'He didn't
appear to drink,' says Sakovich.
He always kept himself within a certain limit. I have never seen him drunk or
violent. I think he must have had girlfriends because he was a
good-looking young man.'
In
fact, Abramovich had returned to Ukhta to discover that the girl he had been
seeing before he embarked on his national service, Vika Zaborovskaya, a fellow
student at the institute, had married someone else. Within a few months,
however, in the summer of 1987, Abramovich met the woman who was to become his
first wife. Olga Lysova was an attractive blonde from Astrakhan who was
studying geology at the Ukhta institute. At 23, not only was she three years
older than Abramovich but she also had a young daughter from a previous
marriage. Not that Abramovich could have known this when he spotted her across
the bar at a party. As Olga remembers it, too shy to approach her himself, Abramovich
got one of his friends to ask her for a dance. She later told the News of the World:
I
accepted and was immediately impressed. Roman was a handsome man, tall and
slim, with piercing blue eyes and he was immaculately dressed. He always wore a
suit, even at home. We danced to a slow Russian pop song. He danced beautifully
- 1 just let myself melt into his arms fifteen family and friend*, and they lived together
tn the tiny eighteen-square- metre flat Abr «movi< h had barn left by his late grandmother. By
now, Abrimoricb had lined of
life studying highway engineering at the Ukhta institute, He had long been
supplementing hta income by buying luxury
goods in Moscow and flying them to Ukhta for resale at a profit. He enjoyed the
thrill of outwitting the by
packing his luggage with cigarettes, perfume,
designer jeans and chocolates to sell to friends at the other end, but his
heart was really in Moscow. His return to the capital was achieved via a
transfer to the Moscow Vehicle
Transport Institute, which perhaps reflects a growing interest in cars that has survived to this
day. During his two years of
national service, Abramovich - who was then officially a 'despatched, according
to Aitnazarov - had made a point of cultivating the mechanics and drivers in
his unit and could often be found in the workshop helping them to repair their
vehicles. Today, he has an impressive collection of high- spec and
high-performance cars including a Bentley and a Ferrari.
Once back
in Moscow, however, student life soon ^"'if an adjunct to the more
serious business of making money. When Gorbachev lifted the ban on private
enterprise, Abramovich launched a doll-making company called Uyut (Russian for
'comfort'). The enterprise prospered and it was not long before the couple were
earning 3,000 to 4,000 roubles a month, then around twenty times the average
salary of a state worker. They even bought a Lada car, which Abramovich soon
wrote off by 'skidding and bashing into things', according to Olga. But the
hours he was putting into his new business put such a strain on their marriage
that they were divorced within two years. 'By the end of .1 marriage, we could
hardly bring ourselves to exchange tw words a day,' says Olga. 'He would get up
early and go straig^ to work and not be back until midnight. I was convinced h
was a workaholic. It seemed he loved his business more than he loved
me and my daughter Anastasia.'
Bizarrely, despite the feet that
the couple separated when Olga's daughter was six, it was not until
she was sixteen that Anastasia discovered that Abramovich was not her real
father. Any illusions she had about his having lingering paternal feelings for
her were dashed three years later when she called him at his oil company,
Sibneft, only to be told by his secretary that he was too busy to meet her or
return her call. Olga has always refused to discuss her split from Abramovich
with her daughter but Anastasia believes he was the great love of her life. 'I
remember a big quarrel and Roman walking out I just thought he would come back
but he never did.' Olga has since married for a third time, to Stefan
Stefanovic, a pianist in the backing group of Abraham Russo, a
leading Russian pop star.
Relatives
attributed the end of the marriage to the fact that Olga was unable to have any
more children. Although she does not claim that Abramovich was unfaithful,
there was a very quick transition from her to Irina Malandina, an air hostess
with Aeroflot Under communism, a job as an air hostess with an international
airline attracted none of the 'trolley dolly' sneers common in the West. It was
recognized as a privileged occupation: air hostesses working international
routes were in a good position to exploit their access to scarce Western
consumer goods. Malandina owed her job at Aeroflot to one of her aunts, who was
an air hostess on flights frequented by high-ranking government officials and
politicians. Her influence enabled Malandina to avoid an unglamorous
apprenticeship on domestic flights. Instead, she went straight onto the
international rota. One of her colleagues, Larissa Kurbatova, a fellow air
hostess at terminal two of Moscow's Sheremetyeva airport, remembers her well:
'When Irina came to work at Aeroflot she was still just a slip of a girl:
young, slim, pale. Despite her 23 years, she looked 17.' Kurbatova acknowledges
that Malandina was 'a beauty' but adds cattily: 'It's true that her legs let
her down, they were somewhat stubby and short. And her fingers were short and
stubby too.' The two young women became friends and, during one conversation,
Malandina confided that she had grown up without her father, adding: 'My
children will never suffer like that. I will do everything to make sure that
they grow up in a well-off family and that they prosper in life.' Kurbatova
says: 'So I asked her, "What about love?" She had no reply to that.'
Converting
jet-setting passengers into boyfriends appears to have been a common
preoccupation among the hostesses. In pursuit of this objective, Kurbatova
advised her new young friend to hang out in the executive lounge, smile, and
collect business cards. Malandina had no success at first. Perhaps she was a
little shy. If so, she soon learned to be more assertive and Kurbatova's thoughtful
tutelage ended up rebounding on her. At the time, the older woman was separated
from her husband and was bringing up their only child alone. But she had
succeeded in finding an eligible new beau in the shape of Misha Melnikov, one
of the staff trainers. He was the son of a prominent pilot and thus 'an
enviable catch'. 'I told Ira about him,' recalls Kurbatova. 'But I never
imagined that she was plotting.' Not long afterwards, a fellow air host informed Kurbatova that the innocent young Malandina stolen her lover. 'She said
that she had seen Ira meet Misha at the bus stop a few days in a row. They had been acquainted to begin with so
Ira pushed her way through the crowd to get closer to him and then fell against
him, ^ if by accident* It was hardly an original tactic but it worked and the couple were soon an
item. When Kurbatova con- fronted
her about stealing her boyfrend, she claims Malandina said that Misha would
never have married her as she had a child. 'I realized I had been mistaken to
think of her as a nice, modest girl,' she says. 'But then Ira was not that
lucky. Misha dumped her too.'
Clearly Kurbatova is not the best
person to give an unbiased version of what happened later. She is scathing
about Abramovich as a young hustler, depicting him as slightly desperate and
not very discriminating when it came to chatting up the air hostesses. Despite
his eagerness to give out his business card, few of the girls showed any
interest. 'We joked about him,' says Kurbatova. 'It was like he gave off a
bad smell. One day he gave his card to Ira. She didn't go into raptures
over him at first but, a few months later, she suddenly announced she was
getting married.' Kurbatova concluded there was more to the match than true
love. On one occasion, she says, Malandina 'completely unnecessarily' gloated
over the fact that she had no need to count how much of her salary was left for
the month.
As
Abramovich refuses to discuss personal matters, and bans his wife from doing
so, his version of their courtship is unlikely to come out but we do know that
the couple's relationship flourished and, by 1991, they were married. A year
later, Abramovich became a father for the first time with the birth of a
daughter the couple named Anna.
By now, Abramovich's entrepreneurial instincts were
in overdrive. Referring to this period, his Chukotka website CV says only that
he became an entrepreneur and founded the cooperative Uyut and the small firm
ABK, producing consumer goods. But it is thought that Abramovich set up and
liquidated no fewer than twenty companies during the early Nineties, in sectors
as diverse as tyre retreading and bodyguard recruitment.
These
early forays into the free market served as a valuable apprenticeship, and his
risk-taking instincts, combined with a subtle and manipulative charm, were
beginning to serve him well. But it was the events of August 1991 that were to
prove decisive, not only for the future of Russia but also for Abramovich's
personal fortunes. That month, a cabal of hard-line communists attempted to
reverse the liberal reforms of Gorbachev, then still president of the Soviet
Union, by conspiring with elements within the army to have him put under house
arrest in his dacha. At the same time, they ordered tanks and soldiers to
surround the White House, the home of the Russian parliament. The coup plotters
had not reckoned on the chutzpah of one of Russia's leading politicians. Boris
Yeltsin was a tall, heavily built man, whose face bore the ravages of years of
vodka-drinking like rings on a tree trunk. He had thrived under communism but,
unlike many of his fellow apparatchiks, he had embraced Gorbachev's
reforms. While he is said never to have quite mastered economic issues, his
political instincts were second to none - and, on 19 August, he also revealed
he had courage. j.r on top of a tank outside the White House, in a
brown covering a bullet-proof vest, he shouted his defiance to enthralled
world. Within forty-eight hours the coup leade we on the
run; and within four months the Soviet Union I had been dissolved.
With Yeltsin now in charge,
economic reform accelerated One consequence of this was that legislators failed
to keep up with the changing times and the opportunities for the I switched-on
entrepreneur were many and varied. Abramov- ich was one of those who quickly
spotted the potential in oil trading Under the Soviet system, locally drilled
oil had been sold at a multiple discount on the world price and it was through
the sale of domestically produced oil on the global market that the Soviet
regime had made its petrodollars. With the fill of communism, windfall profits
of this type became available to private operators.
According to Chrystia Freeland, head of the
Financial} Time's Moscow bureau between 1995 and 1998 and now the paper 's
deputy editor
When the
Soviet Union collapsed, that was one of the things that Yeltsin didn't really
think about It took a while for the government to understand that the key thing
wasn't so modi controlling the oil as controlling the export faucet. So
if yon became a trader in that particular wmfor of time it was a really great
thing to do. You could nuke a lot of money.
And
Abraaonch did. He was quick to grasp that an export hcence was effectively a
licence to print money. Oil was not only one of Russia's most plentiful
commodities, it was also one of those most easily traded in the West. The only
problem was how to get the stuff out of the country. That required an export
licence. Matters were complicated by the fact that poorly paid civil servants
were soon only too aware of the power of patronage bestowed by their rubber
stamps, and an oil export licence became just as much a good to be traded as
oil itself. Bribery was rife in Soviet bureaucracy, and it continued after the
fall of the old regime in the new Russia. There is no evidence that Abramovich
himself paid bribes during his stint as an oil trader but he did become dose to
some senior staff in the Russian customs service, including Mikhail Vanin, who
later became head of the Russian Customs Committee.