OH, THOSE RUSSIANS by Gloria Moress

Mikhail did not stand as the other man entered, but remained, chin in hand, gazing out of the window at the dirty brown water below. The Omsk office didn’t have the views of St Petersburg, but it was necessary to present in person, however briefly.
Kerensky cleared his throat, an unnecessary annoyance. Mikhail was well aware of his bulk, hovering in his peripheral vision. He swung the chair around to face his opponent, his recent friend.
“Have you made a decision?” Kerensky asked, finally.
Mikhail let the moment hang between them, then announced mildly, “The answer is no.”
“But how can it be? You owe me this, at least.” Kerensky had the characteristic large head and hands of the Northern Slavs, giving him a presence that belied his average stature. In the rough clothes of a miner, he was an imposing figure, but Mikhail remained unpeturbed.
“I owe you a great deal, but this is something even I dare not attempt. The Duma is vigilant, and they will protect their interests. Already you have the contracts for Eastern Siberia Coal and Bering Petroleum. If I give this to you, I will be condemned,” Michael explained.
“But you know what it will mean if one of their cronies gets this contract. It will undermine every move I have made to form an energy cartel that will help propel Russia into the 21st century.”
“Still, I cannot. The favouritism I have shown you in the past has placed me at risk”
Kerensky’s eyes narrowed. “At risk! If it weren’t for my grandfather, there would be no more Romanovs. He only let your grandfather live to use as leverage against the Bolsheviks. Otherwise the Soviets would rule this country, not your hand picked Duma!”
“The Duma have been useful to us both, my friend. They have helped us achieve a great deal so far,” Mikhail countered. “Without them, the infrastructure to move the coal and oil out of this god-forsaken place would still be in its infancy.”
“But now you need to protect yourself, I am left out in the cold. I should have known better than to think you would help any but yourself. Your kind never has. You care neither for your friends, nor your countrymen. They should have shot your grandfather beside Nicholas. At least you can be proud of carrying on the great Romanov tradition of keeping Russia in poverty simply to maintain power!”
He slammed out of the office, but the air remained charged with his fury. Not all his accusations were true, mused Mikhail. Russia had moved forward, not at the pace of her neighbours, but the people were benefiting by manufacturing the technology designed in Poland and Germany. The factories meant jobs, and wages, which put food in the mouths of the people. What more did they want? Millions of Asians lived the same way, their economies marching along quite nicely, without so much as a murmur. The Russian economy would move along better, too, if not for the protests and strikes. He would deal with the insurrectionists more harshly if he didn’t have to maintain a high human rights profile in order to trade with the west. The people had housing, if not always heat, they had water, if not always power, and vodka, if not always bread. He chuckled to himself. Vodka had proved a better opiate for the masses than even the Orthodox Church.
Would things have been so different if the Bolsheviks had succeeded? He didn’t believe that graft and corruption would have remained absent from the communist system, and the workers and peasants would have been elevated in their status. He had heard tales from Kerensky’s grandfather, Alexander, that there had been internal struggles and dissent since 1912, when the Bolsheviks split from the Mensheviks. George Orwell’s Animal Farm portrayed the dilemma beautifully. Anyone who thought they would be better off under the rule of the people ought to read it. Human nature in all its naked ambition, greed, and lust for power depicted so cleverly using farm animals as characters. The workers, like the beasts, had their place, and no matter who ruled them, there they would remain.