18 September 2024
By Leonid Nikitinsky
Source: Novaya gazeta
An explanation of the meaning of a term which has resurfaced in connection with the leaked investigation into the conflict between Leonid Nevzlin and the Anti-Corruption Foundation
Two key figures in the most high-profile and unpleasant story in recent days, concerning the conflict between Leonid Nevzlin and the Anti-Corrupion Foundation [FBK], have been called ‘fixers’ by FBK authors and other sources. These figures are Anatoly Blinov, who allegedly organized the attack on Leonid Volkov and others on Nevzlin’s instructions, and Andrei Matus, who somehow obtained Blinov’s phone and those of the perpetrators and used them to send information to RT and the FBK.
Without in any way commenting on the veracity of the published information (a job for the law enforcement agencies and courts in the appropriate countries) we will attempt to explain what a ‘fixer’ [reshala] is.
The term ‘fixer’ emerged in post-Soviet Russia, and it’s not easy to precisely define it.
First and foremost, it’s not a profession. It’s a role or a task, although for the most fortunate and capable it could also turn into a permanent self-employment of sorts.
Fixers are hired to solve problems, ones that you are unable to solve (or are incapable of solving) yourself. It’s typically done for money, but sometimes it’s done as part of a ‘friendship,’ which could mean in return for new connections or the expectation of reciprocal services in the future.
There were precursors to fixers in the USSR, who were most often just referred to as ‘the right people’ or ‘bugs.’ They were active in a gray area, or an outright illegal area, contained within a concept called ‘blat,’ a connections-based network that’s difficult to explain but would have been understood by any Soviet person. (Alyona Ledeneva, a graduate of Novosibirsk University, who defended a thesis on blat at Cambridge, says that the first publishing house to which she pitched her book rejected the manuscript because ‘something like [blat] cannot exist.’)
In Russia in the 90s, not only were the shadow patron/client relationships not eradicated, they grew and were strengthened — in line with the volume of former state property that was transferred into private hands, and the activity surrounding its privatization and redistribution. In the Yeltsin era, the project of the rule of law, which Gorbachev saw as the goal of perestroika, was perpetuated only on paper (on which the 1993 Constitution was written). Instead of the equality of opportunities that are the bedrock of law, economic players began using their proximity to political decision-makers to lobby for exclusions and privileges. Thus emerged most of the ‘oligarch’ capital, while the power and property (at various levels) grew into a united and functional shadow institution.
This is what gave rise to a phenomenon that I have been trying to describe as ‘non-law’ [nepravo] for several months. This term emphasizes that non-law always functions alongside the law, in its shadow and behind its mask, and that decisions made based on non-law (although predictable) are most often made by the same government officials (judges and other ‘law enforcers’) who are granted the authority to apply the law.
The repressive practices of the Russian state are based on the ‘right’ delegated to its representatives to abolish the law in their area of responsibility.
Today, when political speech is the first to meet monstrous levels of repression, this side of non-law is strikingly evident. In fact, historically, the corrupt underside of ‘non-law’ is foundational — in exchange for loyalty and favourable decisions on political matters, the government and the more or less obedient FSB turn a blind eye to corruption schemes. Moreover, some of these techniques these ‘raiders’ use are now simply being transferred into political affairs.
This doesn’t mean that all courts and law enforcement agencies are corrupt in the literal sense of the word, but these are not one-off incidents. They’re part of a way of operating and a way of life that the participants aren’t exactly hiding. The famous presidential ‘power vertical’ is unable to vanquish it, since it forms its main support, despite remaining in the shadows. The ‘machine of totalitarianism’ is ultimately protecting itself.
It’s here, in the sphere of non-law, that the figure of the ‘fixer’ inevitably emerges — a shadowy intermediary whom both sides of the corrupt scheme trust (often because they have no other choice).
Every journalist who has ever done research on hostile takeovers, kickbacks, cashing out and money laundering is acquainted with fixers. In order not to scare anyone with whom I have built up a long working relationship, I will point to the ‘advocate’ (this is a formal and disputed status) Elman Pashaev, who has just been detained on suspicion of fraud. Very unsuccessfully defending the interests of Mikhail Efremov in the criminal case over his road accident, Pashaev bluntly promised his client and stated publicly that he intended to ‘resolve his issue’ in a certain non-procedural way.
A rather exotic fixer figure appeared in the story of the Wildberries breakup. Even before or simultaneous to the initiation of legal action, Tatyana Bakalchuk’s husband Vladislav paid a visit to Ramzan Kadyrov, who charged Duma deputy Adam Delimkhanov with ‘resolving the issue’ – we do not know what possibilities he has for this, but they are definitely outside the framework of law.
Elena Kondrat, a former judge of the Moscow Court of Arbitration, now serving a sentence for playing a mediating role in relation to a case of in bribery, has greatly advanced our understanding of the role of the fixer. In October 2021, she came to the editorial office of Novaya gazeta and spoke in detail on the record about corruption in this court, personally pointing out, among other things, the fixers among assistant judges and in auxiliary departments. According to her, the activities of fixers in arbitration (and other) courts is entirely controlled by the FSB, which is unsurprising, considering the role of this security service in the appointment of judges. Judge Kondrat’s revelations were prompted by an attempt to protect herself and her son, who had been detained for allegedly ordering a contract killing in a very dubious case, but this does not make her story any less plausible.
Naturally, there are fixers of various levels, and there are those who ‘resolve the issue’ only on a one-time basis. A person who does this regularly must have certain qualities: sociability, the ability to flatter and be liked – and to use the appropriate jargon and codes (in manners, clothing, etc.), which are immediately understood by officials, whom the fixer can ‘call on.’ A professional fixer constantly takes risks, which makes it easier to recruit him, will sometimes ‘sacrifice’ someone (sometimes he just can’t come to an agreement), and he cannot work without protection.
Often a fixer is acting on behalf of someone else – an agent, a former or current employee of the security services, whose shadowy professional activity in the realm of non-law is indistinguishable from his work in the realm of what is lawful.
The task of the intelligence service – including the FSB – does not correspond with ‘law-enforcement work’: the intelligence service gathers information, it does not prevent crimes – in which it sometimes partakes itself on behalf of gathering information. Intelligence is collected by analytical departments in order to know everything possible about certain influential people who find themselves ‘on the hook.’ The leadership of the security service can at any time give the command for ‘actualization’ of information in the form of the initiation of a criminal case, but equally such a command may never be given.
Returning to the figures of Anatoly Blinov and Andrei Matus, one can say that both resemble ‘fixers,’ as evidenced by their biographies. Blinov was remembered by former employees of old NTV as the lawyer who oversaw the operation to seize the assets of Mediamost in 2000-2001, represented the interests of Sergei Dorenko in the courts, and was allegedly Boris Berezovsky’s lawyer. All this was at the very highest level, but later he was apparently ‘dumped,’ he went to jail for some kind of hostile takeover business, and then ran off to Europe. Matus’ level is lower (he was convicted of apartment fraud in Krasnodar), but it was he who was the informant of the ‘Dossier’ centre in a number of investigations. It was Matus whom Nevzlin, according to the FBK, allegedly instructed to sweep any traces of what he had ordered to be done under the rug.
What doesn’t seem right here? If one believes the FBK investigation, which is most likely based on leaks from the FSB, it seems strange that Nevzlin, who has been through fire and water, turned to the little-known Blinov to carry out a series of violent crimes, and what is more, with such frankness, and not to some ‘criminal authority.’
This is not the sphere of activity of a ‘fixer’ — and the results of Blinov’s work took a long time to come and, when they did, were far from what was expected, as is apparent from the ‘investigation.’ If police and the courts acting in terms of their procedural powers and jurisdictions (problems may arise here given that the events in question took place on the territories of a number of countries) affirm the account put forward by the FBK then Khodorkovsky’s first reaction would appear to have been correct: ‘…he’s just gone crazy.’
Translated by Nina dePalma and Alyssa Rider
