The King of Moscow: A look back at Yuri Luzhkov’s controversial career.
MOSCOW — The deathwatch for this city's immortal mayor, Yuri Luzhkov, had been on for weeks. Since early September, Luzhkov has been the focus of a vicious Kremlin smear campaign intended to irritate him into resigning quietly, something the Kremlin is usually able to accomplish with ease. This time, however, it met with unexpected resistance. Last week, Luzhkov went on vacation to Austria, a trip insiders said had been the product of an ultimatum: Take a week to think over the terms, Luzhkov was told; resign when you come back. All of Moscow waited for his resignation, which Kremlin sources told the papers would come on Monday. But when Luzhkov returned Sunday night, he was defiant. This was all "delirium," he told the Interfax news agency on Monday morning. "I do not plan to resign of my own volition," he said, and went on with his work.
On Tuesday, however, Moscow awoke to find that the man who was appointed to rule it in 1992, who had been able to hold on to the seat ever since through chaotic political change and economic cataclysms, had not survived the night. He had been brutally, cruelly fired all the way from China, where President Dmitry Medvedev was traveling on official presidential business. Shortly before 8 a.m., Medvedev's order to remove Luzhkov from his post hit the wires. The reason? Luzhkov had "exhausted the trust of the president of the Russian Federation." Then Medvedev got up on a podium and calmly delivered a speech to his audience in Shanghai on, of all things, the importance of cities. Back in Moscow, a joke went viral: Everything is made in China nowadays, even Luzhkov's termination.
Luzhkov, too, woke up to the news, which he learned through the press just like everyone else. He had just arrived at his office and all his colleagues had lined up with gifts and flowers to belatedly congratulate the mayor on his 74th birthday. Most of them did not yet know that the mayor was no longer the mayor. When they found out, many were stunned. "I haven't seen such faces in a long time," tweeted one Kremlin-affiliated blogger who stopped by the mayor's office that morning. "It feels as if the world has ended." "It shocked him, of course," one of the mayor's subordinates told me, adding that the choice of tactics was because "they wanted to hurt him more, to humiliate him." As if to rub salt into the wound, the president elaborated through a spokesman that he would not be meeting with Luzhkov.
Humiliation was precisely the point of this entire drama. As the initial shock of Luzhkov's firing wears off, the attention of Moscow's commentariat (as well as the opposition) has turned back to its favorite question: What does this mean for the Medvedev-Putin duumvirate? Most voices have been praising Medvedev for proving his independence from Prime Minister Vladimir Putin, the man thought to be the real decider in this town. The theory goes that Medvedev wanted Luzhkov out but Putin wanted him to stay, causing a split behind the scenes. The fact that Luzhkov was fired, according to this school of thought, indicated that Medvedev won and Putin lost. "[Medvedev] showed his political independence," says political analyst Alexei Makarkin. "Medvedev wants to be president, so he makes a decision that is associated with a president. This is an election campaign, a clear declaration that he wants to be president after 2012."
But that explanation makes little sense, as does any that treats the presidency as a real contest between Medvedev and Putin, or a perceived split between the two as something other than political theater. As any government operative here will tell you without blushing, those assumptions are both patently false. "It's clear how the system works," one high-ranking state banker told me. "Putin is the number one boss, and Medvedev is the place holder. There is no doubt about their roles."

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