Viewpoint: Closing the Door

Iosif Kobzon is a famous singer, prosperous businessman and influential member of the Duma. He is known as the Russian Sinatra both for his talent and for his alleged Mafia ties. But he will not be singing in the United States: last month the U.S. embassy in Moscow turned down his visa application for the third time. Oleg Deripaska, head of the giant firm Russian Aluminum, did not attend the World Economic Forum annual meeting in Davos last week; the group withdrew its invitation after a fellow businessman filed a lawsuit accusing him of bribery and racketeering. Sergei Mikhailov, an entrepreneur who spent a little over two years in a Swiss jail on charges of heading a Mafia family before being released in December 1998 for lack of evidence, raged at a press conference in Moscow late last month: "America is now denied me, Europe is denied me, even Africa turned me away! They have made me nevyezdnoi!"

The Explanatory Dictionary of the Soviet Language defines nevyezdnoi as "a citizen not allowed abroad by Soviet authorities." Nearly the entire population of the old Soviet Union was nevyezdnoi: only the élite were allowed to travel to foreign countries. These restrictions were lifted in the Gorbachev era, but now a new nevyezdnoi class is emerging. This time, it's the élite who are restricted, and not just by the state.

Foreign governments and private institutions, suspicious of the spendthrift habits, mammoth bank accounts and princely villas that have become trademarks of nouveau riche Russians abroad, are beginning to close their doors and their borders to some of the richest. And many powerful Russian tycoons must think twice before boarding an outbound flight lest they share the fate of Pavel Borodin, the erstwhile Kremlin property manager and multimillionaire who was arrested last month in New York on an extradition request from Switzerland alleging involvement in money laundering.

Like Borodin or Mikhailov, these rejectees have not been proved guilty of any specific crime that would warrant their exclusion. Yet perhaps it is good that they must stay home. Too many of the Russian high and mighty have used their positions over the past decade of reform to line their pockets. Graft is universal. Last year an estimated $24.6 billion left Russia, money garnered mostly through bribery, kickbacks and outright theft and sent to private accounts in offshore banks. That's an increase of 30% over 1999, and the total capital drain from Russia over the past decade is more than $250 billion.

Russian thieves have been siphoning billions abroad in order to enjoy civilized life far from their plundered country. But what can they do with their foreign villas and bank accounts if they lose access? Might their nevyezdnoi status compel them to reinvest their ill-gotten gains in their own national economy? A major oligarch is said to be looking into the development of ski resorts in the Caucasus Mountains. Might the lure of potential profits force Russian tycoons to pacify Chechnya more effectively—and less barbarously—than the government has been trying to? Will they, indeed, find ways to make their money serve them here—and benefit their country, too? If so, the West is doing Russia a great favor by making Russian business and political big shots nevyezdnoi.