He may not be Russia’s richest man for much longer. Yesterday, Mikhail Khodorkovsky, the 40-year-old former head of the oil company Yukos and one of the dozen or so post-communist billionaires known as “oligarchs”, finally went on trial on charges of fraud and tax evasion. The case is taking place against a backdrop of international watchfulness on two counts. First is the belief by Russian human rights activists, among others, that Mr Khodorkovsky’s real crime, in the Russian Government’s eyes, was to have set himself up as a political rival to the President, Vladimir Putin, by funding opposition parties in the run-up to elections (Hunting him down is certainly scoring Mr Putin brownie points with Russia’s many disgruntled have-nots). Second is the fear that the Russian Government’s undeclared aim may be to break Yukos down and reclaim its parts — possibly beginning a repossession of assets sold off since the collapse of communism in 1991.
Nothing about the run-up to the trial has suggested that the justice it dispenses will be either swift or impartial. Mr Khodorkovsky’s case had been pending since his arrest last October in his private jet by secret police. His colleague and fellow shareholder, Platon Lebedev, has been behind bars since July 2003 — a full 11 months ago. Russia has had Yukos assets frozen, then slapped a tax bill for $3.5 billion on it for the year 2000, overruling a previous tax audit declaring all taxes for that year paid. As a result, Yukos shares have plummeted. The company faces bankruptcy. Yesterday’s trial opening brought no sense of catharsis. Within minutes, it was indefinitely adjourned because of the sudden illness of a defence lawyer, Genrikh Padva, who asked for leave of absence until next Monday.
Somewhere in the murk of accusation and counter-accusation, there is, in all likelihood, a genuine case for Mr Khodorkovsky to answer. A long hard look at his eventful past is more than likely to turn up irregularities. The entrepreneur overcame what remains, in Russia, a disadvantage — a Jewish background — to become boss of the Komsomol (Communist Youth League) in the dying days of communism. He exploited every loophole in Soviet law, in that confused time between two economic systems, to accommodate every available kopek. His first millions came from experiments with banks, internet cafés and companies. In 1995, his entrepreneurial skills were lavishly rewarded. Boris Yeltsin’s Government picked him as part of a group of businessmen to bankroll the President’s re-election bid. In exchange, the businessmen were sold Russia’s resources at knock-down prices. Mr Khodorkovsky bought Yukos for a few million dollars. It is really worth billions.
But none of this is the point. Everyone who made billions in Russia in the 1990s bent what rules there were (aided and abetted by Mr Yeltsin’s Government). To go after just one suspect, arbitrarily, is an abuse of human rights. Even a billionaire has the right to lay claim to victimisation.
Moreover, President Putin, after taking power in 2000, pledged that privatised wealth would not be redistributed if the oligarchs played straight in future; Mr Khodorkovsky promptly transformed Yukos into Russia’s most transparent company, which is not necessarily much of a compliment. Investment in resource-rich Russia, which has picked up in the Putin years of high oil prices, would be scared away if that pact with capital, and the trust it engendered, were broken. Judges and politicians should ponder these nuances before the trial resumes. The Khodorkovsky case, with all its subtleties and contradictions, is a true test of modern Russia.