“Palace Trizzini” is the name of the large building complex in the heart of the Russian metropolis Saint Petersburg. The neoclassical façade shines in light beige, yellow and green tones that are so typical of the “Venice of the North”. The address is a dream: University Embankment, between the 5th and 6th lines of Vasilyevsky Island. Just a few meters away are some of the most popular sights of the city: the Menshikov Palace, the Sphinxes on the Neva Embankment, the Kunstkammer.
The windows of the two-story building face the river and the Blagoveshchensky Bridge, one of the most beautiful in the city. The bridge is a spectacular sight in summer – when it is opened and raised for shipping. On the other side of the Neva the domes of St. Isaac’s Cathedral gleam, and a little further the turquoise walls of the Winter Palace can be seen.
In this picturesque location, the “Palace Trizzini” has for several years been home to a 5-star hotel of the same name and several restaurants, including the “Street Food Bar No. 1”. All the splendor belongs to none other than Yevgeny Prigozhin, the notorious boss of the Wagner mercenary group.
In the official documents of the Russian authorities, the company “Concord Management and Consulting” is listed as the owner of the complex – and Prigozhin owns half of it. The company’s CEO since 2017 has been Dmitri Utkin, the founder of the Wagner mercenary troupe. It was Utkin from whom Prigozhin took over the supposedly private mercenary army a few years ago.
And so it was no coincidence that the self-proclaimed military blogger Maxim Fomin chose the “Street Food Bar No. 1” for one of his numerous appearances last Sunday. Known under the pseudonym Vladlen Tatarski, the man who was once convicted of a bank robbery in Ukraine created a mood for a radical war course by Moscow against his homeland.
Fomin also propagated this line in front of a selected audience of proven like-minded people last Sunday – until a golden bust prepared with explosives blew up and ended the life of the radical nationalist.
The Russian authorities quickly named the alleged masterminds behind the assassination: According to their public version, the Ukrainian secret service is said to have worked out the “terrorist attack” together with Alexei Navalny’s anti-corruption fund. The foundation has been classified as a “terrorist organization” by the Kremlin. Navalny is about to face a new trial in this regard. The opposition politician faces up to 35 years in prison. An attack for which he can be held directly responsible and kept behind bars for the rest of his life comes at just the right time for the Russian power apparatus.
Not least because of this welcome coincidence, political experts and critics of the Kremlin see an action by Russian secret services behind the assassination. Some observers interpret the killing of Fomin as an attempt by the Kremlin to rein in the so-called Z propagandists.
Fomin belonged to this new caste of the Russian public. The Z-Propagandists, or military bloggers as they like to call themselves, sprout with the onset of the Russian invasion of Ukraine. In contrast to the propaganda machine orchestrated from the Kremlin, the Z bloggers do not obey one master. They have many, some of them none at all. What unites them: their audience thirsts for blood. And they deliver what is required. Uncensored pictures from the front became their trademark. The motto: the more mutilated corpses there are, the better. The gory images filled the information gap that arose between state-controlled propaganda and the events of the war. The Z bloggers dared to do what is considered treason in Russia: criticism of the government. The war isn’t bloody enough for their liking.
According to another version, Fomin’s murder could be a warning to Prigozhin. In recent months, the Wagner boss has engaged in a bitter power struggle with the Russian Ministry of Defense and the secret services. He is increasingly falling out of favor in the Kremlin. An assassination attempt in his St. Petersburg bastion is symbolic and directly damages him economically.
A dispute between the Z propagandists themselves, who are at each other’s throats in the fight for limited resources, is also discussed.
Which of these versions is ultimately true, however, does not play a decisive role for Russian society. Regardless of the background, the assassination shows one thing: Russia has landed back in the nightmare of the 1990s.
The nineties have become synonymous with absolute horror in Russia. It was Putin himself who turned the years after the collapse of the Soviet Union into a nightmare. His propaganda has one thought firmly anchored in people’s minds: everything is fair and just if the horror of the nineties never returns.
In addition to the total disintegration of state systems and abject poverty, this time was characterized by ubiquitous murders: Not only criminals were targeted, but also artists, politicians, public figures and journalists. The number of those who died in the bandits’ power struggle is difficult to estimate even decades later. To this day, the murder of the television presenter and general director of the TV channel ORT, the independent predecessor of today’s state channel First Channel, has not been forgotten. Vlad Listyev died on March 1, 1995. The killer ambushed him at the entrance to his apartment building in Moscow and shot him point blank.
So that they do not have to experience that lawlessness, arbitrariness and chaos again, the Russians are willing to sacrifice many things.
But now the conditions of the 90s are returning to the streets of Russia. In the middle of the day, a criminal is presented with a golden bust of himself – filled with explosives. The place of action is known in the city as a meeting place for dubious elements and radical fascists. One of them will be eliminated in public. A scene as if it hadn’t happened in the past 30 years.
Before the “Street Food Bar No. 1” where Fomin died was restored in 2016, the eatery on the corner of the University Embankment and the 6th line of Vasilyevsky Island was called “Russian Kitsch”. The spirit of the 1990s lingered here until well into the days of Putin. Golden stucco, heavy brocade curtains, red velvet armchairs – all in keeping with the taste of a cliche Mafiosi. Gloomy fellows in bomber jackets drove every tourist out of the smoky halls who stuck their heads between the wooden doors.
The brocade curtains disappeared in 2016. The dubious figures did not. Now they are showing Russia that the security apparatus has again lost its monopoly on the use of force. The nineties are back.
