This article is adapted from Mikhail Zygar’s new book, All the Kremlin’s Men: Inside the Court of Vladimir Putin.
For the first two years of his presidency, Dmitry Medvedev’s main task was simply to be seen. Nobody in the world, or his own country, seemed to take him seriously, with the international media referring to him as the “handpicked successor” of Vladimir Putin, who had since become prime minister. Even when he sent troops into Georgia in August 2008, everyone said it was Putin’s war, as though Medvedev himself did not exist.
Though the war ended on favorable terms for Russia, it forced Medvedev’s team to grapple with a contradiction between its goals. Domestically, it was important to show that Medvedev was strong and independent and that he had declared war without consulting Putin. Yet, internationally it was more expedient to pin the war on Putin and portray Medvedev as a new type of Russian politician.
As Medvedev was deliberating on that problem in the Kremlin, Barack Obama, a senator from Illinois, was sweeping to victory in the 2008 U.S. presidential election. After eight years of George W. Bush, Obama’s election campaign had come as a breath of fresh air, promising a new and more cooperative role for America in the world.

Medvedev immediately liked what he saw in his U.S. counterpart. And although he never said so, not even to those close to him, he clearly wanted to emulate Obama’s natural bond with the people who elected him. The charisma-challenged Russian’s advisors had always believed his boyish enthusiasm for gadgets could help him forge such a bond. His top aide had set up a video blog for him, plus Twitter and Facebook accounts, and bought him an iPhone and iPad that Medvedev didn’t need to pretend to enjoy using, although the effect was to make him seem more hipster than leader.
But in offering Moscow’s initial response to Obama’s election, Medvedev set his personal affinities aside, seeking instead to finally solve the dilemma of his own political identity. On Nov. 5, the day after the election results had been announced in the United States, Medvedev delivered his first address to the Russian parliament. In it was one tidbit successfully designed to receive attention in the West: a promise by the Russian president to place Iskander missiles in the Kaliningrad region, a Russian exclave surrounded by European Union countries. The dovish Obama had been given a Cold War welcome — and not from the hawkish Putin, but from the smiling Medvedev.
For its part, the new U.S. administration tried to offer the Kremlin assurances that the mutual resentment of the Bush era was history. Speaking in February 2009 at the Munich security conference, Vice President Joe Biden said Russia and the United States should press the “reset button on their relationship.” A month later, Russian Foreign Minister Sergei Lavrov and U.S. Secretary of State Hillary Clinton met in Geneva, where Clinton gave her counterpart a symbolic button they were to press together. Printed on the button was the word “reset” in both English and Russian. Unfortunately, the Russian version was misspelled, and instead of “reset” (perezagruzka) it said “overload” (peregruzka). Lavrov explained the mistake to his embarrassed colleague but still agreed to press it, joking that he would “try to prevent system overload in Russian-U.S. relations.”
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The Freudian slip was more symbolic than the trivial act of pressing the button. The United States and Russia still did not understand each other, did not speak the same language (literally and figuratively), and despite both sides mouthing that bygones were bygones, absolutely nothing had changed. Although the Obama administration was ready to renounce the role of global policeman and other excesses of the Bush era, it still harbored familiar old American prejudices against Russia. Medvedev, for his part, was never powerful enough to oversee a reset. And although Putin wanted a new relationship with the West, it was not the one Obama had in mind.
Obama first came to Moscow in July 2009. The biggest item on the agenda was a new agreement on the reduction of nuclear weapons, which was meant to symbolize the era of new relations. Obama met with Medvedev at the Kremlin, while Putin received him at Novo-Ogaryovo, where a sumptuous breakfast with caviar was laid out. Trying to make conversation, Obama began by asking rhetorically, “How did we get into this mess [in U.S.-Russian relations]?” In response, Putin gave him an hourlong lecture as to how precisely it had happened. Obama listened without interrupting.
As it happens, Obama felt no personal warmth for either Putin or Medvedev, despite all Medvedev’s attempts to be friends with his U.S. counterpart, as Putin and Bush had once been for a time. The White House’s open disdain for the new Russian leader did not help: Senior U.S. officials mocked Medvedev’s gadget mania in front of reporters, saying, “Maybe we won’t sign a deal. Maybe we’ll just send him a text message.”
Medvedev did desperately want to sign the nuclear arms deals, but diplomats on both sides could not settle the details. In the end, an agreement was finally signed, but it was an empty shell — more an opportunity for a photo shoot in front of Prague Castle in the Czech capital, where the signing took place, than a real arms control document. Russia wanted to bind the new agreement to a U.S. commitment not to deploy a missile defense shield in Europe. The Americans flatly refused. As a result, Moscow added and unilaterally signed an addendum to its side of the bargain, reserving the right to withdraw from the treaty if Washington went ahead with installing a shield in Europe.
President Barack Obama and President Dmitry Medvedev eat cheeseburgers at Ray's Hell Burger on June 24, 2010 in Arlington, Virginia. (Photo by MARTIN H. SIMON-Pool/Getty Images)
Nor did Medvedev and Obama improve their mutual chemistry during the Russian president’s visit to the United States in June 2010. Obama took Medvedev to his favorite eatery — Ray’s Hell Burger in Arlington, just outside Washington. Medvedev ordered a burger with cheddar, jalapeños, onions, and mushrooms, plus a Coke to wash it down, and Obama got one with cheddar, onions, lettuce, tomato, and pickles, plus iced tea; the two presidents split an order of fries. Photos taken of them made them look very chummy.
But the meeting did not go as amicably as the White House had planned. In the checkout line, Obama was unexpectedly greeted by a soldier recently returned from Iraq. Turning his back to Medvedev, Obama began an animated conversation with the veteran. The Russian president stood patiently, tray in hand, waiting to be noticed again.
Three days later, at the G-8 summit in Toronto, the U.S. government announced it had arrested a group of 10 Russian spies. Obama did not even mention it to Medvedev. There were no more illusions of friendship between the two presidents.
There was less than a year to go before the next parliamentary election slated for late 2011, and Medvedev’s team was already targeting it. The plan was to use the election to help Medvedev build up his brand and secure his second term as president — and the campaign strategy was drawn up by none other than Vladislav Surkov, Putin’s onetime political strategist.
Surkov believed the key to Medvedev securing a second term was ensuring that Putin didn’t object. Medvedev had to demonstrate that he was better adapted to the realities of the new world than his predecessor. But, perhaps even more important, Medvedev needed a strong group of impassioned Russian followers who believed in him as a strong leader of their nation. It wasn’t just that Medvedev needed these people to vote for him — he also needed them as tangible proof of his legitimacy for Putin, his predecessor and would-be successor.
Surkov’s plans ran into an unexpected obstacle: His client, Medvedev, was still bent on creating an image of himself in Russia as a liberal, modern Western leader. Medvedev desperately wanted to be the Russian Obama — the epitome of the young, stylish leader. It was a dream that ignored Surkov’s assessment of the power dynamics in Moscow. A new crisis would soon prove Surkov right.
In March 2011, Medvedev and Obama had to reach an agreement on what to do about Libya. The two leaders had similar feelings. Both deeply disliked the Libyan regime and found Muammar al-Qaddafi repulsive. Both had met the Libyan leader and concluded that he had lost touch with reality. Even his son Saif al-Islam, a secular young man who frequently haunted fashionable Moscow nightclubs in the company of Russian oligarchs and models, was ashamed of his eccentric father, who never parted company with his traditional Bedouin tent, even on trips abroad. In the end, Obama and Medvedev agreed that they would not interfere with French President Nicolas Sarkozy’s efforts to oust the Libyan leader.
Medvedev’s public speeches on the subject were meticulously prepared, but they were more concerned with Russia’s moral reputation than Libya’s internal politics, which were of little interest to him. His decision was all about cultivating the right image inside Russia as a decisive leader with progressive instincts. Who needed an old, senile Libyan dictator — especially one who, as attested by the files Medvedev had seen on Russian-Libyan cooperation, never paid his debts and cadged new weapons on credit while giving nothing in return. Medvedev cast aside the Russian Foreign Ministry’s pleas to veto the U.N. Security Council resolution for a no-fly zone over Libya. Russia abstained.
The next day Medvedev was surprised to see Putin on TV, speaking out on Libya. As prime minister, Putin rarely mentioned foreign policy. He ritually observed the constitutional norms, according to which foreign policy was the preserve of the head of state.
Medvedev was horrified. He really had blundered by not consulting Putin beforehand. But Putin’s outspokenness was an unforgivable humiliation and demanded a response. The question was whether to do it privately or publicly. After reading online comments openly mocking him, Medvedev decided not to call Putin. Instead, having examined his schedule, Medvedev decided that his response would come that same day — during a visit to the OMON, Russia’s special-purpose police unit. “It is entirely unacceptable to use expressions that effectively point the way to a clash of civilizations. The word ‘crusade,’ for instance. We must all remember that such language could make the situation even worse,” he said didactically into the camera.
Russia’s state news channels were aghast. What should they show? Could they possibly report that the “tandem” was split over Libya? TV bosses frantically rang the prime minister’s and president’s respective press secretaries. After a brief hesitation, Putin’s office replied: “The head of state is responsible for foreign policy, so only his point of view should be reflected in state news broadcasts. Prime Minister Putin’s statement should be forgotten.”
But experienced players in Medvedev’s camp knew that their man had made a huge mistake. Though Putin backed down, he did not forget.