Prime Diminutives

I have figured out Premier Dmitry Medvedev’s literary prototype — he is a го́голевский геро́й (Gogolian hero). At first, I classified him as a sort of Манилов (from Dead Souls): his much-vaunted Skolkovo project has proven a mere мани́ловщина (empty wishful thinking), of late spruced up with a bit of уголо́вщина (criminality), as investigators have begun to investigate embezzlement and other abuses.

But then Medvedev recently stunned us all by saying it was fine for people to call him Димо́н, contradicting his PR specialist Natalya Timakova’s statement warning against such панибра́тство (backslapping — see our May/June 2013 Notebook). So I thought, “he’s not Manilov, he’s Хлестако́в (from Ревизо́р, The Inspector General)!” It was Khlestakov who insisted on informality, or relations без чино́в (without undue attention to rank): “Я не люблю́ церемо́нии. Напро́тив, я да́же всегда́ стара́юсь проскользну́ть незаме́тно” (“I hate ceremony. On the contrary, I always try to slip by unnoticed”).

A self-respecting leader should never allow such фамилья́рность (familiarity), even if it is just among bloggers, unless he has totally buried all presidential ambitions, or just wants to be a virtual president. First, familiarity breeds contempt — фамилья́рность ведёт к неуваже́нию. Second, in Russian culture in general, and Russian political culture more particularly — an о́тчество (patronymic) is a must.

Дми́трий Анато́льевич should try to держа́ть диста́нцию — maintain his distance — from his would-be electorate. Otherwise said electorate will continue to cмотре́ть на него́ сквозь па́льцы (look at him through their fingers, i.e. not take him seriously). For a head of state, such ты́канье (addressing someone with “ты”), coupled with the boyish diminutive Димон, is worse than бесцеремо́нность (unceremoniousness), or even панибра́тство. It is more like амикошо́нство (from the French, ami + cochon — literally, “friend-pig”). After all, the premier will turn 48 in September. Without an о́тчество, a Russian politician in his late forties risks being taken as a Chekhovian ве́чный студе́нт (an eternal student — like a character in The Cherry Orchard).

As Russians say in such cases, Ты уже́ не ма́льчик, ю́ный бараба́нщик (You’re no longer a boy, young drummer, i.e. time to grow up). Or, пора́ вы́расти из коро́тких штани́шек (time you outgrew short pants). Another a propos idiom is even harsher: Ма́ленькая соба́чка — до ста́рости щено́к (a small dog remains a puppy until old age).

Serious voters will surely interpret Dimon’s informality as an attempt to become свой па́рень в до́ску (one’s best buddy). It is a typical по́иск дешёвой популя́рности (quest for easy popularity).

Calling a premier Димо́н is неве́жливо (impolite). Э́то ха́мство (it’s boorish). Press-secretary Ната́лья (not Ната́ша!) Тимако́ва got it right.

For some local bloggers быть на дру́жеской (коро́ткой) ноге́ (being on a friendly/short footing) with Russia’s Number 2 might be a sign of democratization. Yet to me it is при́знак бескульту́рья (a sign of a lack of culture). Now, I guess, we can creatively paraphrase the famous saying from the 1961 film Девча́та (Girls): “в столо́вой и ба́не все равны́” (“all are equal in a canteen and a bathhouse”), adding, и в Сети́ то́же (and on the web, too).

I don’t know if my path will ever cross with Medvedev в Сети́. Not very likely, as I’m not a huge fan of virtual reality. But if I ever chance to rub shoulders with Дми́трий Анато́льевич in a Russian bathhouse, I will definitely pat him on the shoulder (похло́паю по плечу́) and ask без осо́бых церемо́ний (unceremoniously), “Потри́-ка мне спи́нку.” (“Wipe down my back, will you?”)

Or rather, you scratch my back, and I’ll scratch yours (“ты мне — я тебе́”).

In other words, you stop nurturing serious presidential ambitions, and I will stop poking fun at you in my columns.

O.K., Димо́н?