Protesting Putin
Jonathan Bach interviews a protestor at the Soviet War Memorial on June 24.
A monstrous fountain in Schwarzenbergplatz usually buffers the view of Vienna’s Soviet War Memorial. Today, the fountain has been turned off. Forty minutes before Russian President Vladimir Putin’s scheduled appearance, a quiet crowd of onlookers has gathered at the periphery of the plaza. Within half an hour, the sidewalk is thick with protestors spilling over onto the street.
Hundreds have gathered to witness Putin’s short public appearance honoring Russian soldiers who died during World War II, a formality of his 12-hour stay in Vienna to discuss the construction of a natural gas pipeline. Many spectators are simply curious onlookers, tourists and office workers commuting home from work—but almost all have an opinion on Putin’s controversial leadership. A tall, dark-haired businesswoman in a tailored jacket stands at the front of the crowd, pressed against the gate for a better view. “I am from the country of Georgia,” she says with a slight smile, “of course we don’t like Putin.”
Tension simmers low in the atmosphere, bursting through in quick flashes. “If you had read history you would know what flag that is,” spits a passerby in response to one inquiry. Another pedestrian rips a protestor’s anti-Putin poster from his hands; the protestor chases him down and beats him with a stick until the police pull them apart. However, moments like these are brief and most simply converse with one another, attempting to guess allegiance based on appearance.
Like-minded protestors group together, representatives from an array of causes: a rainbow banner passes declaring “to Russia with love,” several signs depict a split image of Hitler and Putin’s faces, two men use a neighboring woman’s lipstick to construct a crude cardboard sign protesting the war in Ukraine.
A young man in a forest green polo and sandals quietly holds a broad sign reading “Putin Stop Bloody War in Ukraine.” A native Ukrainian, Roman Dubasevych believes this is the only way to draw attention to the conflict in his homeland. “1,500 kilometers from here there is war,” he explains. Dubasevych objects to Austria’s participation in Putin’s pipeline, describing the agreement as “selling European values for gas.” A young girl next to Dubasevych waves a small Ukrainian flag for the cameras.
Buried deeper in the throng, three Syrian flags huddle close together. A woman with black hair and timeworn features wears the red, white and black emblem like a cape. In her hands she holds a laminated sign, which she keeps close to her body. “The problem is supporting terrorists in Syria,” she says. “Putin is against the general action of terrorists.” Her male companions are quiet, unable to communicate in English, but they stand close to her. They are present because they believe that Putin’s influence can help end violence in Syria. This comes on the heels of cooperation between Syrian, U.S. and Russian governments to rid Syria of chemical weapons.
The Russian convoy finally arrives an hour late. Black cars and military jeeps file into the square amid cheers, whistles, screams and chants. The catchy mantra “Putin raus!” (Putin out) slowly gains momentum and eventually overwhelms all other commotion. The chanting dies out as most realize they cannot see or hear Putin from behind the blockade of vehicles. Ten minutes later, the president’s entourage drives away and traffic resumes. The crowd disperses, but whether any activists left their mark on Putin’s radar is unknown.
with help from Jonathan Bach