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On the same day that U.S. President Barack Obama was gallivanting around Moscow chitchatting with Russian political opposition members and students, Prime Minister Vladimir Putin had a real serious meeting with RusAl owner Oleg Deripaska.
In the end, Deripaska’s GAZ automobile factory received 20 billion rubles in state guarantees the very next day — without any discussion in the State Duma or public, of course. No explanation was given as to how Deripaska plans to save the ailing GAZ plant or what measures he was required to take in exchange for the state aid. All that is known is that no changes with the owners or managers are anticipated.
Everywhere else in the world, an owner who makes a critically flawed business decision loses ownership of his company. In Russia, oligarchs who don’t pay their debts receive state support.
In early June, weeks after Deripaska’s BaselCement factory in the small town of Pikalyovo had halted production and stopped paying wages, angry workers blocked a federal highway. Putin flew to the city, and the entire country watched on television as he threw a pen at Deripaska and told him to sign an agreement to pay back wages and reopen the plant.
It appeared from the carefully orchestrated scene that Deripaska was publicly disgraced. He certainly looked disgraced, as his head was scrunched between his shoulders and his tail tucked between his legs. What viewers didn’t know, however, was that this was all a charade. The contract that was supposed to bring Deripaska down to size actually ended up being heavily in his favor. One day earlier, Putin had presided over a meeting of the VTB supervisory council that extended $4.5 billion in credit to the oligarch. Although analysts estimate that Deripaska spent $50 million from his personal fortune to build an elite golf course in Tseleyovo near Moscow, the 1.5 billion rubles ($45.3 million) used to refit the oligarch’s factory did not come out of the oligarch’s pocket; the financing was provided by VTB.
The Pikalyovo incident is a classic example of how the Kremlin makes decisions. The roles and script are assigned in advance. First, Putin gets demonstratively angry at one of his court oligarchs. Then, Putin makes a decision ostensibly “for the benefit of the people,”  but since his decision is based on information provided by the oligarch in question, the oligarch walks away with everything he wanted — and more.
Why does Putin allocate state funds for uncompetitive factories and on terms that are kept secret from the public?
Perhaps the government is in no hurry to nationalize such businesses. It is more advantageous for the state to wait until the company becomes so buried in debt that it defaults on its loans and fires all its workers. When the angry bankers and protesters finally direct their fury at those “damned oligarchs,” the state can step in and play the role of white knight.
Who are these oligarchs anyway? They get billions of dollars in state credit in backroom deals. Putin chews them out on television, but then they get everything they want.
Could it be that the oligarchs long ago ceased to be owners and now only manage those companies? Perhaps the country’s real oligarch took control a long time ago.

Yulia Latynina hosts a political talk show on Ekho Moskvy radio.