Unlike the previous Russian parliament, the State Duma closed its legislative season Friday with shots of vodka rather than the clatter of rifle shots.
The old Supreme Soviet, forcibly disbanded by President Boris Yeltsin last year, may have passed more laws than the Duma -- it amended the Russian constitution alone 300 times in two years -- and it may also have been harder for Yeltsin to ignore.
But the Duma, turned by the new Russian constitution into a political sideshow as Yeltsin effectively ruled the country by decree, was definitely more fun than the old parliament.
During its first year, the Duma discussed sex, alleged abuses by provincial governors, the war in the former Yugoslavia and lots of other things it could not influence. It moved house twice before ending up in the former Gosplan building across the street from the Kremlin, renovated at a cost of more than $65 million.
The Duma also passed some laws, but the list of laws it did not pass is much longer. Parliamentary and presidential elections, local government, new taxation rules, the second stage of privatization, land ownership, a new Criminal Code and the 1995 budget have either been disregarded or given only preliminary hearings.
Some objectionable bills the Duma did manage to pass were vetoed by Yeltsin, including the law on AIDS that ordered all foreigners entering Russia to take tests for the lethal disease.
Yeltsin also overruled the legislature on several occasions, introducing new privatization rules by decree when the Duma failed to pass them and then firing the Central Bank chief without the parliament's approval. The country's top banker is by law the only official whom Yeltsin needs the Duma's consent to hire and fire.
But, despite occasional outbursts or anger, the deputies have mostly taken that in their stride. They greedily took in the numerous shows staged for them by Vladimir Zhirinovsky's raunchy Liberal Democrats.
One member of the faction, Vyacheslav Marychev, is now met with groans from the press corps and smiles among fellow legislators every time he takes the floor, which is at least five times a day.
It was he who, at plenary sessions, donned alternately a Megadeth T-shirt, a bulletproof vest and a policeman's cap, which speaker Ivan Rybkin made him take off because Marychev was not a policeman.
It was he who was not allowed to speak for three sessions after suggesting that a woman deputy caught a venereal disease on a trip to Amsterdam.
It was he who displayed a girlie magazine to a packed conference hall to provoke hysterical laughter.
"I represent the street here," Marychev said of himself.
Zhirinovsky and his fellow Liberal Democrats have certainly been liberal with their fists: The party leader once smashed a reporter's glasses and tape recorder, and deputy Mikhail Burlakov recently engaged in a wrestling match with a political opponent.
Though reformists like Russia's Choice faction leader Yegor Gaidar have predicted that the Duma will be disbanded by Yeltsin before its term is out late in 1995, deputies have been careful to avoid that, trying to vote no confidence in the government only once, in October, and failing by a wide margin. Similarly, the Duma has been reluctant to pass judgment on Yeltsin's invasion of Chechnya.
Zhirinovsky was among the first to implore colleagues not to rock the boat.
"We have lived out 1994 under conditions of peace and democracy," he told a press conference Friday. "All organs of power acted within the constitution."
To celebrate that, he brought with him to parliament 400 bottles of Zhirinovsky vodka, specially made by a factory near Moscow. Every legislator was entitled to a bottle, and even some thirsty journalists got their share.With Zhirinovsky in a complacent mood, his bitter foes are now attacking the government. Yuly Rybakov, of Russia's Choice, proposed an impeachment motion against Yeltsin for his actions in Chechnya.
No one was surprised. After all, political reversals have become the deputies favorite pastime, and that is the one thing unlikely to change when the Duma reconvenes on Jan. 10.
The old Supreme Soviet, forcibly disbanded by President Boris Yeltsin last year, may have passed more laws than the Duma -- it amended the Russian constitution alone 300 times in two years -- and it may also have been harder for Yeltsin to ignore.
But the Duma, turned by the new Russian constitution into a political sideshow as Yeltsin effectively ruled the country by decree, was definitely more fun than the old parliament.
During its first year, the Duma discussed sex, alleged abuses by provincial governors, the war in the former Yugoslavia and lots of other things it could not influence. It moved house twice before ending up in the former Gosplan building across the street from the Kremlin, renovated at a cost of more than $65 million.
The Duma also passed some laws, but the list of laws it did not pass is much longer. Parliamentary and presidential elections, local government, new taxation rules, the second stage of privatization, land ownership, a new Criminal Code and the 1995 budget have either been disregarded or given only preliminary hearings.
Some objectionable bills the Duma did manage to pass were vetoed by Yeltsin, including the law on AIDS that ordered all foreigners entering Russia to take tests for the lethal disease.
Yeltsin also overruled the legislature on several occasions, introducing new privatization rules by decree when the Duma failed to pass them and then firing the Central Bank chief without the parliament's approval. The country's top banker is by law the only official whom Yeltsin needs the Duma's consent to hire and fire.
But, despite occasional outbursts or anger, the deputies have mostly taken that in their stride. They greedily took in the numerous shows staged for them by Vladimir Zhirinovsky's raunchy Liberal Democrats.
One member of the faction, Vyacheslav Marychev, is now met with groans from the press corps and smiles among fellow legislators every time he takes the floor, which is at least five times a day.
It was he who, at plenary sessions, donned alternately a Megadeth T-shirt, a bulletproof vest and a policeman's cap, which speaker Ivan Rybkin made him take off because Marychev was not a policeman.
It was he who was not allowed to speak for three sessions after suggesting that a woman deputy caught a venereal disease on a trip to Amsterdam.
It was he who displayed a girlie magazine to a packed conference hall to provoke hysterical laughter.
"I represent the street here," Marychev said of himself.
Zhirinovsky and his fellow Liberal Democrats have certainly been liberal with their fists: The party leader once smashed a reporter's glasses and tape recorder, and deputy Mikhail Burlakov recently engaged in a wrestling match with a political opponent.
Though reformists like Russia's Choice faction leader Yegor Gaidar have predicted that the Duma will be disbanded by Yeltsin before its term is out late in 1995, deputies have been careful to avoid that, trying to vote no confidence in the government only once, in October, and failing by a wide margin. Similarly, the Duma has been reluctant to pass judgment on Yeltsin's invasion of Chechnya.
Zhirinovsky was among the first to implore colleagues not to rock the boat.
"We have lived out 1994 under conditions of peace and democracy," he told a press conference Friday. "All organs of power acted within the constitution."
To celebrate that, he brought with him to parliament 400 bottles of Zhirinovsky vodka, specially made by a factory near Moscow. Every legislator was entitled to a bottle, and even some thirsty journalists got their share.With Zhirinovsky in a complacent mood, his bitter foes are now attacking the government. Yuly Rybakov, of Russia's Choice, proposed an impeachment motion against Yeltsin for his actions in Chechnya.
No one was surprised. After all, political reversals have become the deputies favorite pastime, and that is the one thing unlikely to change when the Duma reconvenes on Jan. 10.
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