Hello, I Must Be Going

By Kevin Fedarko

Just two weeks after his spectacular transformation from obscure buffoon to Russia's most notorious politician, Vladimir Zhirinovsky decided to take a little vacation. His idea of a good time: a riotous road trip through Central Europe, hobnobbing with a German right-wing firebrand, skiing in the company of an Austrian Waffen-SS veteran and, in virtually every place on his itinerary, behaving in ways that tend to get ordinary people thrown out of bars. But in Zhirinovsky's case, he was given the bum's rush from entire countries. Back in Russia at week's end, the nationalist demagogue was able to regale friends with how he was booted from Bulgaria, barred from Germany and booed in Romania without even paying a visit. In fact, he returned to Moscow only after it became clear that nobody else wanted him around.

As a rule of thumb, such loutishness should be enough to torpedo any politician's career. It is a testament to Zhirinovsky's perverse appeal, however, that these public-relations debacles had almost no effect on his stature at home, where media coverage of his blundering antics was virtually nonexistent. Abroad, however, his bullying and bigotry have prompted Western governments to consider easing their pressure on President Boris Yeltsin to push through his economic reforms or risk a backlash by the likes of Mr. Z. All of which is a fairly impressive accomplishment for a man who, up to last month when his spectacularly misnamed Liberal Democrats won 23% of the popular vote, was universally dismissed as a clown.

First stop on Zhirinovsky's 10-day tour de farce was the Munich airport, where he met with a leader of Germany's radical right and publicly reaffirmed his desire that Germany and Russia carve up Poland between them. While the German press denounced him as "Russia's Hitler," Zhirinovsky blissfully continued his holiday in a remote village in the Austrian Alps, where he paid a call on his friend Edwin Neuwirth, an industrialist who has denied that the Nazis used gas chambers to kill Jews during World War II and has told reporters he was "proud" to have served in Hitler's military corps, the Waffen-SS.

Zhirinovsky's friendship with the Nazi veteran became all the more incongruous when Israeli officials disclosed that in 1983 the Russian politician sought and was granted permission to immigrate to Israel -- an invitation that normally requires evidence of a Jewish background. The disclosure created further puzzlement over his widely publicized anti-Semitic remarks and fanned long-standing rumors that his father was Jewish (Zhirinovsky has responded only by saying his mother is Russian, his father "a lawyer").

During a brief respite from public effrontery, Zhirinovsky kept benignly busy -- skiing, basking in health spas and perusing telegrams, including one he received from an Austrian animal-rights group urging him to protect the "flora and fauna" of Alaska -- after he fulfills his campaign promise to reclaim the 49th U.S. state for Mother Russia. But then he felt compelled to stage an impromptu press conference, at which he "revealed" that Russia's military possesses something called an "Elipton," a weapon of mass destruction more powerful than a nuclear weapon. Asked what in the world his boss could be referring to, Zhirinovsky's top deputy back in Moscow could only stammer: "Elipton . . . Um, well, no, I cannot explain that."

Then it was on to Bulgaria, at the invitation of his "European economic adviser," Svetoslav Stoilov, a friend whose qualifications include working as a magician's assistant at home in Bulgaria, as a circus technician in Czechoslovakia and as a dance-bar proprietor in Vienna. Following a night's rest in Stoilov's hometown of Sandanska, the Russian politician traveled to the village of Melnik to accept a painting from a local artist who shares Zhirinovsky's conviction that Bulgaria should expand its territory by annexing the former Yugoslav republic of Macedonia. To make sure the message got across, he restated this theory for a Sofia newspaper.

Having thus tossed a lighted match onto one of the most combustible political issues in all of Greece, Zhirinovsky could hardly have been surprised when he was detained by Greek border police on Monday while attempting to pay a cross-border visit without benefit of his passport. The ensuing delay cost him an appointment back in Bulgaria with "Baba Vanga," an octogenarian grandmother who is Bulgaria's most famous clairvoyant. She later assured him by phone that he would have "a very good January."

By Tuesday, he had bulldozed his way to Bulgaria's capital, Sofia, arriving in sunglasses, a fisherman's hat and a white trenchcoat. There, the visiting Russian announced that neighboring Romania was, in his view, an artificial state created by Italian gypsies who seized territory from Russia, Bulgaria and Hungary. Outraged, the Romanian Foreign Minister summoned Russia's ambassador in Bucharest to protest "the most insulting statement ever made about Romania," no mean achievement. Turning his attention to his host country, Zhirinovsky went on to declare that Zhelyu Zhelev, Bulgaria's first democratically elected President, should be replaced and that if it were up to Zhirinovsky, Zhelev would be sent to Siberia. As an alternative, he introduced his own choice as "the best person to lead Bulgaria" -- none other than his good friend Stoilov.

That proved too much for Zhelev, who retorted that the Russian government should consider conducting mental-health tests before allowing future candidates to run for parliament. By late afternoon, Zhirinovsky was told he had 24 hours to leave the country. He complied -- but not before promising to someday "return as President," presumably of Russia. His intended holiday finale was to have been an 18-day stay in Berlin. But the Zhirinovsky grand tour ground to a premature halt when German Foreign Minister Klaus Kinkel turned down his request for a visa, informing him that he was no longer welcome.

Running short on both patience and options, he returned to Moscow, where vote tallies revealed that his Liberal Democrats will control nearly 15% of the seats in the lower house of the new parliament, enough to make them a constant thorn in the side of Yeltsin's democratic supporters. While the international rebuffs may be a sign that Zhirinovsky may find it difficult to use other countries as soapboxes for airing his incendiary views, the most his trip seems to have provoked at home is a hilarious set of lampoons by Moscow's most popular comedian, Gennadi Khazanov, who draws great guffaws with his impersonations of "Vladimir Volfovich."

Zhirinovsky, however, shows no sense of humor. Indeed, he is so enraged by Khazanov's mocking send-ups that he has vowed that his first act as President would be to throw the Jewish comic in jail. Ever the jester, Khazanov has taken the threat as inspiration to cavort around town in a prisoner's striped suit with the number 001 stenciled on his back. But most everyone else now agrees that inside as well as outside Russia, Vladimir Zhirinovsky is no laughing matter.

With reporting by Sally B. Donnelly/Moscow and James L. Graff/Vienna