Газета "Наш Мир" br> Mother Fotina once led a "Center for Cosmo-Energetic Medicine,"
and now she prays to Vladimir Putin. Her sect, in a village east of
Moscow, honors Russia's once and future president as a reincarnation of
St. Paul. The group represents a rising trend in Russia, but its origins
are surprisingly mundane.
Haggard women hike up a hill near the Volga, saying they're following
"the Law of Love." The law brings them to a three-story building made
of white brick, with golden turrets and a battered gate. They call it
the "Chapel of Russia's Resurrection." At the gate they exchange dusty
boots for green plastic sandals before spreading out prayer rugs made of
foam and pray to their patron saint: Vladimir Putin, Russia's prime
minister and soon-to-be president (again). They believe he's a
reincarnation of St. Paul.
The followers of this Russian Orthodox sect live in the village of
Bolshaya Elnya, near Nizhny Novgorod, a metropolis 400 kilometers (about
250 miles) east of Moscow. Their leader is called "Mother Fotina," a
62-year-old matron who considers herself the reincarnation of Joan of
Arc. "I proclaim what God has revealed to me," she says. Just as Saul
persecuted Christians before his conversion to St. Paul, she believes
Putin once beset the faithful as a Soviet KGB officer.
The Soviets blew up churches, or replaced them with swimming pools,
but "when he became president," she says, "the Holy Ghost came to him."
Since then Putin leads his flock "wisely, just as the Apostle did."
'We've Prayed for Him to Return'
Across Russia -- not just in Bolshaya Elnya -- popular affection for
Putin has started turning to religious worship. The country's top rabbi,
Berel Lasar, swooned a few months ago that Russians had "every reason
to ask God to bless you. Every day and every hour you do good for any
number of people, you save hundreds and thousands of worlds." Vladislav
Surkow, the influential deputy chief of the Kremlin administration, sees
in Putin "a man whom fate and the Lord sent to Russia."
In Putin's hometown of St. Petersburg, a proliferation of posters
once showed the prime minister as an angel, with one hand extended,
blessing the city's inhabitants. Putin's face was mounted on a photo of
the cherubim crowning the city's Peter and Paul Cathedral. Any departure
of Vladimir Putin from the national stage seems about as desirable to
bureaucrats, conservative elites and a majority of the Russian people as
a speedy advent of the Last Judgement.
"He has the spirit of a czar in him," says Mother Fotina, clad in a
black robe and a white cap. Golden butterflies and cherubs adorn her
homemade altar. Fotina swings a smoking censer before an icon of St.
Paul-Putin. "Every day we've prayed for him to return to the Kremlin."
Their pleas, apparently, were heard. In an act of staged
self-sacrifice last weekend, President Dmitry Medvedev recommended to a
party congress that Putin should replace him as a presidential candidate
-- and ultimately as president -- in 2012. The 11,000 delegates and
party members of "United Russia" cheered like true believers in Moscow's
Ice Palace, at what amounted to a Coronation Mass.
"The people's connection to Putin is more emotional than it is to
average politicians," the venerable Russian historian Roy Mevedev (no
relation to Dmitry) once said. "He's seen as a sort of moral leader."
Polls show 57 percent of Russians notice "signs of a Putin cult" in the
country; 52 percent believe it's a positive trend.
For almost four years, bureaucrats and Russian citizens listened to
President Medvedev's speeches as he campaigned for tough reforms and
tried to modernize the country. Privately, though, they seemed to trust
that Putin would solve any problems by virtue of his aura -- even though
government corruption has flowered for years and the country's
dependence on commodity exports has risen.
Mother Fotina believes the people have no choice anyway. "God has
appointed Putin to Russia to prepare for the coming of Jesus Christ,"
she says.
In Volgograd -- formerly Stalingrad -- Putin formed an electoral
alliance with the menacing name of "Popular Front," hoping "to use
people with fresh and interesting ideas." State enterprises like the
Russian Post (400,000 employees) and railroads (one million) have
declared their membership in the Popular Front. So has the "Russian
agrarian movement," which supposedly unites Russia's 38 million rural
residents, and an unknown number of participants in the "first
all-Russian blondes meeting."
'The New Eve'
In Bolshaya Elyna, Mother Fotina spreads her arms. Born Svetlana
Frolova, she sat for 21 months in jail during the 1990s, because she
embezzled money from the state as a civil servant. After that she opened
a "Center for Cosmo-Energetic Medicine," and later the "Temple of the
Resurrection of Russia."
"Behold, the new Eve has come to earth," she declares, referring to
herself. Her followers believe that Fontinja can heal by the laying-on
of hands. They believe she can pray diseases like leukaemia away. For
such services they sometimes hand her envelopes, labelled "For the
Love."
The Orthodox Church accuses her of witchcraft. One reason is that she
competes with the local church of "St. Nicholas the Miracle Worker" and
alienates pious donors. "A few years ago the Orthodox Church put the
state police (or FSB, a successor to the KGB) on her trail," a retired
army officer in her neighborhood said. "After that, she started to
praise Putin in public as a saint -- to protect herself from
investigation."
As usual, in Putin's Russia, the story is mainly about money.
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