ГОПНИК, ЦАРЬ, КАРЛИК A President by any Other Name ...

Illustration by Jane Doe

Whether they are prowar or antiwar, whether they were alive when the current president came to power or were born afterwards, every citizen of the Russian Federation has to think about, hear about, and try to understand Vladimir Putin.

The most personal, intimate details of their lives directly depend on Putin and the decisions he makes. Those who left the country wonder when they’ll be able to return and see their loved ones. Those who stayed behind wonder whether they’ll have enough money for food next month and whether they’ll have to transfer their children to a private school to avoid intensifying propaganda.

And not only does Putin influence all these practical aspects of life, he’s also a looming presence in Russians’ inner life. Poets write poems prophesying Putin’s lonely death, describing his love for his granddaughter, or just using the word кровопи́йца (bloodsucker – people will immediately get the reference).

Even sleep is no refuge. Back in 2022, activist Darya Serenko compiled a collection of Russians’ dreams about Putin. People dream of showing Putin around their cities, appealing to the women in Putin’s life, and thrusting a knife into a cake representing Putin.

A notable feature of this involuntary Putin obsession syndrome is the tendency to avoid saying his name. Some substitute his name out of disgust or loathing; others out of a sort of superstition akin to the belief that naming a supernatural being is dangerous and blasphemous. Anthropologists call this “ritual avoidance.” Here, we examine some of the substitutes Russians have devised, as well as the ways his name can be used as a powerful signifier.

Ка́рлик – This option (dwarf or pygmy) is an obvious reference to Putin’s modest height. There are quite a few monikers related to Putin’s physical appearance, addressing not only his height but his baldness: лилипу́т (the lilliputian), плеши́вый, лы́сый (both can be translated as baldy). These words are used to express disdain or vent anger toward the powers that be.

Кры́са – This common insult (rat) serves the same purpose as the aspersions on Putin’s personal appearance. Other zoological expressions of contempt for the president include моль (moth) and гни́да (louse), also hinting at their target’s unappealing appearance and suggesting that he is a self-important nobody. The most demeaning and harsh word from this series comes from prison jargon: чушка́рь, from the word чу́шка or piglet, implying filthiness.

Царь – Russians not only avoid saying Putin’s name but also his official position. This reflects both “ritual avoidance” and attitudes towards using the word “president” specifically in the Putin context. When talking about an election-rigging autocrat, this word is seen as more than imprecise or even comical. Being forced to use a term from the lexicon of democracy in reference to a war criminal, as propagandists do, feels like psychological violence.

Some émigré news outlets take a principled stance against calling Putin “president,” an approach that has prompted debate and accusations of reverse “liberal censorship,” since, technically Putin is, after all, Russia’s president. But in conversational speech, there’s nothing stopping people from coming up with various euphemisms and dysphemisms. Using царь (tsar), for example is so popular that Putin was compelled to issue a statement: “я рабо́таю, я не ца́рствую” (I am working, not reigning). Another common analog is вождь (leader). But while “tsar” was used for all the royal autocrats ruling Russia between 1547 and 1917, the word вождь (although it has been applied to other Soviet leaders) is most strongly associated with Stalin.

Негарáнт, пересидéнт – These are two inventive ways of denoting what Putin’s actually up to. Негарант (non-guarantor) pokes fun at a hackneyed phrase used by news outlets to avoid repeating the word президе́нт (president) too many times: гара́нт конститу́ции (guarantor of the constitution). Пересидент is a play on the orthographic and phonetic similarity between президент and the verb пересиде́ть (to overstay, to sit too long). Its use expresses the view that Putin has overstayed his welcome.

Пиздáбол – This word is based on a common obscenity: пизда́, vulgar slang for vagina. Пизадáбол is used for people inclined to tell boldfaced lies (the verb is  пиздЕть, as in to be full of you-know-what). Another frequent epithet for Putin related to his moral character is гла́вный вор (chief thief). Then there’s гондо́н всея́ Руси́, which juxtaposes a crude put-down with an elevated phrase from Russia’s imperial past. Гондо́н is slang for “condom” and is often used for extremely unpleasant, unreliable, and despicable people. The rest of the phrase is from the archaic formulation царь всея́ Руси́ (tsar of all Rus), a designation traditionally used on ceremonial occasions and in formal state documents. Translating the entire phrase into slightly more polite English would give us something like “the despicable jerk reigning over all Rus.”

Гэби́ст – Another series of pejorative terms is inspired by Putin’s past professional incarnations, most often his Soviet-era career as a гэби́ст or member of the KGB (the Russian sounds something like geh-BIST and KGB comes out as kah-geh-BEH). Another word for an agent of Soviet-era security services, чеки́ст, refers specifically to an employee of the ЧК (pronounced “chey-KAH”), which stands for the Чрезвыча́йная коми́ссия по борьбе́ с контрреволю́цией и сабота́жем (the Emergency Commission for the Struggle against Counterrevolution and Sabotage). This was the Bolshevik’s original secret police, a sort of forefather to the KGB and today’s FSB. In contemporary jargon, these two names for secret police agents are used somewhat synonymously. Another related term is стука́ч (snitch), which was widely used for people who ratted their fellow citizens out to the authorities. (The verb form is стуча́ть, literally, “to knock.”) Then there is разве́дчик, a relatively neutral word for someone who engages in intelligence gathering that is used to allude to Putin’s psychological profile and behavior as a former agent.

Го́пник – This epithet also dates back to Soviet times, but rather than being associated with the secret police it refers to an uneducated thug from an uncultured social segment immersed in a street culture where people settle disputes with their fists.

Дед – Another set of lexical substitutes used for Putin are associated with his age. The most frequently heard are дед (grandpa) or стари́к (old man). Several colorful variations on these themes are in circulation: отъе́хавший дед (the adjective is the past participle of the word “depart” but here means something like “off his rocker” or “not all there”); дед с кра́сной кно́пкой (the grandpa with the red button, i.e., the ability to launch nuclear missiles); бу́нкерный дед (bunker grandpa); стари́к с бо́токсом (the old man with Botox); старик Ворпéнсий” (the second word is a portmanteau combining “thief” and “pension,” so basically “the old thief who steals pensions.”

BUT EVEN MORE INTERESTING than these popular epithets is the way in which Putin is referenced without any name at all. For example, if you walk into a Russian-language bookstore in Tbilisi, Georgia (a city full of Russian émigrés) and see a postcard with a cartoon goose saying not the usual га-га (“ga-ga,” the Russian version of “honk-honk”) but instead Гаа-га (in Russian, the Hague – seat of the International Criminal Court – is Гаага), you get the joke: the Hague is eagerly awaiting Putin’s arrival, and even the geese are urgently calling for justice.

Among the themes that can be used to make veiled references to Putin, a prominent place is held by a fantasized but also universally anticipated death, obsessive dreams of which are fueled by rumors of the president’s poor health. This is the longed-for outcome reflected in phrases needing no explanation, such as: “When will he croak?”; “I’ll go back to Russia the day after the funeral”; and “There’s only one thing we all want for Christmas.” One of the funniest neologisms along this line has to do with the ППЖ – страте́гия (PPZh strategy). ППЖ stands for пока́ Пу́тин жив (as long as Putin is alive), which is suggestive of the commonplace ПМЖ (постоя́нное ме́сто жи́тельство – literally “permanent place of residence” or the “permanent address” found on almost any form we need to fill out). You might hear “Вы уе́хали в Арме́нию на ПМЖ?” (Did you move to Armenia permanently?) “Нет, на ППЖ” (No, for as long as Putin is alive.).

You can also pick up on not-so-subtle references to Putin when you hear phrases like “тот, кто принима́ет все реше́ния в стране́” (the one who makes all the decisions in the country,” or “челове́к, кото́рый подмя́л под себя́ власть и окружи́л себя́ силовика́ми” (the man who trampled all over the government and surrounded himself with siloviki – an untranslatable word that refers to members of the branches of government able to exercise power through armed force: police, security agencies, and intelligence services). Really, just mention бу́нкер, Али́на Каба́ева or экстра́кт оле́ньих рого́в (bunker, Alina Kabayeva [a former gymnast and State Duma member who is rumored to have three children fathered by Putin], or reindeer antler extract, in which Putin has been known to enjoy baths). Everyone will know who you’re talking about.

There is also an odd fashion to ironically speculate about the mental health of an unmentionable person. For example, in an interview with the journalist Katerina Gordeeva, the US-based comedian Pavel Nezlobin quipped, “сейча́с мно́го люде́й хо́дит к психо́логу, хотя́ лечи́ть на́до одного́ долбоёба” (a lot of people are seeing psychologists now, even though there’s just one dumbass who needs treatment). And a woman who blogs about books made the following comment in promoting a work of fiction about a toxic mother: “е́сли бы кого́-то ма́ма люби́ла в де́тстве, то мы все сейча́с жи́ли гора́здо лу́чше” (if someone’s mother had loved him in childhood, we would all be a lot better off now).

Yet another way of mentioning Putin without risking divine wrath is to use one of his universally recognized zingers. There are many that have gone down in history, from она́ утону́ла (“it sank,” his cynical response to a journalist asking what happened to the submarine Kursk, whose entire crew perished in 2000) and мочи́ть в сорти́ре (“to wipe them out in the outhouse,” a phrase used by Putin in 1999 to make the point that the Chechen terrorists threatening Russia during the Second Chechen War had nowhere to hide that greenlighted a new level of violent rhetoric among government officials) to нра́вится не нра́вится, терпи́ моя́ краса́вица (“like it or not, you’ll have to endure it, my beauty” – a macho and vilely suggestive threat to Ukraine two weeks before the 2022 invasion.

Among Putin’s most popular wordsmithing since then are his pronouncements on traditional values, such as in a speech he made in the fall of 2022 on the topic of annexing occupied areas of Ukraine. His “роди́тель оди́н, роди́тель два” (“parent one, parent two,” referring to same sex couples raising children, a phenomenon he claimed would lead к деграда́ции и вымира́нию (to degradation and extinction), immediately unleashed a cascade of online humor (see “Memes for Our Times,” Russian Life, Winter 2023). One unforgettable wartime statement by Putin came during his conversation with the mother of a dead soldier. The guarantor of the constitution comforted her with the thought that her son had not perished in vain and that otherwise he might have just drunk himself to death instead of contributing to an important cause. Putin’s exact words or approximations – anything including “ваш сын жил,” “ваш сын поги́б не зря,” or “мог бы про́сто умере́ть от во́дки” (“your son lived,” “your son died not in vain,” or “could have just died from vodka”) – are being used in critical analyses, private conversations, and even in poetry.

But if we relax our efforts to avoid all but veiled references to Putin, his name is useful for describing our surrounding reality. For example, the recent presidential elections were not just “elections” but вы́боры Пу́тина (“the Putin elections”). Patriarch Kirill, a cog in Putin’s repressive machine, isn’t “Patriarch Kirill” but алта́рный ма́льчик Пу́тина (“Putin’s altar boy”). Accepting government money for some good cause, such as a hospice program, is not a сло́жный с эти́ческой то́чки зре́ния посту́пок (an act that is problematic from an ethical standpoint) but something that will be на ру́ку Пу́тину (plays into Putin’s hands). Apathetic attitudes toward the war are not оправда́ние наси́лия (justification of violence) but коллекти́вный Пу́тин (collective Putin). The free society that oppositionists dream of is not лу́чшее бу́дущее (a better future) but Росси́я без Пу́тина (Russia without Putin) or Росси́я по́сле Пу́тина (post-Putin Russia)… and on and on, until it begins feeling as if there are no semantic footholds left without Putin. For example, a famous poet and punster invented the word пути́т, –ит being analogous to English suffix indicating inflammation:  –itis, as in gastritis, otitis, bronchitis. It is a condition that is afflicting the entire nation causing all sorts of unpleasant symptoms.

Whenever pundits are asked to make predictions, they often begin their response with glum irony about their inability to зале́зть Пу́тину в го́лову (get into Putin’s head). After all, everything depends on him, and he keeps his plans close to the vest. And each time experts repeat the words путинолóгия (Putinology) or путиновéдение (Putin studies), these terms shed a bit of their irony and become normalized.

Russian political science has very literally turned into Putinology. It is an expanding field. The term “Putin studies” pretty much encompasses Russians’ entire socio-linguistic reality and is the scholarly pursuit that best helps them make sense of their lives.