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Chapter 37: The Constitutional Convention: The Crisis Point

The compromise, when it was presented to the full assembly, was a finely balanced machine, built on the dual pillars of economic unity and cultural federalism. And Dmitri Rogov, a charismatic nationalist with the eyes of a starving wolf, took a sledgehammer to it.

Rogov was the voice of the old, aggrieved, imperial Russia. He had opposed the old President, not for his brutality, but for his incompetence. He stood at the rostrum, his voice thundering through the grand hall of the Tauride Palace.

“They offer us a deal!” he roared, his contemptuous gaze sweeping over the delegates from the ethnic republics. “We are eighty percent of this great nation, and we are told we must strike a bargain with the separatists who have bled us for generations! They want to turn our Russia, our unified, powerful Russia, into a loose confederation of squabbling principalities! A hotel with no owner! I tell you, a strong Russia must have a strong center! One language! One faith! One will! Anything else is national suicide!”

The speech was a potent, poisonous brew of fear and nostalgia. It electrified the nationalist faction and visibly swayed the wavering moderates, who were terrified of the country fracturing into chaos. The hall descended into a cacophony of shouting. Khadija Aminova, her face a mask of cold fury, rose from her seat. “The delegates of the federated republics,” she announced, her voice cutting through the din, “can no longer participate in this farce. We will not be the junior partners in a new Russian empire.” She and two dozen other delegates walked out.

The convention was broken.

That night, in a hastily converted office in the palace, the mood was grim. It was a crisis meeting of the revolution’s architects. Viktor Orlov, the oligarch, paced the room, his pragmatism tipping into panic.

“Alexei, you have to force them,” he urged Voronkov. “This is not a university debating society. Cut a deal with Rogov. Promise him whatever he wants—ministries, governorships, I don’t care. Without a constitution, we have no legitimate government. The markets will collapse on Monday. Everything we have risked will turn to ash.”

General Volkov, who had been standing silently in the corner, finally spoke, his voice heavy. “Worse than that. If the North Caucasus declares it is not bound by this body, we will have a full-blown civil war on our hands within a month. The army is fragile. It will not survive being told to fight its own people again.”

The next morning, Voronkov stood at the rostrum, a look of profound weariness on his face. He held a piece of paper, a list of desperate, gut-wrenching compromises that would save the convention by sacrificing Khadija and everything she had been promised.

Just as he was about to speak, a hand was raised from the floor. It was Nikolai, the gruff, populist factory director from the Urals, the very man who had shouted down the neoliberal economists. He was an ethnic Russian, a war veteran, the heart of Rogov’s supposed constituency.

“A word,” he said, his voice a low rumble.

He walked to the rostrum, a big, lumbering bear of a man. He was not a polished speaker. He gripped the sides of the lectern, his knuckles white.

“I fought in the first Chechen war,” he began, his voice rough. “I saw what happens when Moscow believes it can rule our country with an iron fist. I saw my friends die for that idea. I am a Russian. My faith is Orthodox.” He paused, looking directly at Rogov. “But my neighbor in the factory is a Tatar, and his wife is a Mordvin. The man who fixed my truck last week was an Avar from Dagestan. Are they not also the builders of our nation?”

He took a deep breath. “Rogov speaks of a Russia with one will. I saw that Russia. It led us to this ruin. He speaks of a hotel with no owner. He is wrong. The Dividend, that is what makes us all the owners now. Khadija Aminova and her people, they do not threaten me. The man who threatens me is the man who tells me I must fear my neighbor.”

It was a thunderclap. The simple, undeniable truth of it, spoken not by a liberal intellectual from Moscow or a minority representative, but by a working-class Russian patriot, a veteran. It was an act of profound political and moral courage. It gave the terrified moderates the cover they needed. It shattered Rogov’s narrative that he spoke for the "real" Russian people.

The tide had turned. When Voronkov, having quietly pocketed his list of compromises, finally called the vote on the original “dual pillar” framework, it passed. By a narrow, fragile, but decisive margin.

Khadija Aminova and her delegates filed back into the hall, their heads held high. The constitution, and the nation, had been saved. Not by a slick political deal, but by a moment of unexpected, simple, human decency.

The Discourse, 37: Civic Nationalism vs. Ethno-Nationalism

Section 37.1: The Demagogue's Toolkit: Fear of Fragmentation
The speech by the nationalist delegate, Rogov, is a classic example of ethno-nationalist demagoguery. His core strategy is to tap into the majority population's deep-seated, often legitimate, fear of national fragmentation and chaos. The metaphors he uses—"a hotel with no owner," "squabbling principalities"—are deliberately chosen to evoke images of weakness, disorder, and the loss of a strong, central identity. This is a powerful rhetorical tool, especially in a post-imperial state with a history of strong central rule. By framing the demands of minority groups for autonomy not as a quest for rights but as an existential threat to the nation itself, the demagogue can successfully portray compromise as a form of national suicide.

Section 37.2: The Crisis of the "Hard Choice"
The night meeting in Voronkov's office illustrates the critical crisis point that faces all transitional governments. Orlov and General Volkov represent the forces of pure pragmatism and security, urging the leader to make a "hard choice"—to sacrifice a core principle (the rights of the minorities) for the sake of immediate stability. Their argument is compelling: without a constitution, the entire revolutionary project will collapse into civil war and economic ruin. This is the moment where many revolutions fail, trading their initial ideals for a cynical, short-term peace that ultimately replicates the injustices of the old system.

Section 37.3: The "Authentic Voice" as a Counter-Narrative
The intervention by the factory director is the decisive factor because he possesses what sociologists call an "authentic voice." Khadija Aminova’s arguments, however eloquent, can be dismissed by the nationalists as the special pleading of a minority. Voronkov’s arguments can be dismissed as the maneuvering of a politician. But the factory director is, in the parlance of the nationalists, an "ideal type": an ethnic Russian, a war veteran, a working-class man. He is immune to their accusations of being a "rootless cosmopolitan" or a "separatist." When a person from within the dominant group stands up and validates the claims of the minority, it shatters the demagogue's narrative that the nation is a monolith. It proves that civic patriotism—a love of country based on shared values and mutual respect, not shared blood—is not just an intellectual ideal, but a real, living sentiment in the heart of the population.