IS RUSSIA COMING APART?

A DECADE AFTER THE FALL OF COMMUNISM, CHAOS THREATENS THE STABILITY OF THE WORLD'S LARGEST NATION

The explosions came in quick succession, but the full impact came later. The first was in a shopping mall just outside Red Square, the very heart of Moscow, in August, but only one person was killed. The next was a military housing block in the southern province of Dagestan, but there had been battles there between Muslim militants and Russian troops, so that was considered explainable.

Then, two minutes after midnight on September 9, a massive blast shattered one of the faceless nine-story apartment blocks that spread for miles from Moscow's old center. Clawing slowly through the rubble, rescuers found 94 bodies. Four days later, another bomb ripped through another apartment building, killing 95.

I could see it from my window," says Olya Astakhova, 15, a Moscow ninth-grader. "There was such a shock wave from the explosion that all the windows shook. In the morning when I got up, I saw that half of the house was gone. We couldn't understand what had happened."

Another blast, which took place in o the southern city of Volgodonsk on September 16, brought the toll to almost 300. By now, what was happening was clear. Suddenly, in addition to crime, corruption, and a crashing economy, a wave of terrorism had come to Russia.

FEW WINNERS IN NEW RUSSIA

The Russians have suffered many ills since the Communist system collapsed in 1991 and the Soviet Union broke up into separate republics. Unfamiliar with democracy or the free market, Russians watched their old system, in which the biggest slice of the pie went to the Army, disintegrate. A relatively small group of people, some with close connections to the government, made huge fortunes, either on trade or by selling the nation's oil, minerals, or other natural resources.

But for most people, the collapse of the old system meant a loss of jobs and incomes. Many schools, hospitals, and factories just ran out of money and stopped paying workers. In the chaos, organized crime grew rapidly, forcing many small businesses to pay protection money. Corruption spread to the highest levels of government. In August 1998, the banking system collapsed, forcing many banks to close--a disaster that Russians refer to simply as "the crisis."

As bad as it was, at least Russians didn't have to worry about their personal security. The Cold War, the 50year struggle between the Soviet Union and the U.S., was over, so there was no real threat of nuclear war. Ethnic conflicts in the Caucasus Mountains and Central Asia seemed remote to most Russians. Basic services, from Moscow's fantastic subway to electric and water supplies, continued to work. Most people were getting the hang of the new system, and many were beginning to enjoy a better life.

Then came the bombings.

Until that time, terrorism for most Russians had meant something that happened in Israel or in the West, but did not affect them. But from 1994 to 1996, Russia had fought a long and costly war against Muslim rebels in the province of Chechnya. When the war ended, the once-powerful Russian Army had been humiliated and Chechnya had won not independence, but full autonomy. Then, this summer, a band of Chechen guerrillas invaded Dagestan, a province to the east of Chechnya, vowing to establish an Islamic state.

CRACKDOWN ON CHECHENS

When the bombs exploded in Moscow, Mayor Yuri Luzhkov ordered a crackdown on people from the southern Caucasus region, which includes Chechnya and Dagestan. People from that region generally have darker complexions than Russians, so the campaign took on a racial aspect. Many people from the Caucasus, especially those without the permits required to live in Moscow, hid at home or paid large bribes to police to avoid harassment and expulsion.

"It's bad in Moscow," says Magomed, a 15-year-old Chechen whose family has lived in Moscow for the past year. (He wouldn't give his last name, fearing that the Russian authorities might take action against him.) Having fled the fighting in Chechnya, he now finds himself branded a terrorist in Moscow.

"No one says anything directly to me in school, but I can tell the teachers and students hate me," he says. "I always feel as if I'm guilty of something. When I heard of the explosions, I thought people would think Chechens did it. I just want to say that neither my parents, my brothers, my sisters, nor my grandparents have anything to do with this war or these terrorist acts."

In late September, Russian troops went into action against Chechnya once again. Warplanes bombed the the capital, Grozny, and troops moved into the flat northern part of the province. Their goal, the Russians said, was to establish a security zone to block Muslim rebels from infiltrating Russia, and to put pressure on the authorities in Chechnya to fight the rebels themselves.

ECONOMIC WOES REMAIN

The renewed fighting has only added to the existing nervousness about the economy. Like many Russian kids, Roma Maltsev, 15, has seen his family's middle-class life-style decline since the collapse of Communism.

Roma's family lives in the small factory and mining town of Gai, in the Ural mountain region. His father is a miner, whose salary comes to $100 a month. His mother, a kindergarten teacher, earns $6 a month--when she gets paid, which is only sporadically. His 24-year-old brother, also a miner, is unemployed.

At school, Roma says, the teacher often tells them that things were better "before"--under the Communists. Teachers used to be paid, she says, and now they're not. She says they were able to travel around Russia before, now they can't even go to Orenburg, the regional capital.

"We of course argue with her," Roma says. "But almost nothing is better. Before, there was nothing, but there was money. Now, you can buy anything, but people have no money."

Still, Roma has hopes. He would love to go to Moscow and study to be an architect. "I'm an optimist," he says. "! don't know that things will be better, but I hope that they will."

RELATED ARTICLE: RUSSIA AFTER YELTSIN: AN UNCERTAIN FUTURE

When Russian President Boris Yeltsin came down with the flu last month, it made headlines around the world.

The reason: Russia's fate is so inexorably entwined with that of its leader that no one knows if Russia's fledgling democracy could survive without him.

That question comes to a test next June, when Russia holds what will be only the second democratic presidential election in its history. Russia's constitution prevents Yeltsin, 68, from seeking a third term.

Yeltsin was elected Russia's first president in 1991, just before the collapse of the Soviet Union. Yeltsin had made a name for himself as a brash critic of Communism, a system that advocated economic equality, but totalitarian rule.

Since taking office, however, he has been less than democratic himself. In 1993, Yeltsin sent tanks to drive rebel politicians out of parliament. His undeclared war against Chechnya is another stain on his record. His economic reforms have devastated the economy. And his administration has been accused of widespread corruption.

Yet his leadership has held together a country that throughout its 450-year history has only known absolute rulers. Possible successors to Yeltsin have begun to emerge. Moscow's tough mayor, Yuri Luzhkov, who has been linked to organized crime, is considered the front runner. Yeltsin is backing Vladimir Putin, his prime minister. A former prime minister, Yevgeny Primakov, and Communist leader Gennady Zyuganov are also contenders.

Whoever wins, if the election brings an orderly and democratic succession, it will mark a big step forward for Russia.

Serge Schmemann, deputy foreign editor of The New York Times, is a former Moscow bureau chief. Additional reporting by Sophia Kishkovsky in Moscow.