The science cities are experiencing tough times and may become ghost towns unless granted special status and government assistance.

The Russia Journal, 1999

Making science cities economically self sufficient is dangerous. Priceless technologies and equipment will be destroyed if facilities are converted to produce commercial goods.

Mayor of the science city, Dubna, 1999

In 1964 I first visited Akademgorodok, the famous Soviet science city located 2,500 miles east of Moscow and 25 miles south of the industrial center of Novosibirsk. The building of the city began in 1958 and, by the time of my visit, 15 research institutes had opened their doors and lit their laboratories. Another half dozen were in various stages of planning and construction. Tens of thousands of scientists and their family members were already living in this forested hideaway where researchers were to be unshackled from political and economic constraints as they uncovered the secrets of nature. Many young Russian researchers who had moved east eagerly anticipated new personal challenges and greater advancement opportunities away from dominating mentors in Moscow and Leningrad. Their mentors had insisted on taking personal credit for each research achievement, no matter how small, regardless of which scientist was responsible.

But the collective aspirations of the Russian visionaries who were

relying on generous budgets with no strings attached were not entirely realized at this scientific outpost. In the words of an American scholar:

The utopian design of the scientists and Communist Party leaders to build a city of science fell prey to the same handicaps endemic to Soviet science in general. Ideological constructs, political desiderata, and economic uncertainties dogged the efforts of Akademgorodok's founders to create a unique scientific community in the west Siberian forest. The community of scientists never fully escaped the constraints imposed by a centralized command economy and a party apparatus that grew increasingly conservative and ideologically vigilant in the Brezhnev years. As in other societies, the power of the purse always shapes the face of research; and the USSR was no different as the state pressured scientists to abandon basic science in the name of accountability to Siberian economic development.¹;

Thus, despite noble sentiments about the benefits from unfettered basic research leading to discoveries that could not possibly be predicted, the pressure for near-term economic payoff from research was clear from the outset.

Already in 1964, the Akademgorodok mathematicians boasted about their contributions to computer programming. The geologists claimed they were leading the national search for mineral deposits. The physicists were proud of the instrumentation they had designed and built. The research economists tied their analyses directly to requirements of the central planning system. Even though theoretical studies dominated the scientific publications of Akademgorodok, the researchers knew that transformation of discoveries into practical applications was the name of the game. As a result, they tried their best to be politically correct in their remarks to officials from Moscow that Siberian science would have a short-term payoff.

While the best known, Akademgorodok was not the first science city. To many Soviet officials it was of relatively minor importance in comparison with science cities established to support the military-industrial complex. It captured the imagination of other government leaders largely because it was located in the midst of the untapped natural resources of Siberia. Their expectation was that scientists would soon transform dormant towns into production centers to

strengthen the nation's military might and to fill the treasury with export earnings.

By the early 1950s, science cities were springing up in the Urals and the Moscow environs to harness the most modern and often the most destructive technologies that could be devised. These company towns, established primarily by production-oriented ministries and occasionally by the Academy of Sciences, became homes for the nation 's best-trained applied researchers. Without hesitation the Kremlin provided the necessary facilities and materials for the research and development endeavors of these specialists. Additional incentives for moving to some of the more remote cities included personal benefits, such as privileged access to high-quality consumer goods and services, to the best educational and recreational opportunities for children, and to the most coveted medals from a Soviet leadership that closely followed the launch of every spacecraft, the test of every nuclear device, and the development of every new vaccine.

Now, the 65 science cities (see Appendix C) are having great difficulties adjusting to the new social and economic conditions in Russia. The termination of defense contracts and the severing of subsidized supply lines of consumer goods have forced a dramatic change in the privileged lifestyles in these protected havens. The cities still cling to the parent ministries or other Moscow organizations that established them in the first place, hopeful that more rubles will flow in their direction. Many continue their national defense responsibilities, although sharply reduced, providing both financial relief at home and heightened proliferation anxieties in the West. Education remains a high priority even though the youth have become less and less interested in following in the footsteps of fathers who made their reputations in research laboratories. Finally, the cities are gripped by many problems inherent in their efforts to commercialize home-grown technologies. Particularly unhelpful are geographic remoteness from potential customers and security limitations on access by foreigners to many of the cities.

For two evenings during my 1964 Akademgorodok visit, several American colleagues and I were guests in the living room and at the dining table of the founder of the city, mathematician Mikhail Lavrentyev. He lived in a small log cottage in the midst of the remnants of a birch forest that had given way to new residential areas. He had personally garnered support for the Akademgorodok project from Nikita Khrushchev, who was enamored with the concept that science would provide political pillars for a Marxist state stretching from Europe to the Pacific Ocean.

During our dinners, Lavrentyev was surrounded by a phalanx of admiring Russian scientists who had moved with him from Moscow. He regaled the gatherings with stories of how workers had carved the city out of the forest despite shortages of equipment and material, a harsh climate, and no transportation or communication networks. Most important, he claimed, was a new freedom in Siberia for scientists to follow their instincts, despite countervailing views in Moscow that advocated highly-directed research.

He noted that many scientific leaders in Moscow thought a science center in Siberia made little sense, that he had taken resources away from the “real” centers of research in Moscow and Leningrad, and that in the long run his experiment was doomed to failure. He then beamed. He reported that the leaders of Soviet science had visited Akademgorodok. During their adventures on the frontiers of both nature and science, they became convinced that the investment would pay off handsomely.

During our tour of the city, Lavrentyev demonstrated the capabilities of a high-pressure water gun designed at his Institute of Hydrodynamics. He repeatedly directed a compact water jet at targets of stacked bricks located about 60 feet away, shattering pile after pile. Although he was silent on practical use of such a device, this activity by one of the nation's leading scientists could not possibly have been simply “boys with toys.” Was he confirming design principles for a Soviet weapon to be used selectively against targets that could not be easily demolished with explosives? We would never know.

Twenty-two years later, in 1986 during my next visit, the town and the institutes looked much the same. The water gun was reported to be in a storage shed, apparently overtaken by more sophisticated devices for destroying bricks. There were more park areas, more apartments, and more shops. But the general layout was undisturbed.

However, in the intervening years, the scientists of the city had pioneered impressive marriages between education and research. At our meetings, each presentation by a Russian specialist emphasized the importance of building up the educational capabilities of Siberia. Student achievements were on display. The university in Akademgorodok attracted the best students in Siberia. These new arrivals had opportunities to use the excellent research facilities of the many institutes in the city, despite the Soviet tradition of separating higher education institutions from scientific research activities. Also, the university had become the focal point for science olympiads that, each year, featured spirited mathematics and physics competitions among the region's best young brains.

At that time, the Soviet Union lagged 5-10 years behind other industrialized countries in information technology. Impatient with Soviet progress in a vitally important field, the staffs of several institutes had diverted money from their accounts to buy Japanese and American desktop computers for local high schools. Students in Moscow were just beginning to take courses in the theory of computer programming using notebooks instead of keyboards and screens. Meanwhile, the Akademgorodok students were glued to workstations under the tutelage of the best mathematicians in the city, reflecting the conviction of the scientists that students were the key to Siberia's future.

When I next visited the city in 1994, the institutes had lost their military contracts and were struggling to find civilian customers. By the time of yet another visit in 1998, most institutes had gone sharply downhill as their budgets declined dramatically and inflation galloped upwards. The advent of democracy and free market economics had not been kind to scientific research in Siberia. In the wake of economic decline, communism had re-emerged as a political dogma in the Novosibirsk region. Even the senior representative of the Academy of Sciences in Akademgorodok had cast his lot with the new undefined

brand of communism, usually characterized for the national media simply as a form of government that would restore the good life of the 1980s. Also, most research institutes were struggling with limited success to find sponsors for their projects.

Two institutes were able to prosper in the new environment. The Boreskov Institute of Catalysis had established a money-making market niche, at home and abroad, in the automation and improvement of catalytic processes for oil refining and for pollution control. By the mid-1990s, the institute had developed contacts with more than 100 foreign firms, and more than ten companies (e.g., Dupont and Monsanto) provided financial support through those contracts. This favorable situation dates from the 1980s when the institute began selling licenses for catalytic processes for air pollution reduction equipment to firms in Switzerland and the United States. Also, about 20 Russian firms have purchased related technology from the institute, and the scientists have attracted an array of small research grants from both the Russian and foreign governments.²

The institute experimented with organizational adjustments for a market economy. In the early 1990s, the institute directorship established a number of small firms on its premises to facilitate the commercialization of its products. Despite the early successes of several ventures, most failed. As commercial entities, they did not qualify for research grants from Russian and western funding organizations and therefore had no scientific underpinnings for their activities. Also, being outside the main research stream of the institute, they were not aware of the details of basic research under way in nearby laboratories and soon fell behind their western competitors in exploiting the latest technical developments.

Now, small firms play a very limited role. Almost all development as well as research activity is carried out within the institute itself. The institute is in the fortunate position of being able to consolidate overhead funds from its western contracts to sustain long-term (five years) basic research that enriches its short-term (two years) applied programs.

Each year the institute recruits high-quality university graduates to bolster its staff of about 400 scientists—young researchers eager to

work with modern equipment for steady paychecks and for opportunities to stay abreast of new scientific and engineering developments. Thus, the biggest personnel problem has not been a lack of new blood, but an excess of tired blood. The older scientists simply do not want to retire, even though they may have fallen woefully behind in their fields, because of the miserable pension situation. Many seniors are retained as consultants, as inspectors, and as other supernumeraries in view of their decades of loyal service to the institute.³

Another anchor institute since the founding of the city has been the Budker Institute of Nuclear Physics. Always sensitive to western research priorities in shaping its programs, the institute's leaders remember when it was “a capitalistic institute in a socialist environment, ” sending its scientists to Europe and western Europe where they could help arrange different types of financial support for the institute. They note that it is now more of “a socialist institute in a capitalist environment,” with an obligation to provide support for all its employees regardless of their success in winning international contracts. ⁴

With 600 scientists in residence in 1999, the institute depends heavily on emigrants who have departed from its ranks to provide an overseas support network. This network has brokered many contracts and grants from western institutions. The network belies the notion that brain drain is always a bad development for Russia. Finally, like the Institute of Catalysis, the Institute of Nuclear Physics recruits young scientists every year (60 in 1998), with the average age of the staff in 1999 being 42. When staff reductions are required due to a lapse in contracts, however, older scientists are usually given job preference.⁵

In recent years, the institute has obtained about one-half of its income from scientific equipment that it manufactures and sells to research and commercial organizations around the world. For example, China has been a customer for its nuclear accelerators at a cost of $700,000 each. These accelerators operate as high-precision heat generators, ideally suited to sealing wires within insulated cables in jet fighters but with other applications as well.

The institute is also pursuing a line of products for environmental and health applications that have attracted foreign interest. These in-

clude irradiation equipment to eradicate bacteria in logs earmarked for processing abroad, portable irradiation devices to guard against salmonella poisoning in fast food restaurants, and new types of accelerators to destroy dioxin in municipal incinerators. Customers for these and related applications of the institute's accelerators have been found in Germany, Italy, Poland, Hungary, and India. In a development that depends more on the engineering than on the nuclear physics skills of the staff, an insulin injector for testing blood sugar levels has also attracted attention in Europe.⁶

Still, the institute has difficulty making the transition to operating with a reduced core budget from Moscow. It considers basic research as its primary mission, research that should be paid for by a government that has few funds and higher priorities. On the commercial front, the institute has not been successful in efforts to become a provider of components for scientific instruments that western firms could assemble into finished products, a tactic used by some institutes. Indeed, too many institutes are competing for such markets.⁷

The histories of the 29 science cities founded in the 1940s and 1950s around Moscow are intimately linked to the military buildup of the Soviet Union. With populations ranging from 20,000-100,000 and situated 20-100 miles from the Kremlin, the cities were to be self-contained enclaves. The degree of isolation from the general population varied from city to city depending on the sensitivity of the experimental work that was under way.

Amenities were important. Each city obtained funds to construct housing for the researchers and their families, thus greatly easing problems of recruiting good scientists and engineers. At the same time, housing seldom was adequate and, despite the never-ending construction effort, to this day there is a shortage of housing nearly everywhere. Special consumer goods and services, including theater tickets, were less of a problem, usually provided from Moscow.

After the collapse of the Soviet Union in 1991 and the cutbacks in federal budgets for research and development throughout the country,

life on the fringes of Moscow changed dramatically. As paychecks became smaller and less certain, dacha gardens suddenly took on new significance. Many young scientists saw a brighter future in the commercial rather than the science sector and migrated to Moscow to work in banks or become traders.

The Ministry of Defense lost most of its interest in the science cities, and technologies that the institutes had secretly developed were shown to the world. Some countries would surely be interested in paying for the right to use at least a few of the technologies for civilian purposes, or so thought the institute directors. But, in most areas of commercial applications, comparable or superior civilian technologies were readily available in the global marketplace.

One valuable asset could not be denied, however. There was considerable land available within each of the cities even after accommodating the apartment buildings. If all else failed, land could be rented to foreign firms interested in manufacturing products for the Russian market, an approach quickly adopted in many of the cities.

In contrast to Akademgorodok, cities near Moscow have a number of advantages over more remote settlements. The first attraction is access to both the Moscow market, with 10 million inhabitants in 1999 and each with an insatiable appetite for goods and services of all types, and to the markets surrounding Moscow, with an additional 6.5 million residents. One-half of Russia's industry is located in this geographical area, and almost every foreign investor in Russia has an office in or near Moscow. The region has lower prices, rents, and production costs than in Moscow proper. The transportation infrastructure (air, rivers, rail, and highways) and the communication networks (phone, e-mail, courier services) are excellent by Russian standards. Also of interest for importers and exporters is the large number of customs stations and warehouses in the region and the well-developed networks of banks, some with reputable international connections and others with connections of another ilk.⁸

One dilemma confronting these cities is that advantages for technological entrepreneurs can also be exploited by organized crime. The more attractive a city becomes for business interests, the more attention the city commands from mafia leaders who often take up resi-

dence in the cities near Moscow. But having a ganglord as a neighbor is not always bad. Many rich Russians who amassed their fortunes outside the law now seek a degree of respectability. They usually deplore street crime in their neighborhoods and, if necessary, employ their private security forces to help bring tranquility to previously tumultuous urban areas.

Of special importance for small businesses, the regional government has enacted several laws to provide tax and other incentives for investors in technology-oriented activities. For scientific organizations, the regional profits tax—which is added to the federal profits tax —is reduced by 50 percent. And, the regional government provides a two-year tax holiday for investments of $5 million or more in production of selected products. For example, genetically-engineered human insulin has been singled out as a desirable industry, one that could benefit from tax breaks during the start-up periods.

Despite the importance of tax exemptions and other incentives that local officials might offer businesses, investment decisions in the region are also driven by the potential customer base and the availability of financing. A regional approach can be helpful. Directing government procurements at the regional and municipal levels to the most qualified local firms through a competitive bidding process can be particularly important in this regard.⁹

Snapshots of several science cities near Moscow encapsulate most of the problems faced by the research and development community throughout Russia. They highlight opportunities that officials and entrepreneurs have recognized for developing reliable income streams. The tensions between selling dual-use technologies for profit and protecting such technologies to limit proliferation of dangerous items and expertise are also apparent. But only in one city cited here is there recognition of the critical role in technology development that the youth of Russia must play with more enthusiasm than at present.

The Luberetskoe Production Association adjacent to a well-preserved monastery in Dzerzhinsky, a one-hour drive to the south of

Moscow, developed solid propellants for Soviet rockets. Drawing on their expertise in how to launch missiles, the scientists are convinced that rocket technology can be adapted to propel large quantities of water through high pressure hoses mounted on aircraft or situated on the ground to fight forest fires.

Despite the institute's dramatic film showing how an unrelenting stream of water could systematically extinguish an advancing fire line, foreign specialists lost interest when the feasibility and cost of deploying such a technological innovation were calculated. Firefighters want their planes to land as close to the fires as possible to reduce costs and delays in refilling water tanks. However, the large Soviet-era planes that were equipped with water cannons require long runways. Also, while a water gun adds considerable precision to the laying down of a liquid blanket, dumping water from bags suspended from aircraft has the advantage of simplicity and reliability in covering a blazing forest.

Fighting forest fires is only one area of interest to the institute. Looking to the future of the Russian gas industry, the chemists developed a new type of electric generator driven by natural gas, explosive devices that help delineate seismic profiles in the exploration for gas deposits, and reliable and powerful fire extinguishers to combat gas fires. The rocket scientists also became biochemists and polymer chemists, turning out new pesticides, cleansing agents, construction material, and even camping and boating gear.¹⁰

Such technical ingenuity has not assured a high-tech future for the town of Dzerzhinsky. The institute's technical base is too specialized, and the military customers have disappeared. Each innovation out of the institute's previously defined box runs headlong into an imported product. Finally, the workforce has shrunk and aged considerably, and the charismatic academician who founded the institute and commanded great respect from the Soviet scientific community has passed into the history books.

Just a few miles to the east of Moscow is the Central Aerohydrodynamics Institute, often referred to as the birthplace of Soviet avia-

tion technology. For decades, the institute carried out highly classified research in some of the most advanced wind tunnels and related experimental facilities in the world. But already by 1994, less than 0.2 percent of the institute's budget came from military sources, in contrast with more than 50 percent several years earlier. Some facilities have become obsolete, but others are highly functional and would seem to offer important research and development opportunities.

Dozens of customers come from abroad. Foreign aircraft manufacturers pay modest fees to use the wind tunnels and related facilities. However, the institute promotes with little success the use of new types of seaplanes, installation of highly automated greenhouses, and construction of sophisticated stands to test truck performance in rough terrain. These capabilities, while possibly attractive to other countries, all have international competitors.

The list of other services the institute offers to world aviation is impressive: airframe tests, flight simulator experiments, creation of flight control systems, and fabrication and installation of data acquisition systems, for example. But, again, American and European organizations are stiff competitors. Many institute facilities simply have not been used for a number of years.

A profitable activity for the institute during the mid-1990s was production of parquet flooring. The institute's high-temperature ovens provided an excellent capability for this successful business. Products appealed to both commercial firms and wealthy Russians building large homes, but the market eventually declined in the face of foreign imports.¹¹

Despite the downsizing of the technical workforce, the town of Zhukovsky will remain an important center for the Russian military and civilian aeronautics community. In addition to the aerohydrodynamics institute, the Gromov Flight Research Institute is located in Zhukovsky with its extensive facilities for flight testing in extreme conditions, for developing computer-based simulation systems, and for training test pilot for airplanes and helicopters. Also, being close to Moscow, the city is a popular venue for international exhibitions of Russian achievements in aeronautics.¹²

The Institute of Machine Building on the northern edge of Moscow had for many years played a central role in the design and testing of components for Russian missile systems. As the institute began to search for new outlets for its technological capabilities during the 1990s, the imagination of the researchers ran in many directions.

During the Gulf War, engineers in Kaliningrad developed a unique approach to extinguishing fires in oil wells that had been ignited by retreating Iraqi forces. They built a flying saucer—two feet in diameter—that could be launched from a helicopter. The whirling projectile would hit and crimp the vertical pipe in the oil shaft just below the surface of the ground. The crimping would cut off the oxygen supply, and the fire would quickly die out. They sharpened their aim during a series of helicopter practice flights. However, by the time they were ready to take the technology to Kuwait, fire fighters from the United States and Western Europe had already earned $500 million by using older, but proven, techniques to extinguish all 500 fires.

Another proposal from the Kaliningrad scientists calls for nations of the world to unite in preparing for the impact of a meteorite on the Earth's surface. The Russian way to prevent such an event is to deploy around the Earth a network of rocket launchers that can shoot down the meteorite as it approaches. Institute scientists are ready to build 200 low-cost launchers deployable from many countries so destruction of the meteorite would be assured regardless of the direction of impending impact.

During several visits to the institute, I hesitated to mention other global problems, knowing the researchers surely would develop a solution given the slightest encouragement. They have long been convinced, for example, that manufacturing synthetic diamonds using their shock tubes built in the 1920s is easily within their grasp, if only given a small amount of money to begin. In 1994, focusing on a totally different track, they tried in vain to convince visitors that their high-temperature combustion chambers were precisely what was needed to rid the world of toxic wastes.¹³

Finally, they were able to obtain the financial support to demon-

strate the effectiveness of high-temperature destruction of toxic materials. They proved themselves right. The research team received awards at an international ecological forum in Las Vegas in 1997 and at a UN-sponsored conference in Moscow in 1999, where the technology was considered an excellent candidate for use in the UN Persistent Organic Pollutants Program. Presumably, the next step will be to enter into a licensing agreement with a western firm to market the technology.¹⁴

Two hours to the north of Moscow, the science city of Chernogolovka is home to 10 research institutes and 25,000 residents. Beginning in the 1950s, research on rocket fuels was the city's main theme. In time, more diverse activities became ingrained in the programs of a wide variety of institutes. In the mid-1980s, there was a surge of interest in research on lasers that could be used in systems to destroy incoming missiles. Observing that the concept of national missile defense is now being revived in the United States, some of the town's physicists believe they may again have contracts with the Ministry of Defense. This seems a long shot, however, given the ministry's priority of simply sustaining current activities on military bases.

My two visits to Chernogolovka focused on the work of the combustion engineers who had tested the ignition characteristics of rocket fuels. This was highly delicate work, since a mistake could have easily triggered an explosion. The engineers justifiably believe they have become the leading experts in Russia, and indeed in the world, on the causes of explosions, including explosions in industrial plants. Their problem has been that no one is interested in paying them to redirect their talents to preventing industrial explosions despite the frequency of such accidents. And, in truth, most of the engineers are nearing retirement age, many locked into their technical discipline with little interest in retraining.

Fortunately, a few of the most promising young engineers have succeeded in obtaining invitations to conduct research in the United States and Western Europe. Many specialists have found profitable

ventures buying and selling apartments and real estate in Moscow and in Chernogolovka.

Before the conclusion of my visit, the former rocketeers presented me with a wooden carving fashioned into the shape of a brain. For me it symbolizes both the brain drain that has depleted the town 's young talent and the brains still in Chernogolovka that need financial resuscitation. At the same time, I can't help but see in it the form of a mushroom cloud from a nuclear explosion, perhaps symbolizing missile technology proliferation concerns surrounding the city.¹⁵

“We can't rely on the agricultural authorities to solve our food problem. Just give us the land, and we will increase productivity overnight.” This was the repeated plea of microbiologists at Pushchino to U.S. Agency for International Development representatives in Moscow in the mid-1990s. The scientists received substantial funds, and they planted new varieties of potatoes on their experimental plots of land.

But their effort to increase agricultural production was a failure. It takes more than science and enthusiasm to increase agricultural production. It takes political clout to obtain large tracts of unencumberd land with good growing potential. It takes capabilities to produce crops efficiently on a large scale and to move them from the fields to the stores in an edible form. Historically, more than 50 percent of Russian agricultural produce has been unfit for consumption by the time it reaches the stores—some crops remaining in the fields, others rotting at distribution points waiting for trucks that do not arrive, and still others molding in storage areas because food processing equipment is not functioning properly.

The science city of Pushchino is unique in that it never was defense-oriented. A few contracts with the Ministry of Defense were dispersed among several of the institutes. The city was designed to be a center of scientific excellence for microbiologists and related researchers concentrated in about a half-dozen institutes of the Academy of Sciences.

Pushchino is close to Moscow but not so close as to be plagued with housing problems and other diversions from research, thought the founders. But now housing is at a premium, with families of some senior scientists confined to one- or two-room apartments, more accurately described as modified dormitory rooms. Being distant from Moscow is no longer an advantage. Most funding organizations—Russian and foreign—are located in Moscow, and frequent trips to their offices are essential if there is to be research.

Pushchino's prowess in basic biomedical research cannot be denied. Despite difficult times, a few excellent biologists are the scientific core of several institutes that comprise the backbone of the city. A few lucrative grants from western organizations play key roles in maintaining a modest level of activity. Indeed, in 1999 the only laboratories with significant activity were those that were recipients of western grants.

The city's residents are quite proud of the university that has been established there during the past few years. This graduate-level university is tied tightly to the research institutes. The institutes provide the laboratories for the students who in turn provide high-level technical support for the institutes' biologists. The university draws many students from the region who simply cannot afford to study in Moscow. ¹⁶

Overall, the living conditions in Pushchino are poor and are emblematic of the plight faced by most researchers throughout the country. Aside from the handful of biomedical superstars, the most successful researchers are those that are addressing environmental problems of concern to western organizations. They have succeeded in obtaining limited financial support to explore both the biology of ecosystems and related degradation of agricultural soil throughout the region.

The electronics city of Fryazino is located 25 miles to the northeast of Moscow. A branch of the Moscow-based Institute for Radioelectronics and Radioengineering has long been a mainstay of the city. But it is only one of 48 institutes and enterprises located throughout the area encompassing Fryazino.

For decades, the electronics laboratories and factories kept the Soviet Union near the forefront of developments in radar systems, microwave networks, fiber optic and coaxial connections, and laser technology. In recent years, a particularly popular area with commercial payoff has been the development of medical diagnostic equipment. This has required supplementing electronics know-how with specialized knowledge from health professionals. Also, the enterprises have branched out into the metal construction, canned fish, and confectionery industries, hardly areas that feature high technology but areas of consumer interest that are stable income generators.

In 1994, the U.S. Department of Defense, supported by several other U.S. departments, attempted to convert a military electronics plant into an enterprise that produces hearing aids. Even though parrial deafness is common in Russia, the firm has had great difficulty developing a customer base. While the need is there, the cash to cover production costs eludes most of the people who might benefit from this modern electronic device.

On the brighter side, several small firms in the city have succeeded in penetrating the international market. For example, with high-tech skills available at low costs, a group of scientists from the Institute of Radioelectronics and Radioengineering developed a high precision device for measuring currents generated during physics experiments that rivals the best equipment available in Europe. To avoid trouble in Russia with financial transactions, the firm established an affiliate in Frankfurt, Germany, using the Fryazino base as the source of technological innovations that could be incorporated into the equipment. Several dozen engineers from Fryazino enjoy satisfactory lifestyles through profitable participation in this successful international endeavor. ¹⁷

This sampling of research activities throughout the Moscow region has but a few bright spots. With no place to go, many scientists and engineers will continue efforts to obtain financial support from whatever funding sources they can uncover. A handful are succeeding, although their successes have been little more than short-term respites from the intellectual boredom that hangs over most science cities and gradually erodes the vitality and capability of the technical workforce.

Of the three million inhabitants of the science cities, 760,000 live in 10 closed nuclear cities. In the fall of 1991, the western press reported the existence of these secret cities—10 cities where the core facilities of the Soviet nuclear weapons program were located. The nuclear cities were to be opened to the Russian population and eventually to the world. The scientists and engineers were reported to be diversifying their capabilities from simply supporting military efforts to also making new contributions to economic development in Russia. (The 10 cities, originally known only by post office box designations, are identified in Appendix C.) In general terms, the cities have the following characteristics:

• Their populations are slowly increasing. They have become attractive for pensioners retiring locally or moving from other areas of Russia to live with relatives in the cities. They need not worry about crime or narcotics, and housing conditions for extended families are good by Russian standards

• Defense expenditures, which have been the backbone of the cities for decades, have declined significantly. While some defense contracts remain and no cities will be abandoned, downsizing of the military commitment will continue to erode the capabilities of the municipal governments—through loss of the tax base—to support the populations.

• The cities are remote from large industrial centers. This remoteness has engendered a high degree of internal comradery, but it does not encourage outreach to commercial opportunities outside the fence.

• The cities are sites of both weapons-grade nuclear materials, thought to be within relatively secure storage areas, and radioactive contamination that in some cases covers large territories outside as well as inside the fence. Local authorities will not pay the bill to address these problems, which they rightly contend are rooted in Moscow policies.

• Each city has unique technical capabilities but, in many areas of interest to the West, they compete against each other—high-energy

physics, nuclear fuel cycle safety, and software development. Other research areas where there are overlapping capabilities are medical technologies, laser technologies, microelectronics, and automated control systems.¹⁸

Overall, the 10 cities are storehouses of technology with major security dimensions, particularly the vulnerability to proliferation beyond the borders of Russia. These cities are also homes to dual-use technological achievements. While the Russian government usually overestimates the potential of technology for development of high-tech industry in Russia, there should be opportunities for developing and selling some technology-based products.

In 1994, I made my first visits to three of these cities—Sarov, Ozersk, and Snezhinsk. While their high fences are intimidating, inside the fences they resemble other Soviet-era cities. For me, the big surprise was that all pedestrians seemed headed for important meetings or essential shopping visits, with little suggestion of the idle time so often encountered in other Russian cities. Perhaps this purposeful demeanor is simply a characteristic of people raised in a military-type environment or, more likely, it reflects a general attitude among high achievers.

As to security, by the time of my visit several dozen westerners had already been to each of the cities for brief periods of a few days. The Russian security services had become accustomed to organizing programs for foreigners that would show off the institute's technical strengths without compromising military secrets. In short, escorts were always ready to take me anywhere I wanted to go outside the secured areas.

My visits were part of the efforts of western governments to develop for nuclear specialists civilian-oriented job opportunities that would help prevent social turmoil among the populations as salary levels plummeted. At the same time, these governments were reluctant to consider cooperative ventures that could set the stage for more broadly based redirection of the cities' high-tech resources toward the commercial marketplace. They simply did not know how to accomplish

such a goal. In any event, it seemed more appropriate for Russia rather than the foreign governments to take on this responsibility.

Following my visits to Sarov, Snezhinsk, and Ozersk, I thought it was important to focus greater international attention on the dangers of economic decline within the nuclear cities. In 1995, Russian colleagues and I designed an international study of the social, economic, and security trends in the 10 cities to develop data that would support our case. The specific objectives of the study effort were two-fold: to improve understanding of the demographic, educational, commercial, and crime trends in the cities in recent years and to highlight policy and program approaches that worked well in improving the standard of living, while identifying those that worked poorly in each of the cities. Such “lessons learned” in one city should have relevance for other cities as well.

Finally, after delays in obtaining financial support in the United States and hassles over administrative approvals in Russia, by 1998 the study effort was under way—but on a pilot basis. Studying the workings of an entire city was too complicated to immediately begin well-designed investigations in 10 different locations. So, the pilot effort examined three cities, one of the 10 closed nuclear cities (Snezhinsk) and two “control” nuclear cities that were not surrounded by high fences (Obninsk and Zarechny).

The fact that Snezhinsk suffered from more physical and intellectual isolation made its economic problems worse. Such cities, with highly specialized technological capabilities located at great distances from potential customers, will have difficulty maintaining political stability without substantial governmental subsidies for the indefinite future. Yet, as demonstrated in the control cities, entrepreneurial zeal can open new commercial doors. International contacts can be particularly helpful in this regard.

Russian teams carried out the analyses; American participants served as “quality control” to promote analytical objectivity. We were quite successful in ensuring that the effort did not turn into an advertising campaign of technical capabilities within the cities. (Chapter 8 presents highlights from the study and addresses in more depth the specific challenges the nuclear cities are confronting.)

Another subset of science cities consists of biology towns, housing institutes that supported the Soviet program to develop biological weapons. Only two (Koltsovo and Obolensk) of the dozen or more small towns and villages where laboratories, institutes, and production facilities were located are on the formal list of science cities. But all of these settlements face the problems that characterize the formerly militarized science cities.

The patron for these activities has been the Moscow-based organization Biopreparat. In the spring of 1995, Major General Yuri Tikhonovich Kalinin, the director general of Biopreparat, invited me to his headquarters. It was located in a district of Moscow that for decades had been off limits to foreigners. He wanted to discuss a proposed U.S.-Russian seminar on redirection of former Soviet biological weapons researchers to civilian tasks. Biopreparat still exerted considerable control over its institutes, although a devolution of Moscow's authority had greatly complicated the organizational structure that had been in place.

Kalinin has presided for two decades over the sprawling Biopreparat complex established during the 1970s. At its peak, Biopreparat employed more than 60,000 people working at 100 facilities. As many as 5,000 of the technical personnel had significant understanding of the workings of biological weapons, and therefore could be attractive targets for the intelligence efforts of other states trying to develop the so-called poor man's weapon of mass destruction. The network of facilities included several dozen research institutes and several industrial plants capable of producing large quantities of deadly ingredients for biological bombs and shells. The Soviet arsenal of destruction that rested on Biopreparat capabilities could deliver hundreds of tons of plague and anthrax bacteria, smallpox viruses, and other infectious agents if given the command.¹⁹

Until the early 1990s, the activities of Biopreparat located in secluded towns and in closed enclaves in large cities had been cloaked in secrecy. Then Biopreparat lost most of its support from the Ministry of Defense and, like other Russian defense-oriented organizations,

struggled to find a new niche in the civilian marketplace. Our proposed seminar fit with Kalinin's objective of searching for new markets for Biopreparat products and new sources for financial support of research activities.

A Biopreparat car delivered me from my hotel to Kalinin's headquarters, a yellow mansion that many decades earlier had been the home of the vodka merchant Pyotr Smirnov. The Smirnov factory next door was continuing its tradition of serving the population of Moscow while extracting handsome profits despite economic problems everywhere around it. Over the years, of course, Smirnov's legacy has probably done more than any historical invader to undermine the health of the Russian populace.²⁰

Kalinin received me in a spartan conference room, bedecked with samples of pharmaceutical products that Biopreparat was trying to sell on the Russian commercial market. Sale of generic pharmaceuticals, made in Russia, would help stem the tide of imported products while providing new income streams for Biopreparat. Biopreparat was working closely with struggling Russian pharmaceutical plants as the field of public health became the target for new entrepreneurial initiatives.

The discussion of the seminar's details was brief and to the point. Kalinin instructed his staff to ensure a successful meeting, and I agreed to bring leading American specialists to Moscow and to arrange for the financial aspects of the event. Throughout the encounter, Kalinin showed no signs of the financial pain engulfing his complex, a complex that spread from villages 1,000 kilometers to the northeast of Moscow, to downtown St. Petersburg, to small urban centers around Moscow, and to outposts in Siberia. His confidence indicated he was still in charge of activities at dozens of facilities despite decentralization forces in play. ²¹

A few facilities in the biological cities have found market niches in the pharmaceutical and public health research fields. Several institutes are focusing on veterinary concerns. However, other biotechnology complexes are rapidly fading into simple job shops in urban centers, with all signs pointing to continued economic decline.

Certainly the science cities that possess remnants of the Soviet biological weapons program deserve attention. Some western experts

worry they can again be closed to outsiders and revert to dangerous activities. Others see a steady stream of foreign visitors to the cities, including Middle East visitors, as opening new highways for an outflow of technologies. The best hope of ensuring that bacteria and viruses cultured in the biology cities are not diverted to nefarious purposes is through a program of international cooperation and transparency. Such transparency will only become reality if western countries help, through financial means, to harness biological assets of the cities for peaceful purposes. This is a formidable task, but it is one that must be undertaken.

There are no rigid criteria for designation of a science city. One pragmatic approach is to accept the “official” list of 65 science cities recognized by the Russian Association for the Development of Science Cities. The list reflects both technical considerations and the political persuasiveness of local leaders.²²

Two criteria suggested for designating science cities that would benefit from special-purpose legislation are the percentage of the workforce engaged in science and education activities and the percentage of the city budget devoted to supporting science and education. However, these criteria are far from precise. It is likely that the government will continue to compile lists as in the past and that legislation singling out cities will be heavily influenced by the parliamentarians who are involved.

While many of the science cities are located in the Moscow region, hideaways with potent military-related capabilities are in the Urals (10) and Siberia (13). In those areas the classification of “closed city” may be more significant for the populations than the designation, “science city,” since worker benefits are higher in closed cities than in science cities. The 10 nuclear cities are classified as closed cities as well as science cities, with the municipalities having the right to retain some federal and regional taxes collected from the population rather than sharing them with Moscow. While there is no publicly available list of all Russia's closed cities, at least 20 cities, towns, and villages under the

patronage of the Ministry of Defense would be on such a list.²³ Most of the science cities are now considered open, although in many instances Russian security services ensure that they are not too open, particularly to foreigners.

An encouraging development is the growing attention within Russia to the regional context for activities within the science cities. Regional governors are increasingly active in seeking tax breaks and in helping convert facilities from military- to civilian-oriented activities that can benefit the region as a whole. High on the priority list of some regions is development of communications networks that improve links between the science cities and remote areas of the regions. Also, there are increasing calls for concerted federal, regional, and municipal policies to support economic and technological progress in the science cities.

The highest priorities of the science cities themselves are increased subsidies from the federal government and special status—akin to the status accorded to closed cities—that will reduce the flow of their tax revenues to Moscow. In the spring of 1999, the parliament passed legislation that would accord all science cities certain financial and tax privileges, legislation that was later vetoed by President Yeltsin. The government has had difficulty acknowledging that the science cities were indeed any more important than other cities— at least in terms of the need for financial breaks.²⁴

For at least the next decade, almost all of the science cities will do their best to remain technology-oriented municipalities. They will be reluctant to abandon any facilities. They will continue to search for special dispensations so their banks of brains and equipment will have a better chance of being used in the rebuilding of Russian science and of the economy. A few will provide strong educational opportunities for youth to pursue careers in science and engineering despite growing skepticism as to the job market.

Several reasons for western support of the revival of these cities are compelling: humanitarian concerns over populations under stress, security concerns over proliferation of dangerous technologies, and scientific concerns over loss of results from Soviet research investments of billions of dollars. Russian interest, of course, is directed toward

wastage of facilities and talent and toward potential turmoil amidst a population that feels overlooked in favor of the residents of the large cities. This view should also drive the West's list of priorities for programs in Russia.

1. For this quotation and a more extended discussion of the early days in Akademgorodok see Paul R. Josephson, New Atlantis Revisited, Akademgorodok, the Siberian City of Science, (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1997), pp. iv-xv.

2. The discussion of the Institute of Catalysis is based on three visits and is updated by discussions at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow in April 1999. See also “Boreskov Institute of Catalysis,” brochure released by the institute, 1998.

3. Ibid.

4. The discussion of the Institute of Nuclear Physics is based on three visits to the institute and is updated by discussions at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow in April 1999. This quotation was provided by the Embassy. See also “Budker Institute of Nuclear Physics,” brochure released by the institute, 1998.

5. Ibid.

6. Ibid.

7. Ibid.

8. Olga Ananina, BISNIS Report, U.S. and Foreign Commercial Service, Moscow, June 1999.

9. Ibid.

10. Schweitzer, Moscow DMZ, pp. 150-1.

11. Ibid., pp. 156-7.

12. “Gromov Flight Research Center,” brochure released by the center, 1998.

13. Schweitzer, Moscow DMZ, pp. 54-6.

14. Personal communication from the information office of the International Science and Technology Center, Moscow, December 1999.

15. Schweitzer, Moscow DMZ, pp. 50-1.

16. Discussions during two visits to Pushchino in the spring of 1999.

17. Visit to Fryazino in 1996, updated by Ananina, BISNIS Report.

18. Lev Ryabev, “Meeting the Challenges of Russia's Nuclear Complex,” Conference at Carnegie Endowment for International Peace, Washington, D.C., January 1999.

19. Ken Alibek with Stephen Handleman, Biohazard, (New York: Random House, 1999), p. 10.

20. Ibid.

21. Ibid.

22. A.V. Dolgolaptev, “Conditions and Perspectives of Development of Science Cities of Russia, ” Material from the Fifth International Conference of

Science Cities of Russia-97, Obninsk, State Central Institute for Raising Professional Qualifications, Minatom 1997.

23. Georgi Lappo and Pavel Polyan, “The Closed Cities of Russia,” The Population and Society, Institute of Economic Forecasting, Moscow, No. 16, January 1997.

24. “Yeltsin Vetoes Special Status for Russia's Scientific Cities,” The Russia Journal, April 5-11, 1999, p. 16.