FORGET the formal agenda at this weekend's G8 summit, given over to energy security, infectious diseases and education. The really awkward issue for the leaders of the seven rich democracies gathering in St Petersburg concerns their host: how to live with a strong, but increasingly undemocratic, Russia.

Since Vladimir Putin became president in 2000, Russia has in many ways been a remarkable success. Thanks largely to high oil prices, its economy has grown by an average of 6.5% a year. Living standards have improved and a sizeable middle class has emerged. The stockmarket has boomed. Russia is running a huge current-account surplus, it is paying off the last of its debt and the rouble has just been made fully convertible. At the summit Russia also hopes to surmount the last hurdles to its joining the World Trade Organisation.

Russians are grateful for these things. They like the stability that Mr. Putin has brought in place of the chaos under his predecessor, Boris Yeltsin. They welcome their country's bounceback from the dark days of August 1998, when it defaulted and devalued. They are proud that, as the summit demonstrates, Russia once more counts for something in the world. No wonder Mr. Putin has a popularity rating in the 70% range-an achievement that none of his guests can match.

Yet as well as these steps forward Russia has taken steps backwards (see article). In Mr. Putin's early years optimists hoped that stability and prosperity would not come at the expense of liberty and democracy. Western leaders gave him the benefit of their doubts over such matters as the war in Chechnya or curbs on the media. But it has become ever clearer that Russia is moving in the wrong direction. Greater state control of the economy, especially in the energy industry, has bred corruption and inefficiency. Any serious political opposition has been crushed. The broadcast media have been shut down or taken over by the government and its allies. Regional governors have been squashed-one of the last elected governors was arrested recently-and parliament has been emasculated, continuing the Kremlin's drive not merely to centralize, but to monopolies, political power.

Those were the days
There is much debate over when Mr. Putin started to go wrong. Many date it to the attack on Yukos, Mikhail Khodorkovsky's oil firm, that began three years ago this month; others say the clampdown started after the Beslan school siege in September 2004; still others point to the "orange revolution" in Ukraine at the end of 2004, when Russia's choice for president, Viktor Yanukovich, lost to the pro-Western Viktor Yushchenko. In an irony of timing, only days before the summit, the Chechen terrorist who was responsible for Beslan, Shamil Basayev, was killed (see obituary); and Mr. Yanukovich re-emerged as a possible prime minister of Ukraine (see article).

Yet the truth is that there was no particular moment when Mr. Putin "started to go wrong". Even Kremlin insiders admit that he was determined from the outset to control the television channels and to stamp out political opposition. They concede that Mr. Khodorkovsky is in prison for political reasons. Such things reflect Mr. Putin's background as a KGB officer. To him, restoring order, staying in charge and reviving Russia's influence are what matter-not wishy-washy worries over democracy and human rights.

What to say to Putin
So what can the West do? The short answer is, not a lot. In the 1990s an economically enfeebled Russia needed help from abroad. Unless the oil price unexpectedly collapses, no such leverage will be available in the near future. Politically, too, pressure from outside is likely to rebound. With the Kremlin once again firmly in control, Russia will almost certainly change only from within-or not at all.

This is not to say that the West has no influence. Mr. Putin, like other Russian leaders before him, is sensitive to outside criticism. The Kremlin was this week in high dudgeon because senior Western officials attended a conference in Moscow organized by some of Mr. Putin's few remaining opponents. The Russians are also neurotically keen to curtail the activities of non-governmental organizations.
Here lie some clues to what Western leaders should and should not do about Russia. They should speak out against Mr. Putin's moves away from democracy, against his policy in Chechnya, or against Russian use of energy to bully its neighbors (many west European countries have been too timid in their criticism). They should continue to help NGOs and others who are trying to establish a civil society that may, one day, provide an alternative to the dead weight of the Kremlin. As the next presidential election of March 2008 nears, they should insist that any move to amend the constitution so that Mr. Putin can run again is unacceptable-and would result in Russia's expulsion from the G8. They should do what they can to press for free and fair elections, even if the Kremlin's chosen candidate seems sure to win.

There are things they should not do, as well. Russia's membership of the G8 may be an embarrassment, since it is supposedly a club of democracies. But to throw it out now would only push Russia farther out of the West's orbit, and risk making it even less helpful over such issues as curbing Iran's nuclear ambitions. Equally, Americans and Europeans are right to assist countries in Russia's near-abroad that want to escape its baleful influence. But to push for Ukraine or Georgia, say, to join NATO before they are ready would serve no good purpose. Above all, Western leaders should avoid giving the impression that what they really object to is not an illiberal and undemocratic Russia but a strong and rich one-a paranoia that even Russia's few remaining liberals all too often share.

Sixty years ago a wise American diplomat, George Kennan, proposed that the right policy of the West towards an expansionary Soviet Union under Joseph Stalin should be "containment". Russia today is clearly no such threat. But it still matters, and the West should care about where it is going. The best policy now is no longer containment but "wary engagement".

The Economist