Why the honeymoon? This is a question an inquisitive person might ask when informed by the media that the second meeting between U.S. President George W. Bush and Russian President Vladimir Putin had been a smashing success — like the first one a month ago. After a cold spring full of spy scandals, deportation of diplomats, mutual warnings and overall muscle flexing, an idyllic summer arrived. Putin and Bush are sworn friends, the White House promises to discuss the planned missile shield with Moscow, the Kremlin returns the favor by saying it has nothing to fear from the United States and both sides declare their aim to make big arms cuts.

The Russo-American summit was the only bright spot at the Genoa meeting of the Group of Eight industrialized nations, plagued by contradictions between Washington and the rest of the Western world and violent anti-globalist protests. The tragic culmination of the event was the death of a 23-year-old Italian, killed by the riot police in a spontaneous act of self-defense and the ensuing escalation of violence in the city's streets.

Unlike their European peers, both Putin and Bush demonstrated little sympathy for the victims in the antiglobalism camp. It looked like they had no clue as to why so much fuss had been made about the death of a young man who had provoked the police. Maybe this shared emotional numbness, which looked quite odd in light of the empathetic comments made by European leaders, can partially explain this rather unorthodox partnership: Both Putin and Bush represent a very conservative electorate in their respective countries and, like the people who voted for them, have difficulty with concepts like pluralism, human rights and grass-root movements.

They are not soul mates by any means, but they do share certain beliefs in the mid-20th century realpolitik mind-set: The state comes first, order takes priority to freedom of expression and big boys (like the G8) rule. Although Bush's beliefs are very much at odds with mainstream American political thinking, with its emphasis on minorities and the significance of individuals, Putin's values reflect mainstream Russian political culture.

The reaction of many Russians to the unrest in Genoa was laughter. Chairman of the Russian Parliament Foreign Relations Committee Dmitry Rogozin suggested holding the next G8 meeting in a sturdy Russian city like Vladivostok, which has never heard of antiglobalism (or globalism, for that matter). He also expressed certainty that, alerted by their "green hair," Russian immigration officials would never let Western "anti-globalists" in. A popular "liberal" Russian columnist published a piece on the Genoa riots called "Assholes of All Countries, Unite." And so on.

Interestingly, in principle, the antiglobalists in Genoa promoted Russia's cause: In the new division of the world into rich and poor nations, Russia definitely falls into the latter category. It was added to the initial G7 list of economically advanced nations during President Boris Yeltsin's tenure. This gesture was a golden parachute given to Russia after it ceased to be a superpower. When European youths protested in Genoa against mighty transnational corporations and their plans for the developing countries, the Russian media should have praised them as pro-Russian revolutionaries; instead, they were branded idiots.

This is funny. A nation that recently agreed to accept radioactive waste from the West in exchange for cash should have been more sensitive to the inequities of the global village. Yet, instead of being sympathetic to the antiglobalist plea, Russians laughed.

It is incomprehensible to many in Russia how one can possibly stage riots against Big Money. This is due to the naive belief in the magic wand of capitalism: If it touches you, you become rich, even if the wand itself is made of plutonium waste. But to a degree, this also reflects Russians' traditional awe of authority. Only a freak can challenge the leaders of the richest countries on Earth. If you rebel, no matter how significant your cause, you are an imbecile.

Putin represents this mentality. One cannot blame Bush for being somewhat grateful to the Russian leader for adding this sobering streak of great-power realism to the libertarian confusion of the Genoa G8 summit. Bush presumably does not like softies and Putin does not resemble one in the least.

A student of European history is likely to think of a somewhat parallel example from 20th-century history. At the Big Three conferences during World War II between U.S. President Franklin Roosevelt, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill and Soviet leader Joseph Stalin, the Soviet and the British leaders frequently found much in common when faced by the U.S. president's starry-eyed idealism.

While Roosevelt was insisting on the right of the Eastern European nations to elect their governments freely and democratically, Churchill suggested a secret deal to Stalin: Divide influence in Eastern Europe arithmetically, giving the Soviets 90 percent in Bulgaria, 90 to the British in Greece, etc. That was not the wisest move in Churchill's long career: Uncle Joe loved realpolitik and territorial reapportioning but he proved to be a lousy ally.

Of course, this is not to draw any direct comparison: That would mean flattering Bush and Putin too much. Churchill and Stalin were seasoned political hands; the two presidents are mere novices. Nonetheless, it will be interesting to see how their partnership evolves.

After the G8 Genoa fiasco, there has been a shower of demands for a new format for the meetings. Why, indeed, not hold the G8 summit in Russia on the safe premises of some Politburo dacha? There are no antiglobalists in Russia and Western activists, as we now know, have little chance of squeezing through Russian immigration. One can only wonder whether Bush might like this idea or not.