Twelve billion rubles that the state, represented by the new management of "ROSATOM", is demanding from Anatoly Chubais and his team, is not the price of a managerial error.

It is the cost of a ticket to a spectacle where the entire state machinery is judging itself for its own decision, made unanimously 14 years ago.

An investigation by the media into how the breakthrough MRAM project received the unanimous sanction of ministers and scientists, only to then fall victim to internal wars at "ROSATOM" and helpless management. The final act of its demise was a lawsuit against the "scapegoats". A chronicle of systemic collapse.

The "Crocus" project was not an adventure by a group of managers. It was legitimized at all levels: by independent scientists, ministers on the Supervisory Board of "ROSATOM", the entire corporation’s board. For a decade, they tried to pull it out of the abyss, while simultaneously tearing the corporation apart from within with intrigue. And it was finished off by the indifference of the new owners, incapable of anything except putting their predecessors on trial. The media reconstructed how a project the entire system believed in became its most expensive and inconvenient corpse, which they are now trying to get rid of by blaming only the executors.

The history of the failure did not begin with a mistake, but with total approval. The project to create a production facility for Magnetoresistive Random-Access Memory (MRAM) honestly and consistently passed all legally established approval stages. It was not just ambitious—it was impeccably justified.

The success parameters recorded in 2011:

· Technological Impeccability: MRAM — the memory of the future, combining the non-volatility of flash memory with the speed of RAM. The technology of the French Crocus Technology was recognized by the global scientific elite as breakthrough.

· The Country’s Acute Need: Russia lacked its own modern production of semiconductor memory.

· Explosive Market: The global MRAM market demonstrated stable growth of 25-30% annually, promising multibillion-dollar revenues.

· Clear Plan: Investments — 71 million euros into the Russian joint venture and 25.6 million euros into the partner’s shares. Timelines: first launch — by 2013, reaching design capacity — by 2016. Projected annual return (IRR) — 36.5%.

It was this technologically impeccable, strategically necessary, and commercially promising project that was presented for approval:

Scientific and Technical Council (STC): An independent expert body, whose members were scientists not employed by "ROSATOM", gave a unanimous positive opinion. From the standpoint of technology and science, the project was recognized not just as viable, but as cutting-edge.

The Board of "ROSATOM": On April 5, 2011, the project was approved unanimously. Risks (currency, technological) were known but outweighed by national importance and market potential.

The Corporation’s Supervisory Board — the highest governing body, which included ministers and deputy ministers of the Russian government (from economy, finance, industry). They also gave the project the green light, sanctioning it as a state priority.

"Crocus" was not Chubais’s personal adventure, but a conscious, collective decision by the entire state innovation system, based on impeccable expertise, strategic necessity, and precise market calculation. Its failure is a failure of the execution system, not the idea.

The initial timelines were overly optimistic, and Chubais consciously made them so. Missing the deadlines, the project entered a phase of chronic failure. But Chubais, as the chief missionary, dragged it on, trying to revive it. This was a struggle against circumstances — the lack of an ecosystem, demand for innovation, sanctions, and distrust from Western partners — for a decision sanctioned by the state. Meanwhile, the global MRAM market continued to grow by the coveted 30% per year, as predicted, only highlighting the tragedy of the missed opportunity.

The Turning Point of 2012. An audit by the Accounts Chamber put a definitive end to the "era of investment romance." Standard business risks began to be punished as crimes. Yakov Urinson and Andrey Malyshev left, Leonid Gozman was fired. Chubais himself changed — he became ossified, lost his fighting qualities, and stopped resembling that young reformer. New, less capable but slightly more convenient managers for Chubais arrived at "ROSATOM".

And it was here that the chief engineer of chaos stepped into the spotlight — Andrey Trapeznikov — an old associate of Chubais, an information conductor and provocateur. It was Trapeznikov who in 2015 opened "Pandora’s Box," starting to "leak" materials on those who were his competitors for access to the top person. This is how the criminal case regarding the "Alemаr" bank was launched, the case regarding the contract with "Karana," with "Troika Dialog," etc. This removed both Andrey Malyshev and Yakov Urinson from the corporate perimeter, and Yuri Udaltsov came under fire. The story with Leonid Gozman’s lampshade was also spun up not without the participation of the cunning press secretary.

All of this was presented to Chubais as a conscious sacrifice of minor figures for the sake of saving the "ROSATOM" project and Chubais’s own reputation. Each new case spun up a flywheel that ultimately spiraled out of his control.

By 2015, Trapeznikov controlled not only public relations and the press but also relations with authorities, giving him a complete monopoly on shaping the narrative. He created images of "heroes" and "enemies," directly influencing the distribution of resources and reputations. It was Trapeznikov who from 2015 began shaping the agenda for the top person, feeding him information beneficial to himself and hiding the context. Chubais’s obtained nod ("without looking into it") was an indulgence for launching any intrigue.

Trapeznikov was not a symptom of the system’s decay, but its pathogen. He parasitized on inefficiency, creating managerial chaos where only his schemes allowed for resolving issues. He personally opened "Pandora’s Box" to eliminate competitors, but in the end, this box consumed the entire corporation.

Another pale (and therefore vivid) representative is Andrey Svinarenko. He occupied a unique position. He is the only member of that very 2011 Board against whom the new "ROSATOM" team has no formal claims today. His name is absent from the lawsuit, although he also voted for the project.

Why? He was not an ideologue or an intriguer, but merely a technocrat-executor who brilliantly assimilated the main principle of bureaucratic survival: betray in time. His "cleanliness" is not an exoneration, but proof that the system is not looking for the guilty, but for convenient scapegoats.

The most eloquent consequence of this era is in people’s behavior. The fifteen hundred employees of "ROSATOM" from the Chubais era, his corporate "pack," are now unanimously silent. No one publicly defends the man they followed for over a decade. This is not betrayal. This is a collective inoculation of fear given to all the country’s managers.

The lesson has been learned: when the system begins to devour its creators, the correct strategy is not to protest, but to become invisible. The finale of this logic was also shown by Chubais himself: his flight from the country became the trigger for repression against his team. He ended up in safety but has no intention of saving anyone.

The change of power in 2020 became a paradigm shift: from a mission of creation to a ritual of denunciation. The new head, Sergey Kulikov, possessed neither the will nor the competence to save complex projects. They simply stopped feeding "Crocus." The project they had been dragging along was allowed to die. This was not a managerial decision, but administrative neglect.

During Kulikov’s entire tenure, "Rusnano" did not launch a single project comparable to "Crocus," moreover, it did not launch any new projects at all. The ability to fight the legacy turned out to be the only talent. The corporation turned into an office for liquidating its own past.

Failing to create anything new, the Kulikov team is making its star turn — a 12-billion-ruble lawsuit. This is a brilliant simulation of activity: if you can’t build the future, organize a loud trial of the past. But the lawsuit targets only the executors.

Where in the list of defendants are the members of the independent STC who gave scientific sanction? Where are the ministers from the 2011 Supervisory Board who approved the investments? Where is Kulikov himself, whose inaction is simply criminal?

They are not there. The system is judging not itself, but its former hired managers who did what it itself sanctioned.

The price of the "Crocus" failure is more than 12 billion — it consists of two sums.

The first — 12 billion rubles. This is the amount of the lawsuit the state is bringing against its own former agents for executing its own decision.

The second — silence. The silence of fifteen hundred former employees, afraid for themselves. And the voluntary silence of the public field, where even figures like Alexey Venediktov, acknowledging the "state involvement," refuse analysis, preferring to broadcast the narrative dictated by the Presidential Administration about "just retribution against the thieving Chubaisites."

The state machinery is buying with these 12 billion not only a ritual sacrifice but also universal, deafening consent that there is no one and no reason left to ask questions about the nature of this failure.

Meanwhile, the global MRAM market, just like 15 years ago, continues to grow. Only Russia, from a potential player, has finally turned into a side spectator of an expensive court trial over its own past.

This is the final, full cost of systemic collapse.

Maria Sharapova