Volodya has a deranged, nostalgic view of past Russian might.  He yearns for a return to “the good old days” and seems hell bent on trying to recreate them.  While the rest of the world knows Communism with a capital C, aka the Kremlin mafia, failed completely and put the Russian bear on a stringent diet of becoming just another poor Third World oil country, this old KGB psychotic murderer lives in the past.  Only there can he flee from his own mortality; only there can he delude himself into thinking that Russia can return to greatness.

The irony is that Putin lives in the past but ignores any obligations Russia incurred there.  If I remember correctly, the Ukraine turned over all the nukes found within the borders of the new country to Russia and allowed the latter country to maintain its bases there on the condition that Russia would always respect Ukrainian independence.  I guess Volodya figures he didn’t sign that agreement, so he doesn’t have to adhere to it.  He pretty much does what he wants to do—he’s used to getting his own way as Grand Poobah of the Shirtless Universe.  Moreover, he’s as slippery as the oil and perspiration on those abs, and also the Russian chessmaster of doublespeak.  He lives so much in the past he thinks 2014 is 1984, although he probably never read the book—he had all the ideas he needed from the KGB.

Of course, this is consistent with how most Russians think.  You see, Russia was never great in the past and never will be great in the future until Russians come to the realization that they have to take responsibility for their own destiny and not depend on their megalomaniac leaders to tell them how to behave and live their lives.  That whole vast geopolitical area never even entered the 19^th century, let alone the 21^st.  As a collection of numerous ethnicities, many not liking the others, it has depended on strong rulers to bring some semblance of order into chaos.

But democracy is chaotic.  Here in the U.S., in spite of recent setbacks, one often hears, “I disagree with what you’re saying, but I’ll defend to the death your right to say it.”  In Russia, and most of the region it tyrannizes, all you’ll most likely hear, is, “I disagree with what you’re saying, our great leader won’t like it, so shut up or you’re dead.”  Coercion and oppression characterize Russian governments, from the Tsars to the Marxist-Leninists to Vladimir Putin.  Trotsky, a fervent believer in the big C’s distortion of bankrupt Marxist ideology, was hunted down and killed in Mexico, not because he was ideologically impure, but because he was perceived to be a danger to other Russian leaders.

The Kremlin mafia, irrespective of ideological trappings, doesn’t tolerate dissent—and never did.  From Trotsky, they have progressed to Putin’s poison-tipped umbrellas used in a London payback, but, whatever the methods, you buck that mafia only if you’re willing to become a soon-to-be-forgotten Russian martyr, forgotten because their martyrs are written out of their history books in the belief that will keep others in line.  Any differences between Putin and Hitler, Stalin, Pinochet, the Castros, Chavez, the Ayatollahs, Idi Amin, and other dictators are inconsequential compared to their similarities—they’re all murderous fascists.  Coercion and oppression—that’s the Russian way.  I should add murder to that list.  That makes three, the holy Russian trinity, the true religion of fascism everywhere.

I’m not writing in the abstract here.  During my sojourn in South America, I met several people who had studied in the Soviet Union.  Some nearly went crazy living in that police state.  Others stayed true to their Marxist ideology, but thought a Latin American version 2.0 was more appropriate (Allende espoused this in Chile—the CIA and Pinochet never gave him a chance).  Others became socialists, progressives, libertarian-look-alikes, or even right-wingers.  All were warped by their stay in Russia.  In contrast to present sympathizers in the U.S., who are often lively, boisterous, naïve, in-your-face radicals, protesting for protest’s sake and solving no problems, but immensely enjoying themselves within their mutual admiration groups of youthful exuberance, the Soviet Union had turned most of those Latin ex-exchange students I met into quiet husks of creatures only resembling a human being, cocoons without any potential butterflies inside.

Human nature often sucks, and Russian leaders often maximally.  Anyone that thinks that we should be able to just get along, love one another, and follow some communist ideal taken from the scriptures (that’s a small c, by the way, for you arch-conservative Rush Limbaugh types) should have had the opportunity to meet those ex-students.  It’s very noble and a lot of wishful thinking to believe that we can create a utopia, but the truth is, unless we’re very careful, numerous asses like Vladimir Putin will take the other cheek you turn and stick a knife in it right into your brain.  Volodya only believes in God to the extent that he considers himself to be that old gentleman.  Like dictators everywhere, Putin has the ego to believe he’s infallible and that he knows what’s best for the Russian people.

The sad thing is that most Russian citizens also believe that of Putin, a misplaced nostalgia if there ever was one.  That is why we have to be careful about military intervention.  In a previous post, I outlined some non-military actions that could and should be taken.  Beyond that, what can we do if Russians are so masochistic that they believe Volodya is their lord and savior?  We cannot force an entire population to become sane when they have effectively suffered government-sponsored lobotomies over centuries and are now playing the role of lemmings marching toward the cliffs of worldwide disdain.

Perhaps you have watched the TV series The Walking Dead?  This is a good description of the Russian people.  They’re a nation of zombies—past, present, and future, it seems.  In general, I feel sorry for them.  But they’re the ones who tolerate this kind of abuse, who live these kind of delusions, so I also blame them.  Ukrainians might have come to their senses.  I don’t have much hope for Russians.  I can’t say I ever did.  And now I think I’ll go read some Chekhov.  The sane Russians are six-sigma exceptions—enjoy them when you find them.

And so it goes….

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