… on May 15, 1988, Soviet troops began their withdrawal from Afghanistan following a more than eight-year occupation.

The human and economic cost to the Soviet Union had proven unsustainable, in no small part due to the intervention of America’s CIA, who helped to support the Afghan Mujahideen faction, with financing authorized by the U.S. Congress. ** Finally, Russian leader Mikhail Gorbachev made the decision to end the war that Westerners were referring to as “Russia’s Vietnam.”

** For the gripping story of the involvement of U.S. Congressman Charlie Wilson and CIA operative Gust Avrakotos in engineering America’s continued support for Afghanistan, I recommend George Crile’s book, “Charlie Wilson’s War.” (The Tom Hanks film is also well worth watching — but then, I think anything Tom Hanks does is superb. Just sayin’...)

*. *. *

Some two years later, that defeat was still an extremely sore subject for the Soviet government . . . and I unexpectedly found myself in the happy circumstance of being able to rub it in a little.

It was April of 1990, and I was in London with a team from our Washington law firm, co-sponsoring a conference on doing business in the Soviet Union and Eastern Europe. Included among the honored speakers was one Dmitry (last name irrelevant), who was a highly-placed official with the USSR Ministry of Foreign Affairs.

Let me give you a brief description of Dmitry. He was well into his 60s, white-haired, with a circumference around the waist that nearly equaled his height, and very full of himself. When he was introduced to me as the member of our team who spoke Russian, he was sure he had found his companion for the week. I guess he also liked redheads.

Fat chance, Dmitry! I spent the next four days trying to avoid him, with a fair amount of success, until the end-of-conference cocktail party at the hotel where the conference had been held and where we had all been housed.

Dmitry had been hitting the sauce pretty hard, and was trying to talk me into accompanying him to a reception being given by the Soviet Ambassador at their London embassy, to which I had not been invited. I knew that would have been a major breach of protocol, and kept changing the subject. At one point, Dmitry said something snide about the U.S. debacle in Vietnam, which I found offensive coming from him. So I decided I’d had enough of being diplomatic, and said:

“I know that Vietnam was not our finest hour — sort of like Afghanistan for you.”

At which point, time seemed to stop. Dmitry didn’t move; he didn’t blink, he didn’t swallow, he didn’t draw a breath . . . he simply turned an alarming shade of red from the neck up. And when he finally gathered his wits about him, he straightened up, inhaled deeply, and bellowed:

“That is a strictly internal matter!”

Being a person of considerable authority back in Moscow, he most likely expected me to recoil in fear. But Dmitry knew nothing about American women in general, or me in particular. Instead of backing off, I took a couple of steps toward him, pulled myself up to my full five feet, two and a half inches in height, looked him square in the eyes, and said,

“Oh, really? Well, tell that to the Afghanis!”

Do you know those times when you can’t think of the perfect comeback until it’s too late, and you find yourself thinking “I should have said”? Well, this wasn’t one of those times; it was, instead, that rare instance of saying just the right thing, and being able to turn on my heel and walk away. And I cannot describe to you how good that felt.

*. *. *

Mercifully, I never saw Dmitry again. But I heard, from a colleague who had attended the Soviet Ambassador’s reception, that he had continued drinking into the evening, and completely disgraced himself. I’m only sorry I wasn’t there to see it.

I don’t know what happened to Dmitry after that trip to London, or if he’s even still alive . . . though I sometimes wonder if he remembered that evening as clearly as I still do. Considering the condition he was in, I somehow doubt it.

Peace, Dmitry. And thanks for the memory.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
5/15/25