Disclaimer: I am not a trained body language analyst.

That said, I would very much like to take a stab at the picture that accompanied the RFE/RL report on the U.S.-Russia meeting at Riyadh today, wherein the participants were supposed to have begun taking the first baby steps toward negotiating a peaceful solution to the war in Ukraine.

From the perspective of a lifelong people-watcher, I see, first, an immovable object (Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov); second, an old Soviet hardliner with a really bad hairpiece (Russian foreign policy adviser Ushakov); and finally, a terrified U.S. Secretary of State Rubio, looking heavenward and saying a silent prayer to get him the hell out of this Godforsaken place.

(In all fairness, everyone seems to be gazing at something above eye level; but check out Rubio’s intertwined fingers, hands clasped in front of him in a defensive position, and his scared-shitless facial expression. He looks like the sole virgin in a roomful of old prostitutki.)

*. *. *

But seriously, folks . . .

All of the participants traveled for many hours over long distances to meet in (supposedly) neutral territory, where they spent just four hours to achieve . . . what?

Both sides seemed to agree that further steps were necessary, that they were in favor of continuing meetings, and that lunch was delicious.

You’re correct . . . I made that last part up. But there isn’t much else to report. The Russian side repeated its demands, while U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio said that the talks were “the first step of a long and difficult journey,” and that the two delegations had agreed on four principles: fully restoring their respective diplomatic missions in Washington and Moscow; appointing a high-level team to negotiate an end to the war in Ukraine; exploring further “geopolitical and economic cooperation that could result from an end to the conflict in Ukraine”; and ensuring that the delegations present today will remain engaged in discussions moving forward. [RFE/RL, February 18, 2025.]

In other words, Putin’s “time out” punishment — consisting primarily of ever-increasing sanctions over the past three years — is nearly over, and, like a spoiled child holding his breath until he turns blue, he is about to be rewarded for his tantrum by being given pretty much everything he wants.

Russian Foreign Minister Lavrov (a.k.a. “The Great Stone Face”) had less to offer. He called the meeting “very useful,” and said:

“I have every reason to believe that the American side understands our position” . . . adding that the Kremlin would aim to appoint a special envoy as soon as possible. [Id.]

Whatever that means.

He did add a few non-specific phrases, such as “practically agreed,” “a mutual desire,” “after that,” and the like, but tossed in a “completely unacceptable” with regard to any potential deployment of NATO troops to Ukraine.

*. *. *

There was also a brief comment from Kirill Dmitriev, head of Russia’s sovereign wealth fund, who was part of the Russian delegation but not included in the high-level meeting. He told Russian state-operated TV Channel One:

“A very positive, constructive dialogue has begun. Unlike the Biden administration, which never tried to hear Russia’s position, this was a very clear effort to start dialogue, understand Russia’s position and discuss the things we agree upon. There are many points we agree on … we got to know each other much better … we understand each other much better now.” [Vitaliy Shevchenko, BBC Monitoring, February 18, 2025.]

Translation: Biden held a strong position against the Russian autocracy, whereas Trump is Putin’s patsy.

*. *. *

Meanwhile, back in Moscow . . .

What would a report on Russia be without a word from Putin’s favorite mouthpiece, Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov, who had this to say to reporters today:

“A comprehensive long-term settlement is impossible without a comprehensive consideration of security issues on the continent.” He meant Russia’s security, of course. He then gratuitously added that Vladimir Putin would be open to talks with Ukrainian President Volodymyr Zelensky “if necessary.” [RFE/RL, op.cit.]

That seems to be a step forward from Putin’s recent refusals to talk to Zelensky, whom he considers to be an “illegitimate” president. But could you possibly be any more condescending, Dima?

*. *. *

So, to sum it all up: The highly-anticipated meeting at Riyadh was, in fact, much ado about nothing.

Millions of taxpayer dollars (and rubles) were spent on sending these people to a conference that resulted in a tentative agreement to try to come to a more substantive agreement at some future date . . . we hope.

21st Century international diplomacy at work.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/18/25

Why go to all the bother of negotiating and arranging the release of a prisoner from a Siberian penal colony when you can simply snatch someone from a Moscow airport, charge him with drug smuggling, hold him for ten days, and then offer him up as a token of good will toward your best friend in Washington?

That seems to be Vladimir Putin’s way of thinking this week. Because word was received early this morning of the release of one Kalob Wayne Byers, said to be safely tucked away now at the U.S. Embassy in Moscow while awaiting a flight home to the U.S. And all, apparently, out of the goodness of Putin’s heart.

Did anyone even know Byers had been arrested? Possibly . . . though it doesn’t seem to have made the news reports at the time. It appears that he was detained when customs officials allegedly found cannabis-laced marmalade in his baggage — a rather innovative violation that carries a prison sentence of up to seven years. [RFE/RL, February 18, 2025.]

How fortunate for Byers that his arrival in Moscow coincided with the current attempts underway to improve U.S.-Russian relations . . . otherwise known as the renewal of the Trump-Putin bromance of yesteryear. At another time, Byers and his marmalade would have been “toast.”

I suppose we’re meant to take this as a hopeful sign for the future of negotiations concerning Ukraine. But don’t be fooled; it’s nothing more than a “red herring” (and yes, there is a Russian phrase for that) — designed to distract the world from what’s really going on behind the scenes.

And frankly, it stinks.

But — looking at the bright side — at least I didn’t have to add Mr. Byers’ name to my long-term hostage list.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/18/25

Remember the scene from “Carrie,” where the hand pops up from Carrie’s grave and grabs Sue’s arm, dragging her downward? How, just before that happens, you know something terrifying is coming because . . . well, because it’s a Stephen King story? And how, even though you know, and you’re anticipating something shocking, you still jump, and maybe even scream?

Well, that’s what life has felt like lately: I keep waiting for that hand to spring up again.

And every day, there is some new, unimaginable horror: an attack on the Treasury; the takeover of the Kennedy Center; the appointment of a totally incompetent wacko as head of Health and Human Services; wholesale firings of employees who have done nothing wrong; convicted felons being pardoned and released from prison; an army of thugs demanding access to the most confidential information in the government’s records . . . and a complete reversal of international policies that have succeeded in staving off a third world war for the past 80 years.

And just as you think it can’t get any worse . . . it does.

*. *. *

First, a little history:

“On April 6, 1933, the Nazi German Student Association’s Main Office for Press and Propaganda announced a nationwide initiative ‘against the un-German spirit,’ climaxing in a literary Sauberung, or cleansing, by fire. Local chapters of the group were charged with the distribution of literary blacklists that included Jewish, Marxist, Socialist, anti-family, and anti-German literature and planned grand ceremonies for the public to gather and dispose of the objectionable material.” [“The Empty Library,” Wikipedia.]

The following month, on May 10, 1933, some 40,000 people gathered at the Opernplatz (now known as the Bebelplatz) in central Berlin to watch 5,000 German students, carrying burning torches, march past them to set fire to a pile of books that had been collected for the event. Joseph Goebbels, Germany’s Reich Minister of Propaganda, spoke to the crowd, saying that:

“ . . . the era of exaggerated Jewish intellectualism is now at an end … and the future German man will not just be a man of books … this late hour [I] entrust to the flames the intellectual garbage of the past.” [Id.]

It was just the first of 35 book burnings to take place across Germany that month.

I have stood at that spot, gazing down at the barren underground shelves that commemorate that night of horror under the Nazi regime. It would take another 12 years, and a world war of indescribable death and destruction, before that regime and its leader — Adolph Hitler — would be defeated.

The book burnings were just the beginning.

*. *. *

In comparison to recent events in the United States, the following incident may seem insignificant. But viewed in the context of history, it is anything but that.

Julianne Moore is a noted American actress who has also written a series of children’s books — known as the “Freckleface Strawberry” series — the first of which has been adapted into a musical that premiered in New York in 2010. It was written for her young son when he expressed dissatisfaction with some facet of his personal appearance, and tells the story of a girl (herself) who is teased about her freckles and wishes to be rid of them, but eventually learns to accept them.

Moore grew up in a military family, and is a graduate of the Frankfurt American High School operated by the U.S. Department of Defense. And now her books have been banned by the Trump Administration from all schools operated by the Defense Department.

The official synopsis for the first book reads:

“If you have freckles, you can try these things: 1) Make them go away. Unless scrubbing doesn’t work. 2) Cover them up. Unless your mom yells at you for using a marker. 3) Disappear. Um, where’d you go? Oh, there you are. There’s one other thing you can do: 4) LIVE WITH THEM! Because after all, the things that make you different also make you, YOU.” [Jack Dunn, Variety, February 16, 2025.]

In response to the news that her sweet children’s books promoting self-acceptance had been banned by the Trump administration, Moore had this to say:

“‘Freckleface Strawberry’ is a semi-autobiographical story about a seven year old girl who dislikes her freckles but eventually learns to live with them when she realizes that she is different ‘just like everybody else.’ It is a book I wrote for my children and for other kids to remind them that we all struggle, but are united by our humanity and our community.” [Id.]

What could be more innocent? And why would a children’s book even warrant the attention of the White House?

Because it promotes uniqueness, acceptance, and — by extension — the dreaded DEI: Diversity, Equity, and Inclusion. Something that Donald Trump, somewhere in the dark, deluded depths of his impenetrable mind, has deemed to be a threat to mankind and must therefore be stamped out. That’s why.

We haven’t started burning books yet. But isn’t this how it begins?

Welcome to 1933, America.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/18/25

February 1993. It was the fulfillment of a long-held dream: an evening at the legendary Bolshoi Theatre in Moscow. And we were late.

My colleague Kate and I were in Moscow on business for just a week, and we had managed, through our hotel concierge, to get tickets — at “foreigner prices” (which, of course, meant expensive) — for a weeknight performance of the Russian opera “Prince Igor.” I would have preferred a ballet, but what the hell . . . it was the Bolshoi! They could have performed a British Punch & Judy puppet show, for all I cared. I was going to the Bolshoi!

And so, dressed in our finest, we set out into the bitter cold, snowy February night with our intrepid Vitold as our driver . . . who, in his eagerness to get us to the theater on time, managed to get himself stopped by the GAI — the Moscow traffic police — for speeding. This was nothing new to Vitold; I believe most of the local traffic cops knew him by his first name. But of all nights!

When we finally arrived at the theater, the performance had already begun. And although our high-priced tickets were for seats in the orchestra section, we were not allowed to go to our assigned places as it would have been disruptive to the performers. So we were instructed to go “upstairs” until the first intermission.

Okay, I get it. Rules are rules, and this one didn’t seem unfair. So up we went . . . one flight, where we were told, “Again.” And another flight, where yet another attendant said, “Again.” And a third, a fourth, and an astonishing fifth, where — totally winded and becoming more than a little exasperated — we finally reached the “nosebleed” section and were allowed to find a couple of seats with a wonderful view of the crystal chandelier.

And there we were, without opera glasses (because who knew we’d need them?), packed into the cheap seats among the local opera lovers who couldn’t afford the lower tiers and were grateful to be there at all.

With their children.

In our Western evening dress, we stood out like a couple of . . . well . . . “rich” Americans among everyday Russians. But no one seemed to mind; they were immersed in the wondrous spectacle down below, and the soaring strains of Aleksandr Borodin’s music. Including the children.

And that, to me, was the best part of the evening. I could not imagine the average American youngster being dragged to an evening at the opera, much less appreciating it. Yet here were these boys and girls, ranging in age from perhaps eight to eighteen, thrilled to be at the Bolshoi, lapping up the culture . . . and with their parents, no less!

“Where had we Americans gone wrong with our children’s cultural education?” I wondered. And I still do.

When the first act ended, and we were able to take our seats in the orchestra section — after first mingling with the crowd and imbibing some champagne during the intermission, of course — I was almost disappointed. I missed seeing the rapt expressions on those beautiful Russian children’s faces.

Because those people — the ones in the cheap seats in nosebleed territory — they were the hoi polloi, the real Russians. And they still are . . . the ones who want — as we all do — to live in peace, to work at meaningful jobs, to have a little fun on their days off, and to raise their children in a world where they are free to hope and strive for an even better future for the next generation.

And that evening, I got to experience the best of both worlds: mingling with those good, ordinary, everyday Russian people, while seated at the pinnacle of Russian culture . . . the Bolshoi Theatre.

That night, at the Bolshoi, I was truly blessed.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/17/25

And I’m sorry, but this is all I have to offer for now.

Maybe you should check back with me later.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/17/25

I love British TV. I just finished watching — for the umpteenth time — an episode of “Midsomer Murders” wherein “Seth,” a rather downtrodden resident of one of the many quirky Midsomer villages, tries to scam the locals into believing the mythical “Beast of Midsomer” has returned, as he attempts to explain a series of grisly murders. His intent is to capitalize on people’s gullibility and their willingness to believe in legends such as the Loch Ness Monster.

So he spreads the word that, according to something he calls the “Midsomer Chronicles” from the 17th Century (which, of course, are also fictitious):

“When badness come, so will The Beast.”

Well, of course, “Midsomer Murders” is fiction, so eventually the real killer is caught, and poor Seth — who is not the perpetrator as you might have expected — suffers a bit of embarrassment.

But think about what he said:

“When badness come, so will The Beast.”

If you read the daily news, you can’t possibly miss all the “badness” that has come — for some years now, surely, but at a terrifying rate in the past month alone. Because that’s when “The Beast” . . . in this case, a two-headed demon . . . arrived to take over — not only a country that has been the bulwark of democracy and freedom for nearly 250 years — but the whole damned world to boot.

And we are damned . . . because we are doing nothing about it. And if we don’t do something to stop it, we are all — the whole world — doomed.

*. *. *

When Welsh writer and poet Dylan Thomas penned the immortal lines:

“Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light . . .”

. . . he was thinking of his aging father and dreading the idea that the older man might soon die.

But the same advice — not to give in, but to fight for every minute of life — can easily be applied to the “dying of the light” that is facing our world today. Are we meant to simply give in to the mad ambitions of a handful of sociopaths, and thereby be thrust into a repeat of the Dark Ages?

Or are we meant to unite, and to find the legal, non-violent means to save ourselves?

It all comes down to us . . . “We, the People” . . . to keep the light alive. But is even our Constitution safe in the hands of the person who just fired the director of the National Archives — where this treasured document is preserved — not for cause, but out of revenge for a past dispute?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/17/25

One year ago today, famed Russian dissident Alexei Navalny died under mysterious circumstances in the Siberian penal colony known as Polar Wolf.

Revered by his followers as the face and voice of Russia’s hope for the future, honored by the Western opponents of Vladimir Putin’s tyrannical rule, and finally mourned after his passing in spite of Putin’s attempts to prevent public displays in his honor . . . today, his name is seldom heard in Russia.

His widow, Yulia Navalnaya, continues her attempts to keep his Anti-Corruption Foundation — now renamed ACF International — operating from exile in Europe to rally the Russian people as her husband once did.

But there is little evidence of success, thanks to Putin’s crackdown on all forms of dissent. The Kremlin has gone so far as to prosecute Russians for the public display of Navalny’s image, calling it an “extremist symbol.”

And without Navalny’s leadership, his ACF has been unable to gather the support they had when he was alive.

Ben Noble, assistant professor of Russian politics at University College London, has said that the struggles of Navalny’s associates are “a reflection of the fact that Navalny’s gone. Navalny, clearly, for his charisma, his eloquence, his obstinacy, his bravery, all of those qualities, he stood out. Even though [Navalnaya] said that she vowed to take on her husband’s work, we haven’t seen her or anybody else rise as a sort of central leading figure.” [Steve Gutterman, RFE/RL, February 16, 2025.]

“Still,” he added, “it’s far too early to write off Team Navalny.” [Id.]

*. *. *

Navalny himself, in his posthumously-published memoir “Patriot,” predicted that he would die behind bars. “I’ll be missing from all photos,” he wrote. And Putin is doing everything in his power to fulfill that prophecy — not only by having made sure that his nemesis did indeed die while in prison, but now by punishing people simply for holding his photo or speaking his name. [Id.]

*. *. *

My heart has been twice broken for this remarkable man: first, when he died a year ago; and now, when I realize that all of his effort, his devotion, his unflagging courage may have been for nought.

Why does it so often happen in real life that the good guys don’t win?

Requiescat in pace, Alexei Navalny. You did your best.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/16/25

At last, two names have been scratched from the list: American Marc Fogel and Belarusian journalist Andrey Kuznechyk, both released last week in an unexpected move engineered by Vladimir Putin and Donald Trump.

The reasons were political, but the result was one to celebrate: the two hostages are back at home with their families after an unimaginable multi-year ordeal. Welcome home, Marc and Andrey.

Now we need to continue work on retrieving those remaining in prison:

*. *. *

David Barnes
Ales Bialiatski (in Belarus)
Gordon Black
Andrei Chapiuk (in Belarus)
Marc Fogel
Robert Gilman
Stephen James Hubbard
Ksenia Karelina
Ihar Karney (in Belarus)
Vadim Kobzev
Andrey Kuznechyk (in Belarus)
Uladzimir Labkovich (in Belarus)
Michael Travis Leake
Aleksei Liptser
Ihar Losik (in Belarus)
Daniel Martindale
Farid Mehralizada (in Azerbaijan)
Marfa Rabkova (in Belarus)
Igor Sergunin
Dmitry Shatresov
Robert Shonov
Eugene Spector
Valiantsin Stafanovic (in Belarus)
Siarhei Tsikhanouski (in Belarus)
Laurent Vinatier
Robert Romanov Woodland
Vladislav Yesypenko (in Crimea)
Yuras Zyankovich (in Belarus)

*. *. *

And again, in the hope that he may actually see it one day, I reiterate my message to Donald Trump:

“Amidst all of the hubbub of your new administration, it is imperative that these innocent men and women not be forgotten. Negotiations for their safe release have been underway for some time. President Joe Biden succeeded in bringing home 16 innocent people on August 1st of last year, and you have added two others to that list. But you should be trying to do even more. Whatever else you do, this should be high on your list of priorities. The people you promised to represent are counting on you.”

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/16/25

Yes, I know . . . when you think of Russians, your first thought isn’t usually about how witty they are. Unless, of course, you’re thinking of Yakov Smirnoff, who is freakin’ hilarious.

The Russian people do, of course, have their own brand of humor — much of it satirical and geared toward political issues. But I find them to be at their funniest when they’re trying to be dead serious, as when Kremlin spokesman Dmitry Peskov spouts his daily ration of horse manure for the world to swallow.

Or consider their everyday manner of expressing themselves. Every language has its nuances, its slang expressions, and its dirty talk, of course. But if there were to be a worldwide contest to name the most varied and — let’s be honest here — the most obscene, the Russian lexicon would win hands-down. Making vodka and declaring war aren’t the only things they’re good at.

Allow me to enlighten you . . .

I have this delightful little book titled “What They Didn’t Teach You in Russian Class.” ** It’s chock full of useful — and some not-so-useful — phrases to carry you through the average day in Moscow, Omsk, or Novosibirsk. The book is arranged by categories, so let’s start with the section on “Acquaintances, coworkers, and enemies.”

** By Erin Coyne and Igor Fisun, Ulysses Press, 2008, 2017.

This one is useful, but not if you want to live much longer:

“All broads are wenches.”

Why the authors think a visitor to Russia would need to know how to say that is beyond me; perhaps they were just trying to give us some insight into the mind of the average (or below average) Russian male. And by the way, there is also a Russian word for guys who say things like that, but it has 19 letters and 10 syllables, so you don’t really want to bother because you’re never going to use it anyway.

But here’s one that might be likely to come up in daily conversation over the water cooler at work: “My boss pays me under the table.” And the reason the boss does that is probably because:

“My manager is sleeping with his secretary.”

And one more for the workplace: “Their CEO was arrested last week for fraud.”

My advice: Quit that job. Now.

*. *. *

After a day at the office, there’s nothing quite so refreshing (or so they tell me) as a trip to a Russian banya, or steambath, where — according to my little book, “It’s fun to hang out naked with your friends.” Yeah? Well, they obviously haven’t seen my friends.

But besides the naked thing, I decided it would probably be best to skip the banya after reading that the following sentences might come in handy:

“Hey, Vasya, could you beat me with that branch a little more?”

And: “Now that we’ve steamed up, let’s go jump in the snow!”

Or my favorite: “He drank too much vodka and steamed himself to death.”

Holy crap!

*. *. *

According to the authors of this priceless little tome, if you ask a Russian why they’re sick, they’ll most likely blame it on the weather, the atmospheric pressure, or “the fact that they sat on concrete under a clear sky while not wearing a hat.” The authors’ words, not mine. And here are some examples:

“He got sick because he wasn’t wearing a hat.”

”One hundred grams of vodka with pepper will cure anything.” (Note: In my personal experience, I have found that 100 grams of vodka — although it might not actually cure you — will likely ensure that you don’t give a damn how sick you are.)

How about this: “Someone must have given me the evil eye, because I’ve been getting sick a lot lately.” (Not actually weather-related, but having grown up with four Russian grandparents, I can attest to the variety of their superstitions.)

Here’s one I don’t recommend trying: “My aunt cured her cancer with special herbal tea.”

And a really scary one: “If you sit on concrete, your ovaries will freeze.” (I’m not sure what they tell the little boys, and frankly, I’d rather not think about it.)

My maternal grandmother didn’t talk about ovaries, but she used to say that if I sat on cold concrete, I would get “piles” (hemorrhoids). It took 60 years for me to find out she knew what she was talking about.

*. *. *

Now here’s a useful chapter . . . on STDs (sexually-transmitted diseases, not short-term disability). In Russian, they’re called BPPPs — and you really don’t want me to spell all that out for you. Putting aside the nasty things that might be said by someone who has caught a BPPP, there are two sentences that you conceivably might — though hopefully not — find useful:

“Do you need a prescription for penicillin in Russia?” and “Where can I find a doctor who treats venereal disease?”

Moving right along now . . .

We come to the dirty stuff. In Russia, there are more ways to tell someone to go f*** themselves than there are North Korean soldiers in Ukraine. If you want to know all of them, you’ll have to buy the book. But I found one in the list that I had actually used once, on my very first trip to Russia in 1988. Some sleazy character in Moscow tried to convince me his car was a taxi (it wasn’t), and offered to drive me to my destination (the U.S. Embassy) for $50 U.S. dollars (which was an outrageous amount, besides being illegal). When he wouldn’t take no for an answer, I used the one phrase I had taken the trouble to learn for just such an occasion: “Yob tvoyu mat.”

In other words, I told him to do something unspeakable to his mother. And it worked. He gave up and walked away . . . at which point the little old man who had been standing nearby witnessing the exchange stepped closer, began patting me on the shoulder, saying (in Russian, of course): “Good for you! No taxi. No dollars. Good for you!”

*. *. *

I loved my time in Russia. But it wouldn’t be the same now, as evidenced (as if we need more evidence) by the inclusion of this sentence in the little book:

“Putin khuilo” — “Putin is a dickhead.”

I think this might be a good place to stop.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/15/25

I read late last night that Trump administration officials had fired more than 300 staffers on Thursday at the National Nuclear Security Administration — the agency charged with managing the U.S. nuclear stockpile — as part of cutbacks in the Department of Energy (DOE).

It seems they didn’t know that the agency oversees our nuclear weapons. [Rene Marsh and Ella Nilsen, CNN, February 14, 2025.]

According to the DOE, the number of affected personnel is in dispute; fewer than 50 people were discharged, and they held “primarily administrative and clerical roles.” The terminations were being rescinded as of Friday morning. [Id.]

But I don’t give a flying fig if we’re talking about 300 or 50 people; that they got their jobs back the very next day; or how many apologies are offered for the screw-up.

I do care that an army of total incompetents has been brought in to take charge of our government — people with little or no experience, and obviously no conscience; who have been neither elected nor, apparently, properly vetted; but who have sworn allegiance to Donald Trump and/or Elon Musk. Because that’s all it takes to get a job in Washington these days, while thousands of loyal, experienced workers are being given the boot.

I didn’t sleep last night, and I may never again have a good night’s rest. How about you?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
2/15/25