Having a wonderful time reminiscing about all my past travel (and other) adventures. Hope you’ll share them with me in my blog, “All Roads Led to Russia.”
Wait a second . . . where’s Peskov? Dmitry, are you there? Dima? Okay, it is August; maybe he’s just on holiday. I hope so, because I miss seeing his face when these declarations are issued from the Kremlin. His delivery, the twinkle in his eyes when he spouts the official line du jour . . . Well, nobody does it like Dima.
Dmitry “Dima” Peskov
But on Monday we were treated to the presence of Russian presidential aide — and former (1998-2008) Russian Ambassador to the United States — Yuri Ushakov presenting us with the latest stand on peace talks between Russia and Ukraine. And that stand, in words of two syllables or fewer, is this:
“At this stage, given this venture (Kursk), we will not talk.” [Reuters, August 19, 2024.]
Yuri Ushakov
Well, no surprise there. Since Ukraine’s unexpected foray into Russian territory at Kursk on August 6th, things have not gone well for Vladimir Putin — not only militarily, but also in terms of his personal reputation as protector of the Motherland. He was caught completely unaware and unprepared, and has had to deal with two weeks (so far) of Ukraine’s successful attacks, placing Russia on the defensive and necessitating the unplanned shifting of troops from some of their offensive positions.
How annoying! How inconvenient! How humiliating!
“I don’t like surprises!”
According to Ambassador Ushakov, however, talks have not been permanently deep-sixed. Asked if Putin’s earlier peace talk proposals were now off the table, he replied:
“No, they have not been cancelled. But at this point, of course, it would be completely inappropriate to enter into any kind of negotiation process.” [Id.]
Sounds like stalling to me. I would imagine they’re having a bit of difficulty in the Kremlin, trying to figure out what to do next. Maybe they should try reversing direction . . .
Most of us are satisfied with living fairly ordinary lives. We strive toward different types and levels of success: a satisfying job that pays a decent living wage; a happy, healthy family; a minimum of bad luck.
Others are more driven to achieve greater levels of “success” — wealth, fame, power. Those are your captains of industry; movie, music and sports stars; world leaders. It’s all a matter of personal choice, unique to each individual according to his or her inborn nature and life experiences.
I feel that the world has enough movers and shakers. In fact, as far as I’m concerned, the Earth is moving and shaking a bit too fast for me ever to try to keep up. But there are those who are never satisfied, always seeking the next best thing, even if it’s not always something monumental.
To me, however, you know you’ve arrived when:
You can — and do — pay $19,000 for a pair of jeans. Now, who would do that? . . . I hear you ask. And I’ll tell you: lots of people with too much money and too much time on their hands. In this case, it was actress Blake Lively who gave in to the impulse. The denim pants were designed by Valentino, and are described as featuring thigh-to-heel cut-outs and hibiscus-shaped embroidery. They’re very cool-looking, actually, and look great on Blake. My thoughts on the price? First, that’s a pretty high profit margin for Valentino. But it’s your money, Blake, and I firmly support your right to spend it any way you choose. I do hope, though, that you at least donated an older garment — say, a $100 pair of Levis — to Salvation Army or Goodwill, so that some family trying to subsist on $19,000 a year can treat their teenage daughter to something special.
Blake Lively (R) and her Valentinos
Russia bans your foundation from operating on their territory. Congratulations, George and Amal Clooney. You have reached the pinnacle of success in life when you’ve been booted out by Vladimir Putin. I’m sorry the good people of Russia will not benefit from your largesse; but most of your contributions would likely have wound up in the wrong pockets anyway. There are plenty of other places that will welcome your good works.
George and Amal Clooney: Doing well, and doing good
You have a lifestyle that allows you to wear these kinds of nails. Clearly, these ladies won’t be washing dishes or changing diapers any time soon.
How would I write my blog with those nails?
Donald Trump claims you support him. Never mind that you’re the number one music celebrity in the world. Or that you’ve got a great family and a killer boyfriend. Or that you’re a savvy businesswoman worth a cool billion. Those all fade into meaninglessness alongside the fact that Donald Trump thinks you are valuable as propaganda for his campaign of lies. And it doesn’t matter that — like most of what he says — not a word of it is true. You have made it, girl! The Donald likes you!
All I can say is . . . better you than me. He just wants the votes from your fans, anyway.
Taylor and the Swifties
*. *. *
And in my case, . . .
When your pharmacist calls you by your first name because you now have more ongoing prescriptions than any of their other customers. Then you know you’ve arrived . . . at official old age.
Of course, it’s still better than the alternative.
Somehow, I’ve always pictured a Chechen warlord as something like this:
Or this:
Or even this:
But I certainly never expected to see him riding in on anything like this:
So imagine my surprise when I learned that Chechen leader Ramzan Kadyrov had taken delivery of a brand-spanking-new Tesla Cybertruck. And then, of course, gussied it up by mounting — in plain sight on the rear hatch — a real live machine gun. Because in Chechnya, you can do that. Then he published a video of himself driving the vehicle, which he says he plans to send to Russian forces on the battlefields in Ukraine. The truck, not the video. [Christian Edwards, CNN, August 19, 2024.]
Great idea! One well-aimed drone, and there goes your Marvelous Machine — not to mention the driver and the gunner. Oh, well . . . easy come, easy go.
Kadyrov says the Tesla was sent to him by “the strongest genius of our time”:none other than Elon Musk himself. [Id.]
Okay, truth: I’m not sure whether I’m laughing at the idea of Musk actually supplying Kadyrov with a Cybertruck (or anything else) . . . or at Kadyrov’s description of Musk as “the strongest genius of our time.” Either way, my abs got some good exercise today.
Musk, of course, denies giving the vehicle to Kadyrov:
“Are you seriously so retarded that you think I donated a Cybertruck to a Russian general?” he wrote on X. [Id.]
Well, I certainly hope not!
In his video, Kadyrov is shown driving the Tesla through an empty square in the capital city of Grozny, then exiting the truck and standing behind the machine gun with an ammunition belt draped around his neck.
He speaks:
“We received a Tesla Cybertruck from the respected Elon Musk. I was happy to test the new equipment and personally saw that there’s a reason that it is called the ‘Cyberbeast’ . . . [calling it “invulnerable,” “fast,” “comfortable,” and “maneuverable.”] Based on such excellent characteristics, the Cybertruck will soon be sent to the special military operation zone. I am sure that this ‘beast’ will bring a lot of benefit to our fighters.” [Id.]
Oh, I’m sure he’s right . . . for about five minutes. But again, about that Ukrainian drone . . .
Ramzan Kadyrov
Judging from that silly grin, I don’t think he believes me. I don’t really care what he believes; but I do wonder what Elon Musk thinks about sending one of his creations into battle.
Every now and then, when the headlines aren’t terribly exciting and I’m stumped for interesting topics for my daily blog, I like to look back at earlier chapters that might bear re-posting. And I usually fall back on my very earliest tales of my own adventures in the late 1980s and early ‘90s, when I was fortunate enough to be traveling and working overseas, mainly in Prague and Moscow.
Those of you who weren’t following me back in early 2023 may wonder why my recent interests seem to center so greatly around Russia and Eastern Europe. So today I have taken an excerpt from Chapter 14, originally posted in March of ‘23, to give you an idea of what my life was like 30 years ago — far, far different from these retirement years.
Do I miss those times? Damned right, I do! Would I do it again? Only if I could turn the clock back — but not now; not in Putin’s Russia today. I’m all for a bit of adventure . . . but I’m not insane.
Here, then, is a teaser that will give you some idea of who I am . . . or once was.
*. *.. *
“‘Glasnost’ is on everyone’s lips, but the rules haven’t changed for either side.” — The Russia House, John le Carre (1989).
Scene from The Russia House
You know how sometimes you can go to a party expecting it to be a total drag, and end up having a wonderful time? Or on a blind date you’re really dreading, where it turns out you meet the love of your life? Well, my next event wasn’t a party or a date, but a simple get-together with an old acquaintance for a bit of pleasant conversation. I certainly never anticipated that that afternoon meeting would be one of the most significant turning points of my life.
“Viktor Akimov” — the commercial/economic First Secretary from the Soviet Embassy in Washington in the late 1970s and early ‘80s — was in fact Valentin Pavlovich Aksilenko. Everything else I’ve told you about him was factual, but I had originally thought to protect the privacy of some individuals by not naming them in my earlier narratives. However, since the stories I’m about to relate are already matters of public record, what would be the point? So, here we go . . .
Valentin Aksilenko
On one of my free afternoons during that week of February 14, 1993, I again met with Valentin Aksilenko in the business center of the Slavyanskaya Radisson Hotel in Moscow. As we had done the previous February, we caught up on world events of the past year, and what each of us had been doing. This time, though, Valentin dropped a seemingly offhand comment to the effect that he was so glad to be “out of intelligence work.”
EXCUSE ME??? I could not have heard that correctly! Were those really the words of a man who obviously had never admitted being in the intelligence field, now telling me how happy he was to be out of it? And why was he revealing it at this particular moment? And why to me?
It’s thought that if you want another person to keep talking, you should just keep quiet. So I did. But instead of continuing, he became still. Leaning forward in his chair, with his forearms resting on his legs, hands clasped between his knees, he stared at the carpeted floor for a seemingly endless moment, deep in thought. I waited, scarcely breathing. At last he sighed as though having made a crucial decision, sat up straight, and looked back at me. To paraphrase his next words:
“I have a friend here in Moscow who was also an intelligence officer at the Embassy in Washington. He’s secretly writing a book about his experiences as a KGB spy in the United States, but obviously he can’t get it published here. We were wondering if you know anyone in the publishing business, and if you think you could help us?”
And there it was: that exact moment in the movie of John le Carre’s The Russia House, when the Russian Katya Orlova delivers a manuscript from her scientist friend to be placed in the hands of the British publisher, Barley Blair, for publication in England because its content is too explosive to be released in Russia.
Only this wasn’t a movie; this was real. And it was happening to me, right then, and right there, in Moscow. Oh! My! God!
Slavyanskaya Radisson Hotel, Moscow – Where It All Began
It never ceases to amaze me how quickly the human brain can process information and make decisions in sink-or-swim situations. I reasoned that I had a choice between a flat-out “Sorry, no, I don’t” and a totally false “Actually, yes, I do.” But my brain, now in overdrive, told me there was a third option: stall. So what I finally said was that, in all honesty, I did not personally know anyone, but that I did know people in New York who might well have connections in publishing. And thereby I unknowingly altered the course of my future, as well as Valentin’s and his friend’s.
. . . that is, if there even was such a friend. He hadn’t mentioned the friend’s name. Wasn’t it just possible that Valentin himself might be this anonymous author, and the unidentified “friend” was merely a kind of misdirection? But there was no time for reasoning just then. I told him I would see what I could do, and left the thinking for later. We parted with a handshake and a promise to be in touch.
When Kate asked me at dinner how my meeting with my friend had gone, I said it had been really nice to see him again, and let it go at that. This was not the sort of information you share with the world. But I hardly slept that night, or for the next couple of nights. We left Moscow on Saturday morning, February 20th, arriving at Dulles International Airport in mid-afternoon Washington time — nighttime in Moscow. I was so exhausted by then — both mentally and physically — that I was in bed by 9:00 p.m. and actually did sleep, not waking until noon on Sunday, February 21st.
Yawning and stretching, I opened my apartment door, bent down to pick up the Sunday edition of the Washington Post, dropped it face-up on the kitchen counter, and headed toward the refrigerator for my customary wake-up glass of orange juice. And halfway there, I stopped dead in my tracks.
Something had caught my eye as that newspaper landed on the countertop. What was it . . . something about the KGB? Turning back, I focused on an article by Michael Dobbs, then the Post’s Moscow Bureau Chief, about a series of interviews given in Moscow — the last one just a few days earlier — by a former KGB Major named Yuri Shvets, who had served in the Soviet Embassy in Washington from 1985-87, and was now writing a tell-all book about his experiences there.
Washington Post, February 21, 1993
The words that came flying from my mouth as I stood alone in my kitchen that day are not fit for printing in this blog. Or anywhere else.
“That #&$*#$ has to be Valentin’s friend.”
“What the #$&%*$ is he doing??”
“Is he #$&#*$-ing INSANE????????”
Well, whoever he was — Valentin’s friend or, unlikely, some other lunatic — I was sure he had just signed his own death warrant. I reread the article and tried to calm down. Then I reached for the phone and dialed Valentin’s number in Moscow, where it was nearly 9:00 p.m. There had to be a logical explanation for this.
Yuri Shvets, in America
*. *. *
Please don’t yell at me for stopping here. It’s an ongoing story, with many twists and turns and some fun stuff in between, that will require about a dozen installments to write. So, like a 1940s radio soap opera (but all true), I must ask you to tune in next time for the continuing saga, etc., etc.
*. *. *
And that’s where Chapter 14 ends. I know . . . that’s so-o-o-o-o mean! But if things stay reasonably calm, and time permits, I promise to continue with subsequent installments. In fact, I can’t wait to reread them myself.
Meet Dixie, a mixed-breed rescue too smart for our good; and Cat, who doesn’t really have a name because she wouldn’t answer to it anyway.
Here you see them in a rare moment of togetherness, where Kitty appears to be giving Dixie a fuzzy-tongued facial scrub. Two minutes later, they were chasing each other around the house; but for this moment, all was peace and quiet.
*. *. *
More often than not, you’ll find Miss Kitty (as I call her) making herself at home in the box from the latest Amazon or UPS delivery. She has a lovely kitty condo, where she does enjoy climbing to the roof and looking out the window at the birds (and bunnies, and deer, and whatever) in the back yard. But given a choice, the box wins, hands down.
*. *. *
While Dixie, spoiled girl that she is, can often be found lying under my Rollator, waiting for her daily — or twice daily — “scratch,” which actually includes a full-body massage. And when I find exactly the right spot that needs a little extra work, like a shoulder or a hip, she’ll turn her head to look at me with gratitude, and give me air kisses.
*. *. *
And here she is in another favorite spot — bib already tied on — watching dinner being served and wondering why there’s never a place set for her at the table. Yeah, she looks starved, doesn’t she?
*. *. *
I just thought you’d like to see that, amongst all of the horrible things I write about on a daily basis, there is sanity in my life. The fur babies are really my son’s; but while everyone else is at work during the day, they’re all mine.
Well, Dixie is, anyway. Miss Kitty is, after all, a cat . . . which means she belongs to no one but herself. Except, of course, at dinnertime.
It was an event of monumental significance: the emergence of Aleksandr Dugin.
Aleksandr Dugin
Not that the 62-year old Russian self-styled political philosopher has been in hiding all these years. It’s just that, somehow, an interview with Tucker Carlson tends to bring one out into the open — warts and all. And I’ve got to tell you: this guy has more warts than a knot of toads.
As for Carlson, it isn’t necessary — nor do I care to devote the time and space — to go into details concerning his political viewpoints or his journalistic skills. He was hot off of that famously disastrous interview with Vladimir Putin last February when he sat down with Dugin to give it another try. And he hadn’t learned a thing. Rather than use the opportunity to question Dugin about his relationship with Putin, the progress of the war in Ukraine, the effect of sanctions on the Russian economy, or any other even vaguely significant topic, Carlson simply let him rant . . . occasionally nodding in agreement or tossing in a few words to trash his own country.
Dugin Interview With Tucker Carlson
Anyway, enough about Carlson. It’s Dugin who concerns me. He allegedly has Putin’s ear and his trust, at least to some extent — he has been called “Putin’s Brain” by some. And he is — to express it in the simplest of terms — a madman. He doesn’t merely support Russia’s invasion of Ukraine; he describes Ukrainians as “a race of degenerates who crept up from sewers and deserve to be eliminated through genocide.” [Julia Davis, CEPA, May 2, 2024.]
He has stated that, in his opinion, Russia’s occupation of Ukraine’s territories amounts to “opposition to the junta and Ukrainian Nazism that exterminates civilians.”
Wait a minute — who’s talking about exterminating civilians now? Who just used the word “genocide”?
And by the way, on behalf of my four Ukrainian grandparents . . . thanks a lot.
He said that he believes the West despises Putin, not because of the war in Ukraine, but because of his “values.” “Given someone with nuclear weapons is standing strong defending traditional values that you’re going to abolish, I think they have some basis for this Russophobia and the hatred for Putin.” [CEPA, id.]
“Putin the Great”
Dugin’s anger, his hatred, his vitriol know no bounds. America — in fact, all of the “Anglo-Saxon world” — is, in his twisted mind, the Antichrist, the purveyor of all evils . . . liberalism being at the top of the list.
In a later interview by Roman Golovanov on the Solovyov Live channel, Dugin claimed that Carlson had favorably compared his interview with an earlier sit-down with Hungarian Prime Minister Viktor Orban, and that Carlson “had praised both Dugin and Orban as representatives of a culture and a civilization that is ‘much deeper’ than that of the West.” [CEPA, id.]
Somehow, being compared with Viktor Orban does not strike me as a compliment. But to Dugin, I suppose it was.
Aleksandr Dugin is important to the Kremlin precisely because of his popularity as a vocal, and virulent, supporter of the war in Ukraine, of Putin’s extreme brand of conservatism, and of the current anti-Western trend in parts of Eastern Europe.
His diverse body of work includes some frightening subjects, such as “apocalypse, millenarianism, occultism, and the problematics of conservative revolution.” [Maxim Trudolyubov and Ekaterina Kotrikadze, Wilson Center: The Russia File, May 10, 2024.]
But in his views on liberalism, he claims that its “globalist” (his term) agenda “takes its unwitting followers away from the collective identities of old — the empire, the nation, the family, and a clearly defined gender. Through artificial intelligence . . . liberalism is threatening to break the last collective identity standing, human personhood itself.” [Id.]
And we haven’t even touched on his conspiracy theories, or his rabid antisemitism. After the terrorist attack on Moscow’s Crocus City Hall music venue last March, Dugin implied that Israel’s Mossad might be to blame: “We shouldn’t rule out any possibilities beforehand. For example, this could be the Zionists’ retaliation for Russia’s stance on Gaza.” [Id.]
Considering that four ISIS-K members from Tajikistan have been charged with that attack, that’s quite a leap. But it’s the way Dugin’s mind works.
ISIS-K Suspects
Nor did Carlson ask Dugin about matters of current importance such as repression in Russia, imprisonment of journalists and others for speaking against the war in Ukraine, or the mass flight of Russians under threat of criminal prosecution on similarly specious charges. Again, he simply let Dugin talk — apparently in all seriousness — about the threat of a robot uprising, and the need to return to traditional values and collectivism:
“We have no other option. Either Matrix, or Artificial Intelligence, or something or ‘Terminator.’ . . . Putin is a traditional leader, . . . someone with a nuclear weapon [who] stands strong defending traditional values.” [Id.]
You remember Sergeant Black, don’t you? He’s the American soldier who got himself caught in a Russian “honey trap” while stationed in South Korea, when his Russian girlfriend invited him to visit her in Vladivostok before returning to his home base in Texas . . . and he accepted. And somehow, he managed to forget about applying for the necessary clearance from the Army first.
In the Defendant’s Glass Box
But things apparently turned sour in the Russian Far East, and Sergeant Black ended up moving out of his honey’s apartment and into a local hotel. But first he seems to have “borrowed” $113 from her — again, without first asking permission, which has been a big problem for him. She also accused him of threatening to kill her, which he denied.
But he was out of reach of U.S. military justice, and instead was found guilty by a Russian court and sentenced to nearly four years in a penal colony.
Yesterday, the Primorsky Krai Court denied Black’s appeal, sending him back to prison to complete the terms of his sentence. According to his defense attorney, “the verdict did not rely on case materials, ignored evidence confirming Black’s innocence, and incorrectly interpreted his actions toward the victim.” [Reuters, August 19, 2024.]
Back to Prison
I can’t even imagine how frustrating it must be, trying to practice law in Putin’s Russia.
And so Staff Sergeant Gordon Black remains one of the eight Americans on my list of hostages still being held by Vladimir Putin, presumably to be used as collateral when there is another Russian criminal sitting in a foreign jail somewhere, waiting to return home.
Yet people from other countries — not just Americans — continue to go there, or not take their embassies’ advice when told to leave.
I suppose they’d walk into a lion’s cage, too, if the lion asked them nicely enough.
What could be funnier than a group of British MPs (Members of Parliament) getting into a physical brawl in the midst of a parliamentary session? Well, for one, a bunch of Turkish MPs doing the same thing.
And that’s what happened a few days ago, when leftist MP Ahmet Sik made some sort of statement in favor of disgraced (and imprisoned) former MP Can Atalay. This seemed to irritate MP Alpay Ozalan of President Erdogan’s ruling AK party, because he approached the dais and grabbed hold of Mr. Sik, and . . . well, see for yourselves:
The First Move
According to the online video [BBC News, August 16, 2024], it only took seconds before a truckload of Turks came rushing forward — some, no doubt, to put a stop to the altercation, but really . . . how many Turks (or anyone else) does it take to break up a pair of pugilists? Well, judging from the film, quite a few.
First came the surge:
And then they got in close and dirty:
And this is the man over whom they were scuffling:
Can Atalay: The cause of it all
The BBC article did not go into the background of Mr. Atalay’s legal difficulties, but it did say he had been in prison since 2022, and had successfully run for a seat in Parliament in 2023. He has, however, been removed from that post.
I tried to find some further information on the charges against him, and quite frankly — despite my years of work in the legal field — it was all Greek . . . no, Turkish . . . to me. But I did glean from an article the fact that he is an attorney who was involved in a number of high-profile cases, including representing the Taksim Solidarity, an organization formed in opposition to an initiative to construct a shopping mall in Gezi Park (wherever that is). He then was somehow implicated in some shady goings-on, convicted of “attempting to overthrow the Government of the Republic of Turkey,” and sentenced to 18 years in prison on April 25, 2022. [Wikipedia.org.]
Well, no wonder he lost his seat in Parliament!
So apparently, while Mr. Atalay’s status was being discussed, Mr. Sik took to defending him against verbal attacks from some AK Party lawmakers. And that’s when the melee began.
What fun! I mean, let’s not hold back, fellas. You don’t agree with someone? Don’t like what he’s saying? Just come out swinging. That’s the gentlemanly, civilized thing to do . . . right?
*. *. *
And lest you think I’m picking on Turkiye, check these out:
In South Africa . . .
And in Japan . . .
And in Bolivia . . .
And yes, in the U.K. as well . . .
And those are just a small sampling. We — the peoples of the world — have become a bunch of savages, settling simple disagreements with whatever weapons are at hand or, if there are none, then with our fists. What ever happened to “Use your words, children”?
Oh, right . . . That no longer works on the playground, either.
Hooray! It turns out, they weren’t lost after all. If only I’d thought to check their YouTube program, Countryside Acres, sooner, I could have saved myself a lot of worrying about those eight children and their well-meaning but misinformed parents.
“Na plyazhye” — At the beach
In the time that I’ve been looking for word of them, they have not been idle. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but they have managed to obtain a nice plot of land — how large, and under what terms of ownership, I have yet to learn. And there are vegetables already growing there, so obviously the land is fertile, and the family know their farming. They have cucumbers, zucchini, carrots, pumpkins, tons of beans, beets (of course — can’t make borshch without beets) and more, so they surely won’t starve.
And although it’s not livable yet, they’re building a house on that land: a large, two-story house, big enough for all ten of them. I watched as a local company delivered and began installing the windows and glass doors — an amazing accomplishment in itself, in a land not known for its concept of service in past years. There was an issue with some of the windows not precisely fitting the assigned cut-outs, but the installers quickly went to work with some sort of filler. I know nothing about construction, so maybe that’s normal. In any event, they seemed to have it all under control.
A Simulation
There was another video of the family spending some rare leisure time in Nizhny Novgorod, where there was a military flyby scheduled. And from this one, I found that the Feenstras are learning to speak and read Russian. That’s a relief, because it would otherwise be nearly impossible to continue living there. I’m sure it will be easier for the children, but dad Arend seemed to be catching on as well.
Russian “ABVs”
So, as the sun sets on beautiful Сельские Акры — sorry . . . Countryside Acres . . .
Let’s just bid a fond farewell to the Feenstras, for now at least, and wish them well in their new life. Though I have to say, I still think they’re nuts.
As parents, we spend our lives trying to protect our children; it’s our duty, and it’s an inherent instinct. When they’re little, we keep them from falling, or swallowing drain cleaner, or sticking their little fingers into light sockets. Later we buckle them into car seats, make sure they take their vitamins, and keep them away from the next-door family that’s been quarantined with Covid. And when they’re grown . . . well, we hope all our good advice over the years has stuck, and we pray a lot.
Parents: An Umbrella of Safety
But where does that stop? One of the hardest things about being a parent is knowing when to let go . . . when the advice becomes nagging, and when the protecting becomes over-protecting. And if we don’t figure it out for ourselves, at some point the kids will let us know — hopefully, not too harshly.
But in today’s society, “protection” is not just about families. With all of the conflict in the world — the wars, the political animosity, the anger, the pure hatred — we have to protect ourselves from the possible adverse effects of all of those things. And with the advent of social media, which spreads thoughts and feelings at what feels like the speed of light, the people responsible for those sites also have a responsibility to protect their users from potentially harmful material.
And that’s where the question becomes: When does protection become censorship?
That’s a debate that’s been ongoing for some time, and now I’d really like to know the answer. Because I’m gearing up for a battle with Facebook over their recent removals — three times — of my posts.
The first two were on the grounds that I was seeking “likes” and “shares.” And I’d like to know, first of all, WHO THE HELL DOESN’T DO THAT?? Don’t we all post our thoughts on FB in the hope that people will see them and enjoy them? Don’t we get a good feeling when we see a few “likes” pop up? We’re not writing just to have our words go flying out into an endless void. We want to be seen. So I asked for a review of those unexplained decisions, but have never heard back.
Still waiting . . .
The third one happened yesterday, and it’s really got me both puzzled and pissed, because it makes absolutely no sense. But here’s what happened:
I write a lot about world events, focused mainly on Russia and Eastern Europe. So yesterday I posted my thoughts on a news item that came out of Belarus, which I titled “Hey, Belarus — Are You Trying To Start Trouble?” I had included three pictures: one of the Belarusian Defense Minister, one of President Aleksandr Lukashenko, and a cartoon shot of two little boys fighting — in that order. When I shared the blog post on Facebook, the picture that showed up in the “squib” was not the first one as usual, but the one of Lukashenko. Okay, no big deal.
And then came the notice that it had been removed because I was seeking likes, shares, etc., “in a misleading manner.”
“Huh?”
Sorry . . . What?? What was misleading about that? So I thought maybe someone didn’t like my title, and I changed it to “What Is Belarus Up To?” and re-posted it . . . with exactly the same response: removed, for the same “reason.” (And with the same strange featuring of the second picture.)
Well, I was annoyed, because it made no sense, and there was no logical explanation given. So first I wrote another blog article blasting Facebook, posted it, shared it on FB — and changed my mind because anger never has gotten me (or anyone else) anywhere. So I deleted it, and re-did the original article one more time. This time I removed the picture of Lukashenko entirely, leaving only the first photo of the Defense Minister and the final one of the two little boys. I changed the title to: “‘White Russia’: Playing Games,” with a note that “White Russia” is the English translation of Belarus’ original name, Belorussia. And I did not change a single word of the text.
This time it was posted with the cute little cartoon picture of the two boys, and it was “permitted” to remain online.
And this is what I don’t get: What was wrong with the first two postings? I’ve written about Belarus and Lukashenko before, and used his picture, with no problem. I don’t write inflammatory articles; they’re not always complimentary, but I’m definitely not looking to start a war, incite a riot, or even invite an argument.
I would like to know who makes these decisions, and how those people are chosen for the job. And here’s a really terrifying thought: Are they even real people; or are they a bunch of those creepy AI characters — the human impersonators — that keep popping up on my screen in ads and supposed news items about the British royal family? Are we being judged by robots?
It’s certainly not an easy task — deciding where to draw the line between appropriate and offensive — and it has to be done in a consistent and fair manner. What are their parameters? Why was I singled out, when I read some really nasty stuff on FB every day?
And finally . . . how do I get an answer to these questions? I want to know why someone (or something) thinks I broke a rule — and what that rule is — so that I don’t do it again, and so that I can explain my original motivation. This is, after all, the United States . . . the land of free speech. Isn’t it?
I just want to be heard. But first I need someone to listen.
First Amendment to the Constitution of the United States
The Blog About Everything … and Sometimes Nothing 