He was a 2,700-pound, 14-foot-long beluga whale, discovered off the northern coast of Norway in April of 2019, wearing a harness with a small camera mount and a buckle reading, in English, “Equipment St. Petersburg.” He was friendly, and he was hungry — apparently accustomed to being fed, and not finding food on his own.

So the good folks of Norway decided to adopt him, and they named him Hvaldimir — “hval” being Norwegian for “whale,” and “dimir” from the first name of Russia’s president, Vladimir Putin. They removed his harness, and he swam to the nearby port of Hammerfest to make his home.

Sadly, after five years of living freely and happily in Norwegian waters, he was found dead near the end of summer this year. A necropsy showed that no foul play was involved; he had gotten a stick lodged in his mouth. And Norway mourned the loss of the beautiful, mysterious creature they called Hvaldimir.

But the question remained: Was he, or was he not, a Russian spy? The Russians are known to have worked with marine mammals, training them — I suppose — much as the U.S. trains its … wait for it …Navy Seals.

(All right . . . go ahead and groan. I’ve never been able to resist a pun.)

Anyway, Hvaldimir had a habit of touching people with his nose when he was hungry, so he had obviously been trained to give signals for some purpose. And the collar clearly indicated that he had been held in captivity. But that was all that was known . . . until recently.

Enter Dr. Olga Shpak, an expert in Hvaldimir’s species, who made it her mission to learn more about him. She now believes that he did indeed belong to the Russian military, and that — being something of what the Russians would call a “hooligan” — he managed to escape from a naval base in the Arctic Circle. But she doesn’t think he was trained as a spy; rather, he was most likely a guard for the base. [Jonah Fisher and Oksana Kundirenko, BBC, November 13, 2024.]

Dr. Shpak, a native of Ukraine, spent more than 20 years researching marine mammals in Russia before returning to her homeland in 2022. Her conclusions are based on conversations with knowledgeable friends and former colleagues in Russia, who have unofficially (and anonymously) confirmed that Hvaldimir — whose original name was Andruha — was one of theirs: a beluga missing from a military program in the Russian Arctic.

Andruha had been captured in the Sea of Okhotsk in 2013 and kept in a dolphinarium in St. Petersburg for a year, when he was “drafted” into the military. Dr. Shpak says:

“I believe that when they started to work in open water, trusting this animal [not to swim away], the animal just gave up on them.

”What I’ve heard from the guys at the commercial dolphinarium who used to have him was that Andruha was smart, so a good choice to be trained. But at the same time, he was kind of like a hooligan — an active beluga — so they were not surprised that he gave up on [following] the boat and went where he wanted to.” [Id.]

With all due respect, Dr. Shpak, I don’t believe he “just gave up on them.” I think he’d been planning his escape for a long, long time.

*. *. *

To the surprise of absolutely no one, Russia has never officially responded to the claim that Hvaldimir (a.k.a. Andruha) was trained by its military. In 2019, when first asked if he might be theirs, Reserve Colonel Viktor Baranets said, with an unexpected display of humor:

“If we were using this animal for spying, do you really think we’d attach a mobile phone number with the message ‘Please call this number’?” [Id.]

Maybe not, Polkovnik Baranets. But I can’t stop wondering about that camera mount.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/13/24

Only part of it, really — just a portion of Revelations. And only because these two:

plus these two:

somehow bring to my mind . . .

. . . these four.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/13/24

Last year, the International Criminal Court at The Hague (ICC) issued warrants for the arrest of Russian President Vladimir Putin and Russia’s Children’s Commissioner, Maria Lvova-Belova, on charges of having forcibly deported Ukrainian children and “resettled” them in Russia.

And in June of this year, the ICC issued additional warrants against Russia’s then Defense Minister Sergei Shoigu and Armed Forces Chief of Staff Valery Gerasimov, charging both with war crimes and crimes against humanity committed in Ukraine since Russia’s invasion in February of 2022.

The ICC does not have enforcement authority, but must wait and hope for the subject of such a warrant to travel to a member country willing to make the arrest on their territory on the ICC’s behalf. Thus far, all three remain at liberty.

But now — in a classic case of “you just can’t make this stuff up” — a Moscow court has issued an arrest warrant for ICC Judge Haykel Ben Mahfoudh on a charge of “illegal incarceration” stemming from the warrants against Shoigu and Gerasimov. Judge Mahfoudh and two ICC colleagues were responsible for having issued the warrants against them in June. [RFE/RL, November 12, 2024.]

Looking at this development from as objective a viewpoint as possible, what immediately jumps out at me? Well, aside from the fact that a Russian court is not an international organization and thus has no jurisdiction outside of its own territory . . .

. . . and ignoring the obvious fact that issuing a warrant cannot by any stretch of the imagination be construed as “illegal incarceration,” since they are not in custody but are perfectly free to travel to any non-ICC-member country of their choosing . . .

. . . doesn’t it then seem painfully obvious that . . .

. . . this is just plain childish??!!!

I mean, really childish. Putin is behaving like . . . well, exactly like what he is: the big bully on the playground. “You hit me six months ago, so now I’m going to break your nose, just for spite.”

Don’t they have anything better to do in Moscow? Such as withdraw their troops from Ukraine?

Or rewrite a few of their more outrageous laws, and let some political prisoners out of jail?

Or maybe hold a legitimate, multi-party election?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/13/24

When I was little, most of our family traditions centered around our Ukrainian grandparents, which meant they centered around the Jewish holidays. Passover and Chanukah were the big celebrations, with enough brisket and potato latkes to feed a regiment. (For a little bit of Christmas, I’d get my gentile friends to invite me to their homes to help decorate the trees and get a sugar rush from the piles of Christmas cookies and ribbon candy.)

The all-American traditions didn’t begin until my sister Merna and I were a little older, and we had moved with our mother to the Washington, D.C., area, and the grandparents couldn’t see what we were doing. (That was also when bacon first found its way into our refrigerator, but I’d appreciate it if you’d keep that quiet.)

Anyway, I was thinking the other day about the approaching Turkey Day holiday, which then started me looking back at some of the best moments of Thanksgivings past. Like the year the turkey hit the floor.

We had long since decided that no one should be alone for the holidays, and so we always had one or more “orphans” sharing the day with us — someone who couldn’t be with their own family for whatever reason. On this particular Thanksgiving day — when I was in my late teens — the guests were a young man I had been dating, who was stationed locally in the military, and a couple of his friends from his base. Luckily, they were all in the living room when the turkey took its trip.

We were already enjoying pre-dinner drinks — a variety of cocktails, which were the fashion of the day. And since it only took a few sips of any alcohol for my mother to get really happy, she was already gaining maximum mileage from her whisky sour while cooking for the guests gathered in the other room.

All was well until the turkey was ready to be served, and I was lifting it from its roasting pan while my mother held the big serving platter in place . . . more or less. Suddenly, just as I was settling the 16 pounds of dead weight onto the platter, the room must have tilted because that platter was no longer level . . . and neither was the bird. At precisely the instant I was removing the two forks from its front and rear ends, gravity took over and Mr. Turkey went sliding determinedly toward the kitchen floor, landing on its back with a loud and distinctive “plop.”

The only saving grace — well, graces — were the music and laughter coming from the living room that covered the sounds from the kitchen; and the peninsula that blocked the visitors’ view of my mother and me, down on our knees, swearing like longshoremen and laughing like a pair of drunken idiots as we slid that baby back onto the platter before the 12-second rule took effect. I peeked over the edge of the countertop to be sure no one was looking, and we stood up in unison, carefully hoisting the newly-plated turkey — now level once more — safely onto the solid surface of the peninsula. No one was the wiser — and we decided that since nobody eats the back of the turkey anyway . . . well, what the hell.

People did wonder why, throughout the dinner, Mother and I would periodically look at each other and burst into fits of giggling. But we would simply pass the stuffing or the sweet potatoes — or another slice of turkey — and change the subject.

*. *. *

Our mother was not always an easy woman to get along with, which — in terms of understatement — is like saying hurricanes are annoying. Her mood could change from cheerful to demonic without notice, and throughout the years Merna and I had found that, in order not to ruin a holiday, it was best to keep her drinking.

But some of the best times she and I had together were spent in the kitchen. She loved to cook and bake, and so did I (Merna, not so much); so holidays were the perfect excuse for a marathon of both — cooking and baking — for the two of us. And Thanksgiving topped them all.

There were two days of preparation: shopping for all the last-minute food on D-day minus two; and on D-day minus one, the pie (or pies) would be baked; ingredients prepped for the stuffing, to be assembled the following morning; my special cranberry sauce simmered into a delectable, cinnamon-and-clove-spiced confection; and the table set with the good china and stemware.

Then on the big day, we would be up at the crack of dawn (not my favorite thing, but worth the small sacrifice), when she would start the intricate process of creating her special stuffing — or dressing, to you southern folks. And it was my job to actually get that finished product into the turkey’s cavity — also known as its asshole — and then to sew it up . . . with a big needle and heavy thread . . . because those metal clamps were thought at the very least to impart some disgusting flavor to the turkey, and at worst to strike everyone dead from lead poisoning. She never could be convinced that there was no lead in them, but that’s a whole other story.

Two full days of preparation, and somehow it all managed to come together just as the doorbell rang and the first “orphan” arrived.

After my mother passed away, Merna and I tried to keep the traditions alive, and for a number of years we came close. But it was never quite the same, mostly because my cooking partner wasn’t there. And now, when November rolls around each year, I start imagining that I’ve got my hand up that bird’s ass; and I can smell the roasting turkey and the pies and cranberry sauce, and feel the anticipation of the coming month of Christmas shopping and carols and Rudolph and Frosty and trimming the tree and peace on Earth good will toward men and . . .

Damn, how I miss those days! Now we have Christmas starting in July, and shopping online, and Thanksgiving getting buried in all the other stuff.

So don’t try to tell me the “good old days” weren’t really that great. Because I know better.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/12/24

A few days ago, I reported on the case of Dr. Nadezhda Buyanova, who had been arrested and charged with spreading false information about the Russian armed forces . . . entirely on the word of a seven-year-old patient and his mother.

There were no witnesses to the comments Dr. Buyanova was alleged to have made; there was no corroborating evidence, no recording, no video to back up the claim — just the seven-year-old boy repeating the words his mother had told him to say.

Yet today, the 68-year-old pediatrician was handcuffed and placed inside the glass-and-metal defendant’s box to hear the Moscow court’s sentence: 5-1/2 years in prison. [Steve Rosenberg, BBC News, November 12, 2024.]

Five and one-half years for a few unproven, unsubstantiated words that, even if actually spoken, would merely have represented one person’s privately-expressed opinion, and could not conceivably have done anyone any harm.

One more abomination committed against the citizens of Russia, where “Big Brother” reigns once more, and the people must learn to live in a perpetual climate of fear and silence.

This is not the Russia I knew 30 years ago. But then, neither is this the world I knew 30 years ago. I sense the fear; but I cannot accept the silence.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/12/24

Not of the United States — our election is over for another four years (thank Heaven). And, as a citizen of Belarus, he wouldn’t be eligible in any event.

But he might well be the president that Russia desperately needs: a man with a diabolical sense of humor, who identifies all the government’s crap and cuts right through it. And last week, from his home in exile in Poland, he did it again.

On November 9th, he revealed on Telegram that in July he had sent out what appeared to be an official government directive, instructing schools in the Voronezh region to organize events for the creation of tinfoil hats to “protect against foreign enemies.” (Apparently, the nearby NATO countries were going to be zapping them with some sort of radiation.) The teachers were further told to provide the government (or so they thought) with videos and pictures of themselves wearing the hats, which were to be decorated with a replica of the Russian flag. [RFE/RL, November 11, 2024.]

And the teachers fell for it.

Why do they remind me of these . . . ?

But wait — it gets better. In one of the videos sent by a school to Bokhan’s fake government site, a teacher — wearing what the original order had described as the “helmet of the fatherland” — had this to say:

“Let the helmet that you make with your own hands become a means of protection against foreign enemies of our wonderful country.” [Id.]

And these are teachers of today’s Russian youth! Aren’t they supposed to be smart? Well, yes, but . . .

Bokhan’s purpose in pulling these pranks is to bring to light the fascistic nature of today’s Russian government: issuing oppressive edicts to be obeyed unquestioningly by the people, no matter how blatantly stupid they are. And his hypothesis has proven itself correct by the obedient behavior — the herd mentality — of even the well-educated citizenry.

As Bokhan himself put it, this latest prank was “a continuation of ‘measuring the level of fascistization of Russian society’ based on Italian historian and philosopher Umberto Eco’s renowned essay, Ur-Fascism.” [Id.]

*. *. *

And lest you think Mr. Bokhan is just a one-hit wonder, here are a couple of his earlier successes:

In 2022, he duped several Russian schools into paying tribute to him, a supposed military hero serving in Ukraine, by holding marches in his honor. Demonstrators were seen holding signs reading, “Vladislav is our hero.” [Id.]

Another time, he tricked schoolteachers in a region near Moscow into participating in a municipal cleanup day, carrying “patriotic” slogans . . . which had actually been used by Nazis at concentration camps. [Id.]

And my very favorite, because it targeted Vladimir Putin directly, was when — posing as a Russian lawmaker — Bokhan tricked several schools into sending Putin birthday messages that included a photograph and quotes by one Stepan Bandera: a World War II-era Ukrainian partisan leader whom the Kremlin had already denounced. [Id.]

In all fairness, I sympathize with the poor schoolteachers who have been the instruments of his wickedness. I met with a number of teachers and school officials during my time in Moscow in 1993, and they were lovely people, bright and hard-working and dedicated to giving their students the best possible education. And their jobs are not easy . . . which probably explains the vodka that appeared at the lunch table in the teachers’ lounge.

But aside from his sneaky enlistment of the educators as accessories to his little crimes, I really can’t help liking this guy.

Bokhan for President of the Russian Federation!

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/12/24

If you hadn’t already guessed, that would be in Russia. And the $51 was paid — not to anyone in Russia — but to a U.S. charitable fund for the benefit of Ukrainian victims of Vladimir Putin’s war against their country.

The generous donation was made by dual U.S.-Russian citizen Ksenia Karelina, a resident of Los Angeles, California, shortly after the Russian invasion of Ukraine in early 2022. About two years later, in January of this year, she was visiting her family in Yekaterinburg, Russia, when she was arrested for “hooliganism” — specifically, swearing in public. She was later charged with, detained for, and ultimately convicted of treason, and sentenced to a 12-year prison term after it was found that she had transferred $51 to the Ukrainian aid charity.

Supporting — either physically, financially, or even verbally — any Ukraine-related organization is considered treason in Russia.

Karelina freely admitted having made the donation — which, as a U.S. citizen, was perfectly legal. Evidence of the donation was found on her cell phone only after she was arrested for the ludicrous “crime” of hooliganism, conveniently creating an opportunity for the Russian authorities to lodge the additional charge of treason against her. But her U.S. citizenship status, and the fact that the contribution was legally made in the United States, were ignored by the Russian court.

Following the original verdict, her attorney appealed, and the Second Court of Appeal of General Jurisdiction entered its ruling yesterday . . . not surprisingly, upholding the guilty verdict and the 12-year sentence. [RFE/RL, November 11, 2024.]

A spokesman for the U.S. State Department, which has been aware of Karelina’s case from the very beginning, said that Russia “has a track record of … not recognizing their [dual nationals’] American citizen status and frankly being uncooperative when it comes to … meeting their obligations under consular conventions.” [Id.]

And so, Ksenia Karelina, a U.S. citizen, remains incarcerated in a Russian prison for committing an act — while on the territory of the United States — that is only considered illegal under a ludicrous Russian law that runs counter to every international standard of freedom of speech.

Ksenia Karelina has been on my hostage list for many months, and sadly will have to remain there for the foreseeable future. Whether the new incoming Trump administration will see fit to press for prisoner exchanges as has the Biden administration, only time will tell.

As citizens, it is our job to see that they do.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/12/24

A little music, Maestro, if you please:

“Seems like old times . . .”

*. *. *

At least, that was how this post was intended to begin. Until I read this morning’s news, that is. But let’s begin at the beginning.

Yesterday, November 10th, it was reported by more than one leading news source that U.S. President-elect Donald Trump had, on November 7th — just one day after speaking with Ukrainian President Zelensky — had a telephone conversation with Russian President Vladimir Putin. Citing a Washington Post report, the talk with Putin was said to have included a caution by Trump “not to escalate the war in Ukraine.” [RadioFreeEurope/RadioLiberty, November 10, 2024.]

The Post also referred to “unnamed sources,” who said that Trump had supposedly told Putin during that call that they should have further talks on “the resolution of Ukraine’s war soon.” [Id.]

Allegedly, “people familiar with the call” had also told the Washington Post that “Kyiv had been informed of the Putin call and did not object.” [Id.]

And based on those reports, I was preparing a few comments of my own (as usual). Until . . .

*. *. *

I never cease to be amazed at what a difference a day can make, not just in a single individual’s life, but in the entire world population’s state of mind. And today turns out to be one of those “but that’s not what they said yesterday” days.

And we’d better get ready to live through a lot of them, because we’re talking about Donald Trump and Vladimir Putin here: two of the . . . how to put this as diplomatically as possible? . . . least predictable people ever to hold the highest office of any country.

And two who enjoy only a passing acquaintance with the truth.

So, about today’s news: It’s a complete backtrack on yesterday’s report. Because the always dependable, allegedly unimpeachable (really?), and undeniably irrepressible Kremlin spokesman — my old standby, Dmitry Peskov — says: It never happened!

I beg your pardon??!!!

I read it again, and that is indeed what he said. In fact, he appears to have been totally gobsmacked by the whole idea.

His exact words were: “This is completely untrue. This is pure fiction, it’s just false information. There was no conversation.” [RFE/RL, November 11, 2024.]

Holy crap, Dmitry! But that wasn’t all. Apparently blaming the media for the purported bit of misinformation, he went on to say:

“This is the clearest example of the quality of the information that is being published nowadays, sometimes even by quite reputable outlets.” [Id.]

He also commented that there were “no concrete plans yet” for any such call. And then he gratuitously added that the Kremlin had observed “a certain nervousness” in Europe since Trump’s reelection [id.] . . . thereby also attempting to plant early seeds of discord between the U.S. and our European allies (not that he was necessarily mistaken).

Well, thanks a lot, Dima. You’ve certainly made everyone’s Monday more interesting.

Now, would someone please hand me a coin I can toss, so I’ll know whom to believe.

Actually, I’ve already decided . . . but I’ll keep it to myself for now, in case I’m wrong.

And as a loyal American, I can’t tell you how painful it is to have to admit that that possibility even exists.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/11/24

Let’s pause, if only for a few moments, to remember those who served and have passed on, and to thank those who are still with us — both veterans and active members of all of our armed forces and reserves — for giving their all on our behalf.

They have devoted themselves to safeguarding a country that they know doesn’t need to be made great again . . . because it already is great, and always has been. We just forget sometimes.

Stay safe, everyone.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/11/24

And this monkey business has nothing to do with politics, for a change. It does, however, have everything to do with real monkeys: 43 female rhesus macaques who escaped last week when someone apparently failed to latch a door to their enclosure at the Alpha Genesis Primate Research Center in Yemassee, South Carolina.

And given that the Research Center had bred the precious primates for sale to medical and other research facilities, I don’t blame them for taking a powder. I only wonder why the other seven monkeys . . . well . . . chickened out.

But it turned out that the 43 escapees didn’t go far. One was captured fairly quickly, in a tree-filled area outside the facility’s perimeter fence. The rest were spotted in the same region, but eluded capture for several more days. They are agile little critters, after all.

And while at liberty, they were said to be “engaging with those still inside by cooing to them,” according to the Yemassee Police Department. [Hilary Hanson, HuffPost, November 9, 2024.] Whether they were trying to convince the others to join them in their treetop hangout, no one knows for sure; but I’m guessing that “cooing” was actually a chorus of “Hit the Road, Jack.”

However, these savvy simians know what side their bread is peanut-buttered on. By staying close to home, they ensured that their keepers would continue feeding them, while still being at liberty to jump and swing and climb to their hearts’ content. [Bill Hutchinson, ABC News, November 10, 2024.]

As of yesterday, 24 more — a total of 25 — had been caught and brought back into their group home, with 18 more still at large. [Id.]

And I am bummed, because I wanted those gals to make a clean getaway. All I need to hear about any animal is that “they’re being bred for medical research,” and I go ballistic.

Yes, I know that medical research is vital. And yes, I realize that there are different types of research. But I envision myself in the place of one of those adorable, hairy humanoids, and my first instinct is to run like hell too.

(Actually, that’s my second instinct. The first is to chomp down on the arm of the guy with the hypodermic needle.)

Experimentation of any kind has its risks, and these animals — in fact, all animals — deserve better.

There has to be another way.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/11/24