They’re so young, so innocent . . . so poorly trained. They are the newest members of the Russian Army, conscripted to fight a war in Ukraine that most of them don’t understand or support, and to kill other young men they’ve never met who — in a better world — might have become their friends.

Some of these boys — a lot of them — will not come back. Others who do return alive will never be truly whole again. The lucky ones will have only temporary physical injuries. And, until two days ago, each of the damaged returnees would have been entitled to a one-time medical payout of three million rubles, or about $30,000.

But someone in Moscow recently came to the conclusion that it wasn’t fair to pay a seriously, permanently injured soldier the same amount as one who only had, say, a non-life-threatening bullet wound that would heal nicely in a matter of a few weeks or months . . . and that perhaps payouts should be based on the severity of the injury. And I don’t see any way to dispute that logic.

But . . .

Remember, this is Russia, where there is always a “but,” and logic doesn’t always prevail.

But did they then increase the amounts on a scale taking into account the nature of the injury, the amount of pain and disability caused, the length of recovery time, the extent of any permanent disability, loss of future income, and the resulting emotional trauma?

Well . . . no, they didn’t. (And as to the last item, I wonder whether the Russian government even acknowledges the existence of PTSD.)

No . . . what they did was leave the $30,000 payment in place for the very worst cases, and decrease the rest to practically nothing: $10,000 in some cases, and as little as $1,000 for others.

The new law sets guidelines for determining the amount of each wounded soldier’s compensation. The problem here is that the definitions are, to state it politely, open to interpretation. Actually, they’re as clear as mud.

For example, “Section I” injuries — those that “endanger their life or health or may cause significant damage to their organs” — include “severe spinal injuries, brain damage, rupturing of genitalia, rib fractures, broken limbs, or damage to organs such as the lungs or kidneys.” [Business Insider, November 14, 2024.]

Worth only $10,000 are less severe “Section II” injuries, deemed to be temporary, such as “minor fractures, concussions, first- and second-degree burns to the eyes, ankle fractures, and gunshot wounds that don’t affect organs.” [Id.]

Those who are wounded and deemed “unfit for duty” are entitled to an additional 2.96 million rubles ($29,600) under an earlier law signed by Putin in March 2022, just after the invasion of Ukraine on February 24th. But how is that determined, and by whom?

To be clear, the foregoing are “medical” payments. The 2022 law also provides for those not fortunate enough to have survived the war. I haven’t seen the law itself, but Business Insider reports that it “entitles those who die in the war to about 7.4 million rubles, or $75,000, as well as 5 million rubles, or $50,000, to their families.” [Id.]

Wait . . . WHAT??!!! Is that $75,000 paid to the corpse? Does it have to be buried with him, while the family is left with just the $50,000? I do hope that was a misprint.

*. *. *

Now, all of that may sound fairly generous, although $30,000 — or even $75,000 — doesn’t go very far today . . . not even in Russia. And the lesser amounts of $10,000 or the measly $1,000 are a joke.

But what strikes me as most unfair is the amount of money Putin — while short-changing his military — has managed to find for the care, feeding and education of all of those babies he has encouraged . . . no, ordered . . . Russia’s young couples to produce to offset the country’s declining population. How is that even going to work with so many young men apparently coming home with ruptured genitalia?

And to what purpose? So that, in 18 years or so, the next generation too can be sent off to some foreign land to have their brains damaged . . . their lungs and kidneys destroyed . . . or their very lives stolen from them?

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/15/24

Alexei Zimin: Celebrity chef, author, Russian expatriate, outspoken critic of Vladimir Putin’s war in Ukraine — now dead at age 53.

Born in the Soviet Union in 1971, Zimin’s love of cooking led him to a career as a restaurateur and as host of a popular TV show on Russian TV. But his outspoken opposition to Russia’s invasion and annexation of Crimea in 2014 necessitated his leaving Russia for London, where he opened a Russian restaurant that he named Zima — an establishment that has become popular with the Russian expatriate population of London. He also publishes a magazine by the same name, and has co-authored several books.

He was able to continue broadcasting on Russia’s NTV channel until he posted anti-war messages on social media following the February 2022 invasion of Ukraine, at which time his show was discontinued in Russia. His response, posted on Instagram, was simply:

“There will be no new episodes due to the anti-war position of the host. Do I regret it? No, I regret that we ended up going to war. I don’t take part in the war, the war takes part in me.” [CBS News, November 14, 2024.]

Since the Russian invasion of Ukraine, Zimin’s restaurant has been the target of threats and abuse. And on the evening of November 12th, when he hadn’t been heard from in three days, his body was found in the apartment he was renting in Belgrade, Serbia.

His last Instagram post on November 4th had announced that he would be in Belgrade on the 7th to prepare a special dinner in a club there, and to promote his most recently published book: Anglomania, “a personal look at the cultural history of Great Britain.” [RFE/RL, November 14, 2024.] So his whereabouts were no secret.

Belgrade authorities have reported that an autopsy, including a toxicology examination, will be performed, as there were no visible indications as to the cause of death.

*. *. *

More than one source has noted that Zimin’s death is just the latest in a string of unsolved, suspicious incidents, both in Russia and in European countries, involving opponents of Vladimir Putin. These have included poisonings, shootings, and “falls” from windows. Matt Olsen, head of the National Security Division of the U.S. Justice Department, has said that he is concerned that this could extend into the United States:

“I don’t think Putin is trying to hide his hand. I think quite the opposite. I think . . . they’re going after their critics: both to eliminate the critics but also to send a stark and chilling message.” [CBS News, op.cit.]

Mr. Olsen, as is his job, is being circumspect. My opinion? I don’t just “think” that’s what’s going on.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/14/24

By my count, we’re just 42 days away from Christmas. Normally, I’ve gotten a good jump-start on the holiday planning and shopping by now; but somehow, for some indefinable reason, it’s just not coming together this year.

I’ve started working on my gift list (giving, not receiving) several times, and all I’ve accomplished is writing down the names of family and friends. I did manage the other day to think of the perfect gifts for my favorite cousins and one friend before my brain shut down again; but there are seven people left on that list, and I’m stumped.

And then the reason hit me. I’ve developed a disease that is so common to the older generation, and that I always thought I would be able to avoid: “Past-itis.” I have been thinking — even dreaming some nights — about all those wonderful Christmases of the past, when my kids were little, and my family and friends were alive and close by, and I was in the midst of all the festivities.

Times have changed. I miss the days of fighting the crowds to shop in real stores for gifts I can see and touch before I buy them. And I miss the endless parties, the dressing up, the cooking and baking, the homemade eggnog, even the extra five or ten “holiday pounds” to be lost again after New Year’s Day. I miss the trip to the Hallmark store for coordinated gift wrap and ribbon and tags, and the hours of wrapping and bow-making.

Somehow, shopping online and stuffing things into gift bags just isn’t the same. But it’s easier, and these days that’s important.

And oh, how I miss the Christmas season that didn’t begin until the day after Thanksgiving — not in the middle of July, when it’s 95 degrees outside and you haven’t even begun to think about autumn yet. It should be cold at Christmastime.

So I’ve diagnosed my problem, and now all I need to do is figure out the treatment that will cure it. I’m thinking about stocking up on sugar cookies and apple cider; turning on some old-fashioned Christmas music (you know . . . Bing Crosby, Frank Sinatra, Mannheim Steamroller, the Chipmunks); sitting down with the pile of Christmas catalogs that still find their way into my mailbox; and pretending that my little ones are asleep in the next room and my sister is just a phone call away.

That oughta do it.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/14/24

“The Russian Federation – Russia is a democratic federative law-governed state with a republican form of government.” [Section One, Chapter 1, Article 1, Constitution of the Russian Federation.]

“Man, his rights and freedoms shall be the supreme value. The recognition, observance and protection of human and civil rights and freedoms shall be an obligation of the State.” [Id., at Article 2.]

And in case you don’t believe me, here it is:

I also like the mention of “free elections” in Article 3, paragraph 3. But that’s a whole different issue.

*. *. *

Languages are funny things. The same word can carry six different nuances in six different languages. And in a language like Russian, where the same word means “floor” or “sex” (as in gender), and where the softening of the final letter of another word can change a “corner” into a lump of “coal” . . . well, you can see how it would be easy to get totally lost. And forget about verbs. A friend with whom I took language lessons from a tutor once excused herself to “drive” to the bathroom.

So I suppose the drafters of the Russian Constitution might be forgiven for not knowing the difference between a democracy and a republic, or the true meanings of “freedom” and “civil rights.” But they did get one thing right: Russia is indeed a “law-governed state.”

The only problem is: who makes the laws?

No, not that jackass — a different one!

Theoretically, it is not a jackass at all, but Parliament that makes the laws. Like the United States and a number of other countries, the Russian legislative body is bicameral, consisting of two houses. In Russia, they are called the Duma, or Federal Assembly (lower house), and the Federation Council (upper house). And, as in the U.S. Congress, new legislation must be approved by both houses before being submitted to the President for signature.

Sounds good, doesn’t it? But in Russia, the reality is that, if the President — who we all know has been Vladimir Putin for the past 24 years — wants a law passed . . . or even a Constitutional amendment . . . he just has it submitted to the Duma, and WHAM! it’s done. Something that can take weeks or months in Washington or London or New Delhi is accomplished in a matter of a few days or less in Moscow, depending on how quickly Putin wants it done.

Efficient, for sure . . . but hardly “democratic.”

*. *. *

So why, I hear you ask, are you receiving this sudden, unsolicited lesson in Russian Civics 101? Well, simply because of my compulsion to share the news of a couple of laws that have been rammed through in Moscow during the past week — laws that are so outrageous, so antithetical to “civil rights,” that one can only . . .

The first, a bill banning “Childfree Propaganda,” zipped through the required three readings in the Duma and was passed on November 12th, to be handed on to the Federation Council for its rubber stamp and delivered to the Kremlin for Putin’s signature. No arguments, no amendments, no vetoes. Nice and neat. [RFE/RL, November 12, 2024.]

But wait . . . what is this “childfree propaganda” about? Well, you may remember the publicity regarding Putin’s “Year of the Family,” and his pronouncements as to the patriotic and spiritual responsibility of Russia’s young couples to procreate — not just once or twice, but over and over and over again, as many as eight or more times, presumably until the mother’s womb collapses. All of this is for the divine cause of rebuilding the depleted population of Mother Russia (largely due to the casualties caused by Putin’s war against Ukraine, though we’re not allowed — by yet another series of laws — to mention that).

And similarly, under the new legislation, you’re not permitted even to express any opposition to, or questioning of, Putin’s new baby factory idea, subject to huge fines. The government is offering financial and child-care assistance to ease some of the burden on the exhausted parents, and they are supposed to be grateful for that and shut the hell up.

A perfect example of Russian “freedom” and “civil rights” in action.

*. *. *

And about those war casualties. For some reason that Putin apparently finds it impossible to comprehend, a lot of young adults are not happy about facing the possibility of conscription into the army to fight a war they don’t even understand, much less approve of. And in the nearly three years since the start of Russia’s “special military operation” — known everywhere outside of Russia as a “war” — a lot of draft-age men have chosen to leave their country rather than face the horrors being described by those who have served and survived. This mass exodus, of course, has contributed further to the population decline.

So now, “temporary measures” have been imposed by means of amendments to Russia’s law on military duty, including potential conscripts being banned from:

• leaving the country;
• driving and registering a vehicle;
• registering and selling real estate;
• receiving loans; or
• registering as a self-employed individual or entrepreneur. [RFE/RL, November 13, 2024.]

Their only option, then, would be to sneak out of the country, which in itself would be illegal and thus prevent them from ever returning without facing prosecution.

*. *. *

So that’s it, folks . . . the first, and hopefully the last, lecture on Russia’s legal system.

And now, having written it and read it over, I turn to glance once again at the day’s late headlines and take note of how my own (U.S.) government is shaping up as we look ahead to the next four years with a new administration.

And I feel the sudden, cold chill of trepidation, seeing how quickly and easily life can change.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
11/14/24

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