In two days from today, the sham trial of American journalist Evan Gershkovich is scheduled to begin in Yekaterinburg, Russia, where he was arrested 15 months ago. Accused of spying, he has been “detained” ever since in Moscow’s Lefortovo Prison, with only unsubstantiated accusations — but not a shred of real evidence — being presented against him.
Evan Gershkovich
And now it has been announced that his trial will be held behind closed doors. U.S. Embassy officials have. been trying to gain admittance to the so-called trial, but are uncertain of their chances of success.
Secret trials are nothing new in Russia, dating back farther in time than most people living today can remember, to the “show trials” of Joseph Stalin’s real or imagined political enemies. And this generation — the Putin generation — sees nothing wrong with resurrecting the worst practices of one of the darkest periods of its history. “If it works, why not keep it?” — seems to be the prevailing philosophy.
Trial of Socialist Revolutionaries
Yeah . . . That’s Russian justice, all right. So who will act as Evan Gershkovich’s judge? And where is his jury? In fact, where is Evan Gershkovich? Has he already been moved across the 1,000-plus miles from Moscow to Yekaterinburg? And if so, why wasn’t the American Embassy notified?
Thirty years of progress have been summarily wiped out by one little man with a Napoleon complex. But does Vladimir Putin remember what happened to the man after whom that complex is named? Has he never heard of history repeating itself? Tyrants eventually fall, whether at the hands of their own disillusioned, ultimately fed-up people; or perhaps — as in the case of the overly ambitious Napoleon Bonaparte — by the brutal Russian winter of 1812; or simply by reaching the natural end of their God-given days.
Depiction of Napoleon’s Troops Approaching Moscow – 1812
But tyranny is seldom vanquished without a little push, or a serious shove. Lest we forget: “The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing.” *
Just sayin’ . . .
Brendochka 6/24/24
* Commonly attributed — apparently incorrectly — to Edmund Burke.
How quickly these Sundays roll around! And this one brings with it two updates.
Staff Sergeant Gordon Black, U.S. Army – Hostage
I wrote about Gordon Black a few days ago, giving you the bad news that he has been tried, convicted (no surprise there), and sentenced to three years and nine months in prison for what essentially amounts to theft, assault and battery, and being foolish enough to have gone to Vladivostok in the first place. So I’m sorry to say that he is now firmly ensconced in his place on our HOSTAGE list, with the U.S. Army waiting for him when he is finally released. Not a happy prospect, but he is still young enough to learn from his mistakes.
*. *. *
The second bit of news — somewhat more surprising because of the comparative speed with which it has all taken place — is the trial of another American citizen, Ksenia Karelina. Actually holding dual Russian-American citizenship, she has been living in the U.S. since 2021, and in February of this year traveled to Yekaterinburg, Russia, to visit her parents. While there, she was arrested on grounds of “collecting funds used to purchase tactical medical items, equipment, means of destruction and ammunition” for Ukraine. Now get this: what she did was make a $51.80 donation in the United States to a New York-based, non-profit human rights organization collecting funds for the Ukrainian Army. But although she committed no crime on Russian soil, the Russian authorities were aware of her donation (a frightening fact in itself), and considered her — as also a Russian citizen — a criminal.
And now, after barely four months in detention in a Yekaterinburg prison, she is on trial for “taking part in public actions to support the Kyiv regime.” Her first hearing was held — behind closed doors, so no details are available — on Thursday; the next hearing isn’t scheduled until August 7th. If convicted (“if”??), she could face up to 20 years in prison.
“Hostage of the Week” – Ksenia Karelina
I know that those last four months in prison have seemed like an eternity to Karelina, but other HOSTAGES have been rotting in various Russian prisons for years. So why the sudden movement by the Russian legal system (such as it is) on these two cases? There is something Vladimir Putin wants, and as always, we wait for him to show his hand. Russian investigative journalist Andrei Soldatov told CNN the FSB (Federal Security Service) is “build[ing] up a bank of hostages with American passports” to use “as leverage” in negotiations with Washington. [Christian Edwards, CNN, June 20, 2024.] I’d call that a well-reasoned conclusion — but if I were Mr. Soldatov, I wouldn’t shout it from the top of the Kremlin wall.
Just sayin’ . . .
Brendochka 6/23/24
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And please — once again — let us not forget the other HOSTAGES, still wasting away in various Russian prisons and penal colonies for the simple act of disagreeing with Vladimir Putin’s increasingly onerous edicts. It is for them that this regular Sunday posting is written.
To those known . . .
Vladimir Kara-Murza – HOSTAGE Evan Gershkovich – HOSTAGE Paul Whelan – HOSTAGE Ilya Yashin – HOSTAGE Robert Woodland Romanov – HOSTAGE Boris Akunin – HOSTAGE Marc Hilliard Fogel – HOSTAGE Asya Kazantseva – HOSTAGE Ilya Barabanov – HOSTAGE Alsu Kurmasheva – HOSTAGE Aleksandr Skobov – HOSTAGE Antonina Favorskaya – HOSTAGE Oleg Orlov – HOSTAGE Boris Kagarlitsky – HOSTAGE Oleg Navalny – HOSTAGE Ksenia Karelina – HOSTAGE Ksenia Fadeyeva – HOSTAGE Lilia Chanysheva – HOSTAGE Vadim Ostanin – HOSTGE Sergei Udaltsov – HOSTAGE Konstantin Gabov – HOSTAGE Danuta Perednya – HOSTAGE Olesya Krivtsova – HOSTAGE Staff Sgt. Gordon Black – HOSTAGE
. . . and those hundreds of others whose names remain unknown to me . . . you are not forgotten, nor have you been abandoned. The fight continues on your behalf.
It’s outdated, unnecessary, and more than a little annoying. But after 100 or so years, people are still asking that of each other as the temperature soars into the triple digits, air conditioners struggle to keep pace with the demand, and the world runs out of ice cubes.
And the answer is: “Beat it, a**hole. You can damn well see I’m dying here!” Or words to that effect.
Save some to drink, for God’s sake! Hydrate! Hydrate!
So we struggle to stay out of the sun, and those of us who are lucky enough to have air conditioning remain indoors while the less fortunate fight each other for seats in a movie theater, or simply wander aimlessly through the nearest shopping mall chugging iced tea and downing those irresistible Mrs. Fields chocolate chip cookies because you can smell them two levels up and at the far opposite end of the mall. And the folks in poorer countries, many suffering from severe drought — well, I can’t even imagine.
But while we’re all sitting around doing pretty much nothing (with the possible exception of the folks in Helsinki, Finland, where the temperature topped off at a lovely 71 degrees Fahrenheit yesterday), I do have a couple of amusing items to share with you from CNN’’s A.J. Willingham in her “The Good Stuff” online column yesterday. They’re just for fun . . . something of which we can all use a little more these days. So if there’s anything here that catches your attention, check out A.J.’s column for details. I’m just referring, not plagiarizing.
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1) Barf Bags. I’ve (thankfully) only had to use one once in my lifetime of travel — way back in the ‘60s, on a short hop from Manchester, New Hampshire to Providence, Rhode Island, which inexplicably made a quick stop in Lawrence, Massachusetts. I say “inexplicably,” because Lawrence is just 28 land miles from Manchester, and the one passenger we picked up in Lawrence could have driven to the Manchester airport in half an hour, the lazy good-for-nothing bum. Anyway, it was a windy day, and since we never did get much above treetop level during those few minutes we were off the ground, it was about as bumpy as the bus ride to the tea plantation in the Caucasus Mountains . . . but that’s a tale for another time.
How embarrassing was that!
The reason I bring this up (sorry — still dwelling on regurgitation) is that A.J. wrote on Saturday about her interviews with four people who collect barf bags. Unused ones, I presume. Apparently, they’re made in a variety of sizes, colors and designs, and some even have interesting histories. One person frames and hangs his — appropriately, I would say — in the bathroom. Another has thousands, so wall space would be a problem. I don’t know where he keeps his, but it’s not my problem. If you think your collection of, say, body parts from deceased Australian numbats (yes, there is such a thing, and I don’t mean wombats) is unique, I’m sorry to disappoint you; but you really must give A.J.’s column a read.
2) The Runaway Donkey. His name is Diesel, and about five years ago he disappeared from his California ranch home, leaving his owners worried and sad. Earlier this year, he was spotted living in the wild with . . . well, you’ll just have to go back to A.J.’s column for the rest of the story. I won’t spoil the ending for you, but keep in mind that her column is titled “The Good Stuff.”
‘Bye now . . .
3) Sushi Busts. What on earth? Have the Tokyo police raided a sushi restaurant? That was my first thought, but no — it’s even stranger than that. It’s the story of a British woman who works as a food artist, and now creates celebrity likenesses out of sushi and displays them in one-day exhibitions in London. (Hint: one such head is named “Eelton” John — a little corn with your sushi?)
I’m so relieved that these exhibitions are just for a single day. I don’t know how long it would take for an unrefrigerated pile of sushi to begin to smell, but we are talking about raw fish here . . .
A little air freshener, please . . .
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That’s about all the happy stuff I could unearth for one day. I hope our brief venture into La-La Land has taken your mind off the weather for a bit. And perhaps it’s inspired you to begin a new hobby of your own, or maybe to adopt a long-eared pet. I don’t have room for a donkey — they’re probably against the Homeowners’ Association rules in any event. But I am thinking about starting a collection of historic chamber pots, or perhaps digging up memorabilia from sacred Native American burial grounds (if I don’t get caught) . . .
The Russians — of course, it would be the Russians! — have figured out how to do it. It’s easy, it’s effective, and it’s cheap. They simply follow the advice of Ebenezer Scrooge: “Decrease the surplus population.” *
* Charles Dickens, A Christmas Carol, 1843.
Scrooge, to his credit (if you can call it that), at least meant only that they should let the poor die of more-or-less natural causes: starvation, exposure, or illness. The Putin method, however, is a bit more direct and timely: eliminate the undesirables. The Russian word for it is likvidatsiya — liquidation.
That is essentially what happened last week at a detention center in the southern Russian city of Rostov-on-Don, not far from the Ukraine border, when six inmates — accused members of ISIS charged with acts of terrorism — allegedly took two prison guards hostage. Russian special forces simply charged the prison, freed the prison guards without injury, and summarily disposed of the six offending inmates.
Problem solved.
Russian Special Forces Response Team
But what really happened that day? This obviously was not a mock prison exercise intended to free up six beds for six hypothetical incoming inmates. And how could these six accused ISIS terrorists — armed only with a penknife, a rubber baton, and a fire axe — manage to “[knock] out the bars of a window in their cell and [enter] a guard room where they took at least two prison officers hostage,” according to local media? [Al Jazeera, June 16, 2024.]
An earlier report from Russian state news agency TASS, however — quoting unnamed sources — said that the six inmates were in the central courtyard of the detention center, not in their cell. Hmm . . .
All I can offer here is a barrage of more questions:
1) Where were the prisoners, and what were six alleged ISIS terrorists doing together in one location, apparently unguarded?
2) Where did they get the penknife, the rubber baton, and the fire axe?
3) Didn’t anyone hear them whacking away at the bars, presumably with the fire axe (if that is indeed what happened)? That had to be noisy.
It’s not this easy!
4) How did they get from wherever they were to the guards’ location — however distant or close it may have been — without being detected?
5) They allegedly were demanding transportation in exchange for the lives of the hostage guards. How far did they really expect to get before being overtaken and captured or killed? Were they that stupid? Have they never heard of drones?
6) How did the Special Forces troops manage to “eliminate” the six prisoners in a hail of gunfire without at least wounding the guards?
7) Who were these six prisoners? Were they associated with the members of ISIS-K who stormed Moscow’s Crocus City Hall in March of this year? (And, by the way, where are those guys now, and what’s happening to them?)
Four ISIS-K Accused Attackers, March 2024
8) Is it within the realm of possibility that the Russian authorities themselves planned and carried out the execution of the six prisoners, creating the legend of their attempted escape to legitimize their killing?
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I can only answer Question No. 8 . . . with a resounding “Well, yeah . . . of course it’s possible!” How many murders — of single individuals and groups of sacrificial lambs — have been carried out by the Russian government in the name of necessity, or expediency, or collateral damage? Too many to count.
There is a saying widely attributed to Joseph Stalin, though not proven that it was he who first said it: “A single death is a tragedy; a million deaths is a statistic.”
Iosif Vissarionovich Dzhugashvili, a.k.a Joseph Stalin
We humans love our dogs — sometimes more than we love our people. If we didn’t, why would we undertake a lifetime (the dogs’ lifetime) of feeding, and walking, and grooming, and visiting the vet, and scooping the poop, and playing “fetch” and “catch” and “tug,” and giving endless scratches and rubdowns, and paying for the shots and the food and the toys and the grooming and . . . Hey, tell me again why we do all that? Oh, right — because we love them, and because they give back unquestioning, unconditional, unending love and loyalty and devotion. And occasional misbehavior.
And barking. Endless, annoying, frustrating, nerve-shattering barking!
All together, now . . .
What do you suppose the vet would say if I were to bring our pooch, Dixie, in for a “debarkation” procedure? I’m not talking about getting off a ship or an airplane — that’s disembarking. I’m talking about having her bark removed. Obviously, he’d think I was insane, but after a day like yesterday, he wouldn’t be far off.
Fortunately for Dixie, she is really my son’s dog, not mine, so I don’t get to make those decisions. But being the one who’s at home with her most of the time, I have the longest exposure to her and her on-again-off-again displays of canine-ality (doggie personality). And she is definitely — in my unprofessional opinion — schizoid.
Dixie – Up Close and Personal
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It all started yesterday, as it always does, with her protective instinct kicking in. If anyone or anything — deer, rabbit, neighbor, UPS truck — comes within 100 yards of the house, she goes bonkers. She’s a medium-sized mixed-breed: part Staffordshire, part pit bull, part lab, according to her DNA test results. So one would think she’d be in attack mode when she reacts that way. But let her at any of these creatures, human or otherwise, and rather than trying to tear them apart, she’ll just lick them to death. This girl is a lover, not a fighter. So, from my point of view, the barking serves no useful purpose other than to make Dixie happy.
Well, after a day of listening to her saying hello to every passing living being, things finally quieted down in the neighborhood for the evening. Since two of our family of four (humans) were away for the week, and my son was working in his home office, I was enjoying a quiet dinner on a tray in my den while watching one of my favorite movies. Until Dixie started her food vigil. (And yes, she had already had her dinner.)
“I’ll take anything. Just a cracker? Huh? Huh? Pleeeeaaaase?!!”
At some point in the middle of my meal (and favorite movie), Dixie suddenly began barking her head off and running back and forth between me and the front door. So I carefully set my tray down on my chair — HUGE mistake! — and went to see what was going on. Nothing. No one at the door, no package delivery from Amazon, not even a neighbor passing by.
And when I turned to go back to my dinner, Dixie was way ahead of me. By the time I reached the den — about five seconds later — she was in there, scarfing down what was left of my formerly delicious casserole. When I yelled out her name, she froze momentarily, then turned and ran by me like a rabbit being chased by . . . well . . . an angry human.
So much for dinner.
I scolded her a bit more, of course; told her she was a naughty girl; and disposed of the remains of the casserole. (I know she’s healthy, but I also know where else that tongue has been!) Then I got some ice cream from the freezer for dessert, and locked her out of the den for the rest of the evening. And this was pretty much how she spent the next few hours.
“I’m really sorry. But it was such a good casserole.”
If we had a doghouse, she would have been in it — except that it’s been too damned hot outside for that. No matter what our fur babies do, torture is out of the question. And we always forgive them. How can we not? I mean . . . look at that face.
*. *. *
And while all of this was going on, the cat was thoroughly enjoying the spectacle from her ringside seat. (She has a kitty condo, but — like most of her ilk — prefers the box from the latest package delivery.) What I wouldn’t give to know what she was thinking!
“Ha-ha, she’s in trouble. Gonna get it now!”
And today Dixie has been clinging to me like Saran Wrap, begging me with those huge, sad eyes to play with her, scratch her, slip her a snack . . . anything to reassure her that she is once again the most favored member of the household. So I did all of those things, one time each, and it still wasn’t enough. She has been staring at me all freakin’ day long! Do you have any idea how annoying that is?
Well, that didn’t take long, and sadly, the result is less than surprising. Staff Sergeant Gordon Black (U.S. Army) has been found guilty by a Russian court of theft, assault, and threatening to kill his former girlfriend in Vladivostok. He pled not guilty and claimed self-defense, admitting that he did hit her but only after she drunkenly attacked him and tried to prevent him from leaving the apartment they had been sharing. He has been sentenced to three years and nine months in prison, and has said he will appeal the verdict and sentence. Meanwhile, he’s not going anywhere.
As stated in my earlier post today, Russia has another American hostage in their prison system . . . another human life with which to barter.
It sounds like the opening line of an old joke. But in this case, unfortunately it isn’t.
We’ve all made bad choices throughout our lives, some simply foolish and embarrassing, others perhaps more costly. But how many of us have truly been left wishing we were dead, rather than having to pay the high price of one really, really, really stupid mistake?
In the case of Staff Sergeant Gordon Black, that may be precisely what he has been thinking lately. Because this is the young American soldier — on his way to his home base in Texas but with two weeks’ leave after being stationed on assignment with the U.S. Army in South Korea — who decided it might be smart to detour first, without authorization, to visit his Russian girlfriend . . . in her home town of Vladivostok. Which, in case you weren’t aware, is in Russia.
Soulmates?
It was a movie-script meeting: young, naive American soldier walks into a bar where he meets a beautiful Russian woman who, for some reason, has been living in South Korea for five years and is currently working in this bar. They strike up an acquaintance and soon begin a romance that lasts until she returns to her native Russia. They continue communicating, and not long afterward he tells her that his tour of duty is ending and he will be returning to the U.S. for reassignment. But he has those two weeks of leave time, and she invites him to visit her in Vladivostok.
And here is where his brain becomes overwhelmed by his libido, and he decides it would be just peachy if he were to travel home to the U.S. by way of Russia — traveling first through China — without bothering to seek the requisite authorization from the Army. Which is what he does, in May of this year.
Initial Reaction: “You’re kidding . . . right?”And then the realization: “Holy f*ckin’ sh*t!!!
And so he steps off of the plane in Vladivostok, spends some time with the lovely Aleksandra, only to be confronted in his hotel by the local police and detained on charges of “criminal misconduct” — specifically, theft, assault, and threat to kill. And he never does make it back home, because it seems his “girlfriend” has accused him of all of the above.
Now comes the best part. By the time his trial is scheduled in June, he has allegedly admitted to the theft, though not to the charges of assault or threat to kill.
He confessed??!!! Are you serious??!!!
Apparently so . . . and in this case, his stupidity has kicked in without any encouragement from his libido — but quite likely with a good bit of “encouragement” from his captors. He confessed to having taken 10,000 Russian rubles, but with the intention of returning it before leaving Vladivostok. (Don’t get too excited about the amount — that’s just a little over $100 U.S. money.) Did they promise to go easy on him if he admitted to the least of the three charges? Quite possibly. But please don’t tell me he actually believed them!
His trial has started over there in the Primorsky territory in the far eastern region of Russia bordering China and North Korea, while his family, the U.S. Defense Department, and the rest of the world await the outcome.
Under Arrest
*. *. *
So now, Russia has another American hostage, ripe for questioning immediately and possibly for trading later. Each and every one of the political hostages, as far as we know, has continued to vehemently deny the charges against them. But not Staff Sergeant Black. Is he frightened? Well, who wouldn’t be? Perhaps the difference is that, unlike the others, he is actually guilty of something . . . at the very least, of having allowed himself to be trapped into this position in the first place. Did the Army not teach these young soldiers about “honey traps” before sending them overseas? And if so, wasn’t he paying attention? How many other “boyfriends” has his beloved Aleksandra enticed — or tried to entice — from the U.S. Army base while working at that bar? It’s the oldest trick in the world.
*. *. *
I have the utmost sympathy for Sergeant Black, as I do for anyone being held in a Russian prison on trumped-up charges. But in this case, he has to realize that he is responsible for his own poor decisions.
So is there a moral to this story? Well, of course there is! (I didn’t go through all of this just to leave you hanging.) The moral to Sergeant Black’s tragic tale has been heard before, in the immortal words of Forrest Gump’s beloved Mama:
“Stupid is as stupid does.” *
Unfortunately, what Staff Sergeant Gordon Black did was incredibly stupid.
Oh, what the hell . . . I have no patience with political correctness, so let’s just call it what it is. I’m short. I’ve always been short, and the older I get, the shorter I get. That’s not such a bad thing when you start out life as Shaquille O’Neal; but when your maximum adult height was 5’2 and 1/2” (that 1/2 inch was very important to me), shrinking is not something you look forward to. You know it’s inevitable, but so is death, and no one is going to be able to make you feel good about either one.
But there’s no need to rub it in!
You’re probably thinking that there are so many worse burdens that one could have to carry through life than just being vertically challenged, and you’re right. I have all of my limbs, all of my senses (except perhaps the one known as “common”), and no wart on the tip of my nose or Cyclops eye in the middle of my forehead. My brain is in reasonable working order, and I’ve already lived many years longer than predicted by the actuarial tables at the time of my birth. And yes, of course I’m grateful for all of those things. But still . . .
It could always be worse.
*. *. *
When you’re five years old and entering first grade (there was no kindergarten in my town in those days so everyone started first grade at five), it’s hard to suddenly find that you’re an object of special attention. My curse was twofold: first, my older sister had taught me to read, write, and do basic arithmetic from the age of three, so I was considered bright, which always makes you something of a pariah among your classmates; and second, I was short, which meant I always had to sit in the front row so I could see the blackboard and the teacher . . . and she could see me. And being of a somewhat mischievous nature, that made it really challenging to carry out my devilish little plots and schemes . . . although I did get better at it as I got older.
“What, is that all?” — I hear you ask. Uh-uh. Not by a long shot. Because, having been given a jump-start on the “three Rs,” I was deemed as wasting my time with all the “normal” kids in first grade, and they skipped me in the middle of the school year to second grade, because that’s what they did in those days. I was six by the end of the school year, when I was promoted to third grade with all the eight- and nine-year-olds.
Do you know how much a child grows in two years? To a short kid like me, it’s a lot. And here were all these big kids, and here was shrimpy me, sitting in the front row as usual . . . and having to stand on a freakin’ step stool to reach the freakin’ blackboard! But I hung in there. And since I was still just 16 when I graduated from high school, I never did catch up in height to most of my classmates — not that I was ever going to anyway.
How mortifying!
On the up-side, however, I did get to date the really cute short guys. You know, all the ones with Napoleon complexes . . .
Crap!!!
*. *. *
Then at last it was off into the real world, where I wore the highest heels my feet and back would tolerate, and still wound up looking most people directly in . . . the neck. I lost count of the strangers whose eyes I nearly poked out with my umbrella as I tried to navigate among the crowds on rainy days. And I know people got sick to death of hearing me ask for help hanging my coat on the hook that was always just that much too high, or to retrieve the file from the top file cabinet drawer.
Did I say it could always be worse? Yes, I did . . . and I know whereof I speak. Because having all five lumbar vertebrae fused later in life just added to the normal age-related shrinking thing. I have, by actual measure, now shrunk 4-1/2 inches (there’s that all-important half-inch again), to an impressive 4’10” in . . . what? I hesitate to call it “height” . . . let’s say, “vertical presence.”
And in just one minute of Google research, I learned today that I am officially — according to the advocacy group Little People of America — qualified as a Little Person. Just barely, as 4’10’ is their maximum acceptable height (average is 4 feet) . . . but still qualified, even though I wasn’t born with the condition known as dwarfism. Finally, after all these years of not fitting in, I have found my place among those wonderful, feisty, hard-working, smart, talented, lovable short folks.
So, screw all you tall people. I’m off to see the Wizard . . .
There I was, happily embarked on a more light-hearted note this week, when I decided to read Monday’s news reports. And there he was — my beloved Dmitry Peskov, Kremlin spokesman — shooting off his mouth once more on behalf of his vozhd, Vladimir Putin. And when Dmitry speaks, I’ve found that it’s useful to pay attention. So let’s check out the latest from my hero . . . my source of all wisdom . . . my No. 1 favorite bullshit artist: give it up for Dmitry Sergeevich Peskov. (Round of applause, please.)
PESKOV, Dmitry Sergeevich
*. *. *
So . . . WOW!
According to Reuters (June 17, 2024), “The Kremlin said on Monday [that] a remark by NATO chief Jens Stoltenberg that the military alliance was holding talks on deploying more nuclear weapons was an ‘escalation of tension.’
“Stoltenberg told Britain’s Telegraph newspaper that NATO members were consulting about deploying more nuclear weapons, taking them out of storage and placing them on standby in the face of a growing threat from Russia and China.”
So this is an “escalation of tension,” eh? Well, it might have been . . . if it weren’t in reality a natural response to all those not-so-subtle hints at the use of nuclear weapons previously tossed around by Deputy Chairman of the Russian Security Council Dmitry Medvedev (Russia’s latest and loudest cold-war warrior), and by Vladimir Putin himself. Those weren’t “escalations of tension”?
Not An “Escalation of Tension”?
And when Medvedev again proclaims that Russia “was not bluffing when it spoke of the possibility of using tactical nuclear weapons against Ukraine and warned [that] Moscow’s conflict with the West could escalate into all-out war . . . [that] Moscow’s conflict with the West was developing according to the worst case scenario and that ‘nobody today can rule out the conflict’s transition to its final stage’” [Reuters, May 31, 2024] — that’s not an escalation of tensions?
If it isn’t, I’d like to know what the hell is!
Dmitry Medvedev: “We’re not bluffing.”
For example:
When Russia massed its troops on the Ukrainian border and staged an all-out invasion of that sovereign nation on February 24, 2022 — that wasn’t an escalation of tensions?
But when Ukraine mobilized to defend itself, and sought help from its Western allies — that was aggression?
And when Ukraine refuses to simply give away pieces of itself because the bully on the playground demands it — that’s an escalation of tensions?
When NATO members, including those countries directly abutting Ukraine, dig down deep to help their democratic ally by providing non-nuclear weapons to prevent the spread of Russia’s territorial ambitions — that’s an escalation of tensions?
Flag of Sweden Being Added At NATO Headquarters
In the sick, twisted, Byzantine mindset of Vladimir Putin and his minions, that’s what we — the nations of the free world — are expected to believe. But we don’t . . . and we never will. Because we know better.
Take that message back to your boss, Dmitry Sergeevich.
As reported just two days ago, there is an update on the status of HOSTAGE Evan Gershkovich . . . and it isn’t good. After being held in Moscow’s Lefortovo Prison for 441 days, without evidentiary support, he has finally been told that he will be returned to Yekaterinburg, where he was initially arrested, for trial on the charge of espionage.
Quite obviously, “due process of law” is defined differently in Russia than in the United States, or in the rest of the free world — 441 days without being formally charged!
Evan Gershkovich, Prisoner
For more than a year, Gershkovich has been the subject of intense negotiations — initiated by the United States — for a prisoner swap. He came close earlier this year, when there was talk of a “package deal” — Gershkovich, fellow American HOSTAGE Paul Whelan, and possibly Russian dissident Alexei Navalny — in exchange for Russian hit man Vadim Krasikov, convicted and imprisoned in Germany for the flagrant daytime assassination of a Chechen warlord. But that negotiation collapsed when Navalny suddenly and mysteriously died in the Siberian penal colony where he was serving combined 30-year sentences on bogus charges of “extremism.”
Vadim Krasikov
Why the sudden movement by the Russian legal system (such as it is) on Gershkovich’s case? In the labyrinthine mind of Vladimir Putin, there could be any number of reasons. The one that leaps immediately to my mind is an ultimatum: there is something he wants, and wants badly enough to use an innocent young man’s life as collateral. And — like a child on the playground — if he doesn’t get his own way, he’ll simply take his toys and go home.
But the stakes here are not a game. And Putin knows it. So, as always, we wait for him to show his hand.
Just sayin’ . . .
Brendochka 6/16/24
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And please — once again — let us not forget the other HOSTAGES, still wasting away in various Russian prisons and penal colonies for the simple act of disagreeing with Vladimir Putin’s increasingly onerous edicts. It is for them that this regular Sunday posting is written.
To those known . . .
Vladimir Kara-Murza – HOSTAGE Evan Gershkovich – HOSTAGE Paul Whelan – HOSTAGE Ilya Yashin – HOSTAGE Robert Woodland Romanov – HOSTAGE Boris Akunin – HOSTAGE Marc Hilliard Fogel – HOSTAGE Asya Kazantseva – HOSTAGE Ilya Barabanov – HOSTAGE Alsu Kurmasheva – HOSTAGE Aleksandr Skobov – HOSTAGE Antonina Favorskaya – HOSTAGE Oleg Orlov – HOSTAGE Boris Kagarlitsky – HOSTAGE Oleg Navalny – HOSTAGE Ksenia Karelina – HOSTAGE Ksenia Fadeyeva – HOSTAGE Lilia Chanysheva – HOSTAGE Vadim Ostanin – HOSTGE Sergei Udaltsov – HOSTAGE Konstantin Gabov – HOSTAGE Danuta Perednya – HOSTAGE Olesya Krivtsova – HOSTAGE Staff Sgt. Gordon Black – HOSTAGE
. . . and those hundreds of others whose names remain unknown to me . . . you are not forgotten, nor have you been abandoned. The fight continues on your behalf.
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