It appears that — at least for the next couple of weeks — he is back at home in Dubai, after spending the past seven months as a “guest” of French authorities.
You remember Pavel Durov, don’t you? He’s the multi-billionaire (about $15 billion at last count) citizen of Russia, where he was born, as well as France, the United Arab Emirates (UAE), and the lovely Caribbean island nation of St. Kitts and Nevis. He made his entrepreneurial debut as the founder of Russian messaging service VKontakte, then left Russia to outdo himself by creating the famously encrypted Telegram service.
Pavel Durov
He left Russia as a result of government pressure to reveal confidential client information, which he refused to do as a matter of professional ethics. Last year, similar demands were made by the French government in connection with criminal investigations involving some Telegram subscribers . . . which he again refused. And so he has not been allowed to leave France pending resolution of charges brought against him for his failure to cooperate with their investigations.
Now it appears that the Paris prosecutor’s office has suspended “the obligations of judicial supervision” for a period of three weeks, from March 15th to April 7th. Mysteriously, no further details have been given as to the reason for, or the conditions of, his temporary release. [Joe Tidy, BBC, March 16, 2025.]
While France and the UAE are parties to an extradition treaty signed in 2007, I have to wonder what would stop a person with billions of dollars at his disposal from fleeing to a country that does not share an extradition treaty with France . . . other than personal integrity, that is. And considering his past willingness to leave his native country behind in order to stand by his principles, and his continuing fight to preserve those same principles . . . well, I would hope and expect that he will be back in France by April 7th.
As to whether I think he is right or wrong, I have asked myself whether I would risk everything to protect the privacy rights of suspected criminals who had, by contractual agreement, entrusted their confidential information to me. And I had only to recall my own long-ago history to know the answer.
President Putin: It is my understanding that you have an excellent command of the English language. But, never having met you personally, I cannot be certain of that . . . and your recent behavior suggests to me that you may need a small refresher course. Being a good-natured individual, I have volunteered my services in this regard.
Let us begin, please, with two simple English words: “Peace negotiations.“
Each word individually is simple enough: “peace” is “мир” and “negotiations” is “переговоры.” But when you put them together, they take on a significant meaning: “мирные переговоры.”
Now, you are, from all accounts, an educated man . . . a graduate of the renowned Leningrad State University, no less. I don’t have to explain to you that “peace” is the absence of turmoil, or anxiety . . . or war. And I’m sure you are aware that a “negotiation” is a verbal exchange leading to a compromise decision.
You do understand “compromise,” don’t you? That’s “компромисс” in your native language. Couldn’t be simpler.
Понятно? Да? Хорошо.
So, now I have a question for you:
What the hell are you doing today — at the very hour that these so-called “peace negotiations” are taking place in Saudi Arabia — bombing the daylights out of the Pokrovsk region of Ukraine?!!
According to people in the area, “There are 200-300 explosions per day, all coming in our direction. They’re trying to advance on our positions — but we’re holding them back.” [Andriy Kuzakov, Current Time, RFE/RL, March 24, 2025.]
When asked about his thoughts on the peace talks underway in Riyadh, another gentleman responded: “I don’t believe it. This is a repeat of 2014 when they negotiated a cease-fire. It’s all just to pull in troops and strengthen their positions.” [Id.]
And isn’t that just what you have accused Ukraine of wanting to do if you agree to a 30-day ceasefire?
You are a master at posturing, at playing the peacemaker, and at making promises you have no intention of keeping. But in reality, you are Richard III, delighting in his deceptive nature and blaming his baseness on everyone and everything but himself:
“And thus I clothe my naked villainy With odd old ends stol’n forth of Holy Writ; And seem a saint when most I play the devil.” – Shakespeare, Richard III, Act I, Scene 3
*. *. *
But war is not a stage play, Vladimir Vladimirovich; it is real, it is deadly . . . and it is unforgivable.
Edgar Bergen (1903-78) was a mid-20th century ventriloquist well-known to radio and TV audiences as the voice of the dapper Charlie McCarthy and the countrified, not-so-bright Mortimer Snerd. Bergen and his playful characters were so beloved, they became almost real to those of us who lived in those much more innocent times.
Edgar Bergen, with Charlie McCarthy (L) and Mortimer Snerd (R)
And looking at that photograph in the context of today’s political environment, I can visualize other faces: Vladimir Putin, for example, as the ventriloquist, with any two members of his administration perched on his knees.
Or possibly — and even more ominously — with other, non-Russian adherents of Putin’s policies, such as Belarusian presumptive president Aleksandr “Mortimer” Lukashenko, and . . . let’s see, now . . . perhaps Donald Trump in place of the well-turned-out Charlie McCarthy?
Now, Charlie was a bright enough fellow, often getting the best of his verbal exchanges with Mr. Bergen. So let’s rename him Donnie, and assume he’s clever enough — and sufficiently ambitious — to bring along a few dummies of his own, perhaps named JD, Marco, and Steve.
“Steve? Steve who?” I hear you ask. Why, none other than the newest “expert” on U.S.-Russia relations . . . Donnie’s special envoy to the Middle East (yeah, I know, that doesn’t make any sense) . . . real estate entrepreneur par excellence Steve Witkoff.
What? You’re still asking “Steve who?” Don’t worry . . . so are a lot of people, myself included. So, here he is:
Steve Witkoff
Recognize him now? He’s the one who does the perfect impression of Trump’s superior sneer. Maybe that’s how he got the interview for the job.
Uncanny, isn’t it?
But he needed more than just “the face” to nail the job itself. And that’s where he outshone any and all other candidates with his perfect mimicry of “The Trump Put-down.”
First he referred to Ukrainian President Zelensky’s refusal simply to hand over sovereign Ukrainian territory to Putin as “the elephant in the room” at the so-called peace talks in Saudi Arabia between Russia and the United States . . . to which, by the way, Ukraine was not even invited.
But man does not live by insults alone; we must also master the art of the kiss-up to those whom we’re trying to impress, and whose egos are at least as great as our own . . . in this case, none other than Vladimir Putin himself. And how better to broadcast one’s obeisance to the mighty Russian dictator than by way of an interview with the only journalist guaranteed not to disagree with him: the one, the only (thank God!) . . . Tucker Carlson?
Following his meeting with Putin in Moscow, Witkoff told Carlson that he “liked” the Russian president:
“I don’t regard Putin as a bad guy. He’s super smart,” Witkoff proclaimed. He said that Putin had been “gracious” and “straight up” with him; had told Witkoff he prayed for Trump after last year’s assassination attempt; and had said he even had a portrait of Trump commissioned and presented it to Trump, who was “clearly touched by it.” [Id.]
Parroting some of Putin’s own claims, Witkoff wondered when the world would recognize occupied Ukrainian territory as Russian, and went on to add:
“There’s a sensibility in Russia that Ukraine is just a false country, that they just patched together in this sort of mosaic, these regions, and that’s what is the root cause, in my opinion, of this war, that Russia regards those five regions ** as rightfully theirs since World War Two, and that’s something nobody wants to talk about.” [Id.]
** The five regions at least partially under Russian control at the present time: Crimea, Donetsk, Lukhansk, Kherson, and Zaporizhzhia — three of which Witkoff was unable to name.
I have a question here: Doesn’t anyone in the Trump administration own a freakin’ history book??!!!
*. *. *
And, as to any further expansionist goals on Russia’s part, Witkoff went on to ask: “Why would they want to absorb Ukraine? For what purpose? They don’t need to absorb Ukraine . . . They have reclaimed these five regions. They have Crimea and they have gotten what they want. So why do they need more?” [Id.]
Again . . . history, you nimrod! Read your Russian/Soviet/Russian history — and not just since World War Two, but all the way back to the Russian Primary Chronicle and Kyivan Rus’.
*. *. *
But wait . . . there’s more. (There always seems to be more.)
British Prime Minister, Sir Keir Starmer, recently put forth a plan for an international force to support a ceasefire in Ukraine, to which Witkoff had this to say:
“I think it’s a combination of a posture and a pose and a combination of also being simplistic. There is this sort of notion that we have all got to be like [British wartime prime minister] Winston Churchill. Russians are going to march across Europe. That is preposterous by the way. We have something called Nato [sic] that we did not have in World War Two.” [Id.]
Right . . . that’s the same NATO that Trump has threatened — how many times? — to leave if those “simplistic” Europeans don’t cough up a larger share of the costs.
“What the . . . ?”
*. *. *
Well, every performance has to have a spectacular finish, and this one was no exception. In an attempt to reassure his audience that a ceasefire in the Black Sea would be “implemented over the next week or so [and] we are not far away” from a full 30-day ceasefire (as meanwhile the missiles and drones continue to blast away at cities throughout Ukraine), Witkoff described Trump’s desire to cooperate with Russia once relations have been normalized:
“Who doesn’t want to have a world where Russia and the US are doing collaboratively good things together, thinking about how to integrate their energy policies in the Arctic, share sea lines [sic] maybe, send LNG gas into Europe together, maybe collaborate on AI together?” [Id.]
Right. Just as Little Red Riding Hood trusted the Big Bad Wolf to lead her to Grandmother’s house.
With Ukraine constantly in the headlines, it seems only natural that I have been reminiscing about my visits there in the summer of 1993, while working in the Moscow office of a U.S. humanitarian aid foundation. And one of my most vivid memories is of the difficulties involved in traveling by train from Moscow to Kyiv at the time of Ukraine’s new-found independence . . . not nearly as difficult as today, of course, but still not easy. So I thought I’d recycle the tale of what, in retrospect, was one hell of a good time.
*. *. *
Things had changed in just a few weeks.
The day after Christmas of 1991, the Soviet Union had ceased to exist. In its place were now fifteen independent nations that previously had been Soviet Republics. And in the summer of 1993, most were still in the process of establishing their chosen forms of government, legal codes, and the institutions required to administer them. Ukraine was one of those fifteen nations, and as part of its development had established Embassies in various countries around the world . . . including neighboring Russia. It had also created official crossings along its nearly 7,000 miles of border abutting seven countries . . . also including Russia.
The 15 Former Soviet Republics
When I arrived in Moscow in May of 1993, much of this work was still in the process of being completed by the Ukrainian government, and my first train trip to Kyiv was easy and seamless. But by the time I was planning my second visit there, it was a whole new ballgame. There was now a Ukrainian Embassy in Moscow, and so I called to inquire whether I would need a visa to cross the border as a U.S. citizen with an American passport. It took a while to find someone who would even attempt to answer that question, and when I did, I was told that people with U.S. passports did not require visas to cross into Ukraine. Good news.
It was especially good news because this time I would be traveling with two American companions. Scott was working with the Foundation in the U.S., assisted by Michelle. Neither of them spoke Russian, and would be relying on my limited translation skills during the trip.
The fun began when we arrived at the Kyivsky Train Station in plenty of time for our scheduled evening departure. There was a woman taking tickets and checking I.D.s, and when she looked at our passports, she asked, in Russian, “But where are your Ukrainian visas?” Stretching my linguistic ability to the max, I explained to her the details of my call to the Embassy and what I had been told about not needing visas with U.S. passports. And she said, quite authoritatively, “Nyet!” I had apparently been given bad information, and her instructions were to see visas from everyone — Americans included.
Kyivsky Railroad Station, Moscow
I also explained that we had to leave that day as we had meetings scheduled the following morning with Ukrainian government officials and could not postpone our departure. She asked how we would get back into Russia, and I said we could get our return visas in Kyiv. She then asked what we would do about the border crossing. At that point, I moved a little closer to her, smiled conspiratorially, and whispered, “Well, that’s the Ukrainian government’s problem, not yours. Right?” Something from her lifetime of Soviet upbringing must have clicked into place. She smiled, handed our passports back to us, and said, “Khorosho” — “Fine.” And we boarded, three foreigners en route to Ukraine without visas. What a great start!
It got even better when the same lady who had taken our tickets showed up as concierge on the train and offered us tea. She obviously wore two hats for her job with the railroad, and I wasn’t crazy about this one, to say the least. She knew we didn’t have visas. What was going to happen when we reached the border? She would be blamed, unless she had a plan in place. This did not bode well for us, but it was too late to do anything about it now. We were already underway, captive on the train for the next 14 or 15 hours.
Michelle and I were sharing a two-bunk sleeper compartment, and Scott had a single at the far end of the same car. I was glad of the company, and we all sat up late in the “girls’ dorm,” swapping stories from our life histories, eating the food we had brought with us, and drinking good Russian tea, before finally kicking Scott out to his own quarters and locking our door. We had dressed comfortably for the trip, and something told me that Michelle and I should sleep in our clothes that night. I was later to be grateful for that decision.
At the border
The movement of the train soon lulled us to sleep, and it was around dawn when we were awakened by the screeching sound of brakes being applied and a whole lot of rattling and clanking going on. We had arrived at the border. Suddenly our door — the carefully locked door — was unlocked and slammed open with great force. Michelle and I both bolted upright in our bunks and were confronted by a very tall, very young, heavily-armed Ukrainian border guard, who stuck out one hand, palm up, and demanded, “Passports.”
Uh-oh. The moment of truth had arrived. Thank goodness we were spared the indignity of having to face it in pajamas!
I told Michelle to hand over her passport and to say nothing. Suddenly, I found myself in charge. Yeah, right. He was the one with the sidearm, not I. And he knew it. He also knew — compliments of the ticket-taker-cum-tea-service lady — that I spoke some Russian, and that we had no visas. But he dutifully scanned through our passports before saying to me, “Where are your Ukrainian visas?” Once more, I went through the whole story of the telephone exchange with the Embassy in Moscow. Then the following dialogue — in Russian — ensued.
Guard: “But you must have visas.”
Me: “No, they told me we didn’t need them with American passports.”
Guard: “But you must have them. How will you go back to Moscow?”
Me: “We will get them in Kyiv.”
Guard: “No, you must get them in Moscow.”
Me: (Looking dramatically at my wristwatch): “But it’s too late.”
Guard: (Repetitiously): “No, you should have gotten them there.”
Me: (For the umpteenth time): “But they told me we didn’t need them.”
Guard: “Well, they told you wrong.”
That was when my patience ran out. I recalled what someone had told me years before, in an entirely different context: that you have as much power as you can make other people believe you have. So — from my still-seated position — I slammed my hand on the small table attached to the wall between our bunks, making the water bottles and glasses do a little dance, and angrily declared, “Well, that’s not my fault, is it?!!”
“So there!”
And there stood one very surprised border guard, wondering who this tough-talking, unintimidated, Russian-speaking American woman might be. At best, I probably reminded him of his mother; at worst, I could have been the First Lady of the United States for all he knew. He clearly had no idea of what to do next. So he did what came naturally: he passed the buck. Taking two steps backward into the corridor, he beckoned to someone farther along the car, and suddenly we had two young, tall, well-armed border guards in our little compartment. They began whispering between themselves, and all I could catch were what sounded like “psst-psst-psst-Americans,” and “psst-psst-psst-no visas.” Then the second guard looked at me and asked, “You will get your visas in Kyiv?” to which I replied, still with supposed authority, “Yes; I already said we would.” Shaking an index finger at me, he came back, “You be sure?” And as I waved a hand dismissively toward the door, I replied, “Yes. Now you get out!”
And by some miracle, they did just that.
Of course, I had known all along that they were just waiting for me to offer a bribe (undoubtedly to be shared with the tea lady who had tipped them off), and I was prepared to pay if all else failed. But when I didn’t offer, they backed off as any schoolyard bully would have done. But I also realized that they had had the power to put us off the train in the middle of nowhere. Thank God they were young and inexperienced!
When they were gone, Michelle finally exhaled and asked what had just happened. I shrugged and told her we would get our visas in Kyiv. No worries.
After more rattling and clanking sounds, the train started forward, and Michelle and I looked at each other and in unison exclaimed, “Scott!” He had been on his own, with no visa, and not speaking a word of Russian. As we rushed out to the corridor to find him, he was walking toward us, grinning from ear to ear. He asked if we were all right, and I said we were fine — that I had managed to talk our way out of it. But how had he gotten through it? Still smiling broadly, he replied, “Oh, I just kept babbling at them in English until they gave up and went away.” There’s frequently more than one way out of a tough situation, and Scott had found his.
P.S. For the remainder of the trip, we saw no more of the tea service lady. Perhaps, being Russian and not Ukrainian, she was dropped off at the border.
*. *. *
But as clever as Scott had been on the train, he nearly got us into big trouble in Kyiv. On an afternoon when we had some spare time between meetings, we decided to go for a stroll through a nearby park. We were delighted to come across two elderly gentlemen playing chess at a permanently-affixed stone table — a classic scene, just as you see in practically every movie about Russia. I talked to them for a few moments, introducing us as American visitors, and leaving with a traditional Russian farewell, “Vsevo khoroshevo” — “All the best.”
A little farther on, we came to the banks of the Dnieper River, and followed it for a while, enjoying the sound of the rushing water. And then we found ourselves at the edge of the park, on a quiet street alongside a large office building. Turning right, in the general direction of our hotel, I wondered what the building was used for, saying I was feeling an eerie vibe from it. Of course, Scott and Michelle laughed at me. So when we saw a local lady walking toward us, I stopped her and asked, “Excuse me, do you know what this building is?” Her facial expression changed dramatically as she looked all around and over her shoulder. Then she whispered, “KGB.” I just mumbled a quick “Thank you,” as she hurried on her way. I was right about that vibe, and didn’t hold back from rubbing it in.
But Scott had an idea of his own. When we reached the corner and looked at the side of the building, we saw the name clearly engraved above the entrance: Komitet Gosudarstvennoi Bezopastnosti — “Committee for State Security.” KGB. Suddenly calling out “Take my picture,” Scott went charging up the tall staircase to the landing at the entrance and struck a pose, shouting for one of us to snap a photo. Knowing that it’s never a good idea to photograph a government building in that part of the world — and especially the offices of an intelligence agency — I yelled at him to get the hell out of there and refused to photograph him. But he decided this was fun, and wouldn’t budge. Finally I convinced Michelle that we should just walk away, and after a momentary pause he grudgingly gave up and joined us.
Main KGB Building, Kyiv (not the auxiliary building we saw)
And as we left, I noticed a car parked just yards from us, with two men seated in it. Just sitting . . . and watching. And I knew we had been spotted by KGB security. I quietly pointed them out to Scott and Michelle, both of whom finally realized that I hadn’t been joking and that we all needed to behave ourselves. The Soviet Union may have broken apart; but the KGB was, unfortunately, still very much alive. Needless to say, we had no further trouble with Scott on that trip.
In two days we had wrapped up the business side of our visit — my last one ever to Kyiv — and headed back on another long train ride to Moscow, this time with our return visas safely in hand. Scott and Michelle left for home a couple of days later, and I returned to what had become my “normal” life in Moscow.
*. *. *
As I said, the bureaucratic difficulties of those days of transition were minor in comparison to the agonies faced by the people of Ukraine since Vladimir Putin’s first invasion of 2014 and his unrelenting war of attrition now in its fourth year. I have been able to look back and laugh at those long-ago experiences.
There certainly is no lack of news concerning U.S.-Russia relations these days, primarily focused — as it should be — on ending the war in Ukraine.
And amidst all of that, the fact that there has been no word of an imminent release of political hostages from Russia’s prison camps is not necessarily an indication that behind-the-scenes negotiations are not taking place. At least, we should hope they are.
In the meantime, I thought I’d search for any sort of update, and found an article concerning dual U.S.-Russian citizen Ksenia Karelina, arrested in Russia in January of 2024 and sentenced in August to 12 years in prison . . . for making, while living in the United States, a $51 donation to a pro-Ukraine cause.
Ksenia Karelina in Los Angeles
Karelina and her boyfriend, Chris Van Heerdan, had taken a vacation in Istanbul. Karelina reasoned that, as long as she was that close to her former Russian home, she should visit her younger sister and their aging grandparents. Against his better judgment, Van Heerdan returned home to Los Angeles, while Karelina went on to Yekaterinburg.
They haven’t spoken since.
Chris Van Heerdan and Ksenia Karelina
She was detained on arrival for 16 hours; her passport and phone were taken from her and kept for three weeks. When she was told she could retrieve them, she was instead arrested for “hooliganism” — a vague charge commonly used as an excuse by Russian authorities to arrest someone who has done nothing illegal.
Ksenia Karelina – Blindfolded During Detention
While searching her phone data, the authorities found a record of the $51 donation Karelina had made in 2022, and upgraded the charges against her to treason, saying she had “contribut[ed] to a secure, prosperous and democratic Ukraine” — an illegal act in Russia. [Kirsten Fleming, New York Post, February 24, 2025.]
From her letters, Van Heerdan has learned that Karelina has survived in prison by giving facial massages to other inmates, which has helped to improve her relationships with the women. “This is who Ksenia is,” he says. “She can walk into any room and anyone will love her because she’s just a bright uplifting, positive person. She is trying her very best to hang on.” [Id.]
On Trial in Yekaterinburg
Van Heerdan’s interview stressed his hope and belief that Donald Trump will be able to secure Karelina’s release in light of his improved relationship with Vladimir Putin. According to Van Heerdan:
“Russia released a statement on state broadcast TV and acknowledged, ‘We are in communication with America. They are seeking the release of Ksenia and are [sic] we are very much interested in making that happen.’ That is massive.” [Id.]
Van Heerdan says that statement was issued the week after the February 18th meeting in Saudi Arabia between U.S. Secretary of State Marco Rubio and Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov, which has given Van Heerdan reason for optimism.
I hope he is right.
*. *. *
And we continue to remember all of those on our list of unjustly held hostages in Vladimir Putin’s GULAG of penal colonies:
David Barnes Ales Bialiatski (in Belarus) Gordon Black Andrei Chapiuk (in Belarus) Robert Gilman Stephen James Hubbard Ksenia Karelina Ihar Karney (in Belarus) Vadim Kobzev Uladzimir Labkovich (in Belarus) Michael Travis Leake Aleksei Liptser Ihar Losik (in Belarus) Daniel Martindale Farid Mehralizada (in Azerbaijan) Nika Novak Marfa Rabkova (in Belarus) Igor Sergunin Dmitry Shatresov Robert Shonov Eugene Spector Valiantsin Stafanovic (in Belarus) Siarhei Tsikhanouski (in Belarus) Laurent Vinatier Robert Romanov Woodland Vladislav Yesypenko (in Crimea) Yuras Zyankovich (in Belarus)
*. *. *
And — like a broken record — I again offer this plea to Donald Trump in the White House . . . though I fear it will likely continue to fall on deaf ears, as it has thus far:
“Amidst all of the hubbub of your new administration, it is imperative that these innocent men and women not be forgotten. Negotiations for their safe release have been underway for some time. President Joe Biden succeeded in bringing home 16 innocent people on August 1st of last year, and you have added two others to that list. But you should be trying to do even more. Whatever else you do, this should be high on your list of priorities. The people you promised to represent are counting on you.
“Perhaps this would be an appropriate time to remind you also of the oath you swore on January 20th:
“‘I do solemnly swear (or affirm) that I will faithfully execute the Office of President of the United States, and will to the best of my ability, preserve, protect and defend the Constitution of the United States.’
“I’m sure there’s a copy of that Constitution lying around the White House. If not, you can Google it. This is what it looks like, in case you’ve forgotten.”
On this date in 1983, then-President Ronald Reagan proposed a plan to develop a space-based missile defense system to shield the United States against a possible nuclear attack. He called it the Strategic Defense Initiative, or SDI; critics of the idea quickly labeled it “Star Wars,” because of its greater resemblance to science-fiction than anything within the realm of possibility.
SDI Imagined
And the critics were right. After an outlay of some $30 billion over ten years, the project was abandoned as unworkable.
And now Donald Trump is proposing — as though it were his original brainstorm — something he calls the “Gold Dome” project, supposedly to serve the same purpose, but without a clue as to how — or if — it might work.
Great way to cut the federal budget, Donnie!
Israel has a defense system known as the “Iron Dome.” But Trump being Trump — that is, being all about glitz and glitter and conspicuous consumption — thinks “gold” is more impressive than “iron,” even when talking about nuclear defense.
And even the name isn’t original . . . though in all fairness, he probably doesn’t know that the United States already has at least one golden dome: the Gold Dome Building in Oklahoma City, Oklahoma, originally built as a bank in 1958. It has served well in protecting the string of businesses under its cover throughout the years; but as a defense against a nuclear attack . . . well, I’d rather take my chances in a subway station, thank you.
The Gold Dome Building – Oklahoma City
Or maybe he’s just envious of the magnificent golden domes on churches and cathedrals around the world . . . and most particularly those beautiful “onion” domes in his friend Vladimir Putin’s Russia.
Perhaps he’d like to add a few of those to the White House . . . or, at the very least, to Mar-a-Lago. In the meantime, however, he has had to satisfy his lust for luxury by scattering a few — actually, more than a few — shiny dust-catchers to the Oval Office.
On the Fireplace MantelOn the Resolute Desk
Unfortunately, he missed out on this one for the residence . . . but perhaps he can have a duplicate made:
Gold Toilet Stolen from Blenheim Palace, U.K.
*. *. *
Well, I’ve had enough fun at Donald Trump’s expense today. But even as I jest, I believe I’ve proven two things:
First, all the gold in the world can’t buy you good taste; and . . .
Second, all the money in the world doesn’t make you smart.
It’s that time of year again, when World Population Review (WPR)releases its list of the Happiest Countries in the World. And for 2025 — in fact, for the tenth year in a row — the winner is . . . FINLAND!
And having experienced it firsthand — though not since 2009 — I can understand how it retains its status. It is a glorious place!
Beautiful Helsinki, Finland
I was not surprised to see that the majority of the top ten winners are located in northern European climes. The ten are, in order of scoring: Finland, Denmark, Iceland, Sweden, Israel, Netherlands, Norway, Luxembourg, Switzerland, and Australia (with New Zealand running a close 11th).
(For the complete list, check out worldpopulationreview.com.)
And where, you may be wondering, are we happy Americans? Well, we only made it to the No. 23 spot. Maybe that’s why Donald Trump is so desperate to claim Canada as the 51st state — it came in at No. 15. (Okay, Canada . . . we hear you cheering.)
Of course, I needed to know how these determinations are made each year, and the WPR is happy to share that information, which I pass along to you in relevant part:
“Happiness rankings are three-year averages. For example, 2023 rankings compile data from 2020-2022, while 2022 rankings compile data from 2019-2021.
“Happiness rankings are determined by analyzing comprehensive Gallup polling data from 149 countries in six particular categories: gross domestic product per capita, social support, healthy life expectancy, freedom to make your own life choices, generosity of the general populations, and perceptions of internal and external corruption levels.”
And when a country lacks sufficient data for one of the three preceding years, the average is based on the two available years.
In order to properly compare each country’s data, the researchers had a bit of fun: they created a fictional country, which they christened “Dystopia,” filled with “the world’s least-happy people.” Dystopia was placed at the lowest value in each of the six categories, and the scores of the real-world countries were measured against this value. All six variables were then blended to create a single combined score for each country.
Dystopia?
*. *. *
Now, I don’t know why these reports have been issued each year since 2002, or who first thought to compile them. But I do know that if I were thinking seriously of relocating, I’d be checking out that list . . . and perhaps enrolling in a Finnish language class.
Through some indecipherable mental process, Donald Trump and Elon Musk have decided that there are thousands of dead people collecting Social Security benefits, and that they need to be stricken from the system.
Well, if they are really and truly dead, then I whole-heartedly agree. And the people who have been collecting the payments in their place must legally be dealt with. That is a legitimate means of reducing wasteful government spending.
But is it true? Are there really thousands of them? Trump said in Florida last month that “There is one person on Social Security who is 360 years old.” [Nick Watt and Matthew J. Friedman, CNN, March 21, 2025.]
The 360-year-old Man
Well, that statement stretches credulity to the breaking point. If that individual — or someone in his or her name — has been collecting benefits for nearly 300 years, I’d like to know how and from whom, since not only has Social Security only been in effect since 1935 . . . but the United States itself is less than 250 years old! (I’d also like to know the secret of that person’s longevity, but that’s a whole other issue.)
*. *. *
Ned Johnson of Seattle, Washington, is a slightly different case. I don’t believe anyone is accusing him of having committed 300 years of fraud. But the 82-year-old gentleman was declared dead last month by the Social Security Administration (SSA); and he and his wife believe it’s due to a screw-up by one or more of Musk’s pre-pubescent DOGE staffers working inside the SSA — six of whom are said to be involved specifically with death data.
And the Johnsons have a point. Five days after the DOGE team began analyzing “improper payments” and “the death master file” on February 13th of this year, Ned Johnson was declared true and duly deceased. [Id.]
Together with his wife Pamela, Ned has been on a quest to prove his existence ever since. Although Pamela jokes that “There’s been a lot of gallows humor,” she adds that the “rather curious coincidence” has raised “a lot of unanswered questions,” and says that she thinks “maybe we’ll never know.” [Id.]
Ned and Pamela Johnson, with CNN’s Nick Watt
Their first inkling that something was wrong arrived in the form of an electronic letter from their bank, addressed to Pamela, on February 18th. It began:
“We offer our sincerest condolences. I understand this is a difficult time.” [Id.]
Pamela said that “[i]t was a little weird. Because he was sitting next to me drinking coffee.” [Id.]
The SSA had notified the bank of Ned’s “passing,” and money had been removed from their account equal to monthly payments they had received since November 23, 2024 — the date of his alleged demise. And the bank complied, because they had supposedly received some sort of form from a hospital in addition to the SSA notification. Neither the bank nor the SSA have been able to enlighten the Johnsons as to where that form came from, nor have they shown it to them.
Ned was told by his bank that “We have no way of communicating with Social Security. It comes electronically to us. We automatically react to it.” [Id.]
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Now, we all know that, in this electronic world, these things happen from time to time. Within the SSA alone, more than three million deaths are reported annually. But in a news release issued after Ned Johnson went public with his problem, the agency stated:
“Less than one-third of 1 percent are erroneously reported deaths that need to be corrected.“
Still, even that tiny percentage amounts to about 9,000 errors each year, leaving 9,000 people scrambling to prove they’re still alive and trying to retrieve their money . . . money that (contrary to anything Elon Musk may claim about a so-called Ponzi scheme) those people have paid into Social Security out of their salaries over a lifetime of honest, productive work. And now they depend on it for their very survival.
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Fortunately, Ned and Pamela were physically and mentally capable of taking steps — including going public in The Seattle Times — to rectify their situation fairly quickly. They did retrieve their wrongfully snatched benefits; but they also had to deal with the reinstatement of their Medicare and other health insurance, which had automatically been cancelled. And Ned worries whether he might have problems in the future with regard to credit card and passport renewals. As he says, “Your credit status goes to zero as soon as you’re declared deceased in the Social Security system.” [Id.]
Yes, these things happen. But they always seem to happen to the most vulnerable people . . . the ones least equipped to fight “the system” . . . and the very people now being targeted by the world’s newest, most notorious secret society: DOGE.
They call themselves the Department of Government Efficiency; but perhaps they should more appropriately be named the “Department of Government Executions.”
That way, they could keep the acronym and not have to change the logos on their tee shirts.
Not the Georgia in the United States . . . they’re in Tbilisi, the capital city of the Republic of Georgia, in the incredibly beautiful, wild Caucasus Mountains.
But not all ten of the Feenstras — just dad Arend and the two eldest daughters, Cora and Ariana.
Leaving Nizhniy Novgorod
Don’t ask me why they’re taking this four-day jaunt, leaving the rest of the family behind on the farm — that hasn’t really been explained, except for some hints by Arend about visiting friends, doing some shopping, and some “farm stuff.”
I’ve seen four videos so far. The first consisted solely of the agony of getting from Nizhniy Novgorod, Russia, to Tbilisi, Georgia — first by plane to Moscow; then by Metro from one airport (presumably Domodedovo, though that wasn’t clear) to another (Vnukovo); then, after several hours of hanging around the airport without sleep, on a 1:00 a.m. flight to Tbilisi, where they finally arrived at 5:00 a.m.
Interestingly, their Russian “migration cards” were taken from them at Vnukovo Airport, presumably because they were leaving the country. They are expected to be given back to them on their return from Georgia; but since, at this point, their journey hasn’t ended, it remains to be seen how seamlessly that will work.
After a few hours of sleep at their hotel and a hearty breakfast, they were off on their first shopping trip. And that takes up the entire second video. Really.
Tbilisi, Georgia
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Day Two of this mystery excursion was spent trying to find shoes for Arend at the East Point Mall. His old shoes were apparently wearing out, and he’s been unable to find his large size 46 (U.S. equivalent, I believe, is around 15) anywhere back in Russia. I have no idea why he can’t order them online the way they seem to order everything else, but that is something else left unexplained. In any event, 1,007 air miles seems a long way to go for shoes.
And after visiting half a dozen or so very nice sporting goods and shoe stores in Tbilisi, including Skechers and Levis, he still came away empty-handed.
Shopping for Size 46 Shoes
I haven’t been in Tbilisi since 1988, and I was fascinated to see how it has changed from a charmingly provincial, old-world city to a modern one offering every convenience imaginable. There were no shopping malls, in the contemporary sense, when I was there; no Western hotels, no high-end Western stores, no Yandex car service (similar to Uber), and no Western fast-food establishments. The trade sanctions against Russia since its invasion of Ukraine do not affect Georgia.
One thing that hasn’t changed is — as described by Arend — that Georgians are very much night people. In the daylight hours, the shops and restaurants were nearly empty of customers. But at night, the city comes to life, just as I remember it . . . in fact, even more so.
Nighttime Tbilisi
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Okay, it’s Day Three, and I’m still waiting to find out what they’re doing here, other than shopping. Today’s video consisted of a tour of yet another shopping mall, this one called Carrefour, which Arend compared to the Lenta mall in Nizhny Novgorod.
After a lengthy . . . really lengthy . . . excursion through a home goods store, during which we were treated to a price comparison for everything from dishes to a Samsung smart phone (the equivalent of CAN$1,600, or roughly US$1,100 – 1,200), his conclusion was that prices seemed to have increased since they were last in Georgia a year ago.
But again, I was pleasantly surprised to see the availability of goods, both Western and local. In 1988, I was quickly surrounded by a group of women at an open market when I took a pocket pack of Kleenex from my purse. They had never before seen a “handkerchief that you throw away,” as I described it to them.
Welcome to the 21st Century, Georgia.
Everything But the Kitchen Sink
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Day Four’s filming began with lunch at a restaurant that had been a favorite of Arend’s when they lived in Tbilisi for three months before reaching their Russian destination.
Something New … and Delicious
This was followed by a visit to an ancient castle by a vineyard, that — quite frankly — looked totally boring. I recall my long-ago visit to the ancient capital of Mtsxeta, which would have been much more interesting for Cora and Ariana . . . but I wasn’t in charge of planning their trip.
The Castle by the.Vineyard
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After four days of filming, I still have no clue as to the purpose of this latest Feenstra adventure: not the main purpose, nor why the two girls were dragged along, nor who arranged and financed it. But I do have some thoughts.
The recently installed sixth President of the Republic of Georgia is Mikheil Kavelashvili, a former professional footballer who ran as the sole candidate in 2024 in a highly-disputed election. His political stance is decidedly anti-Western, and massive demonstrations in Tbilisi have voiced the people’s concern about his government’s increasingly Russian-style actions.
Mikheil Kavelashvili, President of Georgia
Perhaps the Feenstras’ trip is just one more Putin-directed propaganda piece — taking advantage of their social media popularity — designed to promote Russia-Georgia relations, while at the same time demonstrating the family’s freedom to travel outside of Russia despite their “temporary residency” status.
It’s all rather strange, but I believe there is at least one more episode coming up. Perhaps then our questions will be answered, so stay tuned.
In the meantime, I don’t believe Arend has found shoes yet.
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