Mea culpa! I lost track of the days — a common hazard shared by the unemployed and retired population. And mercifully, there have been no new names to add to our list this week.

So here — one day late, for which I again apologize profusely — is my weekly tribute to the eight American hostages being held in Vladimir Putin’s prisons. All eight are still there, as far as I know. And so we must remember them once again, and encourage them to stay strong and never give up hope — hope that negotiations for their release are moving forward behind the scenes.

In no particular order, they are:

Ksenia Karelina, dual U.S.-Russian citizen, recently convicted of espionage and sentenced to 12 years in prison for contributing $51.80 to an American charity providing aid to Ukraine.

*. *. *

U.S. Army Staff Sergeant Gordon Black, who was stationed in South Korea when he fell into a Russian “honey trap.” He was on his way back to his home in Texas, on two weeks’ leave, when he was lured to Vladivostok by the Russian girlfriend he had met in Korea. He was arrested in May of 2024 on charges of alleged larceny and murder threat, and sentenced the following month to a prison term of three years and nine months.

*. *. *

Marc Fogel, a schoolteacher from Pennsylvania, was arrested in August of 2021 for possession of 0.6 ounce of legally-prescribed (in the U.S.) medical marijuana. In June of 2022 he was sentenced to 14 years in prison.

*. *. *

Robert Romanov Woodland, a dual US-Russian citizen, was teaching English in Russia when he was arrested in January of 2024 for allegedly attempting to sell drugs. In July, he was sentenced to 12-1/2 years in a maximum security prison.

*. *. *

Robert Gilman, already in jail in Russia serving a 4-1/2-year sentence (later reduced to 3-1/2 years on appeal) for kicking a police officer in 2022, found himself facing added charges in 2023 of punching prison staff in the head, and later also attacking a criminal investigator and another prison guard.

*. *. *

David Barnes, an American citizen and resident of Texas, was arrested in January of 2022 while visiting his children, who had been taken to Russia from Texas by his Russian wife. He was charged and sentenced in the fall of that year to 21 years in prison for child abuse (allegedly occurring while in Texas), on his wife’s accusation. I really wish I knew more of this story!

*. *. *

Eugene Spector, a dual US-Russian citizen already serving a four-year sentence handed down in June of 2021 on a bribery conviction, received additional charges of suspicion of espionage in August of 2023. No other details have been found, as the evidence is labelled “classified.”

*. *. *

Michael Travis Leake, a rock musician and former paratrooper, was sentenced in July of this year to 13 years in prison on drug charges — specifically, suspicion of selling mephedrone, and organizing a drug trafficking business “involving young people.”

*. *. *

And again I ask: Are any of these prisoners actually guilty of the charges leveled against them? I don’t know. But I do know that the recent timing of a number of the arrests, and the speed with which they were brought to trial, is a clear indication of Russia’s intentional roundup of American citizens to be used as (what I call) Putin’s Pawns.

What they are, quite simply, are HOSTAGES. And they will not — MUST not — be forgotten. Let’s shorten this list to zero.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/23/24

If the original group consists of, say, 100 people, then I suppose that losing a third of its population could be considered a mass exodus. But 34 people from the entire United Kingdom suddenly deciding to ditch the “woke” society of their homeland and seek a better, more “spiritual” life in Russia . . . I think I’d be more inclined to label that as a localized outbreak of delusion . . . resulting from the confusion . . . caused by an illusion . . . created by . . . I’d have to say stupidity here, even though it doesn’t rhyme. Sorry.

Add to this number a Canadian family of ten (the Feenstras) and an American family of five (the Heyers) (see my previous posts), and you’ve got 49 people — eleven of them minors dragged along by their parents — moving to a place about which they obviously know absolutely nothing, but believe to be a land of opportunity, morality, and security.

And how did this happen? Well, somehow this handful of people got the word that Vladimir Putin has offered to “save” the folks in the West who identify with Russia’s “spiritual and moral values [from Western] destructive neoliberal ideological attitudes.” [Kieran Kelly, The Telegraph, September 23, 2024.]

And in order to expedite his humanitarian undertaking, Lord Putin even had the immigration laws changed by Executive Order on August 19th, removing the former requirements that applicants for permanent residence must speak Russian and have knowledge of the “history and fundamentals of Russian legislation.” [Id.]

Of course, the Russian propaganda machine jumped right into action to take advantage of this boon. According to a report on Kremlin-connected Tsargrad TV:

“In the West, it seemed like they were just waiting for Putin’s document to appear … Tired of the liberal agenda — that’s how everyone who contacted the Russian diplomatic mission explained their decision.” [Id.]

And Major General Irina Volk, speaking for the Russian Interior Ministry, said that such moves are the result of “the abolition of traditional moral and family values in American society, as well as the low level of education.” [Id.]

(The above is shown as the official photo of the Interior Ministry. But am I the only one who think it looks more like an AI-created picture? Check out the hands, and the Adam’s apple, the too-perfect eye makeup, etc. Or maybe I’m just super-sensitive to the recent AI bombardment.)

Anyway, back to the subject at hand . . .

*. *. *

Consider the contrast: 878,500 immigrants from around the world who became citizens of the United States in 2023; 202,000 new citizens of the U.K. in the same year; and . . . what was that number again? . . . oh, right . . . 49 applicants in Russia thus far in 2024. They’re just beating on the doors over there, aren’t they?

And as an added incentive, Putin has said that any of these misbegotten souls who might be insane . . . er, eager enough to consider joining the Russian fighting forces in Ukraine would be welcome to do so. It seems that at least two from the U.K. already have: Ben Stimson and Aiden Minnis.

British historian and Executive Director of Mayak Intelligence, Mark Galeotti, said that Russia would have “no qualms” about accepting these immigrants into the military to fight in Ukraine, and would consider it to be “a great PR advantage.” But he feels that the greater advantage is the propaganda that would be directed at the Russian populace:

“It is not the same as recruiting a bunch of Nepalis whom you can pay peanuts to. This is more about the propaganda, which is about being able to say, ‘Look, these Westerners are so sick of wokeness in the West that they recognise Russia is much better.’” [Id.]

I wonder how many of those Russians — the ones trying to find a way out of the country, or whose relatives or friends are in prison for speaking out against the Putin regime — are actually buying that sh*t.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/23/24

I can’t believe I missed it yesterday — it’s my favorite season. Maybe it was the fact that the thermometer hit 95 degrees that had me confused. But here it is, just a day late.

I can still smell the crisp, cool New England air of my childhood, when we’d rake the leaves into a big pile, then jump into them and have to rake them up all over again. Finally our father would scoop them into the burn barrel and set them afire. It was legal then, before all of today’s industrial pollution.

So many things we were privileged to know, that today’s kids never will. We were the lucky ones.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/23/24

I can’t imagine. But in people like Vladimir Kara-Murza, dedication sometimes overrides good sense.

On August 1st of this year, he was released, along with fifteen other prisoners, from a Russian prison camp where he was serving a 25-year sentence for high treason. He had been detained in April of 2022, tried and convicted a year later, and sent to maximum security prison IK-6, where he was held — in deteriorating health — in solitary confinement.

Finally being moved to the penal colony’s hospital, he believed he was being taken out to be executed. Instead, he next found himself on a plane to Turkey, where he learned that he was part of a multi-nation spy swap that included Americans Evan Gershkovich, Alsu Kurmasheva, and Paul Whelan.

Like the others, all he had done — what was said to constitute treason in Russia — was to verbally oppose the regime of Vladimir Putin.

A dual British-Russian citizen, Kara-Murza was now free to return to his family and a normal life. But in an interview this week with BBC’s Laura Kuenssberg, he told the following story:

“You know, when our plane was taking off from Vnukovo airport in Moscow en route to Ankara on 1 August, the FSB officer who was my personal escort sitting next to me turned to me and said, ‘Look out the window, this is the last time you’re seeing your motherland.’

“And I just laughed in his face, and I said, ‘Look, man, I am a historian, I don’t just think, I don’t just believe, I know that I’ll be back home in Russia, and it’s going to happen much sooner than you can imagine.’” [Laura Kuenssberg, BBC, September 21, 2024.]

I am not personally acquainted with Vladimir Kara-Murza; but it is quite obvious that this is not the sort of thing he would joke about, least of all under the conditions of that momentous day.

So what does he have in mind? Perhaps his full interview will reveal more; or perhaps he doesn’t have a definite plan yet. But for an individual who has gone through — no, been put through — what he has in the last two and a half years by the leader of his native country, and to still have the desire to return for whatever reason . . . well, that is just too difficult for me to fathom.

He is obviously driven by some internal force stronger than any fear for his own safety. Is it love of one’s motherland? Or of its people? A desire to fight for the future of those people, to bring freedom at last to a nation that has only had the most teasing taste of it before once again losing it to yet another tyrannical dictator?

Whatever it is, Vladimir Kara-Murza — having survived those two-plus years in hell — is clearly a man of strength and determination. I fear for him; at the same time have the greatest respect for him; and cannot wait to see what the next chapter of his life will bring.

Best of luck, Vladimir Vladimirovich.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/23/24

I can only repeat what I’ve said before:

You are loved — and always will be — beyond measure.

Love and a thousand xoxo,
Nana

All you Midsomer Murders fans, pay attention: your favorite stories of mayhem, murder, incest, bigamy, polygamy, kidnapping, theft, lying, cheating, infidelity, corruption, back-stabbing, double-dealing, and bestiality . . . nope, haven’t actually seen that last one . . . but all the others turn out not to be so implausible after all. Just ask the 500 residents of the idyllic little village of Shiptonthorpe in East Yorkshire.

Or should I say, “formerly idyllic”? It seems that someone — or perhaps a number of someones — has (or have) been sending “vulgar” mail, terrorizing the recipients and turning Shiptonthorpe into a “village of poison,” according to residents. [Sarah-May Buccieri, BBC News, September 21, 2024.]

It has been going on for the past two years, and although Humberside Police have “carried out inquiries into some of the incidents,” [id.], the culprit — let’s assume it’s just one person — has yet to be identified. The letters — described as “personal, obscene and targeted” — just keep on coming.

One such recipient — identified only as Sophie, though not her real name — received a letter “ . . . accusing me of what you could call being a loose woman. It said the only way I would ever get anywhere within politics would be if I was to perform unspeakable things to men.” The letter further suggested she should be “turned out on the Beverley Westwood pasture with the rest of the cows.” [Id.]

Another resident, identified as Jason, said he had not received any letters, but that “A cloud of vitriol has fallen over Shiptonthorpe. It is a wonderful village with wonderful people, but someone has brought poison to this village.” [Id.]

And yet another letter — actually seen by the BBC — told the recipient, “I hope cancer finds you.” [Id.]

Now, that’s pretty awful.

On an episode of Midsomer Murders, this hate campaign would long since have resulted in, not one, but a series of grisly murders. Detective Chief Inspector Barnaby (either one) and his Detective Sergeant du jour would ultimately trace the motive back to a generations-old affair between someone’s grandmother and someone else’s estate manager, or an incestuous relationship resulting in a young lesbian’s grandfather also being her father (an actual plot).

Happily, that has not happened in Shiptonthorpe, which is a very good thing, not least because there is no real-life DCI Barnaby to solve the case.

However, I am reminded of an episode of an old American series, Murder, She Wrote, starring British actress Angela Lansbury as J.B. Fletcher, an American mystery novelist whose mere presence anywhere in the world seems to precipitate someone’s mysterious death. She then helps the police — themselves frequently clueless — solve the crimes. And in the particular segment I mentioned, which took place in her little (fictitious) home town of Cabot Cove, Maine, people began receiving nasty letters that set neighbor against neighbor. Jessica (J.B.), of course, figured it out, and everyone hugged it out and lived happily ever after. Well, except the murder victims.

Perhaps what Shiptonthorpe needs is its own J.B. Fletcher. In any event, I wish them luck in unmasking the culprit. It’s probably the illegitimate child of the wealthy industrialist who had an affair with the pub owner’s daughter back in the 1940s . . .

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/22/24

We keep hearing it from Vladimir Putin . . . and from Dmitry Medvedev . . . and Sergey Lavrov . . . and mad scientist Sergei Karaganov . . . and even madder philosopher Aleksandr Dugin . . . not to mention the irrepressible Kremlin spokesman, Dmitry Peskov:

It’s the none-too-subtle threat of a nuclear response if we dare to displease the man in the Kremlin.

And we think it all sounds too familiar because we keep hearing it, almost daily, from so many different voices — coming at us from all sides like a too-loud movie soundtrack in one of those shopping mall multiplex theaters.

But for those of us who have been around for a while, that’s not the only reason for the familiarity. Recognize this guy? . . .

Remember his famous quote? . . .

“We will bury you!”

For those of you under the age of 80 — which would undoubtedly be most of you — a little historical context might be in order:

On November 18, 1956, Khrushchev — then First Secretary of the Union of Soviet Socialist Republics (USSR) — was addressing a gathering of Western ambassadors at the Polish Embassy in Moscow. Part of his speech (as translated into English by his personal interpreter, Viktor Sukhodrev) has been quoted as follows:

“About the capitalist states, it doesn’t depend on you whether or not we exist. If you don’t like us, don’t accept our invitations, and don’t invite us to come to see you. Whether you like it or not, history is on our side. We will bury you!” [Wikipedia]

Reportedly, the representatives from twelve NATO nations and Israel stood up and left the room.

Nearly 70 years later, the precise meaning of those words — “We will bury you” — is still being debated. Was it a threat of a nuclear attack? That was the most commonly accepted interpretation . . . as it is today, when considering the words of Putin and his henchmen.

*. *. *

And my point is . . . ?

Simply, that, in the sphere of international relations, some things never seem to change. After nearly 70 years, only the names on the doors are different.

You’d think we’d have learned by now.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/22/24

On the one hand, you’ve got Vladimir Putin telling the working women of Russia that they need to start sacrificing their free time — their lunch breaks at work — in order to sneak off to a specially-designated area with their husbands to, as he puts it, procreate . . . make more babies . . . lots and lots of babies . . . for the benefit of Mother Russia, whose birth rate has dropped precipitously in recent years.

While on the other hand, you have 70,000-plus Russians — mostly young men — who have been killed since February 24, 2022, fighting Putin’s war of attrition in Ukraine. Young men who would likely have been responsible for bringing quite a few new lives into the world had they been at home with their wives and sweethearts where they belonged, instead of being killed on a foreign battlefield.

You do the math.

And it turns out that now, for the first time, volunteer enlistees — not professional soldiers — constitute the majority of those killed in that war since its inception: volunteers who were enticed by higher pay and signing bonuses to do a job for which they were not qualified or properly trained. [Olga Ivshina, BBC, September 19, 2024.]

The BBC has gone to great lengths to verify the numbers and identities of the casualties, which thus far total some 70,112 . . . though the actual count is believed to be considerably higher, as some families do not share details publicly, and some information was not available to the BBC investigators. [Id.]

And now — aside from the absolute horror of the loss of those tens of thousands of young lives in Ukraine — young couples back home in Russia are being told that they must make up the losses by cranking out babies they may not want or be able to afford. And the women, of course, will be expected to do double duty as working mothers of multiple children . . . all for the sake of Putin’s “special military operation.”

For once, I have no words . . .

Brendochka
9/22/24

Not much is known about about the Heyer family as yet, other than the fact that they are from somewhere in New York and have made the incomprehensible (to me, at least) decision to move to Russia. They are the U.S. equivalent of the Canadian Feenstra family . . . just with fewer children.

And once more — as I did when first writing about the Feenstras — I have to ask:

“Don’t you people read the news?!!”

Like their Canadian doppelgängers, they are an ultra-conservative Christian family seeking their version of Nirvana, that is, a land of what they consider to be “traditional moral and family values” — a place that exists only in their dreams.

So they decided that place must be Russia.

Knowing nothing of their background, I can’t fathom what brought Leo and his wife Chantel to this conclusion. But from their belief that Russia must be the land of their dreams, I suspect that they are, at the very least, unworldly and undereducated as to the realities of life. And judging solely from their photograph above, taken as they received their temporary Russian residency permits, I would say that Leo looks optimistic; Chantel looks a little nervous; and the three boys look stoned . . . oh, sorry . . . stunned. As with the eight Feenstra children, their futures are of the greatest concern to me.

Leo Heyer’s comment for the video published by the Russian Interior Ministry was simply: “I feel like I’ve been put on an ark of safety for my family. The person I want to thank is President Vladimir Putin for allowing Russia to become a good place for families in this world climate.”

And Chantel added: “In a small way, it feels as if I just got married to Russia.”

Whoever wrote their script has a real future with the Russian equivalent of Hallmark.

*. *. *

Needless to say, Russia’s Interior Ministry did not overlook the propaganda value of the American family’s arrival. Their spokeswoman, Irina Volk, was cited by the official Russian news agency TASS as saying that the Heyers’ decision to move to Russia was the result of their “distaste for the dissolution of traditional moral and family values in American society, as well as the poor education system. The adult members of the family were worried about the future of their children.” [TASS, August 15, 2024.]

According to TASS, she stated: “Another American family has chosen to relocate to our country and live here. My colleagues from the Moscow Region’s branch of the Russian Interior Ministry issued certificates of temporary asylum on the territory of Russia to the Heyer’s [sic] and their children. In the future, Leo and Chantel plan to get Russian citizenship, because they know that in our country traditional values are protected by the state. They say it is safer here, the level of education is better, large families are supported.” [Id.]

The Feenstras at least have a YouTube channel through which they are allowed to keep in touch with the outside world. I hope we will also be kept informed of the Heyers’ progress as they navigate the muddy waters of life in Russia. In the meantime, I wish them . . .

Vsevo dobrovo. All the best.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/22/24

They say every dream has a meaning, and not necessarily an obvious one. I’m not sure I want to know what mine mean . . . they’re that weird.

If you’ve been following me for a while, you know I write a lot about Russia, both past and present. (I haven’t learned to forecast the future yet.) So it would seem natural for me to dream about the time I spent there years ago, or the people I knew in Moscow back in the ‘90s, or being chased by Vladimir Putin through the dark forest or across a snowy tundra. But I don’t.

I do dream a lot about Nazis, though. Evil-looking, gun-toting, goose-stepping, 1940s Gestapo types, who for some reason are pursuing me from nook to cranny, hell bent on killing me. And each time I think I’ve found a good hiding place, here they come again. They never do catch me, but can anyone tell me what they’re doing in my dreams? Could it simply be a craving for sauerbraten?

Happily, the Nazis don’t visit often. But I do rack up a lot of miles while I’m sleeping — driving and driving and driving. A lot of the time I’m searching for the right road (okay, that one’s pretty obvious), but just as often I know where I’m going and other cars keep getting in my way, though I always find my way around them. Or it starts snowing and the road is slippery. Or I’ve parked the car somewhere and when I go back for it, I can’t find it. I spend a lot of time running up and down the ramps in parking garages too. Driving, driving, driving . . . running, running, running . . . and getting nowhere.

Actually, this one is starting to sound more like my life, except that in the dreams I’m usually younger and more able-bodied.

I have a confession to make: I was, for most of my adult life, a bona fide shopaholic. I loved going to the big malls, wandering from store to store, roaming through displays of things I would never in a million years have any use for. But especially at the change of seasons, there were the newest fashions. Clothes for work, clothes for play, clothes for the White House dinner I would never be invited to. Clothes for the next cruise. Shoes. Purses. Lingerie. Pajamas. Jewelry. I loved it all.

I don’t do that anymore. At my stage of life — old and retired — I have no need for all those beautiful things. And nowhere to put them anyway, since the downsizing. Besides that, I’m not sure I would survive an entire day of shlepping through a three-story mall complex, complete with food court, gigantic atrium, and multiplex movie theater.

So I dream about it instead. Really. I can’t count the number of times my sister (in reality, gone these past seven years) and I hit the shops, try on clothes, argue over which one is going to get the jacket we’ve both fallen in love with. Those dreams are so real that when I wake up, I have to check to be sure my credit card is still in my wallet and my sister hasn’t miraculously come back to life. (Yes, it is, and no, she hasn’t.)

And then there are the nighttime fantasies where I’m in a theater, and I’m called upon to perform. Lots of luck with that one! I guess that’s just the latent extrovert trying to escape from somewhere deep down inside; but trust me — it’s never going to happen. I have no musical talent, and the last time I acted in anything was in an office Christmas review when I played the part of a cleaning lady singing about the Sherman Antitrust Act. Don’t ask — it was a law firm and the script was written by lawyers, so it’s not going to make sense. All I remember is that I had to have several drinks before screwing up the courage to go onstage. They said I did well, which is what counts, I guess. And I recall the broom.

So I fantasize about performing in my sleep, and the applause is truly uplifting. It also usually wakes me up, which is irritating because then I have to make one of those nocturnal trips to the w.c.

You’ve probably noticed that these have all been dreams built on repeated themes. That in itself must mean something, but I haven’t a clue as to what it might be. There are others that keep cropping up — looking at new houses and apartments, cats and dogs that talk to me, trying to find an unoccupied ladies’ room, and babies that for some reason have been left in my care.

But now and then there will be an excruciatingly detailed, very mixed-up, totally incomprehensible dream that leaves me scratching my head and saying

when I finally wake up. Like the one the other night that included the following:

— A date with a man I sort of liked but wasn’t sure of;

— Going to a party in the wealthy D.C. suburb of Potomac, Maryland;

— Wearing a beautiful, slinky, sparkly, rose-colored evening gown with bare shoulders and “spaghetti” straps;

— Being tall and slim and much younger (that’s how I knew it was a dream);

— Riding in the man’s Lincoln Continental;

— Arriving at the restaurant, where the elevators kept closing before we could get into them;

— Finally being seated with several other people I didn’t know;

— Everyone chipping in for the dinner with cash, but not being allowed to contribute my share;

— Going to the ladies’ room with my sister, who somehow suddenly showed up; and finally

— Riding a different elevator to . . . wait for it . . .

You knew there had to be a garage in there somewhere, didn’t you?

So . . . anybody make sense out of any of that? I’d see a shrink, but I’m scared to death of the diagnosis. I’m also a little afraid to fall asleep at night. But at least my nocturnal life isn’t boring.

Just sayin’ . . .

Brendochka
9/21/24