I know I keep harping on it — talking about Vladimir Putin’s brainchild, BRICS; Xi Jinping’s “Belt and Road” initiative; Viktor Orban’s “Patriots for Europe“ scheme — as being a long-range plot to turn the world upside-down. But it’s not a made-up conspiracy theory; it is a real thing.
And now the heads of the United States’ CIA and Britain’s MI6 are describing the present international order as being “under threat in a way we haven’t seen since the Cold War.” [Gordon Corera and Jemma Crew, BBC News, September 7, 2024.]
Sir Richard Moore (MI6) and William Burns (CIA)
In a first-ever joint article for the Financial Times, the two intelligence chiefs addressed the issues of “resisting an assertive Russia and Putin’s war of aggression in Ukraine”; the work being done to “disrupt the reckless campaign of sabotage” across Europe by Russia; the push for de-escalation in the Israel-Gaza war; the rise of China as “the principal intelligence and geopolitical challenge of the 21st century”; and the urgent need to counter the resurgent Islamic State. [Id.]
In part, they wrote:
“There is no question that the international world order — the balanced system that has led to relative peace and stability and delivered rising living standards, opportunities and prosperity — is under threat in a way we haven’t seen since the Cold War.” [Bill Burns and Richard Moore, Financial Times, September 6, 2024] [bold emphasis is mine].
Without rehashing the entire article — which is well worth a read, by the way — I just want to say that, while it is certainly good to know that you haven’t been imagining or overstating things, there are times that you really wish you were wrong.
Judging from this list, it seems we go to war a lot in September. Let’s hope the trend doesn’t continue. But check out these past adventures (or misadventures, depending on your outlook):
1776: World’s first submarine attack. It’s hard to believe, but they really did have submersible crafts — if you can call this a craft — nearly 250 years ago. During the U.S. Revolutionary War, the submarine called the Turtle was used to attempt to attach a time bomb (yes, they had those too!) to the hull of British Admiral Richard Howe’s flagship Eagle in New York Harbor. It was unsuccessful, but General George Washington labelled it “an attempt of genius.”
Sounds to me like something out of a Jules Verne novel.
Submarine Turtle
*. *. *
1813. United States nicknamed Uncle Sam. A meat packer named Samuel Wilson, from Troy, New York, supplied barrels of beef to the U.S. Army during the War of 1812. He stamped the barrels with “U.S.” (for United States); but because he was known locally as Uncle Sam, soldiers began referring to the food as “Uncle Sam’s.” The local newspaper picked it up, and it became the 1813 version of a meme.
Who needs social media?
Good Old Uncle Sam
*. *. *
1864. General Sherman orders civilians evacuated from Atlanta. The other war on U.S. territory: the Civil War of 1861-64. General Sherman had already taken Atlanta, but needed to get the civilians out of his way because of a limited number of troops to guard the city, and limited supplies to feed everyone. So it wasn’t entirely altruism that caused him to evacuate the civilians — although he did say he didn’t want to be responsible for the women and children. So off they went. Sherman provided transportation out of the city, but thereafter they were on their own.
War is hell.
Sherman’s March to the Sea
*. *. *
1940. The Blitz begins as Germany bombs London. Keeping with the war theme . . . this was unspeakably bad. For 4-1/2 seemingly endless years.
That really was hell.
London Blitz – World War II
*. *. *
1968. Protesters disrupt the Miss America Pageant. A bunch of feminists — popularly known as the women’s liberation movement — disrupted the annual pageant in Atlantic City, protesting the “oppression” of women and declaring that the pageant reinforced “the degrading Mindless-Boob-Girlie Symbol.”
Equal rights for women have come a long way since then. But the Miss America pageant lives on.
Miss America Protest
*. *. *
1977. U.S. agrees to transfer Panama Canal to Panama. The treaty signed on that date recognized Panama as the territorial sovereign in the Canal Zone, but retained the United States’ right to continue operating the canal until December 31, 1999. Under a separate Neutrality Treaty, the U.S. also retained the right to use military force, if necessary, to keep the Canal open.
Thus was the dictator Manuel Noriega overthrown in the U.S. invasion of Panama in1989.
Panama Canal
*. *. *
Footnote: I don’t recall the exact date, but it was in the early 1980s, while Noriega was still heading the government of Panama. I was having lunch with my daughter in Washington’s Madison Hotel across the street from my office, when a man strode into the restaurant with an entourage of some of the toughest-looking bodyguards I had ever seen. My daughter saw them first and said, “Mom, is that who I think it is?” And when I recognized Noriega, I suggested we eat quickly and get out of there — just in case.
I love Washington — you never know who (or what) might be around the next corner.
August 1993. I was preparing for my departure from Moscow, and I was — to put it mildly — pissed.
I was supposed to have had a two-week hiatus at home, then returned to Russia for the remainder of the year; but I had just been advised by Gil Robinson that the Foundation’s budget had somehow suffered a shortfall and I was to be the sacrificial lamb, to be replaced by Maya — who worked (more or less) for a much lower salary, of course. I knew where the money had gone — nothing illegal, certainly, but definitely wasteful and irresponsible. Obviously, I was not a happy camper. And there was the fact that our American Foundation would be left without an American on-site administrator. However, fighting it would have proven divisive and counter-productive, so I chose to shut up and suck it up. Stupid! Stupid! Stupid!
But enough grumbling. The fact is, I was preparing to pack it in within the next couple of weeks. And first there were things to be done: a good bit of Foundation business . . . and a couple of personal matters.
With the end of my time in Moscow approaching, I began thinking about some of the small but memorable incidents of the past months. Like the day I went for a walk in the neighborhood and saw two young women approaching with arms full of gorgeous pink peonies — one of my two favorite flowers (the other being lilacs). I stopped them and asked where I could buy some of the blooms, and they smiled, saying they hadn’t bought them, but had picked them somewhere. When they saw my disappointment, they asked where I was from, and when I said I was an American from Washington — remember, this was a time when we were much loved in Russia — one of the girls just handed me half of her armful of peonies and insisted that I accept them as a gesture of friendship. Those flowers filled my apartment with their fragrance for days, and the memory still fills my heart with joy. The world could use more peonies.
Pink Peonies: My Faves
Made you smile, didn’t they?
*. *. *
Then there was the woman in the Metro with a little girl around five or six years old and two big bags of groceries, but only two hands when she clearly needed three. As I was approaching the top of the escalator to head down into what looked like a quick ride to the center of the earth, the woman walked up to me, nudged her little girl toward me and demanded, rather than requested, that I help her child onto the escalator. With a crowd of people close behind us, there was no time to think, much less quibble; so I took hold of the girl’s hand, jumped with her onto the fast-moving escalator, and saw the mother jump on behind us, still clutching her groceries. They both were apparently expert at this maneuver.
The little girl was adorable, with two big bows anchoring her pigtails in the old Russian style, and was obviously shy. In my most friendly voice I told her my name and asked hers, but she just stared down at her feet. I said I was from America, far away, but still no response. When we finally reached the bottom, we both jumped off, her mother following close behind. The little girl then ran to her mother’s side and they hurried off — without so much as a “thank you” or “goodbye.” Nothing. I assumed she had mistaken me for a Russian woman (which happened from time to time), and that this was just how things were done there; I really don’t know. But can anyone imagine an American mother entrusting her child to a stranger that way? “Hey, you, take my kid.” I must have a really honest face.
Moscow Metro Escalator
*. *. *
Another incident that has stayed with me had to do with an ice cream vendor in a kiosk located along our usual route home from the city center. Vitold introduced me to it, and I decided to stock the freezer with the yummy treat to share with my co-workers. There wasn’t much of a selection; actually, there was none at all. You either liked vanilla or you were out of luck. And it was sold by the “brick,” which as I recall weighed about a fourth of a kilo, or just over half a pound, each brick wrapped in some sort of butcher’s paper. So one day we stopped there, and while Vitold guarded the car, I stood in line at the kiosk. When it was my turn, I asked the lady, in my best Russian, for eight bricks, and held up eight fingers to be sure she understood me.
Oh, she understood, all right. But what she didn’t understand was what anyone was going to do with four and a half pounds of ice cream. So she demanded, in a voice resembling my fourth-grade teacher’s, “Eight?! What for?” Knowing that it would be the height of rudeness to brag about having the luxury of a freezer at home, I came up with a quick answer I thought would satisfy her: “For my friends at work.” And for probably the first time that day, she smiled. In fact, she liked my answer — and me — so much that when I came back again another day, she greeted me like an old friend and handed over my eight bricks of ice cream without even being asked.
Ice Cream Kiosk
By the way, there is — or was then — no such thing as low-fat ice cream in Russia. To hell with calories and cholesterol; you may as well die with a smile on your face — and a few extra inches on the hips.
*. *. *
I could have gone on daydreaming, but it was time to begin wrapping things up. Unbelievably, one of the first things on my to-do list was taking Maya to the American Embassy to obtain her visa in order to fulfill one of her long-time dreams: a visit to the United States. Yes, that’s right: somehow money had been found in the budget for her plane fare and a one-week stay for . . . I believe it was called on her visa application . . . “training,” or perhaps “orientation.” She was supposed to develop, in just one short week, the skills it had taken me thirty-plus years to hone. It doesn’t matter what you call it — it stank. But as the manager of the Moscow office, I had to vouch for her to our State Department. So we spent a couple of hours in the visa office, being grumped at by an American Consular officer who clearly wanted to be anywhere but where he was, until finally he was satisfied that Maya did not pose a threat to U.S. security, and approved her application.
U.S. Embassy, Moscow
On leaving the Embassy and heading toward the nearest Metro station, we had to cross a popular cut-through street that ended in a “T” at the busier road and had only a stop sign — which was mostly being ignored by the frazzled drivers turning onto the main road. Pedestrian right-of-way appeared to be an unknown concept in Moscow, despite the presence of crosswalks, and we stood on the sidewalk for a full five minutes, waiting for a break in the traffic that never happened. Predictably, I finally lost patience. With Maya shouting for me to stop, I decided to take my chances with an oncoming black Mercedes — a rarity in those days, and obviously belonging to someone of the criminal persuasion. It appeared to be slowing for the stop sign, so I stepped off the curb, walked to the middle of the street, stood my ground, and held out my right hand in what I hoped was a good imitation of a Moscow traffic cop. All I needed was a whistle.
As I looked more closely at the driver and the other occupants of the approaching Mercedes, I saw four rather tough-looking men, well-dressed, and sporting aviator sunglasses: clearly Mafiosi. I heard Maya screaming, “Brenda! Are you crazy? Do you know who they are???” Well, sure, I knew who they were — but I couldn’t back down now, could I? The car stopped; the driver looked at me for a moment with an angry scowl; then he unexpectedly broke into a huge smile, bowed his head toward me, and dramatically waved his arm from left to right in a gesture inviting me to continue across. I smiled back, bowed my head in return, mouthed “spasibo” (“thank you”), and continued on my way to the opposite curb. Once again, I had proven that you have as much power as you can make others think you have. Armed border guards, KGB officers, Mafia dons — no difference, really.
“Are you talkin’ to me?”
Then, of course, I had to wait another five minutes for Maya to make her way across the street. But it was worth it, just seeing the fear on her face when I confronted that Mercedes. (Yes, I know that’s sadistic, but she wasn’t my favorite person at that moment, and sometimes you just have to grab your pleasure when you can.) When she asked what on earth I had been thinking, I told her that those men — regardless of who they were — undoubtedly had mothers, wives, sisters, and/or girlfriends, and wouldn’t be likely to run over a woman unless she was pointing a gun at them. Another calculated risk taken . . . and survived. Moscow was such fun.
*. *. *
We were scheduled to present a luncheon promoting our much-touted veggie burger at Petrovka Headquarters on the day before my departure from Moscow, so there were still preparations to be completed for that event. Co-hosting the luncheon, and instructing the “chef” at Petrovka, would be one Vladimir Pivovarov, then head of the Department of Alimentation (Nutrition), whom I had not yet met. I had a meeting scheduled with him a couple of days prior to the luncheon.
When I arrived at his office — a second-floor walkup in an old building on Leninsky Prospekt, away from the center of the city — the first thing I noticed was a portrait on the wall of Vladimir Ilyich Ulyanov, better known as Vladimir Lenin. Those mass-produced portraits had occupied a place of honor in every single government office and every single shop and factory throughout the entire Soviet Union. But since the dissolution of the USSR at the end of 1991, they had rapidly disappeared from most of those walls. The fact that Pivovarov still had his copy proudly on display spoke volumes to me about his political leanings. Or perhaps he was just too lazy to take it down. In any event, I suddenly had another of my diabolical little ideas.
Lenin
When we had finished our discussion of the arrangements for the luncheon, I stood up as though to leave, but then hesitated. Pointing at the Lenin picture, I asked, “Would you be willing to sell that, and if so, for how much?” Clearly taken by surprise, he said he had no idea, as he had never been asked that before. I told him I would pay $50 for it, and he could think it over until our next meeting two days later. In 1993, $50 in hard currency was a lot of money to an underpaid government apparatchik, and I was pretty sure I would be going home with Lenin in my luggage . . . somehow.
*. *. *
On the personal business side, there was also one more meeting to be held with Valentin Aksilenko before leaving. He came to my apartment on a Sunday, when none of my co-workers were there. We made small talk for a while about my departure, whether I was glad to be going home, etc. Then, pointing at the ceiling and placing a finger across his lips in the universal signal that someone might be listening, he handed me a plain, white, letter-sized envelope and gestured toward a desk drawer, indicating that I should get it out of sight. Finally he said out loud that he had to leave, and silently gestured that I should go outside with him. I replied that I would walk him out and we left the confines of the apartment, remaining silent in the elevator and as we passed the lady at the desk on the ground floor. I felt as though I was taking part in a really bad spy movie.
Rublevskoye Shosse 16 – My Home in Moscow
Directly outside the entrance was a rather busy parking area for residents of the building, so we walked around the corner toward the street. But he stopped along the side of the building and motioned to a specific spot where we should stand and finish our conversation. It was a rather odd place to stop, completely empty and exposed, and it appeared that he had pre-selected it. As I glanced at the neighboring building, just a driveway’s width away, I spotted a man standing on his second-floor balcony, leaning on the railing and making no secret of the fact that he was watching us — whether out of simple curiosity, or for some other reason, I had no way of knowing. I mentioned him to Valentin, but, without even looking up, he simply shrugged and said not to worry about it.
Not to worry? His nonchalance alone was cause for concern, especially considering his extreme caution just moments before. Did he already know the man was there? Had he intentionally chosen this spot to stand and talk? Who was that person? This was more than a little weird, and I was beginning to feel seriously creeped out.
We stood there and talked for ten minutes or so about Yuri Shvets’ continuing work on his book, during which time he also cautioned me to guard the contents of the envelope he had given me very carefully. I was to keep it for him until next we met, presumably in Washington. I didn’t like this at all. — Not. One. Bit.
Side of my apartment building where Aksilenko and I stood and talked
Then we shook hands and said goodbye once again. He walked away toward the street, and I wondered whether that would be the last time I would ever see him. I turned in the opposite direction and headed back toward my building entrance, catching a glimpse in my peripheral vision of the man still watching from his balcony. It took every ounce of self-control I could muster to keep from looking directly up at him. I slept fitfully that night, dreaming that people were trying to break into the apartment, and waking several times in a cold sweat.
*. *. *
But despite the lack of sleep, I still had to survive my final appearance the next day at Petrovka 38, where — unbeknownst to me that night — I would be facing a dozen terrifying plain-clothes Militia strongmen, Officer Bragin from the KGB, and a huge surprise in the basement. Details to follow, next time.
It’s easy to tell when Vladimir Putin is joking, because he usually looks like this:
Or this:
Or — Heaven help us! — even this:
But every now and then, what passes for his sense of humor — more of an overload of sarcasm, really — comes through loud and clear.
And there it is: the smirk that killed Russia’s hopes.
And on Thursday, in a speech at the Eastern Economic Forum in Vladivostok, he treated us to what we can only assume were some of his best stand-up lines when he expressed his (alleged) support for U.S. Vice-President Kamala Harris’ presidential campaign:
“Our ‘favorite,’ if you can call it that, was the current president, Mr. Biden. But he was removed from the race, and he recommended all his supporters to support Ms. Harris. Well, we will do so — we will support her. She laughs so expressively and infectiously that it means that she is doing well.” [Nathan Hodge, CNN, September 5, 2024.]
And he went on to “criticize” Donald Trump for having placed “so many restrictions and sanctions against Russia like no other president has ever introduced before him.” [Id.]
Wait — is this the new Vladimir Putin? Has he been channeling U.S. comedians? Does he think he’s Bill Maher?
Bill Maher
If you listen to his actual speech, even if you don’t understand Russian (you can catch it at bbc.com, with English subtitles), just look at his face — and the face of the moderator — as he speaks. He is using the old standby device of saying exactly the opposite of what he means. It’s sarcasm.
And in so doing, he is continuing to accomplish precisely what the United States government has charged him with this week, and what he continues to deny — trying to influence the upcoming U.S. presidential election. He isn’t fooling anyone with his “support” of Vice-President Harris; his preference for the gullible and malleable Donald Trump has long been obvious. As far back as 2015, he said about Trump: “He is a bright and talented person without any doubt . . . an outstanding and talented personality.” [Id.] And they’ve been holding hands ever since.
“… an outstanding and talented personality”
Come on, Vladimir Vladimirovich! Whom do you really think you’re kidding?
No, not that turkey! This turkey — the one from Turkiye:
Recep Tayyip Erdogan, President of Turkiye
A full-fledged, card-carrying, dues-paying member of NATO since 1952, Turkiye (or Turkey, as it is more commonly spelled) has recently appeared to be having a difficult time deciding which side of the political fence it prefers: NATO’s democratic side, or Russia’s . . . well, you know.
In complete opposition to everything NATO stands for, Turkiye’s president, Recep Tayyip Erdogan, has staunchly refused to condemn Russia’s war against Ukraine, and continues to mollify Vladimir Putin at every turn. His justification is his claim to be able to negotiate between Putin and the Western powers in an attempt to end the war — though so far without success.
And now word has come from Yuri Ushakov, foreign affairs aide to Putin, that Turkiye has applied for membership in BRICS — the bloc of developing economies that seeks to counter the West’s global influence. [Associated Press, September 4, 2024.]
BRICS Summit – 2023
While President Erdogan has stated in the past that his country desires to join the BRICS alliance, this has not yet been confirmed, according to Omer Celik, a spokesman for Erdogan’s ruling party. But membership in BRICS would fit well with Erdogan’s long-time efforts to enhance his country’s global influence, if the alliance continues to expand.
BRICS aims to establish “a fairer world order and the reform of international institutions like the United Nations, the International Monetary Fund and the World Bank.” [Id.] Its founding members (in 2006) were Brazil, Russia, India and China, with South Africa joining in 2010. Newer members include Iran, Egypt, Ethiopia and the United Arab Emirates; Saudi Arabia has said it is considering joining; and Azerbaijan and Malaysia have already applied.
And there is that phrase again — the one that keeps haunting me: a “new world order,” which keeps cropping up in proclamations from both Russia and China. That cannot be a coincidence.
This is the alliance that Erdogan has expressed a strong interest in joining, while somehow maintaining his country’s conflicting membership in NATO.
I wonder what his justification will be this time.
Let me clarify one thing up front: We are not paddling our canoes through alligator-infested waters around here (although that nearly happened in some neighborhoods when Hurricane Debby blew through). We have cars, and paved streets and highways, and lawns, and shopping centers.
But when I arrived here from the big city just over four years ago, I was curious as to why all of the houses in our lovely neighborhood were lacking basements. And I was told it was because this entire region is built on a swamp.
Of course, I immediately had a mental image of a heavy rain (much like the aforesaid Debby) coming along and sucking our house up out of the ground with a big, resounding “Thwoop!”
It hasn’t happened so far, but I’m still thinking about investing in an inflatable raft.
And there actually was an alligator pond on the far end of the neighborhood when I arrived here; but I understand some of the homeowners were a little nervous about their small children and dogs possibly becoming ‘gator chow, so they — the ‘gators, not the kids and dogs — were relocated to a legitimate swamp or a preserve that doesn’t allow humans, I’m not sure which. Apparently there are people around here who do that for a living — moving large reptiles and such — which is a good thing for the rest of us.
So long, neighbor!
It’s been a particularly hot summer down here in the marshland, as it has in most of the world this year. And with our normally high humidity, and an excess of rain, we’ve not missed the ‘gators because we’ve had other critters coming out of their hiding places to keep us company. Like snakes — and yes, some of them are venomous — and spiders the size of Alaskan king crabs, and those good old Southern ‘possums that probably wouldn’t hurt you if you didn’t bother them but they just look mean. So as you can imagine, I stay indoors . . . a lot . . . well, okay, most of the time.
Now, that’s not as bad as it may sound, because our air-conditioning works really well, and I get to sleep as late as I want to, and hang around in my pajamas when I’m feeling particularly lazy. But most of the time, I do have things to keep me busy.
Let’s see now . . . Last week I had my regular doctor’s appointment, and this coming week I’ll be back at the dentist’s office, both of which are “in town.” Which means wearing something decent, putting a dab of makeup on my face, and actually venturing outdoors. And I’m scheduled to get my annual flu shot, a Covid booster, and an RSV vaccine, all at once, at my pharmacy on Saturday. So I should be down and out for a good 36–48 hours after that. And there goes the weekend.
After the Shots
I did get caught up on my laundry this week, and I got rid of that old cheese that had grown some penicillin in the fridge since I last checked it. I also straightened out my sock drawer, and re-arranged the books in one of my bookcases — not in alphabetical order, but by genre. That, I have to say, was extremely satisfying.
But mostly, I write. It’s one of the things I always wanted to do but never managed to find time for before I retired — that, and read my entire set of the World’s Great Books, which, I can tell you right now, ain’t ever gonna happen.
Writing, though, has become my greatest joy. Whatever comes to mind, I put down “on paper” — actually on screen, but I’m a little old-fashioned about some things, and I still talk about “dialing” a phone and “defrosting” the refrigerator. I have a very small audience of readers, and I’ve just about given up hope of ever having anything published. But the joy is in the creation, so I keep tapping away at my little keyboard, and sometimes what I write even makes me smile.
Russian author Fyodor Dostoevsky wrote a wonderful book called Notes From Underground about 200 years ago. Do you suppose someone will be reading my Notes From the Swamp in the 23rd Century?
And they’re unhappy, because they’ve been discovered, uncovered, and must now recover from their own undercover shenanigans.
On September 4th, the U.S. government announced a number of actions that it had taken against a dozen Russian individuals, two entities, 32 internet domains, and others in retaliation for — as expressed by a U.S. Treasury official — having engaged in a “nefarious campaign to covertly recruit unwittingly American influencers in support of their malign activity.” [Sam Cabral, BBC News, September 4, 2024.]
One of the principal targets of the U.S. actions was Russia’s state-controlled TV network known as RT (formerly Russia Today), for its widespread campaign to interfere with the upcoming U.S. presidential election. RT’s head, Margarita Simonyan, has been sanctioned for alleged attempts to harm “public trust in our institutions.” And two of RT’s Moscow-based managers — Kostiantyn Kalashnikov and Elena Afanasyeva — have been charged with paying content creators on U.S. soil to “pump pro-Russia propaganda and disinformation” to American audiences. [Id.]
Putin with RT head Margarita Simonyan
Additionally, 32 internet domain names used to “covertly promote AI-generated false narratives” on social media have been seized; other media outlets have been designated as “foreign missions,” requiring them to report under the U.S. Foreign Agents Registration Act; and a $10 million reward has been offered for information on hackers associated with the Russian group known as Russian Angry Hackers Did It (RaHDit). And that’s just for openers.
Holy crap! You can’t believe anything you see, hear or read any longer. It’s a crazy, disturbing world out there. And it’s about to get crazier . . . because the Russians wasted no time in shouting about getting back at us for daring to retaliate against them . . .
They started with their customary “turn the tables” routine, accusing the U.S. of doing exactly what they themselves have done. Maria Zakharova, Russia’s Foreign Ministry spokeswoman, said in a statement:
“When the authorities resort to such primitive ways of influencing their voters, this is the decline of ‘liberal democracies.’ . . . There will be a response.
“We warn that attempts to expel Russian journalists from the territory of the United States, create unacceptable conditions for their work or any other forms of obstruction of their activities, including with the use of visa tools, will become the basis for taking symmetrical and/or asymmetric retaliatory measures against the American media.” [Id.]
Excuse me . . . I’m sorry for losing control. I thought Dmitry Peskov was the only Russian official who could make me laugh like that. But this Zakharova chick is positively hilarious!
Has she already forgotten about Evan Gershkovich? Alsu Kurmasheva? Vladimir Kara-Murza — all released from their Siberian penal colonies just over a month ago in trade for a few Russian spies and a KGB assassin? Would she like to discuss “unacceptable conditions” and “obstruction of their activities?”
And then there are Russia’s own independent media, who suffered a level of tightened control that made it impossible for them to continue operating, and finally resulted in their shutting down when they were designated “foreign agents” — media outlets such as Novaya Gazeta, and TV broadcaster Echo Moskvy.
There have been the usual back-and-forth insults, charges and counter-charges, so reminiscent of the Cold War years. In those days, it was easier to hide in the shadows; today, everything leaves an electronic trail that is not just difficult, but is virtually impossible to continue covering indefinitely. And the U.S. seems to have found — likely not all, but many — of Russia’s electronic hiding places. And they’re not happy.
The two governments will have their day, exchanging accusations and mostly meaningless penalties; and in the end there will be little, if any, significant change. Russia, China, Iran, North Korea — all of our political adversaries will continue trying to undermine democracy throughout the West in any way they can. And with the internet, social media, and artificial intelligence at their disposal, it will become more and more difficult for us, as individuals, to distinguish the real from the fake.
So be careful out there in Cyberspace . . . it’s a strange and often scary new world.
Amid still unproven speculation that he may have been a Russian spy, questions have now arisen as to whether Norway’s adopted beluga whale, Hvaldimir, was the victim of assassination.
Hvaldimir
I can’t bear to think about it. But although it’s not yet been verified, two Norwegian animal rights groups have alleged that when Hvaldimir’s lifeless body was found last weekend in southern Norway, it appeared that he had been shot.
Hvaldimir, of course, is the beautiful white beluga whale who first appeared in Norwegian waters in 2019. When discovered, he was wearing a specially-made harness with mounts for a camera, and a buckle that read “Equipment Saint Petersburg.” Thus the belief arose that he might have been a Russian spy whale who had gotten lost, or simply decided to defect. He was friendly toward people and seemed happy in Norway, so the local folks adopted him and planned to relocate him to a safer place where there was a wild population of belugas. [Avery Schmitz, CNN, September 4, 2024.]
And now Hvaldimir — whose name is a blend of “hval,” the Norwegian word for whale, and “dimir” from Vladimir Putin’s first name — is gone. And the animal rights groups OneWhale and NOAH are calling for a criminal investigation “based on compelling evidence that the whale was killed by gunshot wounds.” OneWhale has said that “several veterinarians, biologists, and ballistics experts have reviewed [the] evidence of Hvaldimir’s injuries, determining that the whale’s death was the result of a criminal act.” [Id.]
And now we await the results of a formal necropsy.
But murdered or not, Hvaldimir is sorely missed by the people of Norway, to whom he had become something of a folk legend. And to all animal lovers — myself included — it’s always a tragedy to lose one of nature’s beautiful creatures.
Before you start yelling at me, that was not my idea. That was one of the thoughts thrown out there by Donald Trump in describing his plans for a new — if he’s elected, of course — “government efficiency commission” (it doesn’t have an official name yet).
Another of his off-the-cuff plans: steep regulation cuts. That would presumably be corporate regulation, of course.
Trump also has someone lined up to head his new commission: a good friend, one who sees eye-to-eye with him on so many wackadoodle subjects, one might almost think they were father and son.
And that person’s name?
ELON MUSK.
Yup, that one. That’s the guy that Trump would appoint to conduct “a complete financial and performance audit of the entire federal government, [and make] recommendations for drastic reform.” [Alex Leary and Richard Rubin, Wall Street Journal, September 5, 2024.] In fact, it was Musk who recently suggested on X that Trump form such a commission to tackle government spending as a way to address inflation. He said last month, “I’d be happy to help out on such a commission,” and just last Thursday added, “I look forward to serving America if the opportunity arises. No pay, no title, no recognition is needed.” [Id.]
What a guy! Such generosity! Such altruism! Such modesty!
Such bullshit!
So why does this worry me? Could it be because we’re talking about an individual who doesn’t even know — much less care — that the average person exists? About an egotistical, self-absorbed, conscienceless, anti-Semitic, racist, misogynistic narcissist who listens to no one but himself? And who would, if supposedly working for Donald Trump, eventually become a “shadow president,” because he could never stand being second fiddle to anyone?
Or simply because his “drastic reform” of the federal government would inevitably be in favor of the super-wealthy — not because it would be best for the country, but because it would be best for Elon and Donnie and all their little one-percenter friends?
AI Picture from Trump’s Truth Social Post
I keep thinking about Musk’s takeover of Twitter — not just the change to a stupid single-letter name, but the layoffs of 80% of Twitter’s employees. Is that what would be in store for our government workers?
Of course, I could be wrong; I’m not an economist. And he is a highly successful businessman, a self-made billionaire. He must know what he’s doing. But . . .
Yup, there’s always a but, and this is a big one, with both legal and moral implications: But what about the little matter of conflict of interest? For example:
– SpaceX’s most important customers include NASA (National Aeronautics and Space Administration), whose astronauts are transported to the space station by SpaceX, and the Pentagon for the launching of national security satellites. [Id.]
– Tesla’s car sales and energy business, are both subsidized by federal tax credits and grants issued from various government agencies.
– X is regulated by the FTC (Federal Trade Commission.
– Neuralink (his brain implant startup), is regulated by the FDA (U.S. Food and Drug Administration). [Id.]
What is he planning to do — “step down” from all of those companies while serving the government . . . much as Trump supposedly did while he was in the White House? At least Trump had kids he trusted to pretend to run things for him; I’m not sure Musk can say as much about his dozen offspring.
Trump Times Twelve
But really — what am I worried about? They’d find a way around it. They always do.
The handsome but unhappy-looking couple above are Linda Sun, former deputy chief of staff to New York Governor Kathy Hochul, and Sun’s husband, Chris Hu — both now under arrest on charges of acting as agents of the Chinese government.
Specific charges against Sun were violating and conspiring to violate the Foreign Agents Registration Act, visa fraud, smuggling of aliens, and conspiracy to commit money laundering. While working for the New York State government, she is alleged to have “influenced the messaging of high-level state officials regarding issues of importance to China, blocked Taiwanese government representatives from access to the officials, and obtained official New York State proclamations for Chinese government representatives without authorization.” [Gloria Pazmino and Mark Morales, CNN, September 4, 2024.]
Her husband was also charged with money laundering conspiracy and conspiracy to commit bank fraud, as well as misusing means of identification. In a news release, prosecutors said that Sun acted as “an undisclosed agent of the Chinese government while her husband, Hu, facilitated the transfer of millions of dollars in kickbacks for personal gain.” [Id.]
The couple were arrested on Tuesday at their Long Island home, seen below.
The Sun-Hu Homestead
The defendants’ attorneys have denied the accusations against their clients, and say they “have a lot of confidence in our case.”
Not surprisingly, the Chinese Ministry of Foreign Affairs’ spokesperson, Mao Ning, said that they were not familiar with the aide (Ms. Sun):
“I am not aware of the situation you mentioned. I will not comment on the domestic cases in the United States, but we oppose malicious associations and slander against China.” [Id.]
At a time when U.S.-China relations are already at a low ebb, the last thing we need is a dust-up over spying. But it’s inevitable that these situations will present themselves from time to time; we are, after all, talking about the world’s second oldest profession. It’s not going anywhere — not in my lifetime.
Only a Photo Op
And yet again, we’re reminded that you never really know who your next-door neighbor, your co-worker, or your beautician might turn out to be.
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