Better the Putin You Know than the Putin You Don’t

As the day after Christmas before a weekend, this Friday was a federal holiday, but to about half of my clients, that didn’t mean squat. For quite a few of them, it was just another Friday, either because they’re not Christians and they don’t care a fig about when Jesus was born, or, like Dr. Alexi Dermoikal Mudakovil Zukavich, First Under Assistant International Representative for Economics and Finance at the Russian Embassy here in Washington DC, the day after their Christmas is in January – or at least it is in our calendar.
So, even as hundreds of thousands of lazy, bumbling, overpaid federal employees spared the American people from their incredible incompetence, amazing ineptitude, unbelievable ignorance, and astounding stupidity for one more blessed day, the machinations of world diplomacy continued unabated, meaning Gretchen and I had to work from seven in the morning until six-thirty at night without even enough time to go out for lunch. Dr. Zukavich paid me a visit at two o’clock, bearing a gift-wrapped box of Korkunoff chocolates that he deposited on my desk with a broad smile before nestling his ursine frame solidly into the couch. Since technically speaking, it was the Second Day of Christmas, I promptly opened and dutifully admired them, then tried one. It was hazelnut. As I later discovered, they were all hazelnut, in fact, the only choice being that of a dark or milk chocolate covering.
“Also another one for your lovely Gretchen,” he added. “Which I left with her,” he nodded at the heavy oak doors leading to the reception area, “when I arrived.”
“One good turn,” I replied, opening my lower right desk drawer and withdrawing a gift-wrapped bottle of Macallan 18, “deserves another.”
“Otlichno!” he exclaimed, admiring it, beaming. “I will put it, as you say, under my tree and open it on Russian Christmas!”
“Here’s hoping it will prove a pleasant surprise,” I ventured as he snapped open his attaché case.
“Oh, I am sure it will, my good friend Tom,” he proclaimed, pulling out a bottle of Dovgan Medovaya vodka instead of the expected dossiers and thumb drives. “Two glasses, my friend!”


Dear Reader, if you have never experienced a brimming shot glass of cheap, room temperature Russian honey and chili flavored vodka, consider yourself lucky. As might be expected, one was hardly sufficient for my Russian guest, and it was not until after three shots in rapid succession that we settled down for what might be loosely construed as work – or at least I tried to. Alexi was having none of it.
“To hell with NASA and their hitching rides on Russian rockets,” he declared. “And to hell with the IMF, the World Bank, the EUCB, natural gas prices and import-export negotiations! I’ll tell you what problem I want to discuss with my good friend Tom today – Putin!”
“Putin’s a problem?” I asked. “It’s widely believed that you Russians love the guy. Didn’t you even name a vodka after him?”
“Da! Putinka!” he spat. “Awful stuff – but it gets Vodka of Year Award because is named after Putin!”
The Russian language has, of course, no articles, and despite his excellent command of English, Alexi tends to leave them out of that, too, after two or three drinks.  And by then he had definitely qualified. “Not telling anyone, Tom, but many, many people in Russia hate Putin!”
“Oh, really?” I dryly responded. “Because he canceled holiday vacations this year?”
“No, is not reason,” he answered. “Most Russians could not care less, as you say, about what Putin gives nomenklatura and government apparatchiks for Russian Christmas. Most Russians think nomenklatura and apparatchiks should get many hard kicks in backsides from Putin.”
“Don’t tell me,” I challenged, “that they’re still smarting about him stealing the 2012 election.”
“Russians,” he knowingly informed me, “have even shorter political memory than Americans. No, is not reason, either.”
“I don’t suppose,” I speculated, “that they’re all wound up at Putin because of his government’s policies regarding the gay and lesbian community.”
“Most Russians,” Alexi confidently stated, “would say that is one of the best things Putin has done.”
“So,” I ventured, “they hate him because be built the economy around oil exports and now the price has crashed to less than sixty dollars a barrel?”
“Also is not the reason,” he told me. “Russians know oil is world market and Putin cannot set prices.”
“Is it because he supports dictators like Bashar al-Assad and Kim Jong-un?” I asked.
“Nyet,” he shook his head. “Russian people like strong leaders. Think Putin is strong leader and it is right for him to have strong leaders as friends”
“Is it because Putin has turned Russia into the world’s troublemaker?” I inquired.
“No,” he confidently asserted as he poured himself another shot. “Russian people want Putin to be big spoiler and troublemaker on world stage, give Russia some of what you Americans call ‘street cred,’ yes?”
“Still,” I sought to confirm, “you’re telling me that a lot of Russians are mad at Putin. Why?”
“Because Putin is disgraceful!” Alexi insisted. “Big disgrace for Russia!”
“You mean,” I pressed, “because of what he did to the ruble, then?”
“Oh, well, that,” he shrugged as he poured himself a fifth shot of Dovgan Medovaya, “people do what they always do when ruble crashes – go out and buy anything they can because who knows what ruble will be worth tomorrow? Since ruble crash started, already my relatives in Moscow own three new refrigerators, four new flat-screen televisions, and two new dishwashers, all still in factory boxes, stacked in their apartments. And naturally, they are exchanging rubles for dollars whenever they can, then put dollars in old coffee can hidden under floor or something like that. Sure, crashing ruble is Putin problem, but not big Putin problem.”
“Oh, then it must be the Crimea invasion?” I suggested.
“Actually,” Alexi confided, “most Russians, even ones that don’t like Putin, think Crimea invasion was good idea. Put Russia back on map, let everybody know Russia can still kick butts! And besides, Ukrainians don’t deserve Crimea anyway. Khrushchev gave Crimea away in 1954. Before, was part of Russia!”
“So it was,” I acknowledged. “Is it Putin’s Ukrainian issues that they’re concerned about?”
“Not so much,” he said, throwing up his hands with an air of indifference.
“You aren’t concerned about Putin’s secret support of the Russian rebels, and someone – probably the rebels using rockets Putin gave them – shooting down that Malaysian airliner?”
“Ah,” he rationalized, “these things happen. Sure, maybe they are Putin orders, Putin mistakes, but not why many Russians hate him.”
“Perhaps,” I suggested, “they’re angry at Putin for inventing geopolitical fantasies like Novorossiya, drawing fake maps and writing its fictitious history into Russian school textbooks in a sinister attempt to justify annexing still more foreign territory.”
“Russians believe,” he clarified, “if piece of land was once part of Tsar’s Empire or Soviet Union, Russia can take it back anytime it wants.”
“But aren’t they concerned,” I wondered, “about what could transpire if Ukraine joins NATO?”
“Ukrainians,” he spat, “are always full of big talk. Actually, lot of Russians think Putin is doing right thing, standing up to Ukrainians and NATO, testing new missiles that can deliver atomic warheads.”
“So they’re not worried that Putin’s belligerent adventurism might touch off World War III?” I delved.
“True,” Alexi conceded as he poured another shot for himself and quickly downed it, “World War III would be Putin’s fault. But things are so rotten in Russia right now, I am not so sure prospect scares average Russian very much.”
“Well,” I capitulated, quite at a loss, “if the Russian people could even forgive Putin for jump-starting Armageddon, there’s got to be a reason. What is it?”
“Because after Glasnost,” he complained, “after Gorbachev, after Perestroika, after Yeltsin, everyone laughing at Russia!”
“Oh, no, Alexi,” I lied, “we weren’t laughing at you, honest, we weren’t. We were glad that you had freedom of speech and an open economy.”
“No, no,” he disagreed. “When Russians said something with free speech, you laugh at it! You laugh at Pussy Riot when make fun of Russia, then laugh at Russia when Russia lock Pussy Riot up! And when Russians try to have open market economy, they mess it up and oligarchs take over everything and then you laugh at that!”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” I countered. “We in the West aren’t laughing at you, we’re laughing with you!”
“Come on, Tom,” he pleaded while pouring two more shots of vodka and handing one to me, “not pulling your friend Alexi’s leg now, okay? Da, da, drink! Your friend Alexi, he is not clueless newbie; not born yesterday. Russians know they screw pooch damn good after saying to hell with Soviet Union and everybody in whole world is seeing them look ridiculous, confused, disorganized and dumb. That is why so many Russians love Putin, even though he is so disgraceful. They think Putin makes Russia look strong, look important, look powerful again!”
“But in fact,” I pointed out, “Putin causes more laughs at Russia’s expense than Yeltsin, the oligarchs, and all of your comically doomed attempts at democracy and capitalism put together.”
“Yes! That is it!” he declared with an air of triumph. “Exactly what your friend Alexi Dermoikal has been, how do you say… getting at. This is why Putin is disgraceful – inside Russia, most Russians think Putin is big hero, but everybody else in whole world, think Putin is big clown. And Russians who realize this, they are mad at Putin for what he makes Russia look like! So tell me, my good friend Tom, what can Russia do about that?”
“Do about what?” I sought to ascertain.
“Playing with wild leopard!” Alexi howled. “Shooting dart at tiger and whale! Hugging polar bear! Flying around in ultralight aircraft with flock of birds! Telling everybody to play Boyz II Men rappers and make at least three babies per family! Pretending to discover ancient Greek pottery while swimming in the Black Sea! Singing Blueberry Hill in front of American pop stars in St. Petersburg! Playing bad piano in front of concert audience in Moscow! Playing with miniature submarine! Riding around on Harley Davidson motorcycle, joining Hells Angels! Flying in firefighting airplane to push button releasing water! Driving Formula One race car into a spin! Throwing big Internet contest to name his dog! Hiking through Caucasus with no shirt on! Riding horse with no shirt on! Riding snow machine with no shirt on! Fishing in Siberia with no shirt on! Kissing big Siberian fish he caught with no shirt on! Petting Siberian reindeer with no shirt on! Rock climbing with no shirt on! Shooting at pistol range with no shirt on! Arm-wrestling factory workers with no shirt on! Hunting for wild boars with bow and arrow and no shirt on! Feeding baby goats from milk bottle with no shirt on! Exploring above Arctic Circle with no shirt on! Rescuing endangered crane species in swamp with no shirt on!”
“Embarrassing?” I asked.
“Yes, very much so!” Alexi shouted. “Putin is disgraceful! What can be done?”
“Considering how deranged he is,” I observed, “you’re lucky he doesn’t pull all those lame stunts of his with his pants off, too.”
Alexi considered my analysis for a moment. “Yes, you are correct. It could be worse.”
“Consider Stalin,” I advised. “He never kissed any fish or played patty-cake with any lions, did he? No – Stalin was a very serious strongman. He wouldn’t be caught dead fooling around with birds or petting reindeer, would he? And you know what else?”
“No. What?” Alexi demanded.
“He wouldn’t have been caught dead with his shirt off, either.” I asserted.
“Probably not,” Alexi agreed.
“So would you rather have somebody like Stalin in charge?” I hypothetically posed.
“No, of course not,” he muttered.
“How about Nikolai Alexandrovich Romanov?” I suggested.
“Nicholas II?” Alexi growled. “The Bloody Tsar? No, never!”
“How about Tsar Ivan Vasilyevich the Fourth?” I needled.
“He is not for nothing called ‘Ivan the Terrible’ you know,” Alexi remarked. “But I am seeing your point. Those two also would never do the silly things Putin does, much less do them half naked.”
“Seriously,” I reminded him, “if you Russians want to complain about Putin, you’re going to have to find better reasons than the fact he makes your country a laughingstock. And if none of the other things we’ve discussed raise their ire, then I’d say Vladimir Putin is exactly the kind of leader that Russia deserves.”
Another long moment passed. “Maybe you are right, Tom my friend. More vodka?”