We all make mistakes when we were young, and one of mine was having sympathy for Edward Snowden. When he did what he did, I thought he may have been trying to make our country better. It’s been many years since I made that mistake, and it still makes me cringe when I think about it. And one of the things that made me realize what Snowden truly is was watching his main interlocutor, Glenn Greenwald, revel in his hysterical hatred of the United States.
Snowden’s long been irrelevant now, a squealing plaything of Vladimir Putin. I think about his fate when I’m confronted with Putin’s other Western cucks, such as Jeffrey Sachs for example.
I recently re-watched a clip of Sachs’ appearance on propagandist Vladimir Solovyov’s show. What struck me was how happy Sachs appeared to speak to Solovyov, a seething psychopath who regularly talks about how much he wants his sad, fucked-up country to conduct nuclear strikes on thriving Western cities.
There’s a line from an old Dmitry Bykov poem that describes the Russian regime like this, “You will die today / And I will die tomorrow.” The main premise of the regime is death worship, and all that matters is who goes first.
What does Sachs hope to gain from these people? Is he hoping they’ll kill him last?
I’ve decided that the real reason for these appearances and this naked appeasement of murderous fascists is vanity — the idea that you are the Russians’ special boy, and that you have special insight of what Russia is really about.
I see this vanity every time another one of Putin’s cucks, David Sacks, opens his twisted mouth and begins spewing vile conspiracies about Ukraine, for example. Sacks gives the impression of a wealthy yet exhaustingly stupid man not quite satisfied by his wealth. He wants to feel important, and the Russians are there to provide him with that sense of importance. It doesn’t matter that the Russians are also murdering people, what matters is that little Davy has, in what passes for the mass of misfiring neurons that passes for Davy’s mind, won the approval of an entire nuclear power.
One way to prevent such embarrassing spectacles is for fathers to hug their sons more. This may sound facetious, but it’s not, not really. Insecure people in positions of relative power are a goldmine for the Russian regime.
I know I sound exceptionally angry with all of these dick-faced losers — and that’s because I am — but I also believe that it’s positivity and a healthy appreciation of one’s country that can make people relatively immune to the poison that Russian propaganda pumps out.
Putin’s Western simps and cucks have never struck me as particularly happy. In fact, most Americans who seek to betray their country do not strike me as contented individuals. And that’s not because I think that the United Staes is a golden utopia — I mean, goddammit, I once nearly died here while suffering from a tooth infection and being underinsured, I fucking know this country has problems — but because contented people who are secure with themselves have hope. They seek to build and improve, not destroy and disparage and shit on everything. They do not easily succumb to nihilism or flattery from deranged kleptocratic regimes.
I’ve said this many times, and I will keep saying it for as long as I need to: If you want to help take care of bad things, you must first believe yourself to be good. Not perfect, that’s very different — and also dangerous — but simply good. I don’t see that quiet confidence among the grown-ass adults that the Putin regime has managed to co-opt around here. I do not believe it is there.
Recently, a woman I am close to suffered a terrible loss — her handsome and brave young cousin was killed by Russia. He was killed for no fucking reason — aside from the fact that there’s a bunch of Kremlin ghouls in Loro Piana suits who remain obsessed with his country, Ukraine, and that there are other ghouls right here, among us, who are helping them.
When news like this comes, it’s tempting to just give up. Believe me, I have felt that temptation myself. In fact, I frequently just want to run screaming in the street, that’s how exhausted I feel.
When I heard the news, and began trying to search my way out of my own desperation, I remembered the day I held my dear friend’s firstborn child. We were standing in a kitchen in early August, another golden day was ending in Kyiv, the birds were returning to their nests, the baby was fragile and yet very solid in my arms, a sleepy bundle of love, a small, yawning miracle. How could I tell that child that I am giving up? How do I tell my own child?
The truth is, for as long as there are children who believe in us, we don’t have the right to despair.
It’s simple. It works for me.
Also, nlawscametovisit made this meme for me on Bluesky, and while it indulges my own vanity, I think it’s making a great point:
Also, I really like this one, from Ian Young (scowlyguy) on Twitter:
Always remember to choose wisely. Tell your friends 🥰
P.S. While I call Putin’s people in the West “cucks” because it’s a particularly hurtful insult to the type of man who is liable to be seduced by Russian fascism, I have no problem with gentlemen who like to sit and watch as their women engage in wholesome activities with other gentlemen. Life is a rich tapestry, and furthermore, the world is swimming in grief. Do what makes you happy 😘
You have no idea how smart and strong you are 💚