Many Russians born before 1991 live with deep nostalgia for empire and Soviet communism.
JAN 03, 2025
I’m not a good fencer, but I love the sport. Think of it as physical chess. Quick reflexes, discipline, agility, and careful mental calculations are required to anticipate your opponent’s moves. Ancient and elegant, fencing is the only combat sport without a weight class.
But since February 24, 2022, my epee has been gathering dust, a casualty of the full scale invasion. Like many, I was disturbed by the Russian theft of Crimea and invasion of the East of Ukraine which began in 2014, but the antithesis had yet to be forced in my small fencing community made up of Russian and Ukrainian Americans.
My coach was a former Russian officer, the last man to receive political asylum from the Soviet Union. His son is a member of the American military. His wife is Ukrainian. We spent many happy New Year’s celebrations eating sardines and pickles and drinking vodka wishing each other well in both Ukrainian and Russian.
On the evening of February 24, 2022, he invited me to his home around midnight. I arrived to posters of Putin decorating his walls. They had never been there before. COVID and the selfishness of American businessmen had disrupted his American dream causing great professional loss. For the next two hours, he presented the case for invasion. He spoke of Nazis, of the non existence of Ukraine as a nation, and of the glory days of the Soviet Union. He referenced Russian state television, conspiracy theories, and perspectives which were simply incredulous. The love for the United States which he had often professed appeared dissipated, now replaced by full blown Russian nostalgia.
I loved this man. But that was the end. We have not spoken since.
Our community of Russian and Ukrainian fencers and friends came to an abrupt halt. The Russophiles doubled down in their defense of Putin. The broken hearted Ukrainians stood in abject disbelief of what was being said and done. Our small story is a microcosm of broken friendships, divided families, and enmity between cultures because of the criminal assault on the people of Ukraine.
That night I was reminded of another evening in 2012 where I entered full blown verbal fisticuffs with a former Russian colonel and KGB officer now living in England.
The occasion was the marriage rededication of my friend and fencing coach. I was one of the only non Russian speakers in attendance.
With Russians and Ukrainians gathered around the colonel and me, I endured a barrage of contempt directed at the West, Christianity, and the American view of freedom.
The dialogue went something like this:
Him: ”You Americans and your freedom of speech. Your freedom of religion. Your political bickering. You are slaves to your meaningless values. Life was far better under the Soviet Union. None of us lacked food. We had homes. We had stability. Family. And a national pride.”
Me: “No, you had gulags. You lived in fear. Yours was a nation of crackdowns on all dissent.. of the mass murder of Russian and Ukrainian civilians. There was no freedom in your Marxist Leninism.”
Him: “You arrogant Americans.”
Me: “And yet today you live in wealth in England, our parent state, enjoying the privileges and abundance of the West from your profits as a KGB colonel. You are like so many of the Soviet commissars who thrived at the expense of your comrades turned serfs. Of course you want them to be content with their state provided bread, borscht, and electricity while you enjoy summers by the English sea today.”
At this point the conversation became uncivil and was about to devolve into something quite nasty.
Our host was laughing. He reminded us we were at a wedding and could fight the Cold War another day.
Often I have thought back on that wedding. And the horrible night of February 24, 2022. I think of the grip that Soviet communism had on so many. How it influenced their appetites. Their sense of reality.
It breaks my heart.
Someday that generation will be gone – those Russians born before 1991. But in 2024, the same commissars and KGB who brought fear and death upon their own people are calling the shots in Moscow.
I am reminded of the words of Kipling from his brilliant poem, The Gods of the Copybook Headings:
“That the Dog returns to his Vomit and the Sow returns to her Mire,
And the burnt Fool’s bandaged finger goes wobbling back to the Fire.”
DW Phillips is a filmmaker, attorney and writer who directs for Ukraine Story, a non profit organization for journalism and documentary reporting.
As usual Kipling has it right.
I understand how DWP feels.
I still have contacts inside ruZZia. None of them has any interactions with a putlerite. Except one. A longstanding friend who suddenly revealed her putlerism to me in 2014, when I stated that putler was a fascist. She accused me of being influenced by “western propaganda” and that was that. I still have that angry exchange preserved. There is no possibility of dialogue. And this is the problem we have now. How can you talk to such people once they’ve revealed their true identity?