We guarantee that during the course of these forty-eight hours the people undergoing resettlement will not be subjected to any violence or intimidation; all Russians will be ensured a safe and unencumbered departure. Any deportees lacking sufficient funds may apply to district offices of the Front, where they will be provided with reserved-seat tickets to Ryazan, free of charge.
Thus will the Russians be assured of the nobility and generosity of the Karelian people, whose virtues they were unable to appreciate when they were guests in our land.
If any Russians do not quit the territory of Karelia, the Front assumes no responsibility for any acts of vengeance or attempts to restore justice that may inevitably and spontaneously spread through the republic upon the expiration of the grace period.
The Karelians are a generous and peace-loving people, but when an occupying nation shows contempt for their will, they are capable of a great and terrible wrath. The Russian thieves and drunkards will face real men, marksmen who can aim and hit a squirrel in the eye and can fell an ancient spruce with three mighty blows. The Karelian huntsmen will emerge from the forests bearing hunting rifles and axes, and when they do, the squatters who remain will envy the dead!
Consider this a warning. Your time is at hand.
Hakan
Best friend and protector of all Karelians.
Maximus guffawed, startling his coworkers, when he read the above during the second half of his lunch break. But judging from the serious discussion that ensued subsequently in the comments section, the author’s readers had completely missed the article’s sardonic humor.
The indefatigable Hakan also took it upon himself to comment on a bill that had been passed allowing oil and gas monopolies to maintain their own armed security services for the defense of their facilities. Immediately after this news made its way through the media, Hakan posted another tongue-in-cheek composition on his blog, which Maximus read during his next lunch hour:
I Serve Gazprom!
Someone is stealing my ideas. No, I do not publicize them online; that would make it too easy for the criminals. I do not share them with my friends; you can’t trust anyone! But I do jot things down in a notebook that I carry around with me, so as not to miss anything. Anyway, I must have been careless and left my notebook unguarded at some point for an hour or two, say, during my lunch hour. And someone copied my notes and stole my ideas! An act of espionage. There’s no other way to put it.
The subject in today’s entry is the army. Recently I was at one of those free public events for plebeians, some Day of Something or Other, and when I saw the logo of an oil rig depicted in silhouette on all the posters and banners advertising this government-supported Bacchanalia, I was inspired. Right then and there I composed a series of appeals, slogans, and mottos, and even started outlining some ideas for uniforms. So here you go: Today I look at the news and I see that “The Gazprom and Transneft Corporations are forming their own military units.” The most insane predictions of our pessimistic and depressive novelists and screenwriters, produced under the influence of a continual narcotic haze, pale in comparison with reality.
But might it have been a joke? Some journalistic canard? An exaggeration? Maybe these organizations are simply attempting to beef up their on-site security by hiring more military veterans, or by stocking up on pepper spray.
But no, alas. It’s for real! Official government legislation, no less, and I quote: “A legislative initiative to grant the companies Gazprom and Transneft the authority to form their own internal structures to ensure the security of their operations associated with the extraction, refinement, and transportation of energy resources was adopted in the third reading.”
Initiative! The third reading! How did this happen? Who sponsored this bill? “Representatives of all parties introduced the proposal to amend the weapons law with the support of the current administration.”
All parties! All at once!! Unanimously! And naturally, “with the support of . . .” How can you not support something like that? Here it is at last, the long-awaited orgasm, the moment of the great coupling between big business, our political parties, and the current administration. Not the most traditional sexual configuration, but this only intensifies the climax.
Maybe it’s because I’m only an amateur connoisseur of state porn, but allow me to ask a stupid question: Why? Who are this new army’s presumed enemies? The explanation is as follows: “In accordance with the new law, the Gazprom and Transneft corporations, along with their subsidiaries, are granted the right to acquire special equipment and military armaments for the defense of oil pipelines and other facilities whose purpose is to obtain, refine, and transport materials through government contract.”
Seems to make sense. This army’s purpose is to protect the pipeline.
But . . . what is there left for our, allow me to say, constitutionally based institutions of law and order to do? We already have so many, I can’t even begin to list them all, I might forget one or get mixed up, and some smart-aleck troll will post a sarcastic comment: “Go back and learn the basics before you start bitching!”
For is it not those very institutions that, according to Russian law, are tasked to defend all property, including pipelines, from being damaged, vandalized, or stolen? Or is the term “all property” just a distraction in this context? And who’s going to pay for this militia, anyway (or, sorry, correct me if I slept through it and they’ve already been labeled “police” instead)? Wouldn’t it just make more sense to create a special militarized unit of “real,” governmental police for the defense of the pipeline? But . . . defense against whom, exactly? . . .
Against our own people, maybe? After all, an ordinary policeman, hungry and therefore himself by necessity a thief, is also one of the people. So what if he refuses to shoot at his own countrymen? Naturally, in that case it makes more sense for Gazprom to have its own units, to ensure that they have no other priorities.
The article says: “This decision, experts believe, is primarily justified in that it addresses the potential breakdowns and risks associated with the human factor.” Understood. Everything would be fine if it weren’t for the human factor; you simply can’t trust people. Especially your own citizens—workers as well as the general public. They might, for example, go on strike. Or launch some kind of public protest—march in the streets or something. And that’s the last thing the pipeline needs; it must function reliably, without interruption.
May I make a suggestion? Let Gazprom and Transneft recruit their regiments from among the native warriors of the savage Tulgandyr tribe. That will take care of any potential problems. The Tulgandyrs speak no Russian, are illiterate, have no trade unions, and are good marksmen! I happen to be one of the few people who know how to get them a message, and I would be willing to undertake the task of recruiting them myself, for a small commission.
And here’s another flash of insight: The pipeline defense army isn’t actually a part of the Russian Federation military, right? Right. It’s a separate army, commercial in nature. Conveniently, then, it isn’t bound by Russia’s responsibilities, isn’t constrained by local or international law. And why not? Why shouldn’t it declare itself exterritorial? To wit: Its task is to defend the pipeline, wherever the pipeline might lie. Let’s say someone tries to siphon off gas from somewhere, say, in Ukraine. Gazprom tank divisions are deployed onto Ukrainian territory, which is independent from Russia. The President of Ukraine attempts to call the Russian President, but can’t get through: “We’re sorry, the subscriber you have dialed cannot be reached.” Three days later the subscriber shows up in person and explains that his cell battery had died. He explains to the President of Ukraine that Gazprom is a commercial organization and has to defend its interests, but he is a government official and lacks the authority to get involved in the case. Then to Europe he will explain that they don’t understand, that we have to do this in order to guarantee uninterrupted gas deliveries and the fulfillment of our obligat
ions to them. And Europe will remain silent.
So you see, there is a wealth of geopolitical implication to all this. It’s not the first time. Take the East India Company. It wasn’t Britain that occupied India, as I recall, but this corporation, which had its own troops and paid taxes like any business. The legislators and administrators who supported them serve as an instructive example that is relevant to us today!
That said, let us not neglect the potential value of our own standing Russian army in this context. All it would take would be some minor changes to its symbols, rituals, and insignias, and a revision of the methodology and the political priorities applied in training new recruits.
Their banners are first on the list. All those hammers and sickles are long gone, of course, and we have no need for stars now either. So why not use the silhouette of an oil rig? The rig can go on the state’s highest medal of honor, too: Call it the “Golden Gusher” and bestow an honorary title upon its recipients: “Hero of Gazprom.” Awardees will be expected to express their gratitude with the words “I serve Gazprom!”
And don’t forget about the youth demographic. We’ll need a new organization: “The Young Pioneers of the Oil Deposits.” Black neckerchiefs. Badges with little oil rigs on them. And slogans: “Be prepared—for the struggle for Transneft!”
The blog was very popular. It was taken up by a couple of professional Internet publications, which posted the text under bold headlines: “Pipeline Defense Force” and “Gazprom Tanks Enter Ukraine!”
When Ramzan Kadyrov was inaugurated as president of the Republic of Chechnya, Hakan posted a joke: “Ramzan Kadyrov, the new President of the Republic of Chechnya, took his oath of office on the Holy Koran, the Constitution of the Republic of Chechnya, and the Constitution of the Russian Federation—all at the same time. If the President of the Republic of Chechnya, when taking the oath of office, placed his right hand on the Holy Koran, and his left hand on the Constitution of the Republic of Chechnya, then what did he place on the Constitution of the Russian Federation?”
Maximus read the joke, leaned back in his office chair, and heaved with silent laughter. His colleagues, engrossed in their work, cast uneasy glances in his direction. Was he losing it?
But Maximus didn’t mind seeming a bit of an oddball. When he got home at night he would turn on his computer, pull up the file with his essay on Khazaria, and enter corrections and revisions. In a couple of weeks it was finished.
We quote it here in its entirety, in the original Semipyatnitsky version, uncut, with all its long quotations intact, so as to give the reader a sense of what was brewing in the kettle of our hero’s mind during those fateful days.
TRACES OF KHAZARIA
Khazaria is a mythological, nonexistent land, a country that might never have actually existed, or if it did, then in a form we cannot conceive of today, as this was a land that left behind no unambiguous historical documentation and very little in the way of archeological evidence, only contradictory comments in the chronicles, and not a single deciphered text. Therefore, any attempt at writing its history must begin with a survey of the most applicable extant sources, all of which happen to be of a fantastical and imaginative nature—though these qualities, given our intentions, can’t be seen as defects. I speak, of course, of the references to Khazaria in literature and fiction, which are no less valuable than facts, and best capture the otherworldly flavor of this vanished nation.
I will cite just one example, for the time being. We know it from elementary school: Alexander Pushkin’s poem “The Song of the Wise Oleg.” As we all (?) recall, it begins with the lines:
As now wise Oleg prepares
His revenge against the dull-witted Khozars:
For their fierce raid, he dooms
Their settlements and fields
To sword and flame . . .
Judging by these lines, Khazaria was not considered a nomadic horde: The enemy had settlements and fields, that is, plots of land cultivated with grain that had caught the eye of Prince Oleg and aroused in him these thoughts of plunder.
As for Prince Oleg himself, his real name was Helgi, and he was a full-blooded Scandinavian. The first mention of him in The Tale of Bygone Years reads as follows: “In the year 6387, Rurik died, having turned over his princedom to his kinsman Oleg, entrusting to him his son Igor’s care, for the heir was still very small.”
In the Scandinavian original, Igor’s name is Ingvar; he was a Swede as well. By all accounts Helgi governed Rurik’s princedom as a regent for the underage heir Ingvar, and in his name he made many conquests, including the capture of Kiev in the year 6390 from the Creation of the World, or 882 in the new reckoning, counting from the birth of Christ. The Tale of Bygone Years confirms Helgi’s regency during the reign of Ingvar as follows: “ . . . and Oleg said to Askold and Dir: ‘You are not princes and not of princely blood, but I am of princely blood,’ and he showed them Igor: ‘This is the son of Rurik.’ And they slew Askold and Dir . . .”
It is difficult for us to understand it today, but in those distant times the legitimacy of government in the people’s consciousness was firmly based on heredity, and succession was almost always determined by reference to the dynastic bloodline. If it was difficult to prove a direct line of descent from the great ancestors, then the system required that such a connection be invented.
From almost the very beginning of his reign, Helgi was involved in a conflict with the Khazar state, under whose protection the majority of Slavic tribes found themselves during that time.
“In the year 6392 [884], Oleg marched against the Northerners, and conquered the Northerners, and imposed a light tribute, and assured them that they need not pay tribute to the Khazars, saying: ‘I am their enemy, and there is no reason for you [to pay them].’”
“In the year 6393 [885], [Oleg] sent word to the Radimiches, asking them, ‘To whom do you pay tribute?’ And they answered, ‘to the Khazars.’ And Oleg said to them: ‘Do not give tribute to the Khazars, pay me instead.’ And they each gave Oleg a shcheliag, as they had given to the Khazars. And Oleg ruled over the Polians, and the Drevlians, and the Northerners, and the Radimiches, and waged war against the Uliches and Tivertses.”
What is important here is that Helgi imposed a light tribute on the Northerners, and demanded no more from the Radimiches than they had been paying to the Khazars. Evidently he pursued goals that were less military in nature than political: He aimed to constrain the Khazars and undercut their influence in the region.
The Tale of Bygone Years describes Oleg’s death, which gave Pushkin the plot for his poem, as follows: “And Oleg lived, ruling in Kiev, keeping peace between all the lands. And autumn came, and Oleg remembered his horse, whom he had put out to pasture, having decided never to mount him, for he had asked the soothsayers and sorcerers: ‘What will be the cause of my death?’ And one sorcerer had foretold: ‘Prince! Your beloved horse, whom you ride, will be the cause.’ Oleg took these words to heart, and he said: ‘I will never mount him, nor set eyes on him, ever again.’ And he ordered him to be fed and henceforth never to be brought to him, and he lived for several years afterward without seeing him, while he waged war against the Greeks. And when he returned to Kiev, and four years had passed, in the fifth year he remembered his horse, whom the soothsayers had prophesied would cause his death. And he summoned the master of the stables and said to him: ‘Where is my horse, whom I ordered to be fed and cared for?’ And he answered: ‘He died.’ Oleg laughed and belittled those sorcerers of old, saying: ‘The soothsayers speak falsely; it did not come to pass: The horse died, but I am alive.’ And he ordered a horse to be saddled: ‘Let me see his bones.’ And he came to the place in the field where his old steed’s bare bones and skull lay, and he dismounted, laughed, and said: ‘So this skull was to cause my death?’ And he stepped on the skull, and out of the skull crawled a snake, and bit him on the foot. And from the snakebite he took ill and died. All the people mourned for him with great laments, and b
ore him off, and buried him on a mountain called Shchekovitsa; and his grave is there to this day, it is known as the Grave of Oleg.”
Pushkin describes Oleg’s death similarly in his poem. So why, in considering “The Song of the Wise Oleg,” do I cite detailed passages from The Tale of Bygone Years?
With good reason, reader.
The chronicler doesn’t say a word about when, exactly, and in what circumstances, the soothsayers had spoken their prophecy about Oleg’s death. But Pushkin’s poem begins with this episode. During his eventful life, Helgi went on many campaigns, even against Byzantium. So it’s no mere whim that the chronicler situates the story of his death after the war with the Greek Christians—which was, though a glorious campaign, according to the author of the chronicle (a monk of the Kievan Cave Monastery), a sin nonetheless. But the poet, on the other hand, brings the soothsayers to Oleg before his plunderous campaign against Khazaria, which the prince justifies as an act of vengeance. Why so? The explanation lies on the surface, and it’s strange that philology hasn’t offered such an interpretation of Pushkin’s poem, at least to my knowledge.
Oleg’s death fulfills a curse; it comes as retribution for his destruction of the Khazar lands. Such is the secret message of Pushkin’s poem.
Let us now move from the episode of Oleg/Helgi’s death to the site of his grave. The Tale of Bygone Years situates it on a mountain called Shchekovitsa, which was most likely on the shore of the Dneiper River. Scholars have determined its location to be near Kiev and indeed the mountain has preserved its original name.
Popular legend, however, insists that Oleg’s grave is located in one of the mounds of Staraya Ladoga, the original historical capital of Varangian Rus. And a different ancient Russian chronicle states: “Oleg went to Novgorod and then to Ladoga . . . and a snake bit him in the foot, and from that he died; his grave is in Ladoga.”
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