Rasputin in Transition
"After the Rain - How the West Lost the East"
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The mad glint in his eyes is likely to be nothing more ominous than maladjusted contact lenses. If not clean shaven, he is likely to sport nothing wilder than a goatee. More likely an atheist than a priest, this mutation of the ageless confidence artist is nonetheless the direct spiritual descendent of Rasputin, the raving maniac who governed Russia until his own execution by Russian noblemen and patriots.
They are to be found in all countries in transition. Wild and insidious weeds, the outcome of wayward pollination by mutated capitalism. They prey on their victims, at first acquiring their confidence and love, then penetrating their political, social and financial structures almost as a virus would: stealthily and treacherously. By the time their quarry wakes up to its infection and subjugation - it is already too late. By then, the invader will have become part of the invaded or its master, either through blackmail or via tempting subornation.
This region of the CEE and the Balkans provides for fertile grounds. It is a Petrie dish upon which cultures of corruption and scandalous conduct are fermented. The typical exploiter of these vulnerabilities is a foreigner. Things foreign are held in awe and adulation by a populace so down trodden and made to feel inferior in every way, not least by foreign tutors and advisors. The craving to be loved, this gnawing urge to be accepted, to be a member of the club, to be distinguished from one's former neighbours - are irresistible. The modern Rasputin doles out this unconditional acceptance, this all encompassing affinity, the echoes of avuncularity. In doing so, he evokes in the recipients such warmth, such relief, such fervour and reciprocity - that he becomes an idol, a symbol of a paradise long lost, a golden braid. Having thus completed the first phase of his meticulous attack - he moves on to the second chapter in this book of body snatching.
Armed with his new-fangled popularity, the crook moves
on and leverages it to the hilt. He does so by feigning charity, by faking
interest, by false "constructive criticism". To his slow forming army,
he recruits the media, the flower children, the bleeding hearts, reformers,
dissidents and the occasional freak. By holding old authority in disdain,
by declaring his contempt for the methods of the "tried and true", by appearing
to make war upon all rot and immorality - this creature of expediency emerges
as a folk hero. It is the more cynical and world weary and "sophisticated"
members of society that lead the way, succumbing to his ardour and conviction,
to his child-like innocence, to his unwavering agenda. He cleverly thrusts
at them the double edge of their own disillusionment and disappointment.
Thus mirrored, they are transformed and converted into his camp of renewal
and clean promises by this epiphany.
They hand him the keys to every medium, the very codes and secrets that make him so powerful. They pledge their alliance and allegiance and render to him the access they possess to the nerve centres of society. The castle gates thus opened from inside, his victory assured, the rogue moves on to consummate this unholy marriage between himself and the deceived.
Always in fear of light, he surreptitiously and cunningly begins to interact with the foci of power and money in the land. However loathsome he is to them, however repulsive the experience, however undesirable the effects of their surrender - they are made to recognize him as their equal. With the might of the media and a large part of the people behind him, he can no longer be ignored. Their conspiracy-prone mind, awash with superstitions and its attaching phobias, tries to comprehend his meteoric rise, the forcefulness with which he treads, his unmitigated, inane, self confidence. Is he a spy? A member of a secret order? The latent agent of a hyperpower? The heart of a world conspiracy? Has he no fear of retribution and no remorse? Before this great unknown, they kneel and yield, an atavistic reaction to atavistic fears. Now all doors are thrown open, all deals are made available, all secrets are revealed. The more he learns, the mightier he becomes - the more his might, the more he learns. To him, a virtuous cycle, to his hosts - a vicious one.
In all this tumult, he does not lose sight of his original
goals - power, money, fame, all three. It is a relentless pursuit, an obsessive
hunt, a ruthless and unscrupulous chase. In his war, no prisoners are taken,
no price too dear, no human in his orbit left untouched. He will manipulate
and threat and beg and promise and plead and blackmail and extort to accomplish
that which he set out to achieve: decision making powers, wealth, clout,
exposure and resultant fame. It is at this stage that the latter day Rasputin
emerges from the shadows and joins officialdom or concludes lucrative transactions
based on favourably deflated prices and insider dealing. By now, his shady
past is no longer a hindrance. His prowess far exceeds his invidious biography.
Well installed, he ignores both media and the people. He brushes aside
contemptuously all criticism and enquiry. His true, narcissistic, face
is exposed and it is hideous to behold. But there is nothing to be done
and all resistance is futile. The con-man now is in a haste to maximize
his hard earned profits and exit the scene, on his way to another realm
of guile and naiveté.