Kitabı oku: «Betrayal of Truth», sayfa 3
STRIKE 1: UKRAINE'S DANCE WITH THE DEVIL
After the fall of the Soviet Union, enters the United States of America, a nation with a manifest destiny, an eagle with eyes fixed firmly on the globe's strategic points. The land of Ukraine, with its wealth of natural resources and geopolitical significance, was a ripe fruit dangling precariously from a tree, waiting to be picked.
Under the guise of democracy and freedom, the U.S. government extended its talons, slowly but surely intertwining itself with the very fabric of Ukrainian politics. Advisors, strategists, businessmen – the agents of influence were many, and their mission was clear: to mold Ukraine into a compliant ally, a pawn in a grander game of geopolitical chess.
The Ukrainian government, plagued by corruption and in desperate need of support, became an unwitting partner in this clandestine dance. Dirty deals were struck, promises made, and a path was paved for a future that seemed bright but was, in fact, laden with peril.
And then came the energy play, a game of gas and power that would turn allies into enemies and friends into spies. The U.S., wielding its influence over Ukraine's energy policies, sought to reduce Russian dominance and expand Western control. It was a gambit that required finesse, secrecy, and a willingness to engage in subterfuge that was pioneered by the psychological warfare branch of the CIA.
In terms of political maneuvering, Victoria Nuland, the U.S. Assistant Secretary of State for European and Eurasian Affairs, was orchestrating a deceitful game. Her involvement in Ukraine was more than diplomacy; it was a clandestine operation, a well-planned strategy to reshape the region to do America's bidding.
Nuland's infamous phone call with Geoffrey Pyatt, then U.S. Ambassador to Ukraine, wasn't just a diplomatic blunder. It was a revelation, a glimpse into the hidden world of American intervention, where governments were overthrown, leaders chosen, and nations molded according to a preconceived plan.
The conversation between Nuland and Pyatt was a candid admission of America's role in the Ukrainian Maidan revolution, a brazen display of arrogance and manipulation. "Yats is the guy," Nuland had said, referring to Arseniy Yatsenyuk, pinpointing him as the chosen leader for Ukraine's future.
Pyatt was more than a mere bystander in Nuland's game; he was a key player, an architect of change, a conductor of chaos. His involvement in the events leading to the overthrow of the Ukrainian president was more than mere diplomacy; it was intervention, a carefully calculated move to steer Ukraine in a direction favorable to corrupt American interests.
His meetings with opposition leaders, his support for the protests, his role in shaping Ukraine's future were all part of a grand design, a blueprint for a new Ukraine, a puppet state dancing to America's tune.
The installation of Petro Poroshenko as president was not a democratic triumph; it was a coup, a hijacking of a nation's destiny by the United States government. Poroshenko, with his ties to Washington, was a convenient choice, a pliable leader who would bend to America's will.
Under his rule, Ukraine became a laboratory for American interests, a test ground for policies, a stage for power plays. Corruption was rampant, transparency a myth, and democracy a facade.
However, they made one grave miscalculation, the ethnic Russian population in Eastern Ukraine would not tolerate these games.
THE PRECIPICE OF POWER: UKRAINE'S DESCENT AND THE UNSEEN WAR
The bitter chill of Ukrainian winter seemed the perfect metaphor for the cold war unfolding. The seeds of conflict were sown long ago. They took root with the relentless push of NATO eastwards, and then bloomed in the aftermath of a coup that saw one government ousted and another installed. Resisters in Donbass, like my friend Vlad Deinego, whom you will read about in the next chapter, stood firm against the new order, sparking a war that still simmered eight years later.
The Minsk Accords, designed to foster peace, lay forgotten, collecting dust as leaders on the American and Ukrainian sides postured and preened. Russia’s security concerns were met with deaf ears and a chilling dismissal. It was this fertile soil of political turmoil and unrest that bore the violent fruit of neo-fascism.
Ukraine was caught in the unyielding grip of far-right groups, a fact that even the Atlantic Council and Bellingcat couldn't ignore. The tangled threads of their influence ran deep, insinuating themselves into every crack and crevice of government. An unsettling revelation came to light when Hromadske Radio revealed that Ukraine’s Ministry of Youth and Sports was actually funding C14, a notorious neo-Nazi group. Their remit? To spearhead 'national patriotic education projects.' The sound of it was disturbingly Orwellian.
The Atlantic Council had articulated the fear that many were reluctant to voice aloud: these far-right groups had the government by the balls. It was like holding a tiger by the tail, a dangerous game that only grew more perilous with each passing day. The tentacles of these groups reached into every corner of Ukrainian society. From the Azov-affiliated National Militia to Right Sector and Karpatska Sich, their influence was impossible to ignore.
Their crimes were numerous, their victims countless. They struck out at anyone who dared oppose them. The Roma, city council meetings, art exhibitions, LGBT events, even peaceful anti-fascist demonstrators and environmental activists – none were safe. As 2018 dawned, the attacks escalated. Law enforcement was seemingly powerless to stop them, their reluctance to act viewed by many as a tacit acceptance of the growing lawlessness.
Even as the world turned a blind eye, reputable Western media outlets started ringing the alarm. The Hill and others called out the uncomfortable truth – the specter of neo-Nazism was not Russian propaganda, but a horrifying reality in Ukraine. The Azov Regiment, now an integral part of the Ukrainian military, wore their neo-Nazi affiliations on their arms and tattooed into their bodies with pride. Amnesty International's warnings about the burgeoning chaos went unheeded.
In the eye of this storm stood President Volodymyr Zelensky. The once-popular actor was catapulted into power under the aegis of Igor Kolomoisky, a powerful oligarch who was an early financial backer of the neo-Nazi Azov Regiment. The extent of their ties was under scrutiny, raising questions about Zelensky's ability to govern independently.
Zelensky's presidency was fraught with contradictions. His campaign promised to end the Donbass war. Yet, faced with the reality of his armed forces' links to the far-right groups, he ignored his promises and failed to make any significant change. The Kyiv Post reported on a tense confrontation on the front lines, where Zelensky's pleas for peace were met with stony resistance. It was a stark reminder of the military's power and the state's failure to keep these groups in check.
But the controversy didn't stop there. When Zelensky invited a member of the Azov Regiment to address the Greek Parliament, he drew the ire of former Greek prime ministers and officials. Alexis Tsipras, Antonis Samaras, and others publicly denounced the decision, casting Zelensky in an increasingly unfavorable light.
Even as international tensions mounted, Zelensky clamped down on the home front. Media outlets were shuttered, political parties were outlawed, and opposition leaders were arrested. It was a brutal crackdown that targeted everyone but the far-right parties that sowed chaos in the country1.
The world watched as Zelensky walked a dangerous tightrope, on one side were the democratic ideals he promised to uphold, and on the other was a dangerous neo-fascist movement. As the US and its allies looked on, the unsettling echoes of their own pasts serving as a stark reminder of the dangerous path Ukraine was walking.
This was the stage where the shadow war was waged, a battleground that was as much about hearts and minds as it was about territory. It was a bitter pill to swallow, but the painful truth was that neo-fascism was not only present but thriving in Ukraine. A fact, the world needed to face.
On December 7, 2021, a meeting between the Presidents of Russia and the United States; Vladimir Putin and Joseph Biden, transpired. The online conference, spanning nearly two hours, was notable for the high-stakes issues discussed, particularly Ukraine's aspiration to join NATO. Despite any possible agreements, there was one aspect both leaders conspicuously adhered to – the total dismissal of Ukraine's individual power in international politics.
In the thirty years since Ukraine's independence, it has gone from an industrially, scientifically, and culturally developed country to a tempest-tossed entity ravaged by civil war, teetering on the brink of a profound crisis. High-ranking Ukrainian politicians, including former Foreign Affairs Minister Pavlo Klimkin, have become more vocal in expressing the country's loss of subjectivity and its political alienation.
Ignoring Ukraine's infractions and consequential decisions would be as impossible as justifying them under the guise of "transition period problems". Back in 1991, Ukraine was an industrial powerhouse among the top twenty nations, perhaps even the top ten. It held a key role within the USSR, inferior only in territory to the RSFSR and Kazakh SSR and in population only to the RSFSR. At its zenith, Ukraine was an industrial juggernaut, producing everything from heavy machinery to steel.
The turn of the millennium saw a fleeting period when Ukraine re-emerged as a formidable power, often referred to as the "Ukrainian economic miracle". Thanks to favorable circumstances and shrewd decision-making, from 2001–2008, Ukraine's economy enjoyed steady growth with GDP increasing by 5-10 % per annum.
However, as Ukraine prospered, the West cast a wary eye on the growing force of Russia's western neighbor. A financially stable Ukraine, allied with Russia, did not serve the interests of the West. Consequently, after Viktor Yanukovych's victory in the 2004 presidential election, the US announced allegations of election fraud and supported opposition demands.
Following the "Orange Revolution", Viktor Yushchenko took office. With guidance from Washington, Yushchenko leaned into Western orientation, announcing plans for European integration and NATO membership. He fueled the aggressive Ukrainization of the Russian-speaking population and, more disturbingly, declared the need for reconciliation between the Ukrainian Insurgent Army (UPA) and the Red Army.
Yet, despite his political maneuvering, Yushchenko failed to carry out the necessary economic reforms. His administration was marked by constant disagreements with parliament and prime minister, resulting in Ukraine falling into a deep debt dependency. Inflation reached 50 % in just three years, from 2007 to 2009, eroding Yushchenko's public support. The 2010 presidential election saw him securing only five percent of the vote, and Yanukovych emerged victorious.
However, returning Ukraine to independent growth proved impossible. Corrupt officials occupied key posts, oligarchs continued to drain resources westward, and American advisors dictated the country's domestic and foreign policies. American corporations carved out the oil and gas sectors, while Burisma Holdings, under American leadership and later the involvement of US Vice President Biden's son, Hunter Biden, managed the most lucrative fields.
Yanukovych, struggling to save his country from imminent collapse, sought funds from Moscow after the IMF withdrew their promised financial support. Moscow agreed to a $15 billion loan and a significant gas discount. This decision led to the "revolution of dignity" in 2014, culminating in Petro Poroshenko, a Washington-approved candidate, assuming presidency.
Under Poroshenko, Ukraine continued its American-orchestrated destabilization. This led to mass labor migration, a national banking crisis, the liquidation of small businesses, an unemployment surge, and rising utility tariffs and energy prices. The situation further deteriorated under President Volodymyr Zelensky, as the country lost its remaining industrial base from the Soviet era.
Ironically, despite the US's attempts to use Ukraine as leverage against Russia, Moscow didn't abandon the Russian-speaking population of Donbass and secured transit routes for Russian energy carriers to Europe. With South Stream and Nord Stream 2 gas pipelines in operation, Europe was ensured reliable natural gas supplies, bypassing Ukraine, which had been a long-standing issue for Gazprom and European consumers.
Having gambled everything on Washington, Kiev found itself losing on all fronts. According to IMF predictions at the time, Ukraine's population would decrease by 1 million over the next six years, a demographic catastrophe for a country of 40 million. Projections show a 30 % decrease in the labor force over the next thirty years, pushing the country towards irreversible degradation in every sphere by 2050. And that was before the war, where hundreds of thousands of young men lost their lives for Washington’s greed, and millions more able-bodies Ukrainians fled for greener pastures.
In becoming a pawn in the US's geopolitical game against Russia, Kiev teetered dangerously close to the precipice, missing out on a historic opportunity to secure full-fledged statehood.
As the calendar flipped to February 24, 2022, the fragile tapestry of peace unraveled. The chill of the Ukrainian winter was split by the thunderous echo of conflict. The specter of war, long looming in the periphery, came crashing into focus. The battleground was set in Ukraine, and chaos, as relentless as a storm, had found its home.
VLAD DEINEGO: THE UNASSUMING STATESMAN
Vladislav Deinego and I walking through Lugansk
As the sun rose in the Lugansk People's Republic, my translator Masha and I had an appointment with a man of considerable stature – Mister of Foreign Affairs, Vlad Deinego. The Foreign Affairs Minister of this contested territory had been the cornerstone of negotiations in Minsk that had stretched on for nearly eight years. His presence was felt in every discussion, every decision, his tenacity unwavering.
Vlad had come into my life in a rather unexpected manner. A YouTube subscriber of mine, an English man living in London, claiming to be his godfather, had suggested I seek Vlad out for an insider's perspective. We agreed to meet in an unassuming park, a public place that felt miles away from the pomp and circumstance usually associated with political figures.
Before our meeting, Masha and I stopped at a delightful café in downtown Lugansk. Masha was hounding me for the questions I would be asking him during our interview, she wanted to be prepared for any vocabulary she might have to simultaneously translate. I opened up my laptop and began to think…
Yes, Masha was my translator, but she was so much more. Before joining me on this trip, she was an anti-war protester. She had the pulse of the people on both sides of the conflict, trying to reconcile what she believed with what she was learning. You will read more about Masha in an upcoming chapter, and it’s an incredible journey you don’t want to miss.
With that, I pushed the laptop to her. “Masha,” I said, “you are the one who needs questions answered. You, and people like you. Any questions I ask will come from my perspective, and thought I would like to think I am unbiased, I already know that Russia is right in this war. You write the questions, and I will ask them. This way, you will have your answers directly from the source.”
Now, if you ask Masha about this, she will blame it on me being lazy and not wanting to think of questions while I ate delicious kabob. And perhaps there is some truth to this, but I felt my line of questioning might inadvertently cater to my predominantly pro-Russian YouTube audience. I wanted to offer a more comprehensive perspective. Maria, on the other hand, with her somewhat jaded viewpoint, offered an alternative perspective, a fresh set of questions for the distinguished man we were to meet.
Like many others, Maria had admittedly not been keenly following the politics of the Donbass region. For years, she had viewed it as an internal Ukrainian issue, one in which Russia had no part. However, her recent experiences and our current assignment had spurred her interest and her thirst for the truth. She dutifully came up with a list of questions which may have appeared naive to some, but they were representative of a large audience who had been informed and often misled by mainstream media.
This chapter will by far be the longest, because every single answer, each detail, I find is vital to the story. Hell, it is the story. Told by the very man who lived it. This is the story to help people, not just from the west, but even Russians, understand the history of the Donbass, as seen by their people.
To my surprise, Vlad bore a striking resemblance to my stepfather, a man I held in high esteem. His calm and measured disposition, his rational approach, even down to his everyday attire, all mirrored my stepfather. He arrived in an older model Skoda, its wear-and-tear a testament to a man who valued practicality over ostentation. His wrist was adorned with an inexpensive quartz watch, simple and functional, just like him. Vlad was, indeed, a man of the people, and it showed.
As we walked through the park, I observed as he interacted with the citizens of Lugansk. No security detail shadowed his steps, yet the people approached him with a mix of respect and gratitude, shaking his hand and offering words of appreciation. He accepted it all with grace, never condescending, always humble.
As we sat, Vlad began to answer Maria's questions, I found myself engrossed in the conversation. There was a kind of raw honesty in his explanations, like the unvarnished truths one might have gleaned from conversations with America's founding fathers. The narrative painted a vivid picture of the Lugansk People's Republic's separation from Ukraine in 2014.
Maria's first question was poignant, "Why is the hate towards the people of Donbass so intense that they have endured physical destruction for eight long years?" The two-hour interview was filled with revelations, intricate details that neither Maria nor I had encountered before.
Yet, my purpose here was not just to find answers that I sought. It was imperative for me to present every angle of the conflict, a comprehensive account that transcended my personal biases. Maria's liberal anti-war stance offered a fresh perspective, and it was crucial to address the questions that lay within.
Vlad provided us with an elaborate explanation, tracing the roots of the conflict, how the war between Russia and Ukraine was a ticking time bomb waiting to explode. It was a narrative of an inevitable collision, a festering wound that was bound to rupture.
Maria absorbed Vlad's answers, gradually coming to terms with the unavoidable nature of the conflict. Her questions had pierced the veil of understanding, revealing the real reasons behind Ukrainian animosity towards Donbass. To the world, Donbass had become a symbol of Russian resistance, an emblem of a complex, unwavering struggle.
I leaned forward, intrigued to hear Vlad's story. "So, Vlad, tell me, what's been your role in all of this?"
Vlad's gaze met mine, carrying the weight of years spent navigating a treacherous landscape. "As of now, I hold the position of Minister of Foreign Affairs for the Lugansk People's Republic. But rewind back, and you'll find me as the deputy chairman of the People's Council of the Luhansk People's Republic until autumn of 2017."
His words painted a portrait of a man entrenched in the complex tapestry of negotiations and power plays. "For over nine years, I've been at the table, negotiating for our people. You want to know what really went down? I can tell you, I've got the entire story etched in my memory.”
He continued, “The tension between Ukraine and Donbass has been building, simmering like a pressure cooker about to blow. You see, the Ukrainian government had a strong grip on Donbass, but they never spoke about it openly. It's not hatred, no. It's pragmatism. They understood that their ideas wouldn't stand a chance here, not with just their intentions."
His voice carried a tone of matter-of-fact authority, the voice of someone who had seen through the veils of political deception. "The West had this grand plan to yank Ukraine into some sort of European structure, but they forgot one thing – our region, the southeast, had a different vision. We were wired for unity with Russia. And it's not just us; other parts of Ukraine share this sentiment, too. Regular folks, you know."
Vlad's eyes held a glint of determination, a fire that had kept him going through the storms. "Then came 2013, and the whole European integration game began. It started with Yanukovych, the president back then. His government, too. They jumped onto the bandwagon, everyone was hyped. But as time passed, a chilling realization dawned – this European deal was a Trojan horse. Europe dangled a 1300-page agreement, and at the last moment, it was clear to the Ukrainian government that this agreement would cripple our economy."
The words flowed from him like a torrent, each sentence a carefully placed brick in the edifice of truth. "You know, Ukraine's industry is rooted in our southeast, in Donbass. So when the government realized this deal was economic suicide, Yanukovych decided to delay it. And that's what birthed the Euromaidan in 2013. Pro-Western forces began rallying people for European integration, while we, in the southeast, fueled the Anti-Maidan movement."
John Mark Dougan, Interviewing Vladislav Deinego in Lugansk
His voice took on an edge as he described the events that followed. "But it wasn't a balanced match. People from the southeast had jobs to do, families to feed. The West pumped resources into the pro-European side, making sure their voices were louder. You've heard about those cookies Victoria Nuland dished out? It's all true."
His eyes held a distant flicker as he recollected the dark days of conflict. "Then came the nationalists, those who'd been nursing radical agendas for years. They seized the moment, turning the Maidan into a battlefield. Stones, Molotov cocktails, and soon, bullets. Shots fired by both sides, government forces and opposition – a deliberate bid to plunge us into full-blown armed conflict."
Vlad leaned in, his tone carrying the weight of a storyteller recounting a dark chapter. "The game had changed by 2014. Armed Ukrainian nationalist groups stormed government buildings, law enforcement agencies, and military units. Weapons fell into their hands, and blood began to stain the streets. It was chaos, my friend. Chaos that set the stage for what was to come."
As Vlad's story unfolded, the world he described became vivid, each detail painted with the brushstrokes of his memory. His words carried a solemn resonance, echoing the battles fought and the choices made in a time of turmoil.
"Imagine this, John. The moment of reckoning, it's February, sometime around the 19th, 20th, or maybe the 21st. Dates blur when history takes hold. The aggression unfurls like a predator lunging for its prey. The nationalists force a vote – their target, a repeal. The Kolesnichenko-Kivalov law, crumbled under the weight of political ambition."
Vlad's words, sharp as a blade, carved the story's next chapter with precision. "Then, chaos reigned once more. Yanukovych, on one side, sought a way out. European ministers, cloaked in diplomacy, wove an agreement's threads. The script? A graceful exit, a transition of power. But fate's hand played differently. The Russian representative rejected the notion, doubting its efficacy. He could foresee the storm that loomed."
His words carried the weight of a historian, relaying the turning points that sent Ukraine hurtling down a tumultuous path. "On that very day, shadows deepened as radical nationalists stormed Yanukovych's fortress, the President's administration building. The tide shifted, and Yanukovych, cornered and betrayed, vanished like a phantom from the heart of Kyiv."
Vlad's narrative, delivered with a storyteller's poise, painted a vivid tableau of those defining moments. "The dominos fell one by one. The Verkhovna Rada, a sacred chamber of democracy, became a theater of manipulation. Deputies, captive beneath the rifles of radicals, voted against the law, erasing the linguistic balance. It was democracy held hostage, manipulated by the barrel of a gun."
His voice grew more intense, the darkness of the tale enfolding with each phrase. "From this maelstrom emerged a declaration. The Constitution, violated. Powers, usurped. Yanukovych, discarded. A sinister twist of fate, overthrow by illicit means. The very fabric of governance, torn. And as tensions mounted, the Crimean Berkut – those brave souls – found themselves caught in the crossfire."
Vlad's voice carried a mixture of regret and anger, painting a portrait of a nation consumed by chaos. "As Ukraine spiraled further, pro-Western politicians hatched a plan. The so-called 'friendship trains,' loaded with radical nationalists, barreled towards those who didn't align with their cause. A strategy both moral and physical, designed to bend the will of those who stood against them. Yet, they hadn't birthed the likes of Azov yet."
The air grew heavier with the weight of history as Vlad's tale unfolded further. "In the backdrop of this chaos, May 2nd emerged as a date that forever stained Ukraine's history. Odessa, a city with its heart aflame, hosting football fans who turned into arsonists, igniting the House of Trade Unions. A building that bore witness to the horror – pro-Russian activists fleeing flames, only to be hunted down by radicals."
His voice hardened, capturing the grimness of those events. "The truth, a bitter pill, played out on screens. Videos surfaced, depicting the carnage, streaming live on the internet. But the gaze of the media in the west turned away, and the frames were systematically erased, hidden from the world's view. Yet, the internet remembers, capturing the truth for those who dare to seek it."
Vlad's narrative, unforgiving in its account, portrayed a nation on the brink. "And so, a line was drawn in the sand. No more could we speak to this government, no dialogue left with those who'd cast aside the constitution and seized power. The tendrils of a coup, an illegal authority's rise, left us no choice. We, in the east, had seen enough. As we took control of the SBU, wresting it back from their grip, we understood one thing – there would be no dialogue with those who'd shattered the bonds of legitimacy."
Vlad's words echoed the nation's struggle. The story had unfolded, woven with the threads of betrayal, chaos, and the unyielding will to preserve identity.
"As the pages turned, a referendum loomed. On May 11th, the die was cast. On May 12th, the results resonated like a war drum, reverberating through history. That's when we marked Republic Day, a beacon of defiance amidst chaos. Each year, we commemorated the resilience of our people, except for that cursed virus period which temporarily dulled our celebration."
He spoke of tradition and defiance, shaping the narrative as it wound through Ukraine's tumultuous past. "Even as we forged our path, Odessa's scars ran deep. The aftermath of May 2nd lingered in our minds. We spoke out on May 9th in Mariupol, as Ukraine struggled to regain control of the SBU building, attempting to wrest it from our grasp. Their attempts, pathetic and comical, amounted to nothing substantial. Ukraine had underestimated the east."
His voice held a tinge of disdain for those who thought they could bend the will of the east. "Amidst the chaos, we reached out to representatives of the pre-revolution Ukrainian authority, hoping for a spark of reason. The Verkhovna Rada, though a mere shadow of its former self, still held a faint hint of legitimacy. But alas, our attempts at dialogue fell on deaf ears, as we tried to bridge the gap between worlds."
Vlad's tone grew somber as he recounted a pivotal moment etched in Luhansk's history. "Yet, it was the date June 2nd that forever marked Lugansk's fate. 100 days had passed since the coup, since power shifted hands, and Ukraine seized the moment, launching an air strike on our city. Rockets screamed from above, shattering the calm of our conversation square, forever altering our world."
As his story pressed on, Vlad's voice assumed a tone of determination amidst the turmoil. "Resilience became our anthem. We retook lost ground, pushing back against Ukraine's advances. The battle lines carved their path along the Seversky Donets River, a grim marker of the shifting struggle. Towards the Donetsk People's Republic, the frontlines stretched to Debaltseve – a town held captive by Ukrainian forces."
Vlad's narrative, a symphony of resistance, continued to unfold. "In tandem, our brethren in Donetsk held the line in their sector. Shoulder to shoulder, we stood, facing an unyielding foe. But let me address the question lurking in the shadows. Did Russia's hand puppeteer the referendum? No, my friend, it's not as black and white as that."
I heard from him a subtle note of exasperation, a response to a world quick to cast blame. "Let's talk reality. The southeast of Ukraine, a region long Russian-speaking, had leaned towards unity with Russia. When June 1st arrived, we didn't change colors overnight. The southeast was always a bastion of industry, erected by the joint effort of the Soviet Union's fifteen republics. Sacrifices, blood, and sweat forged this land's legacy."
