The Propagandist
By
John A. Tures
“I think we outta
lock up everyone who crosses the border from Mexico, and throw away the key,”
the words emerged from the chatroom account RealRedStater.
“I’d build that wall ten
feet higher and ten feet thicker,” a reply flew in online a few seconds later.
After several thumbs up and
likes for the first two posts, another account stated, “Instead of a dumb ol
wall, how ‘bout an electric fence?!!!”
“Fry ‘em all!” the chain
continued.
Something was boiling on
this online pot. “It’s not immigration! It’s an invasion!!”
“Hell…it’s an occupation!”
Several cringeworthy
suggestions continued, ranging from mining the border to posting machinegun
nests with M-60s. Observing all of the chaos, the Russian hacker known in his
country’s intel circles as The Propagandist was pleased at how easily the anger
flowed across the computer screen. “That dinosaur would never have thought of
this…” announced The Propagandist, known in this chat room as “RealRedStater,”
to his pretty girlfriend, or at least toward where Valentina was supposed to
be.
“Very impressive,” grunted
the short, swarthy supervisor, who replaced the leggy brunette at the chair
next to him. His olive uniform was adorned with red stars with gold
hammer-and-sickles on some and silver Lenin or Stalin profiles on the other.
The aged general looked like fruit left out in the sun too long, the Russian
hacker thought. Luckily, the old man was hard of hearing, as evidenced by that
device in his ear that so many elderly wore, so he missed the Russian hacker’s
insult.
The old military man
watched the words dance across the screen crafted by “The Propagandist,”
impressed with what his star employee at the St. Petersburg bot farm was
accomplishing. “But what is the goal?” the old officer that others in the computer
lab called “The Soviet” wondered aloud. “How does this help our country, our
cause?”
“We might get some hate
crimes, maybe a mass shooting like the one in El Paso, Texas, a few years ago.
But that’s not our real goal. This is.”
After someone posted an
anti-Hispanic meme, “RealRedStater” wrote “Texas Senator Paul Kerwin won’t
support anything like this. He actually wants more legal immigration, if
you can believe it!”
A swarm of angry retorts,
boos, unhappy face emojis, and thumbs-down symbols flashed across the screen. A
minute later, he typed, “Let’s oust him in the GOP primary with Margaret
Blackthorne!”
Instantly, the mood
switched from hate to adoration. Hearts, thumbs-up symbols and smiley faces
bloomed like flowers on the computer.
Seeing the Soviet’s
quizzical expression, the Propagandist explained his plan. “Texas State
Representative Blackthorne is a populist conservative we secretly fund, with
contributions from American allies of our geopolitical plans. When she beats
Kerwin in the primary later this year, she’ll introduce a bill to have the
United States leave NATO.”
Now the Soviet understood.
“That is very clever of you, comrade.”
The Propagandist internally
chuckled. His supervisor was such a fossil. His kind spent decades pitching
Pravda and meaningless Marxist manifestoes to a wealthy, decadent West that
could care less about boring theories about sharing money and caring for the
less fortunate. You were predators or prey, nothing more.
This dumb, prehistoric
creature failed all of those years. His regime spent billions on an inferior
military and went bankrupt against a West who could spend trillions on the best
equipment and soldier training, and never blink. His bot farm supervisor’s kind
left over from the USSR would thankfully be ousted soon, just as the SVR had
replaced the outdated KGB intelligence unit, though his organization was no
less lethal to his country’s enemies.
In just a few short years,
The Propagandist and his team had turned every enemy from united to divided,
with a cadre of leftist and right-wing populists prepared to do modern Russia’s
bidding.
“But what about those on
the other side politically?” The Soviet inquired.
The Propagandist clicked
away on the keyboard. In a different chatroom, CaliProgressive140 began a
thread questioning America’s cruel immigration policies, and other accounts
took the bait. In thirty minutes, he had hard-core liberals calling for all
border security to be taken down, and a recall effort against the Democratic
governor of California because she wouldn’t support such a measure. He knew
which buttons to push, and not just clicks on the keyboard.
“Will she change her mind?”
The Soviet asked.
“A far-left state senator
on our secret payroll will implement that policy if the governor loses the
vote, and he will campaign among the Democratic Party to end America’s
relationship with NATO, a ‘bipartisan’ effort with our new Senator Blackthorne
from Texas,” The Propagandist explained. He couldn’t wait to replace this
Soviet relic, who still didn’t always get it, still reading his words in the
chatrooms with amazement.
He remembered being a
student, who was stunned when the USSR collapsed. Eager to meet the victors of
that Cold War confrontation, he prowled around his country’s colleges, lurked
about the museums, and even worked for awhile in McDonald’s, just to see what
made the colossus from The West tick. How had the Americans prevailed, where
Napoleon, Hitler, the Ottoman Empire, the British Empire and the German Kaiser
failed?
After several months, The
Propagandist had his answer. There was nothing special about the country. They
were born into a great position, with nearly boundless natural resources and
geographic barriers like the two oceans that inhibited direct attacks. It was
as if they started only ten yards before the finish line in a hundred-yard dash,
believing themselves to be superior.
They were simply Russians
with money.
While in classes, and
waiting tables, and watching satellite television, he stalked his quarry carefully.
For a country that called itself the “United” States of America, it was
surprisingly divided. Americans seemed to be looking for someone to hate. The
melting pot of race and ethnicity wasn’t coming together as well as their
commercials and television shows indicated. When it came to religion each
zealot felt appointed as their god’s personal emissary to smite anyone not 100
percent in perfect agreement with them. They were smug with their victory over
the Soviet Union, their arrogance blinding them to any real threat. They were
easily offended if not treated like royalty. Grudges were nursed and cultivated
until ready to bloom at the most dangerous times. And they marched in lock step
to populists who showered them with flattery, even as such leaders took the
very steps to loot their incomes, rob their jobs, and eliminate their benefits
right under their noses.
Getting people in this
nation to turn on each other would prove only too easy.
The only reason his country
failed wasn’t just scarce natural resources and miserable climate. It was that
joke of a communist system that shackled everyone to the false utopia of
equality while the managers, or mis-managers from the party were rewarded for
their incompetence. Fools like his boss, the Soviet, just didn’t get it, and
never would.
With the advent of the
Internet, another Western tool, a treasure trove of information flooded to his
fingertips. He could spy on the whole nation and never leave St. Petersburg.
Through a series of online personalities, he could recruit Americans to do his
dirty work, and they would never suspect who their anonymous friend was really
working for, or what the endgame would be.
“Could this be done in a
Western European or East Asian country?” The Soviet asked.
“Comrade,”
The Propagandist began,
trying hard to avoid using the mocking tone he wished he could use…not just
yet, he reminded himself. “It could be done in any country. I’ve already
stirred up the extremes in several other countries around the world using this
blueprint.”
As the Internet spread,
The Propagandist
discovered that despite the differing history and cultures around the world,
there were some similarities about the human condition that could be exploited,
no matter what the country code was on their international phone number. Just
as America had a checkered history of division, inequality, and bitterness,
their allies abroad had similar legacies of genocide, exploitation, and
repression, all too easy to conjure back up again, with a modern twist. Within
a few weeks, he could reenact The
Hundred Years War, the Taiping Rebellion, or similar conflicts that ravaged the
world and they would never suspect who was profiting from their imminent coups
d’etat, civil war, and collapse of their civilization.
The Soviet nodded
admiringly. Then, in a whisper, he added, “Let us go outside to talk some more.
There are few secrets within this building.”
“Of course,” The
Propagandist agreed. Perhaps The Soviet would reveal he was ready for retirement,
given that he was well past ninety. It would save the Russian hacker the
unpleasant business of forcing him out. The old man wouldn’t live long without
the job.
They departed the facility
after passing through a series of security posts with metal detectors and
suspicious guards. The lush forest outside and walking path laden with wood
chips for a softer surface beckoned them just as the clouds provided cover
against the potential heat of an early autumn afternoon.
“I wanted to ask this a few
minutes ago,” the burly Soviet began, hesitantly. “But that building is bad for
confidential conversations.”
The Propagandist nodded.
“I hear you are planning to
leave the SVR and start your own company, sowing all of this discord around the
world.” The old man still barely spoke above a whisper.
The Russian manipulator
sighed. Valentina, his girlfriend, must have gabbed about it to a co-worker who
leaked it to the supervisor after last Friday’s after-work vodka-laden party. She
was attractive and fiercely loyal, but way too chatty with the other girls. He’d
give her a stern talking-to after dinner that evening.
“What makes you believe—”
“I just wanted to
know…if I could join you?”
The Soviet continued haltingly.
The Propagandist started a
derisive snort at the thought. Then he caught himself. “Sorry comrade,
some dust got caught in my nostrils. What could you do for us, our company?”
The Soviet’s short stubby
legs struggled to keep pace with the taller Russian social media expert. “I
could feed you intel from our government for your firm.”
He’s finally
realizing the benefits of free
market economics after all, the hacker thought.
The Propagandist shrugged.
“It’s a start. But you would need to give us some real inside information…” He
noticed the Soviet was no longer by his side. Had he collapsed on the trail?
The Propagandist whirled around to see the shorter man with the green military
uniform aiming a very large pistol at him. “What--?”
“Your girlfriend is very
loyal. She held out for a long time before we broke her. Now our conversation
confirms the threat you post to the West, as well as Mother Russia.”
“I don’t have to leave the
SVR. I could stay,” The Propagandist offered.
“I am sorry, comrade, but
that time has passed,” the cold reply followed.
“I could make you rich…”
“I am over ninety years
old. What would I want with money? But the restoration of the USSR…that is this
old man’s dream.”
The Propagandist held out
his hands, pleading. “But I’ve brought our enemies to their knees. I am the
greatest asset you have. I could do so much more damage.”
The Soviet considered his
words. “Yes, you could. And that is why your employment with the SVR must be
terminated.”
The explosion caused birds
to burst from the trees around them in panic. The Propagandist flew backward as
if punched by Ivan Drago. Two uniformed men emerged from the trees, with
shovels in hand, and began to drag the faceless man to the shallow grave they
had dug earlier in the day a hundred yards into the forest.
The Soviet gave one final
look at the corpse, off to its final resting place, confident that Valentina
and her co-workers would be forced to continue the work of undermining America
under tighter supervision. “You thought of me as a dinosaur,” he told the
lifeless one once called The Propagandist. “But such creatures could still be
deadly.”
