Dissidents

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Two Russian dissidents, armed only with words and the force of public opinion, faced authoritarian regimes. Both were imprisoned for speaking out. One was exiled, the other killed.

I recently read their memoirs:

• Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn: The Oak and the Calf
• Alexei Navalny: Patriot: A Memoir

Navalny makes the point that the Soviet regime, which persecuted Solzhenitsyn, was worse than Putin's oligarchy. Yet Navalny was the one to die in prison.

One could argue that it was his own fault. After an unsuccessful assassination attempt through poisoning, he returned to his homeland. He didn't have to. But he was in no way at fault. His death was the fault of the regime that poisoned him, imprisoned him, killed him.

I reread The Oak and the Calf because I remembered a reference to "conservatives" in the government who did not want to allow publication of Solzhenitsyn's books. This struck me at the time as strange, because I thought of Communists as left-wing, which is another word for liberal, which has commonly been thought of as the opposite to conservative. In his memoir, I think, Solzhenitsyn uses the "conservative" label for stick-in-the-mud fuddy-duddies who wouldn't change their ways rather than as an indication of their political ideology. But Navalny too accuses Russian Communists (after the Soviet Union) of being "more conservative than even the American right" (p. 186).

Solzhenitsyn's title is from a Russian proverb about a young calf head-butting an oak tree, presumably with some delusions of winning the battle.

In America, we like to think President Reagan brought on the fall of the Soviet empire. I'm pretty sure Solzhenitsyn was even more responsible: the oak fell. And he was rewarded with the opportunity to return home. His assessment, too, was that Putin's regime was better than the Soviet era. I suspect that even now, after the imprisonment and murder of a man whose efforts were so like his own, Solzhenitsyn would still prefer Putin to the USSR. But I expect he would be outraged and would speak up. Or would he be more "conservative"?

Navalny's memoir is more relevant than that of his predecessor. The iron fist now wears a glove, but it is still ruthless and it has more propaganda tools than ever. "In the twenty-first century you are confronted not just by the machinery of a repressive state but by the PR machinery of that state." (p 138) "Propagandists," he says, "create a public opinion that no longer simply enables Putin to commit war crimes but demands them." (p. 430)

The courage of one man to speak up against a corrupt government and against its stupid, unjust war against Ukraine is an inspiration. We should all aspire to his persistence, determination, fearlessness, patience, faith, and humor.

Buy Navalny's book. Support his widow and his children made fatherless by Putin. A simple purchase can be another piece of the puzzle of describing and protesting autocracy.

Our country is not as far gone as Putin's vast fiefdom, but not for lack of trying by the current administration. There are too many similarities. Shutting down and shutting up the opposition is reaching new heights in the land of the free. Let's learn from dissidents and at least remain the home of the brave.

Good Guys

Why do bad things happen to good people? The question has been pondered for millennia. But I have another question: Why do good people do bad things?

The ancient story of Job deals with both questions.

The first question gets all the attention. It's the question Job demands an answer to but never receives. Job's friends are pretty sure they know the answer: it was something Job did.

I don't know that I was taught this, but I grew up thinking Job's friends were not really friends. They were mean and thoughtless, "miserable comforters," as Job says at one point. But that's not the whole story.

When they arrive, they spend seven days in silence just being there with and for Job. These are committed friends. They aren't bad guys. And just because Job sometimes berates them does not mean he doesn't care for them. He berates, yet honors, God too.

Job's friends are good guys and true friends.

I recently heard a story on The Moth Radio Hour about a grandchild's love for his grammy, who also loved him dearly but was less than purely good. It's too easy to know one aspect of a person and decide that they are either good or bad.

We are all bad guys; we are all good guys. The line between good and evil runs through every human heart, says Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. Good guys do bad things. One of the qualifications for sainthood, I think, is an insistence that one is not saintly (I admit limited knowledge on this subject; perhaps canonization sometimes allows for arrogance). Good guys ought to recognize their failures. But sometimes the worst part of bad behavior is a conviction that it is righteous.

Job's friends are pious and certain about what God wants and how and why God does things. They know that if you have problems it's your fault and God is punishing you. It's their duty to warn their friend about this and set him straight.

It seems this very piety is what pisses God off. We don't realize it while they are arguing. We think, hey these guys have a point. They know their theology. When God scolds Job at length for impertinence without addressing the friends, I suspect they nod in agreement and feel justified for their judgment. Only after God tells off Job for thinking he understands what he doesn't, only then do we find out that God's bigger beef is with the friends; Job must pray for them to prevent their ruin.

Job is honest. He has the chutzpah to express his deepest, darkest thoughts and feelings. His friends, on the other hand, say what they think God wants them to say. And that's their sin! Finally God turns to the friends: "I am angry with you, because you have not spoken of me what is right, as my servant Job has."

What?! Us? No, you don't underst... (gulp). Surprise ending.

Job's friends, good guys that they are, repent. They make their sacrifices. They eat their crow. They are not dealt with according to their folly.

When most certain that we are proclaiming God's will, we most need humility. We might well be full of folly.

Bad Guys

My grandson, about 5 years old, often talks about bad guys. There are robbers and pirates and zombies and Decepticons, all bad guys. It's a convenient concept. Bad guys cause our problems. Bad guys give us someone to despise, to fight, There are two kinds of people: good guys and bad guys.

We know better, but we don't let go of the notion of bad guys.

I'm a bad guy, I've been told. I'm a radical left liberal who longs to destroy America. My natural reaction is to view those who tell me this as deluded despicable liars, beyond hope.

The line between good and evil runs through every human heart, says Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn. We are all bad guys. And we are all good guys. Somehow, we filter out the bad when we look in the mirror and we filter out the good when we evaluate those who disagree with us. The plank in my eye doesn't so much block my view of the speck in yours as highlight it. That speck is all I see.

In politics and religion, bad-guy thinking often generates passionate support, and what is more gratifying? The support validates our views; the passion extends them. The circle starts to spin, to get meaner. It feels good to be so right, so sure of what's wrong. It gives us purpose, perhaps worth dying for.

One wishes we would grow up.

The other day I was playing along with the bad-guy worldview. Those nasty zombies, I said. My grandson corrected me: "No, Grandpa, they are helping protect us from the Decepticons."

It's still a bad-guy world, but occasionally we see progress. We can have allies, make treaties, be more accepting. Sometimes, we even accept correction.