Over Drinks With a KGB Spy
Atlanta, GA
November 16, 2022
Chesterton advised to “not ever take a fence down till you understand why it was put up.” But sometimes they come down whether we like it or not.
The previous owners of our house had some reason to line each side of the property with a double-rail border fence. We don’t know why they installed it, but assume it was for decorative reasons.
It couldn’t have been to keep pets in or pests out. Dogs can run under, kids climb thru, and deer hop over. And they all do. But it looked nice, and lent some order to our rustic realm.
Over the years, weather and wear caused rails to rot, splinter, and slip from their posts. Like a lazy surgeon suturing a severed limb, I’d occasionally tie them back, knowing the next breeze would restore the severance.
Coaxed by time, the corrosion continued. It was slow and incremental, so we tolerated it. But the last couple years, several storms sped the demise of our fragile fence. They uprooted a few large trees, which demolished the remnants of our dilapidated rails.
I now had no choice. It was finally time to fix the fence. Like locals returning after a hurricane or an Antifa riot, I’ve spent the last few days assessing the damage, clearing debris, and compiling material to rebuild the fence.
But why bother putting it back up? I’m not sure. Maybe because boundaries, even superficially ornamental ones, are important.
Or to Chesterton’s point, someone before me had reason to erect it, and took the time to do so. Unless we find compelling cause to be rid of a bequest, we owe it to our ancestors (and our descendants) to preserve the legacy of those who precede us.
Modernity is quick to demolish and eager to discard. Monuments are toppled, language distorted, science sacrificed, and history effaced. And it’s done without question, qualm, or compunction, nor any concern for memories diminished or lessons lost.
Till this century, and especially the last several years, the advancing decline was noticeable, yet bearable. Floors squeaked, pipes leaked, paint peeled, and lights flickered when the wind kicked up.
Yet nothing seemed to threaten the structure. It was sturdy, well-built, and withstood a lot. The old place, for all its faults, remained inhabitable, and reasonably pleasant.
But the last few years, residents grew restless and the superintendents more reckless. They seemed to become impatient with the pace of destruction, so they grabbed their sledgehammers and began to swing.
Slow decline became accelerating devastation. The carnage continues, and the damage is immense. It’s also intentional. As carpets are pulled up and drywall torn down, we see the place infested with legions of pests planning to tear it apart.
For decades, nefarious forces have been gnawing at the foundations. Most of us could sense they were there, even if we didn’t know precisely who they were. A couple months ago, I found out, receiving clarity from a man who recruited the termites.
My wife and I ascended 800 feet to the fiftieth floor. We walked thru the double doors, and into an airy room offering expansive views thru floor-to-ceiling glass.
We were at the Commerce Club of Atlanta for a gathering of “policy leadership” types to whom I am often allergic. But amid the usual assortment of senators, judges, and sycophants was a unique slice of interesting people.
As we made small talk with a few friends, a couple men walked into the room. One was an acquaintance, the other a stranger. It was a rôle to which he’d become accustomed, especially among those who thought they knew him.
As we introduced ourselves, one of our friends mentioned my wife is Russian, and from the Ukraine. The stranger smiled, gave his name, and with his German accent said he spoke her language. He and my wife exchanged a few words in Russian before we all began speaking in English.
“When did you learn to speak Russian?”, I asked.
“When I was a KGB spy. That’s also when I learned English.”
I chuckled. He didn’t.
“He’s serious”, our acquaintance assured us.
“Oh.”
After some small talk, the two men and I strolled toward the bar. We received our drinks, and began to talk. I wasn’t sure what to say. As often happens when at a loss for words, the only ones I could find were monumentally stupid.
“So…how’d you get into that line of work?”
“I was recruited after university in East Germany and later sent to the US.”
“When was that?”
“During the Carter years. I lived in New York. I worked for several major corporations, mostly in IT [presumably so he could inform the Soviets of US technological capabilities]. I also was responsible for recruiting Americans into the KGB.”
I was reminded of the Yuri Bezmenov interview I wrote about a couple years ago and recounted last week.
Bezmenov was a KGB agent who defected in 1970, and who explained the four stages of collapse that Marxists orchestrate from within a “target nation.”
“Is that how it was done?”, I asked tentatively. I was apprehensive about bringing up Bezmenov, or anything else for that matter. I needn’t have been (as far as I know as of now).
“Yes, for the most part”, he said. “And it’s still happening today. The people we recruited and influenced are in power now.”
Over Chardonnay and the skyline of Atlanta, the former spy explained to me how he let loose the termites into the hardy timber of the wealthy West. As they multiplied and embedded, they steadily weakened the rugged wood.
From their burrows in academia, entertainment, and government, they steadily toppled tradition, and normalized the abnormal. The idea, he said, was to proliferate uncertainty and “institutionalize dysfunction”, so the country would become used to it, and degraded by it. Like Hemingway’s bankruptcy, the collapse would happen gradually, then suddenly. Once the framing rotted, the structure would fall.
He wanted another drink. I needed one.
The bartender filled our glasses as realizations poured in.
This explained why post-modern governments, do-gooders, and world-improvers spent the last couple decades…and especially the last few years…replacing things that work in practice with those that work only in theory. And usually not even then.
It’s why there are so many things we’ve long taken for granted that we now pretend we don’t know how to do. We’ve suddenly forgotten how to manage viruses, count votes, optimize energy, or distinguish the sexes.
As Thomas Sowell put it, people who can’t predict the weather in three days tell us what the temperature will be in a hundred years. Eric Brakey rightly recalled that they’d have us believe inflation is a natural phenomenon beyond anyone’s control, but that climate is a precise model their policies can perfect. And Americans actually accept this idiocy – or at least the “educated” ones do.
That the KGB tried to weaken religion and destroy the family isn’t a surprise. To normal people, religion is above the State and family comes before it. Both detract affection from the ruling regime, so must be resisted by the powers-that-be. But the degree to which the Soviets’ American acolytes achieved their goals is startling.
Fifty years ago, married couples headed more than 80% of American households. They now comprise fewer than half. Most Americans still claim to be religious, or at least believe in God. But dwindling numbers practice the faith they profess, which is no surprise given the milquetoast messaging of most American churches. After all, the termites infested the pews too.
And they’ve dug their way deep into “The Science.” Despite knowing for a century how to mitigate respiratory ailments, when another coronavirus emerged the “public health” establishment immediately abandoned what any idiot knew worked for what only an “expert” thought might.
Or did they? I doubt it. They may be sinister, but they aren’t stupid. They weren’t trying to quash a virus. They wanted to control us. Separation, surveillance, masking, and mass medication don’t do anything to mitigate a bug. But they’re time-worn tactics of authoritarian regimes. And that’s what American governments became, partly because of who taught them.
As we were being called to dinner, the teacher told me a final thing that took my appetite. He recognized the tactics used during Covid. Once they started, none were a surprise. He’d helped write the playbook, and the team was following it. That made dispiriting sense.
But I told him what disturbed me most was they way power-drunk authorities punished kids.
“That’s not what they’re doing,” he corrected.
“What do you mean?”, I asked. “Kids are at almost no risk from covid. But they lost years of activities and lifelong memories, and in many places they’re still forced to wear masks when no one else is.”
“Yes. But that’s not to ‘punish’ kids. It’s to train them, and acclimate them. Much like children don’t know a world without electronic devices, it will always be second-nature for them wear a mask and be afraid of germs. They will think it natural to follow orders to stay safe, and expect everyone else to do so too. Just like schoolchildren harass their parents if they don’t recycle. It’s the same tactic. If you co-opt the kids, you may not persuade their parents. But you won’t need to coerce the grandkids. Look at young people today. They already go along with what they’re being told. It worked, and it will keep working.”
As we walked to our respective tables and prepared to eat, I shook hands, thanked him for the conversation, and said goodbye. As we parted, I had one more question.
“How’d you leave the KGB?”, I asked, somewhat afraid that he hadn’t.
“After the Cold War, the FBI found out who I was and took me in. By that time, they realized I was no longer working for the KGB, so decided I’d be more useful as an informant. So that’s what I did. I don’t do that anymore either, but I still have friends there.”
It’s nice to know some adversaries are able to mend fences.
JD
