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PREFACE TO MY RUSSIAN BOOK
I am Russian. That's how I feel and therefore, that's what I am. I was born in Russia, in the Soviet Union in what was and still is a stunningly beautiful city on the Neva River called Leningrad.
For some reason, out of the almost 20 books that I have written, only 2 (if I am not mistaken) have been translated into the Russian language and published in Russia. How come? My books are available in about 40 languages. Even in Turkey, in the Turkish language, five have been printed.
Perhaps during the Gorbachev and Yeltsin era, Russia and I drifted apart. Not fully, but to a great extent.
I am an internationalist, an anti-colonialist fighter. I have worked in about 160 countries, writing about the horrors that are being spread by Western imperialism. I was screwed many times, battered and injured, tortured and even condemned to death. My Russia is a Russia of principles, of justice and courage. My grandparents fought for such a nation, and half of my relatives died, defending it. In the past, during those few terrible years when Russia was enchanted with the North American and European cheap glitter and lies, we found ourselves, unfortunately, far apart.
Of course, Russia's obsession with the West did not last long. The country is too educated, too independent-minded. It cannot be fooled for decades. 'My country', my abstract, imaginary but nevertheless beloved homeland, got humiliated, robbed and almost destroyed by political and market fundamentalists in Washington, London, Paris. After the demolition of the Soviet Union, the life expectancy of Russian people dropped to sub-Saharan African levels. In those days, during one of my visits, I saw scientists from akademgorodog selling their libraries in the Novosibirsk subway underpass, in the bitter winter cold. Russia was shaken, stripped of its essence, and stepped on. The West gave nothing, it only took. And once the Soviet internationalism was out of the way, the United States, U.K. and France began the unbridled plunder of the world: Iraq, Serbia, Libya"
For several years, I looked in despair at how Russia was collapsing, losing its dignity, selling its great tangible and intangible achievements for a pittance. And how the West was laughing at it; grinning with its muzzle, expressing profound cynicism and scorn.
Yes, this is when Russia and I parted, for a short period of time. I did not want Russia to kneel I wanted it to fight: for itself and for the world, as it always had done. Like most of the Russian people, I wanted the Soviet Union back; I felt embarrassed to see how cheap and sleazy capitalism was replacing Communist and Internationalist ideals. I felt deep scorn for the naivete' of Gorbachev, and right after that, for the perverted destructive servility of Yeltsin. For the sake of its own people and the world, Russia had no right to be weak; so much depended on it.
I wrote about it, about what I was witnessing, but Russia was not ready for me then. Many people there were searching for shortcuts. Countless honest people were spat at, degraded.
Eventually, majority of people understood. The government changed. Pride returned. The dark days of humiliation did not last long. Russia, indignant and righteous, once again got up from its knees, and confronted the Western usurpers and imperialism. It regained its soul, its compassion, and its great culture.
From that very moment, I regained my Motherland. This was the Russia that I knew, respected and loved. The Russia for which I was willing to, wanted to, fight for.
And a big, tough ideological fight it has been, since the moment that Russia began defending its interests and its people, as well as billions of oppressed human beings all around the world!
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