The mad glint in his eyes is likely to be nothing more
ominous than maladjusted contact lenses. If not clean
shaven, he is likely to sport nothing wilder than a goatee.
More likely an atheist than a priest, this mutation of the
ageless confidence artist is nonetheless the direct spiritual
descendent of Rasputin, the raving maniac who governed
Russia until his own execution by Russian noblemen and
patriots.
They are to be found in all countries in transition. Wild
and insidious weeds, the outcome of wayward pollination
by mutated capitalism. They prey on their victims, at first
acquiring their confidence and love, then penetrating their
political, social and financial structures almost as a virus
would: stealthily and treacherously. By the time their
quarry wakes up to its infection and subjugation - it is
already too late. By then, the invader will have become
part of the invaded or its master, either through blackmail
or via tempting subornation.
This region of the CEE and the Balkans provides for
fertile grounds. It is a Petrie dish upon which cultures of
corruption and scandalous conduct are fermented. The
typical exploiter of these vulnerabilities is a foreigner.
Things foreign are held in awe and adulation by a
populace so down trodden and made to feel inferior in
every way, not least by foreign tutors and advisors. The
craving to be loved, this gnawing urge to be accepted, to
be a member of the club, to be distinguished from one's
former neighbours - are irresistible. The modern Rasputin
doles out this unconditional acceptance, this all
encompassing affinity, the echoes of avuncularity. In
doing so, he evokes in the recipients such warmth, such
relief, such fervour and reciprocity - that he becomes an
idol, a symbol of a paradise long lost, a golden braid.
Having thus completed the first phase of his meticulous
attack - he moves on to the second chapter in this book of
body snatching.
Armed with his new-fangled popularity, the crook moves
on and leverages it to the hilt. He does so by feigning
charity, by faking interest, by false "constructive
criticism". To his slow forming army, he recruits the
media, the flower children, the bleeding hearts, reformers,
dissidents and the occasional freak. By holding old
authority in disdain, by declaring his contempt for the
methods of the "tried and true", by appearing to make war
upon all rot and immorality - this creature of expediency
emerges as a folk hero. It is the more cynical and world
weary and "sophisticated" members of society that lead
the way, succumbing to his ardour and conviction, to his
child-like innocence, to his unwavering agenda. He
cleverly thrusts at them the double edge of their own
disillusionment and disappointment. Thus mirrored, they
are transformed and converted into his camp of renewal
and clean promises by this epiphany. They hand him the
keys to every medium, the very codes and secrets that
make him so powerful. They pledge their alliance and
allegiance and render to him the access they possess to the
nerve centres of society. The castle gates thus opened
from inside, his victory assured, the rogue moves on to
consummate this unholy marriage between himself and
the deceived.
Always in fear of light, he surreptitiously and cunningly
begins to interact with the foci of power and money in the
land. However loathsome he is to them, however
repulsive the experience, however undesirable the effects
of their surrender - they are made to recognize him as
their equal. With the might of the media and a large part
of the people behind him, he can no longer be ignored.
Their conspiracy-prone mind, awash with superstitions
and its attaching phobias, tries to comprehend his
meteoric rise, the forcefulness with which he treads, his
unmitigated, inane, self confidence. Is he a spy? A
member of a secret order? The latent agent of a
hyperpower? The heart of a world conspiracy? Has he no
fear of retribution and no remorse? Before this great
unknown, they kneel and yield, an atavistic reaction to
atavistic fears. Now all doors are thrown open, all deals
are made available, all secrets are revealed. The more he
learns, the mightier he becomes - the more his might, the
more he learns. To him, a virtuous cycle, to his hosts - a
vicious one.
In all this tumult, he does not lose sight of his original
goals - power, money, fame, all three. It is a relentless
pursuit, an obsessive hunt, a ruthless and unscrupulous
chase. In his war, no prisoners are taken, no price too
dear, no human in his orbit left untouched. He will
manipulate and threat and beg and promise and plead and
blackmail and extort to accomplish that which he set out
to achieve: decision making powers, wealth, clout,
exposure and resultant fame. It is at this stage that the
latter day Rasputin emerges from the shadows and joins
officialdom or concludes lucrative transactions based on
favourably deflated prices and insider dealing. By now,
his shady past is no longer a hindrance. His prowess far
exceeds his invidious biography. Well installed, he
ignores both media and the people. He brushes aside
contemptuously all criticism and enquiry. His true,
narcissistic, face is exposed and it is hideous to behold.
But there is nothing to be done and all resistance is futile.
The con-man now is in a haste to maximize his hard
earned profits and exit the scene, on his way to another
realm of guile and naivet.