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 naiveté.