Alexander Dugin

Translated by Nina Kouprianova

The views of the original author do not necessarily reflect those of the translator.

We must understand that the role of Igor Strelkov is fundamental. This is a type of Russian idealist, conservative, and true patriot that destroyed the abyss between principles and actions; this abyss is the paralyzing scourge of our patriotism. When Russians realize acutely that their values are being ridiculed, their interests are being sold, and their government is being appropriated not by the best, but by the most ignoble, what do they do? They yearn, whine, blame the intellectual elites (as per Augustin Cochin), drink, of course, and form minor movements that the System quickly breaks apart. The most passionate ones plunge into fights, aggression, along with meaningless violence and sacrifice. Some are bribed for the opposition’s technical purposes, others are curated by the police and secret service. This is a vicious circle. No one strikes the actual enemy, no one asserts one’s purpose, no one goes all the way to the end, firmly and with one’s head held high. After all, it is young guys that sacrifice themselves, Russian nationalists, National Bolsheviks, or “Far Eastern partisans,” dying in fights or ending up in prison without rhyme or reason. This affects no one. Russians continue their dreams of the everyday. Others spend decades on meaningless chatter and flaunting. A pathetic sight.

And it is here that Strelkov appears. Russian. Stern. Naïve and timid. An idealist. With principles. In times of peace, he is likely not in demand and somewhat awkward. And so he heads to the front lines of a People’s (Narod—in Russian, Volk—in German) War. On his own accord. Thus, he breaks the shackles of powerlessness, haze of fear, despair and depression of the inability to translate ideals into action. Had he stopped in Crimea or gotten killed in the first days of defending Slavyansk, we would not have learned anything about him. It is then that the other great people fell: they were heroes, too, like he is, other Russians, having broken the shackles of darkness. Some of them were my friends. But Strelkov withstood this and created an army. He became the focal point of our hopes, our will, and our transformation. The others are no less good, courageous, and slightly awkward like all Russians, but it is Strelkov that touched upon something within our soul, inside our national sentiment. And the Russian myth shone down upon him, our thirst for a hero. He was simply fulfilling his duty. Yes. But this is not the duty of a professional or a man who found himself in difficult circumstances because of fate. This is HIS duty. This is his RUSSIAN duty, which outweighed apathy, fear, indifference, and apprehension. This is precisely the point: Strelkov did everything HIMSELF. This is what is most important: it was he HIMSELF. And through him we became closer to OURSELVES. We saw what we were truly capable of. Soldiers who fought in Afghanistan and Chechnya were also heroic. But they did not go there on their own accord. They fulfilled a different kind of duty, the name for which is the State. Strelkov, on the other hand, fulfilled the duty called an Idea. The Russian Idea. He broke through the barriers within our soul. He emancipated us. Strelkov corrected something in us, healed it. We thought that this was no longer possible: a fearless Russian Orthodox Warrior heading to a Sacred War on his own accord. But he did. And began to win. And with each of his triumphs, each briefing from the front lines, it was we who were victorious. Russia triumphed.

This is not a matter of his political convictions or even his virtues as a military commander. It is much deeper than that. He became our myth. And he no longer belongs to himself, the military service, or the State, but only to this myth—the Russian myth about the way that we once were and, as it turns out, can be again at any moment.

The hatred of Strelkov is that by an enemy race, not in the biological, but in the spiritual sense. The race of technologists, con artists, bureaucrats, manipulators, and merchants. Werner Sombart used to say that there are two types of people: the race of merchants and that of heroes. Europe of Modernity is the result of triumphant merchants (capitalism) over the race of heroes (Middle Ages). Strelkov is the Russian Middle Ages. After all, Orthodoxy itself cannot be “modern”: this would be a parody, a simulacrum. It could either be Ancient or Medieval. “Modernity” is the patrimony of the Antichrist. Thus, Strelkov is from that which once passed. But not that which once passed, and is no more, but rather that which truly was, and still is, as the core of our souls, as an arcane center of the Russian identity.

We have yet to fully grasp what Strelkov truly means to us. But the type of rage that he inspires in all kinds of evil spirits, the type of envy that shallow characters experience toward him, the hatred that he provokes in the West and the junta all point to the fact that he is not an accident. Once again, not as a person, on an individual level, but as the carrier of the Russian type. A real Russian understands everything about Strelkov. He is us. One Narod (Volk). Narod that is awakening.

I would really like to ask those who listen to my words to treat this figure delicately. He is our cultural heritage of enormous value. This is why so many wanted to have him killed, get rid of him, minimize his significance and vulgarize him, and now bring him down even more so. If we allow this to happen, then we are worthless.

Myths are to be defended, the way that Strelkov fought, and is fighting for Novorossia, for Great Russia, and for each one of us.

Let Christ be with you, Igor…

The Russian original can be found here.