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As demonstrated in a newly released text from the 1980s, Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn saw right through the alleged promise of magic dirt:

And really, what sort of a country is America? Naïve (although supposedly so enlightened and democratic): through a clutch of its professional politicians, it blithely betrays itself on a daily basis, yet will fly into a sudden brief fury—but an utterly blind one—and destroy whatever is in its path. The Soviets bring down a Korean Air Lines plane—then, in New Haven, the windows of a Russian Orthodox church are smashed in revenge and filth sprayed on the frescoes. A US army barracks in Beirut is blown up—and a quarrelsome resident of the small town of Pittsfield, Vermont, a people’s avenger, arms himself with a revolver, goes off in the morning to a local shop rung by an Iranian and his Russian wife, Tanya Zelenskaya (the daughter of First Wave émigrés), and shoots her dead, thereby expressing America’s revenge on the Iranians and “the Russians standing behind them.”

Shaky. Russian soil may not be accessible to me for a long time to come, perhaps until death, but I cannot sense American soil as my own.

With no solid ground beneath my feet. With no visible allies. Between two World Forces, to be finely ground up.

Dreary.

May his final years be a good reminder of the rewards of nationalism, the truth, and faith.