Making the Cut

 The great Benjamin Wittes—of Lawfare and Rational Security 1.0 fame—just put out a Substack post sharing the happy news that he has finally made the list of Americans sanctioned by Russia for activities opposing Putin's war. 

Wittes has spent the past two years hoping for just such an honor. He has traveled to capital cities around the globe in order to project messages denouncing Putin's invasion and war crimes onto the walls of various Russian embassies. He had written previously that the highest validation of his efforts he could receive would be for Putin's government to publicly acknowledge in some way that he had at least succeeded in annoying them. Now, by appearing on the list of sanctioned individuals barred from traveling to Russia, he has finally achieved that. 

It is indeed an honor to appear on such a list. Anyone who has made themselves enough of an obstacle to the successful prosecution of Putin's war to be worth sanctioning by name is obviously doing something right. Admittedly, Wittes observes that the Russian authorities managed to spell his surname wrong. But it's unmistakable whom they are talking about nonetheless, when they declare that "Benjamin Witts — journalist," is no longer permitted to enter the country. 

When one asks what it would take to be added to such a list, one can only conclude that it would be a direct index of the extent to which one had told the truth about the conflict. The more truth one had told, as a journalist, about Putin's invasion, the more likely one is to be sanctioned. This is why Tucker Carlson, say, will never make the cut of this particular honor roll. 

And so the rest of us can only be left wondering: what are we doing wrong that we have not been so honored. Why is my name not on the list? What can I say to be worthy of this reverse honor? What are they trying to say about me, by leaving me off the list? Are they saying I'm no better than Tucker? 

I am reminded of a poem by Brecht. He describes a famous author living in exile from a repressive regime (much like Brecht himself) who reads the newspaper one day to see a list of proscribed writers and their works in the dictatorship he fled. To his dismay, he discovers that his name is not on the list. How could this be? he wonders. What was he doing wrong, to remain un-banned by such a regime? "Have I not always told the truth?" he demands to know—"And here you are, treating me like a liar?" 

So it is with the sanctions list. Anyone writing on this subject in any forum, who has not been banned by Putin's government, ought to feel insulted and aggrieved by that fact. What, they should demand to know—have I not always told the truth about Putin's war? And here they are—treating me like a liar—by leaving me un-sanctioned? The worst insult to a journalist or commentator's honor is to consider them so dishonest that they are not even threatening to a despotic regime. 

And so, Wittes is right to be proud. More power to him. I offer my sincere congratulations for receiving the honor of Putin's displeasure. But now the question remains—why am I not included too? What can I do to get on the list? Have I not always told the truth—and here you are, treating me like a liar? Ban me too!

So often, writers and journalists who criticize oppressive regimes are left in doubt as to whether their words make the slightest difference. Does the fact that I spoke out on this issue—they wonder—mean anything? Does it reverse a single diktat, call back a single order of execution or assassination? What's the point of even speaking out against an autocrat like Putin—won't he just continue to steamroll his way through history regardless, brushing off the irrelevant stings of so many critics and writers as if they were gadflies? 

The helplessness of the voice of mere protest in the face of social injustice, after all, is an ancient trope. Virgil's Eclogues is, among other things, a cry from the heart against the dispossession of small farmers at the hands of the imperial state; but even the greatest poet of the Latin-speaking peoples had to confess that his words were impotent to resist the policy. The Eclogues themselves show an awareness of this. One of his characters says sarcastically to another—at one point in the poems—something to the effect of: "what do you mean the land confiscations are still going forward? Did not a poet denounce them?" 

Since writers and "speakers-out" have long been rumored to be essentially useless in this way—futile appendages in the fight against dictatorship and oppression—what greater moral vindication could a journalist receive than for a dictatorial regime to find them actually worth banning after all? Here they were, beginning to think that their work might not matter; that their words of protest might be mere drops of water rolling off Putin's back. And just then, when they had almost lost faith, here comes Putin's government to tell them: you are seen; you are heard. You have told the truth about my invasion enough by now that I have bothered to hate you. Truly an honor indeed!