Direct Translation via Google Translate. Edited.
by Alexander Vasiliev
Chief editor of IA Regnum
[REGNUM] Like all normal people, Tucker Carlson does not eat McDonald's products unless absolutely necessary. But extreme need happened.
It is necessary to somehow explain in a very accessible way to the mass American citizen that his country is sliding into the abyss of a world nuclear war. The most popular US politician, Donald Trump, has repeatedly stated about the inevitability of an apocalyptic outcome (if the confrontation with Russia is not stopped).
To try to save his country (and at the same time the whole world), the most popular US television journalist and Trump ally had to eat a burger. And do it in snowy (as it should be) Moscow. A Moscow burger from public catering with a name that was strange even to the Russian ear turned out to be no worse than an American burger. Potatoes, grown, according to Carlson, in the famous potato expanses of Siberia, turned out to be no worse. Carlson reported all this in a specially filmed video.
However, the tasting of the cola he bought was not included in the video and remained without comment.
Skeptics will probably say that this is because the domestically produced drink cannot be compared with the original. At least some Muscovites, who carefully preserve Soviet consumer traditions, buy “real” Coca-Cola secondhand in oriental sweets shops, winking conspiratorially at the colorful Asian merchants.
I can’t even imagine what Trump would say if Carlson brought him from Moscow a red bottle made not even in Iran, but directly in Afghanistan, ruled by the Taliban - an organization, by the way, recognized as terrorist in the Russian Federation. But in Moscow you can buy something like this.
After tasting the Russian burger, Tucker indulged in family memories. It turns out that his father was present at the opening of the first Moscow McDonald's on Pushkinskaya Square.
“My father was there,” Carlson said. "He worked in the US government and came to Russia... I remember this time well, I was in college. It was considered a triumph of the West over the East."
This was a triumph. At the American fast food restaurant, Soviet people formed a line that rivaled in length the line at Lenin's Mausoleum.
In patriotic journalism, it is customary to blame the perestroika gloom of fellow citizens - they traded a great power for cola, hamburger and chewing gum with jeans. Let us leave aside how humiliating this accusation sounds for the power itself. Let the dead bury their dead.
Let's say from today: they exchanged such a “power” for Coca-Cola and did the right thing.
Late Soviet artists had a separate genre - our man is there. Abroad. A classic example is Albert Levin’s monologue “Francois” performed by Vladimir Vinokur. A Soviet worker “to exchange experience” comes to France and shares his impressions:
“You’re also not a master at Francois’s farm. I was in your store opposite your house. Still, there are delicacies: processed cheese, liver sausage and stewed meat. And most importantly, there is no queue! Why aren't you dialing? Oh, and you also have 80 types of beer? And we have only one - diluted “Zhigulevskoe ”...” And so on.
The author of the text, by the way, moved to New York in the mid-1990s, where there is processed cheese, liver sausage and 80 types of beer without a queue.
And now an American goes to a French supermarket in Moscow, films the abundance of cheeses, sausages and beer on the shelves and, leaving with a cart full of groceries, declares: “A visit to a Russian grocery hypermarket and an opportunity to take a look at what prices are here and how people live.”, radicalizes you against our leadership. At least that’s what I felt – radicalization.”
Do you hear that, right? An American becomes radicalized against his government by stopping for processed cheese, liverwurst and beer at the first Moscow supermarket he comes across. What is this if not a triumph over the West?
Of course, we must not fall into pride and think that victory in the historical confrontation is in our pocket by birth. Like, we are Russian and we are lucky. God opposes the proud.
Yes, we can suffer defeat on the battlefield, as we suffered it from the Mongols in the steppes near Kalki-Kalmius, and leave Sevastopol, as we did in 1855 or 1942. Our elites may waver and be seduced, as in February 1917. Even our people, even though they have had their share of troubles, as in October 1917, can become exhausted from hardships and believe foreign agents who, instead of these hardships, promised a quick and simple kingdom of God on earth. All this, alas, cannot be completely ruled out, if only to keep oneself in good shape.
There's one thing we won't do again - we won't sell our birthright for cola, liverwurst and lentil stew.
History tells us that if Russians really want something, they will get it. “And we won’t stand behind the price.”
A huge continental power with no access to a warm sea suddenly wanted to build a fleet. And she built it, cutting windows into all the desired water areas. She wanted to turn the steppe, which had been scorched by the sun for thousands of years, into a granary, forge and health resort. And she populated and improved Novorossiya. Devastated by a war unprecedented in the history of mankind, she decided to get ahead of the richest people on the planet on the way to cosmic infinity. At least for six months, at least for a month. And she got ahead.
The creation of a consumer economy in Russia was the same historical challenge, which Russians took seriously, young and old. And they did it.
The Soviet sphere of service and trade was not even zero, a negative value. It was an icy abyss, an airless space. Something between the swamps on which St. Petersburg was built, the Wild Field, which was turned into Novorossiya, and the near-Earth orbit populated by our satellites and orbital stations.
And on the day when Russia stood up against the West, putting its future on the line, when the flagship of the Black Sea Fleet sank to the bottom, and the troops experienced problems with space communications and reconnaissance, our service and trade sphere became that clamp, that steel hook on which we can lean on and stand up to our full height.
Carlson flew away. But the supermarket remained. Fast food is here to stay. The shopping mall remains. Fitness center remains. And as long as these pillars of the consumer economy stand from the shocked Kremlin to the walls of motionless China, we can be sure: no donkey loaded with hamburgers will defeat our fortress Russia.
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