Phil Butler
PUTIN’S PRAETORIANS
CONFESSIONS OF THE TOP KREMLIN TROLLS
“The world has no room for cowards.”
DEDICATION
To my father Albert E. Butler, an American lawyer who believed in the pursuit of the truth and nothing but the truth. I would also like to dedicate my efforts to seek the facts of the matter of Russia’s intentions, to my wife and partner Mihaela Lica Butler, without whose intuition and loyalty to principle I could never have approached the underlying actuality.
Foreword
For many years in Germany I spent each morning strolling past the gray and weary figures of villagers. It was during those years, I become numbed to the realization they knew so little of the fate of our world. Every time I would enter the corner bakery I would see the same German celebrities staring up from the counter tabloids with clueless fake smiles. And while I waited for my coffee and bread pastry, I was often greeted by the austere face of Chancellor Angela Merkel with that same blank stare, looking up as if to ask, “And?”
Now we live in Greece, and there are times I stop to ponder how I got involved in all the geopolitical mumbo-jumbo that ensnares our world these days. I sometimes ask myself, “Just what kind of madness is it, after all, that propels average cattle to ‘moo’ a different tune than their bovine brethren?” As I write these words it is a happy circumstance that I am not alone in my unique mental clarity. The reasoning, it occurred to me, may just be the way to seek a better understanding between people and their ideals. The reason for this book then, it is to moderate relative truths. By showing you the sincerity and vigor with which a small group defends the other side of the story, perhaps me and my comrades can achieve the ultimate good.
So, the book you are reading is all about a relatively small group of ordinary people, everyday individuals who decided not to be cattle after all. The confessions you are about to read are telling.
As for my own motivations for becoming a Kremlin Troll, most people will identify these quite easily. Not a day goes by in which I fail to remember the name calling from the grammar school playground. Sharp mental images of the jabbing and finger pointing are burned into my brain. Those bullies and curmudgeons that would “one-up” us all, they lurk at the edges of my memory. Oh, how the decent among us grew to hate them, the bullies of the world that is. How could any of us have known back then that our country would become the bully of the world? Presidents and senators utter the cliché “This is not who we are”, in order to suit their purposes. But as a common man I tell you, the world’s bully is not what we were meant to become.
So, I thank God for our teachers and coaches back then. For without them no sliver of correctness or liberty would be remembered today. This is all I can say about being American. As for the deep-seated anger many feel, such meanness still stirs in me a poignant reminder of those lessons of right and wrong we learned back then. Writing this foreword, I remember the face and the words of the first indoctrinator of my own character, a physical education coach whose name I cannot recall. The lessons he meted out, the crisp justice all my athletic coaches exacted in all those rough games of my youth, I am thankful for being introduced to the etiquette of pain. Whatever the reasons for my taking up sport, I know we were all lucky in the fraternity of corporal logic. The swift suffering of fools and young psychopaths brings a smile these days, and the kinship many of us feel with Vladimir Putin rises from this.
These recollections point me to a better understanding for why some are fighting the meanness of today’s false narratives. After all, isn’t knowing right from wrong and trying to do the right thing what we were taught? Isn’t this why we cheer and weep at the same movie moments? We do read and watch the same dramas repeatedly, don’t we? Don’t we all despise the same villains and adore the same heroes? It is these fundamental questions and the ideals behind that drive me. Whatever the reasons for our dedication to Putin, the thread of commonality you will find herein is clear as shimmering gold, and as sure as titanium. Good people despise bullies and cheats, and the people profiled in this book are all, finally pissed off.
The testimonies herein attest to the moral outrage that has surfaced. Many dissident voices have become disenchanted like me. You might be among those who are disappointed and angry too, for all I know. However, I am sure that leaders like Vladimir Putin gain their most loyal and ardent following from such disenfranchised people. The Kremlin Trolls, as we are sometimes called, are mutineers on the Orwellian ship of humanity. We inhabit social media of their own accord. And many of us risk much in raising our voices in protest of the false narrative. I know you will find these dissenters are entirely authentic, interesting and ultimately compelling too.
In the following confessions, I believe you’ll find a dynamic variety of personalities with powerful voices. It is my hope, that this idealism and courage will make more voices rise above the empty nihilism and false narratives of our greatest enemies, the globalists. The world is in great peril. Hopefully, by the time you reach the end of the book, you will know the whole truth. For the revelations here are straight from the most important political voices of our time. While this is a bold claim, it is true, I assure you. And if you care enough to read until the end, then you will find out for yourself, the enemy of the world is an old one. The ruination of peace and harmony is not Vladimir Vladimirovich Putin. The great spoiler is the deceiver of antiquity brought forward. I pray that the testament of these honest people will open a window of truth for you. You have my best wishes regardless, and my thanks for your courage to take the tentative first steps away from the mindless herd.
Introduction by Pepe Escobar
I’ve never suffered fools/simpletons/sub-zoology specimens gladly — or otherwise. When you’ve been around as a foreign correspondent for over three decades — all over the world — you think you’ve been through every swamp in the book. Oh no, you haven’t seen the hysterical swamp accusing you 24/7 of being a Putin agent. So, here’s me, on the record.
I was a Putin agent before I turned 15 when I read Crime and Punishment and The Brothers Karamazov. I was a Putin agent before studying the USSR in depth in college. I’ve been a Putin agent since before I marveled at the Paris-Moscow retrospective at the Beaubourg. I was even a Putin agent before I visited the USSR still in the Gorbachev era. I was a Putin agent before I arrived in Moscow on the Trans-Siberian just to check, live, in the Winter of 1992, that the Soviet Union was no more. I’ve been a Putin agent since before I covered drunken Yeltsin barely kept on his feet by Bubba Clinton at the Kremlin. I was a Putin agent long before the ruble crisis of 1998 when I was commuting between the Caucasus, Central Asia, and Moscow. I was a Putin agent before covering Putin’s election in 2000 and partying hard at the Metropol every night. I was a Putin agent before I was invited by RT to be a guest on camera and to write Op-Eds. I was a Putin agent before I signed a contract with Sputnik as a columnist. I’ve been a Putin agent since decades before Oliver Stone told me in a dinner he was editing a Putin documentary. I’ve been a Putin agent since before Russia itself formed out of the permafrost. And yes, I’ll remain a Putin agent even after I return to dust.