Homo Russophilus

“So, who subscribes to this magazine of yours?”

It is another business mixer, and I am answering the typical round of questions sparked by the revelation that I edit and publish Russian Life.

“Well,” I reply, “our subscribers are a very intelligent, discriminating bunch. They love to read great stories and demand the highest quality publication their money can buy.”

“Yes, well, aside from that,” is his deadpan response.

“Our subscribers are Russophiles,” I say plainly, then wait two beats for the inevitable furrowed brow.

“I see, and what exactly is a Rousseau File?”

“Russophile – the stress is on the first syllable,” I say. “You know, like Francophile, Anglophile...”

Blank stare. I forge on. “A Russophile is basically anyone who has a greater than average interest in things Russian. Maybe they visited there once and got bitten by the bug. Or maybe they studied Russia in school and have been fascinated by it ever since. Maybe they study the language. Or maybe they have family roots in that part of the world, come from Russia themselves, adopted a child from there, or married someone from there.”

“Inn-teresting,” the fellow replies, meaning nothing of the sort.

“Well, it is, actually,” I say, ignoring his distracted glances around the room. “For instance, take the Jack Abramoff scandal.”

“The Washington lobbyist?” he says in a voice steeped in loathing for political discussion.

“Well, yeah. But that’s the thing. Ordinary civilians, they hear about the Abramoff scandal, and it’s about how many times he met with President Bush, whether Republicans or Democrats took more of his money, etc. But to a Russophile, it’s about the fact that Abramoff is a Russian surname. So we start wondering when his family came here, whether he speaks any Russian–”

“This Abramoff subscribe to your magazine?”

“Uh, no, I don’t think so. But maybe he picked up the occasional copy at the newsstand. I couldn’t say. Anyway, that’s not the point. The point is that Russophiles see the world differently, they are fascinated by the way Russia and Russians influence world events, culture, history...”

“So what kind of things you write about?” (More glances over my shoulder.)

“Funny you should ask,” I say, “spooky, actually. A couple of months  ago, for our current issue, we commissioned an article on Russian nuclear energy [page 41], so that we could publish it on the 20th anniversary of Chernobyl this April. And then, just days before we go to press in February, President Putin is all over the place saying how Russia should become this international center for uranium processing, and wants to become a leading builder of nuclear power plants all over the world.”

“And...?”

“And, as the article shows, Russia is having a lot of trouble taking care just of its own nuclear power plants, even 20 years after Chernobyl – a fact that really is not being mentioned in these reports.”

“Fass-cinating,” the fellow says, meaning something quite different.

My turn to wait two beats. “So, what sort of work do you do?”

“Copier leasing and sales.” He stops looking around the room. His eyes narrow into a predatory stare.

“Hmm. Inn-teresting. So, how about those Steelers, eh?”