Is Vladimir Putin the new Stalin? Not now the USSR has fallen apart
A visit from the ghost of a tyrant past leaves the president mourning the loss of an empire
9:22PM GMT 09 Mar 2014
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It was midnight in the Kremlin and Vladimir Putin was watching himself in the mirror as he toned his glistening pecs. “Pretty buff,” he thought. Behind him on the desk were a slew of headlines from the Western press – and they were very satisfactory. “Putin calls West’s bluff”, read one. “Obama – what a pussy”, said an American tabloid. “Putin brings back USSR”; “A Tsar is Born!” and so on. A thin smile passed across the lips of the former KGB man. Yes, he was summoning up the spirit of the former Soviet Union, the spirit of – Stalin himself! Just then there was a disturbance in the air.
A window seemed to bang. A net curtain puffed out. Putin turned around to see a little moustachioed man standing behind him. There was no mistaking those crinkling Georgian eyes and the evil glitter within. “Joseph Vissarionovich!” said Putin, laying down the dumb-bells, and noting that his arms were trembling. “Someone said they were trying to summon up my spirit,” snapped Stalin. “I see I am back in my old office. But who are you, and what the hell is going on?”
Putin did his best to bring the former communist tyrant up to date. “So capitalism didn’t collapse under its own contradictions?” asked Stalin. “Er, not exactly, Comrade Stalin,” said Putin, falling easily into the old ways of address. “Hmmm”, said the world-class mass murderer. His eye fell on the headlines. “Well, I see that you are at least continuing the struggle against imperialism. It says you have launched an invasion. That’s good – but where?” Putin gulped. “Well, Comrade Stalin, we have had to send some of our crack troops against the fascists in Cri –” He faltered. “Cri – Cri –” “Cri-Cri?” Stalin sneered. “What’s got into you, man? Where are we invading? Cricklewood? Christmas Island?”
“Crimea!” blurted Putin, looking more sallow and goblinesque than ever. Stalin blinked. His terrifying eyebrows seemed to merge like a pair of mating hairy caterpillars. He spoke softly. “Crimea? Are you mad? We can’t invade Crimea – we own Crimea. That’s where the Tsars had their summer palace, for heaven’s sake. That’s where I had my greatest diplomatic triumph.” A look of suspicion passed across his face. “You do remember the Yalta summit, don’t you?” “Of course, Comrade General Secretary,” said Putin unctuously. “You carved up the world.
“Roosevelt was dying and Churchill had no cards to play, and so you took advantage of the triumphs of the Red Army and brought huge tracts of Europe into the Soviet sphere of influence. It was superb.” “Thank you,” preened Stalin. “But…” said Putin. “But what?” said Stalin, getting visibly irritated. “But things have not turned out exactly as you foresaw, Comrade.” “In what way?” Putin’s eyes were downcast. He looked as if he might cry. “Really I cannot say, Comrade Stalin. It is too shameful.” “Tell me, confound it!” roared Stalin, or I will have you drowned in the septic tank of the Lubyanka. Tell me which Warsaw Pact countries are coming to help us fight these mysterious Crimean fascists!” “There is no more Warsaw Pact,” sniffed Putin. “No Warsaw Pact!” He took a step towards Putin. “Then tell me who is in Nato!” “Er, places like Hungary.” “What places like Hungary?” said an amazed Stalin. “Well, Poland for instance,” said Putin.