I’ve published updates on the Wagner Mutiny, or Whatever That Was for three days in a row here (1, 2, 3), mostly consisting of translations of statements by key players, more or less in real time. I felt the turnaround had to be quick partly because the events were evolving so rapidly, and partly because I wanted to capture and keep a record of how open-ended it all felt at the time. This is going away now. It will soon become hard to remember how real the possibility of a civil war, a coup, or a funny third option felt on the afternoon of June, 24.
The main text I’m sharing today is a long set of quotes from Lukashenko’s press conference that was held on June, 26. The mutiny had already failed by then, and the coup was out of the question, but the absurdity and the chaos of the situation is still felt in these passages. I want to linger on this component of the story — the “what the fuck” element, the disorientation and the dark kind of amusement, sometimes with some hope mixed in, that Russians I know felt while this was all going down.
Today, as the new normal, same as the old normal, is starting to establish itself, I am reminded of a short but intense moment I lived through during my first-ever mushroom trip, many years ago.
It was winter in Russian countryside. I entered my family’s cabin and stood in the middle of the room in indecision. I was being bombarded by the flow of experience: the sights, sounds, sensations, feelings and thoughts intertwined in a way I was not prepared to process. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to tend to the fire, which was probably something I needed to do — except I wasn’t sure of that either, because even the concept of temperature felt too complex and elusive. I was totally disoriented, feeling that navigating reality might be too big of a task for me.
For a moment, the archetypal drug-induced fear, that of “staying like this forever,” came over me. I had no idea what the world was or how I was supposed to interface with it. Isn’t that the definition of madness? I could picture myself on the floor of some bleak-looking building, my back against the wall, staring in front of myself, incommunicative, for years to come. The vision was terrifying.
The next moment though, it was replaced by a different thought, in some ways comforting and in others more terrifying still.
Keep reading with a 7-day free trial
Subscribe to Psychopolitica to keep reading this post and get 7 days of free access to the full post archives.