by John M. Curtis
(310) 204-8700

Copyright August 22, 2000
All Rights Reserved.

lunging 350 feet into the Arctic seabed, the Russian, 13,900-ton, 500-foot, nuclear submarine Kursk with 118 seamen marooned at the bottom of the Barents Sea. "The situation is very bad. Despite all the efforts being taken, the probability of a successful outcome is not very high," said Russian Navy Adm. Vladimir Kuroyedov, perhaps the truest of all official statements during the two-week long ordeal. Russian officials confirmed signs of life as surviving crewmembers reportedly banged out Morse code on the stricken vessel’s hull. Kuroyedov reassured the Itar-Tass news agency that all available rescue services rushed to the scene. Blaming the accident on a probable collision with another submarine, the Russian government conveniently excused their deplorable record of submarine disasters during the past 40 years, raising nagging doubts about the former superpower’s capacity to safely manage their nuclear submarine fleet. "We are talking with the Russians," said Secretary of State Madeleine Albright, "We are obviously very concerned about their people who are in the submarine, and we’re trying to be helpful."

       Official Russian versions indicated that an urgent rescue operation was underway, despite the fact Russian President Vladimir I. Putin continued tanning, only returning from vacation when public outrage pressured him back to Moscow nearly a week after the disaster began. "My presence at the scene would not have helped rescue efforts . . . the chances of saving them are extremely low," said Putin, sounding a little too cavalier about the worst submarine tragedy in Russian history. When Russian efforts proved fruitless, they finally approached NATO, only reluctantly accepting help from Norway and Great Britain. American offers were met with a definite 'nyet.' As long as Russians controlled the airwaves, they felt safe from the public relations nightmare, calling into question their largely illusory military might. A week after the Kursk went down, Russian navy spokesman Igor Babenko insisted that "Everyone on board the sub is alive for us until we know what happened there and we see what is inside it with our own eyes."

       With Norwegian seismologists confirming two massive blasts registering about 3.5 on the Richter Scale, Russian tales about possible survival began to fade. Estimating two explosions worth about 200 and 2000 pounds of TNT, the Kursk’s hull would have sustained massive damage. When Russian underwater surveillance crews inspected the damage, it was abundantly clear to Navy Adm. Vladimir Kuroyedov and President Vladimir Putin that there were no survivors. And yet the Russian propaganda machine began instinctively grinding out massive disinformation hoping to minimize the public relations damage. Reports about signs of life now have to be questioned based on the Kursk’s extensive structural damage, leaving most of the sub’s lockdown compartments flooded with icy Arctic water. Despite knowing this, Russia engaged Norway and Britain in a costly and largely ceremonial 'rescue' operation, falsely raising the expectations of the Kursk’s families, desperately seeking any hope for their loved ones.

       Eight days after the crisis began, Russia finally conceded what they knew from the get-go, that all crewmembers died soon after the two explosions, leaving the Kursk a flooded mass of shrapnel at the bottom of the Barents Sea. Reports of surviving seamen banging out Morse code might have occurred directly following the blasts but were greatly exaggerated by Russian authorities. All of the pretense was designed to cover up Russia’s military incompetence and milk the crisis to demonstrate Russia’s heroic rescue efforts. Once authorities minimized the initial disaster and denied knowing the extent of the damage, they were locked in a Soviet-style disinformation campaign to keep the world community and their own people in the dark. All the emphasis was placed on rescue efforts, when in fact it was essentially a salvage operation from day one. Taking Russian authorities at face value is perhaps the riskiest operation of all. Throughout this endless fortnight, ferreting out Russia’s clever propaganda from the inescapable reality has been a major piece of work.

       Low on Russia's priority list were the Kursk’s grief-stricken families, blindfolded by their government’s need to save face in the wake of the unsettling truth about Russia’s grossly exaggerated superpower status. All the talk about heroic rescues, sophisticated diving bells, turbulent currents, 'inky' Arctic waters, listing submarines, damaged hatches, and, of course, tapping on the hull, now have to be reinterpreted in light of the Russian propaganda machine covering its flanks. "Hope dies last," said Orthodox patriarch Alexi II, to a gathering of thousands of worshipers at Moscow’s Russian Church. Little did Alexi II or any of the worshippers know that the Kursk had already become a watery tomb on August 12th. "It was a mistake that the navy refused for so long to accept the foreign help that was so persistently offered us," said Lidya Kabardina, a spokeswoman for Murmansk Soldiers’ Mothers Committee, acknowledging that the entire rescue operation was largely a charade.

       "I’ve only one hope, now. I’m only waiting for the moment when my son is rescued," lamented Nadezhda Shelapenia, who rode the train to Murmansk to reunite with her son, nearly a week after he went down with the ill-fated Kursk. How cynical of the government to raise false hopes. Putting families on a week-long rollercoaster shows the government’s extraordinary insensitivity, considering the outcome was known within the first 24 hours. Placing face-saving above the human tragedy displays a dramatic difference between East and West. Human life takes a back seat in the former Soviet Union, once referred to as 'The Evil Empire' by former President Ronald Reagan. Suspending judgment, we still shouldn’t ignore Russia’s habitual propensity at blowing smoke. Despite all the détente and collapse of the Iron Curtain, the U.S. must not forget that it’s still business as usual.

About the Author

John M. Curtis is editor of OnlineColumnist.com and columnist for The Los Angeles Daily Journal. He’s director of a Los Angeles think tank specializing in human behavior, health care, political research and media consultation. He’s the author of Dodging The Bullet and Operation Charisma.

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