The Russian Drama

On May 28, 1978, the German teenager Mathias Rust landed his single-engine Cessna aircraft in the heart of Red Square, directly facing the Kremlin, amid the astonishment of passersby and the disbelief of police officers. The world’s most formidable security apparatus became the subject of ridicule: a young man descended from the skies, flying a hobby aircraft across radar systems in Europe and then in Russia itself, before stepping out of his plane to sign autographs for admirers—only afterward to be arrested by agents of the KGB.

A few days ago, Moscow came under attack by 550 Ukrainian drones. That assault was followed by a counterattack involving hundreds of drones launched by Moscow against the Ukrainian capital, Kyiv. Meanwhile, Donald Trump stated that the Russia–Ukraine war costs both countries approximately 25,000 lives each month—or nearly 1,000 deaths every single day.

Between the landing of that single-engine Cessna and the rain of drones falling today, the world has entered, through the invention of the drone, something resembling a nuclear war unfolding on the margins of larger wars. Nuclear bombs are prohibited, chemical weapons are prohibited—except those delivered in barrels—and now the drone has replaced the tank, the soldier, and the armored vehicle. It requires no trenches and not even a pilot. With the press of a button, the drone reaches its target, whether a crowd of civilians, a fighter riding a motorcycle, or a commander holding a secret military conference.

The drone has transformed both the course of wars and the art of killing itself. The killer is no longer forced to witness victims bleeding to death before his eyes. No horrifying memories need accompany him for the rest of his life. He merely presses a button in front of him, much like the buttons of an electronic game, before leaving the next round to the operator of the following shift. On the other side stand the teams assigned to collecting bodies, counting them, verifying identities, and notifying families.

Of course, causes may vary, but death remains the same. Yet killing in old-fashioned duels once required something called chivalry. There was always the possibility of withdrawing the blade at the final moment. And that moment—perhaps that single hesitation—could alter history and write another version of it.

Perhaps the most famous of such moments occurred when the Tsar’s orders arrived pardoning Fyodor Dostoevsky while he stood before a firing squad awaiting execution.

Forgive us if all the references in today’s column come from Russia. They are merely scenes from the same drama.

Originally published in Asharq Al-Awsat