In 1965, Soviet filmmaker Mikhail Romm completed the documentary "Ordinary Fascism." It became iconic not only across one-sixth of the planet but also more broadly throughout the internationalist leftist world.

I believe I first saw it as a teenager around 1972 or 1973. I was not an internationalist myself — growing up in Kiviõli as an Estonian made that nearly impossible — but I was interested in the documentary footage. I also had to admit that the film was technically masterful and purposefully suggestive. I would not be surprised if, under the film's influence, many people became passionate anti-fascists and, at the same time, supporters of the Soviet Union.

In 2024, Russia released a six-part series titled "Ordinary Fascism 2," which also aspires to iconic status. Struck down by a springtime virus and incapable of more sensible activities, I took on this more than six-hour-long mammoth on my laptop, this time with the aim of discerning Russian attitudes — or more precisely, where Russian authorities wish to direct those attitudes, assuming they're not there already. Naturally, it must be remembered that attitudes can only be guided if the intellectual soil is fertile for it and no propaganda work, if its goal is to influence, can go against the grain.

I had to force myself to watch the last four episodes. Not because of the message, which was predictably revolting, but because of the poor structure and tedious technical quality — an example of how not to use artificial intelligence — as well as the annoying, manipulative repetition. And, of course, the film was riddled with factual errors.

In some ways, though certainly not ideologically, the series resembles the Helmes' (EKRE leaders Martin and Mart Helme — ed.) radio show "Räägime asjast," which especially over the past year has consisted of outright fabrications, misinterpretations, exaggerations, manipulation of voters and self-praise — although it also occasionally offers simple generalizations, accurate statements and even some very apt metaphors. For people already inclined to agree, these inevitably have an impact and appeal.

Already in the first episode, viewers are informed that fascist states emerged in the 20th century as if from nowhere and that fascism spread from Italy to Germany, then to Spain, then to the western parts of Ukraine and to the "God-forsaken Baltic states, Latvia and Estonia." It is also claimed that no ideology has ever caused more human casualties. Which is, of course, false — unless the filmmakers are trying to hint obliquely that Stalin's communism was actually fascism.

The filmmakers then begin to hunt for symbols and ideas that, in their opinion, already hinted at fascism earlier. This is a herculean task, involving rummaging through nearly 30 centuries of history. All Western countries came under fire — anywhere a tribe might once have scratched a Teutonic cross or a lightning-bolt-like symbol into stone or clay or where politicians or philosophers had expressed, by modern standards, racist ideas, but which were quite ordinary in their own time. Ideas, incidentally, that Russians themselves expressed then and still express today.

The filmmakers do not limit themselves to chronological order. Amid musings from ancient authors, they splice in footage of Azov Battalion "mercenaries," Ukrainian protests, the "narco-Führer" Zelenskyy and other Ukraine-related content. It also seemed that countries less supportive of Ukraine are treated more gingerly. For example, Hungary — where few historians doubt the fascist nature of the Ferenc Szalasi regime — is left entirely alone. To be clear, I am not taking a position here, nor suggesting anyone should adopt a particular view of Viktor Orban's policies.

At times, Stalin himself makes an appearance — the "best friend of the Estonian people," as Estonian-born Russian communists called him in the 1930s. The filmmakers do not directly glorify him, but they do create a context that steers the viewer toward a clear conclusion: Stalin was wise, shrewd, visionary and decisive. Russians themselves, of course, are constantly praised, both directly and indirectly.

Snippets of music by the Rolling Stones and Pink Floyd play in the background, and I was surprised to see in the credits that one of the "thinkers and theses" used came from a French demographer, a colleague with whom I had once corresponded. Whether his traditionally French left-wing anti-Americanism had morphed into Putin-sympathy or whether the filmmakers used his name without his consent, I have no way of knowing.

After six hours of this erratic historical excursion, the conclusion is that fascism was born from the Western drive for progress and Western Christianity: "The idea of being chosen by God, proved through wealth, gave rise to contempt for the poor — ultimately viewing poverty as a disease, as being poor meant being rejected by the Creator. This is why, in America, not only foreign peoples, the sick and the socially undesirable were sterilized, but also poor Anglo-Saxons. The ideology of chosenness, which had already poisoned European Christians in the 11th century, first caused the split between Catholics and Orthodox, then spawned Protestantism and finally fascism. And it is no coincidence that fascism in the 20th century conquered Europe and reached its heights of inhumanity in Protestant regions."

Predictably enough, the filmmakers ultimately conclude that fascism always re-emerges in territories historically tied to Protestantism — and that fascism can only be fought through war. "Europe demonstrated this 100 years ago, and today, the peripheries of the former Russian Empire, long under Europe's yoke and infected with fascist-style chosenness, are demonstrating it again." Ukraine, they argue, irrationally severed its organic ties to Russia to "become a parody of German fascism."

There is little point in offering a detailed critique of such a confused and rickety concept. It is enough to note that the principle of chosenness is far more characteristic of Orthodox Russia's own chauvinistic ideologues, with their belief in Russia's historic mission to save — or even redeem — those around it. However, watching the series might influence those who still believe Putin is defending Russia and the Christian world against a satanic West and poses no threat to Estonia.

Linnart Mäll liked to say there are good people with bad traits and bad people with good traits. This likely applies to nations as well — or more precisely, to their "condition" at any given time. In some respects, Putin's Russia has more common sense than today's West — or it at least skillfully exploits the weaknesses the West has created for itself. And who wouldn't use an opponent's weaknesses against them?

However, I believe that a political "condition" is far from stable — for individuals or for nations. On the contrary. One of the greatest stains on 20th-century leftist intellectuals was their admiration, support and even glorification in writing of the Soviet Union at the height of Stalin's terror. "Our question," wrote Bernard Shaw, paraphrasing Prince Hamlet's famous line, "is not whether to kill or not to kill, but how to select the right people to kill." As late as 1928, Shaw had been enamored with Benito Mussolini, changing his political "condition" astonishingly quickly.

Similarly, Germans in the late 1930s were in a completely different political "condition" than West and East Germans in the 1970s, just as Koreans today live in entirely different worlds on either side of the border.

Like all peoples, Russians have been shaped by many events and processes — particularly by Orthodoxy and a history of constantly expanding borders. Expansion is therefore often associated in Russia with national glory.

American cultural analyst Craig Storti has calculated that from 1553, when Ivan III finally broke free of the Mongols, the Russian Empire expanded — with only brief setbacks — for four centuries straight. That is, an average of 142 square kilometers per day. This was history's greatest colonial expansion and it is understandable that the collapse of the Soviet Union could be seen either as the greatest geopolitical catastrophe — or Russia's greatest shame. It all depends on one's view — or "condition."

Drawing partly from this film, I dare to say that a large part of Russians today are in a chauvinistic "condition" where expanding into the Baltic states would not be seen as the elimination of another country's independence against the will of its inhabitants, but rather as a natural — or semi-natural — move against a semi-fascist state, to be carried out when the regional balance of power permits.

What can we do in response? Alongside national defense and security policy, we should give equal importance to eliminating our internal vulnerabilities — those that could set the will of the majority of our citizens at odds with the actions of the state.

Mass immigration is not a solution but a problem. Federalizing the European Union against the will of its peoples does not strengthen but weakens Europe. Excluding citizens from decision-making weakens solidarity and fosters alienation from the state. Restricting freedom of speech and promoting political correctness breeds resentment that will eventually erupt. Extreme wealth is not a value — certainly not a European value. Yes, these are our weaknesses — the "bad traits" in Linnart Mäll's terms.

And of course, Russians are human beings like everyone else. A regime that depends on unethical and illogical ideology, that views most of its neighbors as enemies, can only mobilize the masses in a state of emergency. And to end on a note of dark humor: we should not waste this good security crisis — we should use it to fix our internal weaknesses. Because who knows how long this good crisis will last.

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