To Be or Not to Be: That Is No Longer the Question

The question of life or death is not only reserved for Hamlet. For national leaders, especially when faced with a figure like Yanaev, ruthless and calculated, the stakes are not just personal survival, but the fate of entire nations. Kravchuk and Shushkevich found themselves outmatched, not by military force, but by the sheer iron will of the man in the Kremlin.

The issue of the Soviet Union holding three votes in the United Nations was not new. On April 25, 1945, when the UN Constitutional Conference opened in San Francisco, Ukraine and Belarus were invited as separate representatives. Their inclusion was due to the Soviet Union's vast sacrifices in the fight against fascism, and no nation present objected. On June 25, they joined the 50 founding nations in signing the UN Charter. Legally, there was no fault in their membership, but politically, the implications had always been complex.

So when Yanaev proposed to revoke the voting rights of both Ukraine and Belarus, Kravchuk's reaction was immediate and visceral. "President Yanaev, this is outrageous. Our seats were granted in 1945, not by your decree. You cannot revoke them unilaterally."

Shushkevich nodded in agreement. "Surely a decision of this magnitude must be decided in a council of all member states, not by a single man's will."

But Yanaev was unfazed. "Discuss it however you wish. Call your councils, send your letters. But I will remind you both: the Soviet Union is not a democracy where disunity is indulged. I am not here to ask for your opinions. I am informing you of the new reality."

The two leaders exchanged uneasy glances. Yanaev's tone was calm, almost cordial, but his words were a hammer. What disturbed them most was his indifference to their protests. It was as though he'd anticipated their objections and dismissed them as irrelevant.

Kravchuk finally broke the silence. "You think the world will stand by while you dismantle decades of diplomacy? We have the support of the West. If you push this too far, you'll turn the Soviet Union into a pariah."

Yanaev's eyes narrowed slightly. "The Soviet people do not rely on Western charity. We rely on our strength, our convictions. And when the time comes, we will not hesitate to defend what is ours."

Shushkevich stood up abruptly. "This is not a dialogue. It's a monologue in a prison cell. If this is how you treat your so-called allies, we have nothing more to say."

"Goodbye, then," Yanaev said, not rising from his chair. "We'll speak again. When you're ready to listen."

As the two men stormed out of the office, Surkov, Yanaev's most trusted aide, emerged from the adjoining room. He looked weary but intrigued. "You're burning bridges at every turn. Do you truly believe you can rebuild anything from the ashes?"

Yanaev smiled faintly. "We detonated a nuclear device to plug a burning gas well in Uzbekistan. We've always known how to use destruction as a tool for control."

Surkov chuckled dryly. "And what if they call your bluff? If they unite, if they gain arms, if the West props them up again?"

"Then let them try," Yanaev said. "They've mistaken patience for weakness."

But Surkov had another concern. "We've deployed nuclear warheads across Kazakhstan and Ukraine. Even if the launch codes remain in our hands, all it takes is one defection, one sympathizer, and we have an uncontainable crisis."

Yanaev nodded, walking toward the frosted window. Snow fell lightly, blanketing Moscow in white. "The missiles are hidden, buried deep, guarded tighter than gold. But yes—we must move fast. I want full control transferred back to Moscow. Quietly."

Outside, the white calm of winter hid the internal rot of disunity. Yanaev tapped the glass and whispered, as though to himself, "Winter is coming."

Behind him, Surkov crossed his arms. "You speak of rebirth, of revolution… but at what cost?"

Yanaev turned, his expression resolute. "Revolution always comes with a price. We overthrew the Tsars, rebuilt from rubble. We can do it again. This is not the end, Surkov. This is the beginning."

The weight of history pressed in on both men. The Soviet Union was not just a country. It was an idea. An empire. A dream. Now, teetering on the edge, it had only one chance: to fight or to fall. And Yanaev, ruthless and calculating, had already chosen.