Public Opinion Offensive

The Tbilisi incident sent shockwaves through the halls of the U.S. government, igniting fierce excitement in CIA Director Robert Gates. The Soviet army's brutal crackdown on the peaceful march promised to become the year's most explosive news story. The West had a golden opportunity—to shatter the fragile trust the Soviet people still harbored for their government, using relentless propaganda.

Even with Yanayev's strategic acumen and far-sighted vision, a government losing its people's faith was doomed to crumble under global condemnation. Robert Gates wasted no time rushing to the White House, pleading with President Bush for a special budget—funds dedicated to delivering the final blow to the infamous Soviet "evil empire."

President Bush listened intently. Since Khrushchev's era, the Soviet propaganda machine had sunk into bureaucratic decay, losing its grip on public opinion. Yet, thanks to the CIA's meticulous planning, America had cast itself as the global leader of freedom, painting the USSR as a monstrous threat to world peace.

"Domestic propaganda alone won't cut it," Gates argued. "The Soviet image is entrenched in their people's minds. We must amplify the truth about Tbilisi through secret anti-communist radio broadcasts, underground newspapers, and magazines targeting the major Soviet republics. We'll expose the Soviet army's crimes and push their already unpopular government over the edge."

He leaned in, voice sharp with urgency: "We'll distort facts when needed—rumors, smears, whatever it takes. The Soviet Union must be portrayed as a backward obstacle to global progress. Using U.S. dollars, we'll fund dissident intellectuals inside the USSR, stoking an unstoppable wave of discontent both inside and outside its borders."

Bush nodded in approval. The peaceful evolution campaign was launched. Western media exaggerated Tbilisi's death toll, twisted the incident's causes, and recast rioters as heroic freedom fighters resisting dictatorship. Soviet intellectuals, long silenced, found their voices for the first time, rallying in sympathy with the Georgian cause.

The West blasted the Soviet Union's "bloody Yanaev regime" to every corner of the globe. Some reports even put Yanaev and Hitler side by side, mocking him as one of the 20th century's greatest threats to world peace.

Yet, amid the uproar, Columbia Radio remained silent. Wallace, deeply acquainted with Yanayev, rejected the mainstream propaganda's hysteria. He understood the man's character — flawed, perhaps, but far from the monster painted by the Western press.

Just when it seemed the Soviet Union's public image would suffer a catastrophic defeat, Moscow's Propaganda Department unleashed a fierce counterattack.

Unlike the Chernobyl cover-up, this time they chose transparency over silence. Newspapers ran front-page stories detailing the Tbilisi incident's causes and consequences, with vivid headline coverage.

Under Surkov's leadership, the department shed its old bureaucratic lethargy and ignited a revival, evoking the spirit of the Great October Revolution and the Patriotic War. The Soviet pen became a weapon, firing ruthless truths straight into the enemy's heart.

In striking black-and-white photos, brave soldiers carried children from blazing flames; bloodied civilians lay covered in white cloths, their exposed hands trembling; desperate eyes stared from wounds; masked thugs aimed guns at innocent citizens; and opposition leaders posed with Nazi symbols and salutes.

The images told a brutal story: these "freedom fighters" inflicted only suffering in pursuit of their so-called democracy.

With Yanayev's strategic guidance, Minister Surkov downplayed the suppression's daytime aspect, spotlighting instead the violent cruelty of the rioters. The focus wasn't on grand Soviet leaders, but on the everyday people caught trembling in history's upheaval.

The reports quickly shifted public opinion. Even those previously disgusted by the Soviet government found their bitterness softened. Support might not have been enthusiastic, but the tide was turning.

The report's title echoed the famous French Revolutionary cry: "Liberty, how many crimes have been committed in your name." It was a harsh irony aimed at American ideals.

The final paragraph, penned by Yanayev himself, launched the propaganda war with blistering sarcasm:

"American politicians and media proudly claim leadership of the free world, branding our homeland an evil empire and our army gray beasts. Yet, McCarthyism has persecuted free thinkers. General MacArthur crushed WWII peace marchers. Police shot students opposing the Vietnam War. The CIA staged coups worldwide, supporting military and monarchist dictatorships. They trafficked drugs, luring African Americans into crime. You accuse us of threatening peace—how many have died from your actions? You proclaim yourself fighters for human rights, yet support dictators who massacre their own people. Where was your justice then? Why the silence? If we symbolize dictatorship, how do you, the 'free,' treat your own?"

The Soviet report hit like a shot of vodka—sharp, unapologetic, and fiercely honest. Facts shattered American fabrications, and the rebuttal spread like wildfire. The report was widely republished inside the USSR and translated into English, shaking Western media and causing uproar among Nazi-worshipping opposition groups.

Titled "Counterattack from the Red Empire," the new Soviet propaganda was anything but dry bureaucracy. It roared back to life like the red polar bear awakening from a decade-long slumber.

That day, the Soviet people heard it—their war cry piercing the sky above Europe.

"Hello, free world of the West," it seemed to say, "after a decade's silence, the revolutionary Soviet propaganda department is back. Are you ready for our counterattack?"