Last week in Montréal, people who identify as Russian organized a big alcohol-fueled, Putin’s portrait-waving bash. Everybody ate, drank, and toasted Putin for hours.
In the meanwhile, the city’s Ukrainian community under the leadership of my Jewish father held a conference on Ukrainian literature and culture at one of Montréal’s universities. There was no alcohol and no glorification of politicians.
And so it is. While some folks express their drunken Putinomania, others live the life of the mind.

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