Robertas Povilaitis, son of one of the victims of the 1991 Soviet crackdown in Vilnius, is reportedly upset that Mikhail Gorbachev managed to avoid facing any consequences for the deaths of those crushed under Soviet tanks. Color me shocked. It seems that in the grand theater of international politics, some roles come with lifetime immunity – especially if you play the part of the 'reformer' beloved by Western elites.

Gorbachev, the man who oversaw the end of the Soviet Union, became a media darling in the West. He was the palatable face of a regime that, let’s not forget, had a charming history of gulags, political assassinations, and suppressing dissent. But who cares about a little bloodshed when there’s a Cold War to end and a Nobel Peace Prize to be won?

The inconvenient truth, of course, is that Gorbachev's 'reforms' were less about a genuine embrace of freedom and more about a desperate attempt to salvage a crumbling empire. Perestroika and Glasnost were not acts of altruism; they were the last gasps of a dying system, repackaged for Western consumption. And the West, ever eager for a simple narrative, ate it up with gusto.

Povilaitis's lament highlights a grim reality: international justice is a selective sport. It’s a game where the rules are bent, broken, and conveniently ignored depending on who’s playing. Gorbachev, with his carefully cultivated image as a peacemaker, was simply too valuable to be held accountable. It's far easier to forgive and forget when the accused is schmoozing with world leaders and accepting accolades.

Consider the implications. What message does it send when figures like Gorbachev can escape scrutiny for their actions? It tells aspiring dictators and autocrats that if they play their cards right, if they learn to speak the language of diplomacy and flash a winning smile for the cameras, they too can avoid the consequences of their decisions. It's a masterclass in impunity, taught on the world stage.

The West's selective amnesia regarding Gorbachev is a symptom of a deeper malaise: the desire for simple solutions to complex problems. We crave heroes and villains, easily digestible narratives that confirm our biases. Gorbachev fit the bill perfectly. He was the 'good' Soviet, the man who liberated Eastern Europe (never mind the messy details of how and why). To question his legacy is to complicate the narrative, to force ourselves to confront the uncomfortable truth that even 'good' leaders can be complicit in terrible things.

And let’s not pretend that this is unique to Gorbachev. History is littered with figures who have managed to evade justice through a combination of political maneuvering, public relations, and sheer luck. The powerful rarely face the same consequences as the powerless. That's not cynicism; it's an observation based on centuries of evidence.

So, as we reflect on Gorbachev’s legacy, let’s not forget the victims of Vilnius, the families who never saw justice for their loved ones. Let’s not forget the uncomfortable truth that sometimes, the price of 'peace' is the sacrifice of accountability. And let’s not pretend that the world is anything other than a deeply unfair place, where some lives matter more than others, and where the powerful can often rewrite history to suit their own needs. Robertas Povilaitis's disappointment is not just about one man; it’s about the failure of a system that consistently chooses expediency over justice, and palatable narratives over uncomfortable truths. And that, my friends, is a tragedy worthy of more than just a passing lament.