image from Gordon Johnson on Pixabay


Today is March 15th, the Ides of March, which is known for its connection to the dictator of Rome, Julius Caesar, who was stabbed to death on this date in 44 B.C. by 60 conspirators.  This event is connected to the term “Ides of March” based on a warning Caesar received from a soothsayer, or psychic.  According to, ““Caesar had known that many wished him dead and a soothsayer allegedly warned him that harm would come to him before the Ides of March. On 15 March, Caesar reportedly passed the soothsayer joking, “The Ides of March have come,” but was met with the ominous reply, “Aye, Caesar, but not gone.”

The term “ides” is not just related to March 15, but, according to, in the ancient Roman calendar, the ides referred to “a day falling roughly in the middle of each month. “    The Ides of March in Roman times was considered the day of settling debts. 

Derived from the word Caesar, comes the title Czar or Tsar, and meant a “ruler who was looked upon as claiming the same rank as a Roman emperor” according to

Caesar was declared dictator for life. Is history repeating itself as we see today’s dictators also claiming that life term.  Is there a reasonable, peaceful way to remove them from power when they go too far?  Who determines when they have?

Writer Greg Olear, the author of DIRTY RUBLES: AN INTRODUCTION TO TRUMP/RUSSIA, writes a regular column about politics, history, national security, foreign affairs, dirty money, global corruption and more, called PREVAIL, which is also the name of his weekly podcast on the same topics. He posted this week on the topic The King Must Die—Ukraine: A play in five acts.  The King in the piece is Russia, and the Queen is Ukraine.  He writes:

From PREVAIL by Greg Olear

Who will play Brutus to the king’s Caesar? His chef and most trusted friend, who runs the mercenaries and the trolls? The gas company head known as Darth Vader? The jackal of a foreign minister, who once yukked it up with the criminal in the Oval Office, with his yacht and his daughter in the posh London neighborhood? The simpleton head of the army, with his ridiculous ribbons and medals? The sniveling spokesman with the pedophile mustache? Probably it will be Patrushev, the spymaster—he has the invisible poisons at his disposal and the courage to use them.

And so the king rants and raves, and sacks some or other general, and makes increasingly unhinged public statements. The free world fears his nuclear weapons, but if he orders a nuclear strike, would anyone even listen at this point? Will the missiles even launch? The king is not sure enough to put it to the test.

And so his head swells, and his leg twitches, and his hands tremble, and he keeps up the wholesale slaughter of innocents in the queen’s country—as he did in Syria and in Chechnya, because the king is a ruthless butcher—and he waits to see which of his minions will rise against him and end his reign of terror.

The word tsar, the king knows, derives from caesar.

Beware the Ides of March.