If, by the twenty-first century, the Harvard Project had become something of an empty signifier (Klimov didn’t age well, even when he was still alive), its content would soon be filled by its far better-known counterpart, the Dulles Plan.
That the Dulles Plan would effectively supplant the Harvard Project in the Internet Era is understandable, if ironic: the Dulles Plan was made for the Internet, even if its makers lived under a regime that registered typewriters as potential threats to public order.
The Dulles Plan was a pre-digital Internet meme, from back in the days when memes had to walk twenty miles in the freezing cold before finding a gullible host to infect. As in America, some of these hosts are famous and influential: the Oscar-winning film director Nikita Mikhalkov, and Russia’s answer to Donald Trump (before Donald Trump was ever a question), the scandalous and entertaining parliamentarian clown named Vladimir Zhirinovsky.
The Dulles Plan owes a clear debt to The Protocols of the Elders of Zion, as much for its origin story and its formal qualities as for its content. Like the Protocols, the Dulles Plan takes a primitive view of human psychology, and assumes a downright slipshod approach to secrecy: evil people know that they are evil, and delight in revealing their evil plans and motivations. And their minutes, bylaws, and visions statements are constantly falling into the wrong hands.
Moreover, the Dulles Plan is the result of a plagiarism even clumsier than that of the Protocols. The Protocol forgers at least had the decency to steal a source written in a foreign language, but whoever first came up with the Dulles Plan lifted it from one of the most popular novels and films of the Brezhnev Era: Anatoly Ivanov’s The Eternal Call (1971-1976; 1981; adapted for television from 1973-1983). One of the villains delivers a speech that, word for word, ends up attributed to former CIA Director Allen Dulles.
Why Allen Dulles? Probably for the same reason that Klimov chose the Harvard Project as his conspiracy's name. Just as Harvard Project proponents often link to the website of the actual study of Soviet life performed by Harvard researchers in the 1950s (an English-language study they can be fairly confident none of their audience will bother to read), Dulles was a notorious cold warrior, coining the term “massive retaliation” in a speech in 1954 and responsible for overseeing American anti-Soviet espionage activities. 
The Dulles Plan is relatively short (although it might not feel that way once you start reading it), and so I offer my own translation into English:
One of the most striking things about the text of the Dulles Plan is its obsession with popular culture (a preoccupation that extends beyond the last line's coincidental prefiguration of Montell Jordan’s hip-hop anthem). The Dulles Plan is as much media theory as conspiracy theory, a perhaps unintentional example of the old “media effects” criticism or the “hypodermic needle” model of propaganda (which I will be dealing with in more detail in Chapter Six).
Consistent with Soviet policies that carefully restricted access to media, culture, and information, the Dulles Plan can only make sense if culture is understood in narrow, quasi-biological terms. The Dulles Plan is based on an implicit definition of media and consumer:
1) Media's nutritional content. While some forms of cultural production are, quite simply, good for you (the classics, for instance), there are others that are not merely innately harmful, but whose entire purpose is moral or ideological harm.
2) The audience as orifice. Consumers of media are passive recipients of media messages, unable to distinguish, alter, or re-appropriate the content and forms that surround them. Their only choice is binary: ingest, or refrain.
Compare this with the conspiratorial mania that characterized the Stalin years: certainly, censorship was strict and propaganda was unrelenting, but the crimes of which alleged conspirators were accused were not restricted merely to anti-Soviet agitation. “Wreckers” were sabotaging industrial projects, and spies and internal enemies were engaged in assassinations ant attempted murder. The Dulles Plan turns out to be perfect for both the Cold War and its aftermath; violence and subversion are now entirely discursive.
Equally important is the Dulles Plan’s focus on youth. By positing nearly all forms of popular youth culture as dangerous (something the Plan shares with moral panics throughout the modern world), the Dulles Plan weaponizes the generation gap. Young people are not merely strange and perhaps impertinent (the perennial complaint about “kids today”), they are the victims and perpetuators of warfare against everything the country stands for.
It is the combined focus on media and youth that ensures the Dulles Plan’s longevity. The structure of cross-generational misunderstanding can endure even as the content of youth culture changes (as American with long enough memories will recall, the evolution of popular music is also the story of successive moral panics, from jazz to rock to hip hop). The generation vliified by the Dulles Plan in its early days is now the generation that could find itself appalled by its own children’s culture.
If we borrow the language of Putin’s third term, the Dulles Plan is all about values. Thanks to the Plan, conspiracy is a culture war. Or, to once again borrow from today's terminology, information war.
 Curiously, he also actively denounced the Protocols as a forgery, trying to convince the State Department in 1921 to denounce them when he worked at the US Embassy in Istanbul.
 This is not to imply that the Russian government has endorsed the Dulles Plan. On the contrary, a regional court declared the Plan “extremist literature” in June 2015.