From the first anniversary of the Great Patriotic Victory to the seventieth (Part 1)

The events unfolding in Ukraine prompted me to write this piece. Not just since 2013, but perhaps since the collapse of the Soviet Union. The rampant rise of radical nationalism has been evident to me for a long time, particularly in Georgia. For me, this phenomenon was not incomprehensible. In Georgia, Russophobia existed even before Georgia’s accession to Russia. Persia (Iran) and Turkey significantly contributed to fanning the flames of Russophobia in Georgian consciousness. European countries also played a role. However, Ukraine and Belarus, in my view, did not have any roots of Russophobia. That changed after I read Bulgarin’s book “Mazepa,” which I came across in early 2015 through an electronic library. It seemed almost deliberate. Bulgarin, a contemporary of Pushkin, meticulously and convincingly demonstrated the active role of Poland, the Baltic states, and Romania in fueling Russophobia in Ukraine. These same countries continue to play an active role in stirring up Russophobia today. Thus, Russophobia in all these countries did not emerge overnight; it has deep historical roots. To address Russophobia effectively in Ukraine and other former Soviet republics, we must delve deeply into the history of Russia and the historical connections between these countries and Russia.

Seventy years in human history may seem like a fleeting moment. Yet, between the first and seventieth anniversaries of the victory over fascism, the world has undergone drastic changes. In 1945, I witnessed the first Victory Day over German fascism. In 2015, I celebrated the seventieth anniversary of this momentous day. In less than 15 years, I experienced both the first Victory Day and, now at nearly 85 years old, the seventieth anniversary. I do not aim to provide a scholarly analysis of the events that unfolded over these 70 years. Such a task is not easily accomplished. It would take decades to offer a comprehensive, objective analysis of what transpired with the Soviet Union, the former Soviet republics, and why such a powerful state as the Soviet Union disintegrated. It is crucial to objectively assess the internal and external forces that played the most active role in the catastrophic collapse of the world’s first proletarian-peasant state, the USSR. Let me attempt to provide my assessment of the key historical events that occurred during these 70 years, events that have led the world to a situation where the threat of destroying all life on Earth becomes increasingly real. I am not exaggerating or painting a grim picture; I am speaking of the very real future that awaits us all. If we do not stop flexing our muscles, escalating armaments, and developing ever more means of mass destruction, we will not only destroy our enemies but also our children, grandchildren, and everyone dear to us.

I reiterate: I do not claim to offer the ultimate truth in my assessments of the events that unfolded over these 70 years. As a regular citizen of the Russian Federation, I express my perspective on the historical events in which I participated—from the position of an ordinary Soviet Union citizen to that of a Russian Federation citizen. I have gladly acquainted myself with other viewpoints and assessments of the events that occurred during these 70 years, but always grounded in factual evidence, not mere rhetoric.

Let’s just say that all of this was a preface. Now I will talk about my life over these 70 years, as my life mirrors that of hundreds of millions of inhabitants of the Soviet Union and the Russian Federation.

I celebrated the first Victory Day in Tbilisi. When the war began, I was not yet 11 years old. My father had spent 7 years in exile, and I never found out the reason for his imprisonment. In the fall of 1941, he was called to the front. We remained: two twin sisters aged 3, an older brother aged 13, and our mother—a simple, illiterate woman who worked as a cleaner in schools and other organizations. It’s a miracle how she managed to feed us during the war years, and we didn’t starve to death. Although there were often days when we had nothing to eat at all. I won’t dwell on the disasters, humiliations, hardships, and difficulties my family endured during the war. I simply want to convey how we awaited victory during those times. Children of war remembered the slogan: “All for the front, all for victory.” While words fall short of expressing what we, the children of war, experienced, I find solace in music. When I listen to Tchaikovsky’s first piano concerto with an orchestra or Rachmaninoff’s second concerto, perhaps these brilliant compositions can, to some extent, convey the epic struggle between good and evil. To endure such conditions, to maintain faith in oneself, and to avoid becoming a starving beast was no simple feat. Hunger erodes all human values.

I recall the spring of 1943 when I attended a club in the Pioneer Palace in Tbilisi. By the way, the Soviet authorities allocated excellent buildings and spaces for Pioneer Palaces. In Tbilisi, it was more than just a Pioneer House; it was a Pioneer Palace. This palace housed Russian rulers in Georgia. I always admired the rooms in this palace. Perhaps the beauty of the Pioneer Palace contributed to preserving something humane in my soul. In that palace, I attended a club (though I don’t remember its name). The club leader was a Georgian woman who had assimilated into Russian culture, coming from a former aristocratic background. Her mannerisms and speech reflected this. She had been evacuated from Leningrad. She shared with us what hunger does to people. She recounted how the wife of a renowned scientist (possibly an architect) secretly fed her husband meat from their daughter, who had died of hunger. The child’s body hung in the window. During the harsh winter of 1943, not every Leningrader could bury their deceased at the Piskaryovskoye Cemetery. At 13 years old, I understood this woman. I knew what hunger meant. And then came Victory Day—the end of hunger, the end of fear for the next day, the end of the daily deaths of our people, someone’s brothers, fathers, and daughters. Today, few remember that the most terrifying and eagerly awaited person in households was the mail carrier. Everyone awaited letters from the front, fearing that the mail carrier would bring a death notice. Sometimes mail carriers quit their jobs; they couldn’t bear the grief they witnessed after visiting the families of front-line soldiers. Understandably so. Victory—the end of all these horrors. Describing how we celebrated Victory Day in Tbilisi is nearly impossible. People laughed, cried, and embraced strangers. Everyone became kinder, more polite, cheerful, and joyful. On that day, there were no school classes. My friend and I wandered along Rustaveli Avenue for a long time. The day was sunny, clear. We discussed many things. Somehow, we associated victory over Nazi Germany with an improvement in our daily lives. More freedom, more kindness in human interactions. We talked about how victory over fascist Germany was, in fact, a victory over the evil forces that exist in the world of humanity. It was a conversation between two boys who sincerely wished for a world of goodness.

They grew up in an extremely harsh, cruel world and yearned for goodness, joy, and peace. Our dreams of universal kindness and triumph over evil were reinforced when newsreels showed how the Red Army was welcomed with jubilation, boundless joy, and deep gratitude in European countries. At the cost of hundreds of thousands of sons and daughters of the Soviet Union and Russia, these nations were liberated from the brown plague of fascism. When I watched such newsreels, witnessing the warm reception of the Red Army, I felt immense pride for our army and our country. I believed that the nations liberated from fascism by our army would never forget whose blood was shed for their freedom. Yes, the Soviet people paid a steep price for victory. Our front-line soldiers defeated not only Germany but the entire military-strategic might of Europe. For years, we didn’t discuss the military-economic assistance provided by European countries to Hitler. After all, it was their technology manufactured in Czechoslovakia and other European nations that was used against us. Many European states supplied raw materials necessary for producing military equipment. Among the ranks of the German army, hundreds of thousands of Spaniards, Italians, Romanians, Bulgarians, and even Finns fought against us. There was no European country that didn’t significantly contribute to the military power of the fascist bandits. However, when the Red Army began driving them out of their territories, suddenly they all claimed to be anti-fascists, as if they had been fighting against Germany all along. And now, as we commemorate the seventieth anniversary of Victory Day, they finally reveal their true faces. But I’ll delve into this later.