From the first anniversary of the Great Patriotic Victory to the seventieth (Part 2)

But too quickly, the brilliance of the great victory faded in our country. I will never forget how the Motherland welcomed the front-line soldiers. People fought for 4 years. For 4 years, the front-line soldiers had no more or less normal living conditions. For 4 years, they shivered in the harsh Russian winters. For 4 years, they waded through muddy trenches, sinking in swamps. For 4 years, they survived in inhumane conditions in concentration camps. For 4 years, they stared death in the face every second. For 4 years, they didn’t see their close relatives. For 4 years, they had to close their eyes to friends, comrades, and bury them in nameless graves wherever they fell. Even today, without delving too deeply, we say that 27 million people died in the war. The number somehow doesn’t touch the depths of the soul.

I was in the Kaluga region when they brought me to the Ilyinsky Heights. That’s what the place is called. October 1941. Aerial reconnaissance showed that this direction toward Moscow was completely unprotected. And so, to the Ilyinsky Heights, they urgently transferred cadets from two military academies. I myself was a cadet at a military academy. And there, 3000 young men, aged 17–18, without any serious weapons—there weren’t even enough rifles for everyone—without greatcoats, in the month of October, were thrown under German tanks. Even now, as I write these lines, a shiver runs through my entire body. As a military man, I can vividly imagine the formation of cadets—3000 boys. It’s a terrifying sight. And in our country, 27 million people fell victim to this war. Millions returned home spiritually and physically maimed. They needed emotional warmth, gradually adapting to peaceful life. For 4 years, they were taught to kill, and their mental state needed rebuilding. They deserved respectful treatment. They saved our lives.

But in practice, in our country, everything turned out exactly the opposite. Our neighbor, who returned from captivity, was arrested, and he was only released after Stalin’s death. He was imprisoned because, while in captivity, he participated in some artistic self-expression organized by Georgian prisoners in the camp. They performed this artistic activity for the Germans. My father, until Stalin’s death, kept a small bag with essential items ready, expecting arrest every night. He also spent nearly two years in captivity. Later, a certain Frau took him away, and he stayed with her for another year. Knowing my father, who found it difficult to pass by any woman, I assume he actively contributed to the reproduction of the German population. Perhaps that’s why he ended up in places not so distant. His presence in captivity caused no other harm to the country. But still…

During the war years, many hospitals were organized in Tbilisi. I saw homeless, neglected, hungry, disabled warriors walking the streets of Tbilisi. I saw soldiers without both legs. They sat on wide boards. Four ball bearings were attached to the underside of the board, and they held pieces of wood with handles. Using these boards, they propelled themselves and moved along the streets of Tbilisi. Not in the city center—God forbid. Along the outskirts. These physically and spiritually disfigured individuals begged for alms from those for whom they sacrificed their health, youth, and dreams of their own future. I don’t know why our state practically showed no concern for the people who saved us, Europe, and the whole world from fascism. Without their selflessness and unparalleled heroism, we wouldn’t exist. Gradually, Victory Day turned into an ordinary, everyday day. Even now, I cannot explain why Stalin and Khrushchev, who perfectly understood the magnitude of our victory, didn’t make Victory Day a festive occasion. It’s interesting that this question hasn’t been raised for clarification by political scientists and historians.

I personally suppose that Stalin possibly didn’t designate Victory Day as a holiday because it would have required acknowledging the contributions of Soviet marshals, particularly Marshal Zhukov, and, of course, other renowned commanders. I believe he didn’t want that. He wanted to remain the sole figure at the pinnacle of glory. He orchestrated the victory. I remember how we studied the “10 Stalinist Strikes” in school and later at the military academy. According to what was written in that textbook, Stalin personally devised all the crucial operations. And this great victory was the personal achievement of Comrade Stalin. Few people remember it now, but there was an artistic film called “The Fall of Berlin,” a two-part movie. I probably watched it when I was 16 or 17 years old. It was a Georgian film, and Chiaureli played Stalin. The resemblance was striking. In fact, the image of Stalin created by Chiaureli is what my generation remembers. Actual footage of Stalin was rarely shown in documentaries. I saw him in newsreels only a few times. On the other hand, Brezhnev, who appeared too frequently on television, was often joked about: “It’s all about him and a little bit about the weather.”

When I watched the film “The Fall of Berlin,” I felt uneasy. I couldn’t understand how it could be produced and shown on the big screen. One scene that particularly disturbed me depicted a woman symbolizing the Motherland. According to the film’s concept, she approached Stalin, carrying garlands of flowers with both hands, and bowed to him. He stood on a pedestal, waiting for the adoration of the Motherland—her homage at his feet. No, I already understood that the cult of personality had taken an ugly turn. Yet, I myself had used it to my advantage. When we were given some unappealing topics for essays in Georgian literature, where it was difficult to express oneself genuinely, I would cleverly insert Stalin’s image. I was absolutely confident that my favorite literature teacher, who was also quite attractive, wouldn’t give me a grade lower than a five. And indeed, that’s how it played out. I understood that the glorification of Stalin exceeded all permissible boundaries in this area. However, I wasn’t overly concerned. Personally, I never bowed down to or deified any leaders, including Lenin and Stalin. I believed that if they rose to such high positions, they truly were smarter than everyone else.

Among Caucasians, respect for elders is deeply ingrained. It’s a universal value across all cultures, but it’s especially pronounced among Caucasians. Perhaps it’s because, in mountainous conditions, villages and settlements lack the easy communication of lowland areas. The roads are treacherous, and during winter, they are completely cut off from external communication. Take my native village, Jvaris-Ubani, for example. From October until the following April, it’s impossible to reach there. The narrow mountain road is blocked by snow. I had to make the difficult journey to attend my uncle’s funeral in late March. I struggled through knee-deep snow. I mention this to highlight the isolated nature of mountain villages and the need to turn to the elderly for resolving disputes or conflicts. Hence, the particularly respectful attitude toward the older generation. Let me share a custom that existed even during my lifetime—the respect for elders. Suppose a young man is riding a horse along a mountain road. He spots an older person approaching. In advance, he dismounts and walks past the elderly person, greeting them respectfully.

Perhaps, as a mountain dweller, I inherently held respect for elders. If someone leads the country, it means they’ve earned that position. This conviction persisted until Gorbachev came to power. Then I witnessed the trembling hands of one of the leaders. But when Yeltsin took charge of the country, I realized that even alcoholics could govern Russia. As for attitudes toward Lenin and Stalin, it’s a more complex issue. My generation was raised from childhood in an atmosphere of deification of both Lenin and Stalin. I read extensively the works of both Lenin and Stalin. I delved into Lenin’s fundamental writings on party organization, the party’s tasks, how it should be structured, and the preparations and execution of the socialist revolution. Let me say that I was always impressed by the depth of analysis, the rigor of logic, and the breadth of understanding of economic and political issues. Whether during the preparations for the revolution or his brief rule over the country, Lenin’s influence was profound on a global scale. Whether this impact was positive or negative is another question, but he undeniably achieved it.

Stalin is a more intricate figure than Lenin. In my view, when assessing anyone’s actions, regardless of their position, we must consider their childhood experiences. I mean, what kind of childhood they had. When we discuss someone’s deeds, we often draw from our own life experiences. Having lived nearly 94 years, I clearly see how my childhood significantly influenced my decision-making process regarding many complex life issues. Therefore, I firmly believe that when analyzing the actions of any individual, we must thoroughly examine their childhood. We need to understand the conditions in which they perceived the world around them—the physical and spiritual nourishment they received. Of course, I don’t consider my opinion the ultimate truth, but still…

My childhood can be divided into two periods. Until the age of 7, I grew up in a household of complete democracy. My mother worked as a cleaner in a kindergarten all day long. In her free time, she gossiped with her friends. My father served his sentence for some wrongdoing, and until the age of 7, I didn’t even know of his existence. My mother, my older brother (2 years my senior), and I lived near the children’s home in a semi-basement. I mainly perceived the world through solitary reading and books—lots of them. Often, I didn’t fully understand the content, but books were my primary means of understanding the world. Then my father appeared on the horizon. From the very first day, a totalitarian regime was established in our home. Beatings and insults were daily occurrences. Every evening, we anxiously awaited his return from work. He worked as a chimney sweep. Consequently, he was treated to wine every day at the places where he cleaned chimneys. The effects of his drunkenness manifested on my brother’s and my backs. Extreme poverty, constant fear of beatings, cramped living conditions, and household filth couldn’t help but shape our characters, unfortunately not for the better. I noticed bursts of blind rage within myself—lack of self-control, unwarranted rudeness. All the negative traits I absorbed during that childhood. I had to spend a long time, practically my entire life, re-educating myself. I had to eradicate all the wildness within me. Throughout this prolonged and continuous process, my allies were classical Georgian, Russian, and foreign literature, as well as music. Folk music, Georgian, Russian, Azerbaijani, Armenian, Ukrainian, and, of course, my native Ossetian music.