‘A crime against the memory of those who died’ Meduza’s Russian-language readers on what Victory Day means to them amid Russia’s ongoing war against Ukraine
On May 9, Russia marks Victory Day — the anniversary of the Soviet Union’s defeat of Nazi Germany in World War II. But as it has for the past three years, the country’s own war of aggression against Ukraine casts a long shadow over the celebrations. Ahead of the holiday, Meduza invited its Russian-language readers to share their thoughts on a holiday shaped by war and propaganda that now evokes mixed emotions for many. What follows is a selection of the most notable responses, translated into English.
Diana
Canada
My great-grandmother was a veteran, and every year on this day we’d visit her and have a meal together. But it never felt like a celebration — the message was always “never again.” She didn’t like to talk about the war itself, but she’d speak about her husband, her father, and her brothers. One of them survived both a concentration camp and the Gulag. He came back, lost his mind, and hanged himself.
For us, this day was always about the horror of war. Even a concert or a walk in the park carried the feeling of “thank goodness it will never happen again.” Turns out, it would.
My great-grandmother is gone and, on top of that, there’s a war. Even before the [full-scale] invasion of Ukraine, May 9 had taken on an aggressive militarism — and even then, it felt wrong.
I moved away and can’t go back. My remaining family in Russia will probably go for a walk in the park this year, like we used to. I don’t blame them — they’re exhausted by fear and hopelessness. I’ll call them, and we’ll wish each other peaceful skies.
Oleksii
Kyiv, Ukraine
[For my family], victory always had a bitter aftertaste. One grandfather was killed near Königsberg. The other was taken to Germany as an Ostarbeiter [forced laborer], and in 1945 he settled in West Germany and wrote to the family saying he wasn’t coming back.
Most of my relatives are from western Ukraine, where the Red Army was seen much the same as the Germans. As my grandmother used to say: one group came and left, then another came and left, then the first came back again. The only thing she clearly remembered from that time was the rampant banditry.
Now more than ever, no one marks [Victory Day]. One genocidal regime defeated another — what is there to celebrate? [In Ukraine], there’s just the Day of Remembrance [on May 8] for the victims of Nazism and World War II. Back in the day, as was tradition, we’d watch war films on May 9. Now there’s war every day — and we’re watching it live.
Viktoriia
Moscow
I’m originally from Kharkiv. I moved to Moscow for love, as they say, before the war began. This war has torn me in two. On one side, my friends in Ukraine saw me as an outlet for their anger at “bad Russians.” On the other, I live among those “bad Russians,” including my partner, and I see every day that many of them never wanted this, never agreed with it, and feel shame, guilt, and a deep sense of helplessness about what’s happening. […]
I don’t believe that those who started this war have any right to celebrate May 9 — a day of remembrance for those who gave their lives so that there would never be another war. What they’re doing spits in the faces of those heroes. Those who now want to kill “in the name of their grandfathers and great-grandfathers” are, in fact, the ugliest insult to their memory.
Victory Day is now a parade of hypocrisy. It should be a tribute to those who defended their homeland and their loved ones. It’s enough to honor their sacrifice by doing what they fought for: not killing others, not starting new wars under the banner of “denazification,” not destroying the people our grandparents once fought beside and helped liberate. It’s enough not to exploit their sacrifice to prop up the authority of people who never saw that war themselves — and to stop parading military hardware around.
Alexander
St. Petersburg
My father was an officer and took part [in the Victory Day parades], and I used to love going to watch. But my grandfather didn’t like May 9 — he gave all his medals to the boys in our neighborhood. Now I understand him. And I understand that line from the old Soviet animated film [The Dragon (1961)]: “He who kills the dragon becomes the dragon himself.”
Rita
Moscow
While my grandfather was still alive, my family used to celebrate [Victory Day]. As a child, I memorized poems and recited them for WWII veterans. I couldn’t — and still can’t — hold back tears when I hear the song The Sacred War.
But after the [full-scale] war began in 2022, that old pride in the victory over fascism disappeared. No, the sacrifice of those people hasn’t been forgotten — but personally, I had nothing to do with it. And now my country is on the “dark side.”
We used to honor the memory of that war and say, “God forbid it ever happens again.” Now that war is used to promote false patriotism, and the slogan has changed to “We can do it again.” It’s a tragedy — one that’s been dusted with glitter to make it shine. I don’t understand how the memory of that war can fill some people with horror, and others with the urge to commit new atrocities.
There are hardly any veterans of that terrible war left. There’s no one to congratulate — and for what? We fucked up the peace that our grandparents and great-grandparents fought and died for.
Maria
Moscow
When I was little, it was the day we’d visit my grandfather on my father’s side. He was the only one of three brothers who came back from the front. His friends — fellow front-line soldiers — would gather at his place. I always knew how much that day meant to him.
My grandparents on my mother’s side worked on the home front and were always a bit shy about celebrating — as if they hadn’t done anything important. But they worked in defense factories for ten hours a day, and they were still just kids.
For years now, I’ve felt a kind of horrified relief that none of my grandparents lived to see the victory mania we’re witnessing today. Russia lost the right to this holiday the moment it started a war. This is exactly what our grandparents fought against. Now it’s nothing but a tool of propaganda — grotesque cosplay and an attempt to justify one’s own atrocities. […]
Of course, we should preserve the memory [of what was done in World War II]. I wish May 9 could become a day of remembrance and mourning — with a nationwide moment of silence, for example. But that clearly won’t be possible anytime soon.
Alex
Moscow
As a child, I remember seeing veterans in Sokolniki Park and near the Bolshoi Theater. We didn’t have a dacha, so we stayed in the city for the May holidays — and often, on May 9, my mom and I would go for a walk in the park. This was in the 1970s: there were lots of people, older folks still full of life, their jackets half-covered in medals. Children giving them carnations.
In the evening, we’d always turn on the TV for the minute of silence. My mom’s father had been killed in the war — we would remember him, and my parents would have a small toast. We’d watch somber Soviet war films. Later, we’d watch the fireworks from our balcony. I don’t remember any hysteria around it — everything felt restrained, marked by grief for the dead and the weight of what people had endured.
Ten years ago, I used to tell my kids about the war on this day. I’d put on the beloved film They Fought for Their Country, take them to the fireworks and to Park Pobedy. I wanted them to feel the importance of the date too. But now, I try to say as little as possible. My parents have long since passed, and there’s no one left to really share the day with. Yes, it’s still a holiday — but for me, it remains a day of mourning, not an excuse for partying or shouting. I remember my fallen relatives.
Moreover, I’m absolutely opposed to how our propaganda has taken over this holiday. I believe the authorities are committing a crime against the memory of those who died in the war — equating the collective struggle of all peoples against evil with today’s imperialist “campaign.” For that, I believe the propagandists should be put on trial — for lying, for distorting its meaning, and for stealing what doesn’t belong to them. It’s a pity there’s no law against it — but they can take a spit in the face from me for it.
Zhanna
Volgograd
From my childhood, I remember that on this day the adults would fill the table with food and raise a glass to peace — to the hope that there would never be another war. I remember how, in 1975, my grandfather took me — I was five — to a veterans’ gathering. I remember how they cried and hugged each other. And I remember thinking, “Why are they crying? It’s a holiday!”
They didn’t say, “We can do it again!” They didn’t carry portraits of fallen comrades or make triumphant speeches. Everything was quiet — there were tears, and joy that their children and grandchildren could live in peace and be happy. There was certainty that after so much suffering and so many millions of lives lost, no one would ever want to start another war.
Veterans used to come to our school — not to tell us vivid horror stories about the war, but to share memories, sometimes even lighthearted ones. I loved that holiday.
But now everything has changed. Victory Day has been turned into a tool of propaganda. I have no desire at all to be out in public, to see and hear all this victory frenzy. There used to be both sorrow and joy in this day. Now, only sorrow remains.
My son and I will spend a minute in silence, as we always do, and watch old films about the war. We’ll have a little something to drink, to remember our grandparents.
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Gennady
Moscow
[In my family, May 9] was celebrated the way it should be — with a joyful sense of victory over fascism, and at the same time, sorrow over the immense human loss. For us, the only thing that’s changed is how shockingly easy it is for people to forget the lessons of the past.
[How can Victory Day be given new meaning?] That’s a foolish, provocative question. You were attacked by a maniac, and you defeated him in a brutal fight. What more meaning could there be? The joy of victory.
Alina
Moscow
There used to be reverence for the holiday — it was clearly associated with the events of World War II. Now, “it’s not so straightforward.”
This year, my eight-year-old daughter said to me, “Mom, I hate this holiday.” When I asked her why, she said, “Because we’re celebrating victory over Ukraine.” I have no idea where she got that — maybe from school, maybe from other kids. I don’t associate with people who support the “special military operation,” and I avoid anything connected to the state or its rhetoric. I explained to her that May 9 has nothing to do with the war in Ukraine — and that anyone celebrating it in that context is a complete idiot.
I believe that on Victory Day, you shouldn’t be swinging your brass balls at the world, but quietly honoring the memory of the fallen — telling their stories, but without the militarist shouting and frenzy. We should speak calmly about how to preserve peace, because there is nothing more important than peace.
