When, exactly, did World War II end? The answer depends on where you are from. The war officially ended in the early hours of May 7 1945, when General Jodl signed Germany’s unconditional surrender at the Allied headquarters in Reims, effective from the following day. Thousands took to the streets in London, New York and other cities to celebrate. However, on May 8 the ceremony was repeated in Berlin in the presence of the Soviet Union’s Marshal Zhukov and representatives of the other Allied countries. Peace reigned from the following day onwards. The Red Army had conquered the German capital, and it was supposed that they would hold symbolic pre-eminence. Over the decades that followed, celebrating victory on May 8 or 9 came to symbolise the division between East and West. In the West, May 8 came to represent victory over fascism, achieved by the Allied armies and the resistance to the Nazis. This victory symbolised the post-war anti-fascist consensus, which was founded on selective forgetfulness – it conveniently glossed over, for instance, widespread collaboration with Nazi invaders from France to Norway. For Germany, especially in the Federal Republic of Germany since 1949 (when the country was partitioned into East and West), it was a sad date. It was not until 1985 that its president, Richard von Weizsäcker, acknowledged that Germany had been liberated from fascism on May 8 amid the destruction and mourning caused by the Third Reich. From then on, it became a date on which to learn from the past. Italian society, comfortably ensconced in the anti-fascist narrative, regarded the victory as its own. After Mussolini’s dismissal in July 1943 and the subsequent German invasion, the myth of resistance against the invader erased any uncomfortable memories. Read more: Contested memory in Giorgia Meloni’s Italy: how her far-right party is waging a subtle campaign to commemorate fascist figures Soviet remembrance The Soviet War Memorial in Berlin’s Treptower Park features a 12m tall statue of a soldier standing over a broken swastika. Antoinevandermeer/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA In the Soviet Union, May 9 was celebrated on various fronts. It was a day of victory over fascism, the day on which the USSR triumphed over an enemy that sought to annihilate it, and the day it saved Europe from fascism. However, Stalin feared that the memory of victory would empower the Soviet people, who had suffered mass death at the hands of their invaders as well as the gross errors of their commander-in-chief and brutal repression at home. From 1947 onwards, the date ceased to be a public holiday. It was not until 1965 that May 9 once again became a national holiday, but it commemorated the victory of a new Soviet nation – not the victims. May 1945 supplanted October 1917 as the true founding date of the new USSR, as it marked the end of the “Great Patriotic War”. Much like the West’s victory, this narrative was based on convenient omissions, such as the collaboration of large sectors of Soviet society with the invaders, the victims of Stalinist repression, the German–Soviet pact of 1939, and the occupation of the Baltic countries and Karelia. The ‘Feat’ monument in Almaty, Kazakhstan, commemorates the 28 Kazakh Panfilov Guardsmen who died in the Battle of Moscow. Ken and Nyetta/Wikimedia Commons, CC BY-SA Before 1965, large memorials dedicated to the Red Army had been built in liberated Eastern Europe, but they then spread throughout the Soviet Union. The diverse people’s republics in East-Central Europe celebrated 9 May alongside the dates their countries were liberated by the Red Army. However, some elements were once again omitted from memory: the Home Army and the August 1944 uprising in Poland, and the participation of Slovakia, Hungary and Romania in the invasion of the USSR. Antifascism to justify war Following the end of the Cold War, disagreements surrounding May 9 were just the tip of the iceberg when it came to disputes over memory. For many, May 9 was a day of mourning, commemorating the replacement of one occupying force with another. Ukraine and other countries began commemorating the end of the war on May 8, marking its start in September 1939. This was accompanied by initiatives inspired by Western remembrance policies, such as the introduction of poppies in Ukraine in 2015. Since the mid-1990s, Russia has attached great historical significance to May 9 – victory over Hitler is considered by many Russians to be the country’s greatest historical achievement of the 20th century. Moreover, since the beginning of the Putin era, May 9 has become a central symbol of his regime’s memorial strategy. A grand parade is held, during which the Soviet flag is flown as the flag of victory. Read more: What a cathedral and a massive military parade show about Putin’s Russia Putin’s speeches at these events bear a resemblance to those of the Brezhnev era in their tone: May 9 is a commemoration of the victory of the Russian/Soviet people – the USSR is remembered with nostalgia – whose sacrifice saved all of Europe from fascism. It was a heroic deed, vilified by the ungrateful West and some former Soviet republics. These themes have become more pronounced since February 2022, as the Kremlin strategically exploits anti-fascist rhetoric to justify its invasion of Ukraine. Read more: Russian fascism: the six principles of Putin’s nationalist ideology The importance of remembering In times of growing authoritarianism, it is important to commemorate the seventieth anniversary of the defeat of Nazism, and to celebrate the restoration of democracy and human rights across Europe. The European Union’s weak gestures and national commemorations of the fall of fascism – such as April 25 in Italy – are now being questioned by the far right. Nevertheless, remembering the extent of fascism’s defeat across the continent can only be a source of hope. It serves as a potent reminder that democracy must be collectively defended, and that lessons must be learned from past mistakes. As Mark Twain famously said: “History doesn’t repeat itself, but it often rhymes.” A weekly e-mail in English featuring expertise from scholars and researchers. 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How Russia came to see itself as Europes antifascist saviour
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