Soviet Nostalgia at Museum of the Great Patriotic War

In recent years, Russia has taken up an outsized role in the global affair. From its information warfare on the American presidential election to the annexation of the Crimean peninsula, Russia was branded as a troublemaker internationally. As an American progressive, I certainly disagreed with much of Russia’s actions in the past decades. But at the same time, I think Americans are often dismissive in their understanding of Russia’s economic and geopolitical interests in her periphery. But often neglected was the historicism and nostalgia for the Soviet Empire. We have often heard that President Putin believes the dissolution of the Soviet Union was the greatest tragedy in the 20th century. Having lived in Moscow, I could confidently say that Putin’s sentiment is widely shared among the Russian public, if not the Moscow and Saint Petersburg residents.

The topic of Soviet nostalgia always reminds me of my visit to the Museum of Great Patriotic War on one chilly Sunday afternoon. Moscow has no shortage of museums within the city. While most visitors seem to stick with signature museums like the State Tretyakov Gallery or the Pushkin State Museum of Fine Arts, I would suggest that a visit to this war museum is a must for a better understanding of the Russian psyche of today.

The visit started at the adjacent metro station, Park Pobedy (Парк Победы). Constructed in 1984, the station is among the more modern in the system. Clad in pristine travertine and marble, the platform was an architectural feast. But what made this station particularly noteworthy is the two large mosaics by Soviet-Georgian artist Zurab Tsereteli. A favored artist by President Putin, whom I have written about in previous posts (here and here), Tsereteli’s works here depict the 1812 French Invasion of Russia and World War II. Its political message is consistent with my destination for the day and speaks to just how important these two events were to the Russians.

As an added bonus for intrepid travelers, Park Pbedy Station is also the fourth deepest station in the world. Getting from the platform to the street level took me a solid 10 minutes all by itself. The station has Europe’s longest escalator, and it took about four minutes just for the escalator ride alone. It is, for sure, one of the least convenient metro stops I have ever encountered. Once above ground, the urban landscape around me was somewhat of a monumental dystopia: a busy multi-lane expressway, Stalinist housing blocks, and a neoclassical triumphal arch.

The only nice-looking structure is a solemn-looking triumphal arch; it replaced an earlier wooden structure built to commemorate the Napoleonic Wars in 1814. The immediate surrounding is known as Poklonnaya Hill (Покло́нная гора́), which translates loosely as ‘Worshipful Submission Hill’ in Russian. As one of Moscow's major ‘hills,’ the area has historically held a strategic position. Historically, this is somewhat considered the first entry to the Russian capital. It was said that Napolean expected imperial Russian generals to surrender and present the keys to the city at this spot. Instead, he could leave the Russian capital abandoned and evacuated with all supplies and provisions.

Today’s Poklonnaya Hill is dominated by Victory Park, an open-air museum dedicated to the triumph of the Russian military and the grit of all Russian people. In a typical Soviet manner, the space is monumental, impersonal, and even Fascist ironically. On a rainy afternoon, the plaza was deserted. On this ground sits not only the Museum of the Great Patriot War but also a memorial synagogue dedicated to the Holocaust and the Church of Saint Georgia. This whole complex was constructed to celebrate the 50th anniversary of the end of World War II. Right in the middle of it all is a 142-meter tall obelisk, with each 10 centimeter representing each day of the war. Three-quarters of the way up was a massive statue of the Greek goddess of Nike. And at the base of a statue of Saint George, slaying the dragon, the official symbol of Moscow. Guess who designed these sculptures? It is our friend Zurab Tsereteli, of course.

A massive, squat, crescent-shaped colonnade and a dome front the museum. Maybe it was the weather, but there was an eerie feeling around me. Even though the museum structure is grand, the entrance is anything but grand. After paying the 100₽ admission, I arrived at the first grand hall: the Hall of Commanders. As the name suggests, this cavernous space commemorates the senior military leaders who were awarded the coveted Order of Victory, the highest military of the Soviet Union. The hall displays a long row of official portraits of poker-faced Soviet generals. Along the wall is the bust of ten Field Marshalls of the Soviet Union. Among the likes of Rodion Malinovsky and Semyon Timoshenko, the most notable ‘general’ has got to be Joseph Stalin.

Speaking of Stalin, the Soviet dictator is still officially honored as a capable military commander. As the General Secretary of the Communist Party of the Soviet Union, Stalin was the supreme commander of the Soviet military and thus often credited for the ultimate victory over Nazism. At the same time, Stalin’s military genius is disputed by historians. By some accounts, the Soviet triumph was attributed to the sheer physical sacrifice of Soviet troops. The estimated Soviet casualty during WWII stands at somewhere between 20 to 27 million. As a percentage of the pre-war population, the Soviet Union lost more citizens than Nazi Germany. In reality, Soviet casualty is only second to that of Poland on a per capita basis.

Just like our visit to the Joseph Stalin Museum in Gori, Georgia, it was no surprise that this museum has no mention of Stalin’s larger legacy and genocide against the Soviet population. In a twisted way, I could understand Georgians’ ambivalent admiration of their native son. After all, this little Soviet republic produced a leading political figure of the 20th century. For Russia, the severance for Stalin is perhaps more nuanced. The best explanation I ever came upon is the sunk cost fallacy: the tremendous suffering of WWII could only be alleviated by their unwavering support for the Soviet wartime leadership. Whatever strategic errors he may have committed, all was forgiven.

Architecturally, the grand exhibition hall is nothing but odd. It straddles somewhere between grand and cliche. Although it is a large and cavernous space, fluorescent lighting and 1990s chandelier candelabra transform the hall somewhat like a big old hotel banquet hall in suburban America. Despite the monumental artwork, such as the illuminated glass wall up the staircase, the haphazardly placed exhibition displays cluttered the space quite a bit. The whole space seems both empty and busy at the same time.

Leading me up the grand staircase is a massive bronze cascade sculpture decorated with bronze candles and cannonballs, and abandoned riffles. I don’t know their symbolism. But there is something spooky about this place. Just beyond the top of this staircase is the most sacred space of the museum: the Hall of Glory. This enormous domed hall is dedicated to the Soldier of Victory, as manifested by a giant statue. Its confident pose projects a sense of calm and dignity. Flanking the sculpture is a flag of Russia and the city of Moscow.

As the most important hall in the museum, the room is full of symbolism. The dome is embellished with a series of bronze wreaths, symbolizing triumph. But for the historian in me, I found it to be fascist-looking. Dedicated to those decorated with the Order of Victory, the center of the dome bears the medal's insignia, making this one of the most Soviet spaces in Moscow. Just under the base of the dome are a series of sculptural reliefs commemorating the various Hero Cities (город-герой).

Hero Cities are special Soviet distinctions bestowed by Moscow for cities that display special valor for their residents. While there are a total of twelve Hero Cities officially, the four original hero cities were declared by Joseph Stalin in 1945: Leningrad, Stalingrad, Sevastopol, and Odesa. The image of these cities was illustrated around the room to remind visitors of some of the fiercest battles during the course of the war. To round out space, the walls around the hall are clad with massive marble slabs, each carved with the names of those awarded the Order of Victory.

The final great hall of the museum was the much more subdued Hall of Remembrance and Sorrow at the lower level. Architecturally, this is my favorite space; the ceiling is decorated with thousands of suspending chains, creating a shimmering, dream-like atmosphere. Appropriately, this space is dedicated to the 20+ million Soviet citizens who perished during the war. At the center of the hall was a white marble statue of a grieving Mother Russia.; its reference to the classic Pietà is unmistakable. The intimate portrait or testimonial of average soldiers or their families was noticeably absent during my visit.

As a non-Russian speaker, I was inevitably disappointed that all signage and exhibits were only in Russian. As a result, my favorite part of the museum was the gallery just off the hallway around the central dome. Six impressive dioramas illustrate six of the most celebrated Soviet battles in World War II. They often use pictures that say a thousand words, and these masterfully created dioramas were just fantastic. I later read that a special art studio produced them under the direct supervision of Russia’s Ministry of Defense. The Russian’s snacks in propaganda certainly persisted after the collapse of the Soviet Union.

A fictional diorama of the Battle of Lenningrad.

Of the six dioramas, my absolute favorite would be Siege of Leningrad. Lasting more than 872 days, the Nazi (and Finnish) assault is the longest and deadliest siege in human history. Even with my limited knowledge of Russian history, the story of Leningrad has been haunting me since I visited Saint Petersburg. When I think of the term “heroic city,” no city is as deserving as Leningrad. While the estimate of the total casualty varies widely, it is widely accepted that about 3 million Russian soldiers and civilians perished during the siege.

On top of that, the Siege of Leningrad is perhaps the most interesting artistically. I was amazed at the artistry and the seamless transition between foreign ground and the curved wall beyond. But what fascinated me was the urban landscape it portrayed. Even though I have only been to Saint Petersburg once, I could recognize that the urbanscape portrayed here is a purely imaginary construct. It stitches together half a dozen of the city’s most famous landmarks from different corners of this expansive city: Saint Issac Cathedral, Kazan Cathedral, Kunstkamera, Bank Bridge, and the Church of the Savior on Blood.

Besides Leningrad, my other favorite is the Battle of Berlin. The diorama depicts the final battle and the final siege of the Reichstag in central Berlin. This is the final chapter of the Soviet battle against the Third Reich and a symbolic triumph over Fascism. The event was most famously memorialized by the famous photograph by Yevgeny Khaldei: Raising a Flag over the Reichstag. The last battle in the European theater is fought at the steps of the German parliament building.

The storming of Reichstag in the Battle of Berlin.

So you might ask, why would I visit a museum of propaganda? Americans often have a blind spot in understanding the Russian psyche. A recent survey found that rather few Americans were aware that the Soviet Union was a major ally of the United States against Nazism. While the Allies’ landing of Normandy has been lauded as an unapparelled act of heroism by most Americans, few seem to know anything about the Siege of Leningrad. Understanding the Soviet’s role in WWII is just one pillar of understanding the nostalgia for the Soviet era in contemporary Russia.

In addition to the honors and pride, the Soviet period represents a time of social and economic stability for many ordinary Russians. Many were scarred by the turbulent year of Boris Yeltsin. And contrary to Western belief, the quality of life for many Russians was better before the fall of Communism. Many have struggled under the winner-take-all style of economic liberalization. I believe that the better Americans understand Russian history, the more effective it is for policymakers to confront Russia’s muscular geopolitical postures.

There was something creepy and stereotypically Soviet about the museum bathroom.

For foreign visitors who care to learn about Russians’ view of their own history, visiting the Museum of Great Patriotic Wars is worthwhile. I always believe that visiting a museum filled with propaganda is an effort to understand, not an endorsement of its messages. The world could only be served by a better understanding of others, albeit with a critical eye toward the past.

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