Remembering the Eastern Front, 70 years ago

In this scene of "White Tiger" a 2012 movie by Karen Shakhnazarov, tankist' Naydenov (right) tells Lieutenant Sharipov (left) that the crews of German tanks are "Fascists, of course, but all the same.... people"

A few days ago, I published a guest post by Tatiana Yugay on the march of the "Immortal Regiment" in Moscow, in celebration of the 70th anniversary of the victory against the Nazis. I published it somewhat in a hurry on the "Russia Day" of June 12, and I had no time to comment on it, but now I can do it.

Different countries have different views of their history, but it is impressive how the Russians found a good way to celebrate victory and maintain a loving memory of their  heroes. In the West, the gigantic struggle that was the Eastern Front is all but forgotten, but it may be instructive to examine how it was perceived in Italy at the time, and of how it is perceived now (if at all).

A good way to get a feeling of how the events of the war were described is to look at the newspapers of the time. As far as I could find, the only archive available on line for those years, is that of "La Stampa." As an archive, it is truly an example of how not to make an internet site, but, with some work, it can give to you a chance to watch in a few hours what Italians could read about the Russian campaign over a few years, while it was taking place.

You can imagine, probably, how the battles of the Eastern front are described in those old papers. Every battle is a victory for our troops who manage either to advance or to stop the evil Bolsheviks from advancing. It goes on like that throughout 1942, until, with November, you may note that something is happening; something big. You read of more and more battles, and of increasing bigger ones. All are victories, of course: the Bolsheviks keep attacking, but they are always repulsed with great losses.

As months go by, however, something changes: you still read of great battles on the Eastern front, but the chronicle ceases to mention Italian troops. By the spring of 1943, only German troops are described as fighting in Russia. But you have to discover that yourself: there is no mention in the newspaper of the defeat of the Italian troops, no news about the fate of the soldiers, no comment on what had happened to them. It is total silence; it is like if the Italian expeditionary corps, the 230,000 men of the "ARMIR"  had marched through a multi-dimensional gate, disappearing to another galaxy. For most of them, it was a one way trip. Those who managed to get back to Italy, were told to say nothing about what had happened. They were forgotten in their own country.

This story has to do with an immense form of evil. A pervasive, multi-layered evil that caused Italian soldiers to be sent to invade another country, to fight an impossible battle against overwhelmingly more powerful forces, to be forgotten by the very country they had served to the ultimate sacrifice.

I know that it is wrong to lump together the aggressor and the aggressed, the invader and the invaded, the injustice and the justice. Still, it seems to me that the last of these forms of evil may be no less monstrous than the other two. Some of the Italians who fought on the Eastern front were fascists, but not all of them and all were - all the same - people.

Perhaps evil lurks in the black ink of the printed page of a newspaper; perhaps for the Gods, our battles are not more important than those among ants. Perhaps, the universe just doesn't care about our struggles and suffering. Whatever the case, much time has passed from those terrible years, maybe it is time to remember them with love, and with a beautiful song like this one.

The cranes

Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers,

Who haven't returned from blood's fields,
Haven't layed in our land, But have turned into white cranes.
From those distant times
They fly and we hear their voices.
Is it because so often and so sadly
We are falling silent and looking into heaven?
The tired crane flock flies, flies through the sky,
Flies in the mist at the end of the day.
And it is a small gap in this order -
Perhaps this place is for me.
The day will come, and in such crane flock
I'll swim in the same blue-gray haze.
Calling out like a bird from the heavens
All of you who are left on earth.
Sometimes it seems to me that the soldiers,
Who haven't returned from blood's fields,
Haven't layed in our land, But have turned into white cranes.

Taken from http://lyricstranslate.com/en/zhuravli-zhuravli-cranes.html#ixzz3d3THj1Vj

Zhuravli (Журавли)

Мне кажется порою, что солдаты
С кровавых не пришедшие полей,
Не в землю нашу полегли когда-то,
А превратились в белых журавлей.
Они до сей поры с времен тех дальних
Летят и подают нам голоса.
Не потому ль так часто и печально
Мы замолкаем глядя в небеса?
Летит, летит по небу клин усталый,
Летит в тумане на исходе дня.
И в том строю есть промежуток малый -
Быть может это место для меня.
Настанет день и журавлиной стаей
Я поплыву в такой же сизой мгле.
Из-под небес по-птичьи окликая
Всех вас, кого оставил на земле.
Мне кажется порою, что солдаты
С кровавых не пришедшие полей,
Не в землю нашу полегли когда-то,
А превратились в белых журавлей.

 

The Immortal Regiment Marches in Moscow

A guest post by Tatiana Yugay, faculty member of the state university of Moscow. Published here in occasion of the "Russia day" on June 12

by TatianaYugay

On May 9, 2015, my friends and I participated in the grand manifestation “The Immortal Regiment” in order to commemorate known and unknown heroes of the World War II and the 70th anniversary of the Great Victory.

I arrived at the Belorusskaya metro station at 14 p.m. It was already boozing with hundreds of people carrying portraits of their parents and grandparents. I was afraid that I'd lose my friends in the crowd. Fortunately, we met after some minutes of waiting. Meanwhile, I climbed at the bench and made some shots. Already then, in the closed space of metro, I felt a strong positive energy of participants. Unlike the aggressive metro crowds in the rush hour, they were very kind, polite and … smiling. 

  

When we went out to the Belorusskaya Square, the column had already started to move in the direction of the Tverskaya Street. The organizers were unveiling a huge St. George ribbon. We walked for a while holding it on both sides but there were too many people willing to hold it, so we were driven out.

I was very busy making photos and my friends suggested me more and more interesting personages. There were people of all ways and ages. WWII veterans with “iconostasis” of awards and medals and babies sleeping in buggies. Many people were very well prepared to the event and wore war time attributes, such as helmets, soldier's blouses, all-weather raincoats. We saw a whole families with kids dressed in the military uniform. 

 

Some participants not only carried portraits but had printed them on their T-shirts.

Almost all demonstrators wore forage caps. We bought field caps, too, and they appeared to be very helpful because the sun was rather hot.

I liked very much a boy, wearing war awards of his great grandfather. When I asked him to pose, he straightened his chest. It was obvious that he was very proud of his mission to represent his great grandfather.

The most amazing thing was very high and positive spirit of people. Almost half of million walked in a calm, cheerful and benevolent mood. There weren't any political appeals or slogans, only grateful commemoration of heroes and beautiful nostalgic singing of wartime songs.

One woman began singing “The Cranes” and dozens of young voices picked up a sad motif. 

 

“It seems to me, sometimes, that soldiers

Who didn't come back from bloody battlefields,

They didn't perish once in our earth,

But turned into white cranes”. 

 

When I looked back and saw an ocean of people carrying portraits of their kinsfolk, it seemed to me that all those known and unknown heroes were marching in the same ranks with us. Soldiers of the Great Patriotic War won't die and will stay immortal until their descendants and their country remember them. 
 

While marching, we didn't know how many people participated in the manifestation, but it was clear that there were hundreds of thousands. All the broad Tverskaya Street was full of people. On the whole route from the Belorusskaya railway station to the Red Square, thousands of people with portraits were standing on the sidewalks. So when I heard in the evening news that there were nearly half of a million in Moscow, it wasn't at all a surprise for me. Though, we didn't know that Vladimir Putin participated in the march with the portrait of his father, we felt that he was with us.

This year, the Immortal Regiment was marching in the Red Square for the first time. When we reached the square, everybody was busy making photos and selfies. 

 

It took us two hours and a half to make 2.4 km from Belorusskaya Square to the Red Square along Tverskaya Street. However, the final destination wasn't the end in itself. The main thing was the process of walking, communicating with each other, feeling the unity and solidarity of those around us. It was one of the greatest experience of my life. I've understood some simple and crucial things. 

A well-fed and prosperous life relaxes and separates us from each other, but difficulties and dangers drive us together. People of good will prevail in the society but they are worse organized than evil ones. 

 

I'd wish that those politicians who nourish illusions to defeat Russia would watch not only the military parade but the march of the Immortal Regiment, as well. The parade demonstrates the revived military power of Russia and the march shows the great spiritual strength of Russian people. These two components render our country invincible.