Moscow Between Memory and War

Military orchestra marches once again echoed across Red Square while Soviet Victory banners fluttered above the Kremlin walls. Yet Moscow’s May 9, 2026 Victory Day parade looked markedly different from previous years: fewer foreign leaders, less heavy military equipment, more soldiers returning from the war in Ukraine, and a visibly darker political atmosphere.

Russian President Vladimir Putin’s speech, delivered on the 81st anniversary of the defeat of Nazi Germany, was less a reflection on the past than an attempt to explain the present — and prepare Russian society for the future.

Putin opened with a traditional address to veterans, servicemen and Russian citizens, calling Victory Day a “sacred, bright and principal holiday.” But within minutes it became clear that the Kremlin was once again using the memory of the Second World War as the central political language of modern Russia.

“We sacredly honor the legacy and commandments of the soldiers of Victory,” Putin declared, drawing a direct line between the Red Army of 1945 and Russian troops fighting in Ukraine today.

That was the central message of the entire speech: the current conflict was presented not as a separate 21st-century war, but as a continuation of Russia’s historic struggle against an external threat.

Such rhetoric has long formed the backbone of the Russian state narrative. But in 2026 it sounded especially concentrated and uncompromising. Unlike the grand anniversary parade of 2025, when the Kremlin attempted to emphasize the global scale of the victory over fascism and the contribution of the peoples of the former Soviet Union, this year’s address was shorter, more emotional and overtly mobilizational.

History in Putin’s speech no longer appeared merely as an object of remembrance. It had become an instrument of political legitimacy.

The president again spoke of attempts to “distort the truth” about the Second World War, the need to defend historical memory, and Russia supposedly once again facing a threat supported by the West. NATO did not occupy as central a place in the speech as it did in 2024, when Putin openly discussed strategic confrontation with the West and even reminded audiences of Russia’s nuclear readiness. Yet the image of the outside world as a hostile space remained intact.

Most striking was the degree to which the Kremlin now fuses the cult of Victory with the ongoing war. In Russia, the Great Patriotic War remains not merely a historical event but a cornerstone of state identity. The victory of 1945 has long become an almost sacred component of the political system — a universal symbol of national unity, sacrifice and state power.

But while this memory was once used primarily to consolidate society, today it increasingly serves to justify a prolonged military conflict.

Putin stated that the heroism of the victorious generation “inspires” today’s Russian servicemen. The phrase became the key to the entire speech. The Kremlin is effectively asserting that the modern Russian army is the direct heir of the force that defeated Nazism. Consequently, any doubt about the current war is pushed outside the boundaries of acceptable political discourse.

At the same time, the parade itself reflected the duality of contemporary Russia. On one hand, it was a triumphant display of state resilience. On the other, it conveyed the atmosphere of a country trapped in a long war and growing isolation. Western media noted the reduced scale of the event, heightened security measures and the absence of the traditional large-scale display of heavy military hardware.

Even visually, the celebration increasingly resembled not a peacetime triumph but the ceremonial ritual of a state living through a prolonged confrontation.

The conclusion of the speech was predictably emotional. Putin ended with references to the “victorious people,” veterans and the Russian armed forces, once again repeating the formula: “Victory has always been and always will be ours.”

For the domestic audience, the phrase was meant to sound like a promise of historical inevitability. For the outside world, it was a signal that the Kremlin has no intention of altering its political course.

Eighty-one years after the end of the Second World War, Moscow is once again using the language of great war to explain the present. And the longer the conflict in Ukraine continues, the more tightly Russian power binds its future to the memory of 1945.