Victory Day in Moscow, 2005, by BenBramberger
From MemoryArchive
Who: Ben Bamberger What: Victory Day Where: Moscow When: May 9, 2005
Moscow is also a great place for a party, and 60th anniversary of Victory Day offered just the opportunity for everyone to be out on the streets having a great time. Perhaps it’s because 27 million Russians perished in the defeat of Nazi Germany or the fact that World War II was the defining moment for Russia in the 20th century- I don’t know. Regardless, I’ve never seen Moscow so alive. To me, it was just another good excuse to “experience Russian culture” by drinking copious amounts of alcohol and wandering the streets aimlessly. C’est la vie.
The preparations for Victory Day began months in advance although a few weeks before the actual celebrations one could easily see the stepped up security and new structures designed to make this Victory Day exceptional. I know I was stopped at least once by police and had to show my documents because of security concerns dealing with Victory Day, although at that point the process had become rather perfunctory. The conversation went something like this:
Policeman: “Documents, please.” (in gruff, intimidating voice) Me: “Here they are…” Policeman: *Funny look that occurs when he realizes he has picked up an American* Me: “yes I’m an American, yes I’m studying at Moscow State University, yes I’m poor as s**t so don’t try to levy a fine on me or I’ll call my damn embassy” (that last part usually occurs in my head). Police: On your way!
Some may ask why anyone would enjoy living in a city where these exchanges are somewhat normal. In my personal opinion it just gives life more zest. I mean, knowing any day the police could theoretically throw you in jail for no reason keeps you feeling alive. At the very least, it forced me to drink less so when I did get stopped I would actually be lucid. It has benefits. I digress.
The day started out by watching the parade on TV in the lounge. Unfortunately Red Square was closed, as pretty much every major world leader was there to take part in the celebrations. It was a pity too, seeing a military parade through Red Square has always been a dream of mine. The parade was quite good with lots of military hardware and veterans riding around in World War II equipment. The best part of the parade occurred when the Russian fighter jets flew over Red Square and I could hear their noise all the way in Southern Moscow at the University. That was sweet, to put it in the completely unsophisticated language of the masses. I digress.
Later in the afternoon, my friends and I decided to walk around town. I don’t quite remember where we started, but we eventually ended up on the ring that surrounds Moscow’s downtown. At Tverskaya Ulitsa (main street in Moscow) we valiantly attempted to get closer to Red Square, although the police formed an intimidating barrier. In short, we failed, as did everyone else. Usually I go on the theory that messing with Russians (or Eastern Europeans) is a bad idea in general. When they’re in groups and some have automatic weapons, well then it’s an insanely stupid and suicidal idea. We passed on the opportunity to be beaten into the ground.
We gave up and made our way to Victory Park, deciding to walk the whole way. Moscow is a big city, but for a few young, strapping young lads, the long walk was enjoyable and relaxing (note, the above word “strapping” may or may not be true). Everyone was happy; it was just such as nice day. There’s no way to explain the mood that day, but it was just as if everyone was calm and had dropped their animosities towards each other. Along the way we bought a few beers and drank them, although they were warm and not so tasty. I let mine on the street as is customary in Moscow (if you throw your bottles away it’s a dead giveaway you’re a foreigner). We ended up in a grocery store near Victory Park and decided to buy more beer. This time it was cold and German. I’m convinced that German beer is the drink of the gods. I also bought pretzels. This may seem rather mundane, but I’m a Pennsylvania Dutch boy at heart and pretzels are a staple of my diet. They’re also rare in Moscow and finding them in this random grocery store was a great treat. German beer and pretzels, it’s a heavenly combination. I digress.
We walked out on the street and start drinking beer and eating pretzels. We were all so happy; everyone was really. The atmosphere on the street was just so tranquil. Oddly, I only have good memories of Moscow. And this day is definitely a highlight.
Unfortunately something had to break the “perfectness” that was Victory Day and that something was, as usual, the police. On this day, drinking was strictly forbidden so no drunks would cause problems for the huge crowds that were expected, and ultimately arrived. I was heartbroken, angry, and upset. It was Moscow, not puritanical America! But what the Moscow police say, you should probably do so when confronted by a police officer and told to throw away my beer I quickly chugged as much as possible and then tossed the remaining few ounces in the garbage (this act hurt me very much, German beer should never be thrown away or chugged). I resorted to eating pretzels and watching the police round up a rather drunk man, who didn’t go out without a fight. Security was tight, but in the end this wasn’t a bad thing.
We rounded up some more friends and headed in to Victory Park. I later got a text message from a Russian friend of mine telling me that there was over 1.5 million people in this park, and that I was crazy to enter it. I think she was right, but I didn’t care. I’m young and therefore invincible. Or something like that. There were actually so many people in the park that while entering, we thought something had gone wrong because there was that many people exiting. There were fears of a terrorist attack that day, but I must say the police and security forces did an exceptional job and the day went without incident.
We spent a few hours in the park waiting for the fireworks. There was relatively little entertainment but lots of good food so I was content. The Russians know how to make kebabs (shaslik) and I ate until my stomach was happy. We also took a tour around the remnants of World War II hardware (tanks, planes, etc) that they have lying in one section of the park. I now have pictures of some of the coolest military devices known to man. These pictures make me miss Moscow. I digress.
The night dragged on, and eventually the fireworks arrived, but not before the temperature dropped significantly. I shivered as I saw the amazing display of fireworks. Amazing being ten minutes, boring, and amateurish. I think this is just a bit of cultural shock being an American, where my tiny hometown offers at least a half-hour intense fireworks display. I mean it was the celebration of a victory whose costs are incalculable. The Russians are engineering geniuses, they’ve been sending their astronauts into space in tin cans for years and have had very few problems, yet they could only come up with ten minutes of mediocre fireworks? Strange. My Turkish friend told me though that when he was in America he got bored because American fireworks last so long. I guess I just didn’t get it.
The end of the fireworks spelled the escape from Victory Park. 1.5 million people trying to get through a few tiny gates meant pure and utter chaos. I was scared. The makings for a riot were blaringly evident, although I was now thankful that the no alcohol policy was enforced (but still upset at being forced to waste good German beer). Eventually I was pushed out of the gates and onto the street where the Russian special police forces had set up a human chain barrier to funnel everyone in an orderly manner. This idea, in theory, was good. But some young Russians thought that they had to show authority who’s who and pushed the group into the police. At first the police held strong, these guys are tough, but eventually the masses overwhelmed them. They also weren’t very nice, for obvious reasons, and unfortunately in one of the surges I somehow got pushed right into the angriest looking Russian I’ve ever seen. Nothing good ever comes from a pissed off Russian security officer, and I expected the worst. Instead, he just pushed me (and everyone behind me) back about ten feet. Again, I was scared.
Our group of six got broken up into two groups of three, but miraculously about a half a mile away from Victory Park we found each other. I have no idea how, in the complete chaos of 1.5 million people we happened upon each other, but we did. I caught a ride home with a Russian in our group, said goodbye to my French friend who was leaving for France the next day (go figure), and walked back to the University to the beautiful main building at Moscow State University where I lived. Home sweet home.
In retrospect, Victory Day was just another awesome memory from Moscow. But I guess more than anything, it showed me another side to Russian culture, profound respect of the past. The hammer and sickle, which was all over the city, no longer seemed like the intimidating force that I was taught to hate. More than anything, it felt protective, even for an American. All of the veterans were in the old uniforms, bedecked with military medals and ribbons. These men were congratulated for their sacrifices; the door was held open for them, people shook their hands, they got a seat on the packed metro and for one day they returned to greatness they once knew, only to wake up the next day most likely in poverty. One cannot turn back history, but I couldn’t help but thinking that part of my freedom was paid for with their sacrifices.
I digress.
