“Remember War”

NEW – January 16, 2023

In Kronstadt stands a huge cathedral – in gold and marble, the last cathedral of the Russian Empire, where the names of ships and crews who died in the German War are inscribed on the walls. In front of the church is a magnificent monument to Admiral Makarov. Mighty, bearded, like a sea god, he stands on a rock, surrounded by anchors, and on a pedestal — his famous saying “Remember war”.

Tsar Nikolay did not “remember war”. There were parades on the Champ de Mars, cavalry guards pranced, celebrations and fireworks multiplied. But when the war broke out, the fireworks went out. Japanese battleships defeated the slow-moving Russian squadron of Vice Admiral Rozhdestvensky, who does not know the tactics of modern naval combat, near Tsushima.

Admiral Makarov on the battleship Petropavlovsk was killed near Port Arthur. And with him died the great Russian artist Vereshchagin, who served in the ranks of the Russian army in Central Asia, the Balkans and the Far East. “Remember war” — Makarov’s voice sounded from the depths of the ocean.

Forgetting war, Nikolay lost the Empire and died a terrible death in the basement of the Ipatiyev house.

Stalin “remembered war”. He was preparing for the inevitable battle against fascism. From five-year plan to five-year plan, he built a mighty industry, created an army, built new weapons, prepared reserve areas in the Urals and Siberia, laying concrete slabs on which in 1941 machines from factories in Belarus and Ukraine were transferred and placed. He crushed the opposition so that it wouldn’t stab a warring country in the back. He became the creator of the ideology of war and victory. He instructed composers to write military songs and marches. Film directors had to make war films. He made Pushkin the most famous Soviet poet.

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Stalin “remembered war” and therefore won.

The Russian government [of the Yeltsin time – SZ] did not “remember war”. It loved parades, tank biathlons, anniversaries, celebrations too much. And the army that Russia possessed was not prepared for war, too small and poorly trained.

Industry, having gone through the devastating Gaidar reforms, was not ready to equip the army with modern weapons. The army did not have combat-ready officers.

The huge amount of money that the poor people and the military industry needed so badly sailed abroad and sank there forever.

The oligarchs, revered as the country’s elite, have sworn allegiance to the enemy, donating billions to equip the hostile army. The liberal intelligentsia, which drove the patriots out of education, culture, and the information sphere, this caustic intelligentsia that despises Russia, has disappeared abroad and lectures Russia from there.

The ideology of pacifism, the adoration of the West, and the contempt for their own history destroyed the deep defence consciousness that lived in the people. And now, belatedly, through tears and blood, we begin to “remember war”.

To the Pskov-Pechersk elder Ioann Krestyankin, Jesus appeared and said: “Don’t blame anyone. Pray. Be very careful about everything at all times.”

Do not blame, do not fall into hysteria, do not make panicked screams of defeat right and left. But fight and work hard, grit your teeth, do everything in your power to win Victory, bringing it closer with a machine gun, a lathe and a prayer.

Self-control, caution, and vigilance. So that an inaccurate order doesn’t lead to unnecessary casualties. So that a mocking word does not undermine the General’s will and spirit. So that the laughing parrots of show business do not offend the tears of soldiers’ burials.

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The country comes out of unconsciousness and begins to “remember war”. In the war that Russia is waging today with the merciless and powerful West, not only weapons systems, not only soldiers and generals, not only military strategies and defence technologies are fighting. Images and meanings fight in this war. It is necessary to recreate the image of Russia-victorious and beautiful, dreaming of social and divine justice. A country whose image is invisibly present in the soul of every person in Russia. An image that flashes up in moments of extreme danger and makes the average person a hero, and the ruler a light-bearing winner.

Let the artist come to war and, like Vereshchagin, paint the Russian soldier in all his formidable luminous majesty. Let musicians and composers come to war, create their own songs and symphonies, like Shostakovich and Lebedev-Kumach. Let writers and poets go down to the trench, write poems and stories amid the whistling of rocket shells, as Sholokhov and Simonov did.

The image of a soldier, the image of an army, the image of a leader – this is a weapon no less powerful than the frigate “Admiral Gorshkov”, equipped with “Tsirkon”. It is necessary to formulate the meanings that encourage the Russian people to leave their home threshold and go to war, workers on tank conveyors – to work day and night in three or four shifts, volunteers – to collect crumbs of people’s money and send copters and bulletproof vests to the front in the trenches. Meanings that encourage Yuliya Chicherina to sing her delightful victory songs in the Donetsk trenches, and Gennady Zhivotov, almost the only current artist, to draw his own military graphics. These meanings are contained in the Creed of the Russian Dream – the dream of an immortal, heavenly, divinely just Russia.

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These meanings are proclaimed by the Religion of Justice, which in Donbass protects the inhabitants of Donetsk and Lugansk from trampling and extermination. It brings together a ruthlessly dissected people. It returns shamelessly taken territories to Russia. It is fighting a dark, eternal, sullen force that is moving from the European West to the Russian East, a force that wants to turn Russia into a huge desert between three oceans, sprinkle it with salt so that nothing will ever grow here. Pour concrete and build a new universal Las Vegas on this concrete, where Satanic casinos sparkle with lights, and the peoples of the world who come to this casino inevitably lose.


Aleksandr Prokhanov

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