I know that I haven't written at all since I came here, but now I may make up for it.
Yesterday was May 9, otherwise known as Victory Day.
I watched, as requested the Victory Day Parade from Red Square (Putin looking like he lost the battle with the sunbed, Medvedev not impressed by P's permatan). It struck me how much the Second World War is part of the European psyche in a way that it's not in Australia. The war has many different meanings in Australia: migration, displaced persons, Holocaust and camp survivors, these stories are really individual, family or diasphoric ones. The overarching narrative of the soldier seems more about fighting in the First World War, but then that could just be my interpretation of it, especially given my background and how the war impacted that. Again, that's a European connection. Australians don't usually celebrate the end of the war, both in Europe and the Pacific, there's no parade like there is on ANZAC day.
It's therefore always striking to see how present the war remains in the psyche of Europeans. Even though there's not parade like in Moscow, the Germans remember it as the day of liberation. But the military parades are obviously quite moving for an Australian who has nothing of this at home: old veterans on the sidelines, young people and families in the crowds, politicians observing from above and then masses, masses and m asses of troops, missiles and tanks making their way through Moscow. It's immense, powerful and a little eerie.
In Moscow the sun was shining and the blue sky in contrast to the bright colours of St. Basil's cathedral in the Kremlin. It coudln't have been more different in Ulaanbaatar, the only similarity being that the trees were green.
It was snowing, wet and windy, brilliant weather to be watching a parade five time zones away.
Here are some pictures from the d
ay (of the weather) from the living room:
Yesterday was May 9, otherwise known as Victory Day.
I watched, as requested the Victory Day Parade from Red Square (Putin looking like he lost the battle with the sunbed, Medvedev not impressed by P's permatan). It struck me how much the Second World War is part of the European psyche in a way that it's not in Australia. The war has many different meanings in Australia: migration, displaced persons, Holocaust and camp survivors, these stories are really individual, family or diasphoric ones. The overarching narrative of the soldier seems more about fighting in the First World War, but then that could just be my interpretation of it, especially given my background and how the war impacted that. Again, that's a European connection. Australians don't usually celebrate the end of the war, both in Europe and the Pacific, there's no parade like there is on ANZAC day.
It's therefore always striking to see how present the war remains in the psyche of Europeans. Even though there's not parade like in Moscow, the Germans remember it as the day of liberation. But the military parades are obviously quite moving for an Australian who has nothing of this at home: old veterans on the sidelines, young people and families in the crowds, politicians observing from above and then masses, masses and m asses of troops, missiles and tanks making their way through Moscow. It's immense, powerful and a little eerie.
In Moscow the sun was shining and the blue sky in contrast to the bright colours of St. Basil's cathedral in the Kremlin. It coudln't have been more different in Ulaanbaatar, the only similarity being that the trees were green.
It was snowing, wet and windy, brilliant weather to be watching a parade five time zones away.
Here are some pictures from the d
ay (of the weather) from the living room:
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