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Forgotten heroes: How African soldiers fought in the World War II

Forgotten heroes: How African soldiers fought in the World War II

Russia Today15-03-2025

It is no mere exaggeration to say that World War II left an indelible impression upon every continent on Earth. Land, air and naval battles, a war of intelligence, the mass movement of thousands of people, growing conscience, reevaluation of the very essence of existence – the lives of peoples of all races and colors would never be the same. The latter depicts the situation in Africa more than anything else.
From a Western point of view, in relation to WWII Africa lies somewhere on the fringes of history (bar the North African Campaign) because the mainstream war narrative focuses primarily on the European and Pacific theaters. Though such a perspective is understandable, it's quite misleading.
Over a million common black Africans took part in the war, in every capacity, being combatant or non-combatant. Africans were deeply involved in every major theater of the war, in Africa and in Europe; in the Middle East, in India, in Myanmar. Many amongst them paid the ultimate price. Alas, unlike their European brethren in service, their deeds have rarely been acknowledged.
When World War II started, Africa was (save for certain exceptions) a tapestry of colonies. A third of the continent's expanse (just over 10 million square kilometers) was governed by the British Empire (in the form of colonies, unions and dependent territories) thus placing it upon the side of the Allies.
Next came France with her almost 9 million square kilometers of land (encompassing West and Central Africa, and Madagascar). In 1940 over half of the metropolitan country was occupied by German forces whilst the remaining portion was under the Vichy collaborationist government. Technically this might render French Africa an ally of the Axis, yet most colonies proclaimed their allegiance to Charles de Gaulle's Free France government in exile.
In a similar manner, despite the occupation of Belgium, Belgian Congo remained steadfast in its loyalty to Belgian government in London. Angola and Mozambique abided by neutrality since the Salazar regime in Lisbon proclaimed its stance as non-alignment. And two more large African territories – Tripolitania (Libya) and Africa Orientale (Somalia, Eritrea and Ethiopia) – were under Italian occupation.
The colonial powers were faced with human shortages and found themselves in dire need of African manpower, so Africans were called to service. African soldiers performed a variety of tasks: they fought in major battles, they transported munitions and provisions to the battlefield and other locations, they helped to save the wounded (and more often than not under fire), they built bases, strongholds, airfields and roads and guarded them.
In West Africa, Britain began to expand its Royal West African Frontier Force (RWAFF) – from a small number of 18,000 men in 1939 it grew to 150,000 in 1945, producing 28 battalions and two divisions that saw service in East Africa and Far East.
For the first time a multitude of soldiers from Nigeria, the Gold Coast (Ghana), Sierra Leone and the Gambia were dispatched from their native lands to other parts of Africa and the world – and that brought an invaluable experience for them. They saw people of other skin-colors; they engaged as comrades or saw them as enemies through riflescopes; they found out that despite the visible differences their blood was just as red and that friends and foes died just the same.
In British East Africa, the King's African Rifles Regiment (KAR) served as the nucleus for the soon-to-be-formed African units and detachments. The KAR, akin to its western counterpart the RWAFF, created a vast array of forces during WWII: over 40 infantry battalions and a lot of special services' sections such as transport, signals and logistics. Officers were Europeans (seconded from the Royal Army), yet the men-of-ranks and NCOs were Africans and came from Tanganyika (Tanzania), Kenya, Uganda and Nyasaland (Malawi).
In 1940-1941, African soldiers played a very important role in the East Africa Campaign – the liberation of the Horn of Africa countries from Fascist Italian occupation. 22% of Allied soldiers (that is 19,000 of the 88,500) were from East and West Africa, battling shoulder to shoulder with their brethren in arms from the Union of South Africa, Britain, India, Australia and New Zealand.
It is worth noting that the Nigerian Brigade was instrumental in the capture of Mogadishu (the capital of present-day Somalia) in May 1941. The campaign resulted in a crucial victory. Italian forces were either vanquished or surrendered and the liberation of Somaliland, Ethiopia and Eritrea was a grievous blow to Mussolini's ego.
In December 1941, the Imperial Japanese Army invaded Burma (present-day Myanmar), which at the time was a British Colony. Every theater of war is hard but the South-East Asian one proved to be beyond extreme. Allied forces were met with unforgivable terrain, intolerant weather and the threat of tropical diseases. The British High command suggested that Africans who are accustomed to the tropical conditions would fight more effectively amidst the Indochina jungle than European troops.
All in all, British Empire forces were close to one million men in that campaign. Of that tally, 120,000 were Africans. Combat troops fought mainly in Western Burma, a strategically vital region that controlled major supply routes. Most of the Africans were infantry but many were in engineer units that built roads and bridges.
In some impassable areas where transport was of no use, Africans toiled in carrier groups, transporting up to 40kg of supplies on their heads along a 400-km jungle path. British expectations that Africans would do well in the climate of Burma proved correct. African troops had a lower rate of sickness than Indians and Europeans. Because of their health and stamina, as well as their combat effectiveness, black troops rendered crucial aid to the victory over the Japanese.
The contribution to the Allied war effort from the southern part of Africa deserves special mention. Two countries provided troops and servicemen for the cause – Southern Rhodesia (now Zimbabwe) and the Union of South Africa.
During WWII Rhodesia, per percentage of its population, provided more soldiers (black and white) than any other country in the empire, even Britain itself. White Rhodesians fought in the Royal Air Force in Europe and as LRDG scouts in North Africa.
Unlike South Africa, racial tensions in Southern Rhodesia were comparably scant and that is why there was almost no objections to form an African combat unit led by white officers. From black Rhodesians they raised a regiment of Rhodesian African Rifles, which took part in the Burma campaign, battling against the Japanese. Reflecting on their performance, a British officer said with a great deal of amazement: 'The conduct of the Africans, most of whom had never experienced enemy fire before, deserves a lasting tribute.'
In South Africa, however, there was another matter. The policy of apartheid was yet to be introduced officially, but it was de-facto in force. The state policy regarding military matters was strict: 'Slegs Wit Weermag!' ('White Army only!') Thus, no African could be enlisted as a combat soldier. But suddenly, the government faced problems.
There was no mandatory military service in the country and the Union Defense Force (as the South African Army was called then) was volunteer and thus relatively small: numbering only 5,000 men in 1939. Die Afrikaner Volk (white population of Dutch, French and German ancestry) was strongly opposed to war with Germany and few decided to join the UDF.
Facing severe shortages with auxiliary units, the government permitted the enlistment of the Coloreds (the official term for those of mixed lineage) and the Indians. They were inducted as drivers and engineers. Still, the UDF was in need of workhands so the Native Military Corps was raised from black South Africans. Initially they were tasked with labor and guard duties but later they were employed as drivers, dispatchers, medic and clerks.
South Africans fought with extreme bravery. They played a significant part in the East African campaign against Italians. They helped to liberate Madagascar from Vichy French Forces. South African units were engaged in ferocious battles in North African Campaign and in Italy. Black soldiers fought alongside their white counterparts. Some fell captive as POWs, whilst others became KIAs. Of 330,000 South Africans who saw service in WWII, 77,000 were black.
One must not focus the story on British subjects only. France had a corps of colonial infantry since the Second Empire (the mid-XIX century). Although men-of-ranks came from all the corners of French Africa, they adopted the common name for the force - Senegalese Tirailleurs(Senegalese Riflemen).
When WWII broke out, some Tirailleurs' regiments were stationed in mainland France and fought the Wehrmacht onslaught – and that actually drove Germans mad, as 'white Aryans' were compelled to fight the black race, which in the Third Reich was considered as untermenschen (subhumans). German soldiers often murdered captured Senegalese – as a grim lesson to others. Interestingly, the German attitude towards African POWs from British colonies was far more lenient – they considered English-speaking black soldiers as nothing but slaves who knew their place and were thus deemed harmless.
After France's fall, Senegalese Tirailleurs continued to fight on other fronts. General Jacques Leclerc with 10,000 soldiers in Chad marched through the desert to assail Italian positions in southern Libya and went further north to meet up with Allied forces in Tripoli. Tirailleurs' major campaign was the liberation of France with the French 1st Army. They conquered Elba and from there landed in southern France, fighting their way northward to Alsace.
When the Germans took Belgium, its colonial authorities joined the Allies, and naturally, colonial troops, Force Publique, were on that side too. They fought against the Italians in Ethiopia, safeguarded Nigeria from possible Axis invasion and served in Egypt as the strategic reserve.
When the war was over the veterans were demobilized. White soldiers came home in a blaze of glory decorated with medals and were met with triumph. For Africans it was another matter. If the British bothered to give medals to Africans (albeit fewer than to their white counterparts) and to honor their heroism in the form of victory celebrations (as in the 1946 Victory Parade in London), the French and Belgians just let their soldats-noirs go with meagre pension and without any words of comfort.
But the war years had a profound effect on African veterans. First, service in the army meant a completely new outlook on life. Not only was their general horizon widely extended, but, in many cases, they acquired considerable technical and mechanical skills, and specialized occupations. They were now familiar with a world of machines and knew how to operate them. They had learned trades which they hoped would enable them to earn a better living once they returned home.
Unfortunately, upon their return, many of them found themselves out of work, and their lives still controlled by Europeans. There was a general feeling of disillusionment, for they believed that colonial powers owed them a great deal for the sacrifice they had made. From this sprang a sense of being let down and the first seeds of dissent were sown.
Africans started to reassess their racial opinions. Before the war Europeans were considered as almost divine beings. During the war Africans had to shoot these superhumans in German and Italian uniforms and found out they were nothing but mortals with muscle, blood and bones. Thus, the myth of European invulnerability was shattered.
Political awareness also awakened. Many Africans learned to read and write while in the ranks and started to read newspapers, for they knew firsthand that affairs in distant lands could affect their own lives. They started to tell their observations to illiterate friends and neighbors. In a hushed voice questions were asked: 'If it was wrong for the Germans to rule the French, then why is it okay for Europeans to rule Africans? Are we so bad and dumb to rule our own country as whites say – or is the reason entirely different?'
African troops stationed in India and Ceylon had a chance to look around, to talk with people and to know about the Indian independence movement. As the tide of Asian nationalism was expanding and gaining success, the stories of it were inspiring to African nationalists. The successes that Asia experienced in gaining independence helped Africans gain confidence in yearning for their freedom.
Furthermore, Africans met their brethren: West Africans met East Africans; people from one colony met people from another colony; people from different tribes within a colony met each other. This brought new experiences and ultimately promoted the pan-Africanism movement.
WWII, as bloody and destructive as it was, was instrumental in helping Africans to attain their freedom and independence. The realm of politics had shifted worldwide when the war was over. Perspectives on colonialism were transforming on the global stage, and these fresh views were not in favor of European colonial countries. The struggle for African liberty and independence was long and tiring, yet Africa triumphed.

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Kiev sends the living to die, but won't accept its dead
Kiev sends the living to die, but won't accept its dead

Russia Today

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  • Russia Today

Kiev sends the living to die, but won't accept its dead

It is sad, but peace remains elusive in the war between, on one side, Ukraine and – through Ukraine – the West and, on the other, Russia. Recently, the US has at least admitted that Moscow has plausible and important interests at stake and that the West has been using Ukraine to fight a proxy war against Russia. While very late and still incomplete, such truthfulness could help fashion the kind of realistic compromise needed to end this war. Yet Washington's European vassals have chosen this moment to discover their usually terminally atrophied capacity for talking back to the US: They clearly want the war to continue, even though that means Ukraine – about which they pretend to care – will lose even more people and territory. Against this backdrop, it was no wonder that the latest round of the renewed Istanbul talks between Russia and Ukraine produced no breakthrough, little progress, and only very modest concrete results. Also, on the eve of the talks, the Zelensky regime launched terror attacks on civilian trains in western Russia and a series of sneak drone strikes throughout the country that – in the most generous reading – involved the war crime of perfidy: That, obviously, did not help find a way forward either. Indeed, by now it is clear that Kiev's sneak drone attacks in particular have only further undermined the Zelensky regime's already fragile standing in Washington: US President Donald Trump has been explicit that he accepts Russia's right to massively retaliate, or, in the original Trumpese, 'bomb the hell' out of Ukraine. Luckily for Ukraine, Moscow is generally more restrained than America would be in a similar situation, and it should stay so. Yet the fact remains, Kiev's sneak drones have made no substantial military difference in its favor, but they have done significant political damage – to Kiev, that is. Regarding the Istanbul talks, it is likely that these assaults were meant to torpedo them. Yet Moscow did not fall for that rather transparent play. Its delegation turned up; so the Ukrainian one had to do the same. In addition, Russia ended this round of the negotiations with several good-will gestures, including an agreement to exchange POWs who are particularly young or in bad health and the offer to hand over the frozen (a common practice in war) bodies of 6,000 fallen Ukrainians. Both initiatives have run into trouble. To be precise, both are being impeded by the Ukrainian leadership. The POW swap has been delayed, and Ukrainian officials have failed to show up at the border to receive the first 1,212 of their deceased soldiers. Regarding both, Kiev has blamed Russia. Yet, remarkably, the Ukrainian statements, in reality, prove that it is indeed Kiev that is – at the very least – slowing these processes down. For what Ukrainian officials are really accusing Russia of is moving faster. The reasons for this obstructionism are unclear. The Ukrainian authorities have not shared them with the public. But there are some plausible guesses. One very likely reason why Kiev is reluctant to accept the 6,000 bodies of its own fallen soldiers is that the 'preponderant majority' of them, according to a Ukrainian member of parliament, were killed specifically during Ukraine's insane and predictably catastrophic incursion into Russia's Kursk region. Started on August 6 of last year, the operation was initially hyped by Ukrainian propagandists and their accomplices and useful idiots in the West. For the clear-eyed, it was obvious from the beginning that this was a mass kamikaze mission, wasting Ukrainian lives for no military or political advantage. Was the Zelensky regime trying to create a territorial 'bargaining chip'? Or once more 'shift the narrative,' as if wars are won by rewriting a movie script? 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From psychiatric ward to Nobel prize: How a Jewish outcast became a great Russian poet
From psychiatric ward to Nobel prize: How a Jewish outcast became a great Russian poet

Russia Today

time29-05-2025

  • Russia Today

From psychiatric ward to Nobel prize: How a Jewish outcast became a great Russian poet

A Russian Jew who found spiritual kinship in Christianity and made it a tradition to write a Christmas poem each year. A man with an imperial imagination, shaped by the worldview of ancient Rome. Someone who defended the conquistadors and denounced Ukrainian independence. All of this – and more – describes Joseph Brodsky. Few writers achieve the status of a classic while still alive. Brodsky, deeply grounded in literary tradition and animated by a consciousness forged in antiquity, didn't just challenge conventions – he shattered them. Decades later, some of his choices still provoke. In the month he would have turned 85, RT revisits the life and legacy of Joseph Brodsky. They say childhood shapes who we are – and in Joseph Brodsky's case, that couldn't be more true. Within his first two years of life, he witnessed events that would leave an indelible mark on his future. Brodsky was born into a Jewish family in Leningrad (now St. Petersburg) on May 24, 1940. His father, a naval officer, was sent to the front when Nazi Germany launched Operation Barbarosa. During the brutal winter of 1941–1942, young Joseph endured the siege of Leningrad and was later evacuated with his mother to the city of Cherepovets. It was there that a Russian nanny quietly baptized him. After the war, the family was reunited in Leningrad. Brodsky would later recall those early years: 'My father wore his naval uniform for about two more years. He was an officer in charge of the photo lab at the Naval Museum, located in the most beautiful building in the entire city. And thus, in the whole empire. It was the former stock exchange – a structure far more Greek than any Parthenon.' This sense of imperial grandeur – part reverence, part irony – would stay with Brodsky for life. His youthful ambitions didn't yield immediate success. He failed to get into naval school, and after finishing eighth grade, took a job at a factory. Over the next few years, he worked as a stoker, a photographer, and even joined geological expeditions to the Russian Far East. Throughout it all, he pursued a rigorous self-education. Despite never receiving a formal literary degree, Brodsky emerged as a strikingly erudite voice. By the early 1960s, in his early twenties, he was reading poetry publicly in Leningrad. It was there that he met some of the era's most important poets – including Anna Akhmatova. A famous story survives from their first meeting. The aging Akhmatova asked the young Brodsky what a poet should do once they've mastered all the rhymes and rhythms of the language. Without hesitation, he answered, 'But there remains the grandeur of vision.' Brodsky was just 23 when Soviet reality collided with his rising career and brought it to an abrupt halt. In 1963, Soviet leader Nikita Khrushchev launched a public campaign to root out 'layabouts, moral degenerates, and whiners' who, in his words, wrote in 'the bird language of idlers and dropouts.' In the eyes of the government, poets fit squarely into that category. That November, the newspaper Vecherniy Leningrad published a hit piece titled 'The Near-Literary Drone,' targeting Brodsky by name. The poems cited were falsely attributed to him, and the article was riddled with fabrications – but none of that stopped the authorities. A few months later, Brodsky was arrested and charged with 'social parasitism.' By then, he had already earned recognition in literary circles. His poems had appeared in respected magazines, and he was receiving commissions to translate poetry. But none of this mattered to the court, which refused to acknowledge him as a legitimate writer. During the trial, a now-legendary exchange unfolded between Brodsky and the judge: Judge: And what is your profession, in general?Brodsky: Poet. Poet and And who said you're a poet? Who enrolled you in the ranks of poets?Brodsky: No one. Who enrolled me in the ranks of the human race?Judge: Did you study for this?Brodsky: Study for what?Judge: To become a poet. Did you attend a university where people are trained – where they're taught...?Brodsky: I didn't think it was a matter of Then what is it a matter of?Brodsky: I believe it comes from God. He was first sent for compulsory psychiatric evaluation, then sentenced to five years of hard labor – the maximum term – for doing what the state deemed 'nothing.' In practice, this meant exile to the Arkhangelsk region, deep in Russia's far north. Brodsky worked on a collective farm, spending his free time reading, translating, and teaching himself English. His sentence was eventually cut short, thanks to the intervention of prominent cultural figures, including composer Dmitri Shostakovich, poet Korney Chukovsky, writer Konstantin Paustovsky, and even French philosopher Jean-Paul Sartre. After returning from exile in 1965, Brodsky was granted formal membership in a 'professional group' within the Writers' Union – a bureaucratic maneuver that shielded him from future charges of parasitism. He worked prolifically; his poetry was widely published abroad, and he built relationships with scholars, editors, and journalists. Still, in the Soviet Union, only his children's verses saw print. He remained fundamentally out of step with the system. In May 1972, he was summoned to the Ministry of Internal Affairs and given a choice: emigrate immediately or face 'difficult days' ahead. Recalling his interrogations and forced hospitalization, Brodsky chose exile. Obtaining an exit visa from the USSR usually took months. Brodsky's was ready in just 12 days. In June 1972, he left the country – this time, for good. When Joseph Brodsky left the Soviet Union, he left behind nearly everything – his parents, his friends, the woman he loved, and his son. 'It is very painful for me to leave Russia,' he wrote in a candid letter to Soviet General Secretary Leonid Brezhnev. 'I was born, grew up, and lived my life here, and everything I have, I owe to this country.'The Soviet authorities never allowed him to return. He would never see his parents again, nor attend their funerals. Upon arriving in Vienna, Brodsky was met by Karl Proffer, an American publisher and Slavist who offered him a post as a 'visiting poet' at the University of Michigan. It was a surreal twist of fate: Brodsky had only completed eight years of formal schooling, yet he would go on to teach Russian literature, poetry, and comparative literature at some of the most prestigious universities in the United States and the United Kingdom for the next 24 years. In truth, Brodsky didn't really know how to teach – at least not in any conventional academic sense. But he spoke to students about what mattered most to him: poetry. After winning the Nobel Prize in Literature in 1987, a student once asked why he still taught when he clearly no longer needed to. His answer was simple: 'I just want you to love what I love.' Still, to imagine Brodsky as a remote, ivory-tower intellectual would be misleading. He was not just a man of letters – he was also a man of appetite and mischief. His friend, the poet and writer Glyn Maxwell, recalled Brodsky and his circle as loud, unfiltered, and often crude: 'They behaved like alpha males. Sometimes it was even annoying, but that was the male culture of the time.' They drank heavily, told off-color jokes, and filled rooms with their presence. But when it came to poetry, Brodsky was exacting and unwavering. After becoming an American citizen, he turned his focus toward essay writing, translating Russian poetry into English, and even composing poems in English himself. He revered the English language and deeply loved its poetic tradition, though he recognized that as a non-native speaker, he would always be writing from the outside in. His biographer, Valentina Polukhina, observed that for all his success abroad, Brodsky remained, at heart, a Russian poet. Poetry, for him, was the highest form of linguistic expression, and Russian was the language in which his soul most fluently spoke. 'Sometimes I feel that for Brodsky, the choice of the Russian language was conscious,' she reflected. Poet Bella Akhmadulina echoed this sentiment. She described how Brodsky didn't merely use the Russian language – he nourished it from within: 'He didn't need to hear how people around him spoke... Cut off from everyday conversation, he himself became fertile ground for the Russian language.' Brodsky's complexity often revealed itself in quiet, personal rituals. 'I had this idea, back when I was 24 or 25, to write a poem every Christmas,' he once said. And he kept that promise – for the rest of his life. In fact, he began even earlier. At 22, he wrote A Christmas Romance, and from then on, continued to write Christmas poems every year until his forced emigration in 1972. After a long break, he returned to the tradition in 1987 and maintained it annually until his death in 1996. Though not affiliated with any particular denomination, Brodsky was deeply drawn to Christianity. He read the Bible attentively and spoke of Jesus Christ with profound reverence. 'After all, what is Christmas? The birthday of God who became Man. It's as natural for a person to celebrate it as their own birthday... It's the oldest birthday celebrated in our world.' His spiritual reflections extended beyond religious ritual. In a 1972 letter to The New York Times, Brodsky challenged the utopian promises often made in Soviet political discourse: 'In my opinion, there is something offensive to the human soul about preaching Paradise on Earth,' he wrote. 'Life the way it really is – is a battle not between Bad and Good, but between Bad and Worse. And today humanity's choice lies not between Good and Evil, but rather between Evil and Worse. Today humanity's task comes down to remaining good in the Kingdom of Evil, and not becoming an agent of Evil.' Such sentiments may seem stark, but they were consistent with his moral seriousness and existential clarity. Despite being born into a Jewish family, Brodsky repeatedly described himself as a Russian poet, and always saw Russia as inseparable from the Christian cultural world. Even in exile, he refused to speak ill of his homeland. 'I did not leave Russia of my own free will... No matter under what circumstances you leave it, home does not cease to be home. No matter how you lived there – well or poorly. And I simply cannot understand why some people expect, and others even demand, that I smear its gates with tar. Russia is my home; I lived there all my life, and for everything I have in my soul I am indebted to Russia and its people. And – this is the main thing – indebted to its language.' Politically speaking, Brodsky was more of a 'Westerner' than a 'Slavophile,' at least in the traditional Russian sense. But he was unmistakably a Russian Westerner. Living in the West after his exile, he often encountered anti-Russian sentiment and cultural disdain. And yet, again and again, he chose to defend the Russian people—not out of nationalism, but from a sense of fairness. As the poet and scholar Lev Losev put it: 'Just like the 'Slavophile' Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn, 'Westerner' Joseph Brodsky stood ready to defend Russia – its people and its culture – against unfounded accusations of inherent aggressiveness, servile psychology, and national masochism.' Joseph Brodsky was, unmistakably, a poet of the Empire. Born in Leningrad – once imperial St. Petersburg – he could never imagine himself, or the world around him, outside the gravitational pull of imperial culture, history, and aesthetics. Raised among the colonnades and neoclassical façades of Russia's most imperial city, Brodsky found in ancient Rome the ultimate model of grandeur. In his poem Letters to a Roman Friend, he writes: 'If you were destined to be born in the Empire,it's best to find some province by the from Caesar and the blizzard, in your flattery, no rushing, constant telling me the governors are crooks?But murderers are even less endearing.' The lines recall Ovid's Letters from Pontus, written during exile by the Black Sea. For Brodsky, his own symbolic 'imperial space' was Crimea – a peninsula he always considered Russian and which inspired some of his most evocative poetry. There he found his cherished trinity: antiquity, the sea, and empire. Brodsky's imperial sensibility revealed itself in more than just geography. His biographer, Vladimir Bondarenko, remarked that the poet could easily be mistaken for a staunch conservative – a man with a worldview shaped by colonial assumptions. A striking example can be found in his 1975 poem To Yevgeny, written after a visit to Mexico. Contemplating the ruins of Aztec civilization, Brodsky reflects: 'What would they tell us, if they could speak?Nothing. At best, of victoriesover neighboring tribes, of shatteredskulls. Of human bloodthat, spilled into a bowl for the Sun god,strengthens the latter's muscle.' And further: 'Even syphilis or the jawsof Cortés' unicorns are preferable to such sacrifice;If crows must feast on your brows,Let the killer be a killer, not an without the Spaniards, they'd hardly have learnedwhat really happened.' Brodsky never shied away from uncomfortable truths—or from voicing them bluntly. His worldview was neither romantic nor utopian. He rejected simplistic dichotomies of good versus evil. For him, paradise on earth was a dangerous illusion; reality was a constant struggle between 'bad' and 'worse.' Among his most controversial works is On Ukraine's Independence, a poem brimming with fury and sarcasm. In Brodsky's eyes, the move to break historical ties with Russia was a rejection not just of political union, but of shared culture, language, and literary heritage. In a caustic farewell, he wrote: 'Go away in your zhupans, your uniforms,To all four points of the compass, to destinations composed of four-letter wordsAnd let the Krauts and Pollacks in your hutsPut you on all fours, you scoundrels.' He closed the poem with a grim vision of cultural amnesia: 'God rest ye, eagles and Cossacks, hetmans and guards,Just know this – when it's time to be dragged into the graveyards,You'll wheeze, clawing the edge of your mattress,Alexander's lines, not the lies of Taras.' For Brodsky, Ukraine's departure from the Russian cultural orbit was not simply political; it was a loss of literary and civilizational continuity. He believed that when the time came to confront death, it would not be the folk verse of Shevchenko people would recall, but the classical cadence of Pushkin. As the post-Soviet world fractured, and vast parts of the 'Russian world' renounced their imperial inheritance, Brodsky watched with a mixture of dismay and resignation. In the 1990s and early 2000s, many within Russia's liberal intelligentsia held up Brodsky as a dissident icon – the embodiment of intellectual resistance to authority. And indeed, traces of dissent run through his work in subtle and powerful ways. But as his legacy has come under closer scrutiny, a more complex portrait emerges: that of a Russian poet with a profoundly imperial imagination and a strong, unapologetic view of Russia's role in history. He was, above all, a defender of Russian language and culture – often in defiance of popular sentiment in the West or among émigrés. After the start of the war in Ukraine, some opposition figures who fled Russia called for Brodsky to be 'canceled,' citing his imperially inflected worldview and what they described as the cultural colonialism embedded in his poetry. But Brodsky cannot be canceled. He remains what he always was: a witness to his time, a singer of antiquity, a thinker of vast moral scale, and – despite exile – a quintessentially Russian poet.

Putin to visit China for WWII victory in Asia celebrations
Putin to visit China for WWII victory in Asia celebrations

Russia Today

time27-05-2025

  • Russia Today

Putin to visit China for WWII victory in Asia celebrations

Russian President Vladimir Putin will visit China to attend events marking the 80th anniversary of its victory over Imperial Japan in World War II, Security Council Secretary Sergey Shoigu has said. Shoigu made the announcement on Tuesday during talks in Moscow with Chen Wenqing, the head of the Chinese Central Political and Legal Affairs Commission. Chen is visiting Russia for the 13th International Meeting of High Representatives for Security Issues, a three-day forum running through May 29, which has drawn delegations from more than 100 countries. 'The Russian president will pay a return visit to China in September…' Shoigu said. China officially commemorates the defeat of Imperial Japan each year on September 3, marking Tokyo's surrender in 1945 and the end of World War II in Asia. Shoigu's announcement follows Chinese President Xi Jinping's state visit to Moscow earlier this month, where he joined other world leaders for the May 9th Victory Day celebrations marking the Soviet Union's defeat of Nazi Germany. During the talks with his Chinese counterpart, Putin emphasized that both Russia and China remain committed to preserving historical truth and remembering the wartime sacrifices of their nations. 'The Soviet Union gave 27 million lives, laid them on the altar of the Fatherland and on the altar of Victory. And 37 million lives were lost in China's war for its freedom and independence. Under the leadership of the Communist Party, this victory was achieved,' Putin said, stressiing the sacrifices 'should never be forgotten.' The two leaders held wide-ranging discussions and signed multiple agreements aimed at expanding bilateral cooperation. The sides also issued a joint declaration on global strategic stability. Chinese Foreign Ministry described Xi's visit to Moscow as 'a complete success.'

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