On May 8, I have been sad for almost 60 years. It used to happen on May 9, because like most of the subjects of the communist empire, I was a prisoner of Soviet propaganda and called the Soviet-Nazi period of World War II the Great Patriotic War. Where has our logic and common sense gone, to call one period on one of the fronts of the general world carnage by some propaganda slogan? Only the mass psychosis that continues to be cultivated by the communist descendants of the bloody communist regimes can explain this.
However, my sadness is not about that. My grief for those killed and maimed by the war, regardless of ethnic or religious origin. And my special sorrow for my many relatives, including my older brother (senior sergeant's, cavalier of the Order of Glory), my mother (senior sergeant's, highly decorated veteran), my father (major general, professor of the military academy, veteran of the Soviet-Japanese and Nazi-Soviet military clashes of World War II, highly decorated veteran). The grief of the bloodshed by my family was mixed with anger against the regime, which paid my heroic family with prison terms and all the war veterans with contempt and disrespect.
Glory to the heroes!
Eternal memory for the fallen.