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cannot comprehend
Jan. 17th, 2012 09:53 pmToday, continuing my efforts to view as many sights as possible before I leave Moscow, I went to the Museum of the Great Patriotic War. I've seen the column and the nice small church nearby before, so this time I went straight into the museum.
The very first information poster I read began (paraphrased) "Hall of Memory and Sorrow. During the Great Patriotic War, nearly 27 million people died in the Soviet Union defending their fatherland..." My brain stopped at that. 27 million. Million. Somehow it's impossible to see it as an abstract number in that hall with the tears falling from the ceiling and the pietá in the middle and the books with the names of the fallen soldiers and roses at the sides. Twenty-seven million people. And that's just the Soviet Union 1941-1945. It's such an impossible number.
I kept walking in a daze. There were giant dioramas of the battlefields, dead soldiers lying on the ground. A few paragraphs about the Battle of Stalingrad and the Siege of Leningrad, simple facts because you can't make it more horrifying than that. The Hall of Glory, with the names of all the Heroes of the Soviet Union, so impressive I had to fight the urge to cross myself. Uniforms, old letters, medals, propaganda posters, videos and movies, abstract information, and all the while in the back of my head I heard "twenty-seven million people died." It was like walking through a brightly lit horror movie.
No wonder they embellished the bravery and the accomplishments of the Red Army. With such a giant sacrifice you have to have something.
As I walked out of the museum, over three hours later and utterly exhausted, it had started to snow. Big snowflakes dancing through the air, and in the spotlights for the column they looked like tiny glittering crystals.
I searched for numbers on the internet - it's much safer here in my room, on my messy desk with books and tea and yarn and everything, than at the museum. I found many different numbers, even higher ones for total losses - and the fact that there can be such large differences, so many people dead that nobody even knows how many, is horrifying all in itself.
I wanted to ask "why", only I had a very good teacher and can tell you exactly why, the economic and political and ideological reasons. But that doesn't really answer the question why.
And it's not like we learned anything.
I feel like curling up on my bed and crying. Now I remembered what I like best about living with my little brother: I can have actual physical hugs when I need them (and when he's not at home I still have my teddy bears.) He's in mandatory military service right now, I'm sure that's ironic in some way.
It's a very, very good museum.
The very first information poster I read began (paraphrased) "Hall of Memory and Sorrow. During the Great Patriotic War, nearly 27 million people died in the Soviet Union defending their fatherland..." My brain stopped at that. 27 million. Million. Somehow it's impossible to see it as an abstract number in that hall with the tears falling from the ceiling and the pietá in the middle and the books with the names of the fallen soldiers and roses at the sides. Twenty-seven million people. And that's just the Soviet Union 1941-1945. It's such an impossible number.
I kept walking in a daze. There were giant dioramas of the battlefields, dead soldiers lying on the ground. A few paragraphs about the Battle of Stalingrad and the Siege of Leningrad, simple facts because you can't make it more horrifying than that. The Hall of Glory, with the names of all the Heroes of the Soviet Union, so impressive I had to fight the urge to cross myself. Uniforms, old letters, medals, propaganda posters, videos and movies, abstract information, and all the while in the back of my head I heard "twenty-seven million people died." It was like walking through a brightly lit horror movie.
No wonder they embellished the bravery and the accomplishments of the Red Army. With such a giant sacrifice you have to have something.
As I walked out of the museum, over three hours later and utterly exhausted, it had started to snow. Big snowflakes dancing through the air, and in the spotlights for the column they looked like tiny glittering crystals.
I searched for numbers on the internet - it's much safer here in my room, on my messy desk with books and tea and yarn and everything, than at the museum. I found many different numbers, even higher ones for total losses - and the fact that there can be such large differences, so many people dead that nobody even knows how many, is horrifying all in itself.
I wanted to ask "why", only I had a very good teacher and can tell you exactly why, the economic and political and ideological reasons. But that doesn't really answer the question why.
And it's not like we learned anything.
I feel like curling up on my bed and crying. Now I remembered what I like best about living with my little brother: I can have actual physical hugs when I need them (and when he's not at home I still have my teddy bears.) He's in mandatory military service right now, I'm sure that's ironic in some way.
It's a very, very good museum.
