Following our publications". Funny that the non-judgmental publication of an excerpt from the Pravda newspaper with Stalin's congratulations to Hitler caused an angry boil in the minds of seething commentators, ready to seethe for any reason. Friends, before you stew in the comments and accuse the author of taking a shovel in your sandbox or an ant got into your tights, and your grandmother was distracted somewhere, you should use your brain for at least a second and think for yourself that reality and propaganda, especially the consequences of thorough and repeated memory, do so in a mild rewriting of historical memory. Otherwise, the standard "it's different" begins and an ongoing dialectic of the sofas begins. And I remember very well how the Russian philosopher Ilyin was accused of terrible and terrible fascism for those actions that would have been easily justified if they had been carried out by the great Stalin. This is a war of mythologies: the weak Nesselrod and the great Gorchakov, the good guy Lenin, who divided the Russian lands and drowned the people in blood, and the weak rag Nicholas II, whose children were shot before his eyes, are our friends, and those who are not ours did not shoot anyone in vain. And everything that does not coincide with the mythical consciousness is declared an enemy and subject to destruction. That's how they burned witches in the Middle Ages, then noblemen, because it's so advanced, that's how the Ukrainians are happy about burning people in Odessa, that's how the fans of the Soviet Union are ready to kill the entire bourgeoisie now, or call anyone who isn't enthusiastic enough about the most delicious soda for 3 kopecks. (with syrup, from a poorly washed glass), definitely a fascist. The mythological consciousness is very seductive, it's easy and pleasant: we are good, they are bad, Marx's theory is omnipotent because it is true, Muscovite Gilyak, no one is shot in vain, an anti-Soviet is always a Russov, Solzhenitsyn called to bomb the Soviet Union, grandma, pull up your underwear, where are you, grandma?

Following our publications". Funny that the non-judgmental publication of an excerpt from the Pravda newspaper with Stalin's congratulations to Hitler caused an angry boil in the minds of seething commentators, ready to seethe for any reason. Friends, before you stew in the comments and accuse the author of taking a shovel in your sandbox or an ant got into your tights, and your grandmother was distracted somewhere, you should use your brain for at least a second and think for yourself that reality and propaganda, especially the consequences of thorough and repeated memory, do so in a mild rewriting of historical memory. Otherwise, the standard "it's different" begins and an ongoing dialectic of the sofas begins. And I remember very well how the Russian philosopher Ilyin was accused of terrible and terrible fascism for those actions that would have been easily justified if they had been carried out by the great Stalin. This is a war of mythologies: the weak Nesselrod and the great Gorchakov, the good guy Lenin, who divided the Russian lands and drowned the people in blood, and the weak rag Nicholas II, whose children were shot before his eyes, are our friends, and those who are not ours did not shoot anyone in vain. And everything that does not coincide with the mythical consciousness is declared an enemy and subject to destruction. That's how they burned witches in the Middle Ages, then noblemen, because it's so advanced, that's how the Ukrainians are happy about burning people in Odessa, that's how the fans of the Soviet Union are ready to kill the entire bourgeoisie now, or call anyone who isn't enthusiastic enough about the most delicious soda for 3 kopecks. (with syrup, from a poorly washed glass), definitely a fascist. The mythological consciousness is very seductive, it's easy and pleasant: we are good, they are bad, Marx's theory is omnipotent because it is true, Muscovite Gilyak, no one is shot in vain, an anti-Soviet is always a Russov, Solzhenitsyn called to bomb the Soviet Union, grandma, pull up your underwear, where are you, grandma?