Meliton Kantaria, the Victory Banner Over the Reichstag and Georgia’s Unmastered Past

Images such as photographs and historical relics have a powerful effect on the public owing to their inherent claim to encapsulate and represent decisive moments of the past. These instantly recognisable icons appear to convey truths, yet they often arouse suspicion because of ideological and political manipulation.

Introduction: images and the instrumentalisation of history 

Images such as photographs and historical relics have a powerful effect on the public owing to their inherent claim to encapsulate and represent decisive moments of the past. These instantly recognisable icons appear to convey truths, yet they often arouse suspicion because of ideological and political manipulation. 

One of the most potent symbols of the Soviet victory over Nazi Germany in the Second World War is the iconic image of Soviet soldiers raising the Red Banner over the Reichstag in Berlin on 2 May 1945. This photograph is often mistakenly confused with the ‘officially’ recognised banner raising that occurred earlier on 30 April[1]. This symbolic act of victory featured Junior Sergeant Meliton Kantaria (1920–1993), an ethnic Georgian who, together with Russian Sergeant Mikhail Yegorov (1923–1975), is officially credited in both Soviet and contemporary Russian historiography and political discourse.  

 This photo, marking a triumphant moment in the defeat of Hitler, raises numerous questions not only about authenticity, but also about political instrumentalisation, propaganda and mythmaking rooted in selective ‘memory work’ in the Soviet Union and contemporary Russia. For the Kremlin, Soviet symbolic objects appear to provide fertile ground for soft power and disinformation, facilitating the spread of the Russian Second World War narrative in former Soviet space.  

In this context, Georgia is an illuminating example of contemporary Russia’s targeted pressure. Since gaining independence in 1991, Georgia has pursued modernisation and Western integration, especially after the 2003 Rose Revolution. Determined to break from Moscow’s influence and the Soviet legacy, the country has faced severe consequences. The Kremlin has repeatedly interfered, backing secessionist movements in Abkhazia and the South Ossetia/Tskhinvali region since the 1990s, leading to ethnic cleansing and the expulsion of Georgians from these areas. Following Russia’s invasion of Georgia in August 2008, the Kremlin recognised the regions’ independence and established effective control over them. Georgian legislation and the international community consider these territories as Russian-occupied parts of Georgia. 

Despite ongoing tensions with Russia, the Kremlin continues to exercise symbolic and political influence in Georgia. In particular, the Russian narrative highlights the symbols of Victory Day and its Georgian protagonists – most notably Joseph Stalin, and then Meliton Kantaria to reinforce a political myth of a shared Georgian-Russian destiny and their enduring friendship. 

 

8 or 9 May? The (geo)politics of temporality and memory 

The date marking the end of the Second World War gained geopolitical significance, especially after the collapse of the Soviet Union. While most European countries, including the Baltic states, commemorate the victory on 8 May, Russia and most post-Soviet states, including Georgia, celebrate it on 9 May. This follows the Soviet decree declaring 9 May as Victory Day, since Nazi Germany’s surrender was signed at 22:43 Central European Time – already 9 May in Moscow. This decision emphasised the Soviet Union’s central role in the defeat of fascism. 

Although victory was attributed to the heroic self-sacrifice and bravery of the Soviet people, Joseph Stalin was credited above all for his wartime leadership and strategic decisions. Nikita Khrushchev’s (1894–1971) campaign against the cult of personality led to the waning of Stalin’s prominence in the storyline. The focus shifted to the Soviet people’s collective heroism and Communist Party unity. 

Since 1948, 9 May was no longer marked as a public holiday, though it continued to be celebrated annually. In 1965, at the dawn of Leonid Brezhnev’s (1906–1982) era, it was reinstated as an official holiday and has since been observed with greater pomp and symbolic weight[2]. 

During V. Putin’s presidency, Russia underwent ‘re-Stalinisation’ and ‘nostalgic modernisation’ process where Soviet nostalgia was rebranded into a form of patriotic sentiment detached from historical specificity[3].  

‘The Great Patriotic War’ became a central and politically most ‘usable’ element of this identity and memory project. Already deeply embedded in Soviet culture through education, media and ritual, the memory of the war offered a flexible and widely accepted narrative of a heroic and victorious past, thus serving as a powerful tool for post-Soviet nation-building. Since the 2000s, the triumphalist interpretation of the Second World War as a story of ‘heroic sacrifice’, ‘national glory’, ‘defense of freedom’ and ‘salvation of civilisation’ has become the foundation of Russian identity, emphasising military victory, national greatness and Soviet, hence Russian, global power[4].   

Contemporary Russian propaganda seeks to claim ownership of the victory in the Second World War by downplaying the crucial role of the Western Allies. It minimises the West’s military contribution, financial support, the opening of the Western Front and other essential efforts without which the defeat of fascism would have hardly been possible[5]. 

In the Russian narrative of the Second World War, Russia actively promotes Stalin’s image as an effective and strategic leader, portraying him as the primary architect of victory in the Second World War. Generally, the Russian storyline largely silences the Soviet Union’s military failures – its unpreparedness, poor planning and catastrophic losses. It omits Stalin’s disregard for intelligence, chaotic mobilisation and the major defeats including the encirclements at Kiev and Smolensk, where hundreds of thousands were captured. This selective memory conceals the true cost of Soviet miscalculations. 

The Russian official historical narrative excludes not only alternative interpretations such as significant Soviet failures during the war but also erases facts such as the Molotov–Ribbentrop Pact, the Katyn Massacre, wartime atrocities, abuses and rapes in ‘liberated’ areas, the Yalta agreements, forced deportations, the establishment of labour camps in Siberia and many other accounts of Soviet complicity in wartime crimes and subsequent repressive policies. 

Attacks on factual history and empirical truth serve Russia’s disinformation campaign by distorting the past to advance Kremlin geopolitical aims in former Soviet space. These modern ‘political lies’ seek to transform ‘the whole factual texture’ and construct another reality[6]. Following Russia’s annexation of Crimea in 2014 and its full-scale invasion of Ukraine in 2022, the Second World War victory myth gained renewed imperialist overtones and became a symbol/marker of pro-Putin patriotism[7].  

 

The Victory Banner and iconic propaganda 

Photographs have often been regarded as real evidence of truth, grounded in the cliché that the camera never lies. Yet an image may imply multiple layers of meaning and interpretation, which underlie its emotional and persuasive power[8]. It has been well elaborated how ‘mere images’ seduce humankind away from the truth, causing it to linger in the shadows of Plato’s cave, mistaking representations for reality. Photographs function as a kind of ‘montage’ and ‘abbreviation of history’, ultimately ‘disarming historical judgment’[9].   

In totalitarian systems iconic symbols decontextualise and simplify complex historical moments aiming to win society over through propaganda. The most iconic Soviet image of the Second World War depicting Red Army soldiers raising the flag over the Reichstag in Berlin was taken by a Soviet photographer Evgenii Khaldei. The photograph is commonly titled Banner of Victory over the Reichstag [Russian: Znamia Pobedy nad Reikhstagom]; this image symbolises the Soviet triumph over Nazi Germany and remains a powerful emblem of victory. The flag in the photograph is frequently associated with the historical banner preserved in the Central Armed Forces Museum in Moscow and displayed in annual 9 May Victory Day parades. However, as it turned out the banner in Khaldei’s photo is not the same as the preserved Victory Banner. Both are one of many red flags raised during the final battle for Berlin [10]. 

Although the building was stormed on 30 April 1945, Khaldei accessed it only on 2 May to stage his iconic shot. His photograph was first published in Ogonyok magazine on 13 May 1945. Later the image was corrected because a soldier supporting the flag bearer appeared to wear a watch on each wrist. This detail could have been depicted the soldiers in a negative light, suggesting they had looted property from conquered civilians. Khaldei was instructed to retouch the second watch. The ‘official’ Victory Banner was raised over the Reichstag two days before Khaldei’s ‘staged’ image [11]. This flag, with a silver star above the hammer and sickle, includes white Cyrillic abbreviated text naming the unit that raised it: ‘150th Rifle, Order of Kutuzov 2nd class, Idritskaia Division, 79th Rifle Corps, 3rd Attack Army, 1st Byelorussian Front.’ Known also as ‘Victory Banner #5’, it was one of nine official flags sent to Berlin, and the only one preserved after the war [12].   

 

While many Soviet banners and improvised red flags were raised during the final battle for Berlin, Victory Banner #5 held special significance due to its ‘official’ status. Most accounts suggest that it was made under battlefield conditions from whatever materials were available. For instance, according to some sources, it was sewn from a red tablecloth amid the combat. Different portrayals of the flag’s origin reflect its mythologised image in post-war memory [13].   

According to a military report dated 2 July 1945, the battle for the Reichstag that began on 29 April 1945 and culminated at 2:25 p.m. on 30 April, when Soviet soldiers reached the Reichstag’s roof. ‘Communist Lieutenant Berest, Comsomol member-Red Army soldier Egorov and non-party member Junior Sergeant Kantaria’ planted the Victory Banner atop the building symbolising Soviet victory [14].   

Many in the Soviet Union mistakenly believed that the men in Khaldei’s Reichstag photo were Meliton Kantaria and Mikhail Egorov, the soldiers credited with raising the official Victory Banner [15]. Another figure often misidentified in connection with the photo was Konstantin Samsonov, a Hero of the Soviet Union who fought in a different division during the Battle of Berlin. In the 1965 Victory Day Parade marking 20 years since Germany’s surrender, Samsonov carried the Victory Banner alongside Kantaria and Egorov. Images of the trio at this major commemoration event since 1945 victory parade helped cement their association in Soviet collective memory [16]. It is often assumed that Nikita Khrushchev was not supportive of Kantaria and Egorov, as they rarely appeared in official ceremonies during his leadership.  

Georgia’s symbolic realm and the unmastered Soviet past 

Georgia’s contribution to the Red Army during the Second World War was immense and tragic. Georgian Soviet Republic mobilised 500,000 to 600,000 people and some estimates suggest nearly half of Georgian soldiers died [17].   

In Soviet Georgia, the dominant Soviet narrative shaped the memory of the Second World War, which was reinforced and institutionalised through textbooks, monuments, literature, poetry, songs, museums and cinema. Like elsewhere in the Soviet Union, 9 May, Victory Day, was commemorated with official annual rituals and ceremonies involving state representatives, veterans and youth, featuring concerts, military parades and the decoration of war memorials with flowers [18].  

M. Kantaria’s image was an important component of Georgian national sentiment during Soviet time which was significantly shaped by a widespread pride in Stalin. As a native Georgian, the Soviet dictator came to symbolise the prestige, prominence, dignity and identity of his homeland compatriots. He was revered as the most prominent Georgian in world history. This symbolic elevation of Stalin enabled Georgians to claim a unique position within the Soviet Union, fostering what is often described as a sense of ‘entitled nationhood’ [19]. 

The 1956 Tbilisi protests, sparked by Khrushchev’s denunciation of Stalin, marked a critical turning point. Georgians interpreted the critique not merely as a rejection of a Soviet leader but as an insult to a Georgian nation [20]. The violent suppression of these protests transformed Stalin’s cult into a vehicle for national expression and, to a certain extent, a form of anti-Soviet nationalism. Overall Stalin’s Georgian origins allowed locals to inhabit Soviet and Georgian identity categories simultaneously. Stalin’s legacy made it ‘both possible and advantageous’ for Georgians to maintain national pride while working within Soviet structures. This duality widened the space for more autonomous national expression, allowing Georgian elites to pursue Soviet nation-building ‘in the Georgian way’ [21].  

In the post-Soviet period, this ambivalent legacy endures. Despite de-Stalinisation and democratisation efforts, surveys consistently show that Georgians, particularly older, rural residents, express the highest admiration for Stalin among post-Soviet populations [22]. Monuments continue to be erected in various towns and villages in Georgia. Conversely, younger and urban populations display more critical attitudes, indicating a generational shift. Yet Stalin’s dual image both as the ‘Father of the People’ and the ‘great son of the Georgian nation’ – persists [23].  

Kantaria himself was actively involved in cultivating the memory of the Battle of Berlin and the Victory Banner, frequently appearing in ceremonies, television programmes and newspapers at the republican or all-Union levels, particularly after Brezhnev came to power. In one newspaper, he recalled the moment of raising the Victory Flag: 

We knew that the Military Council of the Third Attack Army – the army storming Hitler’s capital – had prepared nine flags to be raised over the Reichstag, one for each division. Our flag bore the number five on its pole, but we were the first to reach the goal. 

When we unfurled it, the enemy opened rapid fire. Like a soldier, the Victory Banner bears its own scars – seven bullet holes from that final battle. 

Decades and even centuries will pass. Humanity will continue to celebrate the 50th, 100th and other anniversaries of the Great Patriotic War. The world and people will change, new generations will come. Yet on Moscow’s Red Square, soldiers of peace will continue to carry the Victory Banner, and the names of those who raised it over the Reichstag in distant 1945 will forever remain in the people’s memory. 

Kutaisi newspaper, 21 April 1988 [In Georgian, translated by author] 

How M. Kantaria recalls the 1965 Victory Day Parade in Moscow: 

9 May dawned. As is expected on Victory Day, veterans who participated in the storming of the Reichstag are traditionally invited to the celebration. This was also the case during the 20th anniversary of the defeat of fascism. 

Moscow is festively adorned – vivid slogans, banners, portraits and garlands shine brightly and colorfully. On one of the buildings, the date ‘9 May’ and the words ‘Victory Day’ are prominently displayed. The numbers 1945–1965 serve as a reminder that we have lived in peace for two decades. 

The Victory Flag, which is permanently housed at the Central Museum of the Armed Forces of the Soviet Union, has been brought to Red Square under special escort. Now, we, the stormers of the Reichstag, must carry it in the parade. The flag is being borne by Hero of the Soviet Union, Colonel K.I. Samsonov, who, as is known well, commanded the battalion that led the assault on the Reichstag. 

Mikhail Yegorov and I follow behind the flag as assistants. It was this very flag that we raised over defeated Berlin on 30 April 1945. 

Kommunisti newspaper, 7 May 1988 [In Georgian, translated by the author] 

Here is an especially interesting recollection is his meeting with Yegorov and the story about the ‘original’ photograph printed in Pravda newspaper: 

Millions of people from every corner of the world joyfully saw this historic photo, first printed in the newspaper Pravda. In defeated Berlin, it was passed from hand to hand. Although the Reichstag and the victory flag waving above it stood right before us, everyone still wanted to see the photograph printed in the newspaper – where soldiers had grown used to reading true stories about the life of their beloved homeland. 

Once, during the May Day celebrations, I visited my brother-in-arms, Mikhail Yegorov, in the Smolensk region. He was working at a dairy plant. We sat down and began to talk. ‘Meliton, would you like to see something interesting?’, Yegorov suddenly asked me. I grew curious, wondering what Mikhail might surprise me with. A minute later, he left the room and returned with a carefully folded, time-yellowed newspaper. I looked at it – and to tell the truth, my heart stirred with deep emotion. It was the very issue of Pravda we had read beside the walls of the Reichstag. 

Later, when Yegorov visited Kantaria in Abkhazia where he lived, a similar scene unfolded during at Kantaria’s place: ‘Would you like, Mikhail, to see something interesting?

‘Show me!’ Yegorov replied. I pulled from my pocket the same Victory Day issue of Pravda that I had brought from Berlin and handed it to my friend. We hugged and exchanged a comrade’s kiss. That’s how Pravda became a symbol of our friendship – and of our best memories.
Communisti newspaper, 9 May 1962 [In Georgian, translated by the author] 

The reassessment of the Second World War memory began during the Perestroika [Restructuring] era in the late 1980s and gained momentum following Georgia’s restoration of independence. During this period, previously marginalised or silenced perspectives on the war began to surface. These included critiques of the Ribbentrop–Molotov Pact, reflections on the anti-Soviet resistance in wartime Georgia and discussions about Georgians who joined the Nazi side in the hope of liberating their country from Soviet occupation. 

Historical accounts long suppressed by Soviet memory politics reemerged and became open to critical scrutiny. The Georgian public began to ask: Was the Second World War truly a ‘Great Patriotic War’ for Georgia? After all, Georgia was not a sovereign nation at the time, having been forcibly incorporated into the Soviet Union and the outcome of the war did not result in independence, but rather prolonged the Soviet rule [24].   

However, in the first decade of independence, Georgia did not make a decisive break from the Soviet tradition of commemorating Victory Day. It remained common practice to receive congratulatory letters from the Russian president – such as the one Vladimir Putin sent to President Eduard Shevardnadze in 2000:  

Dear Eduard Ambrosovich, 

On the 55th anniversary of our shared victory in the Great Patriotic War, I extend to you my sincere congratulations. 

Russia holds in high esteem the immortal heroism of Georgia’s gifted children, who made a significant contribution to the defeat of fascism. The names of the distinguished sons of the Russian and Georgian peoples, Mikhail Yegorov and Meliton Kantaria, who raised the Victory Banner over the fallen Reichstag, are forever inscribed in the chronicles of military glory. 

I am confident that the friendship between the Russian and Georgian peoples, forged in the fire of the Great Patriotic War, will continue to grow stronger in the name of peace and stability in the Caucasus. 

I wish you, the veterans of the Great Patriotic War, and the entire Georgian people happiness, prosperity and continued flourishing. 

Vladimir Putin
President of the Russian Federation 

Sakartvelos Respublika newspaper, 9 May 2000 

After the Rose Revolution in 2003, Georgia sought to distance itself from the Russian narrative of the ‘Great Patriotic War’. The Minister of Foreign Affairs proposed shifting the celebration of Victory Day to 8 May, aligning it with international commemorations of the defeat of Nazi Germany. That year, the 66th anniversary was officially observed on 8 May. However, certain political groups and war veterans resisted this change and continued to commemorate Victory Day on 9 May. This divergence between the official celebration on 8 May and the veterans’ celebration on 9 May persisted for the next two years. Following the 2012 parliamentary elections, the new government reinstated 9 May as the sole official holiday [25].   

 

Conclusion 

The Georgian ‘symbolic realm’ [26] is significantly shaped by the legacy of the Soviet ‘unmastered past’, in which the experiences and injustices of the Soviet era – such as the 1921 occupation of Georgia, political purges, terror and repression – have not been fully acknowledged, reconciled or integrated into the nation’s collective memory and public discourse.27 There remains no clear consensus on how to come to terms with this difficult past while officially pursuing declared goals of independence and Western integration.  

The association with Stalin and the symbolic role of Kantaria has contributed to shaping the Georgian national imaginary. It has been more-or-less visible over time – sometimes emphasised, sometimes ignored. Russia still views this imaginary as both symbolic and political leverage. Based on these symbolic resources, the Kremlin promotes the narrative and myth of a shared Russian-Georgian purpose not only in the Soviet past but also in a common future. 

Proofreading: Caroline Brooke Johnson

---

 References: 

• Arendt, Hannah, Between Past and Future (New York: Penguin Books, 2006). 
• Blauvelt, Timothy K. and Jeremy Smith, eds, Georgia after Stalin: Nationalism and Soviet Power (London: Routledge, 2016). 
• Bonfante, Jordan, ‘Remembering a Red Flag Day’, TIME, 23 May 2008. https://time.com/archive/6943450/remembering-a-red-flag-day/ (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Chikovani, Nino, and Malkhaz Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II: How Memory Changed in Georgia after Independence’, in War and Remembrance: World War II and the Holocaust in the Memory Politics of Post-Socialist Europe, ed. Paul Srodecki and Daria Kozlova, 81–99. War (Hi)Stories 12 (Paderborn: Brill Schöningh, 2023). https://doi.org/10.30965/9783657790920_005 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Hariman, Robert, ‘Image World, Memory Space: Photographic Spectatorship as a Mode of Remembrance’, in Image, History and Memory: Central and Eastern Europe in a Comparative Perspective, ed. Michał Haake and Piotr Juszkiewicz, pp. 121–30 (New York: Routledge, 2022). 
• IDFI, ‘The Appropriation of Victory Day by the Russian Propaganda’, Institute for Development of Freedom of Information (IDFI), 8 May 2020. https://idfi.ge/en/russian_propaganda_and_immortal_regiment (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Kaiser, Claire P., Georgian and Soviet: Entitled Nationhood and the Specter of Stalin in the Caucasus (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022). https://muse.jhu.edu/book/99859 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Kabachnik, Peter, Ana Kirvalidze and Alexi Gugushvili, Stalin Today: Contending with the Soviet Past in Georgia (Tbilisi: Ilia State University Press, 2016). 
• Kalinin, Ilya, ‘Nostalgic Modernization: The Soviet Past as ‘Historical Horizon’, Slavonica 17, no. 2 (2011), pp. 156–66. https://doi.org/10.1179/136174211X13122749974366 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Kekelia, Elene, and Oliver Reisner, ‘Golden or Pink – Stalin as an Embattled Memory Site’, Caucasus Survey 9, no. 3 (2021), pp. 250–69. https://doi.org/10.1080/23761199.2020.1867473 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Lewis, Abigail E., ‘Collaboration in Focus: Photographic Evidence in the French Purge Trials, 1944–1949’, French Politics, Culture & Society, 40, no. 3 (2022), pp. 73–98. https://doi.org/10.3167/fpcs.2022.400304 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Malinova, Olga, ‘Political Uses of the Great Patriotic War in Post-Soviet Russia from Yeltsin to Putin’, in War and Memory in Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, edited by Julie Fedor, Markku Kangaspuro, Jussi Lassila, and Tatiana Zhurzhenko, pp. 43–70. Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies (Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2017). https://doi.org/10.1007/978-3-319-66523-8_2 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Nora, Pierre, ‘Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire’, Representations, 26 (Spring 1989), pp. 7–24. https://doi.org/10.2307/2928520 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Olick, Jeffrey K., ‘The Future of the Mnemonic Turn’, Social Research: An International Quarterly, 90, no. 4 (2023), pp. 781–807. https://doi.org/10.1353/sor.2023.a916354 (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Platoff, Anne M., ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics: A Study of the Banner of Victory (Znamia Pobedy)’, Raven: A Journal of Vexillology, 20 (2013), pp. 55–84. 
• Shore, Marci, ‘A Pre-History of Post-truth East and West’, Public Seminar, 1 September 2017. https://publicseminar.org/2017/09/a-pre-history-of-post-truth/ (accessed 16 May 2025). 
• Sontag, Susan, On Photography (New York: Picador, 2005). 

Footnotes:

[1] Anne M. Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics: A Study of the Banner of Victory (Znamia Pobedy)’, Raven: A Journal of Vexillology 20 (2013): 69.

[2] Nino Chikovani and Malkhaz Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II: How Memory Changed in Georgia after Independence’, in War and Remembrance: World War II and the Holocaust in the Memory Politics of Post-Socialist Europe, ed. Paul Srodecki and Daria Kozlova, vol. 12 of War (Hi)Stories (Paderborn: Brill Schöningh, 2023), p. 84.

[3] Ilya Kalinin, ‘Nostalgic Modernization: The Soviet Past as ‘Historical Horizon’, Slavonica, 17, no. 2 (2011): 156–66, 157, cited in Olga Malinova, ‘Political Uses of the Great Patriotic War in Post-Soviet Russia from Yeltsin to Putin’, in War and Memory in Russia, Ukraine and Belarus, ed. Julie Fedor, Markku Kangaspuro, Jussi Lassila and Tatiana Zhurzhenko, 43–70, Palgrave Macmillan Memory Studies (Cham: Springer International Publishing, 2017), p. 44.

[4] Malinova, ‘Political Uses of the Great Patriotic War’, p. 45.

[5] Institute for Development of Freedom of Information (IDFI), ‘The Appropriation of Victory Day by the Russian Propaganda’, IDFI Blog, 8 May 2020; https://idfi.ge/en/russian_propaganda_and_immortal_regiment (accessed 16 May 2025).

[6] Hannah Arendt, Between Past and Future (New York: Penguin Books, 2006), 249; Marci Shore, ‘A Pre-History of Post-truth East and West’, Public Seminar, 1 September 2017; https://publicseminar.org/2017/09/a-pre-history-of-post-truth/ (accessed 16 May 2025).

[7] Malinova, ‘Political Uses of the Great Patriotic War’, p. 62.

[8] Abigail E. Lewis, ‘Collaboration in Focus: Photographic Evidence in the French Purge Trials, 1944–1949’, French Politics, Culture & Society, 40, no. 3 (2022): 73–98; https://doi.org/10.3167/fpcs.2022.400304 (accessed 16 May 2025).

[9] Susan Sontag, On Photography (New York: Picador, 2005), 1; pp. 53–55.

[10] Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics’, p. 55.

[11] Jordan Bonfante, ‘Remembering a Red Flag Day’, Time, 23 May 2008; https://time.com/archive/6943450/remembering-a-red-flag-day/ (accessed 16 May 2025).

[12] Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics’, p. 62.

[13] Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics’, p. 64.

[14] Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics’, p. 66.

[15] There are other photographs showing Kantaria and Yegorov holding the Victory Banner together in the early days of May 1945, which were published in Soviet newspapers.

[16] Platoff, ‘Of Tablecloths and Soviet Relics’, p. 69.

[17] Chikovani and Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II’, p. 81; IDFI, ‘The Appropriation of Victory Day.’

[18] Chikovani and Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II’, p. 84.

[19] Claire P. Kaiser, Georgian and Soviet: Entitled Nationhood and the Specter of Stalin in the Caucasus (Ithaca, NY: Cornell University Press, 2022), pp. 7–8.

[20] Timothy K. Blauvelt and Jeremy Smith, eds, Georgia after Stalin: Nationalism and Soviet Power (London: Routledge, 2016), p. 5.

[21] Kaiser, Georgian and Soviet, p. 8.

[22] Peter Kabachnik, Ana Kirvalidze, and Alexi Gugushvili, Stalin Today: Contending with the Soviet Past in Georgia (Tbilisi: Ilia State University Press, 2016), pp. 5–8.

[23] Elene Kekelia and Oliver Reisner, ‘Golden or Pink – Stalin as an Embattled Memory Site’, Caucasus Survey, 9, no. 3 (2021), p. 255

[24] Chikovani and Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II’, pp. 86–7.

[25] Chikovani and Matsaberidze, ‘From Great Patriotic War to World War II’, p. 90.

[26] Nora, Pierre, ‘Between Memory and History: Les Lieux de Mémoire’, Representations, 26 (Spring 1989), pp. 7–24

[27] Olick, Jeffrey K., ‘The Future of the Mnemonic Turn’, Social Research: An International Quarterly, 90, no. 4 (2023), pp. 781–807.