The following day, Viktorov was publicly backed by Foreign Ministry spokesperson Maria Zakharova, who accused Yad Vashem of failing to react to the demolition of monuments to Red Army soldiers in Europe.

The message was clear: we are not interested in a discussion – especially a critical discussion. Memory, in this view, is a matter of state sovereignty; other countries have no right to interfere. At the same time, the Russian Foreign Ministry chose not to escalate the conflict with the Israeli government. On January 23, Zakharova met with Israeli Ambassador Oded Joseph, after which she issued a conciliatory but essentially empty statement: “both sides underscored the necessity of joint opposition to attempts to rewrite history and deny the crimes of Nazism.” 

The Holocaust in Russia

It is telling that on January 27 itself the Russian state largely avoided commemorating the Holocaust, instead focusing on the siege of Leningrad and the “genocide of the Soviet people.”

Putin took part in commemorative events in St Petersburg and, for the first time in many years, did not send greetings to participants of the Auschwitz memorial ceremony, even though he had continued to do so even after the Russian embassy was no longer invited. Only the following day did he hold his traditional meeting with Chief Rabbi of Russia Berel Lazar and President of the Federation of Jewish Communities of Russia Alexander Boroda, where he spoke not only about the significance of the Holocaust but also about the siege of Leningrad, which he nevertheless described as a “crime against humanity.” Unlike in 2023, the president did not attempt to raise the issue of investigating the “genocide of the Soviet people” or insist that Nazi policies toward all citizens of the USSR were analogous to the persecution of Jews. 

Other state institutions were even more circumspect in their references to the Holocaust. The Ministry of Defense published several archival documents on the extermination of Jews and non-Jews. The Russian Historical Society released a brief note on the lifting of the siege of Leningrad. The Russian Military Historical Society, represented by its high-ranking bosses, laid flowers at a monument to the victims of the “genocide of the Soviet people” and promised to establish a thematic museum nearby (also in Gatchina, Leningrad Region, with the regional authorities involved in its creation), while publicist Yegor Yakovlev published what he described as previously unknown documents on the subject.
Russia’s National Presidential Center for Historical Memory likewise chose to focus exclusively on the blockade that day and later announced that, by government decree, it had been appointed the “national operator” for commemorating victims of the “genocide of the Soviet people.”

In her commentary, Zakharova avoided mentioning the “genocide of the Soviet people,” instead reiterating an older thesis that the Holocaust was not exclusively about Jews and emphasizing the efforts of Russian Jewish organizations to preserve historical memory. Such public support of cultural initiatives is, without irony, a good thing – but is this not a form of appropriation, turning the work of Jewish organizations into an alibi for the Foreign Ministry’s historical agenda?

Zakharova did eventually recall murdered Jews, though only toward the end of the day, when she took offense, in a comment to TASS, at Polish President Karol Nawrocki. He had acknowledged the Red Army’s role in liberating Auschwitz at the memorial ceremony, while also noting that the Holocaust had been made possible by World War II and that the USSR bore a degree of responsibility for it. “This is a mockery of the memory of Holocaust victims,” Zakharova declared.

As has been the case for many years, the memory of Jewish victims largely remained the responsibility of Jews themselves. The most visible initiative was the annual Holocaust Remembrance Week, launched in the mid-2010s by the Russian Jewish Congress and the Russian Research and Educational Holocaust Center. It brings together a wide range of commemorative events, most organized by Jewish organizations. For example, this year the Jewish community held a memorial rally in Volgograd and a memorial concert in Ufa. The Research and Educational Holocaust Center published a book on liberated concentration camps (funded by Sberbank), and its representatives in dozens of regions held usual commemorative events, including lectures, readings, tours and other activities. In addition, the Russian Jewish Congress, together with the Moscow Museum of Modern Art, announced an exhibition dedicated to the graphic artist Dmitry Lion, who for many years was engaged in visualizing the Jewish tragedy.

Another episode is particularly telling. On January 26, the Israeli ambassador to Moscow presented a medal and honorary title to the grandson of Anastasia Sergeeva, who sheltered a Jew named Semyon Sherman during the war. This was, by any measure, a humane, dignified and potentially compelling story, which was duly reported by the state-run news agency TASS. Yet it showed little interest in the actual circumstances of the deed, noting it in the third paragraph of an article titled: “Israel recognizes the role of the Red Army in defeating the Nazis and saving Jews.” What matters is not reflection on the past but public affirmation of past achievements.

The same logic applies to Nawrocki’s statement, which a number of Russian media outlets presented in headlines as a supposedly straightforward accusation that the USSR bore responsibility for the Holocaust. Undoubtedly, responsibility for both the extermination of the Jews and the outbreak of World War II lies solely with Nazi Germany. However, the question of co-responsibility is different and far more complex, and today the way the question is framed is often more important than the answer itself. Did politicians do everything possible to stop the aggressor? Did they try to stop the destruction and suffering or did they observe events with indifference? Were they prepared to work with those who were complicit?

The situation is comparable to the siege of Leningrad. Of course, the deaths of more than a million residents – both those who perished in the city and those who died while fleeing – will always be on the conscience of those who unleashed the war. But does this take off the table the question of whether the Soviet leadership in Leningrad did enough to reduce the scale of the catastrophe?

Victimhood nationalism

The Kremlin has no intention of erasing the Holocaust from memory altogether. Yes, it will continue to roll out and push the “genocide of the Soviet people” in its foreign policy, but it will not relinquish its claim to being the saviors of European Jews. In her official commentary on January 27, Zakharova did not mention the “genocide of the Soviet people,” which may be read as a signal that Russian diplomacy is prepared to listen to Israel and avoid further rhetorical escalation.

Domestically, however, the authorities have clearly pivoted toward the “genocide of the Soviet people.” Jewish organizations are not prohibited from speaking about the Holocaust or Jewish suffering, holding commemorative events, conferences and educational lectures, publishing books or seeking money from sponsors. The current leadership has no intention of repeating the Soviet mistake of attempting to exclude Jewish memory of an event that is already receding in the public consciousness. Nevertheless, state resources will be concentrated on advancing a different narrative.

In English-language scholarship, this phenomenon is called “victimhood nationalism.” In the contemporary Russian case, its essence has already been illustrated by the abovementioned quotes from Russian diplomats and media: it involves not only presenting oneself as the perpetual victim of others’ crimes and injustices, but also constantly causing a fuss about it so as to focus public attention on how “we’re being wronged.” A state that considers itself a great power is deliberately playing the role of the victim to push its own crimes into the background.

History can be discussed in a scholarly manner – thoroughly, on the basis of documents, historiography and methodology. In principle, studying the Holocaust is not prohibited in Russia; the crucial condition is that it must not cast a shadow on the Red Army.

History can also enter the public sphere as part of broader intellectual discussions that translate academic knowledge of the past into contemporary debates and global questions. At this level, however, the Holocaust becomes uncomfortable, since for decades European discussions have centered on issues of guilt and co-responsibility, moral reflection and the voices of survivors. None of this is needed in the Russian public space today and is even considered dangerous, insofar as it evokes uncomfortable thoughts about Putin’s aggression.

History can serve as the basis for commemorative events, speeches and ceremonies, and here too there are no formal prohibitions on honoring the victims of the Holocaust. The state is just busy with other issues. Any commemorative date is also a newsworthy occasion for the media, offering intellectuals, museum workers and historians a rare opportunity to draw attention to their work. However, in its coverage of that, the pro-Kremlin state media makes no effort to educate its audience about history or raise substantive questions; increasingly, everything is reduced to the formula “whoever questions ‘our feats’ is ‘complete scum,’” as Vladimir Medinsky put it a decade ago in a different context.

Thus, commemorative dates are not an instrument for remembrance, discussion or paying tribute, but one for comparing others’ statements against vague expectations of what and how one should talk about certain things. Questions of memory and respect are recast as an instrument for controlling others’ speech and external forms of expression, while minimal attention – and often outright indifference – is paid to its substance. This is the logic of public grievance and bellyaching, a logic that has increasingly come to function as a kind of national idea.