“There are a lot of us normal people”: 285 thousand rubles were left at the grave of Comrade Stalin

Everyone is invited to the “Two Carnations for Comrade Stalin” action. The invitation is distributed through social networks. There is no excitement.

The meeting place for the participants of the “clove” event is the corner of the Metropol Hotel. The landmark is an underground passage, to which a car loaded with boxes of flowers drives up. Judging by the report of the event organizers, this year they collected almost 285 thousand rubles and purchased 6,300 carnations.

Before the ceremony began, I exchanged a few words with those gathered.

“My wife, son and I come here every year,” shared a man of about 40. “Today, unfortunately, the child couldn’t, he has an exam at school, he can’t miss it.” He was very upset.

— Is the child interested in Stalin? — I doubted.

– Most modern children are not interested in him, but ours is interesting…

The interlocutor’s wife nodded: “A lot depends on parents and upbringing.”

Their friends approached the couple. A newly arrived like-minded person pulled a hat out of his bag: “I didn’t put it on while I was on the subway, so as not to find fault.”

In addition to the hat, he took out a folded red flag. He handed it to his friend: “A gift for you.”

I inquired about the rules of the event.

“Our team goes first, and behind us are already costumed jesters, with gypsies, drums, posters,” explained one of the interlocutors.

Stalin’s fans call members of the Communist Party of the Russian Federation “mummers”.

-Are you not friends with them? – I was surprised.

— Do you know the difference between Bolsheviks and communists? That’s it… We are not on the same path. By the way, are you a member of the Komsomol or do you sympathize with them?

After a negative answer, they made me understand that friendship with me would not work either: “People like that will not be allowed to the grave.”

— Did a few of your supporters gather to honor the memory of Comrade Stalin? — I decided to change the topic.

“They’ll come up soon, there are a lot of us normal people,” the man grinned.

There were about 20 “normal” people, among whom were those who came for the first time.

“I’m new,” the thin pensioner introduced himself and stepped aside.

Ladies also joined the funeral procession. But I was more interested in young people in their thirties. What did they forget here?

“We’ve been coming here for more than 10 years,” one of the guys boasted.

— Don’t you bring flowers to monuments to victims of political repression? — I asked.

“No,” the interlocutor snapped. — I just took pictures there.

“I don’t even know where these monuments are,” the second one shrugged. “But they definitely won’t bring as many flowers there as they did to Stalin, otherwise all the media would have trumpeted it.”

To be fair, there is also nothing in the media about carnations for Stalin.

“For some reason, the central publications ignore us,” agreed the organizer of the action.

Soon a car with flowers arrived. The people sorted out the bouquets and moved towards Red Square.

“We fill out an application in advance; the Kremlin commandant once advised us to do so. We promise that there will be no political slogans. “We are ordinary citizens who just want to honor the memory of Comrade Stalin,” the organizer of the action reports as he goes and asks everyone to slow down near the monument to Karl Marx for a photo shoot.

A tall man in a black coat flatly refused: “I’m not a Marxist, sorry.”

– Something personal? – they threw it at him.

He hesitated. He muttered indistinctly in response.

“Imperial,” whispered one of those present. “He’s either Stalin or Alexander II, as long as he’s stronger, so he’s not quite ours.”

– Don’t you consider the communists to be your own? — I remembered the conversation with previous interlocutors.

– There is such a thing, the communists are not left enough.

The second stop is near the monument to Marshal Zhukov. And again everyone lined up and took a photo for memory. “It’s a pity there are no Chinese tourists, they would appreciate it,” said one in the crowd.

And that’s true. Ordinary passersby did not react to people with armfuls of carnations.

“Oh, what great fellows,” suddenly a squat old lady “God’s dandelion” squealed nearby, noticing our company, and turned to me. – Take a photo of the guys for me, otherwise I don’t know how…

While the pensioner was trying to set up the camera, the shooting ended.

“I didn’t have time, what a pity,” the old woman lamented. “I also came to lay flowers for Stalin.”

— Has anyone in your family been repressed? — I couldn’t resist.

– No. But those whose relatives were repressed also come to Stalin’s grave. They understand everything. There was no other way with traitors and enemies…

Here’s your grandmother “God’s dandelion.”

Our company went through a metal detector. Here they were accepted as their own. And here we are at the burial site.

“It’s slippery here, be careful, otherwise you can lie down next to me,” joked a man from the group and immediately stopped short. – Although no, they won’t put you next to me.

Flowers were laid in silence. No speeches were made, people did not even talk about Stalin’s role in history.

Then the photo shoot began again. Everyone wanted to photograph themselves against the background of the grave. Some held their hand on the shoulder of the bust of the Generalissimo, others kissed the monument, some knelt down, most did not bother with posing – they stood with their arms at their sides, their feet shoulder-width apart.

“When you’re done, go to St. Basil’s Cathedral, there’s the last gathering point, we’ll take pictures again,” the organizer of the procession commanded.

I missed this shoot. I went to the exit. Two men walked in front of me. One said to the other: “It’s a pity that Beria wasn’t buried here, I would have put flowers on his grave”…