By Tatjana Zdanoka
9 September, 2026
On 5 September, at a party event in Langenhagen, German Chancellor Friedrich Merz addressed the attempted attack using an explosive-laden drone at Leipzig/Halle Airport. According to the German government, Russia bears responsibility for the incident. Merz himself stated that Germany must be prepared for further attacks as part of a hybrid war, emphasising: “We are not at war, but we no longer live in a state of peace”.
On 6 September, Russian Foreign Minister Sergey Lavrov dismissed Germany’s accusations as baseless and stated that, together with Merz’s policy of strengthening military power, they signify the de facto start of a real war and a de facto declaration of war on Russia by Germany.
Thus, the word ‘war’ has been uttered at the highest level by both sides – of the German and Russian leaderships.
It is symbolic that the alleged attack at Leipzig Airport did not result in any loss of life. This is in contrast to the two bloody events that served as the immediate triggers for the outbreak of the two world wars: the assassination in Sarajevo in 1914 and the Gleiwitz provocation of 1939.
I do not intend to analyse Mertz’s motives – they are quite obvious given the timing of the state elections – or Lavrov’s mood, as he is weary of ambiguities. I propose we discuss another issue.
PEOPLE OR PAWNS?
In his novel ”War and Peace”, Leo Tolstoy repeatedly drew parallels between war and a game of chess, whilst at the same time highlighting the limitations of this comparison: in a real war, people are not lifeless pieces on a board.
They have a will of their own.
They feel fear.
They have a love of life.
And, finally, they have the ability to refuse to play someone else’s game.
Analysing what the ‘pawns’ think – both those already caught up in the chess game and its potential participants – is an extremely complex task.
I am not a sociologist and can only draw on my own life experience. The experience of a person born in Riga into a mixed Russian-Jewish family in the middle of the last century.
The experience of a mathematician by training, whose professional career began by teaching students at the University of Latvia and culminated in being elected four times as a Member of the European Parliament for Latvia.
A person who obtained a scientific degree in Donetsk and continued her research in Montpellier.
A person who was issued, in her home town, with passports first as a citizen of the USSR, then as a non-citizen of Latvia (alien passport), and subsequently as a Latvian citizen.
A person whose ancestors were herded into a ghetto in that city and subsequently exterminated by Nazi collaborators.
This experience leads me to believe that quite a few people in Europe today have taken at face value the notion that conflict between the ‘democratic West’ and ‘barbaric Russia driven by imperial ambitions’, is inevitable.
If one were to ask these people: “How is it that it was only thanks to the victory of the anti-Hitler coalition in the Second World War that their countries were able to preserve themselves as entities of history and culture?” — they would most likely pause to consider exactly which coalition is being referred to and which states were part of it.
Many of them, especially the young, are today presented with an extremely simplified picture of the Second World War: on one side, the democratic United States and Britain; on the other, two totalitarian monsters.
In this narrative, the Soviet Union is portrayed not as part of the anti-Hitler coalition, and which suffered colossal losses in the fight against Nazi Germany, but merely as yet another totalitarian state that happened to find itself on the same side of the front line as the Western democracies.
One might object: why dwell on a war in which the overwhelming majority of those who took part have already passed away?
My reply is this: we must remember it precisely because the motive of many of those who are today pushing us towards a new global armed conflict is revenge for the defeat in the Second World War.
But here it is necessary to clarify: what exactly is this revenge about?
Revenge for the defeat of their own people?
For the defeat of their own state?
For the defeat of Nazi ideology?
The latter question strikes me as particularly important.
REVENGE AS A MOTIVE FOR A NEW WAR
I have written extensively about the rehabilitation of Nazi collaborators in Latvia. My speech on 16 March 2020 at a conference in Riga on the risks of neo-Nazism in modern Europe was included in the indictment in the criminal case brought against me. The Latvian State Security Service takes issue with the fact that I condemned the marches held annually on 16 March in Riga in honour of the Latvian legionnaires who served in the Waffen-SS. The Service has interpreted this condemnation as ‘assisting the Russian Federation in actions against the security, independence, sovereignty and territorial integrity of Latvia’.
I am not claiming that the history of Latvia, or any other country, can be reduced to a simple ‘heroes versus villains’ narrative. History is far more complex.
But there is a line that must not be crossed.
One cannot simultaneously declare Nazism to be an absolute evil and then justify, even glorify, those who collaborated with the Nazi regime.
One cannot proclaim oneself the heir to the European anti-fascist tradition whilst at the same time mocking the remains of those who died liberating Europe from Hitler.
Nor can one turn historical memory into a tool that alters the assessment of the same event depending on the political climate.
I shall take the liberty here of quoting at length from the ‘Sofia’ Club’s Declaration of 29 May 2017. The full text can be found on this same portal:
“The ill-thought out enlargement of the European Union in the first decade of the century, aided by fatal illusions of the new members, has put together two Europes, with differing ideas and principles. In many cases those are not just different, but directly opposed. The modern Europe was born to overcome those divisions which culminated in World War II. Germany, France, Italy have turned the page and are examples of reconciliation, which above all, is an Anti-Nazi durable project. The new member states, however, have no desire for such reconciliation. They have been forced to join, first, NATO, and then, the Union whose principles they do not share. They have brought with them a lot of anti-Russian revanchism and Cold War spirit, lacking connection with the Anti-Nazi struggle or even openly sympathetic to Nazism.”
Giulietto Chiesa, the ideological guru of the ‘Sofia’ club, who passed away whilst the corona virus was raging in Italy, had the ability to assess the present deeply and foresee the future. To be honest, his assessments and predictions often struck me as overly pessimistic. For example, take this one, made in December 2017 at a conference I organised in the European Parliament: “There has been no Cold War for a long time now. We are in the midst of a hot war. A hybrid war is being waged on all fronts. It is a psychological, informational, economic, financial and armed war. A powerful, unprecedented offensive is underway. And it is not only directed against Russia; it is directed against the rest of the world. The West is at war with the rest of the world. The situation is extremely dangerous. In my life as a journalist and politician, I have never seen anything like this before. For me, this is something completely new.”
Now I realise just how right Giulietto was.
But, being an optimist after all, I am trying to cling to a glimmer of hope. Hope that the idea of revenge will fail.
And this hope is not given to me by Germany, France or Italy — unfortunately — but by the country in which I now live in forced exile. That country is Belgium.
THE BRUSSELS PARADOX
Why is it that Belgium, of all places, gives me hope?
First and foremost, because here historical memory has not been turned into a tool of current political expediency.
Secondly, because this country manages, despite the great diversity of its traditional languages and cultures, to find an acceptable way for them to coexist. Here, no one suggests to people who wish to make full use of their native French that they should move to France (or to the Netherlands for their native Flemish, or to Germany for German). This is precisely what is currently happening in my native Latvia with regard to Russian-speaking residents.
Thirdly, because permanent residents here are not deprived of the right to vote on the grounds that their ancestors were not citizens of the country in 1940, as is the case in Latvia; on the contrary, they are fined for failing to vote.
And most importantly, because the Belgian authorities possess sufficient wisdom to base their international policy on pragmatism.
In March this year, Prime Minister Bart De Wever sparked a serious debate within the EU by calling for preparations to be made for a future peace agreement with Russia. He stated that once a peace agreement acceptable to all had been reached, Europe would be forced to normalise relations with Russia and regain access to cheaper energy, describing this as a matter of common sense and the survival of the European economy.
This stance drew sharp criticism from a number of EU politicians, foremost among them the EU’s High Representative for Foreign Affairs, Kaja Kallas. Furthermore, De Wever has adopted an extremely cautious stance on the issue of confiscating Russian assets in favour of Ukraine, the majority of which are frozen in Brussels via Euroclear.
The pragmatism of Belgium’s leader, set against the radicalism of the EU and NATO leaders whom it hosts, is the paradox of Brussels.
THE RESISTANCE
The memory of the Second World War in Brussels exists not only in museums. It is woven into the very fabric of the city. Suffice it to say that in Greater Brussels there are over a hundred streets, squares and avenues named after heroes and organisations of the Belgian Resistance.
September 3rd this year marked the 82nd anniversary of the liberation of Brussels from Nazi occupation. A respectable anniversary, though not a round-one. Nevertheless, all the traditional official events took place: a solemn wreath-laying ceremony at the Congress Column, a military parade led by the Welsh Guards Band, a memorial service in Laeken and the laying of wreaths at the Tomb of the Unknown Soldier.
There was also a new initiative: a procession in the Marolles district and the unveiling of a monument to the victims of the Holocaust, organised by the renowned film director Richard Kalish with the support of Brussels City Council. The fact is that on 3rd September 1942, the first large-scale Nazi round-up of Jews in Brussels took place here.
For my part, on that day I went to Ixelles Cemetery to lay flowers at the graves of 28 national heroes of the Second World War. Only one of the names carved on the memorial plaques is that of a woman. That is Marina Chafroff. She was born in pre-revolutionary Russia in 1908 in the city of Libava/Liepaja, now in Latvia. Her father, a naval officer, served in the Baltic, from where he emigrated with his family to Belgium after the revolution.
There, under Nazi occupation, Marina became a liaison officer for the commander of a corps of Belgian partisans.
On 8 December 1941, at Place du Port de Namur in the centre of Brussels, Major Krüger, the city’s deputy military commander, was fatally stabbed. Taking advantage of the commotion, the assailant managed to jump onto a tram and escape. The collaborationist Mayor of Brussels, Koelst, reported the incident to the Nazis in a note. Following an investigation, it became clear that this was the work of the Belgian Resistance. The Germans then arrested sixty residents of Brussels and demanded that, within a week, by 8.00 pm on 15 December, the man who had killed the major must come forward himself, or the detainees would be shot.
On the evening of 15 December, Marina said goodbye to her husband, kissed her sons, went out onto the street and made her way to the commandant’s office. Marina was detained, whilst the 60 hostages were released. That very evening, the people of Brussels began bringing flowers to Saint-Gilles prison, where the Russian partisan had been taken.
The arrested woman was taken from Belgium to Cologne, where, despite the intercession of Queen Elisabeth of Belgium—who had personally appealed to Hitler to pardon the mother of two children—Shafroff was sentenced to death by guillotine. On 31 January 1942, the sentence was carried out and her body was buried in an unmarked grave. After the war, at the request of the Queen of Belgium, the grave was located and Marina’s remains were reburied with full military honours at the Ixelles Cemetery in Brussels.
Both the Belgians and the Russians recognised Shafroff’s heroism. In Belgium, she was posthumously awarded the Combat Cross and the Knight’s Cross with a palm branch, whilst in the USSR she was awarded the Order of the Great Patriotic War, 1st Class.
HISTORICAL MEMORY
Returning to the question of the state of mind of the Belgians, I am confronted with a phenomenon that troubles me. I increasingly encounter young people for whom history is not so much ‘wrong’ as simply a non-existent field of knowledge.
I have spoken to students working part-time in Brussels cemeteries who were unable to point out to me the graves from the Second World War.
This is, of course, not a sociological study. But it is precisely such everyday observations that sometimes reveal more about the state of society than official reports.
Memory does not exist simply because the state holds a ceremony.
Memory exists when an individual understands exactly what he should remember and why.
State memory may exist in name only whilst gradually fading from the public consciousness.
And this is more dangerous than it seems.
Because memory is not about worshipping the past.
Society’s memory is it’s ability to understand the cost of the decisions made today.
Someone who does not know how the previous war began will find it much easier to believe that the next war will be short, high-tech and almost sterile.
That missiles will fly off somewhere far away.
That drones will destroy exclusively military targets.
That ‘our side’ will carry out ‘precision strikes’, whilst civilian casualties will be an unpleasant but statistically inevitable error.
Thus, war gradually ceases to be a human tragedy and becomes a series of technical operations.
This is precisely why the destruction of historical memory is not a cultural problem, but a political one.
And it is particularly difficult to understand why many European politicians prefer to turn a blind eye to such processes.
In the centre of Brussels lies Avenue de Stalingrad. It connects the Midi Railway Station with the city’s historic centre.
Will Brussels retain a name that serves as a reminder of one of Nazi Germany’s greatest defeats?
I would like to believe that it will.
Because Stalingrad is not just part of Soviet memory.
It is part of Europe’s collective memory of the defeat of Nazism.
The Battle of Stalingrad was one of the most crucial turning points of the Second World War. And if we truly wish to preserve the memory of the victory over Nazism, we cannot cherry-pick from that memory only those episodes that suit contemporary politics.
Avenue de Stalingrad is a perfect test.
For Brussels.
For Europe.
For European memory itself.
A HUMAN BEING OR A PAWN?
And here I return to the beginning of this article.
I do not want to believe that a major war between Europe and Russia is inevitable.
Not because I fail to see the danger.
On the contrary.
I see it all too well.
I know only too well that war does not begin when the first missiles cross the border.
It begins much earlier.
First, the language changes.
Then the ability to hear the other side’s arguments disappears.
Then the opponent ceases to be a human being.
Then you start calling him a threat.
Then his language, his culture, his history and his memory become threats.
That is precisely why I return to the image of ‘pawns’.
A pawn is not someone who is weak.
A pawn is someone who has relinquished their own decision-making and allowed another to decide where they should go.
And as long as Europeans – Belgians, Germans, French, Russians, Latvians, Ukrainians – are capable of asking themselves the question:
‘Why do I need this war?’
— they have not yet become pawns.
Which means we still have a chance for peace.
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