Russia’s War on Memory: Why the Ban on Memorial Matters

The designation of the human rights movement “Memorial” as an extremist organization and the ban on its activities in Russia are not isolated developments. They reflect a profound transformation within the Russian state and society. This is not merely about suppressing dissent. The deeper issue is the rehabilitation of Stalinism as a model of governance—and, increasingly, as a social norm.

On April 9, 2026, the Supreme Court of the Russian Federation granted the Ministry of Justice’s request to designate the International Public Movement “Memorial” as extremist. Once the ruling takes effect, any participation in its activities will constitute a criminal offense.

Memorial is an international organization dedicated to historical research, education, and human rights advocacy. Founded in the late 1980s, it began as a grassroots movement to document Soviet political repression and preserve the memory of its victims. For decades, Memorial’s work helped shape public understanding of state terror as a crime against society.

That understanding is now being dismantled.

The dismantling began earlier. In December 2021, Russian courts liquidated both Memorial’s human rights center and its international organization. In 2022, Memorial was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize—yet recognition abroad was matched by intensifying repression at home. In February 2026, the Ministry of Justice designated a Switzerland-based Memorial association an “undesirable organization,” further criminalizing its work.

The campaign against Memorial is part of a broader effort to rewrite historical memory in Russia. The Russian authorities are doing everything to normalize a new era of repression, and this resonates with society.

Today, public attitudes toward Joseph Stalin are shifting. He is increasingly portrayed as an “effective manager” and linked to the Soviet victory in World War II. According to the independent Levada Center, in June 2025, 42 percent of respondents named Stalin the most outstanding figure of all time, while only 2 percent expressed negative views toward installing monuments in his honor. In July 2025, the Communist Party of the Russian Federation adopted a resolution calling for the “restoration of historical justice” regarding Stalin.

This is not merely a matter of rhetoric. Stalin’s image is returning to public space—in monuments, political discourse, and even consumer culture.

Against this backdrop, Memorial has perhaps remained the only public institution consistently reminding society of the human cost of state violence.

My own experience reflects this shift. As a history student at Tula State Pedagogical University, I saw security services actively recruiting students. The Federal Security Service (FSB) regional headquarters—the successor to the Soviet-era Cheka, which carried out the Red Terror—stood directly across from campus. In its courtyard stood a bust of Felix Dzerzhinsky, founder of the Cheka. Nearby, an eternal flame commemorated Chekist officers. December 20 is still officially celebrated in Russia as “Chekist Day.”

Among students, interest in joining the security services often outweighed participation in educational programs organized by local Memorial activists. For many, such a career promised status, secrecy, and belonging. The history of repression was well known—but it was no longer seen as a moral warning.

Later, as editor-in-chief of a regional newspaper and chair of a public council under a regional ministry, I regularly encountered security service officers at official events. They worked in plainclothes but were easy to recognize. They had a distinct quality—a certain emotional detachment, a gaze that seemed fixed beyond the individual, as if guided by an internalized code. This reflected a system in which the individual is not a subject but an object of surveillance and control.

That system shaped the country for decades. It is now shaping how the past is understood.

Within this framework, the memory of repression ceases to serve as a moral foundation and instead becomes a political threat.

Memorial is persecuted precisely because it preserves that memory—and because it insists on drawing a line between past crimes and present realities. Today, that line is increasingly being erased.