The Soviet Union’s choice to mark Victory Day on 9 May, rather than 8 May as observed by most of the Allied world, has long raised questions.
The discrepancy in dates is not merely a quirk of time zones but reflects deeper political motives, tensions within the wartime alliance, and the post-war positioning of the USSR.
The act of military surrender by Nazi Germany was first signed in Reims, France, on 7 May 1945 at 02:41 Central European Time. The unconditional surrender was accepted by the Allied Supreme Headquarters, led by US General Dwight D. Eisenhower. Representatives of the United States, the United Kingdom, France, and the Soviet Union were all present. The Soviet delegate, General Ivan Susloparov, signed the surrender document.
However, Joseph Stalin was incensed by the news. He had instructed that no Soviet representative should sign any surrender without prior approval, but his telegram arrived too late. The USSR had hoped to stage a more symbolic capitulation on German soil, preferably in Berlin, the heart of the Third Reich. Stalin believed that the Western Allies had sidelined the Soviet contribution by arranging the surrender ceremony in Reims, where the Western command was based.
To assuage Soviet objections, a second signing ceremony was arranged in Karlshorst, a Berlin suburb, on the evening of 8 May 1945. Field Marshal Wilhelm Keitel signed the final act of military surrender in the presence of Marshal Georgy Zhukov and representatives of the Allied forces. The event took place late in the evening — at 22:43 Central European Time — which was already past midnight on 9 May in Moscow due to the time difference. This timing became the official justification for the Soviet Union’s observance of Victory Day on 9 May.
While the time zone explanation is technically valid, it fails to account for the broader political context. The USSR was dissatisfied with the optics of the Reims surrender and sought to reassert its role in the defeat of Nazi Germany. The Berlin ceremony provided an opportunity to symbolically centre Soviet military power and to recast the narrative around the conclusion of the war.
Subsequent Soviet historiography added further embellishments. Some accounts claimed that fighting continued in Prague or in pockets of East Prussia on 9 May, justifying the later celebration. However, these episodes were not decisive. The German military machine had effectively ceased coordinated resistance after the Reims surrender. Remaining German units were either unaware of the surrender or chose to ignore it, but such isolated incidents were neither widespread nor significant in strategic terms.
What emerged over time was a distinct Soviet tradition around 9 May — a date that served both commemorative and political purposes. The Soviet leadership used Victory Day to foster a narrative of heroic self-sacrifice, embodied in the staggering wartime losses: an estimated 27 million Soviet citizens dead, military and civilian. The day became a pillar of Soviet patriotic identity, detached from the broader Allied commemoration.
In Western Europe and North America, Victory in Europe Day — VE Day — is marked on 8 May. This date reflects the end of hostilities as understood by the original surrender in Reims, which entered into force on 8 May at 23:01 Central European Time. The Soviet insistence on the 9 May date created a lasting divergence that continues today.
In the post-Soviet era, the Russian Federation has maintained 9 May as Victory Day, preserving the ceremonies and military parades that defined the Soviet approach. In recent years, however, the symbolism of the date has taken on new meaning. Russian leadership has increasingly used the occasion to project national strength and to invoke comparisons between past and present adversaries. Western analysts note that the Kremlin has drawn on World War II imagery to frame contemporary conflicts, particularly the war in Ukraine, as existential struggles against ‘fascism’ — a term now applied in Russian discourse to describe opponents of the Russian state.
This appropriation of World War II symbolism has drawn criticism, especially as Russia’s wartime commemorations are used to justify present-day military aggression. The use of historical victory to legitimise current actions risks distorting the memory of 1945 and undermining its relevance. Some observers have argued that in attempting to ‘own’ the victory narrative, Russia has paradoxically eroded its credibility.
Ultimately, the choice of 9 May as Victory Day was driven not by military necessity or historical accuracy but by geopolitical considerations. It allowed the USSR to frame the end of the war on its own terms and to assert a dominant role in shaping post-war Europe. The consequences of this decision are still visible in contemporary political rhetoric and the calendar of commemorations — an enduring legacy of a deeply divided Allied victory.
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