I went to Moscow on May 7 with the hope of viewing the Victory Day parade on May 9. I knew it would be larger than normal: it was the 70th anniversary of the defeat of Germany and it was clearly President Vladimir Putin's intention to show the rest of the world that Russia was still a military power.
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I flew from Ukraine into Moscow's Domodedovo airport and took the opportunity to look at the international arrivals area, where an improvised explosive device was detonated in January 2011, killing 37, to the detriment of the airport security manager, whom Putin promptly sacked.
It was a relatively simple matter to catch the Aeroexpress train to Paveletskaya station in the city centre. From there, it was two metro stops on the Zamoskvoretskaya line to my hotel, the Metropol. My mistake was not having a metro map in Romanised and Cyrillic script because metro signs are only in Cyrillic, and few Muscovites speak English. I eventually made it to the Teatralnaya (Театра́льная) metro station, where I fortuitously emerged from an exit 200 metres from my hotel.
The Metropol is a gracious old art nouveau hotel in the heart of Moscow across from the Bolshoi Theatre and close to Red Square and the Kremlin. I assumed the high level of security around it was normal, with hotel security staff, Moscow police and OMON paramilitary police in evidence. I soon learned that security near the Metropol not only related to its central location near Red Square but also to the heads of state of Cuba and Venezuela staying there, along with sundry defence ministers from other countries. All of them had official invitations to the parade.
I had tried to get an invitation through the Russian ambassador in Canberra but he was apologetically unable to help. Invitations are very hard to come by. The Australian embassy in Moscow received only one, which was used by the ambassador.
I spent May 8 reconnoitring vantage points and talking to people who were aware of the security arrangements to try to establish where I might be able to view the parade. It soon became evident that only those officially invited to attend get to see it at Red Square. The target audience are heads of state and the media, and a few selected Russian veterans. The Victory Day parade is inaccessible to the Russian public.
Nevertheless, all Russians celebrate Victory Day as their victory, with the allies seen as peripheral players. Picture boards throughout central Moscow underlined this perception.
The three-day holidays period has an infectious, festive, party atmosphere. Many people wore wartime uniforms, girls handed flowers to veterans wearing medals, and some people carried pictures of relatives who had died. Most people wore the 70th anniversary ribbon, while military hats from the war period were on sale everywhere. There were displays of military vehicles from the Great Patriotic War (World War II) and bands played in many locations.
On May 9, I set off at 6am to try to secure a good position for the 10am parade, but soon found every street leading to the parade route had been blocked off. I eventually found my way to the Tverskaya Boulevard, part of the parade route at Pushkin Square, 10 blocks from Red Square. Military vehicles were already formed up ready for the parade, including strategic missile-carrying behemoths and new Russian tanks.
I found a good vantage point on a parapet a few metres away from the roadside barriers and prepared to spend the next three hours there. However, at 8am, OMON arrived in large numbers and cleared everyone from the area. People on balconies overlooking the parade route were told to go inside and close their windows.
Then, to everyone's surprise, at 9am, Moscow police set up metal detector gates and started letting people back into the area after screening them. The Russian would-be spectators did not complain when they were herded out, nor did anyone in authority try to explain what was going to happen. This is apparently standard practice for Russia.
By the time I got back through the screening point, I had lost my vantage point and ended up three-deep behind a towering figure wearing an NBA cap. The parade vehicles eventually fired up and moved off at 10.30am, with many returning half an hour later; a couple on low-loaders after breaking down.
It was frustrating trying to view the parade around people holding up iPads and iPhones on extension sticks. At about 10am, there was an impressive fly-past along the parade route of fixed-wing aircraft and helicopters, which everyone could see clearly, including jet aircraft flying in a "70" formation.
Russians are easygoing and seem accustomed to over-the-top security and official inflexibility. I estimate that for every 10 Russians on the streets there would have been at least one security person monitoring the proceedings. Large areas of central Moscow remained in lockdown for the whole weekend.
It was an interesting time to be in Moscow but anyone interested in the parade was better off watching it on TV. I understand from a friend in Canberra that, while I was seeing some of the parade between iPad cameras, he was able to watch the 90-minute Russian television coverage in comfort on Foxtel. The only apparent downside for Canberra viewers was the poor-quality commentary.
After the vehicles and aircraft had disappeared, well-dressed people started handing out placards honouring Russian martyrs and patriotic flags, including to me, for a procession that was about to take place from Pushkin Square to Red Square in commemoration of the more than 30 million Russians who had died. I had inadvertently became a bit player in the historic event.
Clive Williams is an adjunct professor at Macquarie University's centre for policing, intelligence and counter-terrorism and a visiting professor at the Australian National University's centre for military and security law. clive.williams@pict.mq.edu.au
