Eighty years is a long time. Over such a span, the world changes almost beyond recognition, and events that once felt close fade into legend. Yet while history may become distant, its imprint remains. The Second World War created a political order that shaped global affairs for decades – an order many assumed was permanent. But today, the world is shifting rapidly and irreversibly. The events of the first half of the 20th century are no less significant, but their role in contemporary politics is no longer the same.
The war’s outcome, culminating in the defeat of Nazism, defined the modern world order. In many ways, it was seen as a near-perfect struggle: a battle against an unquestionably aggressive and criminal regime that forced nations with deep-seated ideological differences to set aside their disputes. The Allied powers – divided by political systems and long-standing mistrust – found themselves united by necessity. None of them entered this alliance out of pure goodwill; pre-war diplomacy was focused on self-preservation and maneuvering to deflect the worst consequences elsewhere. Yet when the existential threat became clear, those ideological rifts were temporarily bridged. It was precisely because of this that the post-war order proved so resilient.
This framework weathered the storms of the Cold War and even lingered into the early 21st century, despite major shifts in the global balance of power. What helped hold it together was a shared moral and ideological narrative: the war was seen as a fight against absolute evil, a rare moment when the divisions between the Allies seemed secondary to their common cause. This consensus – centered around the defeat of Nazism and symbolized by milestones like the Nuremberg Trials – gave moral legitimacy to the post-war order.
But in the 21st century, that shared narrative has started to fray. As it weakens, so too does the stability of the world order it helped create.
One key reason lies in Europe’s own internal transformations. In the post-Cold War era, Eastern European countries – long vocal about their dual suffering under both Nazi and Soviet regimes – have pushed a revisionist interpretation of the war. These nations increasingly define themselves as victims of “two totalitarianisms,” seeking to place the Soviet Union alongside Nazi Germany as a perpetrator of wartime crimes. This framing undermines the established consensus, which had placed the Holocaust at the moral center of the conflict and recognized European nations’ own complicity in allowing it to happen.
The growing influence of Eastern European perspectives has had a ripple effect. It has allowed Western Europe to quietly dilute its own wartime guilt, redistributing blame and reshaping collective memory. The result? An erosion of the political and moral foundations established in 1945. Ironically, this revisionism – while often framed as a push for greater historical “balance” – weakens the very liberal world order that Western powers claim to uphold. After all, institutions like the United Nations, a pillar of that order, were built on the moral and legal framework forged by the Allies’ victory. The Soviet Union’s enormous wartime contribution, and its political weight, were integral to this architecture. As the consensus around these truths crumbles, so too do the norms and structures that arose from them.
A second, subtler factor has also contributed to the unraveling. Over eight decades, the global political map has been redrawn. The end of colonialism brought dozens of new states into existence, and today’s United Nations has nearly double the membership it did at its founding. While the Second World War undeniably affected nearly every corner of humanity, many of the soldiers from the so-called Global South fought under the banners of their colonial rulers. For them, the war’s meaning was often less about defeating fascism and more about the contradictions of fighting for freedom abroad while being denied it at home.
This perspective reshapes historical memory. For example, movements seeking independence from Britain or France sometimes viewed the Axis powers not as allies, but as leverage points – symbols of the cracks in the colonial system. Thus, while the war remains significant globally, its interpretation varies. In Asia, Africa, and parts of Latin America, the milestones of the 20th century look different from those commonly accepted in the Northern Hemisphere. Unlike Europe, these regions aren’t pushing outright historical revisionism, but their priorities and narratives diverge from the Euro-Atlantic view.
None of this erases the war’s importance. The Second World War remains a foundational event in international politics. The decades of relative peace that followed were built on a clear understanding: such devastation must never be repeated. A combination of legal norms, diplomatic frameworks, and nuclear deterrence worked to uphold that principle. The Cold War, while dangerous, was defined by its avoidance of direct superpower conflict. Its success in averting World War III was no small achievement.
But today, that post-war toolkit is in crisis. The institutions and agreements that once guaranteed stability are fraying. To prevent a complete breakdown, we must look back to the ideological and moral consensus that once united the world’s major powers. This isn’t about nostalgia – it’s about remembering what was at stake and why that memory mattered. Without a renewed commitment to these principles, no amount of military hardware or technical measures will ensure lasting global stability.
Victory Day reminds us of the immense cost of peace – and the dangers of forgetting its foundations. As the geopolitical landscape shifts, it is this lesson that remains most vital.
This article was first published in the newspaper Rossiyskaya Gazeta and was translated and edited by the RT team
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