Slovak Prime Minister Robert Fico, the only EU leader to attend Moscow’s Victory Day celebrations, marks a symbolic alignment with Putin. Nearly half of Slovakia’s population succumbed to some form of Russian propaganda. On the same day, an opposition- led protest took place in the streets of Bratislava. With a camera in hand, I joined the protest—what unfolded became a mirror of Slovak society.
Two Victory Days, Two Realities
8 May – the Day of Victory against Fascism in Slovakia – carries special meaning for many. This year, Prime Minister Robert Fico marked the occasion not at home, but in Moscow, where Russians commemorate their own victory over Nazi Germany on 9 May. His decision sparked strong reactions across Europe and deepened divisions at home.
While most of Europe commemorates Victory Day on 8 May, Russians celebrate it on 9 May. The surrender of Nazi Germany took effect on May 8, 1945, at 11:01 p.m. Central European Time – but it was already a new day in Moscow. Therefore, the Soviet Union, and later Russia, symbolically set the celebrations for 9 May.
Interestingly, Ukraine also observes 9 May – not as a Soviet holiday, but as a day of remembrance and resistance to aggression.
From Maidan to Bratislava
I myself visited Ukraine for the first time on 9 May 2014 – when the Maidan revolution was still reverberating in Kiev.
Since then, I’ve returned many times, drawn by the profound historical events unfolding there. I was always struck by the patriotic energy — people in traditional clothing singing the national anthem, often with tears in their eyes. It’s something I rarely see in my own country.
Now, more than a decade later, I’m standing on the square of independence in Bratislava. Despite the brutal war still raging in Ukraine, nearly half of Slovaks say they support Russia or are influenced by pro-Russian narratives.
Michal Šimečka, leader of the opposition and chair of Progressive Slovakia, is standing on the podium.
I briefly met him a few weeks ago in a remote Slovak village, where he was shopping with his family. A local man approached him to thank him for his work for Slovakia. Šimečka barely responded and walked away; it was his day off.
Here in the square, EU and Slovak flags wave above the crowd, reminding me for a moment of the protests in Ukraine. With one slightly strange difference.
At the end of the rally, the national anthem plays. In Ukraine, people stop and sing with emotion. Here, many simply walk away, even while the anthem still echoes through the speakers. I stand with my camera as hundreds pass me, leaving the square before the music has finished.
The Bratislava Bubble
With the camera I turn to the people around me. Most express shame over Fico’s actions. Many acknowledge that Russian propaganda still influences a large portion of the Slovak population. Several say they have family members or neighbours who believe in it. One comment I hear often: “We are isolated in the Bratislava bubble.”
While many blame Fico, others say the real problem lies with the opposition. Progressive Slovakia, they argue, has failed to connect with people outside the capital.
At one point, I find myself standing at the front of the stage, just as Šimečka is finishing an interview with a journalist. I want to ask him why he thinks various regions still support the ruling party. I am out of luck.
Despite it being an official event he organised, he doesn’t want to talk. He doesn’t even give a clear answer—just waves at his PR assistant, rolls his eyes, and turns his back.
The PR assistant smiles politely and offers to arrange a meeting with me later. But I remember that moment in the countryside, when a local man tried to speak with Šimečka and was brushed off.
I don’t feel the need to arrange that meeting. I hope to find others still willing to talk, even though the anthem has already faded away.
