Yesterday’s 45-minute Moscow performance, staged for the May 9 celebrations, was a touching lesson in historical decline. Red Square once shook under the tracks of machines that terrified the world. Yesterday, the only sound was the echo of Putin’s footsteps in the emptiness. Watching the “Tsar” attempt to preserve his dignity before a military formation with nothing left to show, surrounded by leaders whose main talent is surviving on other people’s crumbs, was almost uncomfortable.
Here is the “magnificent” elite that came to glorify isolation:
Alexander Lukashenko: The lifelong doorman of the Russian barracks once known as a state. A man who traded Belarusian sovereignty for three minutes of shoulder-patting and the right to move into Putin’s storage room. He is not a guest. He is inventory, brought out onto the podium whenever the host needs the illusion that at least one man still sees him as a “big brother.”
Kassym-Jomart Tokayev and Shavkat Mirziyoyev: Central Asian virtuosos who came to Moscow only to check whether Putin is still awake, while already carrying Chinese investors’ business cards and NATO security protocols in their pockets. They came to shake his hand and quietly check his pulse at the same time.
Thongloun Sisoulith (Laos): A geopolitical giant from Southeast Asia serving as visual proof that Russia is “not alone.” His presence carried about the same weight as an amateur theatre group appearing at the Oscars.
Sultan Ibrahim (Malaysia): Probably the only man on the podium there out of tourist curiosity, just to see what an empire looks like when it shrinks faster than a wool sweater washed at ninety degrees.
Robert Fico: The Slovak “revolutionary” sneaking around Moscow like a cheating husband afraid to answer calls from his wife (Brussels). He came to lay flowers, but carefully enough that nobody important would notice, pretending to be a bridge in a place where all bridges collapsed long ago.
Milorad Dodik (BiH, Republika Srpska): The most persistent geopolitical groupie in history, landing in Moscow more often than the average person visits the dentist. Back home he plays the Balkan strongman, while in the Kremlin he serves exclusively as cheap scenery and a statistical error whose name Putin forgets before the plane even leaves the runway. He is the uninvited guest convinced he has “special ties” with the star of the evening, while the host actually uses him as a remote control for creating chaos in the neighbourhood and filling an empty chair in the camera frame.
North Korean “extras”: For the first time on Moscow asphalt, soldiers serving as human currency with which Kim Jong Un pays for Russian grain and oil. Their presence is the final proof that the “world’s second superpower” has been reduced to importing human flesh from the darkest basement on the planet.
And while the “powerful” guests yawned and the tanks remained in garages (or somewhere in the mud of Donbas) Putin stood there alone. The man who wanted to redraw the world’s borders ended up hosting the saddest gathering imaginable, where the main attraction was a single old T-34 tank, as lonely as his politics.
A perfect picture of Russia in 2026: full of history, with no future at all, and guests who are there only until the bill arrives.