Communists: Fathers & Sons

There was a sense of deja vu about the whole affair—an uncanny, paramnesic feeling that all of this had happened before. And of course it had. Half a million Muscovites filled Red Square with song and holiday color, as usual. Through the balmy spring weather rumbled the same long lines of tanks and rocket launchers, as usual. Defense Minister Rodion Malinovsky delivered his usual threats of rocket-borne retaliation against any imperialist aggressor. From high on the facade of the Moscow Hotel, the usual giant portrait of Nikita Khrushchev eyeballed the crowd, and—as usual—the man...

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