‘There is Such a Profession – Defending the Motherland’: Colonial Anatomy of the Soviet Cinema Myth

‘There is such a profession – defending the Motherland’: The colonial anatomy of the Soviet cinema myth

The film Officers (1971) is rightly considered one of the most effective propaganda products of Soviet cinema. Its success lies precisely in the fact that the colonial essence of Soviet/Russian politics is skilfully camouflaged under a deeply emotional story about ‘serving the Motherland,’ loyalty, sacrifice, and patriotism. This film has become a textbook example of how an empire constructs its own memorial narratives, turning colonisers into heroes and colonial wars into a ‘noble mission.’

The words ‘There is such a profession — to defend the Motherland’ have become a sacred mantra in Russia, repeated even today to justify yet another imperial aggression.

But what were the main characters of the film really ‘defending’ in Central Asia, China, and Spain? The answer to this question reveals the true nature of the Soviet project — not as a liberation project, but as a classic colonial enterprise.

CENTRAL ASIA: SUPPRESSION OF ANTI-COLONIAL RESISTANCE UNDER THE GUISE OF ‘ESTABLISHING SOVIET POWER’

The first location where young cadet Alexei Trofimov ends up after graduating from military school is a ‘distant Central Asian garrison.’ Chronologically, this is the early 1920s. The film presents this episode as a romantic military adventure: a young officer and his wife travel to a distant land to ‘establish Soviet power.’

But what was really happening in Central Asia in the early 1920s? A brutal colonial war was unfolding there against the Basmachi movement – a widespread anti-colonial uprising of the local population against Russian/Soviet occupation. The Basmachi (from the Turkic ‘basmaçı’ – raiders) fought for the independence of their lands from Russian rule, which had continued since the tsarist expansion of the 19th century.

The Soviet authorities continued the tsarist colonial policy, only changing the ideological packaging. Instead of the ‘civilising mission of the white man’ came the ‘mission of the proletarian revolution’. The suppression of the Basmachi movement was accompanied by mass repression, the destruction of the traditional way of life, the confiscation of land, and the imposition of a foreign culture and language.

In the film, however, we see a romanticised picture: brave Red Army soldiers ‘defending the revolution’ from ‘bandits’. Not a word is said about the fact that these ‘bandits’ were the local population defending their own land from foreign occupiers. There is no reflection on the fact that the Russian/Soviet troops were a colonial army suppressing a national liberation movement.

The film deliberately avoids showing the cruelty of colonial war, focusing instead on the personal experiences of the officer and his wife.

This is a classic technique for humanising the coloniser: the viewer sympathises with the Russian family who ‘sacrifice themselves’ for the ‘greater good’ and does not see the tens of thousands of local residents killed during the suppression of the resistance.

CHINA: IMPERIAL INTERVENTION UNDER THE GUISE OF ‘INTERNATIONALISM’

The next episode in the heroes’ colonial odyssey is China. In the film, this is shown as the participation of Soviet ‘military advisers’ in the struggle of the Chinese communists. Again, it is presented as a noble mission to help ‘brotherly people.’

The reality is more complex. Soviet intervention in China (especially in the 1920s and 1930s, although the film also covers the later period) was part of an imperial geopolitical game. The USSR tried to create a puppet regime in China, controlled by Moscow, using the Chinese communists as a tool to promote its own imperial interests.

Soviet ‘advisers’ and military personnel interfered in China’s internal affairs, imposed Stalin’s line on the Chinese communists (which often contradicted the real interests of the Chinese revolution), and effectively tried to turn China into part of the Soviet sphere of influence.

In addition, the USSR retained control over territories captured by the Russian Empire, in particular Outer Mongolia (formally independent but effectively a Soviet satellite) and part of Manchuria through its control of the Chinese Eastern Railway.

In the film, we again see a romanticised picture: Russian officers heroically helping the Chinese, risking their lives. This is the classic ‘white saviour’ narrative, adapted to Soviet realities. The Chinese are shown as objects in need of help from their ‘big brother’ rather than as subjects of their own history.

SPAIN: ‘INTERNATIONALISTS’ AND THE EXPORT OF REVOLUTION

The episode with Spain concerns the civil war of 1936-1939, where Soviet ‘volunteers’ fought on the side of the Republicans against the Francoists. This is often presented as an example of ‘proletarian internationalism’ – helping progressive forces against fascism.

However, the reality is more complex. First, Soviet intervention in Spain was far from altruistic. The USSR supplied weapons to the Republicans in exchange for gold (a significant portion of the Spanish Republic’s gold reserves was taken to Moscow).

Second, Soviet ‘advisers’ and NKVD agents actively interfered in the internal politics of the Republican camp, suppressing competing left-wing movements (especially anarchists and Trotskyists) in an attempt to establish Stalinist control.

For the USSR, the Spanish Civil War was a testing ground for military technology, personnel training and the export of the Stalinist model. It was a geopolitical game, not altruistic aid.

In the film, the Spanish episode is again about the heroic sacrifice of Soviet officers ‘fighting for freedom.’ There is no hint of imperial ambitions, manipulation, or the use of the Spanish conflict to promote their own interests.

MECHANISMS OF LEGITIMISING COLONIALISM

The film Officers demonstrates the classic mechanisms of legitimising colonial policy through cinema:

1. Humanisation of the coloniser. The viewer sees not a faceless imperial machine, but specific people — the Trofimovs, their joys, sufferings, and love. This evokes empathy and identification. The coloniser becomes a person with whom one can sympathise.

2. Dehumanisation of the colonised. The local population is shown either as objects of ‘salvation’ or as faceless ‘enemies.’ They are deprived of their own voice, their own subjectivity. Their resistance is presented as ‘banditry’ rather than a legitimate struggle for independence.

3. Universalisation of the imperial narrative. The phrase ‘There is such a profession – to defend the Motherland’ is presented as a universal value, beyond specific political contexts. But what does ‘defending the Motherland’ mean in Central Asia, China or Spain? It means ‘defending’ the imperial frontier, expanding imperial control, suppressing resistance.

4. Emotional manipulation through the private sphere. The focus on personal stories, love storylines, and family dramas distracts from the political essence of events. The viewer cries over the fate of the heroes and does not think about the fact that these heroes are instruments of the colonial machine.

5. Aestheticisation of violence. Colonial wars are shown as something heroic, romantic, and filled with high meaning. Violence is justified by the ‘great goal’ — the establishment of Soviet power, helping ‘brotherly peoples,’ and so on.

LONG-TERM IMPACT: FROM ‘OFFICERS’ TO THE PRESENT DAY

This film shaped several generations of Russians (and Soviet citizens) who perceived imperial expansion as a natural and noble cause. ‘Defending the Motherland’ became a universal excuse for any aggression.

Today, when Russia is waging an open imperial war against Ukraine, the rhetoric has hardly changed. Russian propagandists still talk about ‘defence,’ ‘the fight against Nazism,’ and ‘helping a brotherly people.’ These are the same colonial narratives that were developed in ‘Officers’ and other Soviet films.

The film taught that the empire is not an aggressor, but a defender. That colonised peoples themselves ‘ask’ for help. That resistance to imperial power is ‘banditry’ or ‘extremism.’ That a Russian soldier who kills on foreign soil is a hero, not an occupier.

CONCLUSION: DECOLONISATION OF MEMORY

An analysis of the film ‘Officers’ shows how deeply rooted colonial narratives are in Russian/Soviet culture. This is not just a propaganda film — it is a sophisticated tool for constructing colonial memory, which works through emotions, identification, and private stories.

Decolonisation of the post-Soviet space is impossible without deconstructing such cultural products. We must call things by their proper names: what the film presents as ‘defence of the Motherland’ is in fact colonial wars; what is called “internationalism” is imperial intervention; what is romanticised as ‘service’ is violence against other peoples.

The film Officers is not just a film. It is an instrument of imperial ideology that continues to function today, justifying Russian aggression and hindering the true decolonisation of the post-Soviet space. Understanding the mechanisms of this cultural manipulation is an important step towards liberation from the colonial past.

P.S. One of the most subtle but also most important moments in the film is when, after the commander of the Soviet border guard unit is killed by ‘bandits,’ his cigarette case appears in the frame with the inscription in Russian: ‘To Georgiy Petrovich, His Excellency, Lieutenant, Company Commander, from the lower ranks and non-commissioned officers, in fond memory. August 1915. Galicia.’

This detail is a brilliant metaphor for the institutional continuity between the Russian Empire and Soviet Russia. The ‘Lieutenant His Excellency’ of 1915 organically transforms into the Soviet commander of the 1920s, preserving not only his personal identity but also the very logic of the imperial project. The officer’s biography becomes the biography of the empire: Galicia in 1915 precedes Central Asia in the 1920s not chronologically, but structurally. Both territories were conceived as peripheries subject to the control of the Russian centre; both were to be ‘civilised’ and integrated into the Russian cultural space.

It is significant that the inscription is in Russian — even in Galicia in 1915, it was the language of power, the language of those who brought ‘civilisation’ to the peripheries. Both Central Asia and Galicia are spaces where Russian presence is legitimised by a mission of ‘enlightenment’ and ‘order.’ Both Central Asia and Galicia are objects of the same imperial gaze, which transforms diverse territories into a homogeneous mass of ‘peripheries.’

The film inadvertently demonstrates what Soviet propaganda tried to hide: the 1917 revolution did not interrupt the imperial project, but only changed its ideological packaging, preserving its colonial essence.