Nicholas II, the last Russian emperor, remains a figure who sparks intense debate: he is spoken of with both admiration and condemnation, yet he leaves almost no one indifferent. In certain ultraright circles, the image of the last Russian emperor holds a special place. He is often portrayed as a “God’s anointed,” an innocent victim who fell at the hands of the “Judeo-Bolshevik demon.” This glorification sometimes reaches extremes, resembling a cult of personality comparable in intensity to the phenomenon of George Floyd, though in an entirely different ideological context, often tinged with antisemitic undertones. Such a comparison may seem stark, but despite acknowledging the tragic fate of Nicholas II, the cult surrounding his persona in these circles often appears excessively inflated. This is not about those genuinely interested in the history of the Romanovs or conservatives who sympathize with the last tsar, but about those who are fond of raising their right arm at a 45-degree angle and consider themselves Russophiles.
As a Russian, I find myself far more sympathetic to neo-Nazis with the Russophobic bent of Baltic nationalism than to those who mourn the collapse of the Russian Empire and claim that the Germans treated Russians and Russian culture with respect, hating only the Bolsheviks, and that Operation Barbarossa was a liberating crusade against the “red devils” enslaving the great Russian Aryan people. Russophobic Nazis, unlike their “Russophile” counterparts, have a far better grasp of history and the Führer’s views.
In 1943, a seemingly minor but telling incident occurred. German censorship banned the publication in Europe of an essay by Sergei Dmitrievich Pozdnyshev dedicated to the memory of Emperor Nicholas II, on the grounds that it “did not align with our [German] interests.” How could this be? The man regarded as one of the first victims of Bolshevism did not align with Germany’s interests in driving out the “commies” and liberating Russian Aryan peasants? Even more strikingly, the German administration rejected the essay because it might offend the sensibilities of former Soviet officers—namely, the Vlasovites—who, by the way, were supposedly marching to build a “Great Anti-Bolshevik National-Socialist Russian Empire with the tsar at its helm.” What an absurdity! Some Twitter user with nickname “OrthodoxNS1488” from Michigan or another corner of our beautiful planet far from Russia would need to rush to the scene and teach the Nazis the basics of German policy!
To understand why the Nazis were so wary of the idea of reviving a “national Russia,” we turn to the documents and research by historians Oleg Beyda and Igor Petrov, specialists in Russian emigration and the Second World War. Their work, grounded in archival materials, sheds light on the stance of the Nazi leadership, particularly Adolf Hitler, toward the Russian émigré community and its monarchist aspirations.
June 22, 1941, the day Operation Barbarossa began, marked a turning point for the Russian émigré community in Europe. The émigré society, divided into “defencists” and “defeatists,” reacted to Germany’s invasion of the USSR in varied ways. The majority chose to remain on the sidelines, retreating into private life, but an active minority of “defeatists” saw the war as an opportunity to return to Russia and overthrow the Bolsheviks. Blinded by illusions, these individuals genuinely believed Germany was fighting for their interests and were eager to collaborate with the Nazis.
In Paris, under the control of the Sicherheitsdienst (SD), the Committee for Mutual Aid of Russian Emigrants, led by Yuri Zherebkov and Vladimir Modrakh, issued a statement calling June 22, 1941, a “landmark date” and urging émigrés to unite their efforts with “National Socialist Germany” in the fight against the “Judeo-Comintern.” Grand Duke Vladimir Kirillovich also supported the “crusade against communism,” calling on émigrés to contribute to the overthrow of Soviet power. However, the émigrés’ hopes for collaboration with the Nazis quickly collided with harsh reality.
The Nazi leadership was deeply distrustful of the Russian émigré community from the outset. On June 29, 1941, Foreign Minister Joachim von Ribbentrop instructed the German ambassador in France, Otto Abetz, to adopt a wait-and-see approach toward the émigrés. The following day, June 30, a meeting at the Foreign Ministry decided that neither supporters of a “Great Russia” nor separatists should be recruited as volunteers for the Wehrmacht. Émigrés were to be gently rebuffed, avoiding concrete promises. Only in exceptional cases were individuals allowed to be used for specific tasks.
Particularly telling was Ribbentrop’s response to Grand Duke Vladimir on July 5, 1941. His appeal to the Russian people was deemed “complicating the Wehrmacht’s task,” as the Nazis believed it could bolster Red Army resistance by giving Soviet propaganda grounds to warn of a return to tsarist rule. Vladimir was ordered to cease political activity under threat of internment, and his actions were placed under strict surveillance.
The key to understanding this stance lies in a document from July 5, 1941—a record of one of Hitler’s “table talks,” preserved by Walter Tissler, an employee of the Nazi Party’s propaganda office. In it, Hitler clearly articulates his view of the Russian émigrés: “National Russia is more dangerous to us than Bolshevik Russia; the latter, once we defeat it, will need twenty years to recover, while the leadership of a national Russia has always seen us as an adversary.” Hitler emphasized the incompatibility of the German and Russian “character,” noting that émigrés gravitated toward France rather than Germany. He even remarked sardonically that, should the émigrés return to power, their rule would be “friendly to France and hostile to Germany.”
“The leadership of a national Russia has always seen us as an adversary.” You see, even those “white,” “noble” Russians were a threat to Germany simply because… they were Russians, and venerating the tsarist family—so beloved by right-wing anti-communist conservatives—was deemed unacceptable and offensive to certain German circles. Perhaps some will find Hitler’s words and the actions of the German administration insufficient and will continue to insist on their narrative, dismissing dissenters as “brainwashed by communists/Putin/Jews.” If self-preservation is communism to some, so be it. In that case, the sect of “Russophile Hitler” devotees are neo-Marxists, calling on people to repent for being people and destroy everything saint for others because it is “reactionary”.
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