"Every day the world's largest country woke up with his name on its lips. Every day his name sounded on the radio, thundered in songs, looked from the pages of all newspapers. This name, as the greatest award, was assigned to factories, collective farms, streets and cities. With his name, soldiers went to death. Stalingrad bled during the war, the land turned into a corosta filled with shells, but the city that bore his name was not surrendered to the enemy. During the political processes he organized, the victims, dying, glorified his name. And in camps where millions of driven behind barbed wire turned back rivers, erected cities beyond the Arctic Circle and died hundreds of thousands - they did all this under his portraits. His statues in granite and bronze rose across an unobtrusive country."