Eighty years ago, on 8 May 1945, the guns finally fell silent across Europe. Nazi Germany’s unconditional surrender to the Allied powers marked the end of the bloodiest conflict the continent had ever known. For the Soviet Union, the price of victory was staggering – more than 26 million dead, a generation scorched by war, entire cities turned to ash. But the triumph was real, and it carried a profound message: that even amid the ruins of cruelty, unity could prevail. Now, as Europe commemorates the 80th anniversary of Victory Day, we find ourselves once again in the uncomfortable presence of war- not in the same cities or under the same flags, but with the same heartbreaking toll.

In a world that once promised “Never Again,” the spectre of conflict looms ominously in South Asia, where another war—a war of attrition, ideology, and power – threatens to upend decades of uneasy peace. “In times of peace, children bury their parents. In times of war, parents bury their children.” These words, spoken by Winston Churchill, the wartime British Prime Minister, during the darkest days of the Second World War, continue to resonate with unbearable clarity today. As we look back at the defeat of fascism in Europe, we are reminded not only of the cost of war but also of the fragility of the peace that followed. Victory Day in Europe was more than a military triumph.

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It was the collapse of the Third Reich, yes, but it was also the dawn of a new world order. That moment of victory did not bring pure harmony; rather, it sowed the seeds of another global contest – the Cold War. The jubilant scenes in London, Paris, Moscow, and New York on 8 May 1945, quickly faded into an age of suspicion and division. The alliance between the West and the Soviet Union fractured into ideological lines drawn through cities, nations, and families.

The Iron Curtain descended across the continent, as Churchill so memorably declared in 1946, sealing off Eastern Europe behind a wall of authoritarianism and secrecy. While the bullets had stopped, a new war had begun – a war of ideology, influence, and nuclear threat. Bretton Woods had already laid the foundation for a Western economic order, with the U.S. dollar at its centre and the International Monetary Fund and World Bank as its architects. But this new financial framework was not global – it was geopolitical. The Soviet bloc, excluded from the dollar-dominated system, constructed its own economic and military structures, eventually leading to the formation of NATO and the Warsaw Pact.

This was not peace as we might define it today, but a frozen battlefield – a world in balance, teetering on the edge of mutually assured destruction. What, then, are we to make of this 80th anniversary in 2025? The veterans who remember VE Day firsthand are now few, their memories fading into the realm of history books and state ceremonies. Yet the lessons they carry are more vital than ever. In Ukraine, in Gaza, and now in South Asia. The human cost of geopolitical ambition is again being paid in blood. Realignment is the word of the moment. Old alliances are shifting; new blocs are emerging. The balance of power that emerged after 1945, and then again after 1991, is eroding in real time. Nowhere is this more evident than in South Asia, where tensions have escalated between nuclear powers with terrifying implications.

While the conflict remains regional in scope, its reverberations are felt across the globe. As in Europe of the 1930s, a complex web of nationalism, historical grievances, and strategic calculations has drawn the world into a precarious dance. What began as local disputes now carry the potential to realign global priorities. One cannot help but see the echoes of 1945 in our current moment. Then, the world stood at a precipice, determined not to repeat the mistakes of the past. The creation of the United Nations, the drafting of the Universal Declaration of Human Rights, and the drive to decolonize large parts of the world all stemmed from a desire to build a better future.

Yet today, multilateralism is in retreat. Trust in international institutions has eroded. The promise of a rules-based world order has withered under the strain of nationalism, disinformation, and renewed authoritarianism. The uncomfortable truth is that we have forgotten how fragile peace can be. Eight decades after the guns went silent in Berlin, war is again being used as an instrument of national policy. Civilians are no longer mere collateral – they are often the targets. The bombing of hospitals, the targeting of refugees, the use of information warfare to stoke division and justify aggression – these are not deviations from modern warfare; they are its defining features.

And yet, there is still hope. History may not repeat itself, but it does echo, and we can choose how we respond. The 80th anniversary of Victory Day offers not just a moment of remembrance, but a chance for recommitment: to diplomacy over destruction, to cooperation over conquest, to humanity over hatred. We should remember that the victory in 1945 was not merely over Germany; it was over an idea – that might makes right, that race determines worth, that violence solves more than dialogue ever could. Those ideas are resurgent today, though they wear new uniforms and speak new slogans.

But the lesson of 1945 is clear: when nations unite against such darkness, light can still prevail. The world today stands at another point of alignment and realignment. Just as the Cold War produced its own blocs of influence and spheres of control, we are once again seeing nations position themselves in preparation for a long, uncertain contest. Whether it leads to a stable new order or a violent reckoning depends not on fate, but on choices – made by leaders, but also by citizens who demand better. Eighty years ago, the streets of Europe rang with bells of celebration.

This year, those bells must toll with warning as much as remembrance. We honour the past not by glorifying war, but by protecting peace. For if history teaches us anything, it is that the cost of forgetting is measured not in headlines, but in human lives. And so, in the shadow of new wars, let us remember an old victory – not just for what it ended, but for what it began. 8 May 1945, was not merely the end of a war; it was the fragile beginning of a hope that must still be fought for.

(The writer is Professor, Centre for South Asian Studies, Pondicherry Central University.)