I sometimes walk among the ruins of what was once one of the Soviet Union’s most loyal satellite states – Bulgaria. Here in Sofia, countless Soviet-era monuments still stand. Their forms are massive, their lines harsh, and their message as solid as the granite they are carved from: “Never forget who’s in charge.”
They remain — gigantic statues and obelisks — not built for beauty but for power. Like in Moscow, they were never meant to blend into the city or inspire creativity. They were built to dominate, to be eternal reminders of a time when the people did not rule their own country.
A Free Nation – With Lingering Shadows
It’s been decades since the walls fell. Bulgaria is now a free country, a member of both the EU and NATO. Free elections, free press, open borders. Yet for anyone walking through Sofia, freedom still carries a strange burden. Here and there, the monuments remain, reminding everyone of the years when communism ruled with an iron fist.
And that’s where the discomfort begins.
Because while Bulgaria today can fly the EU flag outside its parliament, and young Bulgarians can travel and study anywhere in the world, the city is still marked by the reminders Russia left behind. Reminders not just of stone and bronze, but of an entire ideological presence — of political and psychological ownership over a people.
Labor Camps and Fear as Tools of Power
Many want to think that Bulgaria’s communist era was simply an alternative economic model. But behind the official rhetoric was something else entirely: repression, fear, and a brutal machinery of control.
Yes, Bulgaria had its own labor camps — its own Gulag. People could be sent there without trial, sometimes for something as small as a critical comment about the Party or for having the “wrong” connections. Punishments could be as merciless as those dealt by the Nazis during WWII. Historians have documented that these camps were not just meant to “re-educate” dissenters — they were meant to break them, physically and mentally.
The difference is that Nazi symbols and statues are long gone from public view. But here, more than 30 years after communism’s collapse, these reminders of an oppressor still stand as if nothing happened.
Why Are They Still Here?
Some argue these monuments are part of history and should remain as warnings. Others say Bulgaria has had too many urgent economic problems since the fall of the wall to remove them. A third group admits a certain nostalgia — not for the repression, but for what they remember as cheaper food, free education, and a sense of stability.
But leaving these symbols in place risks normalizing, even romanticizing, a regime built on fear, control, and persecution.
The Western Contrast
When I walk through Sofia and see these monuments, I think of how different it is in Western Europe. In Germany, France, or my home country Sweden, it would be unthinkable to keep monuments that honor Nazi leaders in central squares. They would be gone in days — not to erase history, but to make it clear: we do not accept symbols of oppression in our public spaces.
But Bulgaria’s situation is more complex. Russia is no longer an ally — relations have cooled, especially after the war in Ukraine — but the ties remain. Historical, cultural, linguistic, and religious links make cutting loose far more complicated than for a country that was never a satellite state.
Monuments as Tools of Power – Then and Now
These monuments were built with a purpose: to underline Soviet power over Bulgaria. They were meant to inspire respect — and fear. Today they no longer carry the same force, but they serve a new purpose: as silent players in the battle over historical memory.
In an age when information warfare and propaganda are again front-page news, it’s naive to think symbols don’t matter. A monument is not just a block of stone — it’s a statement. And as long as they remain, they risk becoming rallying points for those who want to revive old ideologies.
Remove or Preserve?
Should they be demolished? Moved to museums? Given explanatory plaques?
I believe the attitude must change. History cannot — and should not — be erased. But symbols of oppression do not belong as decoration in everyday public life. They should be moved to historical parks or museums where they can be seen in proper context, without functioning as living reminders of a time when Bulgaria’s future was not its own.
More Than Stone and Bronze
Behind each monument are not just architects and stone blocks. There are people who lived through that era — who lost loved ones in labor camps, who lived in constant fear of being denounced.
When I speak with older Bulgarians, I get two kinds of answers. Some say they miss the “order” of communist times. Others grow quiet, as if the memory is too heavy. And in that silence lies the explanation for why these monuments still cause discomfort: as long as they remain, they don’t just recall history — they recall wounds that haven’t healed.
The Discomfort That Must Be Faced
The discomfort I feel is a cultural scar — the memory of a time when freedom was gone, and power belonged to someone else. And the knowledge that the symbols of that era still stand, in full view.
For Bulgaria, as for many post-communist countries, true freedom means confronting the past — not forgetting it, but deciding where and how to remember it.
Removing these monuments from public squares is not denying history. It’s declaring that the architecture of oppression no longer belongs in the heart of the city. It’s a step toward a society where history is studied in books and museums — not as shadows cast over everyday life.
And maybe only then, when they stand behind glass instead of on pedestals, will that wound begin to heal.
By Chris...
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