Revisionism is not just a societal trend, though. It is law. Comparing the crimes of Nazi Germany to those of the Soviet Union is forbidden. A law against the rehabilitation of Nazism, signed by Russian President Vladimir Putin in 2014, for example, punishes people for “spreading intentionally false information about the Soviet Union’s activities during World War II” and “desecrating symbols of Russia’s military glory.” Even suggesting that the Nazis and the Soviets collaborated at all during the war is enough for a fine.

The legislation is reminiscent of the amended version of Poland’s “memory law” signed by President Andrzej Duda in February 2018 (and later modified after public outrage). The amendment targeted those who accused the country of complicity in the crimes committed by the Third Reich on Polish soil. Critics warned that Mr. Duda’s government could exploit the law’s ambiguity to punish his enemies.

Eventually, international and internal pressure forced Polish lawmakers to backpedal and rescind criminal penalties for violators of the legislation. The outlook is worse in Russia, where Mr. Putin’s anti-Nazi law has already been used against anti-government activists.

After unknown assailants splashed the face of the Russian opposition leader Alexei Navalny with an antiseptic green dye, one of his supporters shared on social media a Photoshopped image of a World War II monument in the city of Volgograd covered in green paint. It was enough to place the man under house arrest for desecrating a symbol of Russian military glory.

Image Alisa Ganieva Credit... Greg Baal

One of the greatest dangers in Russia’s experiments with revisionism is that it pushes the most painful chapters of its history into the shadows. Sandarmokh, a gloomy place in the woods of northern Russia, stands as a particularly illustrative case. In 1937 hundreds of innocent people were killed there during Stalin’s purges. Since the discovery of a burial ground at the site in the 1990s, people have gathered there every year for a memorial honoring the victims. In the summer of 2018 I was there too.

There was no stage, just a makeshift podium and a sound amplifier. Not a single local official was in attendance. Yuri Dmitriev, the historian who had uncovered the site of the tragedy, sat in jail, charged with the sexual assault of his adoptive daughter. Mr. Dmitriev’s supporters say the case was fabricated to punish him for his work casting light on Soviet crimes. As we listened to a speech, a nearby squad of Cossacks in full attire shouted at those of us who had convened for the commemoration. “What are you talking about? Stop this fascism!” they yelled before marching away.

A few weeks later, the Russian Military Historical Society started excavations at the site. The organization, a government initiative founded in 2012, is set on proving that at least some of the bodies buried there belong to Red Army soldiers gunned down by the Finns during the Winter War. It seems as though Russia is not yet ready to acknowledge the dark pages of its history. Rather than take responsibility for its past, it just keeps reliving it. And this makes it so much more difficult to escape to the future.