It is arguably the most recognizable image of the 20th century. A lone soldier balances precariously on a stone plinth, clutching a flagpole as the crimson banner of the USSR unfurls over a skeletal, smoke-choked Berlin. Below him, the ruins of the Reichstag smolder. It’s a moment of pure, unadulterated triumph. But here’s the thing: almost everything you think you know about that specific photo—the "Soviet flag over Berlin" shot that appeared in every history textbook—is a bit of a lie. Well, maybe not a lie, but certainly a very carefully constructed version of the truth.
The Battle of Berlin was a meat grinder. By late April 1945, the Red Army had surrounded the city, and the fighting had devolved into a room-by-room, floor-by-floor nightmare. Hitler was underground, the Nazi state was disintegrating, and Stalin was obsessed. He wanted a photo. Not just a report of victory, but a visual symbol that would end the war in the minds of the global public.
The Chaos Behind the Red Banner
History isn't usually as neat as a 35mm frame. When the Soviet flag over Berlin finally flew from the Reichstag, it wasn't a singular event. It happened dozens of times. Soldiers were scrambling onto the roof under heavy fire, pinning any red cloth they could find—tablecloths, bedsheets dyed with blood or ink, actual military banners—to the statuary.
The most famous version of this event was captured by Yevgeny Khaldei. He was a naval officer and a photographer who arrived in Berlin with a mission. He actually brought three flags with him, sewn together by his uncle back in Moscow from three red tablecloths. Think about that for a second. The "official" flag that symbolized the fall of the Third Reich started its life on a dining table. Khaldei reached the Reichstag on May 2, 1945. By then, the building had actually been captured two days earlier, and several flags had already been raised and knocked down by German snipers.
Khaldei found three soldiers: Aleksei Kovalev, Abdulkhakim Ismailov, and Leonid Gorychev. He told them to climb up. He positioned them. He waited for the smoke from the fires below to drift just right to add that gritty, cinematic drama. It was a staged recreation of a real event that had happened in the pitch black of night on April 30.
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The Scandal of the Two Watches
Once Khaldei got his film back to Moscow, the censors noticed something awkward. If you look at the original, unedited negatives of the Soviet flag over Berlin being raised, the soldier supporting the flag-bearer—Ismailov—appears to be wearing two watches. One on each wrist.
In the eyes of the Soviet high command, this was a PR disaster. Two watches implied looting. Looting was, officially, forbidden (though unofficially rampant). Stalin couldn't have the "liberators of Europe" looking like common thieves in the most important photo of the decade. So, Khaldei had to get creative in the darkroom. He used a needle to scratch out the watch on the right wrist and then darkened the smoke in the background to make the scene look even more apocalyptic.
It’s kind of wild to think about. Even in 1945, we were "Photoshopping" reality to fit a narrative. The version that went viral—or the mid-century equivalent of viral—was a retouched composite of a staged reenactment. Does that make the victory any less real? Probably not. But it changes how we view the "truth" of historical artifacts.
Why the Reichstag?
You might wonder why they were so obsessed with the Reichstag specifically. By 1945, the building was a hollowed-out shell. It hadn't been used by the German parliament since the 1933 fire. It wasn't even the center of Nazi power—that was the New Reich Chancellery.
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But to the Soviets, the Reichstag was "the lair of the fascist beast." It was a symbol. It looked like a temple of power. Capturing it was a psychological requirement for the end of the war. When Mikhail Minin, a 22-year-old soldier, managed to get the first flag up at 10:40 PM on April 30, he didn't have a photographer with him. He just had a makeshift pole and a lot of adrenaline. Because there was no photo of Minin’s feat, he was largely forgotten by the official Soviet history for decades, replaced by the "official" flag-bearers Kovalev, Kantaria, and Yegorov who were chosen for the staged shoot later.
History is written by the winners, sure, but it's also developed in their darkrooms.
The Human Cost in the Frame
Behind the triumphant image of the Soviet flag over Berlin lies a staggering, almost incomprehensible body count. The Berlin Strategic Offensive Operation involved over 2.5 million Soviet troops. They lost over 80,000 men in just a couple of weeks taking the city.
The soldiers in the photo weren't models. They were exhausted men who had fought their way from Stalingrad to the heart of Germany. Kovalev, the man holding the flag in the Khaldei photo, was just 19 years old. When you look closely at his face in the high-res scans, you don't see the joy of victory. You see a kid who is profoundly tired.
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The city around them was a graveyard. About 125,000 Berlin civilians died during the siege. The "victory" the flag represented was also the start of a grueling, decades-long occupation and the division of a nation. It's a heavy image once you strip away the propaganda.
How the Image Lives Today
The Soviet flag over Berlin remains a flashpoint for political debate. In modern Russia, it's a sacred icon of the Great Patriotic War. In Eastern Europe, it’s often viewed through a much darker lens—a symbol of the transition from one totalitarian regime to another.
In 2026, the power of this image hasn't faded. It’s still used in documentaries, memes, and political rallies. It reminds us that photography is never truly objective. Every choice a photographer makes—where to stand, when to click, what to edit out—is an act of storytelling.
Actionable Insights for History Buffs
If you want to understand the reality of the fall of Berlin beyond the posters, you have to look at the fringes.
- Check the archives: Search for Yevgeny Khaldei’s original, unedited prints. Seeing the "two watches" version provides a fascinating look at the birth of modern political spin.
- Read the memoirs: Look for accounts by Mikhail Minin. His story offers a much more grounded, less "glossy" perspective on what it was actually like to be the first person on that roof.
- Visit the location: If you go to Berlin today, the Reichstag is a masterpiece of modern architecture with its glass dome. But look at the internal walls. The German government preserved the graffiti left by Soviet soldiers in May 1945. It’s raw, messy, and far more human than any staged photograph.
- Identify the flags: Note that the Soviet Union produced nine "Victory Banners." The one in the photo is technically a replica of "Banner No. 5," which was the one officially designated to be raised over the Reichstag.
Understanding the Soviet flag over Berlin requires acknowledging the gap between the event and the image. The event was a bloody, chaotic struggle for survival. The image was a masterpiece of political art. Both are "true" in their own way, but they serve very different masters. Knowing the difference is the first step in becoming a sharp observer of history.