Imaginary interview with Joseph Stalin
by Charactorium · Joseph Stalin (1878 — 1953) · Politics · 5 min read
Two twelve-year-old visitors, on a school trip, push open the door to a dark-walled office. Facing them, Joseph Stalin waits, pipe in hand. Intimidated but curious, they have prepared their questions about this leader who marked—and mourned—the entire twentieth century.
—How old were you when you were sent to the seminary to become a priest?
You know, my child, I was born in Gori, a small town in Georgia. My father was a shoemaker, very poor. My mother dreamed of seeing me become a priest. So I was sent to the Orthodox seminary in Tiflis—imagine a large, stern building, cold walls, prayers from morning to night. But in the evenings, in secret, I read other books. Forbidden books that spoke of workers and the poor. I was caught. In 1899, I was expelled. The boy destined for the church became a revolutionary. Life sometimes changes on a single hidden book.
Life sometimes changes on a single hidden book.
—What was it like reading forbidden books in secret?
Imagine a large study hall, silent, where every page you turn could betray you. The monitors passed silently through the corridors. I slipped pages of Marx under my prayer books. My heart beat fast. It was dangerous, and that was exactly what I liked. I discovered a simple, burning idea: the world of the rich and the world of the poor should not remain separate. In Tiflis, I learned to be wary, to speak softly, to trust no one. That caution, my child, never left me for the rest of my life.
—Why did you force the peasants to pool everything together?
You see, when I took power, my country was vast but poor, still pulled by horses and wooden plows. I wanted to transform it in just a few years. To do that, I launched the Five-Year Plans—programs that set for everyone what they had to produce in five years. And I forced the peasants to combine their lands into collective farms, the kolkhozes. Those who refused, the slightly wealthier peasants called kulaks, I broke them. I believed I was building the future. But I must tell you frankly: behind these big words, there was immense suffering.
—Was there really a famine because of that?
Yes. And it is one of the most terrible pages of my history. Between 1932 and 1933, especially in Ukraine, millions of people died of hunger. It was later called the Holodomor. Harvests were taken by force to feed the cities and factories, and entire families were left without a single piece of bread. Children like you died in villages that became empty. I tell you this without hiding it, because a people that learns history must also look at its darkest hours. The greatness of a country should never be paid for with the hunger of its children.
The greatness of a country should never be paid for with the hunger of its children.
—Is it true that you signed lists of people to be killed?
Yes, it's true, and I won't lie to you. They were called the Stalin lists. They were sheets covered with names, hundreds of names of condemned people. I read them, and with my pen I wrote two little words in the margin: 'to be shot.' More than three hundred lists passed before my eyes between 1936 and 1938. Behind my police, the NKVD, and its thick files, there were human beings, with families. I told myself I was protecting the revolution from its enemies. But condemning a man with a simple stroke of the pen is something no child should ever learn to do.
—Weren't you afraid that would happen to your own friends?
That's a fair question, my child. The truth is that many of my own comrades went through it. During what was called the Great Terror, around 1936-1938, we held rigged trials in Moscow: men were accused of treason, forced to confess to crimes they hadn't committed, then shot. It was enough to be labeled an enemy of the people. No one was truly safe, not even those close to me. That's how fear reigned: when everyone distrusts everyone, no one dares to resist. A shared fear, you see, is the coldest tool of a man in power.
When everyone distrusts everyone, no one dares to resist.
—Is it true that you slept during the day and worked at night?
Ha, you're well informed! Yes, I rarely got up before noon. I mostly lived in my country house, the dacha at Kuntsevo, near Moscow, guarded by soldiers at every gate. I worked at night, phone in hand, calling my generals at three in the morning. I read mountains of reports and wrote notes in the margins, sometimes mocking. And in the evening, I invited my ministers to long dinners. Imagine endless meals where you had to drink and laugh when I decided. Governing at night was my way of remaining master of all.
—What did you like to do to relax?
Cinema, my child! Few people know that. In a private theater at the Kremlin, I watched films until three or four in the morning, my colleagues sitting around me. I loved it. But beware: I didn't just watch. I decided which films the whole country had the right to see. I could ban one with a single word, or shower another with praise. For me, a well-told story could convince an entire people. I once wrote that writers are "the engineers of human souls." A beautiful image, you see, can be stronger than a long speech.
—What was it like meeting the American and British leaders?
In February 1945, the war against Hitler was coming to an end. I received American President Roosevelt and the British Churchill at Yalta, on the Black Sea coast. Imagine three men deciding, around a single table, the fate of entire countries. I remained calm, very calm. I spoke little, I let the others get agitated. And meanwhile, I got what I wanted: a large part of Eastern Europe came under my influence. I was wearing my white uniform as Generalissimo, a rank created especially for me. In a negotiation, my child, the one who speaks least is often the strongest.
—Today, how do you want to be remembered?
That's a difficult question. During my lifetime, my portraits were everywhere: in schools, factories, streets. They even named a city after me, Stalingrad, where my Red Army defeated the Nazis in 1943. I loved that glory, I won't hide it. But I want to be honest with you. I transformed a poor country into a great power, that's true. And at the same time, millions of people died from it. When you learn my history, don't just remember the statues. Always ask yourself what the greatness of a single man in power costs in human lives.
Always ask yourself what the greatness of a single man in power costs.
This imaginary interview was generated by artificial intelligence from sources documented in Joseph Stalin's profile. It dramatises what the figure might have said based on what we know about them, but does not constitute attested historical testimony. For primary sources and factual documentation, refer to the full profile.