Culturicide in the Shadows of the USSR
- Charlie Harden-Sweetnam
- Sep 20, 2023
- 11 min read
Updated: Jan 13, 2024
This article was posted for Splijtstof Philosophical Journal under the title: Philosopher Abroad: Culturicide in the Shadows of the USSR.
Please be aware of a trigger warning for cultural genocide and war.
The war in Ukraine is entering its 19th month, and the terrifyingly destructive battles show no sign of relenting. With the Russian army launching a slaughter in their ‘fraternal’ nation, other peoples of the former Soviet Union find themselves at odds with each other. I want to describe some differences in how the general public are reacting to the war.
In order to illustrate my argument, I will draw from my experiences in the former Soviet Union.[1] By giving you an illustration of contrast between Kazakhstan and Lithuania, I hope to convince you that culture can be turned into a weapon of resistance, and that we must use culture as a weapon of resistance to support Ukraine. My three principal reasons are that it brings hope, it brings truth, and it embodies Ukrainian defiance itself.
I am going to do this in two steps. Firstly, I will analyse how art and symbolism is valuable in times of war. Secondly, I am going to describe the contrast in art and symbolism in Kazakhstan and Lithuania to illustrate the merits and needs for the weaponization of art and culture. I will focus on public, grass-roots artistic and cultural activism, as a way to engage in the war. I am talking about individuals and groups making public phenomena in solidarity with Ukraine.
Throughout this paper, I refer to Russian fascism, or Ruscism. The use of the term fascism is not done lightly, and I justify this having studied Putin’s ideology and the ideology of the invasion. This includes, among other things: irredentism and a cult of violence, hyper-masculinity and authoritarianism[IS(1] , the denial of Ukraine as a national identity and the justification of ethnic cleansing. For Putin, this fascism ultimately justifies war because “we are one people” (Putin 2022).
Culturicide, or cultural genocide, can be defined as a systematic destruction of a culture. It can take many forms but aims to undermine and root out national and cultural identities and specificities. It is widely seen as a war crime and a crime against humanity. My experiences have found that the way that some groups take a silent position in the face of culturicide is a dangerous precedent. To stay silent in the face of any form of culturicide or oppression is tantamount to complicity. I hope to convince you not be silent in the face of fascism of any form.
Culture and Symbolism as Resistance
In order to back up my argument that ordinary people should be showing signs of support for Ukraine, I will first discuss the value of art and culture in times of war. I maintain that art can be weaponised in three ways: it is a form of documentation, it can be weaponised in this war as a form of defiance itself, and because art and culture can bring solidarity and unity.
Firstly, art and symbolism for Ukraine demonstrates solidarity. It is a binding agent that can unify peoples. Ukrainian art and culture is not only an important motivation for the defence of the nation, but as a unifying factor it is also politically valuable. Like many national anthems, “Ukraine has not yet perished” has a role in binding peoples. This happened at Nijmegen4Ukraine demonstrations in March 2022, as an international crowd began to sing in Ukrainian, highlighting this power to bind people behind a common cause. But the ultimate power of cultural works like this is the use of a simple symbol to designate solidarity with a plight. For Ukrainians home and abroad, this is a powerful and hopeful message, albeit sad for the same reasons. As one Ukrainian told me: “[the symbols] make me smile. Because I know we’re not alone [which is important because] wars aren’t won alone anymore.”
During a war of information, reality is distorted. Putin’s post-modern truth is a dangerous political technique to rewrite the histories of Ukraine, Russia and the war. Art and culture can depict history and events from either side and do a lot of work to spread the truth. This is the second way that art can serve in war: as an account of history. For this reason, Putin tries to destroy museums and cultural institutions, in order to re-write history, according to the Ruscist vision and the Russian World ideology. But art and culture as can undo this disinformation, as it is the “material evidence of the existence of a culture” (The Canvas 2022, 4:34).
One such attack on Ukrainian cultural institutions came in February 2022, when Russian bombing targeted a museum near Kyiv that housed the works of a celebrated Ukrainian folk artist, Mariia Prymachenko. As the building was engulfed in flames, a local man ran inside to save some of the art and managed to save 10 pieces (The Canvas 2022). Putin and Ruscists tried to destroy Prymachenko’s art because art has the power to embody a culture.
The ideology behind the war is the denial of Ukrainian national identity. Subsequently through violent methods “all symbols of Ukrainian statehood have been methodically removed [in occupied territories] and a new Russian imperial identity imposed on the civilian population” (Dickinson 2022). Any manifestation of Ukrainian cultural identity is thus a rejection of the Ruscist ideology. Ukrainian art and culture are embodiments of resistance, in that their very existence represents a denial of Putin’s claim that Ukraine as a nation does not exist. This is why that man ran into the museum to save the art. Because the very existence of this artwork is an embodiment of defiance of Ruscist ideology. Mariia Prymachenko’s uniquely Ukrainian art is a testament to the very existence of Ukraine.
The man who was willing to risk his life to save the art of Mariia Prymachenko did so for the resistance of Ukraine. Because art is more than just oil on canvas; it is culture. And in this fight against cultural cleansing, the disposition of art is itself an act of defiance.
Lithuania
The skyline in Lithuania has been transformed since the war; you cannot escape its impact. Lithuanians take the symbolic fight to Putin, and the messages of solidarity make me feel inspired. But I strongly feel Lithuanian artistic activism is something we should emulate.
Lithuania’s public activism has become a weapon of information, trying to directly combat the narrative pushed by Moscow. Vilnius tries to dispel the falsified Russian propaganda. One striking example of this is the huge billboard on a skyscraper testifying ‘Putin, the Hague is waiting for you.’ Long before any international court sentenced Putin, Lithuanians were making their feelings known about the culturicide in Ukraine.
Or another example is 1K fund, a private, 100% volunteer-driven activist group. Their mission statement says:
“Our third field of interest is information warfare. We conduct public relations campaigns that combat Russian misinformation and help us gather donations for the fund.” (1Kfund.org)
Lithuanians are directly contradicting the disinformation disseminated in Russia. They are providing as much sport as possible for the defence of Ukraine in the name of the defence against fascism. Through cultural and artistic activities in public spaces, Lithuanians are taking the fight on information to the Russians. They do not sit idly by but take a firm anti-fascist narrative.
A second key feature of Lithuanian pro-Ukraine activism is unwavering solidarity. With the constant presence of activism, Lithuanian public society clearly signals its support and determination to help. This has many positive impacts. For example, it provides space for public grieving and trauma recognition. It increases awareness and boosts dialogue. It can even begin to humanise the conflict. But most of all, it provides hope through solidarity.
Furthermore, I believe that this solidarity has a positive impact on donation for support through grass-roots fundraisers and public events. Lithuania has one of the highest ratios of GDP to donation to Ukraine ratio in the world (Statista Research Department 2023) and is often linked to cultural and artistic movements like Radarom that provide Ukraine with vital equipment. I have found that the omnipresence of Ukrainian symbolism boosts a sentiment of solidarity, but also seems to be helping with vital contributions.
A final valuable part of Lithuanian artistic activism is how it is producing Ukrainian culture and expression. Since the war, many Ukrainians have fled to Lithuania, and this is producing a vibrant diaspora. By providing a space for this cultural expression, Lithuania helps Ukrainians abroad live their nationhood, and in a sense, embody resistance against Ruscism. This sort of artistic-cultural expression can be found across the capital: one of my favourites is seen below.
These intercultural projects among Ukrainians in Lithuania represent the embodiment of the resistance to the Ruscist ideology. By producing Ukrainian culture, you defy the claim that Ukrainian culture does not exist. It is through the display and the creation of new and old symbols of Ukrainian culture and resistance that art becomes a weapon in this war.
Kazakhstan and Ukraine
By contrast, public spaces in Kazakhstan almost never exhibit public symbols of solidarity. During my four months in the cultural capital, I saw one Ukrainian flag. There is an atmosphere of wilful blindness, of solicited ignorance. While there are some interactions with Ukraine on a state level, there is almost a complete lack of ostensive pro-Ukraine artistic culture. This section focuses on this neutrality in the face of culturicide in Ukraine.
My first point about art in war, concerns documentation. In Kazakhstan, the absence of interaction with the war in Ukraine means that Russian media has increased power among the populace in Kazakhstan. Consequently, the Ruscist narrative on the war has a greater impact on society.
During my conversations and interactions, I have noticed a disturbing reluctance to even mention the war. When I have mentioned it, I feel like I tripped a mine. Fear of upsetting others, a perception of being unable to understand complex political issues and feeling too uneducated are recurring excuses that seem to stifle public debate surrounding the war and Ukraine. This pervasive tradition of silence, perhaps in part due to the generations of Soviet oppression and the subsequent suppressive effect on political engagement (Zhukov 2018), means that politics seems to occur around people. Kazakh society seems to allow Moscow to control the political narratives.
Indicatively, people tend to use delicate language to describe the war, such as “circumstances” or “situation.” Even my university professors called it a “military operation.” This kind of delicate language, stemming from a neutral position, tends to avoid explicit claims about the war, because it is essentially silence. But that silence plays into the hands of Russia, because not only does it fail to recognise the culturicide occurring, but because of the continued influence of Russian media in Kazakhstan today. Moscow’s pro-war narrative has a pervasive effect on public opinion, especially among Russian speakers (Kumenov 2022), who constitute around 95% of the population. This evidence suggests that by staying neutral, Kazakhstan is vulnerable to the fascist ideology pushed by Russia. Thus, we can see how the official line of neutrality has dangerous consequences in Kazakhstan. Through this passivity, Astana allows Moscow to put their lens on current affairs, and the silence of their neutrality creates an eerie indifference towards the war crimes in Ukraine.
Secondly, the general reluctance to anger Russia means that Kazakhstan’s neutrality allows for the Russian war economy to continue to fire, which could endanger western support. And this has a damaging effect on hope. Kazakh society has an understandable fear of Russian aggression. The relationship between Astana and Moscow is deep and complicated, and the centuries of history mean their peoples are close, with Astana very much at the whim of Putin. This I have found evidence of during my interviews and discussions with Kazakh people here in Almaty. There is an understandable motivation behind this since Kazakhstan is economically dependent on Russia, does not benefit from the security of NATO, and has received threats from their former colonial overlord. This fear promotes a policy of placating their northern neighbour.
The policy of placating by staying neutral benefits Russia because it allows for the continued mechanisation of the post-soviet integrated economy. This could endanger long-term Western support for Ukraine because the economic cost of such support is growing in the face of an ever-operative Russian war machine. Operative in part thanks to ‘neutral’ states enabling the evasion of sanctions (Burna-Asefi 2022). What this means, then, is that the war will draw on. Ukraine will liberate all of its territories, but the question is when, and at what cost. As long as Kazakhstan and other nations stay silent, they prolong the bloodshed.
Finally, by ignoring culturicide, Kazakh society, fairly nationalistic in nature, has a tendency to legitimise the destruction of national identity in Ukraine. I say this because the indifference towards the destruction of another, while deeply treasuring one’s own culture, implicitly makes a value judgement on these two different cultures. I think Kazakhstan can be described as a fairly nationalistic and patriotic country. There is no shortage of flags here, and people are rightfully proud of their identity. But for Ukraine, there are no flags, no symbols of solidarity, despite the fact that the evidence of the destruction of Ukrainian culture and nationhood is widespread (Dickinson 2022). Yet, many in Kazakhstan refuse to publicly criticise this; according to a poll in November 2022, 95% of respondents claims to be neutral to the war (Dumoulin 2023). This is seen in the lack of symbolism of solidarity for Ukraine through artistic expression in public spaces.
Kazakhstan’s passionate nationalism and pride of its own culture, while silently witnessing the destruction of another, implies a lack of egality between these cultures. This norm of favouring one culture while ignoring the extermination of another culture creates a dangerous precedent of value judgement toward the ‘cultural other.’ It is by ignoring the culturicide, while propagating your own nationalism, that you normalise the destruction of what could only be, according to this logic, a lesser culture.
To conclude my findings on Kazakhstan, I have identified that on the superficial level, society generally forms a neutral perception. I had an interesting conversation with a taxi driver, and in response to my asking why there are no flags of Ukraine here, he stated that the Kazakh people are vehemently against the war. And I believe him. But my point is that the surface paints a different picture. The streets seem silent in the face of culturicide in Ukraine.
Conclusion
It is easy during a violent conflict to ignore the value of non-violent resistance, especially when what Ukraine needs most is military and material equipment. But the importance of solidarity should not be forgotten.
I have tried to illustrate one difference that I have found during my year abroad, and the disturbing effects of the war in Ukraine. Kazakhstan and Lithuania are of course wildly different societies, and I would not suggest that Lithuanians are in any way inherently better than Kazakh people. And I have stated, I am aware that Kazakh people support Ukraine in the conflict. It is true that neutrality and solidarity towards culturicide are not opposites. Meanwhile, the difference between neutrality and solidarity should not be understated. One of the problems of this neutrality is that it enables the continuation of Russian fascism.
Aimé Césaire, writing about Imperialism and Colonialism in the 20th century, argued that those who passively allow for the bureaucratic machine to continue, are responsible in part for the violence done (Césaire 1972, 54). This is because this system of exploitation and fascism required a hoard of unquestioning and obedient civil servants to keep the wheels turning.[CH2] [IS(3] While Ruscism and European Colonialism are a far cry from one another, it is through this same mechanism of the obedient or ‘neutral’ performance of functions that the violence continues. As one Ukrainian respondent wrote, there is no such thing as neutrality; you cannot hide in the shadows. And this is necessary for any of the intersections of fascism. Silence is violence.
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Bibliography
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The Canvas. 2022. “Maria Prymachenko, Ukraine & Art as a Factor in War.” YouTube Video. Uploaded 18th March 2022. https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=1unsnhztCW8&ab_channel=TheCanvas.
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[1] This article has been written with the assistance of students and experts in Lithuania, Ukraine, Kazakhstan, and Russia. Most of them wish to remain anonymous. I am grateful to all of them.
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