“Ukrainians know the Russian liberal ends where Ukraine begins”: An Interview with Bohdana Neborak

Bohdana Neborak is a journalist, cultural manager, and podcaster. Last year, she became the editor-in-chief of The Ukrainians, an award-winning online platform which publishes interviews with Ukrainians throughout different spheres of society. Previously, she was the head of the Translation Department at the Ukrainian Book Institute, where she coordinated with foreign publishers to promote Ukrainian literature abroad. Since the start of the Russian invasion in Ukraine on February 24, Bohdana and many other Ukrainians have been vocal about the need to elevate Ukrainian voices over those of so-called Russian dissidents, which has been met with mixed responses in the west. Bohdana spoke with Apofenie’s editor-in-chief Kate Tsurkan about why it’s important for cultural institutions worldwide to suspend cooperation with Russian artists during wartime, why this does not constitute Russophobia, what Ukrainian culture has always meant to her, and more.

Following Russia’s full-scale invasion of Ukraine on February 24, Ukrainian artists and cultural institutions have issued a call for the world community to suspend cultural cooperation with Russian artists. Why is this important?

Russian culture created the conditions in which the average Russian was raised. It served as a shield that covered up the crimes committed by the Russian state. These days, the Russian military, which is undoubtedly part of the Russian culture, has come to Ukraine, bringing death. They are raping and torturing Ukrainian civilians. Russian culture is also represented by the 83% who, according to the latest opinion polls, support Vladimir Putin. 

For centuries, the world has understood Russian culture in the narrowest sense–that is, the novel, ballet, art. But even this “high” culture has grown due to the oppression of other nations, the appropriation of other nation’s cultural achievements, and the forced concealment of the true faces of other Eastern European cultures.

Many Russian liberals have responded to such calls with outrage, insisting that it is russophobic and Russians should not be punished for “Putin’s war”. How do you respond ?

Russian liberals who in some way condemned Russia's actions in Ukraine after February 24 (I deliberately do not use the word "war" or "invasion" because not all of them called things by their proper names) usually said they felt three things which were pain, fear, and shame. Yet I have not heard from any Russian liberal who left Russia or dares to oppose Russian policy from inside the country about the need to de-imperialize Russia and apply postcolonial practices to their country. Instead they are trying to create something like an ark of Russian culture, which will contain artifacts that have been cultivated for many years as evidence of a "great Russian culture." They claim 83% of Russians who openly support Putin's policies do not represent the “real” Russia. Even if we reject the numbers, it looks to me like the defeat of Russian liberals and, more notably, their rejection of their own country, which is based in attempts to create an imaginary "real" Russia that exists outside of mass murders, occupation, and war.

An intellectual tries to comprehend his society: it is as if he holds a mirror in front of it so that it could see itself for what it really is. A citizen cannot exist outside of his society. And so this dissociation seems flawed to me.

As for Russophobia… I don’t understand how anyone can willingly involve themselves with Russian culture until the last Russian soldier’s boots leave Ukraine and Russia takes responsibility for what it has done. Imagine that you lived in Zurich in 1943: if you knew about the Nazi concentration camps, would you organize a reading of German authors? Would you organize a panel of Jewish and German poets, knowing that Jews were being sent to their deaths in the gas chambers? This is essentially what foreigners have been trying to do today by promoting work with Russian culture and, especially, by trying to create shared platforms for Russian and Ukrainian artists. When people refuse to cooperate with Russians because of their awareness of the atrocities committed by Russia, it is not russophobia, but rather an attempt to preserve their own system of values.

I’ve been struck by how often Russian liberals and pro-Putinists seem to find common ground on the topic of Ukraine. How can you explain to westerners who don’t know the long history of Russian aggression in Ukraine why Ukrainians are immediately skeptical of the attention and praise that western media heaps on so-called Russian dissidents?

Ukrainians know, in the words of Ukrainian writer Volodymyr Vynnychenko, that the Russian liberal ends where Ukraine begins. 

We remember the Slaughter of Baturyn in 1708, when the Russians burned the last Cossack capital to the ground and did not spare the lives of even children or the elderly. We also remember the Holodomor of 1932-1933, when the Communist leadership in Moscow manufactured a famine that claimed the lives of an estimated 3.9 million Ukrainians. What's more, we remember the thousands of Ukrainians who were deported, shot, and tortured on the orders of Soviet authorities. The best Ukrainian artists died from Russian bullets only because of their national and cultural identity. These are just a few examples from the long history of Ukraine that remind Ukrainians every day that Russians came to destroy us.

I am surprised by the Russians leaving their native country, which has suddenly ceased to be comfortable for them. When we Ukrainians do not like something in our own country, we go out into the streets and protest in order to change the rules of the game, even if we face high risks. The Russians, by contrast, are retreating. By doing so, they are trying to hold on to the chance at shaping the future for themselves, and that’s why they try to engage in a so-called dialogue with Ukrainians. This dialogue is only meant to prove—both to themselves and to foreigners—that they are not complicit in the war against Ukraine.

Before the start of the invasion, many Ukrainians spoke Russian as an everyday language, but we see countless stories on the internet from Ukrainians of all ages that they plan to speak only Ukrainian from now on. Do you think this war has irrefutably discredited the phrase “Russian is the language of Pushkin, not Putin”?

I think that now–as it was after the Revolution of Dignity, the invasion of Donbas, and the annexation of Crimea–many people will choose to speak Ukrainian out of principle. One interesting paradox of this war is the cities which are suffering the most–Mariupol, for example. Even though the Ukrainian language became more commonplace after the Battle of Mariupol in 2014, it could not be called a Ukrainian-speaking city. Today it has become the main outpost of the Russo-Ukrainian War. If the propaganda about ‘protecting’ Russian speakers was true, why would Mariupol be under daily missile strikes? However, the answer lies not in the question of language but the question of values. Mariupol, which continued to be part of Ukraine and did not become part of the so-called Donetsk People’s Republic, chose the world of visa-free travel, international cultural festivals, ongoing art installations, literary events, and major concerts. Russia cannot forgive Mariupol for this choice, which was an explicit renunciation of the “Russian world.”

Language is not really the enemy. But Pushkin, the propagandist, who was a poet with close ties to the tsarist court and wrote, on the tsar’s orders, about “Ukrainian traitors”, is one of the voices which strengthens Putin. Although I would be interested to hear someone justify Pushkin’s contributions to world literature, which I often hear, but am not convinced extends beyond beautiful alliteration. 

You grew up in Lviv and your father is one of the country’s most respected writers. What was it like for you to grow up in Ukraine during a time when Russian language and culture dominated the country, and the latest wave of Ukrainian national revival was only beginning to take shape?

I have never felt as if Ukrainian culture existed on the margins; I always knew that Ukrainian culture was just like the others, that is, deep and engrossing. I remember the best cultural events being staged in my city from an early age. At the same time, I remember having private questions about my history and that of my loved ones. 

For example, I knew that my godfather had been in a Soviet prison somewhere deep in Russia and that it was an “honor.” How can being in prison be considered honorable? Much later, I learned that this godfather was a Sixties-dissident who had fought for an independent Ukraine and the right to write in Ukrainian and that was why he was sent to a penal colony for six years and spent three years in exile. 

Today I understand that my childhood in Lviv was a happy coincidence, due to which my Ukrainian language has always been natural and not imposed. My city was never fully Russified during Soviet times, so I do appreciate and understand that my story is not typical. However, there are many examples throughout Ukrainian history of those who consciously chose the Ukrainian language and culture, despite Russian being the societal norm, and these people are an inspiration to me. I count such people among my friends, too – they are contemporary artists and journalists. I think it is exactly these people who add some freshness to the Ukrainian language and culture. 

You’re the editor-in-chief of The Ukrainians and previously led the Translation Department at Ukrainian Book Institute. How has cultural life in Ukraine been interrupted and transformed by the Russian invasion?

The biggest change that everyone felt was that cultural life essentially came to a halt. It is nearly impossible to launch exhibitions, stage performances, or publish books when your country is being bombed. But time has passed, and everyone is learning how to live with this new reality. Some people are beginning to write new things, some move their production lines to new locations, and theaters resume production.

For me, the most interesting change has been towards Ukrainian culture both in Ukraine and abroad. Ukrainians want to immerse themselves in their culture, to feel it. Those who previously consumed Russian products began to discover more Ukrainian ones. At the same time, foreigners, many of whom knew almost nothing about Ukraine, have begun to understand that a nation of more than forty million has a rich and significant culture which deserves attention not only because of the war, but because it is new to them and it offers them promising new stories, perspectives, and heroes.

How has the Ukrainian literary sphere reacted to so many Ukrainian writers (i.e. Oleg Sentsov, Stanislav Aseyev, Illarion Pavliuk, Artem Chapeye and others) going off to war? 

Ukrainian writers feel that this is a war for the very existence of Ukraine, for their opportunity to remain Ukrainian artists in the future. While Russian artists are fleeing their country, it is truly striking that Ukrainians are actively defending their own. This is a defining point in the war for Ukraine. This is what matters to us: that our country should exist and we understand that we cannot put off doing something or pretend there is no war. Every Ukrainian has their own private front and fights not only for his own future but the future of the entire country.

Is there a future where Ukrainian and Russian intellectuals can interact with one another once again? What needs to happen for that to become a reality? Or is it better that, like a long suffering couple on the path to divorce, they never cross paths again?

I think that this conversation can only be had after the war is over and only if Russia takes responsibility for what it has done. Russian intellectuals must recognize their country’s imperial origins, fully acknowledge the criminal acts committed by their state, and not resist post-colonial rereadings and reinterpretations of Russian culture. As long as contemporary Russian authors continue to follow in Solzhenitsyn and Brodsky’s footsteps–that is, by allowing themselves to make imperialistic statements such as the annexation of Crimea being an “ambiguous” issue–I doubt any productive conversations can take place. Such people refuse to acknowledge even the basic principles of state theory.

Interviewed by Kate Tsurkan
Photo by Andriy Kuzmin