The ongoing war between Russia and Ukraine has led to an epidemic of shame among Russian speakers about belonging to Russian language and culture. On the very first day of the invasion, I reached out to my Ukrainian mentor with words of support, and immediately apologized for speaking in Russian. A few hours later, my colleagues, who have lived outside of Russia for a very long time, but who’ve retained Russian citizenship, echoed each other across multiple emails: “I am ashamed of being Russian.” Neither they, nor I, nor any of my many friends who felt the same, felt any kind of external pressure or judgment. We were not ostracized, nor had witnessed the kind of routine russophobia that is unfortunately becoming more and more common in Europe. The connection between Russia’s actions and our own inner Russianness was activated instantly and organically, like a synapse connection between two neurons.
Therein, however, lies the paradox of this position. As much as we try to distance ourselves from the war, stating that we are not Putin, our shared shame confirms the fact of our complicity. “The Russian World,” which needs to be protected according to the Kremlin propagandists, takes on a very real shape even in the minds of its russophone opposition, when we give the language itself the status of the oppressor. Through this, we ascribe to Putin and his Russia if not a monopoly, a kind of special right to interpret the Russian cultural heritage and its overall value and tone.
Having recovered somewhat from the shock of the first several days, I am amazed by the ease with which we – the Russian speakers in so many countries – gifted the Kremlin chief this special right. What we should have done – what we should be doing – is to sever this perverse link between a government that does not act according to the culture’s morals, principles or interests and the Russian culture itself. We should work to take away the last historical right of this government to speak in anyone’s — or anything’s — name. Putin is, indeed, liberating the Russian-speaking world – from the last vestiges of reverence towards the agonizing empire, from the melodramatic magnetism that drew us, at times, to revolve around Moscow and its grudges. He has finally denationalized (not to say “denazified”) the Russian language, leaving it to us to use as we see fit. So let us use it as we see fit, as our conscience sees fit!
The language itself cannot be an aggressor. Attempts to ascribe a citizenship to language lead to catastrophes – among others, catastrophes of the spirit.
We must resist this in any way possible; we must underscore the cosmopolitan nature of language and remind those who forget (even ourselves) about the humanitarian messages pervasive in the culture that emerged from it. We can and must support Ukraine in Russian. After all, its struggle is also a struggle against a system that tries to take ownership of the Russian language through censorship, torture and imprisonment, attempts not just to enslave it – worse – to rid it of any kind of life, because the lifeblood of a language, just like the lifeblood of any other spiritual phenomenon, is its freedom. Thus this war calls us to not be ashamed, but to speak, speak truthfully, speak clearly – leave no question about who it is who, as per Auden’s poem, stalks the “subjugated plain” while “drivel gushes from his lips,” and who determines the truth of the world.