“Lenin Lives, Lenin Lived, Lenin will Live.” (“Komsomolskaya,” March 31, 1924, V. Mayakovsky)

An overthrow of the monument of Lenin in Kyiv on December 8^th, 2013 was one of the culminating moments of the Euromaidan Revolution, followed by hundreds of communist symbols that were taken down by far-right extremists, politically active minority groups and state-coordinated officials.

As in most parts of Central and Eastern Europe, the so-called “Leninfall” of Ukraine laid foundation for extensive policy of decommunization, which marked a notable step towards democratic transitioning and, at the same time, raised ground questions on methodology of “pro-European” reforms.

The so-called “Leninfall” of Ukraine laid foundation for extensive policy of decommunization.

This potent purge of the communist symbols, the “Leninfall”, has been continuously captured by various means of media, photography and political art. Commencing with violent toppling of the central monument of Lenin in Kyiv, it has expanded into abrupt policy of the “2015 Decommunization laws” that seized Ukraine in the form of renaming of thousands streets, squares and metro stations, and eradicating of all signs of the communist heritage as such.

Since the Euromaidan Revolution, framing of the “Leninfall” as an integral part of the decommunization process has been adjuvant for the discussion of national identity formation and a “pro-European” transition of Ukraine. Within such narrative, disclosure of wider political meanings and contents of the phenomenon is needed.

Raising key questions on the Ukrainian ‘Leninfall’

What groups support or object ‘decommunization’ in different regions of Ukraine and, importantly, what does the form of removal of the symbol indicate about socio-political preferences of the population? What is its relation to the past, present and pro-European future?

If numerous episodes of vandalistic removal of communist statues have been recorded in different regions of Ukraine, is it germane to continue calling the phenomenon “chaotic”? Or could one go so far as to define it as “systematic?” If so, what potential do discursive articulations hold for specific policies (or the absence thereof) in Ukraine and broader post-Soviet space?

Could it be argued that massive decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine is a notable step of democratic transitioning?

Finally, using the “Leninfall” as one of the examples of visual political transformation of public space, could it be argued that massive decommunization of post-Euromaidan Ukraine is a notable step of democratic transitioning? Or as the representative of Kyiv urban planning committee, Anna Bondar, stated in her interview to Sebastien Gobert, “[the public is still witnessing] implementation of decommunization with communist methods,” which makes her say that “[people’s] mentalities and practices will not change any time soon.”

Infeasibility of the black-and-white, ‘West versus East’ approach

Multiple images of the toppled statues, such as those of the pedestal of “central” Lenin in Kyiv and other cities of Ukraine, may seem like a canvas of continuous expression of openly anti-Soviet rhetoric. However, extensive interviews conducted with civic activists, government officials and ordinary citizens, who witnessed the overthrow of the statues, illustrate an integrally different picture.

Primarily, the black-and-white division of Ukraine into political regions is delusive. Traditional stereotypes such as the one of “Ukrainian-speaking intelligentsia from Lviv (western Ukraine) being devoted supporters of decommunization,” or, in contrast, “Russian-speaking factory workers from eastern Ukraine massively supporting the ‘Leninfall’” is amiss.

A holder of the Ukrainian flag or a shirt can be Russian speaking, remain respectful of the communist past, and, at the same time, be willing to sacrifice his or her life for territorial integrity and independence of Ukraine. Vice versa also applies.

Implementation of ‘Decommunization’ laws

When it comes to evaluation of implementation of decommunization laws, Ukraine’s “Leninfall” story is not as efficient and “European” as that of Momento Park in Hungary or Grūtas Park in Lithuania. However, regardless of one’s pro-Soviet or anti-communist stands, an increasing number of Ukrainians are denoting support for the creation of new “Totalitarianism Museums,” at both the regional and national level.

At the same time, the inability of the state-apparatus to institutionalize change, to not only pass but to also track the implementation of decommunization laws as such, and toppling of Soviet symbols in particular, is eminently troubling.

In all major cities of Ukraine, a high number of monuments have been demolished during the first months of spontaneous decommunization. In Volodymyr Viatrovych’s words, “it is obvious that, as part of this process, a number of statues that might have had artistic value were destroyed.”

At the regional level, political loyalty of acting authorities to symbols of the communist regime seems to remain strong. In eastern parts of Ukraine, where the percentage of adherents of the Soviet past is still notably high, retraction of decommunization is also one of the means of winning political votes.

The alarming tendencies of the state

Besides unraveling the extensive dilemma of what to do with the toppled statues, the “Leninfall” of Ukraine adjoins the alarming phenomenon of detachment of city administration from its politically active population. In her interview to Niels Ackermann and Gobert, the curator of Art Projects of Izolyatsia Foundation in Kyiv, Yevgenia Moliar, is pointing at vexatious state ideology “that condemns any form of criticism.”

As such, the phenomenon of decommunization turns into a risky civic procedure, as it demands spontaneous institutionalization of the citizens’ cultural and political identity within a state involved in ongoing warfare.

As a collective performative action, “the “Leninfall” is an excursive, euphoric, depersonalized condition that triggered effusion of highly diverse political, cultural and economic pothole of the Ukrainian state,” argue Nickermann and Gobert in their book Looking for Lenin (2017).

Destruction of communist symbols is also one of the means of demand for immediate change. It is the original act of revenge of Us in the present versus Them in the Past (the Soviet oppressor) and Them in the present (both Yanukovych and Putin regimes).

Multivocality of the Ukrainian ‘Decommunization’

Just as no single, prevailing method of the removal of communist statues in Ukraine could be identified, so too has no common narrative yet been developed as to object (or justify) decommunization.

The factors that promote (or delay) the de-Sovietization process are also rather multiple and vary from the government officials’ political preferences to personal civic stands of ordinary citizens.

The Leninfall and the process of decommunization as such is one of the most extensive administrative reforms of modern Ukrainian state that illuminates remote division of the country’s civic strata.

The Leninfall and the process of decommunization as such is one of the most extensive administrative reforms of modern Ukrainian state that illuminates remote division of the country’s civic strata. Such fragmentation, however, should be seen as a rather positive socio-political development, as it finally unravels key elements of a truly democratic state—multivocality, open political expression, and versatility of the country’s population.

Four years down the Euromaidan Revolution, Ukraine stands strong in claiming to progress towards the West. Within such stance, could it be argued that Ukraine is demolishing ‘communism’ using old communist methods of limiting freedom of speech? And, of equal importance, since no design has yet been agreed upon for a permanent replacement of Soviet statues, what options does Ukraine have for filling the empty space of Lenin’s plinth?

These, as many more questions on effectiveness, objectives and modes of decommunization of the post-Soviet space remain open. Meanwhile, the discussion continues.

Anna Kutkina is a PhD candidate of the University of Helsinki and a Doctoral member of the Aleksanteri Institute conducting research on socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine.

Julkaisu To Europe ‘via’ Lenin?: The Fall of the Communist Statues in Ukraine ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

The Distant Barking of the Dogs
Directed by Simon Lereng Wilmont (2017)

Two documentaries, The Distant Barking of Dogs and The Trial, shed light on the situation in Ukraine. Four years down the Euromaidan Revolution, Ukraine and Russia stand strong in claiming their ‘truths’ on major turning points of the countries’ modern history, the annexation of Crimea and war in Donbas.

“I don’t know what the point of having principles is if you are not prepared to suffer or even die for them” (Oleg Sentsov, 2014).

Four years down the Euromaidan Revolution, Ukraine and Russia stand strong in claiming their ‘truths’ on major turning points of the countries’ modern history: the annexation of Crimea and war in Donbas. Political repressions or physical extermination of the population of these regions are recorded by both the local and international observers. Yet, explicit exposure of commonality of such occurrences remains rare. The prominent poet and former member of the Ukrainian parliament, Ivan Drach, explains such entrenchment of silence by massive public fear.

Two films at the DocPoint festival, Simon Lereng Wilmont’s documentary, The Distant Barking of Dogs, and Askold Kurov’s work, The Trial: The State of Russia vs Oleg Sentsov recording the triumph of human dignity over the plaque of such fear. The viewers of both films are given unique opportunity to draw personal conclusions on methodology and reasoning of such fearless life.

The viewers of both films are given unique opportunity to draw personal conclusions on methodology and reasoning of such fearless life.

The protagonists of these documentaries are both named Oleg. Wilmont’s main character, Oleg, is a ten-year-old boy who lives in eastern Ukraine in a village called Hnutove — a warzone undergoing continuous military strikes. By choice of his grandmother, he remains at his native village and learns to live, conquer and at times simply hide his trembling.

“We are men. We have to endure everything,” says Oleg to his friend Kostya in The Distant Barking of Dogs.

The other film presents Oleg Sentsov, 41, a Ukrainian film director and Euromaidan activist who was born in Simferopol, Crimea, and is best known for his film Gaamer (2011). In May of 2014, Sentsov was arrested by Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation and was charged with leading an anti-Russian terrorist movement. He was accused in planning attacks on power lines, bridges and a monument of Lenin during the Russian annexation, and is now serving his 20 years’ imprisonment in Siberia.

The Trial takes the viewer into both private and public realm of  Sentsov, where he, his family and distant circle of friends have an opportunity to peek into how the Russian state actually operates. As Variety defines, “…it leaves you with a shuddering wind of chill”.

When asked if he considers himself a Ukrainian filmmaker, Sentsov replies “of course, I am a citizen of Ukraine. I am Russian by nationality and live in Crimea” (The Trial, 2014). Active participant of the Euromaidan revolution, Sentsov chooses to stay at his place of birth, the Crimea. Similarly to the 10-year-old boy Oleg from Donbas, remaining faithful to his homeland has several consequences to Sentsov’s life: threat to his physical and emotional well-being, as well as that of his family and close circle of friends.

“But we are not moving. Like we say in Ukraine, ‘every dog is a lion in its own home,’ says grandmother of little Oleg (The Distant Barking of Dogs, 2017).

Discussing his film at the Danyliw Research Seminar on contemporary Ukraine in Ottawa, Canada, in November of 2017, Kurov, director of The Trial, expressed his shock about how fabricated Sentsov’s case was. At the same time, he emphasized the importance of Sentsov’s words stated at the final speech of his trail: “Learn not to be afraid.”

Given that “neither the judges nor the state [are caring] about how fake the whole situation is, one cannot help Oleg,” says Kurov in Ottawa. Main characters of The Distant Barking of Dogs (2017) are also left alone, “caught between two fires”, as the Grandmother of the boy describes. They cannot explain the framework where they are bound.

When asked on how The Trial got funding, Kurov replies: “It was the most difficult thing because we could not find any funding in Russia and even in Ukraine… We raised money with the help of our co-producer in Poland, from the Polish Film Institute”. As such, the film has virtually turned into a ‘post-Soviet’ production, as it was funded and widely supported by Poland, Estonia and other post-communist states. Within such circumstances, “the only thing one can do is to take a camera and make this document.”

And though he “[does] not believe that some movie can change the situation,” Kurov continues, “[he] still believes that a movie can change a person who can then influence the course of history.”

Begin present at the Danyliw Seminar as a Canadian-Ukrainian researcher working on Ukraine, it was particularly powerful to hear the discussion of  Kurov’s work in North America: the author of the documentary about powerlessness of an ordinary citizen within modern Russian state was still capable of traveling freely and reaching the audience in the West.

The fact of Kurov participating at the Ukrainian studies seminar and showing his documentary in Canada was almost a paradox in itself. When asked “whether he was not afraid to be next,” Kurov replied that “probably, the list [was] still too long and [he] should be fine.”

Similar to the Danyliw Seminar, DocPoint offers unique space where such collision of two types of ‘freedoms’ is possible—the freedom of speech of western society and that of immense desire for dignity and liberation of the post-Soviet space

DocPoint offers unique space where such collision of two types of ‘freedoms’ is possible—the freedom of speech of western society and that of immense desire for dignity and liberation of the post-Soviet space.

Watching the two films, I felt that it is important to accentuate the degree of awareness of  Sentsov and grandmother of Oleg (and thus, little Oleg) in Donbas who, put into the situation of both physical and emotional turmoil, make the decision to stay and carry on with their lives.

It is not by choice that ten-year-old Oleg and his family are unable to sleep, or eat, and are shaking under the shellfire. Neither is Sentsov’s family in Crimea has chosen to wait for a call from Moscow (and now Siberia) as to have a short talk with their son, brother or father.

Unfortunately, what both of these films illustrate is that, despite the fact that Ukraine has chosen its path towards Europe and Russia is seen to follow its own, ‘independent’ course, ordinary citizens of the post-Soviet states remain caught between fires of big political games. It becomes up to families, friends or passionate artists and activists like Wilmont, Kurov and many others as to stand up and voice their life ‘scenarios.’

To borrow again from Kurov’s talk in Canada: “I have a feeling that we are doing something in vain. But… I do believe that we must do something. To keep doing this.”

Today, as the world is witnessing the formation of ‘European Ukraine,’ ‘new Russia,’ or, as Kurov puts it, ‘new Soviet Union,’ the camera of an artist offers space for production of personal realism. What would one fill it with—fear or mutual reliance?

Arguably, the practice of transitioning from state of helplessness to that of hope, while hiding at the bomb shelter or facing political show trial, becomes but another critical process of daily meaning-making.

DocPoint Helsinki Documentary Film Festival takes place on Jan 29th – Feb 4th 2018.

Anna Kutkina is a PhD candidate of the University of Helsinki and a Doctoral member of the Aleksanteri Institute conducting research on socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine.

Julkaisu DocPoint: Between Two Fires: the States vs People ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.

The Distant Barking of the Dogs
Directed by Simon Lereng Wilmont (2017)

Two documentaries, The Distant Barking of Dogs and The Trial, shed light on the situation in Ukraine. Four years down the Euromaidan Revolution, Ukraine and Russia stand strong in claiming their ‘truths’ on major turning points of the countries’ modern history, the annexation of Crimea and war in Donbas.

“I don’t know what the point of having principles is if you are not prepared to suffer or even die for them” (Oleg Sentsov, 2014).

Four years down the Euromaidan Revolution, Ukraine and Russia stand strong in claiming their ‘truths’ on major turning points of the countries’ modern history: the annexation of Crimea and war in Donbas. Political repressions or physical extermination of the population of these regions are recorded by both the local and international observers. Yet, explicit exposure of commonality of such occurrences remains rare. The prominent poet and former member of the Ukrainian parliament, Ivan Drach, explains such entrenchment of silence by massive public fear.

Two films at the DocPoint festival, Simon Lereng Wilmont’s documentary, The Distant Barking of Dogs, and Askold Kurov’s work, The Trial: The State of Russia vs Oleg Sentsov recording the triumph of human dignity over the plaque of such fear. The viewers of both films are given unique opportunity to draw personal conclusions on methodology and reasoning of such fearless life.

The viewers of both films are given unique opportunity to draw personal conclusions on methodology and reasoning of such fearless life.

The protagonists of these documentaries are both named Oleg. Wilmont’s main character, Oleg, is a ten-year-old boy who lives in eastern Ukraine in a village called Hnutove — a warzone undergoing continuous military strikes. By choice of his grandmother, he remains at his native village and learns to live, conquer and at times simply hide his trembling.

“We are men. We have to endure everything,” says Oleg to his friend Kostya in The Distant Barking of Dogs.

The other film presents Oleg Sentsov, 41, a Ukrainian film director and Euromaidan activist who was born in Simferopol, Crimea, and is best known for his film Gaamer (2011). In May of 2014, Sentsov was arrested by Federal Security Service of the Russian Federation and was charged with leading an anti-Russian terrorist movement. He was accused in planning attacks on power lines, bridges and a monument of Lenin during the Russian annexation, and is now serving his 20 years’ imprisonment in Siberia.

The Trial takes the viewer into both private and public realm of  Sentsov, where he, his family and distant circle of friends have an opportunity to peek into how the Russian state actually operates. As Variety defines, “…it leaves you with a shuddering wind of chill”.

When asked if he considers himself a Ukrainian filmmaker, Sentsov replies “of course, I am a citizen of Ukraine. I am Russian by nationality and live in Crimea” (The Trial, 2014). Active participant of the Euromaidan revolution, Sentsov chooses to stay at his place of birth, the Crimea. Similarly to the 10-year-old boy Oleg from Donbas, remaining faithful to his homeland has several consequences to Sentsov’s life: threat to his physical and emotional well-being, as well as that of his family and close circle of friends.

“But we are not moving. Like we say in Ukraine, ‘every dog is a lion in its own home,’ says grandmother of little Oleg (The Distant Barking of Dogs, 2017).

Discussing his film at the Danyliw Research Seminar on contemporary Ukraine in Ottawa, Canada, in November of 2017, Kurov, director of The Trial, expressed his shock about how fabricated Sentsov’s case was. At the same time, he emphasized the importance of Sentsov’s words stated at the final speech of his trail: “Learn not to be afraid.”

Given that “neither the judges nor the state [are caring] about how fake the whole situation is, one cannot help Oleg,” says Kurov in Ottawa. Main characters of The Distant Barking of Dogs (2017) are also left alone, “caught between two fires”, as the Grandmother of the boy describes. They cannot explain the framework where they are bound.

When asked on how The Trial got funding, Kurov replies: “It was the most difficult thing because we could not find any funding in Russia and even in Ukraine… We raised money with the help of our co-producer in Poland, from the Polish Film Institute”. As such, the film has virtually turned into a ‘post-Soviet’ production, as it was funded and widely supported by Poland, Estonia and other post-communist states. Within such circumstances, “the only thing one can do is to take a camera and make this document.”

And though he “[does] not believe that some movie can change the situation,” Kurov continues, “[he] still believes that a movie can change a person who can then influence the course of history.”

Begin present at the Danyliw Seminar as a Canadian-Ukrainian researcher working on Ukraine, it was particularly powerful to hear the discussion of  Kurov’s work in North America: the author of the documentary about powerlessness of an ordinary citizen within modern Russian state was still capable of traveling freely and reaching the audience in the West.

The fact of Kurov participating at the Ukrainian studies seminar and showing his documentary in Canada was almost a paradox in itself. When asked “whether he was not afraid to be next,” Kurov replied that “probably, the list [was] still too long and [he] should be fine.”

Similar to the Danyliw Seminar, DocPoint offers unique space where such collision of two types of ‘freedoms’ is possible—the freedom of speech of western society and that of immense desire for dignity and liberation of the post-Soviet space

DocPoint offers unique space where such collision of two types of ‘freedoms’ is possible—the freedom of speech of western society and that of immense desire for dignity and liberation of the post-Soviet space.

Watching the two films, I felt that it is important to accentuate the degree of awareness of  Sentsov and grandmother of Oleg (and thus, little Oleg) in Donbas who, put into the situation of both physical and emotional turmoil, make the decision to stay and carry on with their lives.

It is not by choice that ten-year-old Oleg and his family are unable to sleep, or eat, and are shaking under the shellfire. Neither is Sentsov’s family in Crimea has chosen to wait for a call from Moscow (and now Siberia) as to have a short talk with their son, brother or father.

Unfortunately, what both of these films illustrate is that, despite the fact that Ukraine has chosen its path towards Europe and Russia is seen to follow its own, ‘independent’ course, ordinary citizens of the post-Soviet states remain caught between fires of big political games. It becomes up to families, friends or passionate artists and activists like Wilmont, Kurov and many others as to stand up and voice their life ‘scenarios.’

To borrow again from Kurov’s talk in Canada: “I have a feeling that we are doing something in vain. But… I do believe that we must do something. To keep doing this.”

Today, as the world is witnessing the formation of ‘European Ukraine,’ ‘new Russia,’ or, as Kurov puts it, ‘new Soviet Union,’ the camera of an artist offers space for production of personal realism. What would one fill it with—fear or mutual reliance?

Arguably, the practice of transitioning from state of helplessness to that of hope, while hiding at the bomb shelter or facing political show trial, becomes but another critical process of daily meaning-making.

DocPoint Helsinki Documentary Film Festival takes place on Jan 29th – Feb 4th 2018.

Anna Kutkina is a PhD candidate of the University of Helsinki and a Doctoral member of the Aleksanteri Institute conducting research on socio-political developments of post-Euromaidan Ukraine.

Julkaisu DocPoint: Between Two Fires: the States vs People ilmestyi ensimmäisenä Politiikasta.