08/07/2025
"But there’s a difference between refusing to exclude individuals based on nationality—and actively participating in cultural events that serve the Kremlin’s propaganda machine. Accepting an invitation to perform in Moscow, or sharing a stage with artists who openly support the war, is something altogether different. That’s not neutrality—that’s complicity."
"Але є різниця між відмовою виключати людей на підставі національності та активною участю в культурних заходах, які служать пропагандистській машині Кремля. Прийняти запрошення виступити в Москві або поділити сцену з артистами, які відкрито підтримують війну, — це зовсім інша справа. Це не нейтральність — це співучасть."
The dilemma...
Should we boycott Russian artists? Is there truth to the Kremlin’s claim of “Russophobia”? Is Russia being unfairly excluded from the international arts scene?
These are complex questions that must be considered in context. The Kremlin’s narrative of victimhood feeds off the very liberal, Western values it seeks to destroy in Ukraine—and destabilize in what it brands as the “decadent West.”
This war is not just one of weapons and territory—it is a war of values. Western values emphasize empathy, inclusion, and fairness. Political correctness, for all its flaws, comes from a desire to treat others with dignity. We reject discrimination, bullying, and hate. These are the values that Russia is actively trying to dismantle—not only through military aggression but also through psychological and cultural warfare.
So why are so many artists hesitant to speak out against Russia’s invasion of Ukraine? For some, it’s a matter of career calculation—keeping the door open for future performances in Russia. That’s an economic consideration, yes. But beyond that: are we falling victim to a constant barrage of disinformation? Are we being manipulated into moral ambiguity?
Russia’s self-portrayal as a persecuted victim is a calculated tactic. It weaponizes our empathy, banking on our instinct for fairness and inclusion. And as artists, we’re particularly vulnerable to this manipulation. We’ve spent our careers crossing borders, creating music with people from all cultures. Exclusion goes against the grain of what we stand for.
I don’t want to discriminate against Russian colleagues—and I haven’t. Since the invasion, I’ve continued performing with Russian musicians who live across Europe and enjoy the freedoms of liberal societies. I don’t press them about their political views; I assume, perhaps hopefully, that they feel ashamed of their government’s actions.
But there’s a difference between refusing to exclude individuals based on nationality—and actively participating in cultural events that serve the Kremlin’s propaganda machine. Accepting an invitation to perform in Moscow, or sharing a stage with artists who openly support the war, is something altogether different. That’s not neutrality—that’s complicity.
While Russia pleads for empathy for its artists and plays the “victim” card, it simultaneously bombs, silences, and kills Ukrainian artists. Maybe those voices deserve a greater share of our attention and empathy. If we benefit from the freedoms of a liberal society and the vibrant artistic life it makes possible, then we must take a clear stance on where our loyalty and sympathy lie.
Let’s wake up: silence, whether out of convenience or career strategy, is hypocrisy. Artists living and working in free societies—anywhere in the world—should be active participants in defending artistic freedom. Because truly, does anyone long for the kind of cultural life that is possible in Russia today?
From the outset of this war, I was clear in my opposition to Russia’s primitive aggression. Still, I hesitated to speak publicly about the idea of “boycotting” Russian art—I feared hurting the feelings of my Russian colleagues. But after witnessing the latest wave of relentless Russian bombings, and the suffering inflicted on a country that feels increasingly abandoned, I’ve come to a painful realization:
Perhaps it’s time we paid more attention to the feelings of our Ukrainian colleagues.
This is not about hatred or exclusion. It’s about moral clarity. When we choose to stay silent, or keep “all options open,” we risk becoming pawns in a game designed to destroy the very values we claim to hold dear. Performing alongside those who openly support this war—or entertaining audiences who cheer it on—makes us more than just witnesses.
It makes us participants.
(Photo of Mariupol Theatre by Alexei Alexandrov/AP)
